#Eating paint would be a more efficient use of my time

[metalcatholic]

perhaps this is a dumb question, but why do catholics say things like that they wrote the bible? every christian shares a heritage, right? like, protestants can trace their history back through past the reformation too (besides the fact that the protestant bible is different, the canon that was established pre-reformation is a shared history) orthodox too, the schism happened after centuries of shared history and councils... i just dont see why only catholics try to claim the full history when it is every christian's, even the ones who broke away from Rome

because the Catholic Church compiled the Bible. You know the other “gospels” floating around that aren’t in the Bible, those aren’t in there because of Catholicism. All the various heresies like arianism were condemned by the Catholic Church. The early church is the Catholic Church.

You can’t remove books from the Bible, actively preach against tenants of the faith that have been present since Jesus walked on this Earth and hand wave it all away by saying it’s everyone’s history…when you reject that history.

[acapelladitty]

Smoke Them All

Pairing: Cooper Howard/F!Reader

Fic Masterlist

Link to AO3

Summary: Not content with the litany of bruises and bite marks which he has littered across your skin, Cooper decides on something a little more permanent. (2.2k words)

(tw for: spanking, rough play, branding, fingering, orgasm, pain kink, dom/sub dynamics, subspace, allusions to cannibalism, cum eating, mild aftercare)

You hear the swish of his hand as it arcs through the air a split moment before the connecting smack rings out loudly and fresh fire flares in your unprotected ass.

"That's eight, little killer." Cooper muses as his open palm comes to settle against your skin, the flesh feeling raw and heated due to his vicious strikes, and his fingers trace the unseen outlines of his hand prints as they litter your ass. "You're almost warmed up for the main event."

Anxiety laced with a wicked arousal floods your groin, your cunt feeling slippery and neglected as you consider the small metal brand which sits in the nearby fire - the end balanced where the fire was at it hottest to ensure a clean imprint.

The brand had been his idea, a casual and sleazy comment given life by your own curiosity, but the spanking was just an added boon and Cooper was never one to deny himself the chance to dole out a little bit of good ol' fashioned discipline when the mood suited him.

So here you were, braced over his lap as the evening moon shone high in the sky. The surrounding area was dead of life, raiders and monsters having been long snuffed out, and any potential new onlookers had been provided their chance to scarper at the presence of the infamous ghoul. It was luck that the night air wasn't too chilled, not that it would have made a difference to either of you as you set about your combined goal.

The first few strikes had been pretty manageable as Cooper targeted different parts of your ass, quickly and efficiently trying to cover and redden up as much skin as possible while his other hand pinned your lower back to his knees. His tattered jacket flared out from behind him, the ratty ends touching the ground just beside your own fingers as you pressed them against the ground to keep balance.

Cooper, however, hadn't been as impressed with your easy management of his punishment.

C'mon now, little songbird, I want to hear that lovely voice.

And his efforts had quickly doubled as he brought his hand down with much more violence, the next two strikes coming in rapid succession as they glanced off the fullest part of your ass and stole the breath from your lungs. It was like being struck by metal. Hard. Unforgiving. And so fucking good.

He got the reaction he wanted as your playful groans dissolved into pathetic squeals when his fingers groped at the stinging flesh, your knees pulling together as you smeared the growing wetness that was developing between your thighs. The following hits were much the same, his accurate hand having targeted the same patch of skin until you could feel the heat buzzing free of the abused flesh as small whimpers stole from your throat freely.

"You're lucky I ain't using my belt, darling." Cooper growls as he disrupts your thoughts, tugging at your hair to force your head back enough to gaze up at him. "Cause the welts that leaves would paint you purple for a week and give you a harsh reminder of it every time that fine ass wanted to sit down anywhere."

"Yes, sir." Fumbling over the words, your fingers scratch against the dirt of the ground as your cunt feels swollen and painfully abandoned. You swear you could feel yourself dripping with mess but since he hadn't commented on it yet, maybe not.

"Might even use the buckle." Your scalp burns from his rough grasp and the extension of your neck makes breathing difficult as he continues. "Let it tear strips off you until you're a sobbing mess just crying out and begging for me to let up on you. You want that?"

Rubbing your thighs together at the open threat, you gasp and whine under his grip. From this position, you are barely able to make out his expression as your vision is also limited by the unshed tears which gather in your eyes, vision blurring due to the pain and frustration.

"N-no, sir."

"Good answer, darlin', cause i don't want to delay the next part any longer than we need to. You think you're ready for it?"

His hand releases your head and you nod frantically as fear lances your heart. A little masochism was fine by you, hot as fuck actually as it made the pleasure all the sweeter, but the brand would hurt like hell. Your heart beating a messy tune in your chest, your breath stutters as you feel him leaning over you to snatch up the brand from the fire.

"You gonna lie there like a good girl while I fix and mark you up? Hmm?" Cooper asked, his hand spreading your ass as textured fingers roll over the area he intends to mark on your right ass cheek. "I've got the rope ready to go if you can't hold still and let me make a clean print."

"Do it, Cooper." You gasp out, body shaking with anticipation as your eyes squeeze shut, preparing for the hurt to come as your hands visibly shake against the dusty ground. "Make me yours. Only yours. Make it so that everyone in the wastelands can see who the fuck they're messing with if they mess with me."

"Language." Tutting his disapproval with a playful hypocrisy, the rough excitement in his voice speaks of just how eager he was for you to have this mark. Well, that and the way that his cock remains pressing between you, the rock-hard length digging into your stomach with every slight movement as he speaks again.

"After this you're mine. Anyone else touches you then I take their throat. No mercy."

"No mercy." You repeat, almost a hypnotic babble as your breathing grows more and more erratic and anxious.

"I don't claim much in the wastelands, darlin', so you be good to me and I'll make sure that you never get the chance to forget what it means, you hear?"

"Goddamn, Cooper. Just do it! Mark me, brand me, give me something. Just- FUCK!"

It was nothing compared to the previous spanking.

The pain is indescribable as the metal presses harshly against your skin, searing his initials into the reddened flesh of your ass. You bury your scream in your forearm, tasting blood as your teeth clamp together roughly around your own flesh, and it's only his hand - hard as steel and twice as unforgiving - which prevents you from bucking in place to avoid the horrid pain.

Darkness dances in your vision for a moment as a genuine fear that you're going to pass out clenches your heart but it sweeps through rapidly, leaving you teetering on the edge of consciousness for only a few seconds.

You don't feel the brand pull free as the metal essentially kills off your nerve endings, the damage welcome as it dulls the initial shock. Rather, the initial sear is quick to settle into a vicious pain which is more like a deep, heated ache that sits beneath your skin.

"Cooper." You howl, fingers scrambling against his closet leg as you desperately seek something to cling onto as a wave of nausea rolls through your stomach. "Hurts."

Violently sobbing at the residual ache, you remain pinned in place as his free hand audibly drops the brand to the sandy floor before his fingers return to your ass. You can't feel him ghosting his digits along the wound but you're fairly certain that's what he's doing as a rumble of approval slips free of his chest.

"I know it hurts like a motherfucker." Cooper exhales, his roughened voice holding a giddiness as he watches you struggle to keep control of yourself. "But you did so well, girlie. Took it better than most would and I think that deserves a reward."

His fingers follow the curve of your ass to drop and press insistently at your hole - two digits sinking deep as they quickly provide a little relief to the aching neglect which your cunt was experiencing.

Audibly delighted with his markings, Cooper's tone is as predatory as ever as he slowly pumps his fingers into your cunt - following a pattern he knows drives you wild as he continues.

"Smells good too. Ain't gonna lie. Wish I'd taken a strip for myself before I burned it away."

Shivering at that, you moan out something that may have been an encouragement or a denial - your brain too fuzzy to make sense of it as his textured fingers rub along your walls.

"Coop-Cooper." You stutter out his name, sharp breaths feeling hot in your lungs as the adrenaline flushing through your veins - made all the worse by the dual sensations of dull pain and growing pleasure which wracked your lower half - causes a light-headedness which leaves you slack against his knees. "Touch me more. Make the pain go away."

"Can't make it go away, sweetheart. But I can make you forget about it for a minute or two."

With two fingers still curled within you, his thumb slides up your slickened folds until it grazes your clit. Body tensing, you sigh and groan as he teases the sensitive nub by gently circling his thumb across it. It didn't help that the leathered skin was so much rougher than a typical man's and the added sensation of it was enough to make you forget the burn of your ass as you focus on it.

His fingers are skilled and he is quick to target all those sweet, wicked little spots that make your mouth dry and your soaked cunt clench around his probing digits; that bastard thumb of his never letting up its teasing pressure on your clit as he strokes along the engorged nub with a lazy enjoyment. Adrenaline making every nerve feel heightened, your earlier neglect and enjoyment of his hand bring you close to the edge with an embarrassing speed.

"Such a tight little thing." Cooper grunts, his groin grinding against your stomach lightly as he plays you like a fiddle while taking care not to damage the fresh brand. "Can barely get my fingers out with you gripping at them like this. You'd have thought by now I'd have loosened you up at least a little."

Unable to speak, your reply is a mess of jerking nods and gasping pants. But he seemed to catch the jist of your agreement and it causes a low chuckle to rumble through his body.

Slipping a third finger in, the added stretch was all it took to have your toes curling against the air as the building tension in your body snapped into rolling waves of pleasure. Your cunt clenches around his fingers, pulling them deeper as they continue to rub against your sweet spot, drawing your orgasm out until your limbs felt tight and your throat started to burn from the constant whining and pleas that trickle free of it.

Shuddering and feeling faint, you lay limply against his knees, feet touching the ground as you actively fight the euphoric nausea which makes your body feel light and far off. It was too much and instead of facing the aches and pleasures, you allow the weariness to slip within your very bones.

A lurid suckling noise makes your head turn up to the side and you catch the sight of Cooper pulling his fingers free of his mouth, the digits slickened by both your mess and his spit as he messily cleans them off.

"Sweet as honey. Ain't nothing like it." He mutters, mostly to himself, before tilting his head down to meet your eye. "You alright down there? Not gonna pass out on me are you?"

Sighing out as darkness touches at the edge of your vision, you give him a soft smile - bottom lip only slightly trembling as you answer. "Sleepy."

He's surprisingly careful as he picks you up with his impressive strength, hands wrapping around your upper body to right you to your feet - shaking legs barely able to hold even your limited weight - before he deposits you in his lap. Angling your body atop his so that the pressure of your ass on his lap is far away from the fresh brand, your head presses against his clothed chest and you inhale the coppery scent that clings to him like it was a lifeline.

"Then sleep and I'll keep the beasts at bay."

Cooper speaks lowly, the words washing over you skin like a soothing blanket. "Here." His hands wrap the edges of his leather jacket around your sides, the material not enough to cover you completely - not even close - but you appreciate the gesture regardless.

In the warm night air, your thighs coated in the mess of your release and your ass throbbing will a dull ache that was going nowhere any time soon, you focus on the interesting sounds which roll through Cooper's chest as you press your ear against his frayed shirt and allow fatigue to finally claim you.

[honestsycrets]

querido ii: ¿estás bien? | outlaw!miguel o'hara

Chapter List

❛ pairing | outlaw!miguel o'hara x reader

❛ type | tripleshot(?); explicit

❛ summary | while miguel gathers gabriella, you have an unexpected visit from aaron. miguel doesn't take his visit well.

❛ tags | mention of murder and minor character death, hidden pregnancy, western au, spanish not translated, outlaw!miguel, baby-mama!reader, slight cursing, angst, threats, implied physical assault, implied molestation, miguel beating a bitch up, mention of alcohol and smoking, f!reader.

❛ sy's notes | a bit long but-- enjoy.

The path Gabriella took was traceable. He wove through the pass of battered grass with efficiency, passing by groups of grazing cattle until he came upon a small wooden barn. It was nestled just in the mouth of the forest. It was clumsily built and even more sloppily painted. Miguel had no doubt that it had to be Peter’s handiwork. It had that look about it, half done but done in love.

“Gabriella?” her name was clumsy on his tongue. Before today, he’d gotten no word of his daughter in smuggled letters from Peter. Didn’t even know you were pregnant. It made sense, after the accident, that he’d step up. That was the kinda man Peter was.

“Go away,” she sniffled between the fallen tears and snot, her sobbing loud and relentless. “I don’t want to talk.”

“Let me take you home, kid.”

“No.” she bit out. “I don’t know you.”

“You know your mama.”

“I don’ think I do,” she said.

“Yeah, well, that makes two’a us.” Crestfallen, Miguel set his back against the wood panneling, folding his broad arms one over the other. His head connected with the aged old wood, staring into the distance at your little house with its peeling paint and tall flowering trees. He takes a swig of his flask of booze, needing something to cut with the sudden reality that he was an instant father. A smoke would do, too.

He should have known his method of pulling out and praying would slip up one day. Apparently, that came sooner than he thought. If he searched his memories way back when, he might have remembered a time or two that he failed to pull out, your beautiful body riding him for all he was worth. All beat up, he was a sad sex partner, clinging underneath layers of your frilly dress to fuck up into you. Coño, that had to be it. A laugh slipped off his lips, empty of his typical sass and mirth.

“Came back to see my girl and end up a father, fancy that.”

“Your girl?” Gabriella said, in between her raw tears. “What’d you mean your girl?”

“Tu mamá. She was my girl. Met her as a cattle hand for her papá. Back when I used to do things right,” Miguel found himself explaining, turning his head over to the tiny window. He couldn’t help but remember the first time you caught his eye-- the day you dropped that ruby-red rebozo into a muddy puddle on the way back from church. Whirling off his newly broken horse, Miguel near flung himself off her saddle to pick it up. Gabriella shifted to look out the empty window at him. “Shoulda seen her then. She had this glimmer, used to bring me out burros no matter how hot it was.”

