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pinkaditty · 6 months ago

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Starstruck Coral (Romeo Lucci x Reader; Tokyo Debunker)

okay so uh. i don’t really know how to explain this one. like truly i don’t. i feel like it came 2 me in a vision from a higher power or something bc this doesn’t feel like it was my own idea, much less self-indulgent, but regardless??? i actually like it!!!!

a/n: what i can say is that this was directly inspired by me buying this lip plumper tint called "Starstruck Coral" and how literally everyone around me once i put it on was like "ITS SO PRETTY!!" so yea. that's what this is. also. yea. been writing a lot of porn-free fics lately. don’t worry, im not uninspired. rather, i just wanna focus on budding feelings 4 a little while. then it’ll be back 2 porn i promise. im too insane 2 be kept from porn 4 very long i fear.

maybe part 2? maybe? idk yet i dunno. i might. i might not. we’ll see what my brain says…

summary: romeo cannot stand your visage so he styles it to his liking. why are you suddenly the belle of the ball? (leo, rui, haru, ed, and lyca make guest appearances here lol)

cw: some sexual comments. minors dni as per usual. no smut i fear!

Looking for Part 2? Click here!

“...Why are we doing this, again?”

“Shut up.” Romeo’s voice is practically seething with barely restrained anger as you interrupt his focus for the umpteenth time. He holds up one finger in the air towards you, not even turning to look at you. He slowly puts his finger down, and his hands twitch, clearly resisting the urge to ball into fists. “Just shut up. Let me handle this.”

Romeo continues perusing the available colors. Pearlescent White, Modest Matte Mauve, Cherry Pop Red, Hot Tease Pink, Starstruck Coral, and Raven’s Wing Black. He narrows his eyes and whips his head around to your face, studying your features intensely. His eyes pause on your lips, and he frowns as you roll them between your teeth nervously.

“Would you stop-! Urgh, nevermind.” He starts before abruptly stopping, turning fully towards you and grabbing your face, directing it in different angles in the light. He pays strong attention to your lips, noting the thickness, color, and shape of them. He grumbles to himself, looking back at the colors on the shelf. Only one seems to be a perfect match.

Starstruck Coral. That’s the one.

He plucks it off the shelf and places it in the basket before stalking off to the cash register. He knows you know to follow him, and you do, meekly following his steps, still unsure of the purpose of this outing. You shift idly from one foot to the other as he pays at the cash register, listening to the general ambiance of the store. People chattering, items being scanned, wheels of carts rolling along the tile floor. You’re idly reading the label of a pop culture magazine when Romeo appears at your side, sour expression etched into his face. It makes you jump, and he looks at you with an even sourer expression. “Let’s go,” is all he says, his voice loud and demanding, leaving little room for argument. He walks off again, casting a look over his shoulder to ensure you’re following him, which you are, confused expression still stuck on your face.

The two of you return to the Darkwick train station through a door labeled “Employees Only”, careful not to get caught. Once you board the train, Romeo unceremoniously tosses the bag of products towards you and sits across from you. His expression is enough to broadcast that he’s more than over this, despite having spent hours meticulously scanning the available products to find the ones that best matched your skin. He studies you again as you take your seat and the train begins to move. His eyes rove over your face again, as though picking apart your appearance in search of flaws. He hardly flinches when you look up and catch his gaze, though when you nervously turn away, he sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose.

“Go on. Ask what you want to ask.” His voice comes out exactly as exasperated as he’d meant it to be. He would hope this would discourage you from asking any questions, but he knew better than that.

He watches you shift nervously before speaking up, looking down at your fingers fidgeting with the bag instead of making eye contact with him. “...What is all of this for?”

He exhales, already sick of answering your questions even though he hadn’t answered any. “That anomalous cloak does not do your makeup for you.” Part of him assumes this would be enough explanation, but at your still confused expression, he rolls his eyes and continues explaining. “I am tired of going on missions with someone as basic and unappealing as you. If you are going to be a constant, I insist you at least know how to do your makeup to fit in when we go on high-class missions.” He doesn’t bother sugarcoating anything. Instead, he leans back in his seat again, deciding this was a job well done. He hears the crinkling of the bag and pops one eye open, watching you as you study the products in the bag. You pull out the Starstruck Coral lip tint and suddenly you have his full attention. He opens both eyes and tries to discreetly lean forward, watching as you turn the box around in your hands. He was awful proud of that choice. It was the perfect ombre blend of coral and pink, not too warm and not too cool. It would match your undertone perfectly and it even had a shimmering quality to it. So long as you wore it right, he was sure it’d refine your appearance an exceptional amount.

After finishing praising himself for his genius internally, he leans his head back onto his seat, content to just get this over with. As long as you didn’t look as constantly unappealing as you usually did on missions, it would be fine. He couldn’t get why, but it irritated him. Granted, your skin was okay at best. There were some acne scars here and there, blackheads all over your nose, and slightly puffy undereye, which he suspected was from not getting enough sleep on this accursed campus. Other than those faults, your skin was okay. No visible outbreaks or dryness. He had to applaud you for at least taking his advice to heart and moisturizing a little bit. It had done noticeable wonders, at least to him.

He hears the unmistakable sound of plastic wrap being torn, and he perks up again, noticing you unwrapping the Starstruck Coral lip tint. He leans forward again, curiosity suddenly bubbling within him. “Put it on.” He says before he can think about it, his eyes focused on the small unwrapped box in your hands.

“...Huh?” You give him a puzzled look, tilting your head. His eyes flick towards you in annoyance and he gestures towards the box, his eyebrows furrowing in irritation.

“Don’t be dense, put it on!”

You nod hurriedly, and he can tell from the way your eyes glimmer that you’d wanted to try it. He has to resist the urge to smile, your subtle but affirming reaction filling him with pride. He watches as you open the box and pull out the lip tint, turning it over in your hands before unscrewing it open. Romeo can already feel himself growing impatient, idly tapping his foot as he waits for you to start. “It may be a little messy because I don’t have a mirror, but I’ll do my best.” You warn him, finally unscrewing the tint, admiring the pretty ombre color. He sits up when you speak, and unbeknownst to you, a scowl crosses his face momentarily. You hear his footsteps before you see him, crossing the short distance across the train in record speed and snatching the tint away from you before you could apply it with shaky hands.

When you look up at him questioningly, he shakes his head, holding the tint and applicator brush in his hand. “Just hold still.”

With that, he leans over you, placing the thin tube of tint in your hands and firmly holding your chin, his eyes seemingly glued to your lips. “Open.” When you do as he says, he gently applies the tint to your bottom lip, pursing his own lightly glossed lips as he focuses. He exhales, and fails to notice the way you shiver, his breath fanning over your neck. His knuckles gently press into the soft skin of your cheek and chin as he carefully follows the border of your lips, watching as the plush skin yields to the pressure before plumping up again. Somewhat caught between a haze of his intense focus applying the tint and unexpected fascination with the buoyancy of your lips, Romeo accidentally smudges some of the tint. Despite his bubbling annoyance at his own blunder, for a moment, it’s an almost charming imperfection. The lip tint glitters against your skin, smudged just off the corner of your parted lips. If he were any more brazen, he would have given in to the odd temptation unfurling in his stomach to simply kiss it away. Fortunately for him and his own reputation, he’s far more proper than that. With a pointed glare at the corner of your lips, he wipes away the smudge with his gloved thumb. He glances at the sparkling residue left on his glove before wiping it away onto your top lip. When you flinch in response, he has to suppress a shiver down his spine. This action was inexplicably intimate, yet he didn’t understand where his flusteredness was coming from. There was no reason to act nor feel like this.

He applies the tint to your top lip in a more rushed fashion, suddenly wanting to replace the earlier distance between you two. He frowns when he finishes, nitpicking any slight smudges or missed spots, before stepping away, admiring his work. “There.” He plucks the tint from your grasp, screwing the applicator back on and tossing it into the bag. “...This might be good enough,” he says, feigning confidence, but he can hear the way his voice wavers with uncertainty, a part of him itching to do more. His gaze flickers upwards to meet yours and an idea pops into his head. He could do your lashes. They were long by itself, but some of the mascara he’d bought couldn’t hurt. Despite himself, he finds himself sitting back down in front of you, reaching for and holding your chin firmly again. He turns your head every which way, determining what else he could do to refine your appearance some. Unfortunately, he’s aware this train ride ends soon, and he feels himself getting nauseous at the idea of spending more time with you than he has to, despite the anticipation crawling up his spine. He reaches for the bag again, pulling out the mascara he’d bought earlier. When you reach out your hand to apply it yourself, he gently swats your hand away. “No. Hold still.”

He doesn’t give you much choice, still holding your chin and pulling your face closer to his. He purses his lips again, telling you not to blink as he applies your mascara. He finds himself staring at your eye color, noting the color of the mascara in comparison. Perhaps next time he ought to choose something that made your eyes stand out more, or maybe that’d be easier done with some eyeshadow in the correct shade. He decides to halt his thoughts there, scowling. He had to focus, and he was damn well sure there wouldn’t be a ‘next time’. He internally recoils at the thought of having to peruse the shelves with you over his shoulder again, constantly shifting your expressions, making it harder for him to focus. The slight furrow in your brow even now was distracting, and all he could think about was how he wanted to remind you that frowning causes wrinkles, and you would be especially susceptible to them if you didn’t keep up your skincare regime. Instead, he lets go of your chin and flicks you between your brows, frowning at you himself. When you get the message and relax your expression, he nods appreciatively and continues his task, moving to your other eye.

Finally, the task was complete. His eyes flick back and forth between your eyes, watching as you blink at him dubiously. When satisfied, he pulls away, screwing the applicator back into the mascara and observing your face. Your eyes seemed wider and brighter, and the added mascara helped your lashes appear longer. Your lips were bright and shimmering, still covered in that Starstruck Coral color. Romeo smiles to himself, proud with how he managed to turn around your appearance with so little. He reaches for your face again, holding your cheeks with considerable tenderness, as though scared one wrong move would smudge and ruin the perfect portrait of you. He doesn’t realize he’s holding his breath as he gazes at you, checking your entire face for imperfections, glazing over the negligible or unnoticeable imperfections that couldn’t be immediately cleared. He exhales, feeling himself gleam with pride as a reluctant smile digs into his cheeks yet again. He sits down beside you, still holding your face. “Non c'è male…” He mutters to himself, finding his gaze lingering again on the pretty ombre mesh of pink and orange and red on your lips. Truly, Starstruck Coral had been the right choice.

He’s basking in his pride more when he hears the shutter click of a camera, and a whistle in a familiar voice. “Now this will do numbers on WickHive.” The same familiar voice cackles and Romeo already knows he hadn’t moved away quickly enough to avoid the picture. One glance up and there he is, Leo, staring down smugly at his phone, where the incriminating image is probably being held. Surprisingly, hunched over Leo’s shoulder is Rui, inspecting the picture with a crease in his brow. Romeo cannot believe his lack of luck.

Romeo catches it when Rui makes eye contact with you, and it doesn’t escape him how Rui’s eyes flicker with an emboldened interest. Stepping past Leo, Rui heads to you with an extra skip in his step, wide smile already spreading across his face. His voice is higher than usual, and Romeo wonders if mere makeup was enough to trip up the ladykiller himself. “Woooow, MC!” He stops a short distance away from you, his eyes flickering across your face as he takes in your makeup. “You look cuter than usual today. What’s brought this on, huh?” Rui’s tone is filled with mirth as he pokes your nose playfully. Romeo stiffens and has to bite back the urge to swat his hand away from your face.

