#worthy skilled women better than any

[decentwinter]

everyone, he's a girl dad. (check the tags for extra yapping)

i struggled so much with this sketch but i NEEDED to draw ra’s and baby talia

[randomdragonfires]

I'm A Fire And I'll Keep Your Brittle Heart Warm [One Shot]

Text Divider by @saradika-graphics

SUMMARY | Flowers come to Aemond in multiple shapes and forms throughout his marriage.

WARNINGS | 18+; Mild Smut.

WORD COUNT | 9.6k

A/N | Yet another repost, yay! This one was written based off an ask sent to me by @wonderbias and beta read by the loml @humanpurposes

Their union began as a fragile, delicate one.

By all accounts, Aemond Targaryen was a fine man that any maiden in the Seven Kingdoms would be proud to be with, should he– a skilled dragonrider, a scholar, a respectful man of honor, a prince worthy of his name and blood– choose to take her to wife. 

If only he was not so stoic and dull, they said. The very jovial little lady of Highgarden will be bored of him in moments!

‘Twas the first of many whispers he heard of his apparent inadequacy with regards to his impending nuptials and marriage, and even though it killed him, he could not bring himself to disagree. The woman that he was to marry – the beautiful, kind, ladylike wisp of a girl that was to be entrusted to him– was a fair maiden who lit up any chamber she graced with her presence, a stark contrast to how he seemed to darken those that he stalked into.

Charming girl like that, she will hate him, they said. The poor thing is probably scared.

Every lady dreamed of chivalrous knights and charming princes, and Aemond knew very well that he was far from being either. They dreamed of charming men who would immortalize them in song, whose looks could thaw the hearts of the coldest women in an instant. Aemond knew very well that the Gods had refused him the chance to even try with her– what with their allowance of his mutilation at a tender, young age. 

Even with just one eye, he saw many possibilities but to his dismay, he did not imagine any outcome would be favorable to him. With the scar he carried on his face and the weight of the world on his shoulders, Aemond was never meant to be the man that his intended deserved. 

And so, he decided that he would keep her at arm's length and in consequence, save his pride. He'd reject her before she rejected him. He may not know it now, but matters of the heart are fickle– and to the utter disappointment of his pride, his little lady rose was very easy to love. 

He would not be caught dead pathetically pining after a woman who would soon be his. He would not.

And so, their courtship remained devoid of romance and scandal. His family was made privy to each of their highly appropriate conversations, with them taking turns in chaperoning their walks through the gardens. 

There was nothing that he wished to share, for he did not want to lose too much. He did what was expected of him, and she did the very same. Soon, there was respect, admiration, and a whole host of burgeoning feelings that Aemond tried hard to suppress - feelings that he clearly did not see in her eyes as she dared to look into his.

How could she feel anything for a stoic, dull, one-eyed man like him?

As he draped the red and black cloak over her shoulder and pledged to be her man of liege and limb, he told himself that he would not try. He would not give into fantasies, only to be met with rejection from a woman who was too good for him; one that may realize it soon enough as well.

After all, Aemond Targaryen had his pride. He would feed himself to the dragons before admitting to someone else being better than him, let alone be rejected by that same person. He was certainly not going to woo her, not when he knew that he would only be met with contempt and disgust.

It did not matter how badly he wanted to. He would not allow himself to succumb to such idyllic daydreams. He would not.

When night fell and the wedding feast was in full swing, his new good-father was the only one who could give his brother a run for his money with how deep he was in his cups. It was obvious how the wine-induced stupor affected the fat lord Tyrell as he bellowed for his daughter and his new good son to take the lead and join in the dancing and merriment.

Aemond was ready to retch at the thought, but what stopped him from making his irritation  clear was the possibility that she may want to dance. His wife. He had seen her dance before– as graceful as an otherworldly swan. She had a better grasp at frivolous courtly affairs than he did. 

His wife may want to dance. His wife, his wife, his wife. A little rose, his.

He shuffled his feet under the cloth-covered long table and allowed his one eye to train over his clothed boots. In spite of all the dancing lessons he had taken with Helaena, Aemond had never indulged before– and now, he was expected to entertain his bride each time a song played. The thought made him want to press his feet into the ground further than he already has, in hopes that perhaps the ground would swallow him whole.

His view of the dancing crowd had been taken from him by half along with his eye. Without the luxury of complete vision, he could not dance without bumping into everyone that was on his blind side. Now, he would have to– if she wanted to. 

He thought he could say no, but he feared that if he were to look her in the eyes, he'd never be able to. Perhaps that was why he had refused to even look at her throughout the ceremony, despite her many admirable– yet failed– attempts to catch his line of sight and share a smile.

It was her meek, mouse-like voice that brought him out of his nervous trance. “We do not have to," she said, the words falling out of her lips like a song.

“You like to dance, my lady,” he said.

“But you do not, my prince. It takes two.” Her surprisingly understanding words were followed by a timid smile, one that threatened to rip through his defenses and get to him.

In the crowded throne room, as his new bride sets aside her happiness to accommodate his preferences, Aemond worried that his self-imposed distance from her may not last too long if she kept offering him kind glances and sweet smiles– no matter how forced and dutiful he knew them to be.

He had much to lose; his pride, his heart. He would not risk it, even if she was seemingly easy to love. He would not. He would not. He would not.

After all, Aemond Targaryen had his pride. 

Soon after, her drunk nuisance of a father had called for the bedding. Aemond did nothing as his trembling bride was ushered away by the handmaidens and ladies, each of them wriggling her jewelry off as she stumbled in her steps before they carried her off.

Should he have asked for a private bedding? In hindsight, he believed he wronged her by throwing her to the mercies of the court in her vulnerability. Equally, he did not want to attempt a show of compassion– not when she may not even welcome it from the one-eyed fiend of a husband that she was stuck with.

When he walked into the chambers in his loose linen shirt and breeches, his breath hitched in his throat. Helaena had once told him that the Septas refer to women’s maidenheads as flowers. “Beautiful, ripe and ready for the plucking,” she had said, keeping her nose pointed upward in her imitations. He'd never given the words much thought. 

Until now.

There she was. His wife, his flower, his rose, ready for plucking, in her translucent white shift and now untamed hair, like a fae in a dream. How could she possibly be his? How could she possibly be happy with a man as monstrous as him for a husband? 

Her eyes, wide and fearful, flittered about his face, in his mind an expression of her repulsion. It pained him to think she did not even give him a chance.

But she was accommodating about my not wanting to dance… 

Perhaps she did like to dance; just not with him. 

These unsaid words and subsequent misunderstandings plagued their wedding night. Both believed the other did not desire them. 

That night, she offered her flower to him– as is her duty– and he took great care in taking it from her. He made sure she was pliant, so that when he took it, she would be as glad and thrilled as he was, regardless of how well-hidden his happiness was. 

He may have grimaced in disgust at Aegon's vulgar demonstrations and lessons about the pleasures of the marital bed, but he was thankful as he heard her moan out his name in a silent scream while she convulsed around his fingers. The silent sounds of her choked out moans and the heat engulfing his fingers may have very well been enough for Aemond to find release, and he reminded himself quickly that she will not want him when they're done. How could she, deformed as he was?

And so, he stopped wanting to be good for her, and simply endeavored to get it done with.

She was only more than willing to allow him to take her flower. If he was not so preoccupied with his own insecurities, he may have seen that it had gone past duty for her. Her loud moans proved the fact, and left little room for dispute (or doubt, in the minds of the prying ears that stayed close to the doors of their chambers, and the sharp eyes of the council who were now shuffling out of their seats).

He inched into her, and her tears and turned face only seemed to make it harder for him. Was he so beyond hope that she could not even look? What was it? Had he hurt her? He did not ask, lest he risk finding out that he was a disappointment. So he lost himself, drowned in his own head as he mechanically moved in and out, in and out, in and out. 

Duty. Duty. Duty.

If he had not been so preoccupied with tearing his own being to shreds in his mind, he may have heard her moans as the bright pink tip of his cock hit a rough spot in her, allowing her pleasures and experiences she did not believe she would ever know. He may have known that she desired him, just as he did her.

His self-deprecating thoughts couldn't have been farther from the truth– he may not have realized it that night, but he would soon enough.

Flowers came to Aemond in multiple shapes and forms throughout his marriage, and the first ever flower she gave him– whether she chose to see it that way or not– came to him on their wedding night, in the form of her maidenhead.

Tourneys were a time of celebration for her.

There was something to be said about the romance of watching men ask women for favors and fight with all the might and grace that they possess. She had often dreamed that a dashing knight or a courteous prince would perhaps approach her for her favor, and then perhaps crown her Queen of Love and Beauty. If she was lucky, the man would court her too.

The man she married was the antithesis of all that she hoped a tourney would bring.

Her husband was not a bad man by any means– no. He was a good and respectful husband, slightly removed and isolated for her outward nature, but she did not mind. There were worse men to be married to, and even if he never went out of his way to be there for her, he certainly treated her well when they were in each other’s presence.

She tried with him, Gods bless her. 

She would try to catch his eye at the supper table, or watch him train in hopes that he would meet her watchful gaze once or twice. She would watch in a sleepy haze as he woke early in the morn, long before she had the strength or consciousness to wish him a good day, hoping he would turn to do the same. He never did.

More often than not, a curt nod and a wavering glance was all she’d get.  Still there were brief, hopeful moments that kept her active in her pursuit to build a friendship with her husband.

She would have done something absolutely obnoxious— acts that would have him sneering if it was someone else– and she’d see it. That little hint of a smile, waiting to bubble through the surface, just by the corner of his pink lips, that she would have missed if she blinked. Each time there was a tenuous beginning of a hesitant smile, she felt a tiny sliver of hope.

He was not so intimidating to her now as he was in the initial days of their union– no. In a little corner of her mind, she acknowledged that fact– that is what helped her find his hand and hold it tight in nervousness, before she could even comprehend the intimacy of the act.

The knight who had just taken a harsh tumble from his horse was carried away by servants, with his head beaten bloody and hands hanging limp by his side. If she did not know better, she would have thought him dead.

The champion then raised his hands up in victory. Thunderous clapping sounds overshadowed all else around her, but she could not bring herself to join. She was still stunned by how the other knight had fallen, and was yet to let go of Aemond’s hand.

She felt the bile rise in her throat, so she brought her other hand to her chest and bowed her head down, a feeble attempt at keeping the vomit at bay. It was awhile until she managed to catch her breath again, and by then the celebrations had moved on from celebrating the champion to the crowning of his Queen of Love and Beauty.

The eldest Lady Baratheon smiled coyly as she received the wreath of winter roses, followed by a chaste kiss to her cheek. The crowd gasped at how brazen the act was, with neither of them being married, but the high of winning makes men do the most peculiar things, she supposed. In the back of her mind, regardless of how uneasy she felt, she wished– desperately. 

How she wished it was her. 

A childish fantasy really. What was a publicly gifted crown of flowers worth in the face of what she had? She was a Princess of the realm now, married to a skilled dragonrider from a family of illustrious history and blood. Any children they may have will be immortalized in the annals.  Nothing. A crown of flowers was worth nothing when compared to what she had– or at least, that is what she would tell herself.

And yet, she craved the romance. She had always enjoyed the idea of being loved and cherished. Her husband respected her, and if she was feeling bold, she’d say he liked her– but he certainly did not love her. That much she was certain of. When she naively wished that he’d crown her, she asked if he was going to enter the lists. He had sharply turned so quickly that she feared she had angered him.

“I don’t give a sh…” He had sighed before speaking again, as though he felt tested. “I do not care for tourneys.” The sharpness in his voice had hurt her, and she did not speak of it again.

Their marriage was a decent one– but it held none of the love she hoped to have, despite all her attempts.

Did he find her so disagreeable?

All of a sudden, his hand felt cold to the touch and she let go of him like he burned her. The heat came back to her hand just as it showed on her cheeks, and his had turned cold from having lost her touch so abruptly.

“I’d like to get some fresh air, husband,” she said, and rose before he could even ask if she needed him to accompany her.

Her quick walk took her to the tent where the court ladies had been sitting, and she had stepped in right in time to hear them gossip– about her husband.

“Well he must keep it on while they�� you know! It can be jarring to look at, I’m sure it is!”

“It must be terrible to see it up close all the time. I can hardly look at him from across the chamber!”

He is certainly unnerving. It does make you wonder though, do you think they actually…” the woman lowered her voice to match the vulgarity that was to follow. “Do you think they actually fuck? She cannot possibly want to, and she is not with child either…”

“Well, does it really matter if she wants to? He’s a Prince, and her husband. He’ll take his pleasure regardless.”

Regardless of where she and her husband stood, she would not stand for their marriage to become fodder for court gossip. If she stayed quiet for any longer while these empty-headed women berated her husband, she would be insulting him herself.

“Might I ask what is so amusing?”  she said with sharp eyes and a tilted head. The sweat on their faces upon her arrival was apparent, and so was their nervousness.

“My Lady, we were just–”

“Princess,” she corrected.

“Yes of course, Princess. We were just–”

“Making presumptions about my marriage?” 

“No… we just…”

“Don’t deny it,” she seethed, anger looking completely foreign on a soft, comely face like hers. Her nostrils flared and her nose went red in her current state, but there was no way she could stop now. 

“The next time you feel the need to comment on such matters , perhaps you will all learn to remind yourself that he is a Prince of the realm and I am his wife! There will be suitable punishment, and you will all be dismissed from court at my pleasure, disgraced and husbandless. Now, we wouldn’t want that, would we?” Her words were cutting and sharp, and they had the younger ladies bowing their heads in fear almost immediately.

“I’ll have you all know that unlike the other men of the court, Prince Aemond’s scar came to him along with the largest dragon in the world. His bravery only makes him more handsome to me.”

She then fixed her attention onto the married lady of the bunch and delivered a questionable blow that she would certainly feel bad about later. “If you’ve been led to believe that the man takes his pleasure from his wife even if she does not want to, then perhaps your marriage is a lot worse than I thought. Your husband must have no regard for your wants, unlike mine. And for that, I am truly sorry.”

She did not wait for them to respond as she gathered her skirts and walked out of the tent, feeling largely annoyed and satisfied to an extent. But as she began her walk back, the fear of news of her anger reaching her husband hit her like a harsh and heavy wave.

Would he call her insolent and disgraceful? Has she damaged her marriage more than it already has been?

She did not have to wait long for her answer, for Aemond had been just a few steps behind her, watching the entire scene unfold. The angry flush on her face left her as quickly as it had come, replaced by a skittish nervousness that led to her shuffling her feet as she stood before him, at a complete loss for words.

She swallowed the spit gathering in her mouth, throat bobbing as her head remained facing down to the floor, awaiting a scolding from him for her absolutely inexcusable behavior; her husband was a man who knew his courtesies, after all. He could not possibly be happy with how she carried herself and disappointed him.

“You do not look well. Let me walk you to our chambers,” was all he said before he led her away with a hand on the small of her back.

She remained worried that he was perhaps leading them to privacy and silence so he could punish her while being undisturbed. She could not have been farther from the truth.

She expected him to scream at her, forget all the courtesy that he had shown her and throw his words at her without care. What she was not prepared for, was for him to hold her chin between his thumb and index fingers, pulling her face up to meet his.

He curiously inspected her, almost as though her little show of anger thoroughly amused him. She would not be surprised if it did– she had never been so outward in her anger in the two months that they had been married; this was a completely new side to her that he was now privy to.

“What was that, wife?” His words were measured and cut. 

“They…” She was stunned to find that, despite her tongue becoming loose in moments of anger,  it was hard for her to speak right now. So, she chose to gulp once more and tried to look someplace else. The uncertainty in his sharp, one-eyed violet gaze was becoming too much for her to bear– but Aemond did not give up easily. He kept her head held in place as she desperately waited for the words to come to her.

“They were being crude, and insulting you.”

He looked at her for a moment, his sharp gaze refusing to waver as the sunlight pierced through the glass windows of their chamber. He then let go of her, and handed her a goblet of wine to calm her clearly unsteady senses. He watched as she took little sips from the chalice, the restless turning of the wheels in his mind apparent on his face. 

Soon after, he made up a sham of a reason about having to leave when the cheering crowds became louder and louder. She nodded and continued to sip, completely oblivious to the change of heart that her husband was having as she wondered why he brought her back to their bed.

She did not know the thoughts that now ran fast and surely in his mind. She did not know that he thought his eye had cost him a chance at a happy marriage with her. She had no idea of knowing how conflicted he felt at the new realization, for his sculpted face gave nothing away.

He turned to face her with a hand on the door.  “Thank you,” he mumbled.

She nodded and smiled meekly while he stalked back to the festivities.

He held his hands tightly behind him as he tried to make sense of how light his heart felt in comparison to the rest of him. 

Back in the chamber, she blushed. For all her worry that he may have been disappointed, she had been completely floored by how he had responded– he was thankful. She berated herself for not considering the possibility– and smiled at the realization that for all her husband’s prowess as a warrior, in times like these,  he needed a champion too. 

That night, Aemond burned the midnight oil while reading in the library, trying to still his racing heart and make sense of how it leapt at newfound thoughts of his little wife. 

Across the Holdfast, in the soft candlelight of their shared chambers, she sat on her husband’s dear chair, looking at her handiwork– an embroidered silk tourney favor, with a little rose.

Her husband may not care for tourneys, but making the favor allowed her the luxury of thinking that should the possibility of him willingly entering the lists come around, he would do so with her gift on his lance. Mayhaps he would crown her Queen of Love and Beauty too– the thought makes her blush.

She would give it to him should he ever choose to partake someday. Until then, it would be safely hidden away in her shelves, amidst her gowns and other possessions.

Flowers have came to Aemond in multiple shapes and forms throughout his marriage, and the second flower that was intended for him– despite the fact that she was yet to give it to him– came to him on the day of the the twins’ name day tourney, in the form of a rose, embroidered onto a tourney favor. 

They have come to enjoy each other's company.

Her coming to his defense while expecting nothing in return had lit a fire in Aemond that he could not seem to quell. What he believed she had rejected him over, she had actually taken to being proud of. What he had believed was his one big, obvious and visible fatal flaw, was something that she had taken to holding in high regard.

I’ll have you lot know that unlike the other men of the court, his scar came to him along with the largest dragon in the world. And his bravery only makes him more handsome to me.

Her words rang in his mind like the definite tolling of the Great Bell at the Royal Sept. With each chime, her assertiveness on the matter came back to linger in his thoughts, he had fallen for her – bit by bit. 

Feelings had always been a conundrum to Aemond, one that he did not entirely understand or even want to. But now, with a wife who warmed him and his heart slowly but surely, with her lovely smiles and nervous face, he found that he would like some certainty in the face of all that was uncertain in his heart.

He did not know if he loved her just yet. But what he did know was that, at the pace that she had set for them, it may be a very short while before he does. His wife. His wife, his wife, his wife. 

His, his, his.