He remembers the many days sitting on the wooden gate, tearing tasteless dried meat until you came around. You slipped out of your mother’s schoolhouse without fail to bring him something to eat. He hated sopita days the most. You loved those days the most. Beggars couldn't be choosers. He'd eat it, smack on a smile. Listened with an annoyed grin to the other cattle hands when they teased him about having to drop his entire salary back on the man to get your hand in marriage. Like the asshole would give you to a sunburnt, down-in-the-dirt cowboy like him. If he'd known that, he would've just eloped before things got... messy.

“Mama likes sopita,” Gabriella said. At least she knew her mother. “I like frijoles and tortillas.”

Sencillo. She was a simple child. Miguel exhaled a plume of smoke, spotting a dark brown horse out in the distance. He wasn't sure, but it could be Aaron coming to bother you again. He swore that the man had come in earlier when Miguel was feeding Widow in the barn.

“Abuelo y mi tia were shot.” She stated. What'd you do?! She’s not moving! Miguel shook the memory free. Every time he remembered, he hoped he could forget. He brings his cigarette back to his lips as the little girl goes on. “That’s what mamá said. Then, the paper says you killed the sheriff. Real outlaw like!"

“That’s what they say,” he mumbled, finding his mind running.

The days of running from his thoughts were coming to a quick end. He’s traveled far and wide, never married-- though he had certain needs met. It never fit. No one’s body held the quiet calm of yours under his, your fingers dancing the expanse of his muscled back, your soft lips on his chapped ones. He just wanted to make it right, thinking there was nothing more to tie you down. Looking at the curious twinkle in his daughter’s big brown doe eyes, that was obviously wrong.

“Yeah, but did you do it?”

“Don’t think your mamá would appreciate me talking out of turn.” Miguel unfolded his arms, knowing that he already said too much. He doesn’t know how much of the event you’ve told her. It’s easy to want to tell her things, to be more honest, and to invite open conversation like a papá should. He let Peter handle it all for years.

“What about me?” she asked, curious. “Did’ja come back for me?”

“You?” Miguel peeped over. “I didn’t even know you were alive, kid. Besides that, you won’t even talk to me man to man.”

“Man to girl,” she pushed open the door and popped out with her hands square on her hips. She’s a little spitfire, standing there proudly, fractured in some beautiful way, through moments of grief. It still wears in her girlish eyes, but it's smoothed over some by Miguel’s presence. He suddenly has a terrible fear of letting her down. He caught the tail of a frown before it dissipated. She presented him with her hand.

“My papá’s gone, so you’ll just have to do.”

Great, he’s a second-rate father. He knows he’s no Peter, who could run off with the smallest joy a child had. He could make it seem like the most amazing thing he’s ever heard. Miguel has a cold demeanor, his aptitude in things outside gunfights is questionable, and he has a fat ass bounty on his head-- no doubt spearheaded by Aaron. The deaths were so old. The sheriff was another issue. Why else would he keep chasing him?

“I’ll try.”

He could do this. Whatever having a child entailed, he wanted to do it. To one day bring that smile to Gabriella’s lips. A smile warmed his hardened face as he took hers. It’s the only thing that a newfound father could wish for his daughter-- to be the source of her happiness.

By the time they trek back home, there is no sight of Aaron. Widow is tucked kindly in your barn, out of the sweltering sun that beat down her little face to keep her safe. They take the backdoor in.

“Mamá?” Gabriella stepped in first. Miguel followed after, his hand on his gun out of habit. Too many sleepless nights in the middle of nowhere, nights sleeping in caves and rocky ground. “Mamá, are you there?”

Your clothes are thrown over a wooden chair, forgotten. Your cleaning water is used and indicates that you cleaned up in their absence. Miguel stepped past a broken dish in the kitchen that Gabriella thought fell off on its own accord. He set the sherds on top of one another and continued on in his inspection of the kitchen.

“Oh, mama made pie!” Gabriella picked up the forgotten peach pie from the window and set it on the lace tablecloth that covered the table. Miguel promptly shut the window behind her. He recognized Peter’s old pistol on the table, still holstered up in your thigh wrapping. Night had fallen on the home. Had they been gone so long?

Something’s off-- Miguel decided.

“I’m upstairs,” you called from up the steps. Your voice sounded strained, suppressing something Miguel didn’t quite understand.

“Eat n’ bed,” he told Gabi.

"Can I eat the pie?"

"Eat what'cha want." He minded how she took the pie up to her room with a shake of his head. He wasn’t getting him any of that any time soon. He checked her room first, shooing her off with the awkwardest hug. Not on his part, but hers. She squeezed his waist the tightest she could before she disappeared inside.

On his last visit here, he hadn't gone into depth exploring the home. It was beautiful. Warmed by your touch with well-framed family portraits and knick-knacks he recognizes from a decade ago. It’s terribly domestic, but that’s the beauty of a lifestyle he is alien to. Miguel hovered before a wedding photo. Unlike the typical wedding photos he saw town to town, you were clearly pregnant behind that tight white dress. Peter was clearly grinning like the idiot he was. He draws his knuckles over the heavy wooden door with a silent knock. He doesn’t want to fall into a trap with his daughter next door.

“Adelante,” you whispered, inviting him in. He pushes the door apart.

There’s no sign of Aaron. You sat at a small vanity, combing your hair out with a hand-me-down brush. Your hair fell over a heavy welt on your cheek that wasn’t there hours ago. His eye trained on the bruise. For a few long moments, he was silent. He eventually clicks the door shut and takes several steps forward, peeling your tiny palm that obscures the heavy bruising on your cheekbone.

“Did you find her?”

“What happened?” he asked, plain and dry. No room for debate, no way to deflect. You turned your head to one side, stroking your nightgown for a semblance of comfort. He removed your hand and set it on your lap, his large hand tilting your face in gentle concern. You abandoned your brush on the vanity. The spot was hot and angry, burning with a blotchy color that painted your face in a watercolor of bruises. “Was it Aaron?”

“You saw him?” He met your eyes and kept his gaze steady and strong. That was his answer. You sighed. “It’s not important.”

“Did he put his hands on you? Did he-- touch you?”

Miguel knew how Aaron looked at you in the past. Even back then, married to your sister, his eyes always wandered to any pretty thing. It wasn’t enough that the rumors that spread were full of talk of Miguel and you, ever the hot topic at every dance he took you to. Not because it was unique but because your father had clear objections to the match. Aaron took his presence as a threat. Right now, it was.

“Did you find Gabi?”

“She’s safe in her room,” he cropped his words. “I want to talk about you.”

“Y yo no,” you looked away. “I don’t want to talk.”

“Mi amor,” Miguel brought his hand down, supporting your soft jaw in his hand. Miguel doesn’t beg, but he will this time. It was all he could do to make you tell the truth. To soothe the sick feeling in his gut, to make sure that you were well taken care of. In a surge of concern, Miguel tried to push the issue further. “Don’t shut me out.”

“You’ll get all worked up and that ain’t gonna do nothin’ but raise that bounty on your head.”

"So." It doesn't matter that you had a point. There was a warning hanging in his eyes-- he wouldn’t let it go. Not without an explanation first. It was impossible. "I already got a chunk of change on my head. What's one more gonna do?"

“He’s been pressing me to search the ranch for you every so often,” you admitted, chewing on the inside of your cheek. “I left the front door open and he came on in while I was changing. I was about sick of it, querido, so I told him to go away. I guess… he didn’t like that much. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize,” Miguel cut you off. That was closer to a version of the truth than he knew you wanted to admit. He knew you enough to know it wasn’t the full story. Miguel slipped onto his knees, his worn slacks scratching the floor beneath him. He held your hands in his, reminding himself not to lash out, throw something, or hit something for not being there. There was no outlet for his rage right then. He'd take it out on something later.

“He didn’t violate me if that’s what you’re thinkin’.” Your lip pursed, struggled to make words that don’t hurt so much. Your tongue was fat in your mouth as you explained. “He just… grabbed on me a bit.”

Grabbed on you a bit? Miguel searched your fingers with an intent expression for an answer that made sense. You were being cryptic. He doesn’t particularly like weighing the options of what it could mean. He could have grabbed the door and forced his way in. He could have grabbed you and tried to force himself on you. The thought burned low in his stomach, simmering the need for revenge.

“What’d he grab?” he drew your name out in a soft, puff of a thing. Your fingers left his, smoothing over your nightgown again in an effort to soothe yourself. Your breath quickened, a clear signal that he was hitting his limit with you.

“I don’t--” you struggled. “I don’t want to talk about none of that. You just came back today, Gabi learned the truth, Peter-- I can’t do it. Can’t you let it go?”

He knew that the tears pricking your eyes weren’t over something like Peter’s death or the bite of dust in your eyes. Shame and embarrassment dangle before him, fueling his enmity with a man that he’d not run up against in many years. If anything were going to force him into action, it would be this.

“If that’s what you want, amor.”

He couldn’t let it go. But if it helped you relax, he’d just let you think he could. Miguel sprung up on two feet and kicked off his dark brown boots under your wooden vanity. He slipped off his suit jacket and vest before offering you his hand.

“I should… check on Gabi. She might be hungry.”

“She took up with that pie you made her. Menudo’s on the stove.”

“Pero… I should make sure she’s okay.”

“Amor, are you okay?” he asked, his voice terribly mild, but bore a seriousness that struck a cord in you. His words hung like the blade of a scythe, cutting through the strength you had to have day to day since Peter passed. First death. Now as Miguel suspected, a molestation?

No, you choked out, your face pale of its usual warmth. You didn’t fight as he brought you into bed, his hand underneath your neck to draw you close. He knew his smoky scent would reek the sheets, yet you did not seem to care, burrowing in the space between his neck. Your hand slipped underneath his slightly unbuttoned shirt, curling in his chest hair. He caressed your back in soft circles.

“Miggy?”

“¿Sí, mi hermosa?”

“Make it better.”

Take care of it, he thought bitterly. That’s what you meant. Miguel slid his other large hand over the back of your neck, working you through the tears. The flood of your tears against his neck reminded him of how pathetic of a job he’d been doing, caring for his new little family, for you-- the woman he came to take away.

For this moment, he could only cradle your cheek and distract you with a salty kiss. He clumsily nudged his nose against yours to force you to pay attention to him. He probably tastes of booze, smoke, and a little bit of dried meat, but if he does, you don’t seem to mind it. Your lips shuddered, lips opening slightly to allow him to kiss you more fully. Your kiss held its own familiarity, a signal that he was home despite the years that passed.

“I don’t think I can do this alone,” you murmured against his lips. “I ain’t that strong.”

“You’re plenty strong. Got through a whole pregnancy without your man around, raised her up good.”

“I knew I was with child before you left,” you peered up. Emotions flickered there: a rush of anger, uncertainty, disappointment, most of all, sadness pooled in his eyes. “I just… I ain’t know how to tell you, what’d it change with papa not liking you the least bit after Lupe’s shooting.”

“I would’a wifed you up quick.”

Now-- what would he do? Miguel wasn’t stupid. It wouldn’t be just Aaron who would come around the longer he spent in this town. Bounty hunters of all kinds would be breathing down his neck. There was no future for him here. The only alternative was to take his family out of this tiny town, carve out a new life elsewhere. Miguel brought your knuckles to his lips, pressing a kiss there.

“I still would.”

Your cheeks are warm as they get, “Who’d marry an outlaw and a widow?”

“Someone out west that ain’t know about us.”

“There such a place?” you asked.

“'Course there is,” he assured you. “Think ‘bout it.”

You looked at him for a long time, considering if Miguel was telling you the truth, but he’s never lied before. Not where it counts. Miguel’s hand wandered, pulling your thigh over his, content with your consideration.

“Think that’d make me a bad mom, whisking my kid off to be with an outlaw, ain’t it?”

Miguel arched his brow at you, his eyes glossy and warm, teasing. In any other case, he might have agreed. But it was his child you cared for. He wasn’t about to abandon you— no way to make money, no way to take care of Gabriella but to remarry or sell off everything and try a life in the city. You liked rocking on a rocking chair at the end of the night, running through the wildflowers, and the taste of honey in the warmer months. You were no city girl.

“Ain’t like they don’t know whose kid it is.” Miguel laughed, a tuft of pride spilling into his words. “She look like she's mine.”

“Peter’d say that too.” The thought made you smile in a way you knew it shouldn’t. As good as a man Peter was, he brought up that fact the day you gave birth, when he abandoned the fields to be by your side. How we gonna hide this? He’d laugh. She ain’t look Anglo. She look just like Miguel. He always did say he hoped that it wasn’t too obvious. It was. Peter was a one-of-a-kind man. The memory brought a twinge of a smile to your face, looking over your marital bedroom. Speaking of others--

“Didn’t you meet other girls out there?”

Miguel forgets the kind of woman you were. A very jealous, terribly protective woman. He knew the question would come up eventually. You were a woman who loved to be the center of his world. Every man and woman wanted to be the only one in their lover’s eyes. He traveled the grassy roads for years and saw all there was to see. All types of women. Native women who lived on the land and slept in longhouses. Anglo women seemed to love to run their fingers down his swarthy skin but never considered bringing him home-- even if he wasn’t interested. Black women always fed him, even if they distrusted him a little. And, Hispanic women whose fathers did not like him prowling around their land. He couldn't blame them. He wouldn't want someone like him for Gabi, either.

“I met my share.”

“And you still came back?”