Romeo carefully watches your reaction, and is almost relieved when you don’t smile immediately. “You like it? I haven’t seen how it looks yet.” You reply to Rui, a little hesitant but clearly glad for the praise.

Rui sticks his bottom lip out in a mock pout. “Awww, you should! You look so cute!” His face breaks out into a wide smile again, and it’s almost crushingly obvious that Rui’s a flirtier version of Kaito at this point. “I’m assuming we have you to thank for this, hm?” Romeo looks up to notice Rui’s gaze on him as Rui vaguely gestures in your direction.

Romeo doesn’t resist the urge to puff his chest out a bit, folding his arms indignantly. “Indeed.” His terse answer doesn’t hide his swelling pride, he’s aware, but brevity is the soul of wit, which he likes to claim to possess.

“He picked out some makeup items for me.” You chime in, holding up the bag with a relaxed smile. It seems you’ve finally taken to Rui’s compliments.

Rui shakes his head with a complicated look in his eyes, clearly picking up on the message behind the gift, but happy for you nonetheless. “Well, leave it to Romeo to pick out such a pretty color. It suits you.” Rui winks at you before finally finding a seat on the train, just across from you, taking Romeo’s former seat.

Leo, who’s clearly been either editing the picture or waiting his turn to soak up all the attention, saunters up to you, smug smile still on his face. Romeo doesn’t miss how your earlier smile seems to fade all at once. He would laugh, but it’s not that funny.

“Gotta say, I agree with Rui. Who knew…” Leo trails off, his fingers reaching for your chin and holding it with uncharacteristic tenderness, tilting your face upwards towards him. Romeo notices how you stiffen at the contact. “...That the honor student could be—” Leo suddenly snaps his lips shut, and Romeo can tell from the way his lips purse despite being in a smug smirk that he had to bite back a compliment. Leo only falters slightly, brow creasing minutely before quickly straightening again, lips quirking back up into a teasing smile, more words as demeaning as they were saccharine sweet on the tip of his tongue. “Well, it suits you. You might even be unrecognizable enough to pass as a beauty in this picture.” Leo smirks, waving his phone in his hand.

Romeo finds himself intervening before he can really think about it. He swats Leo’s hand away from your chin. “Stop that. You’ll smudge her foundation.” A blatant lie, but it would be sound enough to get him to back off, Romeo hopes. Something about this was fraying at his nerves.

Leo raises a crooked brow at Romeo, a slow, shit-eating grin spreading across his face. “I don’t know, Romeo. The blackheads on her nose account for a lack of any foundation at all. Nice try, though.” Romeo should be thankful Leo lets it go, but all he can do is turn away indignantly, feeling his face burn with embarrassment. He hears a chuckle before light footsteps padding away, and gently exhales, pinching the bridge of his nose. By god, of all people to board the train at that moment…

Rui walks at a much faster pace than you and Romeo, strained expression on his face. He’d left Lyca and Ed in charge of the bar while he was off on a short mission, as he explained earlier, and could only hope that they hadn’t mistakenly set the bar on fire.

Romeo was headed to the bar for drinks, and as far as he was concerned, you were coming with him. The earlier incident with Leo convinced him he cannot let you out of his sight for today. Leo had cited some excuse for not coming to the bar, but Romeo could tell from the grin Leo flashed his way that he can expect that picture to be all over WickHive by evening. A drink to forget it, even temporarily, would be enough for Romeo.

Rui heaves a sigh of relief as he steps into the bar, glad to find nothing on fire nor destroyed, but Lyca doing the work while Ed sits perched at the bar. A red shock of hair buried in a white sleeve also denotes another guest. Romeo has to grit his teeth, remembering how Haru went on and on about you after first meeting you. He can only imagine the endless waterfall of praise he’ll surely come up with on the spot seeing you even remotely dolled up. He makes a mental note to bring painkillers for the inevitable headaches he gets when he comes here and Haru happens to arrive.

Clearly, Romeo needs to be more forthright about how he’s trying to protect his ears, because when you plop yourself down in the seat right next to Haru, all he feels is dread. He quickly slips into the seat on your other side, despite there being no remaining danger.

Rui, finally behind the bar, gently nudges Haru. He immediately raises his head, and Romeo can’t tell if he woke up that quickly or was already awake and out of it so soon. The faint blush on his face indicates the latter. As Haru reorients himself, Romeo notices Lyca peering at you oddly. He’d never so much as heard this boy speak, but something tells him he’s going to be as much as, if not more of, a headache than Haru.

“Oh, hi MC-! …Wait. Something’s different about you.” Haru’s voice had its classic drawl it always had when he’s getting close to being hammered. Romeo’s sure it’s loud enough to be heard from Obscuary’s entrance. He watches, jaw clenched tight as Haru inspects you. Boldly, and probably not realizing how drunk he is, Haru reaches out, his gloved fingers lightly tracing the skin above your eyebrows. Romeo notices you don’t recoil at this touch, but he doesn’t know if it’s because you know he’s drunk or if you happen to not dislike Haru. Both options are less than ideal.

Puzzled expression still stuck on his face, Haru traces his fingers downwards, caressing your cheek. “Yea…” He mutters to himself, his eyes tracing the path of his fingers. “Something’s…” his fingers reach the corner of your lips, “...Different…Oh!” His eyes widen like it’s finally occurred to him, and his gaze remains transfixed on your lips, shimmering coral color still bright and undisturbed on them. “You’re wearing makeup!”

“Is that what that is?” Lyca cuts in, suddenly appearing behind you, craning his neck to get a good look at your face. He narrows his eyes, scrutinizing your appearance before leaning away, satisfied. He crosses his arms, a light blush dusting his face as he tries to ignore the staring he just did. “Hmph. It’s pretty.” His compliment is short and terse, but Romeo can tell from your relieved sigh that you’re happy to receive it nonetheless. However, said compliment is quickly followed up by: “...You reek of the damn blond gigolo, though.”

Rui stiffens behind the bar, cleaning a glass. “Come on, my cologne isn’t that potent.” He looks up from his task to find all five of you avoiding his gaze.

Ignoring Rui’s distressed cry of shock, Haru turns to you again. “Lyca’s right. It is pretty. Though…” Haru leans towards you, his chin propped up in his hands, “I always thought you were quite the looker, you know.” His smile is disarmingly handsome, even to Romeo. His flushed cheeks and lovestruck gaze probably only add to it. Romeo suppresses a gag, turning away.

Rui, having partially recovered from the prior shock, also leans towards you, resting his cheek in his palm, partially hiding a cheeky smile. He hums in agreement with Haru, nodding. “Can’t disagree with that. You’re an attractive gal.”

Romeo shivers, ready to pull you away from Haru and Rui’s gazes. When Lyca cranes his neck to gaze at you again, Romeo snaps.

“Will you horny dogs keep your dicks in your pants and your lascivious gazes off of her?!” He knows he’s one to talk considering the way your lips simply shimmering was enough to disarm him on the train, but still. This was ridiculous.

“Really, now…” A soft, low, velvety voice echoes through the silence following Romeo’s outburst. Ed appears behind you, gently placing his hands over your ears. He mockingly frowns disapprovingly at Romeo. “Using such vulgar language in front of a lady…” He shakes his head and tuts a few times, a smile crawling onto his face. “Surely you know your manners?”

Rui chimes in, teasing grin all over his face. “He may need a refresher on them.”

With that, Haru, Rui, and Ed dissolve into snickers, just as Romeo bursts into a blush. Lyca, off to the side, looks a little confused.

“I don’t get it. Why not use words like that in front of her?”

Romeo’s walking you home. He insisted on it. He wasn’t about to let a repeat of him being humiliated yet again by your side, nor was he going to let some other ghoul or normal human lay his eyes on you, at that. Maybe this makeup was a bad idea. But then, he turns to sneak a quick glance at you. Your expression appears quite pleased, and your shimmering lips are curled into a small smile.

Well. Maybe it wasn’t that bad of an idea.

“Thank you.” Romeo’s surprised to hear you pipe up, and turns towards you questioningly.

“For what?”

“For the makeup.” You gaze at him kindly, giving him a small smile. He’s taken aback by it. “Can’t say you were kind about it, but I appreciate it regardless.”

Romeo hardly stiffens at the comment. He knows he wasn’t particularly kind about it, but that’s the point. How else is someone who can hardly remove their blackheads going to take proper care of their skin? He glances at you out of the corner of his eye, letting his thoughts run around his head. Part of him wondered if he had another reason for buying you makeup in the first place, and why this entire gift felt like it was only going to bite him in the ass later. Maybe it already was, what with how you’d managed to catch the attention of every single ghoul they’d encountered today. But that didn’t make sense. Why would you gaining attention bite him in the ass? He shakes his head, a blush forming on his face as though he already knows the answer.

“Shut up. Just use it on missions.” Romeo’s response is as terse as ever, quick and to the point. He watches as you roll your eyes, and something in him twinges, partially wishing he could’ve given a nicer comment.

When you arrive at the chapel, he watches you bound up the steps, sticking around despite himself. He musters up an obligatory “Good Night,” right before you close the door on him, and he watches as your shimmering Starstruck Coral lips pull into a grin.

“Goodnight, Romeo.”

He turns away as you close the door, ready to fill the rest of his walk back to Sinostra with more pondering. His phone buzzing in his pocket interrupts his peace, however, and he turns it on only to find an innumerable amount of notifications from WickHive.

“Kurosagi…” He curses his name under his breath. “When I get you…”

a/n: yippee!!!!!!! im surprised i managed to finish this. i honestly like it a lot, i think it's really cute and i like the way i wrote it. i genuinely hope you guys like it too!!!!!

shameless note that, as usual, i love likes, comments, tagged reblogs, and asks!! please feel free to let me know in any way you like just how much you loved my writing! it's what keeps me going!

until next time!!!

EDIT BC I SOMEHOW FORGOT?: a few hc's im adding 4 relevance's sake:

rui wears strong cologne and douses himself in it

haru has grey eyes

that's all yippee!!

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soupthatistohot · 5 months ago

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BSD Stormbringer Manga Ch. 1: Chuuya as a "Dark Gem"

AKA: I got around to reading the first chapter of the Stormbringer manga and I Have Thoughts!

A decent chunk of this first chapter is taken up by the gem trade being explained in-depth, which seems a bit... excessive. Even the translator noted as much in the version I read:

It begs the question of why they spent so much time on this. At least part of the reason is to give the reader an idea of what Chuuya's current role in the Port Mafia entails, providing some necessary context (since timeline-wise the last we saw of him was in 15 and it's now roughly a year later). But I also think it's an extended metaphor for Chuuya as a person (spoilers for the rest of stormbringer ahead).

The part that really jumped out to me was this sequence of panels:

The first two talk about "dark" gems and how they cannot enter the world of light, which is VERY reminiscent of Kouyou's rhetoric when talking about Kyouka (and herself, as she's projecting her trauma onto Kyouka):

The third panel from SB also interests me as it claims that these gems are given a second chance, specifically through how the Port Mafia has reshaped them.