Coming to terms with having a wife that actually desired his company– and him, surprisingly enough– had spurned his attempts to bring some sort of intimacy to their marriage. Gods knew that she had tried, only to be rebuffed rudely by him in the initial days of their marriage. It was a time that he now felt deep regret and shame for, one that he would not rest until he had made right. 

He needed her to see that he wanted to try.

He did not know how to be the charming prince from a bard’s songs. He did not know how to make women laugh like Aegon; be as sweet and kind as Helaena; or as chivalrous and perfect as Daeron. 

But what he did know was respect. Aemond understood respect as something that was earned by everyone around him, but to his wife, it should have been unconditional. It should have come to her the day he had cloaked her and made her his– but it did not. Now, he intended to make it right.

He needed her to see that he wanted to try– which is how he found himself with her on his arm, as they walked hand in hand through the corridors of Maegor’s Holdfast towards their chambers. Ah yes, hand in hand. Another one of the little joys that he savored like it was his last day alive. 

Their initially cold marriage had also been fueled by his blatant refusal to simply be near her, much less touch her. Why would she have wanted to be touched by a one-eyed monster, such as the likes of him? 

But the moment he realized that she did not consider him so– not in the least– led to a warmth seeping through his blood, making him crave her so much that his heart hurt. If she did not mind it, why must he not exercise his liberties? And if there was some joy to be derived from it, why would they not want to indulge?

And so he had begun. A stolen touch here, a featherlight graze there. 

His huge, calloused hand, seemed to be always holding her dainty one as he accompanied her throughout their time in the castle; on the small of her back as they maneuvered through feasts and dances; around her waist as they closed the distance between each other in their sleep, with her back to his chest; clutching onto her thigh to keep her in place for when she turned around and draped her tiny leg upon his waist.

His hands, all over her.

It was not just these fleeting, quick touches that Aemond had grown to enjoy. With their bond growing stronger with each passing moment, he had realized that their marital duties were simply not duties anymore. They had gone from believing that the other had tolerated their presence, to trying their level best so that the other would know how much they desired them. The growth of their marriage was evident in how their carnal indulgences had evolved.

Where he had held himself to hover over her so as to not facilitate any unnecessary touches, he had now taken to covering her entire being with his own. His hands around her hip as he pounded into her; her hands on his chest as the tip of her fingers grazed and pinched at his nipples. His hands in her hair as he mouthed at her heaving breast; her hands around him as she held onto him as tightly as she could, never wanting to let him go. His hands on her cunt as he drew peak after peak from her before thrusting himself into her; her hands around his cock as she pumped him before impaling herself by straddling him, just the way he liked. 

Their sounds of pleasure had been held back and muffled in the beginning, but now they were uninhibited sounds taken by the wind, made with the intent of being heard and making desires known.  

Oh yes, their marriage had grown. 

This is what Aemond had been pondering as he led her through, with servants making their way for the young prince and princess as she held onto her husband with one hand, and a piece of rolled parchment and some charcoal on the other. He enjoyed their touches now, and it made his heart soar that he did not have to doubt her want for him either. 

Yes, they could make something out of this.

“How was your time in the gardens, wife?” It made him happy that with the growth of their marriage, she had taken to exercising her liberties. So, when she had come to him requesting charcoal and bound parchment so she could begin drawing again, he was only happy to oblige. 

“Good. I managed to sit and watch the flowers flit about in the wind for a time, and I drew a bit as well. Then the court ladies came to join me as they…”

Aemond listened to his wife as he sat himself on his chair by the hearth, most intently, and with the utmost concentration that he could muster. He could not bring himself to make selfless romantic declarations of love, or speak to her more than he was able. But he could listen, and that is what he would do. 

Not a word unheard, not a moment missed. He needed her to see that he wanted to try.

She prattled on and on about her day, and how the court ladies had gossiped about each other when they thought the other wasn’t listening. He listened to the way her voice heightened when her recollections were happy, and he noted the way she frowned when she was in disapproval. He observed how her eyes widened at shocking narrations, and how her hands seemed to move like they had a life of their own. 

He kept observing, losing himself in his newfound knowledge of her, her, her… and it was not until she stood close to him, her body slotted between his legs as she held her hands behind her back that he realized she had stopped speaking.

“Go on.”

He did not expect to be given something, not when his name day had just passed. But that is exactly what happened. 

“For you,” she said. With her raised eyebrows and coy smile, she managed to place  a parchment roll into his hand. Aemond made note of how her head faced down and her feet shuffled as she stood in wait for his approval.

He unrolled the parchment, careful to not cause even a stray tear at the edges. His eyes raked over the drawing, one of clear skill and years of training of the highest level– one befitting a lady.

“I shall treasure it, thank you.” 

She smiled at his acceptance, and he nodded. He was not a smiling man, but he hoped that she knew how much he appreciated these gestures. He hoped that their marriage had grown enough for her to notice his quirks, just as he had made note of hers.

Flowers came to Aemond in multiple shapes and forms throughout his marriage, and the third flower that she had given him was a charcoal sketch of a rose, into which she had poured her heart and soul.

As the days passed, their mornings became brighter.

While she had hoped that the initial days of their marriage would have some semblance of love, and if not, at least affection to some extent, her hopes had been quickly dashed with the closed off and curt behavior that her husband seemed to have made his own. Neither did he ever wish her a good morrow upon sunrise, nor did he kiss her goodnight like in the songs.

But now, there was more.

Where there was coldness, there was now warmth. It was not heat, not like wildfire, no– it was warmth, like from the calm blaze of their hearth. She might not have awoken to a smile, no– her husband was not a smiling man– but she always woke to an arm snaked over her breasts, pressing into her. Where there was distance, oceans between them, there was now a shared intimacy, one that they had both been quietly happy about. She was not put to sleep with a kiss, but whenever she slept on the chaise waiting for him to arrive, he now ensured that she was put into comfortable clothes and carried to their bed with care. 

He may not have cared for her in the beginning, but she knew he did now. Her husband was not a romantic man, but his small gestures were enough to make her feel happy and content.

The shift in their dynamic was not just visible in their daytime activities, but in the passions of their marriage bed as well. On the first night that they had coupled, he had been careful, experimental, doubtful. But as the days went by, he had become surer, rougher… insatiable.

She enjoyed this new side to him. She enjoyed being the woman that belonged to a fierce prince, the one that he so clearly desired. She enjoyed being held by him as he moved her up and down his cock, his head buried in her breasts as he breathed in the heady smell of sweat and sex. She enjoyed being impaled by him, her small body being split into two, all while having him whisper words of appreciation in her ears. 

My little wife, my little flower. Made for me… only for me, he would say. Tell me who this cunt belongs to, he would growl, hands slapping her little nub over and over until she caught her breath, found her voice again and appeased him.

You! Gods… to you, my prince, she would whine, holding his hand in place, hoping he would fuck her with his fingers once more, just the way she liked.

It came as no surprise to her that ever since they had become welcome to each other’s affections, they had been a lot more active in their marriage bed– so much so that the lewd moans and loud curses had become court gossip.

When she had addressed the matter with him once soon after they had fucked, Aemond had smiled, albeit darkly– the only kind of smile that suited him. Dragons do not concern themselves with the opinions of sheep, he had said. His insinuation that she was now a dragon too, all while his warm breath fanned her neck and his large hands squeezed her backside, was all she needed to quell her worries.

And of course, as was the natural order of these things, she was now with child.

She had been overjoyed when she had found out, and a tad relieved too. The court ladies whispering about her womb was not something she appreciated– their assumptions about her being barren, even less. So when she found out, she insisted that she be the one to break the news to her husband– her time as an expectant mother would never completely be her own, given the station she had now married into. 

But this, this moment could be hers and his. It would be theirs alone.

And so, she sat in wait at the training grounds, watching him as he expertly maneuvered his sword and slashed at his mentor, Ser Cole. Dodge, lunge, slash. Dodge, lunge, slash. Dodge, lunge–

Ser Cole had bested him, having noticed the predictability in his movements. Aemond of course, being the headstrong man that he was, refused to give up. The anger in his face at being won over in a fight did not escape her, and she would be lying if she said it did not awaken desire in her once more. Before she could think further however, one of the lords in the audience had piped up. 

“Perhaps the Prince would benefit from a token of luck from his dear lady wife!” He said, and the watching crowd around them seemed to agree as they cheered and whistled. Aemond was flummoxed, not knowing how to cope with being faced with the topic of his wife while in the middle of a fight. It was only then that he noticed her, red-faced and smiling as she was– before he could say anything, she had taken the lead.

“I’m afraid I’ve come empty handed, my lord. I’ve nothing to offer him right now!” She quipped with a smile. It had warmed him to know that she was jovial enough for the two of them, allowing him the luxury of staying quiet as she became his champion during situations like these.

“Ah well, he knows you’re here now, Princess! If that does not add to his fire, I do not know what will!”

Perhaps it was her presence, or it was his own prowess as a swordsman. But Aemond was quick to come through this time around. The crowds cheered for their Prince, and so did the man who had taught him to be all that he was.

“Well met, my prince,” Ser Cole said. He patted her dragon prince on his shoulder and walked over to where the swords were arranged. Aemond quickly followed in reverence to his teacher, one that he did not freely give to most. Soon after, the crowds had dispersed, and she watched as his slender, tall form stalk towards her.

“Since when do you frequent the training grounds, wife?”

“Can a wife not seek her husband out when she wants to?” 

She could not have imagined rhetorics like these tumbling out of her mouth in the initial days of their union. But they were now closer than they had ever been, and she had discovered that it would not hurt to take initiative, especially given how quiet of a man her husband could be.

He was not the charming prince from the books or the songs, but she certainly loved who he was– inquisitive, considerate and respectful.

“Hm. Perhaps.”

Their walk back to their apartments was a slow and quiet one, with her knowing that he preferred his moments of quiet soon after his training. They soon settled into the solar, with the food spread out for them to break their fast.

As was his habit, Aemond stripped himself of his clothes as she checked the water in the tub with the tips of her fingers, water rippling as her hands moved. He was quick to step in and let his hands rest on either side of the tub, his legs ramrod straight but slowly loosening up as she ran a washcloth over him with a gentle softness that is most unlike him.

Her hands glided over his chest, arms and he caught hold of her when her hands moved to clean his neck, beckoning her to come closer. “My dutiful little flower, hm? Come to assist her husband and answer his every beck and call.”

“I am nothing, if not dutiful.” She said, playful smile teasing him as her breasts threatened to spill out of the neckline of her dress– causing his cock to half-harden at the sight. She kissed his cheek and set the washcloth down, hands traveling to his alabaster hair as she ran her fingers through it, allowing her wet hands to trudge through. When she was done, he was quick to pull at her hand from his side, causing her to bend to meet him, eyes to eye.

“You have a council meeting to get to, husband. Now is not the time.” 

She knew very well what he wanted. It was what she wanted too– which is precisely why her own protests meant absolutely nothing to her as she gave in, dress riding up to her thighs and billowing wet in the water as she straddled him. Her cunt was already soaked for him, and he was hot and ready from all the energies that training seemed to have put into him. She rocked her hips forward and backward, adjusting to his girth, while sighing and breathing at the feeling of having him in her. It did not matter how many times he’d taken her, she would never get used to feeling so full. 

Soon enough, he had her held harshly by her waist in a bruising grip, his teeth nibbling at her sensitive nipples as he moved her up and down, up and down, up and down. The water crashed out of the tub like waves crashing onto shore and she was quick to fall apart in a mix of pain and pleasure, moaning his name in her broken voice, followed by a silent scream. His release followed soon after, cock twitching in her as he drew her closer, closer and closer still. When she felt his cock soften after a time, she got up and he let her, following close behind. 

“You fought well today, husband.” She said, in a feeble attempt to coerce a conversation from him as they sat at the table. He was a man of silence, and she was not. He did not prefer it, but she would try anyway - because there were times when he indulged her.

“Hm. Thank you.”

The smell of cut fruit was intoxicating to her, more so than usual. She had heard of women craving peculiar kinds of food during their time as expectant mothers, so she supposed that this may have to do with the little dragon that she now grew in her belly. The rest of their time eating moved in a swift silence– a comfortable one. The only sounds they heard were of the servants in the corridors and the birds chirping from out the window.

When they finished, the trays were taken away and he got up, ready to leave to sit in on the council meeting that his grandfather had called him for. He was halfway out the door after nodding to her when she took his hand, and he stopped.

Her hands held onto his as tightly as they could, and she was skittish as she continued to look down at the floor. By now, he knew her quirks well enough to know that she did that only when she wanted to say something.

“Go on.” He urged her as his other hand reached for her too.

She drew in a sharp breath as she bit her lip. “I… I am with child, husband.”

She did not know what to expect from him of her news– but his silent sigh and slight smile as his hands reached down to cover her belly in his hold is enough of a reaction. “Thank you,” he said, his gratitude and happiness made obvious– to her, even if not to anyone else. She did nothing but smile as his forehead met hers in a soft touch– their touches were always passionate and rough while in the privacy of their chambers, so it was peculiar for her to be treated this way. She found that she enjoyed it, just as much as she enjoyed being roughly handled by him.

She then stretched the fingers of one hand, revealing a little silk patch, a little tourney favor with a rose stitched on it. A flower, from his little flower.

“I know you do not prefer tourneys, but… it is my hope that you would at least keep it with you while you train.”

His hands ran over the soft silk, fingers tracing the intricate patterns that she had clearly taken her time with. He was quick to smoothen it out and pocket it, following it with a kiss to her lips. 

“Thank you, for everything.” 

The favor was only meant for the training grounds. But a week later, when she found it peeking out of his pocket while they walked around the gardens, she smiled. Soon, she found out that he kept it with him all day.

Flowers came to Aemond in multiple shapes and forms throughout his marriage, and the fourth flower that she gave to him, came to him in the form of a favor with an embroidered rose, one that he kept on his person at all times.

There was something to be said about the comforts of silence.

Her husband was not a smiling man, nor was he an ardent conversationalist. Being a woman who leaned towards being both, she had begun their marriage with the intent of treading lightly, lest she annoy him or risk having him dismiss her halfway through. And she did try; Gods knew that she did. 

Royal marriages were a sacred duty– those held in its sanctity would have to hold themselves to a higher standard, no matter how much it hurt them. With that being said, she was eternally thankful for Aemond understanding her preferences and trying to meet her halfway. She had been prepared for a man who would coldly dismiss her and her wants, but she had not been prepared for one that would actually want her.

One of the greatest pains of being born a noblewoman, she supposed, was that happiness in itself, was a privilege– one that she wished was not as such. She wished for it to be an easy thing to have, and as such, understood that she had been blessed with a quiet and peaceful marriage - one that did not take from her more than she was willing to give. It did not matter how many times she thought it over– she never failed to be as grateful as she was at the first realization, many moons ago. 

These were her thoughts as she accompanied her husband in the library. Aemond sat opposite her, on the other side of the table with his finger running over the texts of the Summer and Winter Annals, deeply engaged in the knowledge that the book had to offer on the now lost Kingdom of Sarnor, once a famed trade partner of Valyria. 

The fresh assortment of flowers lay haphazardly on her side of the bench, while she worked towards entwining them all onto the coir to make a crown. She often stole a glance at her husband as she repeatedly adjusted herself on her seat, one that was bigger than her usual one - to accommodate her, and the babe that she now carries. 

An heir, a royal heir. There is dragon blood in you now, he had said. 

She felt it, what with her babe’s constant reminders - boy or girl, the kicks were hard and swift, and it never failed to take her by surprise.

Aemond was a very fast reader, she gathered. His pages turned a lot faster than hers did, and his eyes never stuck to one part of the parchment for long - they flitted about and were restless, aiding him in his desire to learn as much as he can in the least amount of time. They have been married for half a year by now, and yet she manages to learn something new about him every day.

Her deft fingers worked through the stems of the flowers, piercing the sharp ends of the coir through them. In and out, in and out, in and out, she went - establishing a pattern that she ended up memorizing, whether she was cognizant of it or not.

Aemond stood up as he noticed a guard waiting near the doors, summoning him on behalf of the King. Her crown was now completely done, and she admired her handiwork as she twirled it in her finger and smiled. Aemond was now speaking to the guard as she ran the tip of her fingers over the petals. She brought it closer to her nose to smell them - the flowers were not as fragrant as they were once before, but there was a faint scent that she adored. 

He nodded, and she could not help but smile again as he approached her. It struck her harder with each moment, how the Gods had blessed her with him - him with his infinite knowledge, calm disposition and otherworldly beauty. She wondered if the babe she carried would look like him - she hopes, hopes and hopes that they would.

He took the crown of flowers in his hands and handled it with the same care that she put into making it. It looked thoroughly out of place, yet so at home in his hands - much like herself.

A mildly happy lift at the edge of his lips caused a sharp dimple - one that made him look harsh, content and menacing at the same time. She may have wished for a Prince from the songs all the moons ago - but right now, she could not help but think that she had been blessed with someone greater, even if she knew that he did not believe it himself. 

He placed the crown atop her head, crowning her. She remembered wishing he would crown her Queen of Love and Beauty at the twins’ name day tourney - but at this moment, as his fingers glided over her smooth hair to set the crown of white roses into place, she was happier than she could have ever been at any tourney.

“Escort the Princess safely to our chambers,” he ordered, after rubbing her growing stomach and giving her a kiss on her temple before going to meet the King. She stood slowly, and noticed that one unused and withering flower had been left behind. The air from outside the castle gushed through the windows, and it was purely by instinct that she grabbed it by the stem and placed it inside the pages of Aemond’s book before the pages flew - so it would be marked and he could begin where he left off if he so wished.

Long after her exit, Aemond came back to his bench after finishing his meeting with the King. He noticed the protruding stem, and he could not help but feel the warmth coarse through his chest as he opened the tome and found the withering flower pressed inside.

Flowers came to Aemond in multiple shapes and forms throughout his marriage, and the fifth flower that she gave to him came to him in the form of a dried rose, one that he kept tucked safely inside his favorite book.

It was moments like these that made Aemond believe in anyone but himself.

Being able to love someone blindly was not a gift that Aemond ever found himself capable of giving. Ever since the loss of his eye, he had grown to be full of spite and resentment, believing that having his dragon was enough to make the loss of company around him worthwhile. Nobody knew how to speak to him anymore– how does one comfort a boy who could only see half the world around him?

And then, she came to him. His wife.

With her free smiles and open heart, she had made her way through into the center of his. He found that he preferred her there, where she belonged. She had made her home in his heart, and he marveled at how despite not matching up to her in any way that mattered, she had found it in herself to allow him to take shelter in hers.

It brought him shame to think of how they could have fallen in love much sooner if he had been open to her affections and not been so wrapped up in his own presumed fallacies. But with time, he learned that in a world where marriages remained cold until the bitter end, a late bloom of happiness was a gift that he should learn to treasure.

It is a girl. Do not ask me why I believe so, husband. I simply do, she had said.

The tomes say a bigger belly is indicative of a boy. I read it, he had countered then.