“Yeah? I came back for you. What, you want me out?” Despite your brilliant, soft smile, your mind ran like you’d taken the first ticket on the railroad out of town. He knew what you were thinking. You were wondering how many women he’d been with, what they were like, what--

"You're so sassy," you teased. He slid on top of you, his fat belt buckle catching on your nightgown. His lips peppered gentle but scratchy kisses down the expanse of your neck. The soft bruising there reminded him of Aaron’s mistakes. He'd take care of that next.

“Miggy,” you giggled, tugging on his thick dark brown hair. “Stop it.”

“Todavía te amo,” he lifted off your neck enough to utter the words. Your cheeks flooded with an unfamiliar warmth. You'd not had someone to make your heart soar in a really long time. Your hand curled up his head, dipped along the curves of his face to his sharp jawline, and tugged him to look at you. He complied, a tilt in his head.

“I wanna see you naked. You’ve gotten so big,” you said. “Take off your clothes.”

Well-- he had to know that one was coming. Miguel suppressed a small snicker from leaving his chest as he pushed off the bed and brought his fingers against the buttons you hadn’t undone. You scooted up on the bed, dragged your gown over your knees, and watched him undress. He drew the shirt off his massive arms and threw it in on your chair. His skin was memorable, still as dark and swarthy as you remember, but cut in more defined musculature. You brought your nail to your lip, suckling on the nail as he threw you a half-lidded look.

“Well?” he hooked his thumbs onto his belt buckle, waving a little closer. “You're not saying anything.”

“You’re so big, querido.”

“Believe you already said that,” Miguel teased.

He knew he looked good. It was how he attracted so many different women. You twiddled your fingers to urge him closer. Something about you loosening his belt filled his belly with a distant excitement. He watched you unlatch the fat buckle and draw his belt free of the loops with a whirl of leather. He held his thick leather belt in one hand as your trembling hands came up to unbutton him. The firm fabric slid down over his hips, revealing nothing beneath but his hirsute legs and a flaccid cock that settled on a tuft of nearly black pubic hair. If he wasn't mistaken, you moistened your lips.

Selfishly, he wonders how many men you’ve been with since he ran off. He wouldn't have blamed you if you wanted to be with a hundred. He left you pregnant, without a family, and likely terrified.

“How long’s it been?” Miguel stepped out of what was left, standing there as naked as the first day he came into this world, exposed without his rifle or his handgun. Your cheeks flared with warmth, gliding a hand up his hip. “Since you've been with a man.”

“Eight years.”

He knew that Peter had no interest in you, and you had no interest in Peter. He was simply a good man doing what he thought was right. If not for Peter-- he’s not sure what would have become of you. Yet, illogically, he thought you could stomach to be with another man.

“You never been with another man?”

“I married Peter. I’d never do him like that,” you shook your head, inching your hand over his cock. After eight years, you deserved a good fucking. He can’t bring himself to force you into it, not after what you’ve been through tonight. He allows you to lead, milking his cock with your small hand. Your other crawls up to his scarred stomach, tracing the line of hair to his navel. There were countless scars on his body, never afraid to leap head first into a battle.

“I bet you had needs,” Miguel murmured. "You use your hand?"

“‘Course I did, Miggy. I’m a woman, ain’t I?” You looked up at him, your bruised face beautiful as it was. Despite what other men liked to say, that women ain’t need to do nothing but lay there and take them, Miguel knows better. His mind is full of distant memories of sex with one another. Sneaking out in the deep of night to fuck in the fields, snatching you midway through your chores to kiss and finger you in the barn, or exchanging the smallest of glances around town. "Now don't talk so nasty, Gabriella is right next door."

“Downstairs. Lemme take care of you,” Miguel found took your hand, lifting it away from his cock and forcing you to stand. You complied, following his hand that slipped between your legs, stroking up your thighs to your neglected core. He imagines that on nights like this, quiet and alone when Peter was on a cattle drive, you’d come into your bed just like this. Slip over your bed, stroke your long fingers over your puffy lips, maybe dip one inside, and think of him.

“What if she comes in?”

“She won’t.”

“But I don’t know how to--”

“Mujer. You don’t need to think of anything short of what I’m about to do to you.” Miguel lifted your nightgown up and off your body. Your hands snapped to your midsection, covering whatever it was that was so offensive.

"Stop that." Miguel tilted his head to the side, flicking your hands away from appreciating the sight of your belly, littered with softly discolored stretch marks.

“But I ain’t pretty no more,” you told him. “I got--”

“You got marks from bearing me a baby. I know. Now, hush up,” Miguel teased gently, the pads of his fingers swooping over the marks. They had gone silvery with age. Perhaps, he thinks, you thought you'd never be with a man. Now, you seem so suddenly self-conscious of the marks that litter your skin. He curved his hands around to squeeze your plush hips, flushing his body against yours. You felt his cock rub up against your belly, soft to the touch. Miguel's cock stiffened against your navel, a feeling that brought a crack of arousal through your core. You rubbed your thighs together for the friction. As relief pooled in your belly, Miguel seized your jaw to kiss you, his hands slapping your ass to force you to move. You shifted forward, crying out into his muscular chest. “I’m after a woman, not a girl. Get on all fours. It’s my turn to see you.”

You complied by sliding onto the bed, memories of what Miguel liked flooding your mind: chest against the sheets and ass up. Despite the very real concerns you had about his attraction, Miguel seemed no worse for wear when you looked over your shoulder. His eyes crinkled at the edges as he grabbed your ass, massaged your cheeks between his palms, and separated your lips. He licked a long band up between your tender lips, enough to wrench free a soft gasp. He suckled on them with a wet pop, the puff of his lips musing hot air onto your cunt.

“That’s cute,” Miguel murmured, letting his palm come on your ass for a teasing slap. You groaned, the hot redness burned in a sweet and unfamiliar way. His lips began to moisten with your lubricant spilling over them, tasting of a woman he hadn’t had in too long. His tongue prodded at the entrance to your gentle hole, pushing in one of his thick digits. Your walls protested the intrusion, clamping over the foreign finger.

“Ah Miguel,” you curled your toes, his finger stretching you in preparation for his fat cock. “I ain’t sure I can take you.”

“Sure you can.” Miguel hummed, inserting another alongside the first. You were tight, that was for sure. He was sure that you hadn’t been with another man in years, just as you said. It made his cock leak to think of it-- your virginity was his, your child was his, and… now you’d be his again. He spat on your hole, his wet saliva squelching with your lubricant around his broad fingers as he entered your body. Your hips rutted back onto him, instantly making Miguel release a husky laugh. "Your pussy knows you can. Look'it eating me up."

"Por dios Miguel, don't talk like that." You stiffened around his fingers. His mouth had gotten nastier in his time away. He knows you like the way he worships you, finger flicking lightly over your walls, making sure to stretch you wide. Another slipped alongside the first, twisting his wrist for a deeper thrust, working you nice and loose, enjoying the gasps of decadent pleasure. Miguel whispered beautiful words of praise, remarking on how easily you took him, how well you'd be in only a few minutes. Your hands ruffled the sheets, cantering your hips back onto him. You needed his words, so tired after years of sexual frustration.

"That's it. Tell me you missed it," he fucked you a few more times before his rhythm would die off, leaving you empty of him. His hand shifted to your breasts, molding them between his big palms, waiting for an answer that sounded right.

"I missed you, Miggy."

Miguel momentarily paused. Then, he stepped up, the hair on his legs brushing your thighs as he mounted you. The blunt head of his cock nudged along your lips.

“I’ma fuck you now,” Miguel murmured into your ear, letting his chest rest on your own. He pushed into you. Your walls stretched with his long stroke, Miguel's face tightening up. He was seated against your cervix, pushed up as far as you would let him go. For all your whining about his language, the obscene cry that left your lips was loud. Loud enough that Miguel slapped his hand over your mouth. He hooked his thumb in your mouth, forcing you to suck him as he sped up his deep thrusts, pushing you closer to your limit.

“Just gorgeous, mi hermosa.” Miguel found himself grinding forth. The repetitive squeaking of the bed made what he was about to say real stupid like. “But you gotta be quiet. Gabi don’t need to know what we’re doin’.”

Your tongue coasted around his thumb, suckling him nice and wet. Your walls clamped back over him, unused to the feeling of having a man inside. Miguel found himself rutting against your cunt, his tightening balls slapping your ass as he moved. Again and again, Miguel set a soothing, quick rhythm, filling the emptiness from years ago.

He'd been with many women over the years. None felt so easy, so like home. He curses himself for not doing it sooner. Your fingers dipped between your bodies, filling the emptiness, and causing your pleasure to blossom under your fingers. Pleasure explodes in your core, battered by his frantic thrusts, and your mind goes over the edge into some distant land of warm pleasure. Your walls spasmed violently, and Miguel's gasps became thin, adjusting his hold on your hips under the clench of your muscles against his length. He holds onto his decency poorly, strain bundled in his brow.

“Could you-- inside?” you said between his thrusts, muffled by the fingers hooked in your moist mouth.

“I do that-- and-- you'll get pregnant,” you’re both older now, he wants to think wiser than being two stupid kids fucking one another without care. Not that his pull-out game was particularly great back then-- Miggy please, you cry his name out, a tone that is stretched sweetly thin, walls spasming tightly over his fat cock. He muffles a curse, his pace jagged and uneven, desperate.

“Please, I miss it,” you cry, a litany of please threatening his ability to be well-behaved. He never was good at that in the first place, never good at saying no. Miguel drags you onto his cock, complying with a groan that he didn’t mean to be quite so loud. Thick streams of cum fill your tight little hole, bubbling out around the site of your union. He rides out the tails of his orgasm, earning you desperate little snaps of his shaking hips.

“Ay dios,” Miguel came down from his high with a slap to your ass, ripping his other hand free from your mouth to comb through his hair. He didn’t just-- he did. Miguel threw a glance at you, your shy eyes hiding behind an embroidered pillow. “I came inside.”

Coño. Great. Just-- great.

“I can feel it,” you teased him. He was stressed out, seeing a stream of his cum dribbling out from your cunt. He didn’t even know how to take care of one. How was he going to take care of two? His eyes narrowed.

“You best pray that it don’t take.”

“Don’t think I control that, Miguel.”

He pieced himself together smoothly, failing to notice anything but the emptiness that settled in your chest. A sigh left his chest and Miguel would set a kiss on the top of your head, looking toward the clothes-covered chair. Your eyebrows drew together in the realization that Miguel did not intend to stay.

“Are you leaving already?” You whined, pulling his name out from somewhere deep and lonely. He knew what it was. He just fucked you-- and now, he was going to run off. “Where you off to?”

“I got something to do. I’ll be back another day.”

A frown marred your soft features, lips slapped shut. You pushed away the warm quilt and slipped below it with your head on pillows that still smelled of Peter. You took one, propped it under your arm, and hid your lovely face from view. Silence filled the suddenly stuffy room. Other women would whine and complain about his fuck-and-run attitude. He didn't usually care.

Miguel dropped his pants, drawing closer to look at you. He wasn’t sure, but he thought he could see an ounce of the grief in your watery eyes. Panic, embodied in sparks of anxiety, spilled down his chest. Filled his stomach full with a fear of aggravating your already damaged state.

“Hermosa…” he began, his voice tender and soft. He slipped behind your back, his fingers running across your waist. "What is it?"

“I’m-- I don’t want to be alone. I didn’t want you to go,” you stammered into the pillow, blinking back tears that fell so readily. You didn't want to say what happened, but you needed his comfort more than sex. Your words were heavy, hard to make out, almost as if you were suffocating. “Not so soon.”

“Then I stay,” he said, husky and soft.

“You’ll stay?”

His muscular arms bunched around your waist as he set a kiss on the top of your head. He was careful, sliding you away from the hunched position on your bed onto his chest. He’d stay if that was what you wanted. Not permanently. He could never afford you such a promise here, where many a man had 2099 reasons to chase him down. You were his reason to stay, to keep you safe. The other slept next door. Or, he hoped she was sleeping.

“For tonight.”

He forgot what this felt like, the ability to stay in bed with someone you cared for, no pressure to run. Miguel was disheartened without his gun in arms reach, instead combing his fingers through your hair, watching the moon draw overhead. At some point, your breath faded into a gentle rise and drop in your chest to the tune of the whistling wind against the side of your home.

He found himself awake for minutes after, focusing on the bright moon multiple times that night, her embrace cool and welcoming. The constellations pale in comparison to the bright light that streamed into the room. He could almost imagine doing this every day, in another world, where his head wasn’t on a wanted flyer in your biblia. Sleep claimed him, restful and horrible, and hours passed.

The gun was hot. Miguel's fingers trembled, wrapped around the grip of his mother's old gun. "Lupe! Miguel, oh glory, Miguel what did you do?" He hears your distant scream, the desperation rooted in your voice. There was a pool of blood by his feet, dripping out from a woman who gave him nothing but grief.

"What I had to," As much as he'd tell you that killing her, rather than wounding her, was wholly an accident, he knew it wasn't. It was another something he had to do. He knew the next something would be your father wielding that ancient rifle and putting a claim on his head.

Shit. He wakes with a start. Miguel soothes the bags under his eyes. Not a day had gone past that he had good dreams-- less so when he was in a proper bed with a woman. Not any woman, but his woman. You're dead asleep against his chest, his arm having long since gone numb. Still as beautiful as hours ago, blissed out and well fucked, the bruising on your face reminds him that he has shit to do.

There is little disrespect like the disrespect of a man molesting your love, the mother of your child. But you don’t want a body from him. So he would be gentle with this, unpeeling himself from your warmth and striding into town while the moon still howled in the sky, knowing where a useless scum bag like Aaron Delgado would be. He’d be drinking up, his liver fat and useless.