In 15, Mori says that only a diamond can polish another diamond, in reference to soukoku -- so I don't really think it's a large leap to make here that the "dark" gems here are a stand-in for Chuuya himself.

If you consider the connection to Kouyou's rhetoric, that follows because Chuuya is under her tutelage at this point in time, she's the one who oversees his work when he joins the PM and arguably one of the people he's closest to in the organization. There's a decent chance that she's told him similar things that she told Kyouka -- that they belong to the world of darkness and cannot be brought into the light.

This is further supported by the fact that one of the central focuses of Stormbringer is Chuuya's past. He has a "dark" past on multiple levels. The obvious being that he was kidnapped and experimented on to become a vessel for Arahabaki, his past is dark because its horrible. But also he doesn't remember his past at this point, so it's dark because it's literally shrouded in his memory -- his "origins unknown" to him.

And so, Chuuya is a dark gem (a black diamond, perhaps) that has been taken in by the Port Mafia. In doing so, he is no longer the street kid he used to be, scrounging to survive with his ragtag gang. Instead, he's been reshaped -- he wears suits now, he's a 16 y/o in charge of the gem trade -- he's been "given a second chance."

So yeah, basically my interpretation of this is that the allusions to Chuuya's dark past are a kind of foreshadowing for not only what came before, but also what's to come throughout the course of Stormbringer. This story is very focused on the intermingling of past and present, as well as issues of identity and how it is shaped -- is Chuuya a human with free will, or can his existence be chalked up to being lines of code? What bearing does the past have on the present? This is all subtle set-up for these emerging themes.

PS: I don't have any in-depth analysis for this, but the imagery referencing Chuuya's time being experimented on and the clone is QUITE heavy-handed here at the beginning. I'm loving all the intentionality behind the art so far!

#chuuya nakahara #chuuya bsd #bsd chuuya #stormbringer #bsd stormbringer #stormbringer spoilers #stormbringer manga #bsd #bungou stray dogs #bungo stray dogs #character analysis #soup rants

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kestrel-bee · 7 months ago

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I know I’m biased because Rise was my first positive experience with TMNT as a franchise, but I really cannot fathom how any TMNT fan who has watched more than the first half of season 1 could call Rise a bad iteration. Like, I can understand it not being someone’s taste if you’re used to the older style, but you HAVE to at least admit they had so much fun mixing up the usual formula and did a pretty good job with it.

They’ve had the same weapons for 40+ years? Switch them up for a little bit as the characters grow into themselves! Give them world-building explained super powers too!

The turtles are usually confined to just NYC and mutant related shenanigans? Throw in a whole hidden underground city with an unknown race that is hiding from human discovery!

Master Splinter’s always wise and responsible with a dark past? What if he was a runaway movie star who spent his life shirking responsibility until it came back to bite him?

Leo’s always the oldest brother and responsible leader? What if he’s a cocky middle child who has to learn responsibility during an alien invasion?

Raph’s always the moody middle child with anger issues? What if he’s the oldest, the main figure of responsibility in their household, and is the one to take the helm of leader for awhile?

April’s usually a boring female side character who only meets the turtles at the beginning of the show? Make her the fun family friend/oldest sister of the family! Let her be crazy and kick people in the shins! Let her be close with Donnie WITHOUT the weird and unnecessary romantic tension! (I am talking specifically about 2012 April.)

Oroku Saki and Karai, the usual heads of the Foot Clan? The Shredder’s a late-game villain whose spirit is trapped in evil mystic armor gifted to Saki by the Krang a thousand years ago, and his daughter turned into a magic sword to keep him trapped in a prison dimension.

Casey Jones? A Foot clan recruit whose identity is only revealed at the end of the series. Oh yeah she also has a time-traveler son by the same name who brings news of the apocalypse.

The Krang weren’t terrifying enough before? Make them capable of the most horrifying body horror you’re allowed to get away with on TV-Y7 rated television.

Baxter Stockman? Make him a 10yo iPad kid who’s bored and decides to make fake ghost stories on the internet for views. (Not my favorite villain, but it’s still a funny and unique take.)

The point is, difference can be good and interesting! Not every aspect of the story needs to be kept the same, sometimes it’s fun to mix things up! And Rise is a good example of that.

#kess’ ramblings #rottmnt #rise of the teenage mutant ninja turtles #rise of the tmnt #tmnt

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miley1442111 · 1 year ago

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cookies-a.hotchner

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a/n: THANK YOU ALL SO MUCH FOR 1000 FOLLOWERS, Y'ALL MEAN SO MUCH TO ME I CAN'T BEGIN TO EXPLAIN IT!!!!

summary: you're the cute barista he sees everyday.

pairing: aaron hotchner x fem barista reader

warnings: fluff, mentions of sa, aaron is a cutie in this, sorry if this doesn't make sense, i was studying german all day and idk if I have the patience to re-write this :)

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Aaron’s nervousness grew as he stepped closer and closer to the counter. Aaron Hotchner was not a man to be anxious, nervous, or shy when it came to speaking to people, even new people. Aaron Hotchner was a confident, intelligent man who was very important and powerful in both his personal and work life.

So why was he so nervous to speak to the cute barista he saw every morning?

In his defence, you were drop-dead gorgeous. Aaron loved everything about you, your hair, your style, your face, your lips (he spent a lot of time looking at them), and everything about you. You were so interesting, so nice, and very good at making him a good cup of coffee.

“Aaron! How are you today?” You asked, a smile on your face as he got to the top of the queue.

“I’m fine thank you, how are you?” he smiled. Good, I got through the first sentence.

“I’m great! It’s so nice out today,” you mentioned the weather everyday without fail, Aaron smiled and agreed with whatever positive outlook you had, even on the gloomiest of days.

“It is,” he nodded.

“The usual?” you asked, getting a cup ready.

“Please,” he nodded. “And one of the cookies please.”

You stopped your writing on the cup to look up at him. “A cookie? I wouldn’t have put you down for a cookie guy, Aaron.”

“It’s not for me, my son loves the cookies from your shop,” he admitted, since he’d brought Jack here on your day off (yes, he had your schedule memorised. You worked Mondays to Fridays between 7am and 1pm, Saturday off, then on Sundays you worked the closing shift), and he’d enjoyed the cookie quite a lot.

Your eyes flickered with something like… disappointment, but it was immediately replaced with your signature smile. “Any specific one?” You asked, eyes moving from him to the display case.

“The red one, he loves spiderman,” he decided after a moment of deliberation.

“A man after my own heart,” you smiled, and bagged the cookie, giving him a soft goodbye as he waited for his drink and cookie down by the other side of the till.

---------------------------

Your co-worker gave you a sad smile as you deflated. Your cute regular, Aaron, was obviously married with children, who wouldn’t want to make him a dad? Who wouldn’t want to give him anything he wants forever? He was just so handsome and so sweet and so-

You get the point.

You were smitten with a married man you had no chance with. Sigh.

---------------------------

Saturday 4pm

Aaron walked in with Jack’s hand in his and the rest of the BAU team behind him. He was in his marathon wear, after just running the town's marathon. The shop was practically empty, it probably had something to do with the time and the fact that they were giving out free food at the finish line. But Aaron wanted nothing more than to b-line it straight to your cafe and get a latte and a cookie (he tried a bite of Jack’s and he very much enjoyed it).

---------------------------

The bell above the door rang and you put on your best customer service face to be met with Penelope Garcia. Your sister’s friend from college that visits every summer.

“Pen?” you smiled

“Y/n!” she squealed, opening her arms for a hug. You came out from behind the counter to hug her.

“How are you?” You asked as the rest of the group looked at the two of you.

“I’m so amazing! I cannot believe your sister didn’t tell me you opened the cafe?!” She practically scolded.

“Don’t be too hard on her, she doesn’t exactly… know,” you chuckled uncomfortably as Penelope’s face fell.

“Why wouldn’t she know?” She whispered, turning you both away from the prying eyes of the group.

“She… she doesn’t want to talk to me anymore,” you shrugged. “It is what it is.”

“Why? What happened?”

“After the… after Ryan did, y’know, what he did, she told me she believed his version and not mine. C’est la vie,” you sighed, picking at your nails as you explained.

“What?!” Penelope was practically crying. “That’s awful!” “I’m fine,” you chuckled, going back behind the counter. “Now, what can I get you?”

“I have the order written down, it’s a lot,” a tall man from the group offered.

“Sounds great,” you smiled at him. He handed you over a piece of paper with various drink orders and food orders and you started working on them right away, since you were the only one working that day too. Penelope paid, and watched over you as the group chatted about various cases and congratulated Aaron on his performance. She soon realised she wasn’t the only one watching you, Aaron’s eyes were firmly planted on either you, or Jack.

Interesting.

---------------------------

As you brought over all the drinks, you finally let yourself look at Aaron.

Fuck, he looked good in a t-shirt and running shorts. It was becoming unfair.

There were three women on the team. Penelope, not his wife for sure- she was dating Kevin. A blonde woman, showing photos of her kids to the group and sitting far away from Aaron- not his wife. A brunette woman who was gorgeous who sat right beside him, but there was no physical contact- maybe his wife? You couldn’t tell.

As the night wore on and they started trickling out, you were left alone with Aaron for a split second. While clearing their table, you accidentally knocked into him and spilt coffee on his shirt.

“Shit, I am so sorry!” You immediately apologised and Aaron just stared at you with this dazed look for a second, then smiled.

“It’s fine, I promise,” he nodded, but you felt awful.

“Please let me get you some tissue or something Aaron,” you pleaded, bringing the cups over to the till before running to grab some tissue paper, not even waiting for his response.

“It’s really not a big-” Aaron started but you hushed him, trying to get some of the coffee off of his shirt. He stared down at you as you worked, muttering soft apologies and sighs or annoyance at your carelessness. “Can I ask you out to dinner?” He blurted out, not even thinking. God, his head felt so hazy when he was around you.

You slowly looked up in shock. “Pardon?”

“I’m asking you out,” he repeated.

“But don’t you have a wife-?”

“She and I got divorced a while ago. I get Jack- my son- on the weekends,” he explained.

“Oh, then in that case, yes please,” you smiled. “I’d love to go out.”

“Good,” he smiled, then he turned quite serious. “I promise to just move things at your speed, I overheard what you and Penelope were talking about,” he sighed. “You’ll call all of the shots, I promise.”

Your heart swelled. He was a gentleman, a dad, and a lovely person? How could you be more lucky? “Thank you, that means a lot.”

Aaron walked out of the coffee shop, a large stain on his white shirt, but a date too, so he really didn’t mind.

He also didn't mind the teasing he got from Penelope on the way home.

---------------------------

criminal minds masterlist :)

navigation for my blog :) (criminal minds, obx, the bear, marvel, top gun, the hunger games :)

#criminal minds #criminal minds imagine #bau team #criminal minds x reader #aaron hotchner x reader #criminal minds fandom #aaron hotchner #criminal minds fic #aaron hotchner fluff #thomas gibson x reader #thomas gibson #aaron hotchner fanfiction #aaron hotch hotchner #aaron hotch x reader #aaron hotch imagine #aaron hotchner imagine #aaron hotch fanfiction

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etheries1015 · 2 years ago

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Hello! I love the way you write! Would I be able to request the reactions of some of the twst boys to MC telling them they snore (whether it's true or not)? I think Malleus, Riddle, and Azul would have fun reactions, but anyone you feel like writing would be great! Thank you!