He stood corrected. Aemond would tell the entire realm that his worldly knowledge did not stand a chance against his wife’s intuition– the little girl he held in his arms was enough support for his claim. 

She slept soundly in his arms as he sat in his chair by the hearth. His wife, tired from her taxing labors, had taken to sleeping through most of the last three days, and he had not left his daughter’s side, not once.

He held her head as his mother carried her for the very first time, eyes shining in joy as she thanked them both for making her a grandmother once more. There were very few things that gave Alicent Hightower joy, and watching her children have babes of their own was one of them.

He rested the tip of his fingers over her smooth and frail silver hair as his grandfather took a good look at her, allowing himself a moment with his guard down. Aemond had not seen his grandfather look at anyone with such  reverence, not unless it was Helaena, Jaehaera or his own mother. And now, Aemond suspected that his grandfather, for all his cold demeanor, did have a soft corner in his heart for the women of his life.

He had towered over the crib as the twins took turns gawking at her, after spending hours begging to see their new cousin. Aemond brought them after they promised to not make too much noise– both mother and daughter were fast asleep. Jaehaera had asked him if she could braid her hair when she grew some, and Jaehaerys poked at the new babe's nose (her mother's nose) with his thumb in curiosity. Aemond laughed, for he was intrigued by her too– only, it was better contained.

He held her tightly to his chest with his hand over her head as Aegon came to meet his newborn niece– completely sober and bathed, upon Aemond’s threats of murder if he came anywhere near his babe with his foulness. He smiled as he dropped the little dragon toy in her crib, looking over at the exhausted mother who could barely keep her eyes open. Aemond’s one eye followed his brother’s then, and visibly softened at the sight of his wife. Aegon laughed and quipped, “I never thought I’d say this brother, but I suppose you do wear the lovestruck look well.”

He had rocked her in silence as Helaena cooed at her, elated at the thought of becoming an aunt to a niece. This family is in dire need of more women, she had mumbled absentmindedly once. “She’s beautiful,” she whispered and Aemond enthusiastically agreed. 

She is beautiful, and she is his. His own daughter, given to him by his own wife.

In the nights, when he was left alone with the women around whom his entire world now revolved, Aemond let tranquility take him. And it was in moments like these, that he learned to love them both with all that he had– blindly, and unconditionally. 

It was in moments like these, that he learned to believe.

Flowers have come to Aemond in multiple shapes and forms throughout his marriage, and the sixth flower that she gave to him, came to him in the form of his little daughter. A little flower, from his flower.

The flowers kept coming to him throughout the many years that followed, and he valued every one of them– for they had all come from her, and they were all a part of her.

His flower. His wife. His very own.

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MASTERLIST

[sanjisleggy]

to deserve perfection (shanks x fem!reader)

req: Could you do a Shanks x reader (fem or gn) hurt comfort where Shanks gets really insecure about having only one arm. Maybe like during a fight they fall and another crew member catches you or like during a party or something she dances with one of their crewmates and Shanks gets sad and insecure he can't fold her like that

a/n: my first request YIPPEE :D tysm for requesting anon it means a lot :’D also i’m not super familiar with Shanks’ crew so i’m basing my knowledge of them and the general crew dynamics on OPLA and other fics i’ve read :3c

contents: fem!reader, unexplicit mentions of chronic pain and drowning, insecurity, angst to fluff, hurt/reverse comfort

wc. 2.3k

i.

Shanks is often of the opinion that if any one person in the world is deserving of nothing less than perfection, it would have to be you.

you, the beloved botanist and assistant doctor of the Red Hair Pirates.

you, one of the few people he’s ever known to able to balance logic and empathy flawlessly. it’s a skill he finds quite lacking in the world in general, which makes your presence in the crew all the more valued.

you, the one he watched grow from timid young girl to confident woman just as he, himself, grew from a playful young boy to a man worthy of your seemingly endless love—or at least he hopes.

Shanks has never thought of himself as a perfect man—far from it actually. but now, only a little over a year since he lost his arm saving Luffy, he feels the most imperfect he’s ever felt.

ii.

he fears he’s a burden.

but Shanks keeps his worries to himself, opting to simply smile softly in gratitude whenever your eyes flicker over his face as your hands gently rub the special ointment over his stump. he didn’t even ask for your help tonight, as usual you simply read him like a book and ushered him over to your bed, bottle of the homemade remedy at the ready.

as much as he feels unworthy of your time and effort, he can’t help the light fluttering feeling in his chest, especially when your fingers travel up past his shoulder blade toward the back of his neck. you play with the ends of his hair before pulling him down to close the gap between your mouths.

“feeling better?” you ask after pulling away. you can’t help but chuckle when his lips chase after yours for a moment before opting to simply pout pitifully when you stop him by pressing your fingers to his bottom lip.

”i always feel better with you.” Shanks doesn’t quite answer the question but you accept it anyway. you trust he’d tell you the truth if your medicine truly stopped being effective; just as you trust him to lean on you in times of need, whether it be physical or emotional.

you’ll learn in the near future, however, that trust of such a nature can be easily shattered even from the purest of intentions.

iii.

the longing look in his captain’s eyes as he watches you dance with the locals is not lost on Shanks’ first mate. while the rest of the crewmates cheer and clap, all now inebriated to a certain degree as always, Benn Beckman walks over and takes a seat beside him as inconspicuously as possible.

”y’know you still have your legs, right?” the ever-easygoing captain can’t help but laugh out loud in response.

”straight to the point, huh?” he replies before taking another gulp of beer.

”i’ve known you both long enough to know she’d love to dance with you.”

“i know.”

i just don’t want to embarrass her.

the conversation dies for a few minutes as the two men sip at their drinks, eyes glued to the festivities taking place under the starry night sky. the massive bonfire illuminates your face in a way that accentuates your wide, carefree smile and your crescent-shaped eyes. 

Shanks watches as you clumsily imitate the traditional dance moves, cheered on and encouraged by men, women and children alike as they take turns holding your hands and spinning you around. Even though a relaxed smile is plastered on his face, he can’t help but feel a soreness grow in his chest at the sight of you being twirled and dipped by the handsome male warriors of the village.

”are you sure we won’t get caught?” you whispered, though your willingness to follow and excited smile stretching across your face screamed that you didn’t care about getting caught at all.

”of course we won’t, just be quiet.” Shanks carefully pushed open the door leading to the front deck.

when the coast seemed clear enough he led you over to the centre of the deck of Roger’s ship before dramatically bowing and offering his hand.

”may i have this dance, milady?” you could only let out a muffled laugh as you placed your hand in his, a silent acceptance. he wrapped his other arm around your middle and started to sway to an imaginary tune.

neither of you knew how to actually dance, especially not like how the rich folk do in their fancy ballrooms. but earlier that day he’d asked what you wanted for your birthday and you said the first thing on your mind: to dance with him under the stars.

thus he made your dream come true, even if it did end with sore toes and sweaty skin.

“it’s not like you to just sit back and watch.” Beckman breaks the silence between them, yanking Shanks out of his memories. the first mate gestures to what essentially looks like a queue of men and women waiting their turn to dance with you. a bitterness emerges in the back of his throat at the sight.

both of the men know that on any other day, Shanks would’ve long intervened to steal you away for himself. reclaim his treasure, is how he used to describe it.

”whatever it is,” his dear friend says with a hint of resignation in his voice as he stands up. “don’t let it fester. you both share something special, don’t let it go to waste.”

iv.

you can tell he blames himself. no one else on the crew does but you also know that it doesn’t matter to Shanks, not when a mistake involves your safety.

a scuffle with the marines was not on that day’s agenda; especially not one out in the open seas while the darkened clouds overhead poured mercilessly. 

what started as an issue that could have been resolved in under and hour lasted nearly twice as long due to the unfortunate weather impairing everyone’s vision and movements. the deck was simply too slippery, the waves were too high, and the ambush was too sudden.

you struggle to remember much of what actually happened after you slipped and fell overboard. all you can really recall is clinging onto the deck’s edge for dear life, Shanks reaching out as he cried your name, your fingers slipping from his desperate grasp, and then a bone-chilling coldness overwhelming your entire being. you remember gasping for air only to ingest a mouthful of salty water. 

then, you’d woken up in the infirmary.

now you find yourself standing outside your own locked bedroom door, knuckles sore from knocking for the past hour. 

“Shanks, my love,” you plead, “let me in, won’t you? i just want to see you.” you try to keep your voice steady but it gets harder with each subsequent word. “please? don’t lock me out.”

first you nearly drowned and now the love of your life is refusing to let you into your own room? tired and confused, you blink away the hot tears pooling in your eyes as you breathe deeply and slowly in an attempt to soothe your aching heart.

after a few more minutes of waiting, your sadness twists itself into some mixture of confusion and indignant frustration. it’s not like Shanks to cut you off like this and you refuse to believe that a single incident is enough to ruin a lifetime spent by each other’s sides.

it takes five kicks to break the lock of your bedroom door and four steps to reach the bed where your beloved husband lays curled into himself. just the sight alone melts away your anger; and when he lets out a strained whine, you feel your heart sink as your body enters autopilot.

you swiftly grab a bottle of ointment from the bedside drawer before crawling on the bed towards Shanks’ back. gently, you pull the blanket off him and reach over his body to roll him into a better position. thankfully, he doesn’t resist.

”is this why you weren’t opening the door?” you ask softly as you sit him up to unbutton his shirt. “was it too sore?”

oh how easy it would be to say yes and just leave it at that and receive your unconditional, undeserved forgiveness for my selfishness.

but i can’t lie. 

not to you.

”No,” he whispers, avoiding meeting your eyes with his own. you hum in response, focused more on gently rubbing the soothing ointment over his aching stump.

”then why?” you prod, though your tone remains soft and genuine. “why didn’t you want to let me in?” you scoot closer, your chest now brushing against his right shoulder as you reach around to apply more medicine. your other hand subconsciously rubs his back.

”you must’ve known i wanted nothing more than to sleep in my own bed and cuddle my own husband after being fished out of the sea,” you add on with a laugh that Shanks doesn’t reciprocate. 

ah, gotcha.

”so this is about me falling into the ocean, hmm?” you redirect your ointment-coated hand to his chin before tilting his face over to lock your eyes onto his own. “everyone knows it was an accident.” you offer him a small smile as your hand on his back travels up to rub at his neck. “aside from the shock of it all, i’m totally fine.”

”i should��ve been able to pull you up,” Shanks finally chokes out, lunging forward to bury his face into your chest. “i shouldn’t have let you fall into the water to begin with. the waves were so rough, we could’ve easily lost you.” he wraps his arm around your waist, fingers gripping tightly onto the back of your shirt; as though you would disappear once again if he wasn’t holding on tightly enough.

”but you didn’t lose me,” you coo, feeling your own heart twist and ache as you return the hug, holding him as close to you as possible. “i’m still here. it’s okay, my love.”

”i was fucking useless,” he exhaled, shoulders beginning to tremble. “i couldn’t even be the one to dive in after you. i wouldn’t have been able to swim and pull you up at the same time.”

you feel your eyes burn with tears for the second time today as you listen to Shanks berate himself.

”i couldn’t hold onto you. i couldn’t keep you safe. i can’t even dance with you like how we used to.” for the first time in years, he was losing it and it terrifies you. 

“stop! stop saying all that!” you can’t help but raise your voice as you pry his face away from your body, no longer allowing him to hide anymore. when he finally looks at you, you see that your teary eyes are mirrored on his handsome face. although he looks up at you silently, you feel his hand tremble from how hard he’s holding onto your clothing. 

“you—” you struggle to find the words. how were you supposed to reassure the most amazing man you’ve ever met that his thoughts of self-loathing are unfounded?

”Shanks, you’re…” you feel a fresh wave of hot tears run down your face when you see how tired he looks. it’s as though these thoughts have been running in his mind for longer than you think, and it’s exhausting him. 

“you’re perfect,” you finally say as you cup his face between your hands before leaning down to brush the tip of your nose against his. “you’re so perfect. i don’t care how many limbs you have or scars you collect. i’d love you all the same until the day i die.”

“you deserve more.” Shanks can’t help but say what’s been plaguing his mind for weeks. although the relief of letting it out feels good, he can’t help the tightness in his chest when he sees you frown.

”what more could i possibly deserve, you silly man?” you let out a choked laugh, rubbing your thumbs under his eyes to wipe away his tears, old and new. “i don’t think you realise how lucky i am to have had you for so long. i’ve been loving you since we were children, for crying out loud.” you pause to breathe. “and with all the beautiful women we meet at every new island we visit, who clearly want to take my place; sometimes i feel like it’s only a matter of time before they steal you away—”

you’re cut off by Shanks capturing your lips with his own. the hand that was previously crumpling your shirt now trailing up your body before stopping at your face. you lean into the warmth of his palm whilst keeping your lips on his, saliva mixing with salty tears.

“don’t be ridiculous,” he pants the words out the moment you pull away for air. “don’t ever say such a thing.”

”now you know how i felt when you said all those awful things about yourself.” you turn your head to press a kiss to his palm, smiling when you see how his cheeks flush redder than they already are. “but you shouldn’t hide these thoughts anymore, my silly boy. you need to talk to me so i can tell you how ridiculous you’re being.” your finger pokes his chest, drawing a warm chuckle from the love of your life as he smiles for the first time since you were pulled out of the ocean depths.

“i love you,” Shanks whispers, words muffling halfway when presses his lips to your forehead mid-sentence.

”love you, too.”

[afsosville]

Time to over-analyze things with limited canonical information just because. Here are some of the reasons why Qing Jing may have been a hindrance to Shen Jiu's emotional development and solidified his corruption arc>>

Qing Jing was like the perfect peak to let all his mental wounds fester if you think about it.

Shen Jiu acting like nobility or an educated young master (as most disciples of Qing Jing are) is purely a coping mechanism. It literally screams masking! While the exact circumstances of how he got chosen for Qing Jing is unknown, we can assume he didn't have a choice since most disciples typically just follow their new master to wherever they take them from the selection grounds (with the exception of Bai Zhan lol). He was most likely hoisted onto the Qing Jing peak lord, as no master would've wanted him because of his fucked up meridians and late age. They acquiesced to take him anyway coz of Yue Qingyuan's/the sect leader's insistance. And because it's Shen Jiu, he would naturally do whatever it took to get to the top, and if he started acting like the very sort of people he hates, then so be it.

You can imagine how disastrous imitating his abusers is going to be (he's imitating noblemen in general, but he's definitely taking the Qiu's as a primary example). Shen Jiu clearly is trying to remove and forget everything about his past, and even accepts the rumours of him being a spoiled young master to cast away suspicion. He is coping hard. Not to mention, he was named QingQIU when he became Qing Jing's succeeding disciple. Listen I don't care if it was a bad coincidence or not but that doesn't endear me to Shen Jiu's shizun in the slightest (I'm only talking abt SJ's shizun in canon, not fics, the fics are great. But it's more than likely that SJ's shizun was negligent or abusive as well. Here's why I think that). Between all of this, there's no way he's processing any of that trauma when he's constantly forced to remember all of it. No wonder he slipped into the abuser role easily since he's literally out here actually being made to copy their behavior.

Qing Jing and even the rest of Cang Qiong were always hostile to Shen Jiu, even in his discipleship. These ppl went out of their way to run interventions on Shen Jiu when he's minding his own business. Yes I'm talking abt the whole brothel thing. There were doubtlessly so many disciples who went for the very reasons Shen Jiu was assumed of going for, so why is he the only one getting shit for it? Not only was going to brothels not even a crime worthy of conviction, it was even normalized to an extent. And it would've been so easy to figure out if he really was going for anything "lecherous" by just asking the women there. The fact that, that whole ordeal was never cleared up just shows they didn't actually care about the women or what he was supposedly doing to them. They only cared because it was Shen Jiu who was involved.

Shen Jiu being on any other peak would change things for sure even if it's marginally. Its probably just wistful thinking, but I know at least half of those peaks, even the fanon ones, would be better than Qing Jing at any rate. Again, Shen Jiu would claw his way up and try to succeed any way he can, so if he were put on another peak that would be a somewhat healthy environment for him, he would do well, regardless of the peak. Him doing well on Qing Jing doesn't mean anything other than showing off his awesome(horrible and problematic) coping skills. So really, I can't help but think Qing Jing wasn't a good fit for him, especially with Shen Jiu's specific brand of trauma.

I did a pole once asking if Shen Jiu would've done better on another peak, or if they were just curious to see him anywhere else, and I'm not surprised that the most voted for peak was Yin Hui, the fanon peak for espionage and assassins. Now I'm going to go another tangent why Yin Hui would be good for him later.

[ofbreathandflame-archive]

Not to come off as nitpicking but why can’t Feyre be a high lady? It’s not as if tamlim or Beron are any better and theyre centuries older than feyre. I get everything but I love feyre

Hi anon!!

You don’t come off nitpicky at all! Thanks for the comment!****

[long post - more under the cut - disclaimer at the bottom]

First — I agree with you. There’s no moral reason I can think of that rules out why Feyre can’t be High Lady; so, I agree with it. I’m going to go a step further and say it’s fine that Rhysand makes Feyre High Lady of the Night Court. Obviously, Feyre will learn and ease herself into the role.

Do I think Feyre should be a High Lady? No — but I think that’s because, as I mentioned in a previous post, I’ve always felt that Feyre chafes in structured, heavily-ruled settings and has been characterized heavily as a character whose strength comes from an admonishment of rules and expectations (In my opinion, based in the text ofc).

I also think that the story doesn’t lead with reasons why Feyre specifically should be High Lady. If we go with the logic that Feyre is an inexperienced young-girl who needs to learn how to lead then we acknowledge two things: (1) that Feyre has to learn and (2) Rhysand made Feyre High Lady. That way, the expectation is that Feyre does not know anything but will learn. Traditionally, women have consolidated power by marrying into it; its quite normal for women to be “the queen” because they married into power. If anything – I think it simply makes no sense that there hasn’t been a High Lady in almost 15,000 years; it seems like an obvious choice. There’s also genuinely no difference between Lady of the Court and being High Lady.

The problem with the story is that it does not want to acknowledge -- or at least fully acknowledge many things. The first is that Feyre wants to be made High Lady (or - to push back against that - the story wants her to be High Lady). If Feyre wants power, she's acknowledging she has some skills to be president. But like...she simply doesn't. She has many skills - none that really align, though. I also feel comfortable saying that Feyre doesn’t even really want to be a leader, and her narration often opposes the idea that she wants to be in positions of power; I think we can argue that Feyre wants power over her own life – but that is not the same as wanting power over an entire group of people. I often feel insane because I think its actually kind of weird that the story never spends time developing Feyre as a person with skills that translate to leadership – or even ambition. Let’s think about similar characters like Jude or Dany, the story goes out of its way to establish why they want power, and the skills they have.