The saloon was still somehow rowdy, stuffed to the brim with men who sought relief from family life and women who knew the easiest way to make a buck off pretty lies. Popping into the saloon was stepping back into his usual life, one of little value other than the skills it gave him. Namely, his hand hooked around the gun.

“Hey handsome,” a maid cooed, trying to call his attention. But he’s not focused on the breasts in his face as he veered past, pushing through groups of standing men. He came up behind Aaron, who was dead asleep on the bar. It never failed that he looked sloppy, his booze soaking his ruffled shirt.

“What can I get you?” the barman said.

Miguel gripped Aaron’s collar and what little hair wasn’t balding, lifting and cracking the man’s head hard on the bar. Aaron may not have been awake before but he was sure now, blinking the stars out of his eyes.

“The hell!”

The sound of feet against the squeaky old floor marked the rush of steps out of the bar. Miguel kicked Aaron’s bar seat out from underneath him, sending him careening onto the floor with a heavy thump.

“Miguel?” he snapped, bright-eyed, eyes trained on Aaron. Aaron snapped his hand to his hip. Miguel leveled his gun at Aaron, threatening him to touch it, just try. Blood flowed free from Aaron’s nose. He pushed it away with the back of his hand, smug smile like he knew Miguel would show up.

“It is you. I knew you’d be around.”

That's him. Some stragglers, friends of Aaron’s no doubt, lurched forward. Miguel shot into the ground by Aaron’s hip as a warning. It burst into the floor with a booming pop. He had no qualms about making double murder a triple, quadruple if he had to. Aaron pushed himself onto one arm. Miguel’s foot connected with Aaron’s ribs, sending him soaring across the floor. He connected with an aged piano, a bundle of keys singing under the small man who stumbled past Aaron's poor, shitty friends.

“C’mon,” Aaron pushed himself up on his palms. "Kicking a man while he's down?"

“You didn't think twice about breaking in and hitting my woman."

Miguel knelt down, checking the urge to blow his face off, but not now. Not while you had a stake in this shit of a town. Aaron's face quivered, what little friends he had gossiping in and among one another, others slipping the fuck out. Aaron has nothing useful to say.

"You so much as think of touching my woman again and you won’t be so much as crawling out of here. The undertaker be putting you under, you hear?"

“Gimme a break. What I did was nothing compared to what you did to Lupe."

"Don't you fuckin' dare bring her up."

"I just touched on her. You killed my wife. She felt mighty nice, Miguel, bet you’re mighty proud--”

Miguel considers himself good up til that point, walloping the butt of his gun across Aaron’s face to force compliance. Once, twice, maybe three times. After the third, he lost the thin hold he had on his control. He just knows it's enough to where the bruises that formed on his face would make yours seem like gentle love taps. He beats the man bloody and slips out to the sound of calls for Sherriff Morales.

He never was good at handling disrespect.

[unicorncornflakes]

Dark Desire - Modern AU! | Chapter 10

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Paring: Aemond Targaryen x Niece!Reader

Summary: Aemond doesn't know how he feels every time he sees you. Neither do you when you look at him. Your father Aegon has always been absent from your upbringing ever since he divorced your mother. That role has been filled by Aemond until last summer, when everything changed.

Tags: Alternate Universe – Modern/ Setting Emotional Hurt/ Comfort/ Drama & Romance/ Eventual Smut.

Warnings: This fic includes manipulation, violence, death, and inc3st, at some points. Reader has purple eyes and her mother is from Dayne House, the rest is complete free :D

Tag-List (If you wanna be tagged in thi series or all of my work, let me know): @thedamewithabook @afro-hispwriter @chainsawsangel @thetrueblackheart @atherverybest @itsabby15 @boundlessfantasy @partypoison00 @glame @tempo-rary-fix @tssf-imagines @aaaaaamond @imaloserbby @youngcomputerpuppy @aemondsfavouritebastard @cloudroomblog @queenofshinigamis @bluevxnus @wooya1224 @serving-targaryen-realness @darkenchantress @padfooteyes @mariannnavao @moonlightfoxx @jennifer0305 @ammo23 @iloveallmyboys @tempt-ress @bellameshipper @okfashionista @shelbyteller @dahlias-and-marigolds @the-knights-of-ne

Author´s note: Pls, enjoy! Feedback, shares and comments are always welcome!

Acknowledgment: To @ammo23 for the brilliant corrections and the wonderull work as beta reader . Thank you so much :D

Word Count: 5.8K

Alys had never been so in love in her entire life as she was with Daemon. It was a reality. A fact. A bad joke of fate. She had never believed in love. She was a being that had been used by men so many times that she didn't believe in that concept or venerate it. Stories of prince charming were fine for others, not for her. Her father had made that clear by not even marrying her mother after getting her pregnant. He had kept his perfect wife and Alys had been born as a bastard. She had seen her mother prostitute herself to feed Alys. One man after another had mounted her when she thought Alys was asleep. So, yes, Alys didn't believe in happy endings. She believed in survival and what it took to eat. However, with Daemon Targaryen, the young secretary made the exception.

 She always remembered gawping at him as he said goodbye to a client. A perfect, joyous smile painted on her red lips as Daemon did and undid at his pleasure as CEO of Targaryen Industries. He always winked at her before going back to his office, not a word. Just a wink that he hid much more than they both wanted to reveal to the world. She was efficient in her work, correct and determined. It was what her boss always told her that made her stand out from the rest. However, quickly, the relationship between the two changed. Maybe because of Alys. Maybe Daemon's fault.

It was the end of the quarter. A much younger Alys fresh out of college stayed up late working with Daemon, the desire of almost every girl in King's Landing then, and perhaps Westeros. She remembered how hot it was on that early summer night. The air conditioning had broken in the building, but they were still working, there were reports to finish so they could file the quarterly, and Alys, that efficient and determined girl, was in her boss's office, working like the others, like even Daemon himself. The truth is that the company always seemed to be a company of mercenaries and opportunists under the command of Daemon, who was the biggest opportunist of them all. But, to her, such a young girl she didn't care. If she had been a teenager, she would have had her room filled with pictures of him from the floor to the ceiling. She always tried to calm her racing heart in his presence. That night she was no exception.

Daemon leaned back in his chair and removed his tie. It was too hot for formalities, and Alys only glanced at him to continue typing on her computer. Unlike what Aemond had done many years later, Daemon had her desk inside his own office. Daemon was always talking about what a great team they were and how lucky he was to have her as his secretary. He was smooth talker. Alys knew it and yet she consented to it. She allowed it because the girl had been torn apart by all the men in her life had finally found someone who praised her. Daemon sighed trying to understand a report.

“Why the hell does Tyland put in this report that revenue for the 101 has outpaced the 585?” he asked desperately. He took another swallow of his whiskey. Everything Aemond smoked, Daemon drank. It seemed as if the vices could never leave any of the Targaryens. The question was rhetorical, yet Alys spoke.

"Because the income of the 101 model has exceeded 585, that's why he puts it," she said, stopping writing for a moment. She was hot too, but at that moment when Daemon looked at her with that mischievous smile and those eyes that always stripped her naked, she felt even hotter. She even felt all her skin crawl.

"Are you hungry, Alys?" he asked her. His eyes scanned her from top to bottom. She knew that at that time she was an extremely attractive girl. She knew it and she had always played with it. She told herself that, unlike her mother, she would not be fooled by any man. Poor her, she didn't know how wrong she was.

"Well, it's late. This quarterly is taking us longer than I thought,” she said honestly, returning to her screen, ready to continue working. "I'll eat something when I get home" she replied with a shrug.

"Don't be silly." Daemon picked up the phone, and after a brief call, Alys's biggest dream came true. She was having dinner with Daemon Targaryen. It was true that it was not the glamorous dinner that she had imagined, but eating that oriental meal with Daemon while they talked about company things made her go on cloud nine.

Alys laughed for a moment at Daemon's bad joke and he looked at his food again, with a sincere half-smile on his lips, or at least as sincere as the man could manage. Alys tried to tell herself that they called him the Lord of Flea Bottom for a reason, but he was so charming she couldn't stop herself. She was in love with him, like a young lady with a movie star. He was hers, all hers. Everything for a girl who had never had anything.

“So the model that Cregan has designed has made me more money than the one that Viserys has designed?” he asked her secretary as they continued to eat dinner. A report in his hand while in the other he held the chopsticks that allowed him to eat. Alys nodded, always correct as she took a bite of her noodles and swallowed hard so she could respond to her boss as quickly as possible.

"Yes, it's been surprising, but Cregan has been more than efficient lately," she answered quickly, ending up wiping her red lips on her napkin. She knew that way there shouldn't be any more lipstick on them, and she felt ridiculous. She always had to wear her perfect lips, that's how she liked it. An image always perfect and impeccable.

"I'd like to know what has happened to our little pup to become so efficient," Daemon replied,with a small chuckle that escaped his teeth, and continued looking at the report. Alys looked at him and smiled sincerely.

"It's because he says that he has married the most beautiful woman in the world" Alys replied. The truth is that she did not believe in men, but those sweet words from the northerner made her believe that there was even someone out there for her. However, Daemon sneered and looked at Alys with a raised eyebrow, amused and arrogant.

"Well, he'll tell me in a couple of months. My bronze bitch and I attest that this initial crush wears off and then… after that everything is crap” Daemon confessed and Alys blushed at the way he was looking at her. She would never have thought that there was anything between Daemon and his wife. It was true that he spent many hours in the office and many more disappeared, but they were always seen smiling so much on TV and in magazines. "Alys, aren't you always hot with your blouse buttoned up to your neck?" he smiled suggestively at her, and Alys remembered blushing even more, but she had unbuttoned her blouse and Daemon had walked over to her. She remembered that hungry kiss he had given her. All the sexual tension that had existed between them culminated in that moment and Daemon devoured her in silence. She remembered ending up naked in that leather chair Daemon kept in his office. She remembered ending up sweaty and panting and happy, spread-eagled for Daemon Targaryen. She had been as stupid as her mother. No. No. She tried to convince herself that her relationship with her boss was different. Completely different. She remembered getting up naked from the sofa while Daemon was still sleeping on it, really exhausted, in the middle of that hot early summer night. She wanted to drink water and then she stepped on a piece of paper that was on the ground. It was the dinner ticket. She picked it up to add it as business expenses, and then she found to her amazement that the dinner had cost 20 dragons. Alys Rivers had sold herself for 20 dragons, but she didn't care. She was in love.

A short time later, Rhea Joyce, Daemon Targaryen's first wife, fell from her horse. A terrible horse accident that had ended up breaking her neck. Everyone was talking about how spectacular and terrible the accident was. A few voices spoke of what a coincidence it was that Daemon had been present the one time he had gone horseback riding with her. However, Alys did not believe that. Like a good lover, she stood by Daemon's side and comforted him as appropriate during that time. Daemon then explained that their relationship was above labels and conventions. Now it was Alys who was in the magazines with Daemon. But, they were not a traditional couple. Daemon kept sleeping with other women and Alys didn't even suffer from it. The one with him at the end of the day was her. She was the one who truly possessed Daemon Targaryen's heart. Or so she told herself even when he decided to marry Laena Velaryon. Daemon begged her not to leave him as his lover. This marriage was just a strategic ruse. The only one he loved was her. And Alys believed it, she believed it because she just wanted to believe it, even though a little voice in her head told her it wasn't true, she was being like her mother, and everything broke even more when a very young Rhaenyra Targaryen appeared in her life. Alys told herself that no woman should sell herself for a dinner of only 20 dragons.

"I wish we could go on like this for all eternity," you whispered to Aemond. Completely naked like him, you were hugging his body. Your head resting on his chest as you listened to the quiet beat of his heart. He was lying on the enormous bed of that hotel, with one of his arms around your shoulders while he caressed the bare skin of your shoulder and the other was under his neck. The dawn light filtered through the curtains of that expensive and minimalist room of the best hotel in the city. And you didn't think you could be happier. You wished that time would stop and that you could be there forever with Aemond, in perfect tune and harmony. You were tired but happy. You had hardly slept, but you were with the man you loved in a perfect place. You heard Aemond smile at your words.

"Are you in a hurry to go somewhere?" he asked you, pulling your body even closer to his. His eye fixed on the ceiling of the room. “We can spend the whole day here if that's what you want. I can pay it” he replied arrogantly and you leaned on his chest to look into his eye. He raised his face slightly to look at you, but didn't move from his position. You laughed sweetly and he thought his heart would explode with happiness. He had ever been so happy in his life.

"You know I'm not talking about money..." you said, looking down and biting your lip nervously. He sighed and his hand grabbed your chin so that you would look into his eye again. Every time you looked at him you thought there was not a more attractive man in all the seven kingdoms. Aemond was perfect, even the stolid blue prosthetic seemed perfect to you. "I don't want things to change again."

"And they won't, I promise, (Y/N)" his face cradled you and you equally brought one of your hands to his as he caressed you. "I've been a real asshole all this time."

"It's a good thing you said so..." you told him rolling your eyes, half sad, half happy, and he laughed. You thought it was the first time you saw him laugh without a sneer on his lips and he seemed to you the most perfect man in the world.

“I will not allow anything to separate us. You have my word” he whispered to you softly, sincerely… and you smiled as pretty as you could, as if that was the best thing that had ever happened to you, perhaps because it was the best thing that had ever happened to you. You caressed his chest while he continued to look at you in silence, with a grimace that was somewhere between happiness and disbelief. "Now that I think about it... I haven't given you my gift" he said getting up from the bed, almost jumping, going to his coat. You laughed and pulled the sheet over you as he walked slowly and surely toward his black coat. You would never tell him but you didn't know how he could put up with something like that even in summer, although you knew he would tell you that it was part of his image. He was back to being the same as always with you, and you couldn't be happier. "Close your eyes" he told you, turning to you. And sitting on the edge of the bed. You laughed out loud.