Thank you for the compliment heuheu... much appreciated <3

When they snore

Featuring: Malleus, Riddle, Azul, Rook, Vil

General warnings: Gender neutral reader

Malleus

The moment you told him he snores, he was concerned. Was he troubling you with his sleeping habits? Were you unhappy sleeping with the fae because of this, to the point where it was noticeable? The moment the words left your mouth, he began to word vomit.

"Is that an issue? Is my snoring preventing you from getting a night of good rest? I...Suppose I could sleep elsewhere if it will grant you a full night of sleep.." Que him going down a rabbit hole of solutions, you couldn't get a single word in. Eventually, it came time for classes to begin, to which you hadn't the chance to explain your statement to the panicked fae.

When night fell and it was time for bed, his tail swayed sadly as he stood in the doorway. "I suppose I shall sleep out here, my love," He said, as lightning of vibrant green flashed outside your window.

As he turned his back and began to sulk away, you quickly ran up behind him with a bear hug.

"Malleus, would you stop and listen to me for a second?" You laughed, "When I said you snore, I was going to tell you it was cute. Like an animal snoring lightly. You seem so at peace curled up in bed with your light snoring..."

The lightning went away as fast at it had came, and you felt his tail wrap around your waist as he turned to face you, arms pulling you close.

"Ah...ahem. I apologize for my unbecoming behavior before, then. I...was rather saddened at the thought I caused my beloved to lose well-needed sleep."

He's never been called cute before, but he's also never slept in the same bed with another person. So I suppose there's a first for everything <3

Riddle

Snores like a cat. The first time you had slept in the same room, the first thing you noticed was his high-pitched yet soft snores that were short and far between.

The morning you woke up, the first thing you said was; "Did you know you snore?" Riddle blinks at you a couple times before hitting you with his annoyed face (you know the one.)

"Snoring is perfectly normal," He told you, "It's caused by the rattling and vibration of tissues-"

You got a lecture on the scientific reasoning behind snoring. When he finished defending the nature of his sleeping habits, you finally hit him with the "You snore like a little cat! It's cute!"

His face turns as red as his hair, as always when he becomes flustered.

"W-w-wha- a cat?! How dare you compare me to a cat! I..I am not a cat..."

"I'm sorry, I couldn't help it. Maybe I shouldn't have said anything.." You seemed pretty guilty about upsetting him, he muttered "I suppose I'll let it go..." and moved on.

All in all, as long as you aren't losing sleep because of him, he will forgive you for your previous teasing statements. However, from that day forward, you have noticed his ears take a rosy hue with shy glances your way before he heads to bed...

Azul

"Did you know you snore? Pretty loud, too. Is that like...a merman thing?"

His face turns red IMMEDIATELY. He was so embarrassed. The first time he allows someone to be near him in such a vulnerable state, and he blows it by being a snorer. A loud one, at that.

"Snoring is not common for merfolk! Being under the sea, most don't struggle with such a thing...but I would say being above water, the air that goes through my soft palate-"

Great. Another scientific review on snoring. Only Azul, on the other hand, cannot seem to keep eye contact with you.

"Please don't tell anyone. You must sign on it!"

You spent an hour comforting poor Azul, telling him it's nothing to be ashamed of, and giving him lots of hugs and cuddles. But he still continues to insist you sign a NDA to the information you had uncovered.

He was incredibly shy about having you sleep with him again, yet you managed to convince him. Azul is much more insecure than you may think about his image, however, you always seem to break his walls down.

Although, you did notice he began to wear nose strips at night, with books on sleeping habits and potions to help with snoring...old habits truly die hard.

Give him extra cuddles for the existential crisis you had instilled in your poor octo boyfriend <3

Rook

Oh boy. You had no choice but to tell him. He snores like your average forty-year-old dad. You genuinely lose sleep over it, even waking him up

"Rook, Rook. Honey. Please. I can't sleep. Your snoring is just too much, I'm sorry."

He actually finds it kind of amusing? For some reason? He asks you excitedly to tell him more about the things he does when he's sleeping.

He didn't really take you too seriously until he noticed the physical wear and tear. The bags under your eyes...

"Mon Cheri! Your eyes...have you not been sleeping well?"

"Rook. Your snoring. It's horrendous. Please."

He spends an hour doing EVERYTHING under the sun to help his snoring, for your sake! Moving around how his bed is set up, mouth exercises, the way he sleeps...He refuses to use strips, he doesn't like how they feel, and says it prevents his senses from being at their 100%.

He finds a way to help alleviate it, and you end up investing in some sleep time headphones. You make it work, because dealing with his sleeping habits is better than sleeping without him~

Vil

"Did you know you snore?"

He stares at you with his jaw open and his eyes wide. What...what do you mean he snores when he sleeps? Does he sleep with his mouth open? Does he look utterly ridiculous when he sleeps? All of these questions he bombards you with.

"Vil! Vil. I was kidding. I'm sorry. You sleep so quietly that I have to check if you're still alive sometimes. You're like a sleeping statue of perfection."

He was not amused. He almost had a heart attack and invested in the world's most expensive treatments.

Tackles you to the bed and ruffles up your hair, laughter ensuing at your silly little prank.

"Well, it's YOU who snores, potato. You're lucky I let you sleep here and not outside like a dog," He chuckles. He says this, yet you knew he loved you too much to go a single night without you by his side.

A link to my masterlist

#twisted wonderland #Twisted wonderland X reader #twst #twst x reader #twst headcannons #Twisted wonderland headcannons #Malleus #Malleus draconia #Malleus draconia X reader #Rook hunt #Rook hunt x reader #azul ashengrotto #Azul ashengrotto x reader #Riddle rosehearts #Riddle rosehearts x reader #Vil schoenheit #Vil schoenheit X reader

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acapelladitty · 9 months ago

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`♡° kinktober 2024! ---

☆ kink: Thigh fucking

☆ pairing: Messmer/Reader

☆ summary: Injured and in need of assistance, you take full advantage of Messmer's vulnerability.

kinktober '24 ☆ main masterlist ☆ ao3

Arriving at Messmer's chambers, you find the door already cracked open and you only pause long enough to take a deep breath before pushing the door further open and stepping through into the now familiar room.

His absence had been felt across the Shadow Keep, your discovery of his leaving only taking place hours after he and a close guard had long departed for whatever business had snatched their attentions.

One of the older servants, a sweet and elderly woman who managed most of the kitchen runnings had been the one to inform you of his return many days later. But her message came with a request, a summons which you were to heed immediately as your lord demanded your presence in his private chambers.

The heat of his room instantly pressed at your skin, making the thin cotton robe which made up your daily clothing feel tight against your flesh. A thin red ribbon, the material silken and smooth, cinched your waist and the pull of it gave you both some definition to your frame and also marked you as personal property of the lord of the keep. A designation which afforded you a decent experience as much of your time was spent in your assigned rooms or mingling with other servants.

As remarkably tall as ever, Messmer is lounging off the edge of his bedchamber and his back straightens as he watches you approach. He is half-nude, his long torso exposed fully while his lower half remained covered by some loose blankets, the light colours only serving to make the paleness of his skin even more pronounced. His snakes watch you with yellow eyes, protruding from his body in their various positions as they keep close to their master.

“I see you received my summons, spirited paramour.”

Spirited paramour.

A title he had bestowed on you quickly after he had secured his coercion of you as his willing lover. He had appeared pleased with himself at the title, pointing out the dual identity of your spirited attempt to kill him and also how quickly you had succumbed to being spirited away as his paramour.

“I was unaware of your return, my lord,” you reply sweetly, only the slightest hint of bite to your voice as you walk towards him with gentle footsteps. Taking in his appearance, you are surprised to note that he looks tired; a weariness sitting loosely on his features as the skin below his eyes appears somewhat sunken and darkened by fatigue. But your gaze is quick to fall from his face as you take in the most obvious change in his appearance, that being a thick patch of reddened skin which looks raw and recently burned.

Beginning at his collarbone and extending down past his right nipple, the expanse of burned skin looks painful to the touch and you cannot hide the grimace which stretches your lips as you stare at it with open interest.

"You are injured."

It wasn't a question and he didn't treat it as such as his dual gaze of gold and darkness pinned you with a serious look.

"By a filthy, impure creature no less. A divine beast of the accursed Hornsent, roaming free in the lands of Rauh and attacking the men stationed there. Had Gaius not been occupied I would have sent him to deal with it," Messmer explained, his voice low and calm as he watched your approach with a slight tilt of his head.

Surprise alights in your face and Messmer is quick to take note of it, his head tilting in such a way that many of his red locks drop past his shoulder to hang free in the air.

“You know of such beasts?”

“In my previous life,” you begin quietly having no reason to hide your knowledge, “I had encountered one similar in my struggles. It attacked and I was forced to flee.”

He considers your words, drinking in the explanation as his elbow comes to rest on his knee and his head balances delicately atop one hand.

“I would not expect you to flee much, my lover. Or perhaps I overestimate how deeply those foolish tarnished traits run?”

Ignoring him, you choose information over a retort, "Did you defeat it?"

"Its decorative head was delivered to the men of the northern encampment whom it had been terrifying. A boon to drive their spirits and alleviate their fears."

Standing before his bed, the massive frame of it perfect to house his elongated body, you rove your eyes across the sturdy wood as you nod. The cloths which drape across the structure look soft as hell and your fingers itch with the urge to reach out and stroke along them.

"What do you need from me, my lord? I doubt my summons was merely to listen to you speak."

Snatching your attention back his face, Messmer's spine straightens once more - a move which makes the burn marks on his pale torso even more pronounced - and his haughty tones wash over you with a familiar smugness as he takes the disrespectful question in stride.

"My injuries have left me with an unfortunate ache in my limbs. You will put yourself to good use in assisting me with such a menial task, little tarnished."

Inclining his head to a half-full bottle of oil which sits on the floor to the side of his bed, your task is obvious and heat flares in your cheeks as you realise he wants you to rub your hands across his vast frame.

As his chosen paramour, you had been intimate several times across the short time you had lived within the Shadow Keep. The first coupling, where he had claimed you, had been brutal and unforgiving but his attitude had been tempered in your engagements since – his desire for intimacy making him a more thoughtful lover than some of the men you had shared your bedroll with.

His size was always a challenge but he often took the time to prepare you with his fingers to ensure a smoother, less pained entry, and it was a decision which had softened the lingering resentment of his defeat of you. Not to mention the genuine pleasure which he appeared to enjoy sharing and, in the few times where his release had come before your own, he had continued to use his hands and cock to drag you over the edge of oblivion.

A demigod through and through.

Apparently.

You pick up the bottle of oil and walk around the side of his bed, quickly clamouring up atop the sheets as you take up position behind him – your body having to raise fully on your knees to give you the height necessary to reach his shoulders. Spilling a little of the oil in your hand, the scent of it is heavily perfumed and it catches your breath for a moment as you inhale it slowly and warm the liquid between your palms.

As you rub your hands, you take a moment to look at his back – an area of his body that you were quite unfamiliar with in your exploits. The skin there was as pale as the rest of him and equally as littered with imperfections. Regardless, you can’t help the thrum of pleasure that pulsates through your cunt at the thought of getting to touch him in such a manner.