Dany is a strategic genius at literally fourteen years; she has to grapple with her kindness and how it can be to her detriment. She has to establish boundaries between the members of her Queensguard. She uses her wits, sensuality (though – I have words for Grrm), strategy to cement her claim to the throne; she is advised to practice her rule in Essos. It’s not just the fact that Dany has a claim to the Iron Throne – she’s proven she’s got the skills to be both kind and harsh; political and strategic, wrathful and powerful. Dany is not a fighter – she is a queen. She’s calling the shots and she’s still kind. Jude is shown the horrors of Faerie very early on in the story – and that anecdote at the beginning of the story essentially informs the story.

And like Dany, Jude has to learn to balance kindness with politics; she learns early on that her kindness, while altruistic, can operate as (1) selfishness and (2) can ultimately amount to nothing. It’s not saying that these characters aren’t kind, or evil, but that they learn, to some extent, how to navigate these worlds by themselves. The story is not arguing that these girls are good and kind and therefore “worthy” to be made the leader; these stories are also not concerned with needing to moralize why the female leads are more deserving – we can just see that they have qualities that will translate well into leadership. So (at least in Dany’s case), when they make a mistake, we can actually think and discuss the validity of what makes it a good / bad action. We’re not just running with the fact that “well Dany is a girl and abused!” but rather “what can Dany do to improve and not make these mistakes again” – Dany herself literally always weighs her past experiences with new ones to avoid mistakes that can detrimental to her campaign. We know Dany has the skills.

Every time we question the validity of Feyre’s actions were often met with that initial argument, which is, that Feyre is essentially “just a girl” and “under duress” and “traumatized.” But they also don’t want to admit that Feyre doesn’t have a lot of the skills necessary to be leading the court, which is true (and not even a criticism, but literally a fact). It’s a fact that Rhysand made Feyre High Lady because she was his mate – which isn’t a negative and literally how nobility has kind of traditionally operated under in the past. Even Feyre going UTM says nothing about her skills as a leader. It's always bothered me that people use the fact that Feyre goes UTM to prove that she deserves be High Lady. It's just...she didn't go down there to save Prythian; as a matter a fact, Feyre only goes UTM because she realizes she royally fucked Clare Beddor - she goes there out of guilt. Once she gets down there, she has no choice but to complete those tasks because of the bargain. That matters. It really does. I also think this logic – someone like Nesta would also be qualified to lead the NC. It's why I think people get testy with the whole 'who would be a better high lady' or whatever. Because the way the book sets it up, everyone, including Feyre sisters are all equally if not more qualified for the role. I'd argue, Nesta has even stronger claim to a leadership. To be clear I am not arguing that Nesta should be HL or would make a good; only that the story provides more concrete examples of why she could be HL than it does its own main character, and by the end of Nesta's book she's clearly the stronger character (*cough* which is why I argue SJM obsession with Rhys comes at the detriment of feyre's character!) - and there are more concrete, intentional moments where Nesta shows skills that are actually relevant.

Again it proves that Feyre can be brave, but naught else. I really thought MAF was going to actually delve into the idea that Feyre feels like a fraud because of she really only went down there for Tamlin and to try to rectify her mistakes – and she ends up in this position of power that she seems super uncomfortable with. Similar to Katniss’s ordeal in The Hunger Games. Like – we don’t even kno the names of the two Fae she killed. The story decides that not deal with it. Feyre literally says something along the lines of “its not so bad I killed those not bad because at least everyone else was freed” – but the whole point should have been that she realizes that she’s not just sacrificing her own body for Tamlin, she’s taking someone’s life for the chance to be with Tamlin. Because she loves him. That should have challenged Feyre’s morals, earnestly. There should be a deep dive to what that means. We know that Prythian becomes free – but y’all that was the afterthought. Feyre deadass only asked for Tamlin’s curse to be lifted. She didn’t even consider the people when she made the bargain and if SJM (or Amarantha) were smart enough she would’ve picked up on it all.

The story essentially bastardizes why Feyre decides to go UTM. Feyre doesn’t learn anything; she doesn’t learn how to read because she realizes It almost kills her, she doesn’t stop making weird, impulsive bargains, she doesn’t learn how to navigate politics, or listen for hints of information when Tamlin says no to her – nothing informs her actions, she doesn’t learn new skills in her arsenal – things just always go well for her. Feyre isn’t diplomatic – at the High Lord meeting she literally attacks another High Lord, she doesn’t show any prowess with Keir, doesn’t do things her own way and decides to defer to “the way its always been”

I’m not talking about how moral it is for Feyre to be able to do something.  I’m saying that Feyre never has to learn skills to handle adversity; when she doesn’t get her way the story throws temper tantrum for her. Beron said something mean so Feyre had to attack him – what does that prove? She essentially insults all of the High Lords, doesn’t make amends with Summer or Spring – and the story just expects them to follow her because….shes just a girl. And they do – for no other reason then the fact that Feyre is Feyre. And because there’s no emphasis on her actual skills, when we ask “what makes Feyre deserve to be High Lady’ – we get a frustrated response that says “well – she’s new at the job! She’ll learn!” but like…she never does. And again, what qualified her to be there in the first place If she supposedly still doesn’t have the skills. What moment informs this idea?

So, to stop my rambling, I agree that Feyre should be HL, but I also believe the story should develop her character's actual skillset instead always relying on bastardized generalizations of plot points that the story uses to basically argue that Feyre "deserves" the title without ever giving any skills to actually fall back on. the difference between , then Tamlin and Beron (maybe - we don't know) is that they inherited power, Feyre wants to lead. She wants to be High Lady. She isn't burdened with the responsibility she wants in (or story wants in). That means she should have skills to reflect that want.

***[two things I should note: (1) I was already writing a post that touches on some of the things I've discussed - so there's a lot of universal 'y'all/they/them thrown around - but I am not talking about you nonny; its toward the middle and end (2) this is a longer post bc I combined some of things I already wrote a couple months back! I really appreciate your comment and kindness]

[banquetwriter]

୨୧ Le hannon ୨୧

pairing: Legolas Greenleaf ♡︎ fem!Reader

warnings: ୭̥⋆*｡ readers hair is described as dull and shaggy but mentions nothing of color, cut, or texture so it can apply to anyone. legolas is described as being inhumanly tall and is taller than reader, but reader isn’t necessarily short, if you squint reader is implied to be ok the chubbier side. sex and love making, OOC legolas bc this is my first time writing him

summary: ʚ body worship ɞ

Words: 2703

A/N: AHHH ME WRITING OH MY ??? i’m getting outta depression yalllllll

It was easy to feel inferior next to the prince of Mirkwood. It was easy to feel less than next to any elf. They held themselves highly, unable to simply die of any mortal ailments. Their flowing long hair whipped around as they jumped from tree to tree with such an agile nature it seemed as if the rules of gravity that burdened so heavily on your human frame did not apply to these extraordinary creatures.

They are also such strong scholars, their views and sense of other cultures and worlds seem lightyears ahead of any knowledge you could hope to possess. And the elves of Mirkwood do surely know it. How they turn their nose up to you at any given chance, the snide remarks.

You were only human. You had jagged and dull hair. Your body ached with germs and grew tired of simply existing. The mind you possessed was not so easily tuned. You weren't as quick on your feet, often taking longer for each task. Your skin was damaged, it was not soft or beautiful, it was raw.

It felt embarrassing to be seen next to such beauty. Although Legolas never embarrassed you once through his words. In fact, he had never commented on your physical appearance since the day your path intertwined with his.

He would ask about your skills in healing animals and other creatures, your traditions, and your livelihood. On your lighter days, you appreciated not having any comments to make your mind spiral out of control.

On other days you wanted nothing more than for the tall and pale elf to get down on his knees and worship you. To have his manicured hands grace every part of your skin and heal you. Not with medicine or words but with touch. His finger gingerly fucking you until you don't have any thoughts to overthink.

You sat in your guest room of the palace. You suppose you were sitting better than some elves being so close to the king and the prince. Your company needs a break from traveling, the prince suggested his home as the perfect one.

The aforementioned prince was currently taking a stroll down memory lane in the evening hours as the rest of his crew was sleeping (or trying to in your case) his Elven body did not need to sleep so he walked. He was reliving old memories, some good, some bad. He was also thinking of you, so maybe that is why as he strolled around he found his feet bringing himself to your room.

Legoland found it odd at first that he drew towards you. You were not like most women he knew, you were loud and unafraid. Drinking just as much as the men, not worrying about yourself as much as you worried about your friends and loved ones. You were a sunshine that warmed his heart like the first heat of summer.

By gods you were beautiful. Inside and out. A soul so worthy of love Legolas found himself dreaming of you night after night. The curve of your legs, the roundness of your tummy. It was a miracle to be blessed with you.

He surely couldn't wake you if you were letting sleep pass through you. Maybe he should just check to make sure you were settling in alright. Mhm yes, this is what being a good host would do. He held his slender fingers up to your door, his golden rings glistening in the moonlight and candle-lit hallways.

He knocked with his knuckles a few times against your door before bringing his hands down and massaging them, attempting to calm his nerves. “W-who is it?” you asked clearly startled.

Your eyes bored into the door in front of you as your heartbeat began to beat so violently against your rib cage it was hard to hear or see anymore. “It's me, your favorite prince.” you hear the familiar voice jest.

The words don't come out quite as smoothly as he wanted. You didn't seem to notice his anxiety. “I'm only in my dressing robes, not proper clothes,” you shouted back. It felt silly, all the time you had spent with Legolas, all the wounds he saw on your body, to now be so proper with him.

Then again it probably didn't feel that long to the elven prince. Maybe you were just a blip in his long years. “When has that ever bothered me?” he shouted from outside your door once again assuming this was an invitation in.

You gasped slightly as he walked around the door and his eyes fell on you. Poor Legoland now understood what you had meant. These weren't just any dressing robes provided by the elves. These were man-made dressing robes. Almost entirely sheer.

He has never seen in you something so overtly feminine… not that he minded either way. Gender was almost entirely irrelevant to him. Your face was raw. You had been crying. His giddy face fell with the sight of your fallen state.

Ignoring your basically exposed body. He joined your side, “Why are you crying?” he asks as his weight pushes the bed down beside you. Your mind races with awful thoughts.

All of them seem to get a little better as Legolas’s hand and arm reach around your shoulders. Your emotions drain any chance of resisting his affections. Your head falls on his slender shoulder. “I know that I as a human will never compare to the beauty of an elf,” you whisper, your lips dry and raw from wiping your tears.

“I don't think that to be true-” Legolas' comment doesn't reach your ears as you continue. “But even amongst humans, I'm nothing special. Am I so undeserving of love?” you ask as your tears are unable to drip anymore.

“How dare you speak so unsavory of my dear companion,” he says in a joking manner. It doesn’t help. Clearly, this wasn't going how he wanted to do this. “I shouldn't jest, tell me, what bothers your heart,” he asks, rubbing your shoulder with his thumb.

You roll your eyes in response, shying away from his touch. “I want to lie in bed with you, Legolas,” you confess. Now he really knew not to joke after hearing such words. He felt a jump in his lower belly, a feeling he was more than familiar with.

“I want your hands to cherish every part of my body, your beautiful fingers exploring every part of my figure. My body burns for you, and I am unworthy of such fantasies.” your words way heavy in the room.

Tension thick as your eyes avoid his gaze. Your eyes shifted looking at the ground as he watched you like a hawk. His pants get tighter as he learns how badly you need him.

It was in moments like this that showed how young Legolas truly is. His body turned into a limp servant for your every desire. It was time to do what he had been dreaming of doing to you since he laid his eyes on you.

His hands found the sides of your face as he shoved his tongue into your mouth. His elven tongue makes quick work of showing you just how completely and utterly enamored with you. When hands found his hair deepening the kiss the elven prince moaned into your mouth.

He pressed his hips into you as you slowly lay down. “Your body has never left my mind. Every curve and scar and stretch mark makes my elven blood turn to the hottest fire…” he confessed. His diligent fingers slowly remove your sheer dress. Your bare body is being revealed.

You waited self-consciously as the prince eyed your body down properly with no film to hide you. His face morphed into a pink that went from pointed ear to pointed ear.

“You are a light in this dark world. I have always found myself drawn to you as if you are the arrow to my heart's bow," he whispered to you as he pulled away from your eyes to move all the way down to your thighs.

His soft mouth sucked and bit on every available place of skin available to him. You moaned lying back. “Never speak so lowly of yourself again or I can assure you I will have some choice words to share with you dear,” he said stern but soft as his teeth grazed your exposed body.

“Legolas please I need you,” you whispered. His pleasant teasing was well… Pleasant but it left you a desiring ache in between your legs.

This wasn't your first encounter with something of this nature. Far from it but you had a sneaking suspicion this was going to be different. “As you wish,” he smirked deliciously, standing up.

He gingerly rid himself of his clothes making sure to show off his figure to you. He didn't need to. He was beyond beautiful. Lean muscles decorate his chest and arms. The low glow from the candles behind him illuminates his blonde hair. Your eyes trail below his skinny waist.

Where he was decidedly less skinny. You do not know the average size of an elf but by human standards, your dear prince far exceeded even a dream of what he would look like.

He must have seen your eyes widen ever so slightly, as he smirked again. “You seem nervous, Meleth Nín,” he says, his voice oozing confidence. Not in the slightest concerned. “You are very beautiful, my prince. Very beautiful indeed,” you whispered the last part, eyes dropping to his hard member.

In that sacred space, the once cold room now feeling warm, the blonde elf knelt before you, not as a prince, or as an elf but as a devoted friend and possible lover. "Let me honor you, not just with words, but with every fiber of my being. Estelio nin,” he said getting closer and closer to your exposed and dripping cunt.

“Legolas,” you whined, narrowing your eyes. He seemed to humor you, his long tongue taking a stripe up your cunt. Your eyes flutter shut as you arch your back. You feel him hum against you as he continues to ravish your cunt slowly making sure no part is left untouched.

His slender fingers grip into the plush fat of your thighs. His cold rings add a welcoming sensation. “Oh gods,” you whispered, feeling your finish slowly approach as he made out with your sex. Legolas didn't say anything, simply humming against you again making you tingle all over.

Suddenly his pale hand went from digging into your thigh flesh to using his manicured thumb to rub gently but quick circles on your clit which only pushed that so-desired feeling further. “Can I please? I need it please, my prince.” you gasped out the pleasurable feeling flooding your veins.

“Have your release, use my tongue to guide your pleasure.” he nearly whispers against you. Oh and use him you did. It was a short 30 seconds later as you felt his tongue hit just the right spot, your legs shook before your pleasure overwhelmed your senses and you barely recognized Legolas lapping up your juices.

Your eyes flutter open to see Legolas crawling on top of you, his hard leaking member brushing against your stomach. The sight itself was enough to have you wanting even more. Instead, your prince’s right hand found its way to your jaw.

You tasted your own self and his tongue as he nearly replicated what he was doing moments ago with you only higher up this time. “Are you ready to feel how beautiful I see you are? How your body overtakes my Elvish mind?” he asked, pulling away from your mouth and whispering down into your ear.

You don't reply so shocked at every sensation you feel. “I know you're nervous but there is no need to be,” he purred. “My tongue has gotten you ready enough Meleth Nín, it should only hurt a moment. Are you ready?” he asked, dragging his hand up your body, cherishing it like it was a beautiful statue.

You nodded, keeping your eyes trained on him. “Words my human love.” he reminded you, his finger brushing your cheek. “Yes I'm ready,” you whisper.

In the next few moments, you can only remember the feeling of his length stretching you out. He was right it hurt for a second but as you took deep breaths and relaxed it started to feel less painful and more full. A good feeling, his hand locked with yours, his forearm just above your head.

He pushes in and out so gently. He is talking to you or maybe just to himself but you can't quite hear him over the feeling of your bodily organs rearranging. Your wanton moans fill the room.

“Le annon veleth nín,” he whispers to you, you aren't sure what it means but it must mean something to him as Legolas has removed himself from your lips as he is now bucking into your hips with his forehead resting on yours.

You feel the sensation burning through you again, and your Elvish love must have to for he was whispering rapidly in Elvish against your skin. “Le hannon… Le hannon.” he was saying. You couldn't hold on anymore, your hands found the back of his neck as your walls fluttered around him.

The cause and effect of your body accepting his love caused his release as well. He curses as you feel his seed spurt onto your walls. It doesn't take long for his rapid breaths to catch up to him as he sits up from being on top of you.

He pulls out as slowly as he can to not hurt you any. His attempt mostly fails as you whine from the loss of feeling. “I know I know I'm here for you, right here. Let's go take a bath, my beautiful ok?” he asks, pinching your side.

You giggle squirming away from him with a smile. You were beyond exhausted. Legolas disappears for a few minutes before returning, picking you up with zero hesitation. His elven strength almost quiets any insecurities you may have.

He places you in a wooden bathtub filled with warm water and herbal remedies for all your aches and pains. Legolas slips in behind you, at first he just slowly kisses your neck letting you relax before taking some soaps and washing your body and hair thoroughly.

Each body part he scrubs he made sure to tell you just how beautiful you were. It helped of course. But healing scars like this aren’t going to take just one magical night with an elf prince, no matter how badly you wanted that to be true.

After you were body washed and rinsed Legolas helped you and your shaky legs into a very nice robe. He sat you down on a chair in the ginormous bathroom. “Wait here I will return in a moment,” he said gently.

And wait you did before he returned clothed. He helped dry you and applied the softest moisturizer ever to your skin. You could perhaps get used to this. Before leading you to the bed which he has changed the sheets and blanket of.

An outfit similar to his was placed on the bed in your size. He helped you get dressed again, sliding his hand up and down your body. “You have never been and never will be less than anything but desirable. You must understand that if we are to begin courting,” he told you to lift your chin with his hand.

You look down shyly at his words. “Why didn't you tell me this before? Why am I hearing of your affections just now?” you ask sitting on the bed. “A beautiful woman doesn't need to be told that she's beautiful. For you are so much more than your body, you have an excellent mind as well. That's what I chose to speak about. Out of respect for you.” he said, joining your side.

It made more sense now than it ever had. Still, it was going to take a while for these unwanted feelings to deplete.

[comfortless]

what's ur most unconventional Headcanon? like ones you have that most of the fandom doesn't agree with. mine is that I don't think h's 6'10, in my mind he's closer to 6'6 or 6'7. Also I don't think he would be the most caring bf 😶😶 like not abusive or anything, but to me he will almost always prioritize himself in the long run

HA… well….. i do not think any of mine are too strange! but i can not ever shush when someone has lent an ear to listen!!

warning for nsfw content, mentions of injury, and unhealthy relationship stuff below the cut.

i agree with you about his height. he’s significantly taller than Simon, but i would place him at 6’7”-6’8” max. i’m no health or military expert, but i do not think that he could do the work that he does efficiently if he were a complete Goliath. he would stand out so easily! and there are a slew of issues that can stem from someone being “too tall”. he probably doesn’t have the best posture, either.

i love the conventionally attractive, long-haired König headcanons, they’re fun! but ultimately… very, very unrealistic for my interpretation of König. i tend to side with Salome and Ghost when it comes to their takes on how he actually looks under the hood. his character description suggests that his face is scary, and judging by the game that he’s in, i do not think that the other operators are going to find some goth guy nor… Jim Boeven… to be worthy of such a rumor!