"Nooo, I already know this" you replied, laughing sweetly while you covered your mouth flirtatiously and looked at him suggestively. "Bryden made me close my eyes once and I only found his cock in front of him when I opened them" you commented amused, remembering that anecdote that you thought was ridiculous and funny in equal measure. But, then you just saw your uncle tense up and look away. Imagining you with another man was too much for him, always would be.

"I'm not Bryden" he told you through his teeth. All the happiness that had reigned at that moment vanished. You saw him jealous again and you mentally noted that you would never talk about any subject like that with him again. You had not acted well, but it had only been a joke.

"No, of course not... you're better" you told him while your arms wrapped around his nec and your lips kissed him. You almost felt like he was loosening up with your attentions. When you finished the kiss and opened your eyes, he looked back at the ground while he looked at the small box that he had in his hands. The logo of one of the most expensive jewelry stores in all of King's Landing was on it. "It was just a joke..." you said almost regretting speaking, as if you had messed everything up.

"It disgusts me to imagine that disgusting bastard touching something as beautiful as a Targaryen, just like Cregan" he confessed to you, wrinkling his face in a sneer. “You and I… You and I are made for each other. At last we are with what we deserve... ”he told you, looking into your eyes, raising his chin, almost as if he was giving you a lesson about what you really were. "We are Targaryens, (Y / N)" he told you as he gave you the small box of that jewelry.

You took it, almost nervous at that confession. The conversation you had had two summers ago where he had told you about the importance of blood and the last name was more important than ever. You opened it under his watchful eye and when you saw the contents inside the box you looked at him again in astonishment for a few moments only to quickly return your gaze to the jewel that was inside that velvet-lined box. "Aemond, this must be very expensive" you said, looking at him again and he smiled satisfied when he saw your reaction.

“It's not something Bryen could give you, that's true. Not even Cregan ” he told you with an arrogant smile, making it clear that he was the best choice, the best among all the partners you had ever had. While looking at your incredulous eyes and the smile that escaped from your lips, Aemond couldn't help but think that he could provide you with the moon if you wanted it. He could protect you, take care of you, love you and give you the standard of living that you needed. He, in his opinion, was the best possible choice. "Why don't you try it on?" he suggested and you looked at him with a beautiful and wide smile. You ran to the dressing table mirror of that room that had witnessed all your passion that night. You left the box on the dresser and looked at yourself smiling and happy in the mirror. Aemond followed you, standing just behind you as you tried to close the catch on that subtle chain. "Do I help you?" Aemond phrased it as a question, but you knew it was a statement. You smiled while he closed the clasp on that chain and looked satisfied at your reflection in that mirror. He kissed the skin of your neck and you laughed sweetly. That was music to his ears and you felt how all the blood in his body was now concentrated elsewhere, much further south. He hugged you and sighed haughtily as he wrapped his arms around you from behind you, pulling you closer to him. “Hmm, you're a gorgeous dragon, (Y/N)” he whispered in your ear and you smiled at your own reflection.

Aemond's gift was a discreet necklace with the heraldry symbol of your father's name, of your name… a three-headed dragon in a silvery steel alloy that was quite subtle. The three heads of the dragon greeted you, declaring that you were one of them, but also each of its eyes were small sapphires as blue as Aemond's prosthesis, but when caught in the sunlight they reflected a purple light exactly like the color of your eyes. You knew that Aemond must have been demanding for that jewel, ordering select sapphire runes as unique as those, however, that made you happy. You were one more, at least for him. “This necklace represents us. In the dark, their eyes have my blue. In the light, they have your purple” he explained to you while you continued happily and in silence, admiring your own reflection in the mirror. Those two perfect and embracing figures. Both naked, without complexes, without ties... just him and you... together at last. “You are a Targaryen, (Y/N). And the Targaryens were born to be together” those last parts he whispered in your ear. His warm breath against the shell of your ear. You saw him close his eye, but the bluish prosthesis was still open, it almost seemed that he never lost sight of you, and that turned you on a lot. "Hmm" he sighed while he rested his head on yours. Still with his eye closed. You felt a warm sensation build up in your lower belly and you turned to kiss him. You not only felt accepted and wanted, but also loved. That necklace was proof of that.

The truth, a truth that Aemond would never confess to you, is that he had changed his gift at the last moment. That necklace was just a way of marking his territory at the birthday party before Cregan, but he would never admit it to you. That moment had turned out better than he had planned and he just closed his eye when he felt how you kissed him again after turning around with a smile. He picked you up and turned you around as you kissed, going back to bed. You lay down and smiled mischievously at him. "Suddenly I know what I want for breakfast," you told him comically, a mix of sensuality and amusement that you didn't think Aemond was used to from the way he looked at you. Lying facing each other, you smiled at him as you lowered your gaze and bit your lower lip in the most sensual way you could. He seemed to understand what you were talking about and he only knew how to put on a serious gesture while his hand was lost in your hair, almost forcing you and guiding you to what he had been waiting for so long.

"So what are you waiting for?" he whispered to you. His strong hand was pushing you down. He had to be in control, he couldn't let go, letting himself go would be accepting weakness, and he was never weak... he lay down looking at the ceiling, while you descended to give him what he had wanted so much. His eye lasted a short time on the ceiling, he quickly turned to look at you when he felt your tongue playing in the cleft of his glans. "My little dragon..." he moaned between his teeth and you felt a pang of pleasure at being named again as before, as he had always called you. He couldn't help but get excited seeing how you had changed, as now you were the woman who made him crazy... that made him horny at times. He saw you astride him, lying between his legs while your tongue ran the length of his member. That reddish and shiny head contrasted strongly with his pale skin and you felt his cock vibrating against your tongue. Aemond couldn't stop looking at you as your purple eyes locked on him. A look that said it all. He grabbed your hair tight. He thought he would cum soon, very soon. He had been wanting to be with you for so long that he knew it wasn't going to last at first. He had planned to cum inside your mouth and you would swallow his dragon seed. His seed was always a gift not a drop of which could be wasted. You sucked his cock between your lips while running one of your hands up and down the shaft of his manhood at the same time. Aemond growled. He didn't think he was going to last much longer and he grabbed your hair tightly, ready to set the pace, but, right at that moment his phone rang. "Fuck, who the hell is that now?" he said in a bad way. His hand on your hair, then he looked at you, unsure whether to continue with you or go to the phone. "Fuck" that was all he said as he grabbed your head desperately and set a fast pace that had nothing to do with the previous game you had set. He was angry at the interruption and you let him take over while you relaxed your neck for him to set the quick, the angry pace he needed. While your mouth felt his cock go in and out quickly and your hair felt the tugs that made your head go up and down, the phone didn't stop ringing. Nervous and urgent, it just overwhelmed your uncle, who hardly knew how to handle the urgency with which it sounded. You sensed Aemond angry and then he growled and breathed hard and desperate. His cock vibrated inside your mouth and you felt his warm seed slide down your throat. Right at that moment, Aemond stopped the controlled movements above your head and dropped you on the bed to kiss you angrily while he got up from. The truth was that you had felt uncomfortable during that moment and your jaw and throat ached from the rapid and deep thrusts he had given you, but, you understood that Aemond was stressed before that phone that did not stop ringing. "Damn," he muttered as he picked up the phone. "There was no other fucking time to call..." he said as the cell phone kept ringing again. Aemond cleared his throat as he picked up the phone. "Mother..." he answered. He went to the huge window of that room to talk to Alicent.

You got up from the bed and walked over to him. Your body adhered to his, both illuminated by the first rays of the sun of that perfect dawn. You would take care of him, you would relieve him, you would reduce his tension and you would always be there for him. It was what you said to yourself while you were listening to him talk, stressed with your grandmother. She was asking where you were, what had happened. You heard her mention that your father was freaking out that no one knew where you were and you saw Aemond's jaw tense as he answered. He said that you had spent the night in a hotel, that the doctors had told you to stay away from everything. He lied, creating a perfect story for his mother in which he came off as a perfect and loving uncle, concerned about the mental health of his little and vulnerable niece. Aemond Targaryen would always be the hero of your story.

You spent a couple of days at home, resting, although you had insisted that you were fine, that you could accompany your uncle to the office, but your grandmother had insisted that you stay there. Thus, you had spent half a week reading in the morning, eating with your grandmother, drawing quietly in the garden and bathing in the pool. It had been a quiet few days, seeing no one but your grandmother in the mornings and Aemond in the afternoons and evenings. He was leaving work early. He would come home and you would hang out together, keeping the logical distances, of course. No one could find out about you two, much less your grandmother, but you lived as a couple. You had dinner together and in those three days, one of them, he had taken you to a pretty good restaurant. Life like this seemed almost perfect. However, you had not seen your father at any time during those days. Until that Thursday afternoon, sitting in the sun lounger that was Aemond's favorite place to sit while you were in the pool, you waited for him to come home from work. You felt a presence behind you and you turned to greet him, but instead of finding Aemond, your father was looking at you completely devastated with terrible circles under his eyes. The truth is that you hadn't seen him since the Sunday of your birthday and, by the way he looked, you could imagine that he had been trying to forget it in his strange way all those days.

“Dad…” you started to say, but you didn't know what else to say. He struggled to sit across from you, with a sad smile and tired eyes. He looked at you only to end up looking at the pool.

“I'm so glad to see you looking so well, (Y/N)” he told you with a dry throat. He ended up trying to swallow, but he couldn't, talking to you had always been difficult for him.

“It was… it was silly” you told him, trying to play down the matter “What happened to me, I mean. It was silly."

"No, it wasn't" he told you, turning to look at you for a moment with tears in his eyes. Of course it hadn't been, but you couldn't accept what had happened. Now you felt ashamed. You had lost your mind for a moment. “I… I am sorry about what happens between us, (Y/N). I'm sorry I've never been there for you. Not having met you, not… not having protected you. If I had done it, we wouldn't be in this situation now…” he confessed to you. His eyes were not capable of looking at you. You would always be the great reflection of his failure with your mother. Always. “I… I really love you and care about you. I care a lot about you…”

"Dad..." you went to say, to hug him. You wanted it too, of course you did. He might be a lousy father, but he was your father, and you knew that he had always tried his best, even if it ended in acts as disastrous as the bandit. “I know you try to do your best.”

"And I know it's not enough," he laughed weakly, looking at you again. "You look like your mother, you're exactly like her," he confessed tiredly. And then, he looked strangely at the Targaryen pendant you hadn't parted with since Aemond had given it to you. It was a symbol of love…it almost embarrassed you to think of it, but it was a symbol of commitment. A commitment between Aemond and you. "That necklace is very pretty..." he told you, staring at him. He had screwed up with her gift. He realized that he had inadvertently excluded you from his family.

"Aemond gave it to me" you said, caressing the necklace sweetly and your father just looked away. Of course, his brother would always understand you better than he did…he felt jealous, he felt it because he thought you should see Aemond as your father figure, instead of seeing him. He had no idea how wrong he was...

“I want things to change between us, (Y/N). I really want to be there for you” he confessed to you, embarrassed to think that it was all his fault. He already knew that he was going to screw up since the day he saw you in your mother's arms about to catch the flight to Starfall…he would always be a disaster. And you didn't know how to respond to his words. You only remained in a painful silence in which neither of you knew what else to say. You both knew that things had to change, for the good for the both of you.

"Oh, look who's back from their mini vacation." Aemond looked up from his reports when he heard Alys' voice in the reception area of his office. Then, he saw you dressed casually, like you always did in your top and shorts, but this time with the torn shoulder bag and the Targaryen symbol on it. Your uncle smiled pleased to see you. "How are you, honey?" Alys asked you sweetly. The whole city must have found out you were in the psych ER after Cregan left. You felt stupid when they asked you like a little girl, but you saw sincerity in the eyes of your uncle's secretary.

"Fine" you replied as you watched your uncle get up from his desk to see you. You turned your attention to Alys and she smiled at you in the nicest way she knew how. "Thanks for asking me, Alys."

"Don't worry. That´s what I´m here for. Besides, I'll tell you a secret” she told you, lowering her tone of voice more and more. You approached to listen to her, “Men come and go. It's a lesson I give you.” Without a doubt, Alys blamed it on the same thing everyone else blamed it on, Cregan was gone and you'd gone mad with love. She smiled at you but her eyes seemed to freeze when she saw the necklace now hanging from your neck. "How beautiful!" she commented, trying to sound nice, but that smelled very bad to her. You laughed sweetly.

"Yes, Aemond gave it to me for my birthday," you confessed to her and she tried to put the ideas in order in her head. You had been with Cregan all that time, it was impossible, unlikely that you would have ended up tangled between Aemond's sheets, but that seemed like a gift more between lovers than between family...

"(Y / N)" Aemond greeted you through the open door of his office, hands in pockets. He looked at the very expensive Rolex that he always wore and looked at you again with a stupid smile on his lips, "How soon you came" he told you in a soft tone, almost suggestive and Alys's alarms went off. What. Was. Going. Between. You. Two?

"It's just that I couldn't keep waiting at home," you told him coquettishly, clutching your shoulder bag like an idiot and Alys cleared her throat while she looked at Aemond with a worried face. Your uncle seemed to come back to reality.

“How about you go down to the cafeteria and have what you want?” Aemond responded quickly, returning to the stoic tone he always seemed to have.