Rolling your palms across his wide shoulders, the natural heat of his body makes the application of the oil much smoother as you spread it thinly across the scarred skin. He's covered by the history of his wars; sharp, white lines decorating the skin here and there while more ragged tissue covers a patch near the top of his shoulder, the scarring there looking more bestial in nature than anything else.

His snakes never take their eyes off you, floating in the air comfortably as they take in every small motion and expression which crosses your face as they stare with empty gazes. You try to not meet their eyes as you massage their master, feeling the taut knots which sit below his skin as his flexing muscles hold their tension.

A thought rises, unbidden in your mind, of what could have happened if the beast had gotten the better of him. With Messmer dead, your role would die with him, as would the protection that such a position provided you. You had seen some of the other men as they roamed the Keep, those war weary soldiers and generals who had witnessed you in your soft clothing and it had not taken much to notice how hungry their gazes were as they fell across your body.

With no lord to serve, you would be vulnerable to claims from another, but it was a concern for another day.

Messmer is as relaxed in your palms as you could expect and you can feel the rumble of his approval thundering through his chest as he enjoys the attention. A wicked thought rises in your mind as you shift your thighs together and feel the dampness there.

Abandoning his shoulders, you grip at his long arm with a firm clench as you snake your way across his body and deposit yourself in his lap. His hands move swiftly to secure you in place on his knees and a soft gasp slips free of your lips as you take in the aroused state of his cock, the thick length tenting the blankets which you are now perched on.

You move slowly, pulling the blankets free to expose his length and heat flares in your cheeks as you avoid his heated gaze. Fingers still slick with oil, you take a moment to transfer what little of the liquid still sat on your hands to his cock as you take him into your palm.

"Wanton little tarnished," Messmer growls, bucking into your hand and you wrap it around the base of his cock, "what do you think you are doing?"

Feigning ignorance as you continue to slowly use the residual oil on your fingers to coat his cock, his thighs are hard as they flex beneath your clothed groin.

"Taking care of you, my lord. Is that not my purpose?"

He's suspicious. Rightfully so. But he allows it.

Once he’s fully oiled up, you lift your body enough to pull the hem of your robe high and push it behind you to expose your lower half. Taking his cock in hand, you shuffle forward until you’re able to place his length between your legs and close your thighs around it. The heat of his cock is warm against the underwear which covers your sex and you shudder into the sensation as you gently lift your ass and drag your thighs across his oiled cock.

Content to allow you your desires, Messmer makes no attempt to hide his interest as his hard length jerks between your things, the pillowy flesh making his lips curl back into a smirk.

“Spirited paramour, didst thou miss my presence within the Keep?” His voice low with arousal, the familiar smugness is as subtle as ever.

“No,” you deny hotly, “the peace was delightful.”

At the response, Messmer growls, “Lies.”

His wide hands come to settle on your hips and his strength is as breathtaking as ever as he lifts and lowers your body with a steady rhythm, matching his light thrusts with your movements as he fucks himself between your thighs. The scent of the oil is heady and your breath comes in shallow pants as his cock rubs against the thin fabric which covers your cunt – every stroke slowly building the aching heat within your groin.

Messmer is as vocal as ever, his muted grunts and soft exhales making your hold back a smile as he enjoys your body. From this position you can feel his chest rising and falling as you splay your fingers across his torso, tactfully avoiding the wide burns. His hips move quickly though, building a pace which tells you that he is close to his release.

With a guttural noise, somewhere between a hiss and a moan, Messmer comes and his cock jerks between your heated thighs before depositing its seed in a wide arc with some of it landing on your thighs and some reaching as high as his own stomach. Your cunt twitches against the throbbing length, nowhere near its own fulfilment, but something in how slack Messmer’s jaw goes while his golden gaze dulls is stunningly distracting.

Pale and red, the son of a god, he truly was beautiful in how unique he appeared.

Sated and coated in his own mess, Messmer allows his body to fall back to the softness of his bedsheets as he reclines comfortably. A high noise, one not quite a scream, slips free of your lips as his right arm wraps around your waist and pulls you down with him.

He enjoyed physical contact in the aftermath, a fact that was as unexpected as his other strengths. Many of the men who you had known previously were very strict in their wants.

His leg tilts, pushing up between your legs and you spread them willingly, adjusting to the new position as you're now forced to cling to him like a maiden. Your legs a tangled mess of limbs and your head pressing to his chest, his arm pins you against him roughly - clearly unwilling to allow you to leave as he relaxes into the surprisingly peaceful moment.

Not willing to be the one to disturb the quiet, you let him adjust you as he sees fit and choose to give it at least five minutes before reminding him that your own frustrated arousal had yet to be met in kind.

#messmer the impaler #elden ring messmer #messmer x tarnished #messmer x reader #elden ring #shadow of the erdtree #elden ring dlc #base serpent messmer #messmer x you #messmer elden ring

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mothgardens · 9 months ago

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@tired-dragon22 ask and you shall receive :)

If you know me, no you don’t (I’m looking at u, T)

This is probably going to be a little messy and silly, but defo worth it.

To the people who think that Logan is a dominant, angry top… YOU DO NOT UNDERSTAND HIM— this goes both ways because if you think that Wade is a submissive, whiny bottom you gotta be kidding.

These two characters are so complex and I am going to spend far to much time analyzing their psychosexual behavior, lets begin:

Logan, like most us know, is passed around like a blunt: Storm, Jean, Scott, Jean and Scott at the same time, Kurt, Storm, Kurt and Storm at the same time, Wade, some people ship him with Charles and Erik as well— point being, the man has some experience.

I know he wouldn’t run for one team (top or bottom), he is playing both fields. In my heart, he is a switch. But, that means he has multiple roles. To me, he is a power bottom MOST of the time, a service top, and on special occasions he can be a regular old bottom.

You have to really delve into the details of his character to see this how I do, and tbh idk if I will be able to explain it as well as I’d like.

Thinking about his character overall, he plays the “bad boy” who is mean and uncommitted, but that is not him. That is a mask to the world to hide his vulnerability.

This man is really just a soft, sad soldier. He has spent to much if his life grasping for stability and dignity. Everything he has ever done has been for some drop of control. But, he doesn’t like it.

He hates his anger, it’s exhausting. He hates fighting for everything he wants. He hates the constant tension and stress. He needs someone to take it away. Which leads me to our first role, Service Top.

He wants to serve. He wants to be told he is doing well (I will die on the hill of this mf having a praise kink). He doesn’t want to fight for control anymore. He hates having a constant guessing game; he would prefer to be told what to do. So, this is a perfect role for him. His partner has control, but he can still serve them. He can be their loyal dog. Do as they say, how they say it. He would get of to pleasing his partner. If they tell him “good job” then his heart is their’s.

I think the line between him being a power bottom or a traditional bottom is paper thin. He likes the lack of control, but he doesn’t like the guessing game. So, he gives suggestions, orders, or, primarily, bitches until his partner does what he wants. HE IS A BRAT, YOU CANNOT FIGHT ME ON THIS.

Simply, he needs to be taken care of. He takes care of so many people, he takes control of so many situations, he never catches a break. He just needs someone to gently lay him down and take the tension away.

I am foul, so one of my favorite traits about Logan is his animalistic tendencies. I believe they shine out during sex. Along the lines of him being a brat, sometimes he will just growl instead of actually bitching. Or he will whine instead of saying a word. I think he is incredibly verbal during sex, but his partner has to get him comfortable enough to quit biting back noises.

I’m not going to get into a lot of details, but just know: Logan is a bratty, feral power bottom who becomes a little mess OR he is a loyal dog service top who just wants to please.

That was my ted talk, amen.

PLEASE FEEL FREE TO ADD ON; im so happy i found the bottom logan community. He is so important to me.

(i can also make one of these about Wade)

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six-eyed-samurai · 1 year ago

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SUMMARY: For the life of him, Upper Moon Six cannot figure out why he can't bring himself to kill you. It kills him inside to even think about it. A/N: Had this in my drafts for god knows how long, it's finally out LMAO. WARNINGS: Fem reader, one dead man, couple of swears...and that's about it I think

Sometimes Gyutaro really wished Daki wasn’t so picky about who she ate.

It was a particularly low time recently. The District hadn’t received much new members and most of the people Daki had deemed beautiful enough to eat were gone, throwing a whole tantrum about how she’d rather starve than consume such hideousness. They argued, he threatened her, she screamed back, but in the end he relented and continued in his search to find a meal for them both.

He wasn’t picky and could’ve eaten any time he wanted, he grumbled to himself as he hunkered down on the balcony of one of the numerous rooms in the brothel, surveying the blinding lights of the District and spitting at the arrogant men and haughty women down below. But of course he had to just feel bad about being full while his sister went hungry so Gyutaro decided to stave off eating until she did.

If there weren’t any beautiful people, he hoped Daki would be fine with someone pretty. Or at least decently average. And what luck, he had found none.

Well, lies. Gyutaro wondered how Daki never noticed her before and prayed that she never would. Perhaps it was because she was such a quiet, obedient thing that spent most of her time serving the mistress so that probably explained it. Not beautiful enough to attract the attention of clients, but pretty enough to have gotten Upper Six’s interest.

He stalked her around for a few days to figure out the best time to strike and eat her at the beginning. Sometimes she’d accidentally catch on, see that shadow hunkering behind her, but he made sure to always stay out of her sight.

Gyutaro learnt a lot of things about her that way. She liked food that wasn’t too sweet and disliked a certain type of fish. She liked to go take a walk occasionally alone, far away from the brothel. Her favorite color, the jewelry on the other girls she’d eye, when she fell asleep.

She liked ugly things too. That scrawny, flea-bitten cat from the garbage. The gap-toothed, abandoned children of the streets who flocked to her and begged for breadcrumbs. She didn’t seem to mind the out-of-fashion, worn clothes handed to her by the other girls of the house.

He’d like to think she’d like Gyutaro too.

Of course he knew it was wrong. She was food, not someone he should be thinking about constantly, whether he be out hunting for other prey or remaining dormant within Daki. She’d run screaming in the other direction if she so much as caught a glimpse of him.

Gyutaro wasn’t even sure when he had started getting the weird symptoms from watching her. He had originally thought she must be a demon herself, using her Blood Art to make him think about her 24/7, 365, make his palms sweaty and have his heart rate accelerate around her, have the persistent urges to keep following her around for no reason except to just bask in that sunlight of hers.

Probably some time after she nearly came close to realizing he was there, Gyutaro concluded. She was out with the oiran as one of her attendants that night and out of habit he had shadowed them, ducking out of sight amongst the crowds and running into an abandoned alley after nearly getting caught. The stupid cat had suddenly rushed in as well, something in its jaws, and her hot on its heels.

She had slammed into him, both falling over. Gyutaro would’ve snarled and promptly killed the person if it had been anyone else, but seeing her surprised, flustered face bathed in yellow glow momentarily froze him. She was looking at him. She was hovering above him.

He waited for the screaming.

“I’m so sorry! I didn’t see you there! Are you alright?!”

Shock left him dumb, instinct caused him to grunt in reply and quickly turn away lest she caught a glimpse of how demonically ugly he was. The cat screeched from somewhere in the back but he could barely hear it over the rush in his ears as her sweet, sweet, gentle, soft hand grabbed his and helped him up, exclaiming apologies again and again.

Then he fell, probably, and could never not think about her again.