König’s face is always going to be a fluctuating thing for me, heavily dependent on the setting/time period i’m shoving him into or reading about. the thing that’s stuck with me however has always been facial scarring!! where he got it? who knows… i mentioned it on my headcanons post, but the cause is just as changing as his appearance.

i like the thought of him being a little different looking: crooked teeth, pockmarks, maybe a harelip or a broken nose, burn scars, something. maybe his hair is so light it simply looks as if he doesn’t have eyebrows. maybe a combination of all of those things! the less conventionally attractive the better, it’s not his face that had us scrambling from the rafters with our hearts in our hands, after all. though i am and always will be a glitched default face model König defender. it’s just so unbearably adorable to think of that soft, sad-eyed face making that much noise while he’s rushing around in battle. ):

and though i believe he would have the best intentions at heart… you are right, he is likely a very selfish lover. still hopelessly devoted and needy, but he would be the king of double standards. most decisions are made with his preferences in mind, and the bullying has stuck with him. König is insecure as hell when it comes to anything but his skills in killing or bashing through a door.

he likes the idea of you dressing up for him, but he’s also actively pulling up your dress/top to hide your cleavage if he even thinks another man may have glanced your way. yet… he will go to the gym shirtless, and if other women happen to ogle him, well it’s just fine because he didn’t notice them anyway.

you don’t like the house you’re living in when you move in together? well he does, you’re staying… he’ll just fix it up a little to better suit your needs. even if he screws up setting up a new counter or painting, that can all be fixed.

you want to go out with your friends? he should be allowed to come with you… spending time with you makes him happy. why wouldn’t you want him to come too? yet, when he wants time alone to focus on his aim, decompress with a book, or mess around with a vehicle or a house project, you’re expected to leave him be.

he’s too blunt about what he does for work, doesn’t bat an eye when he tells you he put a bullet through someone’s head and watched the spray. he’s so used to it, it doesn’t even faze him anymore, but… you don’t want to hear about it? oh that must mean you think he’s something filthy or worse. he’s not going to cry, but he might bring it up when you tell him about something you enjoy.

just ridiculous, petty things that would drive most up a wall, but he’s firm in whatever he decides. there’s always a little room for compromise, but not much without an argument.

he has his savings account and the house is in his name in case you decide to leave. it would gut him, of course, but a part of him also expects it.

he’s not above begging for you to stay, trying any way that he can to convince you, but… he’s never expected to have things handed to him easily. his childhood wasn’t the best, why would his adulthood be any better? the way he sees it is simple: he doesn’t hit you, his cock and heart are reserved solely for you, if you can’t love him enough to stay, then… maybe you’re not any different from the people he’s known before.

he’s self aware enough to know he can be a complete arschloch, thinks with his cock more than his brain, but he’s completely lost when it comes to matters like love. he wants to console you when you cry, when you’re angry, but asking you a dozen times just why you feel such a way while squishing you into a too-tight embrace doesn’t help much. his search history is filled with things like “why is my girlfriend mad at me” or “how to make a woman stop ignoring me”. his communication toward you isn’t great, but he tries in his own way. very easy to break an argument up when he tells you some silly, scripted thing like, “I’m here for you. I’m listening.” when under normal circumstances he’s staring at you with wide-eyes and swallowing hard the very second you seem a little ruffled. you tell him to stop reciting some guide he read online, and he’s immediately worried sick you’re going to think him a complete fool, in utter denial about ever having searched something like that up.

can’t see him as being god’s gift to women in the bedroom at all. König has probably watched a lot of porn. he doesn’t care for the scripted, practiced stuff, but his tastes have always been a little odd. the amateur, solo stuff is what piques his interest the most. he knows a vibrator can make a woman come, knows that a dildo can be nice too if she sets the pace. what he’s watched with a proper couple, well… the men are always smaller than him. the terms and dynamics are lost on him, he knows what a safe word is and that he should be a gentleman and make sure his partner finishes too, but each time that’s happened has been a miracle really. he’s not a virgin, but he’s never had a partner long enough to bother learning. if he can make you feel good and vice versa, that’s enough, right..?!

he’s not going to bludgeon you with his dick, he knows he’s a bit too big and thick to just fuck you recklessly, but often times he does get excited or fretful— too deep or too shallow, flicks your clit like it’s indestructible or keeps his head between your thighs waaay after you’ve already come. he’ll stop when you ask, when you’re teary eyed and overstimulated repeating the ridiculous German word he makes you use. not above begging you to use your hand on him instead, though…

switching positions is difficult if you’re a lot smaller than him. he’s not against having you on your knees, but he wants to be so close, pant into your ear about how good you feel, smother you with his weight all the while. missionary is a nightmare because he’s drooly and comes far too quickly when he can see your face and overpower you like this, cue further squishing even after he’s done; you’re likely going to be lying beneath him all night. cowgirl seems to work best, though he’s a bit too fond of having your tits so accessible - expect biting!!

when i try to think of König with any sort of hobby my mind just blanks. i think he would try a lot, but never stick to one thing! he’s got a few sporadic collections, but nothing he keeps up with to the same caliber as his guns and knives. books are often half-finished these days, keeping focused long enough to sit through a puzzle or the like is rare. definitely longs to have something for comfort that isn’t some winding trail to no where or suffocating you in himself to just have a hint of what it feels like to be entirely happy and ‘normal’.

he’s become a bit of an amalgamation of all of the things he liked as a child: knights with their swords he thinks of as his knives, deities with bolts of thunder cascading from their hands like the bullets from his guns, loves in the way he read men of myths fall in love - utterly unfathomably devoted but always the leader… if he could he would probably whisk himself and the object of his affection to another place entirely where he could be someone deserving: someone who’s loved despite the way that he looks or behaves, someone who’s never had to question what love was at all.

[miz-chase]

Bones Renaissance AU Starter Kit: Character Roles

Brennan: Orphaned child of a university scholar, she was permitted to remain, slightly feral, on campus (ala Lyra at Oxford but with a lot more reading), alternatively loved, ignored, and actively mistreated. She mostly spent her time hiding in the library, reading anything she could get her hands on, especially on anatomical topics. Growing up in the company of old scholars, she ends up an incredibly well-educated, poorly socialized, rather self-important woman. She rarely leaves campus, has viewed the students as below her since she was a child, and the citizenry are even below them. While not recognized as a scholar and often actively dismissed, people in-the-know know that she's a fantastic resource (if you can stand her/if she will tolerate you).

Goodman: One of the senior scholars who doted on Brennan and encouraged her reading. Tried to keep her out of trouble as he could, and especially discouraging any male interest in the young lady. They bonded strongly over reading together.

Zach: The one student Brennan feels is worthy of her time. He is also a library goblin like her, and wants to be just like her. She is directing his study of the texts they have, the acquisition of new material, and the publishing of new scholarship.

Michael Stires: Still a piece of shit. Traveling scholar who arrived at the university to teach. Contrary to tradition, he invites a young Brennan to his lectures and eventually private lessons. She is delighted and takes to the scholarship with her usual verve and is oblivious to the sexual undertones. Goodman, on the other hand, is very aware and does not approve, tries to intervene. When Stires propositions her, she is academically curious on the matter and agrees. What she emotionally feels about the situation, and its inevitable disastrous fallout, is a topic yet to be investigated. He implies he will marry her and thus give her actual standing, status, and a permanent home. Yet, before anything can even be planned, he's moved on to a different paramour.

Hodgins: Local eccentric scholar who definitely isn't nobility (wink). He has traveled the continent to better his knowledge and expand his experiences, and is glad to have a spacious office where no one asks anything of him. While he has studied at a variety of universities, he's happiest here because maybe, possibly, his family holdings are conveniently nearby. Zach is intrigued by his experiences and wants to follow in his footsteps... probably, someday. Their shared study hall is just so comfortable and leaving home feels too challenging.

Angela: A Florentine cortigiane oneste:

The cortigiane oneste were usually well-educated and worldly (sometimes even more so than the average upper-class woman), and often held simultaneous careers as performers or artists. They were typically chosen on the basis of their "breeding"—social and conversational skills, intelligence, common sense, and companionship—as well as their physical attributes. It was usually their wit and personality that set them apart from regular women. Sex constituted only a facet of the courtesan's array of services. For example, they were well-dressed and ready to engage and participate in a variety of topics ranging from art to music to politics.

When she met Hodgins, she was deeply unimpressed. He tried flaunting his money, she had no interest. He tried his wit, his knowledge, his possessions, but still she had no interest. It became a game between them, where he would travel the continent to return with an exotic fruit or flower, only for her to turn him down (though each time her smile grew fonder, the laughter in her eyes sparkling). Eventually, he presented her with a perfect little violet, plucked from ground just outside the palace. Only then did she agree to come traveling with him. They have a lot of fun together.

When Brennan is jilted by Michael, it's Angela that insists they take her in at the Hodgins Estate. Angela uses all means she has to get Michael expelled back to where ever it is he came from with his reputation in tatters. She knows people, you know.

and of course, the boys: I'm of many minds (or just different stories) if we choose to translate the FBI as the sheriff/constable (more like cops) or perhaps royal (ie, federal) guards or attendants. There's a class thing going on, where it doesn't seem quite right to make Booth a Knight/member of the nobility or gentry. He's an esteemed successful soldier, which puts him more in the realm of the Yeoman. Yeoman also has the bonus connection with longbow archery, which matches our sniperboy. The Yeoman of the Guard are royal bodyguards who could be tasked with specific missions, like say, perhaps, solving a prominent murder!

so we have

Booth: Is pretty much Booth. Working class improving his station through exemplary military service. Serves the Royal Court and Queen (fuck it, let's just say this is Liz I's reign) as an analogue to federal service. Is good at people, hates the rich, has absolutely no connection to the university and doesn't know what to make of those people.

Aubrey and Sweets: Come as a pair, they gay, come at me. Drive Booth insane. While Booth climbed socially to get to his position, both of these guys come from more money and status than him. Booth is their commander but they often are the ones navigating court politics for him, especially Sweets. Aubrey comes more from the military side, while Sweets is a city boy.

[team7-headquarter]

Thinking again about how Sakura and Tsunade are depicted as violent women for comedy relief purposes and how much it links to their value as people in the war setting of Naruto.

Let's start with the obvious: In Naruto, the more capable of violence an individual is, the more the shinobi system finds them valuable.

That's because they are always at war or waiting to be at war. They need to be a threat in order to be respected and in consequences, defenseless people can't speak without someone with great power or influence willing to back them up.

The Land of the Waves is the perfect example.

Now, it's very important to say that comedy relief moments in Naruto aren't meant to be taken all seriously. They tell us about the characters and their dynamics, but "women beats men" is a trope that most of the time is meant to be taken as a sort of compliment for the female characters of Naruto. It means they are strong and won't take any bullshit, that they are assertive, have a strong personality and generally they are great fighters.

I'm not defending the trope. I don't like the trope myself, but it is what it is.

This sort of "masculinization" of the women of a story is common for older media. "She's not like the other girls!", "she was raised with 5 brothers, so she's very tough!", "she does (insert activity that is associated with the male stereotype) so she worries no man will ever find her feminine enough to date her", blah blah blah.

It is followed by the author stating that they are still very much women, capable of being wanted and being feminine— you know the rest.

Those characters are always overcompensating for some vulnerability of their past. They were or felt like helpless little girls at some point, so they decided to grow strong to prevent anyone from hurting them or their loved ones again.

It doesn't matter if their natural positions should have given them some advantage. They were kids and more than that, they were women. It's a given that they were going to be discredited.

In Tsunade's case, she was the granddaughter of the two Hokages, a student of the third one, she was a Senju, a promising medic nin. Yet, it took Dan to speak for her for other shinobis to take seriously her proposal of assigning a medic nin to each team, at least until the war was over.

Tsunade innovated the way wars were fought. It is a fact. What needs to be said about medic nins in times of war is that their services will always work in favor of violence. They save soldiers so they can keep fighting, right? To have the best medic nins on your side makes your tropes terrifying to other countries, 'cause yours would not stay down for long. They would die less, get less sick, it'd be harder to take them down.

Tsunade's first vulnerable moment was when her little brother (Nawaki) died. That's her first time really feeling like a helpless little child. Orochimaru was a strong punch to the gut too, but nothing as bad as losing Dan. She convinced herself that she had put a curse on them by accident and isolated herself.

You remember what she's famous for?

Her beauty, her temperament and her skills.

She's pretty, but don't play with her because she will punch your guts to a new galaxy if you dare.

And that's the joke. Haha, this woman won't let you fool around or disrespect her. She doesn't like feeling like she's being dismissed. In many of the comedy relief situations, Tsunade is punching someone (Jiraiya, Naruto) for being inappropriate when talking to women or existing around women

So it's interesting to think how those scenes were supposed to show the audience that Tsunade was strong and capable and worthy of respect. Look, she is dangerous so it's better not to interrupt her while she's speaking or do not underestimate her for being a women

It was explicitly stated in her fight with Madara, where he called her a weak woman. No comedy there.

Now, those funny-violence gags are not reserved for women. We saw Naruto punch people too because he thought they were being unserious.

I think the real problem comes with the fact that such comedy was maximized with Sakura Haruno

Sakura is the original helpless little girl. Before any other female character, we were presented with a too smart for her own good brat with anger issues who based all her worth on how well she could compete on the social scenario of teenage girls.

In order to understand Sakura, we need to place her side by side with Naruto. They are the hero and the heroine of the manga. They were the first male and female characters we saw being bullied. They were both loud and annoying. None of them thought before speaking or considering how their actions could hurt others. They blindly thought they knew what they wanted, who they liked and who they hated. They had their rivals/best friends and that feeling of not belonging, of always being invisible, of being ignored. Naruto accumulated rage appeared in the form of Kurama, but Sakura had that inner version of herself.

All I'm saying is that Sakura is full of issues and insecurities. Her normal life didn't save her from it, despite what other characters could think.

What was Sakura's arc through Naruto Classic? Do you remember? It was her learning that being shinobis was not a game and that she needed to become dangerous if she wanted to be and do anything in that world of hers. It was not enough to memorize concepts, because applying that knowledge in the safety of a classroom was very different from actually fighting for her life.

Sakura spoke mostly through Naruto back in their genin days. We know she impressed Ibiki Morino with her intelligence and Kakashi gave her some high praise during the Chunning Exams. Those comedy relief was meant to show us that she had the potential, but she needed to learn first.

Turning her into a new version of Tsunade was Kishimoto's way of complimenting her. He gave her the beauty, the strength and the skills. Most importantly, Kishimoto gave Sakura the means to make people shut up and listen to her. There is a reason to consider her within the narrative that doesn't extend to her value to other characters (aka how much team 7 cared about her).

What another example? Think of Temari or Chiyo or Kushina. They are all accomplished kunoichis with attitude and a mean punch.

The contrary is the stereotype of quiet girls who are either made fun of for being weird or get discredited for not being the "violent" type.

[komorim]

something more

-> naoya x f!reader (kamo!reader)

[ synopsis. ] naoya had a reputation for being misogynistic, and he certainly didn’t believe that he would ever fall in love with the disgusting creatures called women. the only one worthy of his attention was the strongest female sorcerer, a woman who was nearing in skill to gojo satoru himself. yet the attention doesn’t mean he would treat you any better. but he wished he did.

[ content warnings. ] manga spoilers. misogyny. kidnapping. heavy angst. character death. mentions of child abuse. mentions of suicide. mentions of murder. mentions of attempted murder. mentions of torture. mentions of inhumane experiments. mentions of disability. allusions to sex. miscarriage. description of gore. reader is underweight. reader is older than naoya. belated love epiphany. more pain, possibly more than the suna one :)

[ word count. ] 3.7k

[ author’s note. ] wow. this story went from the original 10+ chapter fanfic to a 3 chapter fanfic to a one shot. after so many trial and errors, i finally decided to make this a one shot, even if that means i’ll have to cut some major plot points. the reason being that this story was developed a bit over a year ago, and i’m honestly starting to lose interest in finishing this as a series. well, here it is!