"Yes, of course" you replied with concern. Just when you closed the door to that waiting room. Aemond turned slowly, his unbound hair moving in time to return to his office. He had work to finish. Alys went to the office door and leaned defiantly against the frame. They had never been anything, owed each other nothing, but Alys wasn't going to let Aemond fall the way his uncle did. She had to protect him because with it she protected herself.

"What is going on between you two?" she said as she walked over to Aemond's desk, she leaned against it and glared at him hard. He just answered her with the same cold look that he would have given his worst enemy. He took a deep breath before speaking.

“I know it was you who helped him with the reports that night, Rivers. Let it be the last time you disobey an order I give you” he commanded harshly, without feeling. Alys laughed in disbelief. He had called her Rivers. Rivers. He was beginning to distance himself from her. He had only done that many years ago, when he caught her being unfaithful.

"Well, that doesn't seem to have stopped you from fucking her, does it?" Alys mumbled back at his taunt.

"Are you jealous?" Her boss responded, raising an eyebrow inquisitively.

“Don't make me laugh, Aemond. You are just like your uncle. Exactly the same” Alys could never be jealous. She had only been in love once, many years ago, and she had never been Aemond's. Your uncle had been fun to educate, but nothing more. She was his confidante because they both kept many secrets from each other, but that was the end of their whole relationship. She could never be jealous of you, she was only worried that Aemond would end up walking the same path of doom as her uncle. "Be careful what game you're playing."

“And you be careful what you suggest, Rivers. It is a very ugly accusation” he replied, leaning back in his chair. He wasn't going to get rid of Alys, but her patronizing attitude was making him angry. He was much smarter than his uncle. They would never catch you. Never.

"It's going to end very badly for you Targaryen." And with that sentence, with that statement, Alys left Aemond's office, angrily closing the door behind her. History was repeating itself, much to the secretary's chagrin, and your uncle had no idea how true Alys's words were.

[angellayercake]

Banchetto: Aperitivo

Papa Emeritus III x Reader

AO3 |  Masterpost

You always preferred to use your hands. Baking required the use of all your senses but the best way to get the perfect dough was to touch. Feel the ingredients combining and merging, changing state. The movement was as important as the measurements and you could close your eyes and know if the bake was going to rise as you intended. 

• • • • • • • • • • ✦ • • • • • • • • • •

‘I do not need a babysitter!’ He objects, petulantly turning away from his brothers to look out the window. You watch them glance at each other in exasperation but tune out their continued argument wishing they had thought to stage their intervention before you had arrived. 

Instead you look at him. It had been little over a month since he had been unceremoniously removed from the Ghost project. The day he had returned to the Abbey the shouts could be heard ringing through the halls. Senior members of the Clergy had been hurrying back and forth trying to keep the siblings in the dark but the tension had permeated through the whole building even as the news spread. No one had seen him since that first week whether because he had been hiding himself or because he had been locked away by his father and brothers but looking at him now you could understand why. 

The first thing you had noticed was his hair falling lank and greasy against his face. His paint was hastily applied, smudged, patchy and uneven and doing nothing to obscure the gaunt look of his face. What you could see of his skin looked grey and dull and you could make out the hollows of his cheeks and sunken eyes. He looked almost skeletal in his usual suit, creased and stained as it now was. He had always been slight but this was an extreme change and you could understand his brothers concern. He was clearly not eating. The shirt and jacket billowed out as he paced across his reception area in agitation as they continued talking.

That answered one question for you at least. Which was why your presence was requested. Your cooking skills had garnered you attention from very shortly after your arrival and although day to day you assisted with the typical group meals there were times when your more advanced skills were needed and apparently this was one of them. Finally it seemed they were finished as three pairs of mismatched eyes turned to you. 

‘So it is settled then Sorella, as of tomorrow you will be relieved of your kitchen duties so you can cook personally for my brother.’ Primo states drawing you out of your thoughts and back to the present. You nod in agreement sparing one last look at Terzo who was frowning at you with an otherwise unreadable expression before you were dismissed. 

• • • • • • • • • • ✦ • • • • • • • • • •

There was a knack to rough chopping nuts, pressure but not too hard, movement but not too fast. The last thing you needed was almonds flying across the room. You slide them into a bowl efficiently using the back of the knife with one hand and toss them in seasoning with the other.  

• • • • • • • • • • ✦ • • • • • • • • • •

You arrive the next morning early with his breakfast already prepared. The first task today was to inventory his kitchen so you could acquire what was needed to fulfil this new role that you had been given. Keeping this in mind you had brought some pastries and fresh fruit from the Abbey kitchens hoping that would suffice for today. Entering his quarters you find the rooms dark and quiet as you pass through quickly to the kitchenette. 

If the previous day had not been so fraught you would have asked to see it then but it didn’t matter now. You locate the plates during your search and clean them of the dust of neglect so you could lay out what you had brought with you. You considered how much preparation was necessary not wanting to make him feel patronised by you cutting up bite size pieces but you decided to go for the presentation not wanting to just hand him a plate of unpeeled fruit and cold pastries. You find a knife and make quick work of slicing and peeling until the plate contained a rainbow of fruits arranged around the croissants.

Checking your watch you decide the time is reasonable enough that you should take his breakfast to him. As you approach his room you listen carefully for any sign of life but there is nothing and then as you knock still nothing. You listen and listen, glancing at your watch again. It really wasn’t early but perhaps he did not want to be disturbed but then you remember the stern talk Secondo had given you yesterday and you knock once more. 

‘Che cosa?’ he shouts and you wince at his tone. 

‘I have your breakfast Papa.’ You don’t want to open the door until you have his permission, it felt a step too far even for this odd situation you found yourself in. There was movement within and you are taken aback when the door is abruptly pulled open but even more by his state of undress. His face had told a clear story of his state the previous day and what you could see of his body only reinforced it. 

He was skin and bone, painfully thin, ribcage visible and now you truly understood his brothers concern. This was not a man who was looking after himself, as though his will to live had been ripped from him as he had been ripped from the stage. When you hear him clear his throat pointedly you realise how rude you are being and instead offer him the plate with a nervous smile. Which he did not return, only looking down at the food with the same unreadable expression but he takes it from you not saying another word as he closes the door in your face.  

When you return with his lunch you find the plate of fruit outside the door, untouched by anything but flies. 

• • • • • • • • • • ✦ • • • • • • • • • •

You break your own rule as you gradually add to the mixing bowl but you don’t want to interrupt the delicate chemical reaction happening as the dough rises. Some things are better completed hands off you thought as the almond pieces break down further and salt and pepper crystals distribute throughout.    

• • • • • • • • • • ✦ • • • • • • • • • •

By the end of the first week you begin to panic. He had barely taken a bite from anything you had prepared for him. Sometimes he would reject it in person, pushing aside the plates you presented him, leaving them to sit ignored while he sat staring into space. More often you found them abandoned around his quarters meaning the first part of your day consisted of tracking down these dishes and disposing of them before racking your brains for something else to try. 

You were fighting back tears as you entered the kitchen the following week having failed again to entice him to eat anything other than a few bites. In your mind you were already anticipating the conversation you would have to have with Primo and Secondo. You were failing, had failed and you weren’t sure if there was anything else you could do. The dishes were dumped in the sink and you stand for a moment breathing deeply in an attempt to collect yourself. You had tried asking him what he wanted, asking others what he liked but nothing had worked. 

Making quick work of the cleaning you resolve to go and speak to them now. They would be disappointed in you, you were sure but there was no use delaying the inevitable. Drying your hands as you turn a small book placed in the centre of the dining table gives you pause. The cover was worn, the fabric covering fraying at the corners and the once colourful pattern faded by time and food stains. 

You lift the cover slowly, the spine creaking in complaint and trace your finger across the greying handwriting inside. The swirling script fills every page in a format you find familiar. These are recipes, page after page of them. The titles are Italian but the ingredients and instructions had been painstakingly translated by a different hand. The ink looked fresher and you wondered if this is what he had been doing for the last week. On the last page there was a note that broke the pattern of the preceding recipes that had not been translated. 

Per il mio piccolo Renzo. 

Questi sono i nostri preferiti 

e spero che ogni volta che li mangi 

ti ricordi quanto ti amo. 

Mamma x

You try not to speculate on the message as he clearly hadn’t translated it for a reason but you knew enough Italian to get the gist and it is as you are tracing your finger over the elegant script that he enters the kitchen startling you from your thoughts. 

‘Ah bene, you found it already.’ You flick back through the pages as he comes to stand next to you not wanting to get caught prying. 

‘Yes, these are recipes Papa.’ He looks better rested today but that's about all you can say. He looks ill you think but you try not to dwell. ‘Would you like me to make you these going forward?’ That has to be the only reason he would give you something so personal. 

‘Si, you have lasted longer than I expected Sorella and if you insist on obeying my fratelli idioti then you should make these.’ Turning to him you are about to ask which he would like you to start with but he is already gone leaving you with something you suspect is more precious then you can fully comprehend.

• • • • • • • • • • ✦ • • • • • • • • • •

Floured fingers and even pieces twisted, turned and intertwined. You have ensured the flavour and now you must create the texture. Though repetitive you find your rhythm and fill tray after tray.

• • • • • • • • • • ✦ • • • • • • • • • •

‘Preforito di Renzo’ was the title of the recipe you decided to try first. You were unsure of exactly who Renzo was supposed to be but whoever they were they gave this recipe a ringing endorsement and it seemed simple enough to complete by the afternoon. However you would need to stop by the main kitchen to acquire some of the ingredients. The trip there was uneventful but the pantry was already occupied when you arrived. 

‘Ah Sorella, how are you today?’ Secondo greeted you sounding as cheerful as his gruff demeanour allowed. 

‘I’m very well thank you Papa,’ you replied, actually meaning it for the first time since you had started your new role.  

‘And Terzo? How is he?’ Something had changed for you when he had given you the notebook and you were loath to break his trust now which surprised you. So you started collecting up your ingredients, shooting Secondo a smile and buying yourself some time to think of a vague enough answer that would still be believable. 

‘He seemed in good spirits this morning Papa. He even requested I make something for him.’ Positive but neutral enough you hoped but he still looked at you in surprise. 

‘Is that so?’ He seemed to be deep in thought as he continued. ‘The reports I had heard said… well no matter it is good if he is asking you for food I suppose.’ You’re not shocked that he had been keeping tabs on you 

‘I think so Papa,’ you say in an attempt to reassure him and as you follow your train of thought you think it must be good. At least showing a willingness from him you had not yet seen thus far.

‘Yes of course and what has he asked you to make Sorella?’ A safe enough question to answer you thought as he hadn’t actually asked for anything specific had he?

‘Well he gave me a choice of recipes he had written down. I decided to make the pepper taralli.’ Something changed in his expression as you finished but you couldn’t decipher what it was only hoping you hadn’t said the wrong thing. 

‘Interesting, very interesting.’ He wandered towards the door still lost in thought only remembering to say goodbye when he reached the door. You shook off the strange encounter eager for once, to return to Terzo’s quarters. 

• • • • • • • • • • ✦ • • • • • • • • • •

Golden crisp and they are finished one by one added to the metal racks near the open window. The cool breeze pulls away the rising steam helping them cool quickly and evenly and carrying the sweet savoury smell further into his rooms.

• • • • • • • • • • ✦ • • • • • • • • • •

You could hear him coming before you had finished transferring them to the cooling racks and you couldn’t help but smile. Finally you have done something right, you just hoped that they would live up to his expectations. He comes bounding into the room soon enough the most animated you had seen him since you had taken on this role. 

‘Does my nose deceive me Sorella or have you been making taralli?’ He was eagerly trying to lean around where you were standing in front of the racks and you giggled. Mostly due to his antics but a part of you felt flustered at his proximity. He didn’t look much better then the first meeting but he did seem in better spirits. His clean fresh scent washed over you as the soft material of his jumper brushed against your arm as he reached. His hair while still not in his usual slicked style looked clean and soft and you had to resist the urge to tuck the lock that had fallen forward behind his ear. Thankfully you were spared any more impulses to touch him as he had acquired his prize and had retreated across the kitchen already devouring one, another grasped in his other hand.

‘Careful Papa! They are still hot from the oven,’ you chided him but he turned to you with a grin on his face. Even covered in crumbs he was handsome enough to take your breath away. 

‘But Sorella, this is the best time to have them, si?’ After popping the final piece in his mouth he starts cleaning his fingers, sucking one at a time into his mouth, moaning obscenely as he picked up the last traces of flavour. You are transfixed by his display so you barely notice when his eyes flick open and catch you watching. He draws the last finger out of his mouth so slowly, catching on his bottom lip and you have to swallow as you suppress the thought of his finger elsewhere. You meet his eyes and feel the blush blooming on your face. 

He saunters closer to you never taking his eyes from yours and you can’t breathe in anticipation of what he is going to do. He stops just in front of you and you feel yourself leaning ever so slightly forward as if he had his own gravitational pull. Then in the blink of an eye he has snatched another three and is halfway across the room. 

‘That will be all today Sorella, grazie.’ And then he is gone but you can hear him whistling on his way. You collect yourself as quickly as you can, not wanting to dawdle when you had been so clearly dismissed.

[rickyriddle]

Sailor Aluminum Seiren analysis

Hey there, after doing an extensive Mimete analysis, I decided to do one for my other silly fav villain, Seiren. And just like with Mimete, I think there is more to her than what meets the eye.

When we are first introduced to Seiren it is alongside Crow as shadow figures, sneering at Iron Mouse getting scolded and punished by Galaxia for her repetitive failures. This does seem to paint both of them as callous and eager to see their supposed ally fail so they can take over.