Gyutaro abruptly growled and fled in frustration at the weird, disgusting feelings welling up inside of him. Ugly, ugly, ugly, he hated himself, he hated her, he couldn’t stand the thought of killing her, he wanted her so badly not to see him like everyone did, like she did that night, just another person-

But hey, even demons could dream, right? Gyutaro was guilty for the deaths and injuries for hundreds of humans even when he was one himself, but the sin of fantasizing what it’d be like to even be shown an ounce of affection from her, have her for himself (what was it that humans did, hold hands? Each other? He watched her pet the cat; would she pet and play with his hair like that?) made him feel a thousand times guiltier.

A horrible feeling. Like somebody had stabbed him and was twisting the Nichirin blade around in his innards. Obviously this feeling could be fixed if he ate you, got rid of you, right? …even if he couldn’t fathom eating you himself, Daki could, right? God, never mind, he never felt so…what was this feeling at the thought? So for now he just hoped that no one would notice her. Not Daki, she’d become her next meal. Not a client, they were fouler than him.

How dare they dirty your presence anyway? Who cared if they were handsome, rich, well off, of excellent lineage and all that bullshit? The fact they even thought of touching your, harassing you, having you was enough for Gyutaro to lose his mind and go crazy on a killing spree of all those suitors. If he couldn’t have you, and he knew that, they couldn’t either, and they better know that.

Daki, however…she seemed to be picking up on something off about her older brother’s behavior - he had never ignored her complaints about their stash of food running low soon before, never brushed it off with a yell and assurances he’d find more victims and not do so. Confused and indignant was how she had felt and what caused her to spy a little on Gyutaro and eventually how he was just spending his time watching some stupid girl with something sparking in his gaze she wasn’t sure what to feel about. She settled on disliking and being suspicious of it, finally confronting him about it one night.

“Onii-chan, can you just kill her and be done with it already?! You’ve been following her for more than a week now, how long more do you need to kill her?!”

“Shut up! Be grateful I’m even hunting for you.”

Daki huffed and continued yelling about something to do with being too busy with Oiran duties but Gyutaro zoned out completely, glaring upwards. He should be killing her by now. Eating her. Digesting her.

Why am I not doing that? He silently demanded.

In truth he didn’t know either. Didn’t know why he so easily gave into the slightest stupidest excuse to stalk his prey some more. Didn’t know why he thought about killing the people around her more than her herself. Didn’t know why he was decapitating the head of a man who called her slurs the other day instead of her head.

“FINE, I’LL GO KILL HER TONIGHT!”

He slammed the doors for emphasis, muttering profanities he didn’t actually mean about his precious sister as he stalked around the house and to her room. Maybe if Gyutaro killed her he’d stop feeling so ill all the time. “Ill” being used loosely, since…oh God, he liked the feeling, didn’t he?

Gyutaro slammed a fist against the wall. He’d eat her and be done with it.

But when he got to her room he could see not one but two shadows moving about inside, hear murmuring voices and smell a foreign scent…a man’s, tainted by alcohol. Gyutaro couldn’t help it, he wound up eavesdropping in a jealous rage at whoever managed to get close to her.

“You’re a - hic - pretty girl, I’m sure you don’t wanna - hic - be stuck here anymore, ne?”

“Sir, please get out, I never invited you to my room and I’m not working right now-”

“So what? You gonna - hic - do something?” Gyutaro’s nails dug into the wood as he saw a silhouette of a hand grabbing at her arm and yanking her to him.

“I’ll call the mistress if you do anything!”

“Haha, if you can get her to - hic - listen to you, I’ll let you go! I’m already offering - hic - a lot of money for your marriage contract!” The man just about threw her to the door, roughly letting go of her arm as he laughed drunkenly. Gyutaro had barely any time to hide himself in the shadows before the doors were flung open and she raced away.

Marriage? With this pathetic excuse of a-

The next thing Gyutaro knew after awakening from the bloodthirsty, furious craze of very messily murdering the man - the bastard had dared taint such a goddess! Not even Gyutaro had dare done that, too terrified she’d run from the demon that he was and he wouldn’t even be able to catch sight of her anymore - was him standing above the corpse, one sickle buried in the mutilated head…

…while two yellow eyes slowly looked back to see her standing still by the doorway.

His hands curled into fists and he fell to his knees. It was over, wasn’t it? Gyutaro would really have to kill her now, after she’d inevitably shatter his black, rotted heart into a million pieces for slaughtering someone much worse than him. Daki would not be happy at being forced to kill the whole House because he was seen either.

She…fell to her knees as well? Smiling and crying?

“I knew it! I knew you were always there-”

“NEHHH?” Gyutaro reared back, stunned. “You’re supposed to scream! Am I not ugly to you?! Say something else, you stupid human! What do you mean you know?!”

“I knew you were there,” she repeated. “Someone was always following me…you were the one who killed all those…men and left those stolen items from the other oiran for me, weren’t you? I just wondered when you’d show up…I was so, so afraid when the mistress told me I was going to be married off…I prayed and prayed you’d save me again.”

“What? No, NO!” In a flash he grabbed her by the throat and pinned her to the wall, breathing erratically as his hand gripped his sickle tight enough to crush rocks. “I’m not - I’m not saving you! You’re not supposed to be like this! I’m a disgusting demon, you stupid dunce, I’m ugly-”

“I don’t think you are.”

Gyutaro searched her face frantically for any indication she was bullshitting him. This was everything he wanted and nothing he understood. His fingers tightened their hold. She had to be lying.

She wasn’t. Her lips curved up gently and a fang poked out. “I think you’re like me.”

#Sunny's works #gyutaro x reader #gyutaro x y/n #gyutaro x you #gyutaro shabana x reader #gyutaro shabana x y/n #gyutaro shabana x you #gyutaro x fem reader #kny x reader #kny x you #kny x y/n

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felicjana050896 · 3 months ago

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Mark and Helly/Helena: Part 2

Link to Part 1:

This is just a brilliant take on their relationship, Mark looks at Gemma, Gemma doesn't look at him, then they both don't look at each other, then Gemma looks at Mark but Mark doesn't look at her. Literally the writers have shown us straight up that Mark and Gemma are no living with each other, but are living NEXT to each other, this is no longer love, this was never true love.

Gemma then says that she sent Mark something about Denali (from what I've read, it's the highest mountain peak in North America, I checked if the name means anything specific, but it simply means the highest, but it's a peak that's located in Alaska, which used to belong to Russia and they also named it the highest mountain, so I guess Gemma only sent it to Mark because she's interested in Russia), and Mark replies that he hasn't yet, again a clear sign that he's not interested in Gemma as he should be if he really truly loved her.

And of course at the end when Gemma tells Mark she loves him he doesn't respond, he hears what she said but pays no attention to her, more interested in his work than Gemma, she has to go back and specifically get his attention so he will respond.

So to sum up the whole episode 7, for me it was an episode showing how Gemma and Mark met, simply, because Mark clearly fell for Gemma because of her looks, they spent time together normally, without any special excitement, they showed us their lack of common interests, apart from their common profession, lack of a similar sense of humor, or at least the only time we see Gemma trying to joke about the thank-you note, Mark doesn't take the joke, we see them trying to have a child, we see how their relationship literally slowly falls apart, how they start to argue, we see how they start to live next to each other, and not with each other, the whole episode 7 is a look at the beginning of their relationship, and then the breakup which would have completely happened if not for Gemma's accident (or kidnapping by Lumon, whatever it really was), I don't see any extraordinary love here, on the contrary I see here an ordinary, gray love that happens every day in real life.

Of course, there are couples who, despite having no children, do not fall apart, but these are those rare couples with a real connection, I know one from my private life, from my work, there is such a couple, a man and a woman, who also tried very hard to have a child and unfortunately cannot have it, despite this they did not break up, heck… they spend practically every minute of their lives together, they live and work together, they literally share a room at work, once I visited them for two days because I had to help them, so that they would make it, so I had a bit of an insight into their relationship and honestly… I have rarely seen a love like this in my life… the same sense of humor, the same approach to life, the same interests to a large extent, literally a couple made for each other, their conversations and banter and jokes, it was so nice to listen to that when after those two days with them I had to go back to my place, I felt sorry for them… I would like to spend longer with them, because you could literally feel their love, their interactions were so free, natural, as if they were literally made for each other, it was extraordinary! So of course such couples happen, but it is really rare and it needs a real connection, common passions, sense of humor, etc., so that these two people can naturally sustain their love, or rather, for it to sustain itself through their interactions.

Now moving on to Mark and Helly/Helen, many people write directly that Helen is cruel, literally using the words that Irving used, I think that's a mistake…, Helen is not cruel at all, I'll explain why:

Let's start with how I see innies, let's take Mark for example, oMark and iMark are the same Mark with one difference, which we learn about at the very beginning of the series: no memories, iMark doesn't know anything about his private life, doesn't know if he has a family (of course he finds out later, but I mean the clue itself), has no memories from childhood, so to sum up, he has no experiences, he's just a blank slate, but he already has a certain personality and character. We humans make decisions in our lives not only based on our character, but also based on our experiences, sometimes we will do something that is not in line with our character, because we assess the situation and see that, for example, a different decision will bring us greater benefits than one that is in line with our character, sometimes we will make a decision because we remember that in the past making a different one resulted in some consequences etc., our decisions are nothing more than a combination of our personalities with experiences from the past, however, innies do not have this baggage in the form of experiences, they only have a personality that they have already developed, they only make decisions based on it, so to sum up, innies are the most inner and true character of our heroes, they are not different people in my opinion, iMark and oMark are still Mark, except that iMark stops having access to memories, to experiences from his private life, just like oMark does not have access to experiences and memories from work and that's it…, everything else remains the same, they do not divide his soul into two different people, they just separate the memories from work from the rest of the memories, that's all. The hippocampus is responsible for memories:

We see that this chip (whatever it is) is placed in the hippocampus to separate these memories:

iMark and oMark are still the same Mark, they are not two different people, although it may seem so, it really scares me a bit when most people write about iMark as if he was a separate living entity, with his own soul etc., when he is not, he is still Mark, one and only one.

So now that we have explained that iMark and oMark are one and only Mark, only with a hippocampus separated in some way by the chip, let's go back to Helly/Helen. Helly and Helen are also one and the same person, except that Helly, just like iMark, is a person untainted by memories, experiences from private life, this is the purest and deepest form of Helena, who she really is, if not for her childhood, father, etc., we can see this perfectly in this example:

Her father values Helena only as a means to an end, not as a person; when Helly messes up her speech, her father gets mad at Helena (even though it wasn't her fault):

It scares me what he means by saying that they will all be Kier's children, because I'm afraid it's not just about him injecting himself with a memory-splitting chip.

In addition, the actor's great acting, the way he looks at Helena above, as if he didn't see her as a person, but as if he was looking at a goal, into the future, his gaze becomes distant, until someone comes who interrupts them and we see how he shakes off the thoughts he was in:

And that face at the end… sorry, but it's so funny, I had to take a screenshot and post it here :D , as if he ate the most sour lemon in his life, or as if someone had swapped sugar for salt :D

So to sum up Helly and Helena are the same person, Helly is not cruel and Helena is not cruel, only Helena has memories of living with her father, about thirty years of being raised as Eagan's daughter, as a pawn in the game and a means to an end, because considering that the severance department has existed for about 20 years (which we learn from Burt's husband when Irving comes to their dinner), the plans for separation must have been made either in Helen's childhood or even before she was born, who knows…, it may still turn out that her father fathered a daughter for this very reason, because we don't know anything about her mother, as if her father fathered her with the most suitable woman and then paid her to give the child away and keep quiet…, this is just my speculation, but it's strange that she doesn't have a mother and isn't mentioned (at least so far) in the TV series.