[ previously named: a cracked shell ]

“i’m home,” naoya says as he slides open the door to your shared room. yet he doesn’t find you in there. he’s confused to say the least. even though you had a small fit with him the other day, it wasn’t nothing serious. you would always pretend as if nothing had happened. you were just like that. you didn’t like conflict, so in order to avoid it, you became somewhat of a pushover when it comes to most things.

your boundaries are set very low, and they continue to lower with every violation of them. it was one of the reasons you and naoya could coexist. he wished for an obedient little wife, and although you weren’t obedient per se, your character in its nature was close enough.

you never acted out of line as you were clear of the troublesome headache it would bring you. and naoya was okay with that.

it would be an understatement to say that his expectations for his wife also lowered. the original idea in his mind was that he would marry a docile, mindless woman who would do everything he asked of her without question. and you don’t fit that description. but he’s okay with you.

you, who is a sorcerer strong enough to rival geto and gojo.

it wasn’t a secret that naoya had always admired the strong. and even if it’s a woman, he’ll show some degree of respect to them as long as they’re stronger or on par with himself.

which is why he’s so lenient with you.

he remembers how miserable you looked when he first met you at the kamo estate when he was eight and you were nine.

the only reason he appeared at the kamo estate was that he heard of a secret kamo child that had been recently escorted back to the estate. though he wasn’t the type to come for solely this minor, insignificant purpose. no, he came since he heard the rumors of what you were.

not only had you inherited the kamo technique of blood manipulation, you also had an immense amount of cursed energy within you. though what made you the most special of all was the essence of your cursed energy.

a cursed energy with scent.

and not only did your cursed energy have a scent to it, the scent was odd. it had the ability to put people in a drunken state upon breathing in the fragrance too much. it was truly odd. something like this had never been seen. it was probably why the kamos were so hell-bent on bringing you back to the estate to recognize you as one of their own.

nine year old you was very similar to how you are like now. quiet, appearing to be uninterested in almost everything, and eerie. almost twenty years later of knowing you, he could never pinpoint exactly what it was, but you always seemed off. it was an eerie aspect that made others uncomfortable in your presence. maybe it was a dominating attribute that came with being that strong.

yet what he didn’t understand was why you always looked so miserable. you were so strong that you could destroy a city and possibly more if you wished. but you were never happy. eight year old naoya thought that if he was that gifted, he’d never have a bad day in his life. maybe it’s because you were born a girl that you are unable to be happy. after all, the elders always spoke of how unlucky it is to be a girl.

that was the first time he met you. only being able to get a glance of your face in a open room. the next time he saw you was at the goodwill event. you appeared to be the same as before. you didn’t speak much, you still looked miserable and unbothered, and you still had that eerie feeling about you.

around this time, naoya had been raised by the zenins’ misogynistic ideals for so long that he has also adopted them himself. and even if he knew that your current abilities can rival even the two most powerful jujutsu sorcerers, you were just a woman. you were born with the right, immense power, but the wrong gender. you were bound to one day become someone’s wife one day, confined to the chains of marriage and the duties of a woman.

your talent and power will succumb to nothing. it’ll all be useless.

maybe that’s when he first started hating you. he envied you for having the power he could not. his eyes grew red at the thought that a woman had received the main inherited jujutsu technique of the kamo clan when he himself only inherited a sub technique of the zenin. he feels frustrated that you have all this power and he’ll never be able to see its full potential since you’re a woman that’s destined to be in a house and nowhere else.

maybe that’s why he was desperate to hunt you down during the goodwill event. he was desperate to prove himself better. he couldn’t stand being weak compared to someone who’s power will become useless one day anyways.

but he lost. zenin naoya had lost. it was humiliating really; the way you barely looked at him as you successfully constrained him, proceeding to leave without a care in the world.

he had felt a new kind of sensation that day. a strong urge to see what kind of faces you can make other than that miserable, unbothered expression.

so when he found out from his father later on that you’ve been engaged to him, he found it perfect. he’ll have the rest of eternity to make you say something, feel something more than hopelessness. you could tell that his preference for said feeling would be suffering, but it’s not like he ever succeeded, so you didn’t pay his unwell intentions much thought anyways.

it was at this point when he finally found out why you always looked miserable. after all, the least he could do as your fiancé was get to know you, albeit you didn’t want him to.

when he heard about your life so far, he laughed a bit. you’re so strong and yet you couldn’t prevent any of the tragic events in your life. the elders were right. a woman like you was destined to live out an unlucky life. but maybe yours was a bit too unfair, even by naoya’s opinion.

secret child born to loving parents, you had been raised without the kamos’ knowledge. at the age of nine, shortly before naoya first met you, an escort had appeared at the peaceful apartment you lived at and supposedly murdered your father. your mother fell into hysteria and blamed your existence for the death of her only love. she looked at you with hatred, with the intent to kill her only child. and when she regained some sense of logic, she would hold you closely and cry. he bets that this on and off behavior you endured also dried you up emotionally. and apparently your mother too, for she committed suicide in her room less than a year later.

before doing so, she didn’t forget to smash a rock onto your head. either trying to take you with her or trying to enact some revenge for the love of her life he doesn’t know. but what he does know is that the damage caused absolutely destroyed your right ear.

irreparable loss of hearing.

however unlikely, it was probably the hearing of your tragic childhood that made naoya show you a bit of kindness after the marriage. he showed some form of respect for you, the one who survived such a past and also you, the one stronger than himself.

you had also noticed this. how he wasn’t exactly like how the rumors depicted him. but you paid no mind, as he still treated you as lesser than. it was to be expected. and although the younger you would scowl at the disrespect shown by someone younger than you, the current you couldn’t care less.

you were only a wife to naoya for one reason. to escape being assigned as the next clan leader.

you could never take that position. not when you saw how the kamo clan had crushed your family. not when you saw how noritoshi hated you for receiving the attention of the elders. you knew about the boy. his mother being a mistress made his standing in the clan awkward. and you knew how much he needed to be the next clan leader in order to reunite with his mother.

so you allowed him to take the position of heir. you declined as your uncle, the clan leader, tried several times to make you the heir. you knew why he treated the two of you so differently. one was the only child of his only little sister, the last blood relation to her on this world, and the other was simply a mistress’s son, albeit his own.

but you couldn’t destroy a family the way he destroyed yours. you didn’t want to watch as noritoshi falls into despair like you. so even when your uncle pressured you with the choice or either marriage or heir, you confidently chose to be married off.

and what a choice it was.

from day one of being zenin y/n, you already disliked the atmosphere of the zenin household. but alas, it was the place where you would be living for probably the rest of your life.

and when the year passed by and you still had no sign of child, the zenin naobito had attempted to have you divorced.

least to say naoya was furious when he heard. why? because he finally had the second strongest sorcerer chained to his side. how was he supposed to just willingly give you up? but he and yourself both know what the cause for your lack of child was.

the fact that naoya refused to touch you.

it’s not like you minded. you had no emotions for your husband; you couldn’t care less if he had someone pleasuring him outside. in fact, you’d probably be better off if he did.

but that wasn’t the reason naoya didn’t want to lay a finger on you. suprisingly, he had more than just one single reason.

one of which was that he still didn’t want to be so intimate with such a lowly creature, a woman. but he needed an heir and he knew this well. actually, it would be best to have his heir be birthed by you. the possibility of your child inheriting some of your incredibly unnecessary cursed energy, or better yet, inheriting your unique scent would be splendid.

but the most important reason was that your body most likely couldn’t handle it. not to mention the mental toll that your past and even the duration you were a sorcerer had on you, you had a more concerning issue. you turned sickly after overexerting yourself during the time at jujutsu high. and although he shouldn’t care so much for a mere woman’s life, he knew that you were different, and he couldn’t afford to lose such a valuable asset like yourself.

he’s seen how pregnancy does a woman over, and as much as no one would believe it, he doesn’t want that to happen to you. either for his own selfish reasons, or for the reason he dreads, the reality was that he was contempt with not having an heir in the mean time.

so divorcing you? absolutely out of the question.

if his father used not having any emotional attachment as an excuse to tear you away from him, he would create that emotional attachment. fake or not, he won’t have anyone thinking of making him divorce you.

so he pushed himself. he pushed himself to treat you as a decent human being, and pushed himself to buy gifts for you when he’s out, going out of his comfort zone to try and pleasure you.

he allowed you and gojo to continue writing letters to each other. although he’s still sick to the stomach knowing his wife is conversing with another man, he knows that ever since you had been more in touch with your childhood friend, your mood became better.

and finally, on your second year of being married to naoya, he was finally able to see a genuine smile grace upon your lips.

it was the wish he had when him and you were still engaged and not yet married. the wish that you could display an expression different than that of your normal, unbothered one.

and it was beautiful.

he knew you were a looker since the day he first met you. and maybe that’s a subconscious reason why he always wished you could show some more emotion. but seeing your actual smile was so much different. it’s almost as if he’s been blind all his life and finally saw light.

and as much as he wants to deny it, maybe he did have a growing place in his heart for you.

so why are you now missing when things were just starting to get better? it wasn’t long after when he first shared a kiss with you and the two of you started acting more like a married couple, and now you’re nowhere to be seen?

naoya first reached out to gojo within two hours of you not being home, and when the white haired man responded with he didn’t know where you were either, naoya almost lost his mind.

she’ll be okay, he thinks to himself. but another voice in his head reminds him of how you’re not in a state to fight. weirdly your physical state has deteriorated the past few days, and you turned into a even more sickly condition.

it isn’t until the next day when he confirms with hayashi, your personal servant, that you haven’t returned during the night does he really lose it.

weird too. hayashi was saved by you as a child, and follows you around ever since to repay you. he’d never leave your side, so why is he still in the estate and you’re not?

hayashi responds to the question with how you were invited out by a letter, and he wasn’t able to see the sender.

it was a dead end.

quite a few months pass by before naoya finally hears about you. by this time, naoya has thinned down quite a bit and also looked abnormally pale. probably from the lack of sleep or the lost of appetite. or both.

and what he heard from gojo made sick to the stomach, so much that he wished to throw up even though his stomach was empty.

you were found.

the bad news? you were found bloodied and very much dead. you were found rotting.

and although gojo was wearing sunglasses that covered his eyes, anyone could tell the way this affected him through the crack in his voice as he struggles to continue on. after all, he already lost a best friend, and now he had just lost his childhood friend; he lost the one that he swore to protect since your parents failed to do so.

not much information was exchanged after the initial news was delivered, for it pained gojo too much to describe the horrendous scene in which you were found in. but he did take naoya to the scene shortly after he delivered one last piece of news that was sure to shatter naoya.

you were pregnant.

naoya wasn’t all that surprised. in the last few months in which you were missing, he thought of you a lot. how you looked paler, sicklier than usual. how you were more sensitive than usual.

and because of his guess, he had treated you much better than before. he knew how you used to get suspended from jujutsu high for being overly cruel when some curse user would overstep your boundaries. and although your sharp edges dulled over the years, he was still afraid you’d have even a sliver of thought to abort it. and he couldn’t let that happen.

but you probably didn’t know yourself.

“we’re here,” gojo announces.

he bids naoya well before waiting outside the warehouse. he already saw it once, and he couldn’t bear to see it again.

naoya braces himself before slowly walking inside. the interior of the warehouse seemed very normal. it looked like a warehouse for scientific research. there were lab tables, and giant fluid cases. the only thing out of the ordinary he noticed was how dirty everything was. there were many blood stains, but he convinced himself that it was too rusty and old to be yours.

as he walks further, that was when he saw it. the small hidden door in the far back. the door was unnecessarily heavy, seeming to made out of hard iron.

even if it was his first time being here, even if he can’t see what’s beyond the door, he knows what’s about to appear before his eyes.

and he dreads it.

but he still pushes open the door that has already been forced open once. it was easy, seeing how the lock had been destroyed completely. but what wasn’t easy was the capacity to handle everything that he saw.

cruel tools that his imagination can help show him what their uses were. red colored stains on the floor and counters. pieces of meat each around the size of a finger littered around the damp and suffocating room.

syringes. tubes of medicine. medical equipment. chains and shackles. bandages, both used and new. disposed pieces of surgeon uniforms, all covered in blood and a weirdly colored substance.

it didn’t take a psychic to know what had happened here. it didn’t take an actor to imagine the performance that undergone here.

the performance of torture. the act of experimenting on a living human being.

naoya’s trembling although he doesn’t notice it. he comprehends the emotions inside him bubbling as anger that someone had dared to lay their hands on what was his. but the truth was that this unfamiliar feeling he had was despair. something his pitiful wife was familiar with, but something he had only now acquainted.

despair over the fact that all this equipment was used on you and despair over the fact that when you were in pain and suffering, he couldn’t do anything about it.

he slowly walks over to the small bed in the corner of the room. he noticed the blood stains on the sheets and the shackles on the headboard and footboard. most of all, he noticed he noticed the small shard piece covered in blood. he knew why it was covered in blood although no one told him.

it was probably what you had used to end your life.

he stares at it with a blank face, and he eventually reached out to grab it, grief and frustration causing him to clench the shard so hard he sees red. but it doesn’t hurt.

it’s nothing compared to the atrocities you endured.

you were missing for months. he had been informed that your death report showed that you had only died a few days ago. to imagine that you had to suffer from these cruelties for months; the only thing in his mind was how strong you were.

he turns around to walk back out. to see you again. he deemed that it was worthless to stay here any longer.

as he was leaving the room that housed your pain, he saw it. the thick notebook filled with notes and scribbles of the things done to you.

from cutting away pieces of you to examine your genetic makeup, to attempting to force the day of labor so they could research his child; every word written was horrendous.

the contents journaling the day it was discovered that you were pregnant were drastically different than before.

at first it was just terrifying experiments performed on you to determine why you had an intoxicating scent to your cursed energy, but then when they couldn’t find anything out, they wanted to try to copy the trait completely. through what? the child you were harboring.

as naoya flipped through more and more pages, he saw how they took their research further and further. and as things failed again and again, their methods only became more inhumane.

when he finally couldn’t take it anymore, he threw the notebook behind him harshly, hearing a violent thump shortly after. he met up with gojo outside the warehouse and notices how his eyes were somewhat red.

when he brought naoya to your body, that was when both men couldn’t take it anymore.

your originally sickly features looked even worse. you had grown paler and you looked like you had starved for every day you were missing. all that was left of you was skin and bones. there were bruises on your skin, littering almost everywhere the eye can see. the ones on your wrists and ankles naoya knew were from the shackles confining you, and the others on your body seemed to be wounds still unable to fully heal.

you, who hated becoming dirty, lay there with dried blood and dirt on your body. your skin had turned gray and you felt colder than ice. yet naoya still held your hand, trying to warm it up like he had done so before.

but he knew it was fruitless. you couldn’t possess body warmth anymore, and you had no need for it either.

but as he holds your hand with both of his own, what he doesn’t know—what haunts his mind—is the question of did you wish for him to come to your rescue when you had passed day by day and week by week in that tiny little room.

were you disappointed as days passed and he still hadn’t come?

or did you think he wouldn’t come? did you doubt his love for you and think he wouldn’t care if you were there by his side or not? did you think you were replaceable?

but the fact is that you weren’t. albeit how badly he showed it, he knew he couldn’t lose you.

he smiles bitterly as he pressed his lips to your cold forehead and thinks. maybe the possessiveness he held for you had a different meaning. he realizes that even if he denied to everyone that he didn’t love you, maybe he did.

but it’s too late now. he only knew now. he’s only now understood what it was that he felt when you left. you probably also never knew.

after all, you left without giving him a chance to tell you.

do not copy or repost my works. likes, reblogs, and comments are appreciated.

[shadowkoo]

All About You

A Bangtan x Hockey series by @shadowkoo!

The upcoming season for the Denver Dragons is predicted to be an absolute game-changer! From lightning-fast breakaways to jaw-dropping saves, get ready to witness a showcase of skill, determination, and pure passion in both the game on the ice and the one in these player's hearts. The team is hungrier than ever, prepared to do whatever it takes to secure their victory. With rivalries heating up, new talent on the rise, and fresh sparks flying, this season promises unforgettable matchups that will have fans on the edge of their seats. So grab your jerseys and get ready to witness what this season has coming. Let the games begin! 🏒🔥

Bad For You - coming soon ↳ Official Teaser

Jungkook wants what he can’t have and it’s driving him nuts. He’s never thought of Natasha more than Namjoon’s annoying little sister, but that’s all changed now that she’s returned from university. Especially now that she plan to stay at his apartment until further notice. Having Tasha around takes his mind off the importance of this season, something he cannot have happen since last season ended so badly. A distraction like her might either become the biggest mistake of his life, or perhaps the best one.

Natasha know better than to sleep with the up-and-coming, all-star, fan-favorite hockey forward for the Denver Dragons. And it’s not because he’s just as much a player off the ice as he is on it. More importantly, he’s her brother’s teammate, best friend, and the guy whose place she’s crashing at. He’s been off-limits since the day she met him, but it didn’t stop her then, and it sure as fuck isn’t going to stop her now…

↠ pairing: jungkook x o.c. (dual 1st person pov) ↠ position: forward, right-wing ↠ trope: brother's best friend, forced proximity, age gap, forbidden relationship ↠ installment: 1/7

Thinking About You - coming soon

Taehyung has a secret. He's got a big, fat schoolgirl-esque crush on one of the hockey moms of the Dragon's sponsored junior league hockey team. He finds it utterly repulsive that merely catching sight of Florence sends a flurry of butterflies to the center of his stomach, an entirely foreign sensation he's not sure he enjoys. As if that wasn't bad enough, he also recently discovered that he transforms into a bumbling, incoherent mess in her presence, a behavior that is completely unlike him.

Everyone knows Kim Taehyung is the most popular guy on the team, especially in the eyes of all the puck bunnies chasing after him. He's a smooth-talking, swoon-worthy, wet-your-panties-by-simply-grinning-at-you type of ladies' man that women just can't get enough of. And based on what Florence has heard, he used to eat that shit up, using it to his advantage at every available opportunity. But now, his attention is solely fixated on her, and what's even more astonishing - on her son.

↠ pairing: taehyung x o.c. (dual 1st person pov) ↠ position: centerman ↠ trope: widower, single parent, fuckboy finally settles down ↠ installment: 2/7

Loyal To You - coming soon

Jimin has been eagerly anticipating the holidays for a while now. Not because he has anyone special to go home to or any familial commitments. He's been craving time away from the relentless demands of his career and the ice, a first for him. From the moment he first wore skates at the young age of three, hockey has consumed his entire existence. Yet now, he yearns for a much-needed break from the sport that has been his lifelong passion. Being a professional athlete has its perks (money, women, fame), but it also comes with it's fair share of downs. And lately, life has handed him a lot of downs. Upon arriving at the charming bed and breakfast where he intends to spend the next three weeks, he's instantly captivated by the attractive owner. Julie doesn't seem to recognize him, and she doesn't expect anything from him either. In that moment, he can't help but envision a different life distinct from the one he knows, one where he can be just Park Jimin instead of player #33 of the Denver Dragons.

↠ pairing: jimin x o.c. (dual 1st person pov) ↠ position: forward, left-wing ↠ trope: hidden identity, instant attraction, the big secret ↠ installment: 3/7

Made For You - coming soon

Namjoon has lately found himself thoroughly intrigued by the team photographer for the Dragons. He and Avery have shared a friendship for quite some time, frequently crossing paths at the favored bar of DD Organization and often catching glimpses of each other nearly every day at the arena. He's taken aback by the fact that he's interested in her, considering that they are such polar opposites. He's usually quiet and reserved, channeling his energy into the game and his responsibilities. In contrast, Avery radiates a lively and outgoing presence, greeting people with warmth and capturing candid moments with quick snaps of your camera. When Namjoon finally musters the courage to ask her out, a small comment from you about seeing him as one of your closest friends shatters his spirit before he even gets the chance. Apparently, fate has dictated that they are destined to be just friends, or perhaps he simply needs to sway her perspective...

↠ pairing: namjoon x o.c. (dual 1st person pov) ↠ position: defenseman ↠ trope: coworkers, opposites attract, friends to lovers ↠ installment: 4/7

Lost In You - coming soon

Hoseok is a wild card, and the Denver Dragons Organization has just about had it. It's time for him to simmer down before he's off the ice for good. Their plan? Marriage. Yes, that's right. Hoseok is getting married to a snotty socialite, and the whole arrangement is meant to heal his status in the eyes of the rest of the world. He knows damn well he is the only person to blame for this PR stunt to be his last chance to redeem his shitty reputation. Coach made it very clear that not a single other team expressed any interest in trading for him if he kept heading in his current direction. Between all the fights, the public intoxication charges, and the constant news stories about him, it was bound to happen at some point. He just needs to make it through the next two years without losing it again. A feat that he finds nearly impossible when he's forced to be around Blair, his wife.

↠ pairing: hoseok x o.c. (dual 1st person pov) ↠ position: alternate captain, defenseman ↠ trope: married for convenience, enemies to lovers ↠ installment: 5/7

Searching For You - coming soon

After a complicated fallout with his now ex-fiance, Yoongi has made a recent vow to avoid anything and anyone associated with love. He has no time or use for it. Having weathered numerous failed relationships, his most recent resulting in calling off his wedding the night before, he possesses no need to subject himself to that kind of pain or heartbreak ever again. Especially not with someone as joyful and optimistic as Sage.

People often avoid Yoongi because of his cranky behavior, but Sage questions how much of it is his true personality versus a defence mechanism. It doesn't help that just simply observing Sage's perpetual good mood only seems to piss him off even further. But nevertheless, she's taken notice of him, and has undertaken a challenge of sorts to brighten the mood of the grumpy hockey player who often visits her bagel shop and get him to open up. The problem? He doesn't like to lose, and neither does she.