So threatening! I bet they will be actually villainous

But when they are officially introduced, they seem wildly inconsistent with this first portrayal. Seiren is seen crying and mourning Mouse’s death, and saying how it’s so sad that it makes her hungry. This moment happens when she is alone so unlikely that she’s faking it.

Very villainous imma right

Crow does mention Mouse’s death by using it as a warning against what could happen to Seiren if she doesn’t take her job seriously, but neither of them seems to hold any hostility towards their departed ally, so either this is just inconsistent writing, or they were just acting callous previously under Galaxia’s influence to give more impact to her threat towards Mouse.

Rip Mouse

Moving on, Seiren is mostly depicted as an airhead, she seems more interested in eating snacks than taking her job seriously, she’s very polite and is easily distracted. It makes her look relatively more harmless and innocent compared to her fellow Animamates, too dumb to genuinely be a threat… and I’m here to tell you it couldn’t be farther from the truth. What if I tell you this was mostly just a facade? That Seiren is actually the most competent, cunning and dangerous member of the Animamates? I would go as far as to say she’s even the smartest of the group. You’d probably think I was kidding but I assure you, I am not. This woman is a conniving, deceitful and ruthless person who should be taken seriously, and I’m here to prove it. I have all the receipts.

Don't let her fool you, she's actually evil (kinda)

First off, most of the time Seiren is shown acting in a particularly silly way, she’s with Crow. Am I saying that her airhead demeanour is an act solely for the sake of Crow? Kinda, yeah. A bold claim, I know, but let me explain. Whenever Seiren acts on her own, she has none of her usual silly quirks. She doesn’t lose time eating, or introducing herself and is actually very quick and efficient with the target. Her attitude almost comes off as cold and callous compared to her mild-mannered and airhead behaviours with Crow. Sure, one could blame inconsistencies in the writing, but it seems too on purpose to portray her a certain way whether she’s with Crow or not to be a coincidence. It seems deliberate to me. This shows that Seiren is not as innocent or dumb as she seems to be when she is around Crow and she’s quite the capable person when she wants to be. But then, that begs the question: Why is she acting like an airhead when she’s around Crow? How much of it is even an act? Let’s find out.

"Rival" yeah sure, Crow

I think part of this act is for the sake of using Crow for her own benefit. Not necessarily as an active manipulation scheme, since Crow does genuinely care and want to help Seiren, but I believe Seiren is aware of that and is using that to her own advantage. I mean, Crow clearly stated she came to Earth because she was worried about her “rival”, so there’s no reason for Seiren to not be aware of that. Acting more innocent and silly than she actually is is a good way to worry Crow even more and make her do most of the heavy lifting. Crow is the one picking the targets for her and is willing to do most of the work and still let Seiren get all the credits. This is something Crow explicitly stated to Seiren so it’s not even a secret. So all Seiren has to do is sit back and let Crow do most of the work for her.

You sneaky little siren, you know what you're doing aren't you

Another interpretation would be that Seiren is simply more comfortable whenever she’s around Crow, she’s more relaxed so she feels more at ease to rely on Crow. This would be a far more favourable interpretation of Seiren’s different behaviours whether she’s with Crow or not. It still remains that Seiren has a darker, more cunning and sinister side she only reveals when Crow isn’t around. She’s far from being some harmless and innocent goofball.

She looked so smug (and pretty) here

Let’s not forget she sent a passive-aggressive threatening letter to Usagi’s home, lured her into a flying plane, took all the passenger’s hostages just so she could get her hand on Sailor Moon’s starseed. She was anything but harmless in that episode and very much ruthless. So regardless if she’s acting as an airhead to deceive Crow or because she’s at ease around her, the fact of the matter is, she still is absolutely a menace whenever Crow isn’t around. And I still think she might be exaggerating her airhead antics around Crow for her own benefit, even if I also believe she feels more relaxed around her partner.

She might be threatening hundreds of lives, but at least she's polite

Seiren had a lot of ruthless and downright callous moments. Even in her first appearance, before leaving with Crow, she tells the senshi they will meet again only if they survive the phage she created, clearly showing she knows they might die as a result of her actions. When she targeted Rei’s cousin and ended up turning him into a phage, she grinned, despite this being a failure for her, seeming simply amused by his fate (let’s not forget, phages are usually believed to be a permanent transformation). She targeted a doctor on his way to perform life-saving surgery on an ill child (though one could argue Seiren didn’t know, but given how she deceived him, she knew why he was at the hospital). The way she attacked Sailor Moon once she realized she had a true starseed was pretty brutal and savage, and then we end up with her taking a whole plane hostage. And let’s not forget how she treated Mouse when the latter was still alive.

I always wondered where Seiren got that nurse outfit and why

I do have another possibility to explain the dichotomy in Seiren’s behaviours. As I theorized in my previous Seiren analysis post, I believe she might be a “stress eater”. We do not know exactly in which circumstances Seiren joined Shadow Galactica. We do know, from what was revealed about Nyanko, that the bracelets corrupt and brainwash them and that they used to be good Sailor Senshi. I do not necessarily think the bracelets made Seiren “evil” (based on another of my analysis on the matter), but I do think Seiren feels a certain amount of guilt and anxiety regarding her situation. We don’t know if she betrayed her planet or was forced to join Shadow Galactica, but we do know she did give her star seed to Galaxia. Whatever the circumstances were that led to this decision, it’s reasonable to think it was quite dark. So it’s possible it left some emotional scar in Seiren that she is unable to process. She might be avoiding thinking about the situation she’s in and therefore, when she’s with Crow, she leaves all the thinking to her.

It's always time for pizza, Crow

That would be some sort of dissociative state she only comes out from when she has no other choice but to take matters into her own hands. That might explain her more passive and distracted behaviours when she’s with Crow if she is dissociating from what is happening around her, and her more aggressive and calculating demeanour when she is on her own and no longer dissociating. That could also explain why she often seems disconnected from what’s happening around her and not realize how serious the situation she is in actually is. Galaxia threatened her life multiple times, Crow also reminded her multiple times that her life was on the line, and Seiren didn’t seem particularly fazed by that until she was about to be killed. It actually took this far for her to realize her life was threatened. I might elaborate on this in another post since it might start to go more into theory and headcanon territory.

Famous last words

Seiren, sweaty, do you not realize you're about to get killed?

I also mentioned how I believed Seiren was the smartest among the Animamates. Well, to start off, she’s the first one to actually find someone with a true starseed (Usagi). Mouse didn’t even think Sailor Moon could have a true starseed, Crow only knew because she read Seiren's notes and Nyanko because she spied on Crow. Only Seiren learned the truth by herself (and I believe that’s what got her killed but that’s another theory). Seiren also seemed to question the targets Crow was picking for her. When Crow picks the policeman, Seiren says “this old man has a starseed?” almost in disbelief, which makes sense, given only sailor senshi can have true starseeds (which are typically only women). So her making a comment about the target being an old man might be her feeling something was off. One could say Seiren did target men on her own, but I’d argue those were probably still targets Crow picked up for her.

It's not like there are any men with a true Star Seed *cough* Mamoru

When Seiren targeted the doctor, she dressed as a nurse so she could lure him into an isolated place and attack him without being disturbed. Then finally, her whole scheme to get Usagi’s starseed was very calculated. She learned her secret identity, where she lived, managed to get her on the plane and took everyone hostage to corner her. If it wasn’t that the other sailor senshi were also on the plane, her plan might have worked. There’s also the fact that Seiren is the only Animamate who ever thought of turning people into phages in order to use them as minions and fight for her, not simply as failed targets.

Behold, the smartest Animamate

Despite her intelligence and more cunning side, Seiren can also be quite childish. When she has her airhead attitude with Crow she can act pretty childlike and almost innocent, but when she's on her own and cannot get what she wants and feels cornered, she might throw a tantrum. Now that she cannot rely on Crow or even put the responsibility for their failure on her, she's the only one left to face the consequences, and it doesn't seem like she's great at that.

At least she admits it

When she failed to retrieve Sailor Moon's starseed she refused to apologize or take any blame for her failure, not even realizing how serious the situation was. And let's not forget how she reacted to the Sailor Senshi suddenly foiling her plan. I don't think she has the emotional maturity to deal with more complex situations. She might be calm and polite in most situations, but if things go off-script, it will break that facade. And that immaturity might be why she joined Shadow Galactica in the first place, she didn't think of the consequences her actions would have. That recklessness does make her more dangerous and unpredictable.

If we add some symbolism, her name itself seems to confirm most of what I said about her. "Seiren", the Greek word for siren (ignore the subs her name is Seiren not Siren), directly relates to the Greek myth of the sirens, who were originally half-women, half-birds. They lured sailors on the sea with their songs in order to make their boats sink. Another myth about the Nordic mermaids has the same premise, but instead, it's with half-women, half-fish creatures. It led to both the terms sirens and mermaids being used as synonyms (whether Seirens is meant to be a Greek siren or a mermaid is up for debate and a discussion for another post). Regardless, in both cases, sirens and mermaids are seen as alluring but ultimately deceptive, with their intent to harm sailors (not unlike Seiren's actual targets, the Sailor Senshi). So her name being a direct reference to the mythological sirens does relate to her innocent appearance that actually hides a more sinister side that seeks harm against the Sailor Senshi.

So, regardless of the reason why Seiren is acting differently when she’s with Crow (which I believe might be a mix of all three potential explanations I mention above), it stands that she is far from being a naive, innocent and harmless airhead. She’s actually quite smart, competent, resourceful, calculating, ruthless and dangerous. She’s not someone who should be underestimated and she deserves way more credit than people are willing to give her (and she deserves so much better than the fate she got, but you can check my fic "Fallen Stars" for that xD)

[skwpr]

How to Have Fun while you Study

Here are 20 ways that you can use to have fun while you study.

Reward yourself

One of the best ways to have fun while you study is to reward yourself. This makes your studying take some sort of game effect. Studies show that people enjoy things better when they feel rewarded. Set an intention to reward yourself when you finish studying.

Have snacks

Eating snacks while studying can make everything so much fun. You can also reward yourself with snacks. Be sure to eat non-greasy foods so you don’t get your books messy.

Use colors

What better way to have fun while studying than to use all the colors out there? Use colors to have fun while studying. Colors have a way of brightening everything up. they inspire fun and joy.

Listen to study music

You can make everything a lot more fun by listening to music. I’d recommend piano, or the famous lo-fi beats that are popular everywhere now. Be sure to choose music with no words for the most efficient study session.

Watch youtube videos

Studying doesn’t have to be boring. You can learn things better than your teachers taught you on youtube! Youtube is one of the best ways to learn new things online. if you miss any class, you can go on youtube and for sure you will learn what you missed.

Take breaks

Hard work is only as fun as taking breaks. Taking breaks is very essential to have fun while studying. if you don’t take regular breaks, you stand the chance of frying up your energy and crashing. I have prior experience with not taking breaks. A study break can be as simple as standing up and stretching.

Wear comfortable clothes

When I was a kid, I had this awesome dress that I imagined was a doctor’s lab coat. I’d wear it to feel like I was doing some important doctor work! If you want to have fun while studying, be sure to wear clothes that make you feel inspired and motivated to change the world!

Create to-do lists

Studying gets boring if all you do is stare at your books. Be sure to start creating and using to-do lists. This is simply a list of what you expect to accomplish within that day. I divide my to-do lists into two parts. These are: the least productive things I can do, and the most productive things I can do.

Do what makes you happier

Make sure to make yourself happy every single day. Find out what boosts your happy hormones and do a little of that every day. For me, that would be painting, reading a good book, or listening to great music. Do what makes you happy so you can boost your mood and enjoy studying that day.

Draw mind maps

Mind maps are a great way to have fun while you study. A mind map is something you draw to connect all your ideas together using lines. I love to use mind maps to connect my facts together. Draw mind maps with markers and colored pens for a little extra fun.

Use different study techniques

Reading all day can get boring. I have a few study techniques that you can try in order to have more fun. These are:

Writing down important points

Summarizing all your notes into tiny bite-sized chunks of information

Recording your notes on your phone

Making up questions

Studying old exam questions

Using online study tools

Drawings

If you have any degree of artistic talent, it’s time for you to shine! Drawings are great to make studying a lot more fun. Make funny drawings based on information in your notes. Even a simple doodle will do. If you’re feeling crazy, make some comics.

Use cool fonts

Using cool fonts is a great way to be more artistic. Go on websites that let you download fonts and study them. I like to use creative market to get inspiration for my titles. They have some awesome fonts that you can re-create for your study sessions.

Use flash cards

Flash cards are a life saver. If you aren’t using them, then you are missing out. A flash card is a piece of paper where you write down important points. It sounds pretty basic but it promotes visual learning, and boosts your memory. Be sure to create loads of flash cards and shuffle them, all the while reviewing your notes.

Make a study video

What better way to have fun while studying than to pretend to be a youtuber! Test your videography skills by creating a time lapse of your studying. remember to use markers and colors of all sorts to make your video awesome!

Make up songs

Making up songs sounds silly, but it’s the perfect way to make studying fun. In fact, making up a song about your history notes can help you when you need it the most during exams!

Create infographics

If you fancy yourself a graphic designer, create some awesome infographics using graphic design software. Infographics can be as easy as just typing out your notes in awesome fonts. Canva is a great app to use. You can print all your infographics and use them for reviewing at a later date. Remember that by making these infographics, you are helping your brain create more connections to remember faster.

Duolingo for languages!

Everyone knows of Duolingo. If you don’t, then let me enlighten you: It is an awesome app to help you learn a new language. I’m currently using Duolingo to learn Japanese. よろしくお願いします。

Use quizlet.com

Quizlet is an online study tool to help you create flash cards. It’s a great site, and rumor has it that teachers use it to make tests! That means you can go on quizlet an find your next text, or at least related questions.