To sum up, in the end I don't see Mark and Gemma as endgame, because their relationship was already falling apart before all this, but I see Mark and Helena as endgame, and not as endgame innies, but as endgame of them, as whole people, the end will be in my opinion such that severance will be completely forbidden.

Thanks for reading and have a nice night or day :)

#mark scout #helly r #helena eagan #gemma scout #markhelly #severance

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darklydeliciousdesires · 2 months ago

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A Storm of Stars - Chapter Sixteen.

Summary: The Targaryen twin stars. Two sides of the same coin. Aemond and Aemella Targaryen, second children of King Viserys I and his queen, Alicent Hightower, had spent their entire lives almost as one, the lines blurring where one twin ended and the other began. What started as an inseparable sibling bond eventually bloomed into a deep, limitless love.

A day would come, though, when their love story - famed for generations to come - would be tested by the one who sought to tear them apart. When the storm of stars descended, nobody who had wronged them would come away unscathed.

Words - 3,385

Tag list - In the comments. Please DM to be added.

Warnings - 18+ content throughout. Incest, mentions of child loss through miscarriage. Minors DNI.

Previous Chapters - One Two Three Four Five Six Seven Eight Nine Ten Eleven Twelve Thirteen Fourteen Fifteen

“Aemond, come and sit,” Otto advised, stifling a yawn. “You are wearing a trench into the floor.”

It killed him, hearing the screams, fury and fear from his wife coming from the next room within their quarters, unable to go to her. She needed him, yet it was not a man’s place to be present as his wife toiled through her labours, the king finally sitting upon the adjacent couch to his grandsire, pouring out a measure of rum and sinking it.

“And you will be steady with that,” he then added, nodding to the bottle.

“As my Hand, I quite expect you to put forth good reasoning when I am required to give it attention. Now is not one of those moments,” the king spoke, pouring another.

“Aemond, I speak to you now not as your Hand, but as your grandsire.” Yanking the bottle from his grasp, he placed it down at his feet, pointing sternly to the beaker he held. “Sip it! Having you in here drunk as a lord will do nobody any merit.”

He sighed; his shoulders tight. “It might serve to help me feel marginally less useless.”

Otto smiled thinly, remembering his own anguish at not being able to be there for his wife during the same. How he still mourned his darling Alyrie, even years on from her passing. “It is simply not our place, grandson. I do however realise that it must be even harder for you, with the exceptional nature of your relationship.”

What he alluded to of course, was not lost on Aemond. “I feel every ounce of her distress. Hence why I was trying at least to numb it with a little rum.” His eye then fixed upon Otto. “Was.”

“I remain resolute, Aemond.” Oh, what a formidable barrier his grandsire was in placing himself between the only source of fortification he sought, another scream ripping through the air, Aemond wincing. “Do you feel it literally as a pain within, what Aemella experiences?”

“Not as such,” he began, sipping from the beaker in his grasp. “Tis’ very uncomfortable all the same. I cannot explain it in a way you would understand. Nobody does, except for her.”

Just then, the door opening disturbed the quiet of their room, Aemond out of his seat in a flash.

“I am returning to my quarters to rest,” Alicent spoke, reaching for her son’s arms as she leaned to kiss his cheek. “Gileda is with her.”

“How is she?” he asked, Alicent stroking his cheek, seeing the weight of it bearing down upon him very clearly.

“She fares much better than she considers, but these things can of course take great time. Grand Maester Orwyle assures us that all is progressing as it should, although she is not yet close to the active stage of birthing. Try and get a little sleep, perhaps return to your former quarters and rest?”

“I am going nowhere.” he scoffed, his pacing beginning once more. Alicent shared a look with her father, Otto silently conveying that he would look after him before she took her leave.

Aemond's resolve to remain steadfast in the face of his wife's suffering was a testament to the depth of his love and the strength of his character. Although he did falter at times. Especially when his queen began to call out for him specifically.

“No, no. Come on back.” Otto spoke, grasping his shoulders and steering him to the couch once more. “She will be fine, I promise you this.” Truly, he had no foresight to know it was a promise he could keep, but what could he do? His grandson was having a very natural reaction to hearing the love of his life in such distress. A little placation was needed.

As the hours dragged on, the flickering candlelight casting the room in an amber glow, his mind raced with unspoken fears and fervent hopes. Otto's presence, though a source of frustration, was also a comfort, a bulwark against the tide of helplessness that threatened to overwhelm him.

If only he was not guarding the rum so steadfastly.

Each scream that pierced the air was a dagger to his heart, yet he clung to the knowledge that Aemella was a force of unwavering strength in her own right to endure something that seemed nothing short of horrific. Even if it did sound like she was not coping well with such.

The night seemed interminable, but within the walls of his quarters, a quiet determination took root. Aemond's thoughts drifted to the future, to the moment when he would finally hold his child, a tangible symbol of their love and their legacy. His heir. Even if the first child was a daughter, he would break with tradition, he had decided, and name her his successor. There would be no quarrels the likes of which had split the realm from his fraction of house Targaryen.

With every measured sip of rum, every word of reassurance from his grandsire, he fortified himself against the tumultuous tide of his emotions, finding strength in the solidarity of his family and the unyielding bond he shared with his beloved twin.

The morning broke, and with it no arrival of their babe, Gileda and Alicent once again switching places, the former coming to him.

“Your grace,” she spoke, bowing. “The queen is well, tired now she is nearing active birth, but well.”

The scream that suddenly filled the air sank heavy against his chest, Aemond closing his eye, pointing in the direction she had come. “Your words fill me with reassurance, Gileda. That, however, does not.”

“Tis’ a painful thing, your grace. The queen battles on wonderfully, though. It should not be too much longer now before the little one is here with us. I will take my leave.”

His hand then suddenly reached for hers, preventing her departure. “I appreciate you highly, Gileda. For staying with her.”

It was a fondness she had not expected from the stoic king, one who rarely showed his emotions at all. “Always, your grace.” she nodded, leaving him be.

Morning ran into afternoon, Aemond brought parchments to sign, meeting with Lord Jasper, discussing a few of the issues faced where monetary expenditures were concerned, the busyness of presiding over a realm only giving him temporary respite from his endless wait. His heart ached for Aemella, that she did not have the same luxury offered unto her.

As time stretched on, and the shadows began to lengthen once more as a second evening fell, Aemond's resolve grew ever more determined. His mind became a battleground of despair and hope, each thought a fervent prayer for Aemella's safe delivery of their babe. He found himself lingering by the door, as if his closer presence alone could somehow ease her suffering, the rhythmic pacing a testament to his inner turmoil.

The knowledge that the culmination of their love was so close, yet so fraught with peril, weighed heavily upon him. He could hear the muffled voices of the Maester and his team encouraging her through the birthing, the occasional reassuring murmur from his mother, yet each scream began to echo louder, resonating within the very core of his being.

The castle seemed to hold its breath, as if the walls themselves were witnessing the poignant struggle within. With his grandsire snoozing upon the couch, he helped himself to another rum, placing the bottle down quietly. Not quietly enough.

An eye cracked opened. “You are a guileful boy.”

Aemond couldn’t help but laugh softly through his nose, seeing his grandsire’s wry smile widen his mouth. “I get that from you.”

Suddenly, the opening of the door gave them both a start, Otto straightening, Aemond turning to be greeted by the Grand Maester.

“Your grace,” he bowed. Gods, the man looked tired, staying awake right through this whole process to in order to be present for the queen. “The labours progress well, but her grace is exhausted by it. She makes valiant efforts in her pushes, but the babe is still not yet with us because of her weariness. I feel it will be a time yet.”

Or not, if Aemond had anything to do with it. “Fuck it.” he spat, sinking the rum and slamming the beaker to the table, making a start for the door.

“Your grace, you must not, please I have to insist that you...” Orwyle began as Aemond stormed through to the bedchamber, receiving the same polite discouragement once he arrived. To see his wife turn to him, her exhausted, tear-streaked visage brightening in an instant spoke louder than anyone attempting to force him out of the room once more.

“Your grace, this is unprecedented, and I must...”

“You will deliver my child, Grand Maester, and I shall be here supporting the queen while you do it.” He then climbed onto the bed, moving a few of the pillows, slotting himself down and wrapping his wife in a tight embrace.

“Look at me, precious one,” he began, his fingers weaving with hers, Aemella turning her head as she leaned into his chest. “You are my love, my twin star and my entire world. You are the strongest, most formidable force I have ever known, and your strength will see you through this. You can do it, Mella, and I will be right here with you as you do, laws and traditions be fucking damned.”

With the renewed bolstering of her beloved right there behind her, she dug deep into the very depths of herself, summoning a strength as yet untouched, pushing with all her might as she hung onto Aemond’s hands. It took time, but not as much as she wagered it would have without him right there behind her, the Red Keep at last filled with the cries of their newborn child.

“A son, your graces!” Orwyle announced, holding the baby aloft, taking clean linens to immediately wipe him down before placing him on his mother’s chest. “My warmest congratulations to you both.”

Aemella sobbed with joy as she looked down upon him, her beautiful son, finally there, screaming his tiny lungs out.

“See?” Aemond spoke, kissing her cheek, his fingertip moving to lovingly stroke his son’s head. “I told you; you could do it, and now he is here at long last.”

Turning to him, she pressed her lips to his, her heart bursting to see him shed tears of happiness, stroking his face lovingly before she leaned to press a kiss upon their son's head. “Look at you, little boy,” she spoke with emotion, “you are perfect!”

They were given a few moments pause to bask in their new unity as a family, the baby then taken by the Maester to be checked over and cleaned properly, Aemella passing the afterbirth before she was washed, stitched where needed, changed into a fresh nightdress and made comfortable upon a clean bed.

The baby took a feed, the nursemaid Ceira there to help bring his wind up thereafter, an extremely tired Aemella fighting against her urge to sleep as she watched from the bed. Her eyelids grew ever heavier, Aemond insisting he hold his son once he’d had brought up his wind, Ceira passing the child into his father’s arms.

“Love, go to sleep,” he spoke, smiling fondly, holding their babe securely against his chest. “Between Ceira and I, we shall look after the boy while you rest. You have earned it.”

“Hmm,” she hummed, still fighting it, Aemond watching until she finally dozed off, leaning to kiss her head.

“That will be all for the moment, Ceira,” he spoke, “I wish to spend a little time with my family alone.”

“I shall return later, your grace.” the elder woman spoke, exiting his quarters.

Walking towards the room he had paced endlessly in the time preceding, he reached to open the door, entering to the expectant faces of his mother and grandsire.

“I have somebody who would like to meet his grandmother and great grandsire,” he spoke, the pair moving to flank him, both looking down at the child with eyes that shone with affection. “This is prince Aeryn.”

“Oh, there has not been an Aeryn in the family for quite some time. A wonderful choice,” Alicent spoke, holding out her arms. “May I?”

Passing him over, Aemond couldn’t keep the proud smile from his face, watching his mother gently bounce her grandson in her arms. “Hello, my little love, hello. You are such a beautiful little babe, yes!”