↠ pairing: yoongi x o.c. (dual 1st person pov) ↠ position: goalie ↠ trope: grumpy sunshine, sworn off relationships ↠ installment: 6/7

Trapped By You - coming soon

Seokjin has had very few moments in his life that have rendered him utterly speechless. Unfortunately, this seems to be one of them. Ophelia is the last person he anticipated seeing on his doorstep so early in the morning. One night stands are supposed to be just that - one night of fun without the moral obligation to see that person ever again. But here she was, nearly four months later, changing that 'rule' with her smudged mascara and a handful of positive pregnancy tests.

Ophelia always assumed she would have a baby at some point in her life; maybe a few years after getting married to the love of her life, when the timing felt right. But right now felt so wrong. She didn't love Seokjin; they barely even know each other. It wasn't supposed to happen like this, and most certainly not with the Captain of the Denver Dragons.

↠ pairing: seokjin x o.c. (dual 1st person pov) ↠ position: captain, centerman ↠ trope: one night stand pregnancy, strangers to lovers ↠ installment: 7/7

Join my taglist to be notified when each fic is posted!

*Disclaimers: Obviously, I am not affiliated with the NHL, given by my fictional team name, nor do I claim to know every single hockey rule or slogan, etc. We’re also intentionally forgetting that Denver already has a pro team for the sake of my sanity LOL. This series is meant to be read in order of release (top to bottom of this post). This series is written in dual first person POV (I did this, I said that) and shows scenes from both character's perspective for each fic. This entire series is 18+ as every fic will contain explicit smut scenes. Minors do not read or interact!

[thecameronchronicles]

Savior

TW: abusive relationship. Cheating. Mentions of death/violence/homicide/blood. Language. Smut. 

SUMMARY: Being neighbors with Trevor came with a specific benefit as he always kept a close eye on you...

WORD COUNT: 3500

*ORIGINAL CONCEPT*

Savior

Trevor's POV

How in the fuck did I convince myself to come to this? Her boyfriend's party. But one look at her in a dress he didn't deserve to see let alone peel off reminded me why. Not only for the deafening need to know just how my hands felt beneath the fabric, but also for the way I wanted each and every one of her smiles to be because of me. And for anyone responsible for her tears, may God have mercy on them...

"Trevor!" She welcomed me with an embrace that allowed every inch of her body to be felt in the thin fabric that separated. God, this woman could wear only sweats and a messy bun as she did the first day I saw her and I was still needing to adjust the swell in my seam. 

"Thank you so much for coming!" She gripped tightly into my forearms. For a moment, it seemed as if I had been her reason for gravity. As if my presence soothed her somehow. Certainly an assumption as I was rarely seen as anything more than an inconvenience. And yet ever since she moved in six months ago, she always left me feeling this way. 

Important. Worthy. So fucking needed that it was enough to make you dizzy. And if this devotion wasn't enough, the way she made it a point to make me comfortable had been that tipping point that made her different. That made any girl comparable to her and yet none would hold a candle. All because one of those simple looks set me on fire that paled to even the most skilled of women I attempted to use to forget her. 

That was my plague. She was unforgettable. And I was the poor son of a bitch in love with someone else's girlfriend...

"Yeah, man, thanks for coming." It took everything I had not to curl a lip or even my hands to a fist. This possessive and arrogant asshole has a goddess at his fingers and yet his eyes scanned every feminine soul in attendance as if she was nothing. And she noticed. 

The light that fought to remain behind her eyes remained at war against his presence. Never a kind word that didn't leave her embarrassed in the end. Details of their sex life enough to speak well of her as everything else was an apparent service that made him a victim or a martyr. And why she allowed it continued to astound me. Surely she knew she deserved better. Literally anyone. Wishful thinking made me hope it could one day have been me. 

"Keep an eye on her would you? Gotta go do some rounds-" He abandoned her when he should have wished to show her off. It was enough to be thankful of his absence but regretful it brought her such pain. 

"Can I show you something?" I asked as she illuminated to the offer. 

The second we made our way outside to the balcony, she seemed to take a clear reprieve. I loved that it was possible in my presence. But I loathed knowing she would have to return to him eventually. But not now. And that's what mattered. It wasn't now. 

"I always loved the stars...he always complains it's too cold to see them..." She placed her fingers on the edge of the railing and trusted it to lean forward. My eyes drifted down her curves and to her neck. A chosen hairstyle leaving her neck accessible to view. Soft skin accented by a beauty mark in perfect placement. A true work of art I was able to adore without needing to share. 

Yet I remained as a friend as it's what she always needed. Everytime she was on the curb outside the complex in tears. Anytime she was left without a car and asked me for a ride. Each time keeping myself in check while burning for her. Just one signal that told me she wanted this and I would gladly risk his wrath for even a moment of that attention. A moment of bliss for a lifetime of hell. 

"You deserve to see them..." She only shrugged. 

"I saw this hotel...I can't remember where it is, but there are these igloos with glass ceilings you can spend the night in...and you can just stare at the stars all night. I'd sleep outside of I could..." The careless way she spoke with such raw honesty of her dreams made me want to make them real for her. No matter how stupid or impossible. But this one made me envision her wrapped in my arms, sheets draped over us just enough to be warm-

"Trevor?" 

"Yeah?"

"It means a lot that you came. You're the only one who I actually like being around here...so thank you..." She confessed, my hand moving closer to hers as my pinky judged hers just enough to gain her attention. 

"I wish it was only us..." This was the sign I needed. This was the step forward she needed to take so I knew. And I didn't care about the consequences. 

I used a hold on her wrist to pull her towards me. A gentle collision anything but humorous as I use the same ledge she trusted to set her against. Instantly, her hand came to a rest at my cheek in the reminder of how delicate she was. And yet, her tongue was the one to tease mine. 

"Trevor..." She breathed softly, a hand to my chest as she fisted to fabric. 

"I can take care of you..."

"It isn't that simple..." She confessed as I nodded. 

"Then let me help you not think..." I directed her hips harder into me, making my intentions clear before softening them. My pulse at war with her own, my cock desperate for even a small trace of her fingers, and my lips needing more. Needing all of her. 

She tried to speak, but her body betrayed her as mine orchestrated us both. My fingers held a mind of their own, remaining cautious to not frighten her with how badly I desired her, but also speaking where words couldn't describe. Every kiss telling her I wanted her. Every touch or grasp informing her I'd protect her. But she remained distant from me. 

"I want to make you feel good...I swear to God I won't stop until you do. I want to make you-" She nodded, her fingers toying with my belt as my thumbs teased the low rest of her skirt. 

He was so fucking lucky and took her for granted. She would have been unable to walk if she wore that skirt for me. But then again, I wouldn't have wanted a party. I would have been content unwrapping her in repetition. 

"Baby?" His voice echoed as she pushed me away, guilt riding over her face. 

"Please don't say anything...I'm..I'm sorry Trevor..." In six months, I managed to learn of her emotions. But this had to be a first of terror. 

After this exchange, knowing her body in my palms and the desperation her own made against my chest, I couldn't watch him use her as a trophy. Squeezing her ass when he wasn't reprimanding it. So I slipped out just prior to the cake, her eyes beckoning me to stay as even those pleading eyes wouldn't be enough. 

Returning to my apartment has never been this difficult. I struggled to enter as I turned back to face her door. Separated by only a walk, I was able to hear remnants of the party until it died down enough to hear only them. Her cadence softer but still muffled and his sloppy and intimidating to her. It was rage inducing as I paced my bedroom floor, needing her now more than ever. 

But she wasn't mine. It was simple. She chose him. Every night. Tonight. On the balcony. And it was enough to keep my ass in place. 

At least until two in the morning. 

The first rousing sound was that of broken glass and his raised tone. I slipped from my sheets and towards the wall, hearing her plead with him. It lasted a handful of times until the slamming of doors could be heard and an eventual sob. It was this sound of her sadness that sent me to their door before I could stop myself. 

Not your problem. Not your-

"Dumb fucking bitch!" 

Now it is. 

My anger came behind my fist as I pounded on the door. But as it came open, she only showed me half of her. The entire left side of her body was hidden behind the heavy door as I could see the disarray that remained. The strap loose down her shoulder and her hair clearly gripped after the perfect waves I had embraced a few hours prior. 

"Trevor..."

"Get rid of him..." He groaned behind her. 

"Are you okay?" 

"I'm fine..." Even a half mute, blind, or fully drunk man could tell she was lying. If the way she shook didn't show this, then the silent plea in her eyes had. 

"I left my phone...can I come get it?" 

"Can I...just have...I'll give it tomorrow-"

But as she tried to diffuse my presence and the tension it brought, he opened the door wide enough to observe her. Whatever works he spoke to me were moit behind the evidence over her. A busted lip. A bruised cheek. Tears escaping as she pleaded for me not to act. I had suspicions he was a dick. But I would ensure he'd never touch her again. 

"Get it through your head man, she isn't gonna fuck you, no matter how pathetic you are-'" Were his final words as I clasped his collar. He was quick to respond with a lower cut to my ribs, an unsuspecting blow that gave him only a temporary upper hand. 

"Trying to fight for her? She isn't fucking worth it! Trust me!" 

"Stop!" She pleaded, trying to get between us as he only pushed her away. 

"Go to my apartment..." I attempted to direct her but she remained as I was swung at. A last minute maneuver and his hand was smashed into the stone wall separating our living rooms. 

"Fuck!" 

"You're nothing but a low life asshole obsessed with her!"

"You don't ever touch her again!"

"Wrong. I do every night. Quite well. You MUST have heard her screaming for me...Knowing you'll never have her!" I ran to him as a bull to a crimson flag, sending him into the edge of his own sink. A set of elbows to my back made me release him before I rose like a man literally fighting for his life. Punch after punch until he was straddled flat. Nose broken enough to bleed profusely and two teeth loosened enough to spot out as evidence of my imminent victory. 

"Are you okay?" I asked her as I left him on the floor. My hands to her cheeks were accepted by her fingers wrapping around my wrists. But as I helped her in place, my forehead at hers with a silent confirmation, she opened her eyes in a split second to find him lunging after me. 

"Trevor!" The blade if a knife would nick my forearm before it was directed back within his abdomen. A pure reaction to a fight or flight response as everything chilled. 

I wasn't a man who often made the "right" decision. My methods were questionable and I was anything but honest in the means of...well most things. But I protected her. And it was enough to silence the guilt that she developed secondhand. 

"Trevor..." My name has never sounded so sour on her lips. But I understood. 

"You both...are...gonna be...sorry..." He shot blood rapidly. Whatever was struck by the blade was enough to be fatal as he became an immobile and flaxen in less than a minute. His back ceasing to rise in even the most shallow of breaths. 

He was dead. 

I killed him. 

For her. 

"What did you do?" Her eyes were wide. 

"He isn't going to hurt you anymore..." I took hold of her wrist and led her to my apartment. My mind was wild with a list of what to do. But as I thought of calling the police or cleaning up the scene, I watched her on the couch where I left her. Cleaning the blood from my hands in the kitchen sink, I moved to her. 

"I'm not going to apologize about what happened , but I am sorry you had to see it." I ran my thumb against her lip. "He deserved it..." she stood for a moment, my words rejected and my kindness left behind her steps. But as she moved to the door, she turned back to face me. 

"Do you have any idea what you've done? Who he is?! That's Roland Voight's son. Elusive millionaire...macabre and dark...questionable-"

"Guess the rotten apple doesn't fall far from the tree..." 

"You killed his son!" I moved closer to her. 

"And I'd do it again." I spoke with the attempt to be confident, but my words shook. Not in the fact it was untrue, but for the fact I hadn't understood the reality until she spoke the words back to me. But I meant it. If presented with the same circumstances, I would have done the same. 

"You...you killed him...you...you-" She was tripping over her words as I began to hollow. Not that I expected gratitude, but at least not hatred. I could have her disgusted with me even more than this. But then suddenly she was against him, knocking me off of my feet with her arms around my neck. 

"You freed me..." A weak smile broke our kids as I lifted her back towards the couch. This beautiful, battered, woman was mine. And I wasn't going to question it. Whether it as adrenaline or some kink, I didn't care. As far as I was concerned, she was mine and I was hers. 

"I'm not going to let anyone hurt you..." 

"I know..." She smiled softly as she writhed against me. A dance of sorts allowed to my torso as she pulled my blood soaked shirt from my body. As it bled to my skin, she traced it for only a second before I brought her focus back to me. 

"I know I should feel guilty, but I can't...I've wanted this for so long, Trevor." I couldn't believe what she said. Like a seventh wonder presenting itself for me. Only me. And I was a greedy man. Especially when it came to her. Only her. 

"So have I..." 

"Please..." Her hand came to my pants as I stopped her hand, her plea coming from this rejection. When I remained in disbelief to her, she took it upon herself to bend over the arm of the couch. Her body presented to me in the most carnal of ways. Her panties peeking from beneath her shorts and a bra strap having fallen to her elbow. But this wasn't a one night stand. This wasn't a quick fuck to forget about her. I wanted her. I needed her. I wasn't going to rush this. 

"I want to know..." She confessed looking back at me. 

"Know what?" 

"What it's like not having to fake it..." She moved back towards me, slipping out of her clothes until only her lingerie remained, as I was at a loss to do anything but witness her. She was even more perfect than I imagined. Her curves. Her soft skin. Her. 

Fuck. 

"I thought of you. Everytime he touched me. Kissed me. I wanted it to be you-"

"Jesus Christ, you're gonna kill me..." I spoke against her neck. She hasn't been on her knees for me or touched my cock and yet it throbbed like never before. 

"Please Trevor...I can take it. However you want me...I can-"

"I want to make love to you, not fuck you..." She tensed to my words, as if they were worse than the painful ones she'd sadly become accustomed to. 

"I..."

"We don't have to..." 

"I want you..." Her arm cranes around my neck. "I've always wanted you."

"Then we're doing it my way..." My dominance was only to remind her of what she deserved. And for that, I moved into my knees for her. Her legs over my shoulders as I devoured what he always took advantage of. And fuck, she was sweet. So wet. So fucking sweet. And all fucking mine. 

Her back arched in seconds as her hands gripped for a reprieve she would never have. I didn't mean to edge her yet I wanted it to last. So I slowed. The most delicious of moans coming from such swollen lips. 

"You deserve to feel only pleasure...and I'm going to show you how to..." I set her fingers between her legs. 

"No...I want you..." 

"And I need to be patient because I won't last if-"

"I don't want you to...please Trevor..." 

"Not yet, baby...you're gonna be adored first..." I pulled her around me and into the bedroom. She deserved a bed. She deserved the comfort and space I'm sure he didn't allow her. Swift ducks to make himself come. But to know I was the only one to make her, genuinely, it was a high better than any woman on her knees for me. Maybe even her. 

"I can't wait...please Trevor..." She pleaded again as I'd stretched her for me. My fingers coated in her from tip to knuckle, learning her body exclusively for me. Every shudder, mine. Every moan, mine. Every whimper belonged to-

"Trevor!" She gasped as I used my cock through her lower lips. 

"Please..." She mewled, the desperations sweater with every utterance. 

"I can't wait." She nodded, her body welcoming me stronger than I expected. Her inner walls a vice around my shaft. Fuck I could  have come immediately. Everything was too much. But she deserved to be thoroughly blissed. I pinned her hands flat on either side of her head and controlled the thrusts as she continued to beg me. 

I never wanted her to beg. It was beneath her. But damn, she made it sound so sweet. 

"Harder..."

"Not yet, baby." 

"Ugh!" Her back arched as I began to increase my speed. Sweat mixed in abundance to tell whose belonged to who. It stained the sheet all the same. 

"Please make me come, Trevor...I can feel it..."

"You don't have to ask...I will, baby. I just want you to feel all of me..." I thrusted again. Shit, she was so fucking good. Too fucking good. The way she dug her nails into me. The way she breathed in my ear. Every goddamn detail. 

"I do! You're so deep, baby-" A moan escaped my lips. I would be anything to her, gladly. But any possession made me an immediate switch. A submissive to her desires. 

"Fuck..." I strained over her as she nodded. 

"Yes, Trevor! You're gonna make me come!" Her nails clawed into my back.

"Harder." I teased the words she offered earlier as she obliged. We both wore the wounds of the night in both pleasure and pain. Red lines of nails on my back as they were left on her hips. Bruises from him were kissed and quelled by me as she showed me her appreciation of my valor. 

"Baby, tell me where to come..." 

"Inside-"

"But I didn't put on-"

"Inside-" her nails were sharp into my ass. God, I'd sold my soul to her. 

"Fuck...." I inhaled with a groan as she nodded. 

"Yes! Fuck! Ah!"

"Is it too hard baby?" I asked as she only shook her head, biting her lips closed to not belt. My hand came to her lips as she took them between her teeth, biting softly onto the pad as I kissed into her neck. 

The edge too close. Her body still too far. 

"I love you-" the words left my lips as I came to regret them already. 

"I...I didn't mean..."

"I love you too, Trevor..." She confessed breathlessly. Those words more of an aphrodisiac than any other moment. My body submitting to her as if I'd never known pleasure before. My body in tremors that she accompanied, until I was left at a rest against her chest. 

"I meant it..." I confessed. 

"Good." She smirked. "I did too." She kissed me softly. 

This was how it should always have been. Us. And I would face any charge, any man, even any hell to keep her. 

Little did I know, I was about to...