Otto opened his arms, embracing Aemond warmly. “My congratulations to you, grandson.”

Aemond nodded in acceptance, gesturing towards the table. “Will you allow me another rum now?”

His grandsire’s laughter filled the space, clapping him on the shoulder heartily. “I do not see why not. Tis’ customary to wet the babe’s head, after all.”

“I think I require it, for I now understand firsthand why it is we men are kept away during labours,” he spoke, his eye widening.

“A rule you so unceremoniously flouted,” Alicent chirped, tearing her eyes away from the babe for a moment. Aemond merely sniffed, unbothered.

Pouring out two measures of rum, Otto passed the beaker to him, both toasting to the child’s health. “Was it truly a terrible thing to witness?”

Screaming. Blood. So much blood. “When people claim it to be beautiful, they lie,” he began, his eye still wide, lips thinning. “Tis’ beautiful when they have arrived, but the preceding part? Seven hells, no. And I was only present for the end.”

Otto could imagine if he tried, but did not wish to, merely smiling as he stiffened to prevent the internal shudder. “And how is Aemella?”

“Sleeping, thankfully. The poor woman is thoroughly exhausted.” That sleep stretched on, too, Aemella awaking to the most heartwarming sight. There beside her upon the bed lay her husband, bare to the waist, their son sleeping contentedly on his chest.

“I am informed by Ceira that this is beneficial to the bonding process, skin on skin contact. He did a shit on me, though, so the nappy has made a reappearance.”

Laughing all she was able through her soreness, Aemella reached to stroke his face, her hand then gently cradling Aeryn’s tiny head. “And did you place the nappy on him yourself?”

His sour expression again evoked her laughter. “The seven hells, I did,” he grunted, lip curling a smidgen. “That is an expertise beyond my means.”

“Or rather, you pledge not concern yourself with shitty nappies and swaddling rags?” she teased.

“I would rather not concern myself with the fact he soiled on my fucking chest, yet here we are,” he hummed, smiling widely, turning his head to press a kiss against her shoulder. “You should have witnessed mother holding him. She was instantly in her element. I feel that the palpable frostiness she has shown toward you since my coronation might finally be at its thaw.”

Propping herself up a little more, Aemella reached to stroke Aeryn’s hand, marvelling at him. There he was, at last. “I think that beneath it all, she knows. I just hope that in time she forgives me, that she realises my actions served the good of so much more apart from you and me. Aegon was a liability that had to be eradicated for the good of the realm. But let us not linger upon such talk. This is Aeryn’s day.”

“And he is content to sleep through most of it.” As if acting like a siren, the boy began to snuffle, making little gasps of displeasure that preceded the howling. “I think he may be hungry.”

Aemella opened her arms. “This is where mummy comes in.”

“Are you resigned to feeding him yourself,” he began, carefully placing the babe into her arms, “or will you call upon a wetnurse?”

Again, it was quite standard within noble houses, for such a woman to take on the feeding instead of the mother herself. “I am undecided. Before his birth, I did consult mother about it, Ceira as well. Apparently, when we were born, we fed both from mother and our wetnurse equally, but Ceira warned me that they can become fussy and decide to favour one over the other.”

“It would leave you with much more time to sleep if you did, but I will leave the ultimate choice to you, love.” he spoke, his fingertip idly stroking his son’s tiny foot as he watched him latch on and take his feed. It was a beautiful sight, seeing his love and their newborn bonding, Aemella smiling down at the babe in a way he’d never witnessed before.

As Aeryn continued to feed, Aemond's heart swelled with an emotion that felt brand new, a strange experience as he had thought until that moment, his wife had already stirred all he was capable of feeling. His usual stoicism gave way to a profound tenderness, his heart flooded with serenity.

He marvelled at the simple, lovely domesticity of the moment, feeling a newfound respect for Aemella's strength and resilience. The gentle snuffling of their son and the soft murmurs of his wife created a cocoon of peace around him, momentarily shielding him from the responsibilities and burdens of his station.

“Would you like many more in the future?” he questioned, her immediate snort amusing him.

“Ask me when I have forgotten how painful it was!” she scoffed, her elegant fingertip stroking the soft, chubby cheek of her son. “Although amazingly, I did not need to be stitched more than twice, which the Grand Maester said is a rarity. I stretched sufficiently, it appears.”

“Well, you’re used to it.” His eyes flitted to his crotch, then back at her with a roguish grin. “You’re welcome.”

She began to shake with laughter, narrowing her eyes. “People would not believe me if I told them of how playfully humorous you can be. And filthy.”

“I wouldn’t want them to,” he sniffed, “who I am in private is not the man anybody else should expect to see.” Stretching, he tried to stifle a yawn, failing miserably, removing his eye patch to rub beneath.

“Did you sleep at all during my labours?” she asked.

“Here and there.”

She was unconvinced, her raised eyebrow showing it. “Aemond.”

“Not one fucking moment, no. I was too preoccupied with panicking, or as grandsire worded it, wearing a trench into the floor,” he finally confessed with candour. “I might doze a little now, if you do not mind?”

Leaning to him, she kissed his forehead. “Of course not, my love. I shall send for Ceira once more, ask her to help me with this little piglet.” A soft call alerted Ser Eddard, who dutifully located the nursemaid, bringing her back to their quarters.

Aemond was snoring softly before she’d even stepped foot in the door, taking the babe from his mother and moving through to quarters to the child’s nursery, a room located just off from their bedchamber.

“If you wish to go and curl up with his grace, I shall arrange for the wetnurse to be on hand for his feeds throughout the night. I expect he will awake at least twice more from hunger.” There were two beds within the nursery bedchamber, one for Ceira and the other ready if she did so choose the wetnurse to attend over the evening.

The mother in her wished to solely be the one to nurse her treasured son, but the tired young woman beneath that somewhat overrode it. Gods, she could sleep for a week, she felt. “I think for tonight, I wish to sleep, Ceira.”

Bending to the cradle, she kissed her son before leaving him in the capable hands of the nursemaid, returning to carefully pull Aemond from his britches and throw the covers over him. Climbing into bed slowly, she winced, her poor womanhood so very sore, pulling the blankets over them as she draped an arm over his waist, stuffing her face into the pillows.

The king and queen slept very, very soundly that night. Their son, however, did not. Luckily, though, between Ceira and Lula, the wetnurse who crept in as the royals slept, the little prince was very well cared for while his exhausted mummy and daddy remained in deep slumber.

A/N - Now, did you enjoy what you just read? Please remember, this is not Instagram. Clicking that heart does little, but a comment? Your author will be rewarded. A comment and reblog? Your author is throwing roses at your feet! It takes less time to do this than it did for you to read the chapter, too. Please, be kind and help support the fandom! :)

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#aemond targaryen #aemond targaryen fanfiction #house of the dragon #house of the dragon fanfiction #HOTD #HOTD fanfiction #prince aemond targaryen #aemond one eye #aemond and aemella #a storm of stars

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pinkestlittlebutterfly · 18 days ago

Text

Theories on Magic

This is what it says on the tin but also actually just an excerpt from a fanfiction, which I'm posting because my dear friend asked me to. My thoughts always seem prettier when I put them into the mouths of dearly beloved characters rather than in cool theory posts.

“How does magic work?” Misono asks.

He has not dressed for sleep yet, despite the late hour. He has, in fact, not done anything at all since they got back to the hotel, except sit on his bed and stare at his hands, white and unmarred as always.

Lily spent that time pretending to read a magazine he picked up in the lobby. Only as he got up to make tea, unable to bear Misono’s anxious silence any longer, did his Eve deign to speak, and ask a question with no answer.

“Are you still thinking about that?” He asks, talking to the tea pot rather than Misono, “that guy will be fine. Those people are annoyingly tough.”

He hears Misono scoff behind him. Strangely, the noise fills him with relief.

“The world’s foremost expert on magic right here at my disposal, and he refuses to answer my question.”

“Flattery won’t get you anywhere,” Lily tells him, well-aware that Misono has never flattered anyone even once in his life. “I don’t know the answer to your question.”

When he turns, he’s greeted with a familiar glare. He smiles an equally familiar smile at it.

“Don’t look at me like that. No one knows how magic works. It simply does.”

“You know that is not what I’m asking about,” Misono snaps, and Lily does know, so he sighs, and grabs tea bags and cups.

Misono sits up properly as Lily sets the table in between their beds, pointing at Earl Grey when presented with their meager selection. Lily sits down across from him, holding the kettle of hot water.

“Magic is made visible in spells,” He begins, “and a spell can take many forms. It could be a chant or a poem. It could be a weapon or it could be a home-cooked meal. Let’s say your tea is a spell.”

He pours the hot water, a gently gurgling sound in their momentary silence.

“This is your magic,” Lily says, “it is the base requirement of any spell. And this is your intent.”

He lets the tea bag drop into the cup. They watch it sink into the water, watch tendrils of dark grey seep from where it touches the floor of the mug. A faint scent of bergamot and orange fills the air between them.

“A spell is magic given purpose by intent,” Lily says. “Many creatures have magic, but it does not do much on its own. It only becomes powerful when you choose its specific flavour, so to speak.”

“So it is wish fulfillment?” Misono asks.

Lily cocks his head and thinks for a moment. “Yes,” He finally replies, “there is a wish at the core of each spell. But also, no. It is more complicated than that.”

Misono says nothing, merely stares at him, presumably waiting for further explanations. Lily tries buying himself a moment of time by pouring his own tea. He has rarely had to explain the specifics before. Very few mages out there deign to ask his advice on magic, and even fewer of them are interested in the mechanics rather than the effect.

“A spell is rarely as simple as request and response,” He says when his own tea sits seeping and he has to say something. “You do not say ‘I want to win the battle’ and your magic makes it happen. You weave a spell from the same cloth that all of your existence is made of. It is shaped by desire as much as thoughts and feelings and memories and things you hold dear; and much of it is subconscious.”

That seems to displease Misono.

“If spells are made subconsciously,” He muses, frowning, and Lily cannot help but think of a brazen young scholar who found a mistake in their teacher’s calculations, “then how does anyone learn them? There are spells that many people use, aren’t there? There are spells that are passed on from one mage to the next. Some of them have been in use for centuries. Thoughts and feelings aren’t things that can be held onto and nailed down so easily.”

“That is true,” Lily agrees, “let’s use a new metaphor.”

He roots around his mind for a few seconds, and Misono grants them, though obviously only under great suspense. If nothing else, Lily thinks, it is gratifying how invested he is, and how easily distracted from his bad conscience.

“Think of a spell as a dance,” He finally says.

Misono’s face falls. “You know I can’t dance.”

“You could if you practiced,” Lily responds, “but that is not the point. A dance is something that can follow strict steps like a waltz for example; or something that is made of reflexes and instinct without any rhyme or reason at all. But it is always movement with purpose, and it is always an expression of the self. To teach a spell, then, is to teach the steps. To learn a spell is to follow along, until the individual steps do not matter anymore, and you dance without thinking of them at all.”

Misono nods along. Lily smiles at him, encouraged.

“That is why we tie our spells to stories,” He says, “because stories carry memories and feelings, and guide our thoughts along. They are the music to which we dance, and that is how we can teach each other.”

#servamp #servamp lily #snow lily #servamp misono

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