TAGLIST: @hopebaker @drewspisces @penny4yourthoughts @magnificantmermaid @pickingviolets @lovedetlost @trikigirl271 @maybankslover @slut4tangerine @slvtherinseeker @obxiskewl @bluesongbird @slut-era @ailee-celeste @camilynn @sweetestdesire @onmykneesforrafe @jjmaybanksangel @phildunphyisadilf @mashdan0916

MASTERLIST

TREVOR MASTERLIST

MARCH MADNESS MASTERLIST

[asterlark]

today in Leverage Thoughts That Make Me Sad- it's canon that eliot has a much better than average memory, and we see this in a few ways:

the extensive and minute knowledge he has of things like helicopter and bullet sounds, and what different groups of military look like based on haircuts and stances, always brushed off with "it's a very distinctive ___"

the knowledge he gathers from women he dates, paying attention to things like what's currently fashionable, what flight attendants prefer to be called, etc; again brushed off with "what? i dated a ___"

the speech in the experimental job about him remembering everyone he's ever killed, up to and including their names, what they wore, and what food was on their breath

if you've rewatched the show at all or pay attention to eliot specifically in any scene, you'll notice that he observes people very closely. i think this goes back to a hyper-vigilance he's cultivated through his days in the military and doing wetwork- probably especially in working with moreau. if your circumstances are that difficult to navigate, and if you can only really depend on yourself, of course you're going to notice and remember details about people. you'd have to develop that skill, to have the knowledge to give yourself options if you ever needed to escape suddenly.

also, for eliot's job in retrieval, he had to be a successful grifter somewhat often, so it makes sense that he'd find it important to both notice and remember small details about other people in that setting as well. cultivating that skill with people, with lying and charming, was a survival instinct.

all of this is to say- eliot has always done this, remembered little things about people, in service of his own survival (he's loaned out the skill to others, but you can argue that work is based in a survival instinct too... anyway). during the course of leverage we start to see him using these skills not only to protect other people, but to make them happy too. while he's risking his life every day to protect the team, he's also using his excellent memory to do things like buy parker a fucking plant that does something and say it's from hardison!

he wants to go beyond simply protecting them, he loves them and wants to show it- but he won't take the credit. eliot doesn't believe he's worth loving. he doesn't believe he'll ever be actually loved back, let alone loudly, by parker and hardison.

so he lets the credit be on hardison, he talks to them both and gives them advice about each other, he tells them in the rundown job to get on a plane out of d.c. so he can take whatever's coming himself. he pushes them away, towards each other, because he wants them to be happy and he thinks they will be happiest not knowing him that deeply.

but he also couldn't bear not being in their lives, not standing with them every day and protecting them from harm- so he puts his body, his memory, his mind in service of them, every single day. just... always from a distance. and he thinks he's doing it for them, to protect them, but he's doing it for himself out of fear of rejection. because he doesn't think he's good enough, worthy enough, of love. and that's so fucking sad.

[meanbossart]

Did Drow ever have a childhood before the temple or was he raised in it? If he did does he remember it? Sorry if these are silly questions I want to make something and I want it to be accurate.

(Heads up for A Novel Experience readers - these are technically spoilers as well as character lore, so, if you wanna stay totally blind to later developments, just don't read past the cut-off.)

Not a silly question at all! He would have found the temple only by age 18 (does that number mean anything to Bhaal/ the drow race? Probably not. Does it help me sleep better at night that he was at least of legal drinking age by the time he got introduced to his murder heritage? Yes It does). He doesn't really remember anything from his childhood other than that he was raised in the Underdark for a time, knows some basics about the culture and harbors a deep hatred of drow women and general dislike of drows. He knows he came to the surface quite young and spent over half his life above-ground, and honed his survival skills during that time, hence why he doesn't have any sun-sensitivity.

As for the details of his up-bringing, he was found somewhere in the wilds of the Underdark as an infant by a couple of slaves who took pity on him, then brought into a family where he was adopted by a matron and her consort who' d just lost their first-born son. Obviously, drows aren't known for their benevolence, but they found there to be something prophetic about this baby that had somehow stayed alive in spite of the Underdark's unforgiving nature, so they decide to keep him as a kind of marvel/curiosity, figuring if he didn't amount to much they could just sacrifice him to Lolth later.

Within the family he was pretty much left to his own devices, with the matron taking a lot of entertainment out of his weirdly feral behavior. He would just eat vermin and bats if she didn't bother feeding him, fended for himself and just showed a lot of strength for a child, not to mention that he never asked for anything or complained about the hand he was dealt. At some point he killed another family's son that picked on him, and, naturally, his foster mom loved that, lol.

ALAS, he killed her and her consort when he was about 10-13 years old, and then just left. Sceleritas would have appeared to him around that time and led the way to Baldur's Gate, while providing him with some basic aid and pointers to survive, though mostly just observing to see if he could prove himself worthy of his heritage by staying alive. He spent years living in the woods and city-streets he passed through, getting sustenance from eating game he hunted, food he stole, and, sometimes, people he killed. Probably fell under the care of a couple of unfortunate souls along the way who likely met a gruesome end, and finally arrived at the temple as a young adult where he lavished in his newly found status.

[pandoras-box0]

|| : Title : 'comfort me '

|| : Character : Ralak x omatikaya! reader

|| : Content Warnings : just comfort; caring! ralak; reader having a tough time; suggestive parts, no smut; ralak undresses and dresses reader; mentions of ralak and reader's kids, they're with reader's family; reader is a sully

|| : Synopsis : 'when you try so hard and still feel like you aren't enough, ralak is here to make everything better.'

Hot tears prickle your eyes as you sulk to your's and Ralak's shared pod, your tail dragging lowly behind you leaving a trail in the sand. The cool breeze on your skin only makes your face burn hotter as your fuck up from earlier hangs on your conscience heavily.

You had been trying to make yourself useful to the clan. It began when you heard a few women mumble about you during an early communal meal that you attended by yourself. You were retrieving fruit for you, your mate, and your children when you heard Kiko and Mawä, two gatherers that you've had brief interactions with, poke fun at you after an arranged gathering party, foraging ocean flora.

Sure you weren't the greatest at it, but you're built for the forest, not the ocean.

"She's such a rìk eltu [leaf brain]! Made the group late with her antics. She dives like a child!" A young metkayinan woman groans to her friend, talking behind her hand in an attempt to shield their conversation.

"Be nice, Kiko! Ronal said be patient with the forest people, especially Y/N! They're already unfit for the ocean but she is behind, even for her own." Another woman interjects, her words are kinder, yet the pity lacing them is gag-worthy. Only making you feel feeble and inadequate. The truth settling in your stomach in a nauseating churn, making your spirits heavy.

You'd been trying to pull your weight with the gatherers, after Ralak bestowed you with confidence, not wanting you to feel couped up in his marui. You thought it was going well, sure you were taking your time but you always made sure to grab more than enough for the clan as you gathered.

You did have a hard time in your own clan, being smaller than most adult na'vi. There were things you strived at, even though you fell short at most things, but those skills are of less importance to the sea clan. You offered to help Ronal with the wounded, but the woman turned you away. Stating that she didn't need any more healers crowding her tent. Weaving is another strong suit of yours, being that your mother has taught you the traditional methods of Omatikayan weaving, but after your interaction with Ronal, you were far too insecure to approach the weavers.

This afternoon, you and the other gatherers were in the forest behind the village of Awa'atlu. You thought because you were getting a chance to work in something close that resembles home, that it would be easy to excel. Wrong.

There was a plant in the middle of one of the rivers that cut through the island of Awa'atlu, and you offered to retrieve the needed leaves from it's branches, when one of the Metkayinan women asked someone to gather it. The woman snickered at what you assumed was your eagerness to prove yourself, but nodded away to the plant. You went out into the knee deep water, the current strong but not enough to knock you off your stable footing. Your basket of freshly gathered yovo fruit on your hip when you could've, should've left it on the river bank.

The leaves clung to the branches a lot stronger than your anticipation allowed and you lost your stable footing when the leaves didn't give. Your bare foot dug into the sand to stabilize yourself but your foot landed on a sharp root. You and your basket crash into the water as you jump to cradle your now sore foot.

The sting of the water burning through your lungs was no match to the amused laughs and pitiful groans that hit your ears when you break through to the surface. Through hair that clings to your face, you watch as the water carries away your finding, food for the clan, down the river. The purple fruit bobbing in the water. Your ego shatters as you brush away your sopping hair, making eye contact with extremely annoyed gatherers. Tired eyes of people ready to go for the day glaring at your shocked and coy expression, as the inconvenience of your actions renders them busy further into the day than they'd originally planned. Oh, Eywa. Why me?

A purple flush paints your rich blue skin as you recall the incident. Fingers clenching around yovo fruit - obviously not collected by you - bruising the skin of the fruit for your little family as embarrassment courses through you at the memory. The disappointment and annoyance of the men and women before you. How plenty laughed at your woeful preform, entertained by the forest na'vi falling face first into the river.

As you draw closer, you hope your mate and children wouldn't mind the slightly bruised fruit. They wouldn't, they never do. You could do no wrong in Ralak's eyes, and your kids looked at you as if you hung the tahni in the skies yourself. You knew that, but with the way most of the Metkayina looked at you as an inconvenience. You fear that your family looks at you just the same.

The door of your Marui is flapping in the wind that pushes your burning tears off your face. The sight of Ralak's large silhouette moving inside causes you to dry your face. Ralak had enough to worry about as is, Tonowari still having the man perform eyktanay, although he gave that title up when the two of you settled down. It wasn't frequent, just enough to the point that Ralak would be stressed. You couldn't layer your less serious inconveniences to the clan duties your mate struggled with.

You enter the threshold of your home, trying to refrain from getting Ralak's attention as you calm yourself from today's unfortunate events. And for a second your inconveniences slip from your mind, your Marui pod far more empty than it usually was, only the noises of your mate reaching your ear. "Where are the kids," your voice is a lot more harsh than you intended for it to come out as, as it makes Ralak whip around in shock. The fruit falls from your hands and the both of your wince.

His eyes soften at your appearance, soft dark blue face hardened in stress, there are dried tear tracks lining your cheeks. He can clearly see how your wet clothes leave puddles where you stand but he says nothing of it, just offering a kind gummy smile. It would've melted away your worry if you weren't so terribly stressed out. "They're with your family, Jake just came for them, said they wanted to take them for a picnic." Ralak makes his way over to you as he speaks, crossing the Marui in seconds with his long, defined legged, running a hand along your skin comfortingly as he passed to tie the door shut.

You nod at his words, your body deflating as a sigh leaves your lips. You turn from Ralak to peel yourself out of wet clothes, shielding yourself and your shame from the man. The wooden boards of the Marui croak under his under foot, allowing you to now when he's moving closer.

Your hands reach behind your back, fingers struggling to untie the knot of your top that rests in the middle of your back. Your finger keeps missing the loop as you struggle to undo the top. Cool hands brush over your flush skin, and you jolt as Ralak breathes into your hair. His large hand wraps around your wrist delicately to not hurt you, just to stop you.

"I've got it, paskalin. Allow me." Ralak's words are soft yet firm, the man set on helping you release some of the stress. Even if you are a bit hesitant. "It's fine-"

"Nonsense. I insist, my mate." His fingers pluck the knot that keeps your top up, the wet material hitting the floor with a splat. The air on your still damp skin is cold, but you don't feel much of it, hot with embarrassment. Ralak's touches are grounding, alleviating your worrying mind as he rids you of your damp clothes. And the smell he's putting out is calming, your body reacting to the scent instantly, body growing less tense. Ralak leaving smoothening touches along your skin as he does so, before hanging them to dry as he picks them up and walks off. A 'are is placed around your shoulders, keeping your damp body warm until Ralak can find you something suitable to wear.

His actions are all comfort, touches soft and relieving as your mate cares for you, guiding you to the plush pile of sleeping mats. It makes your heart race as you think about how attentive Ralak is. He didn't need to ask what was wrong to know something weighed on you heavy. The whole thing brings tears to your eyes, the stress of today and Ralak's quiet tenderness.

The redolence of Ralak permeates through the air, clinging heavily in the damp atmosphere, and you keen at the earthy, musky scent. Drooping and tearful eyes watch Ralak return with your clothes, things he's made for you. And the dam just breaks. Honestly your eyes hurt from all your tears. You so desperately wanted to fit in with the people and though there are those who love you, important people to you, those that rejected your efforts hurt.

Ralak's heart shatters at your sobs, he'd been the one to encourage you to partake in that gathering party. He wanted you to get out there and find something you enjoyed, and get you out of the house. His plan failed miserably and now you are in your shared bed, soaking the moss cover in tears.

"I- I'm sorry, I really tried! I fell in the river! I got called a leaf brain-" You sobbed dramatically as you try to explain the situation to Ralak, throwing your arms in defeat as you crumbled in on yourself when he gives you a brief look of confusion due to your jumbled words. Your mate's comforting scent is not yet strong enough or fast enough to calm you as you choke out tearful apologies. All Ralak can do is comfort you, and he does it without thinking.

Large hands cup your tearful face, Ralak brings you to look him in the eyes. The pads of his thumbs brush away your tears, and continue to do so as they fall. Only dropping from your face to dress you hastily when your tears stop briefly. A sigh rattles your chest as you feel Ralak moving you over to slide in the bed beside you. Grounding hands tuck you into his chest, smoothing over your damp hair. "I know you tried, Paskalin. I am sorry."

One look at Ralak's face and you can see the regret on his face. You wanted to earn your place with the clan so bad, so you'd been so excited because of his recommendations, your mate encouraging you to do anything, especially the things you loved. Clearly you were the problem, the only one of your siblings to still be so behind. Ralak did amazing training you for your Iknimaya, yet the insecurities latch to your spirit. "Y-you don't have to apologize, Lak. It is not your fault that the women talk or my lack of skills. I passed my Iknimaya yet I am still useless to the clan." You laugh bitterly through your tears, and it makes Ralak kiss his teeth.

"You do not lack the skills, tahni. You are an excellent gatherer when given the patience that my people should have. They lack the understanding of uturu." It takes a lot to make Ralak angry, you could count on one hand, how many times you seen your mate genuinely angry. Not upset, not mad, angry. "They squawk like ilu, nì'eveng. You are not useless."

Ralak gives your head a soft kiss, although his hands shake with anger. He pulls away from your shared embrace, you deflating slightly at his lack of warmth and comfort. You watch his stalk around the Marui, seemingly looking for something. "Lak? What are you..?"

You see him reach into your basket of weaving products, before pulling out a few of your works. You watch as he pulls out a few mats you've made for the house and fishing nets you'd been working on for Ralak and the other fishermen. The works are intricate, a raw display of skill and culture. No one can weave like the Omatikayan people. While you could do the gathering with a bit of trouble, weaving is your happy place. You put your emotions into every little intricate part of the design. And Ralak would never deny that you're amazing at weaving, even if you don't feel on par with the clan and the other skills.

"You can out-weave any Metkayinan I know." Ralak speaks lowly, calmly as he walks to where you sit, in your bed of thick sleeping mats you wove to keep the two of you comfortable. The net is made up of a harder, more durable seagrass, the kind that's harder to find due to how close it grows around the edge of the reef. He gives you a knowing look as Ralak watches your face heat up at his compliment. "These are works of art. This damn thing gets me more compliments than the ones I've created." He can't stop the smile playing on his lips when he watches you grin at his self deprecating words, although he's hardly joking.

"I know you may be a bit hesitant to meet with the weavers, but if you'd like to accompany me and weave more things for me," You love making nets for Ralak, how he'd revere everything you've made, and not just because you were his mate, and gifting him things. But because you are truly talented, gifted in the ways of weaving. Every piece made with love, skill and patience. "I'd treasure every creation, and I know the fishermen would appreciate your efforts as well."

Your face heats up at the compliment as Ralak shows your designs, marveling at the unique design. He looks truly in awe, not just with your work but with you. His blue eyes look past it to relish in the smile that's on your face. "You create beautiful things, Tahni." Ralak says before putting the unfinished net back. He makes his way to you in quick strides and he drops to his knees. He gathers your hands in his own, his blue eyes burning with certainty. "And you have the skills to be Metkayina. You are Metkayina, you have been since you sought out uturu and I am sorry that some of the clans people forgot the true meaning of uturu."

And as his words sink in, you smile and shake from his grasp, wrapping your arms around him gently. A small thank you leaving your lips as you burrow your head in the crook of his neck. And you truly are thankful, thankful for the way your mate comforts you.

|| : Na'vi Key :

Rìk eltu - leaf brain

Tahni - stars

Paskalin - sweet berry

'are - shawl/cape/poncho

Nì'eveng - childish/immature

2023 © Pandoras-Box0 — all rights reserved. do not repost or recommend my works on any other site. plagiarism will not be tolerated! inspiration is appreciated if credited, reblogs and comments are also appreciated. Minors dni with my content.

|| : Author's notes : this is a drabble of @zestys-stuff 's oc Ralak, he is such a lovely character. And @tiredmamaissy wrote an amazing series on him! I highly recommend checking both the creators out! This isn't edited and I had fleeting motivation working on this and I hope it doesn't show, I feel like the ending is horrible, so I may come through and change it😭 I wanted to create a comfort drabble for Ralak but I can make a part 2 to this that's smutty 🤞🏼

[salted-anime-takes]

Mob Psycho 100 (S1, S2, & S3)

Author: ONE

Studio: BONES

Genres (Listed by MAL): Action, Supernatural, Comedy

Premiered: Summer 2016 (COMPLETED)

Anime vs. Manga?: Both are so charming. It's worth checking both out. I really enjoy the progression of ONE's artstyle throughout the manga, too.

Salted Genres: mentor-apprentice, good sibling rep, respectful towards women (albeit without any taking lead roles), grownass man worthy of being babygirl, well-written characters, GREAT comedy, con artistry (lol)

Major Trigger Warnings: Not really??? Esper dad fights his esper son, but we're already in esper territory. ONE makes it clear that many adult espers are poorly adjusted socially, and the father character fighting his son is quite clearly Not a good guy.

Can I Watch It Around My Parents?: As long as they don't hate Supernatural themes, you could easily watch this around them. Couple of comedic scenes involve smartass guys getting their shit kicked in so bad, they get blasted to the point of their clothes disentigrating, but it's clearly meant for comedic purposes and not sexually. Trust me. He needed to be humbled.

Artstyle: Unique, leaning towards shounen. Heavily respects ONE's style while bringing it to a fuller depth and severely objectifying Reigen Arataka (he's in his late 20s). Not afraid to look raw or "ugly" (which is so refreshing).

Personal Review: Fuck you, this show is practically perfect. I don't have to say anything. You're on tumblr- Reigen is a god here. But seriously, just watch it. It's one of the few animes I wholeheartedly will recommend to anyone. If you can't appreciate it, it's just your loss. People who cry that "all anime has some caveat to it" to excuse shitty tropes? can eat shit. Mob Psycho is better than that AND your shitty harem anime.

Context: I watched this back in 2016 when it originally aired, and it was the fight with Teru (episode 4) that really got me hooked. Back then, ONE was the talk of the sphere for the recent release of One Punch Man S1 (Studio: Madhouse), and being the comedy fan that I am, I knew the humor was right up my alley. Season 1 was so fantastic that I immediately picked up the manga where it left off. All of us that were early fans used to convince people to watch it by saying, "If you liked OPM, this is the creator's piece he really put his heart into the story for!" Even after the manga ended with such a fulfilling ending, I was eager to see it again animated with BONES' gorgeous action animation skills. Some anime can manage being absolutely timeless, and I firmly believe Mob Psycho takes the cake.

Favorite Character: Reigen Arataka. I am not immune to grownass, loser men with hearts of gold (or at least when it counts). If anything, his entire character arc is becoming less of a loser since becoming Mob's role model, and you gotta love it.

Fandom: I never engaged with it, but it's impossible not to see on here. People are pretty wholesome from what I've seen (aside from objectifying Reigen, but he can have it. As a treat). Most takes include making Reigen a father figure (which I disagree on. Mob has a father. He needed a MENTOR. Big difference.) and the expected various shipping takes. The majority of characters are men, so it's mostly mlm. Most of the popular ships are pretty cute, so it's worth checking out if you enjoy shipping! Reigen is also memed to hell and back, and I miss Redraw Reigen days with all my heart. Great memes.