Go on memrise.com

Memrise is another online study tool that helps you to study and have fun while you’re at it. It’s a memorizing platform, and let’s add all sorts of images and audio. You can literally learn anything on there. You can also create your own course and use it to study.

[needlemeister]

I'd love to see an info post about the goobers you made. I want to know what their deal is!!! And their designs are so cool, my fuckin' brain craves INFORMATION

See this post for how the antitheses of the canon/DLC scugs look!

EXPERIMENT

Era: Spearmaster Diet: Same as Spearmaster. After meeting anti-FP, they can use their mouth to devour anything they can fit inside it whole. (OOOOO|OOOOO) Abilities: The Experiment has the same ability to create needles as the Spearmaster, though not as efficiently - mostly, they have several poking out of their flesh at any given time when in combat for protective reasons. They have the agility and scales of a Red Lizard and the might and appetite of a Leviathan, albeit with their mouth currently bound shut. Iterator: Anti-SRS, Silently Recursive Sanity, considers the Experiment their magnum opus. The product of a machine that decided to play God rather than focus on the Problem, which still exists in Antiworld. The ultimate apex predator, set loose upon the world. Rather than treating the Experiment as an equal, anti-SRS treats them as nothing but a potential weapon, a wild animal given their "blessings". Anti-FP, Fragmented Precipice, marks the Experiment and frees their jaws.

EXILE

Era: Artificer Diet: Same as Artificer. (OOOOOO|OOO) Abilities: The Exile still has her pups, and yet has even more bloodlust - this time more like hunting for sport than for vengeance. She is constantly on the verge of burning out, and her explosions are much more violent - at the cost of reaching her limit twice as fast, her explosions do mass-scaled damage. One of her legs is replaced with an explosive spear, and if she does a front flip and lands directly on top of a creature, it impales them. Rather than having a normal tail, a stump leaking sparks and embers in her wake trails behind her. She is untouchable by spears, the equivalent of using the Auto-Parry mod ingame. Iterator: Fragmented Precipice is caring for her pups, as she would rather paint the Wastes red than be a parent. She is already marked thanks to stealing an ID Drone - the Antiworld equivalent of the one the Scavenger King has.

PARADOX

Era: Post-Artificer, Pre-Hunter (Inv) Diet: Capable of digesting most things it can fit in its mouth thanks to being full of void fluid. In the amount of time it would take a Jungle Leech to steal a pip from an attached creature, the Paradox randomly gains or loses a pip. (OOOOOOOOOOOO|) Abilities: The entire world has a mix of the Voidmelt and negative Hunter cycle effect on it at all times, and each movement to a new room changes what part of the timeline the Paradox is placed upon. The Paradox can do bomb jumps like the Artificer/Exile at the cost of forcing the timeline to randomize mid-room and disorienting the Paradox. Contact with acid, explosives, and electricity causes the Paradox to explode like a Singularity Bomb due to being full of void fluid. Iterator: No matter what part of the timeline the Paradox is in, every single can is eerily silent and empty. The gravity turning on and off causes a timeline jump every time.

CARNIVORE

Era: Hunter Diet: Obligate carnivore. Going too long without eating will cause its pips to slowly drain - going past zero fills the pips with red. All pips filling with red causes a permanent game over where the Carnivore completely loses itself to its Rot instincts. Starving twice in a row does this as well instead of killing it. Can only eat by grabbing creatures and pulling them inside its mass, like a Rot Cyst. (OOOOOOOOOO|) Abilities: Weak to explosives and feared by any creature that fears the Rot. Extra sensitive hearing at the cost of heavily reduced vision. More agile than most in zero gravity conditions, and capable of suspending itself from its tendrils. Iterator: Originally purposed to be an assistant to anti-NSH, The Never-Signaling Herald. Anti-SRS "borrowed" it, claiming to be giving it improvements in its purpose. Instead, it was mutated into a monster and starved so that upon returning to anti-NSH, it saw his neuron flies as a buffet. The Carnivore came to in a now-silent wing of anti-NSH's can, completely devoid of all organic matter. Assuming that it killed him, it fled, never looking back.

VANTABLACK

Era: Post-Hunter, Pre-Gourmand (same as Caregiver). They were cast out from Journey's End by the Despot for speaking out against their hoarding, selfish tendencies, so they have no idea that their family (Remnant, Pacifist, Dragon Slayer) was further torn apart. Diet: Same as Survivor and Monk. (OOOOO|OOO) Abilities: Completely silent and invisible in the dark, except for their eyes. They make an unnaturally low amount of noise, able to slip past even the most keen of Black Lizards. Iterator: Eventually marked by anti-FP. I don't have much for this fella OTL

DESPOT

Era: Gourmand Diet: Same as Gourmand. (OOOOOOO|OOOO) Abilities: Very similar to the Gourmand, but various valuables are in the pool of items they can cough up. Mostly pearls. They can direct allied and tamed creatures by pointing and gesturing, able to command others to do things for them - such as gathering food for them. Their fatigue bar is shorter due to being a lot lazier thanks to expecting others to do things for them. Iterator: N/A

REMNANT

Era: Survivor Diet: Same as Survivor. (OOOO|OOO) Abilities: The least divergent when it comes to abilities. If dragged into a den by a predator, they have a low chance of being able to crawl back out out of sheer determination instead of dying. Iterator: Marked by anti-FP.

PACIFIST

Era: Monk Diet: Same as Monk, with the ability to eat from corpses at half their usual nutrition value. (OOO|OO) Abilities: Their tail is like one giant Yellow Lizard antennae, giving them dominance over and the ability to communicate with them. Yellow Lizards are tame by default and treat them as a pack member and leader, and drop karma flowers if they die. If a Yellow Lizard in their pack is hurt, it will stun the Pacifist for a moment due to them being capable of feeling their pain. Iterator: N/A

DRAGON SLAYER

See this post!

RIPTIDE

Era: Rivulet Diet: Same as Hunter - nearly an obligate carnivore. (OOOOOO|OOO) Abilities: Even faster underwater than Rivulet with nearly infinite breath at the cost of being incredibly clumsy on land (minus climbing being okay). They get easily fatigued with extended land movement and their back legs are vestigial. They have good sight both in the dark and underwater due to living mainly in the murky, rotten lakes around anti-LTTM, Lingering Traces Toward Malady. Eel Lizards and Salamanders are positive to tame toward them. They can maul creatures while underwater and are slightly bioluminescent. Iterator: Created by anti-CW, Churning Waters, but closer to anti-LTTM. They're similar to the Experiment in that their creator doesn't really treat them very well or like an intelligent equal. They feel monstrous and like assisting anti-LTTM in cleansing the rot out of her system - she's rotten instead of anti-FP, thank anti-SRS - will somehow "redeem" them.

MESSIAH

Era: Saint Diet: Completely incapable of eating and has no need for it. Shelters refuse to work until the blizzard flares up to make up for this. Abilities: Already attuned, thanks to sort of being an echo despite not ever reaching the void sea yet. Or have they? Their attunement state lasts longer the less maximum karma they have, and they are capable of "ascending" Echoes to avoid raising it. The X-shaped marks on their body open like eyes when they are in the attunement state. They cannot die in a way that matters - cycles continue as normal and whatever killed them simply closes up and scars. Iterator: Anti-SOS, Solitude Over Salvation, created them while experimenting desperately to try and solve the Problem. Anti-SOS does not think they are the solution - they think the Messiah is a horrible, horrible mistake. The Messiah, however, genuinely believes that they are the Triple Affirmative made flesh. basically if saint is scug jesus this is the scug antichrist

UNDETERMINED

Anti-Watcher will be figured out when we know more about the Watcher.

[anime-grimmy-art]

Day 10 – Food

Zet – Zet is no picky eater at all, she’ll eat anything from stale to spicy. But she found that whatever the Granmeowster cooks for her, she eats with a bit more gusto.

Mei – Mei is an absolute glutton, she looooves eating a lot, but she can’t handle too fatty things, even if she enjoys the taste a lot. Her fav have to be fresh, cool, juicy fruits though. She just associates them with home and her childhood, so they have extra meaning on top of the delicious taste.

Chidori – As good as Yomogi’s dangos are, Chidori doesn’t see them as her favourite food (she will never tell Yomogi that though.) Chidori loves sour foods, so she often purchases sour rock candy from Rondine. And yes, Chidori is the kind to just crunch that kind of candy between her teeth.

Day 11 – Inventory

Zet – Efficiency is the name of the game. Zet’s pouch is almost empty, she only has the essentials for anything. Mega Potions, armour and demon drug, and anything necessary for the specific quest, be that nullberries, antidotes or traps.

Mei – Mei is a bit chaotic when it comes to her inventory, she tries to always carry basics like potions and paint balls with her, but she often gets so excited to get going that she forgets a lot.

Chidori – Girl has no idea what she’s even doing, so she just has everything at hand at all times. Potions? Check. Enhancing potions/berries? Check. Traps? Check. Ammo even though she doesn’t use bowguns? Check.

Day 12 – Symbolism

Zet – The Guild had always stamped Zet as the “bringer of calamity”. While she was the hunter that always brought peace to any community she found herself in, it was always like the monsters flocked to her and made even simple quests a lot more dangerous. In the New World, however, she’d become the Sapphire Star, light shining bright even amongst the most hopeless chaos. Instead of being seen as something that attracts calamity, she’d be the one that brings hope and motivates people to hold up their heads high and fight on.

Mei – If I had to associate anything with Mei, it probably would be the colour red and the sun. Mei has reddish pink hair, she always wears her red Mahana dress and she has to follow in the footsteps of her grandfather Red. She’s also a very passionate and loving person.

As for the sun, I don’t call her sunshine incarnate for nothing. She has a very sunny disposition and a smile as bright as the midday sun. But she also has this small, calm smile that is very disarming and comforting, quiet and calming like the sun setting at dawn.

Chidori – I don’t really have any symbolism for Chidori, which is maybe also cos she’s too young of an OC for now. As said in the monster section, I do associate her with Gargwas, which means she has kind of a danger sense. She feels when something isn’t quite right, like when Narwa fell through the floor or when they beat Malzeno. She has like a Spidey-sense, just MH edition. Gargwa-sense?

Day 13 – Music

Zet – Hmm, I personally just associate the World/Iceborne soundtrack with her, though more the mellow or building music. My fav Monster Hunter song is “Succession of Light” (the Iceborne main theme) and I think it parallels Zet’s character growth in it’s music a lot, so if I had to pick one song for her, it would be this one.

Mei – Man, this music question is really hard, cos I really have never thought beyond the game’s soundtrack if I’m honest XD Though, if just going music based on personality, I’d say upbeat summer music fits her well. Not like, beach party music but just chill, fun music with ocean sounds. Kinda like, beach vibe bossanova. If shit hits the fan though, lets switch to chaotic jazz ahhahaha

Chidori – Again, I associate Chidori with the MH soundtrack, specifically the MH Rise soundtrack. Though, her nervous nature somehow also makes me think of meme music, like, acoustic versions of meme songs. Example would be the acoustic version of All Star by annapantsu, sth in that vein.

Day 14 – Habits

Zet – If she actively listens to you, she will stare directly into your eyes and barely blink. She doesn’t know she does it, but it freaks everyone out. She also has the tendency to knead things with her fingers when she’s concentrated or lost in thought. That mostly shows itself with her petting either Cry or Rev, but if you’re close by you can bet you’re getting some head scratches.

Mei – Personal space is a suggestion. People from Mahana are very touchy-feely, heck, their greeting is grabbing you by the cheeks and rubbing them, so Mei has the tendency to be way too close to people. Growing up so closely with monsties also makes her forget that not everyone is as comfortable being close to monsters, and especially not being chewed on by them, so she has to react quickly when, say, Asparagus keeps trying to gnaw on Kyle’s arm.

Chidori – Chidori has a bit of a hiding instinct. When she’s flustered, she always tugs her collar over her lips, or when she gets berated with someone she tends to hide behind that person. She also hides herself in a ball when she gets too anxious or exhausted. So, knees tucked, arms around and face buried in them, she finds herself a nice corner and doesn’t move for a while. With ppl she's close with she also rubs her face into or against them. Ya know, the kinda person who'd press their face into your shoulder when they're tired.

Day 15 – Half-way Free Space!

Zet – Zet actually underwent heavy character rewriting. Before World I always played as her, i.e. I always designed the same character and named her the same way, but I never really gave her a proper story or nailed down her personality. As you can see in the picture, at the start of world she was way more jovial XDD (btw. I already linked her to Fatalis before Iceborne even came out so the fact it ended with Fatalis was just fucking great on my end)

Mei – It shows that friends have only one braincell, because both @kathuman and I created our MH Stories 2 characters separately and they legit look like sisters, but like, down to a T. So Kitkat and Mei are sisters in some universe XD

Chidori – Her name is kinda a joke. I almost called her Niwa (garden) or Tori (bird), as Niwatori is the Japanese word for chicken, but I already have so many OCs with such short names, so I tried digging a bit more. I tried to find Japanese names that meant “being scared”, “scaredy-cat” or “chicken” or sth along those lines, until it came to mind that hey, I could just look up what Japanese Chicken breeds there are. Many breeds end with -dori or -jidori, and Jidori is just another way to write Chidori (if I understand correctly, it’s the same Japanese symbol and that’s just how it can be written with our alphabet), so I thought Chidori was perfect. It’s also kinda ironic, cos the name itself can mean “thousand birds”, with the first Kanji being “Thousand” or “Many”, and the second Kanji meaning either “Bird”, “Freedom” or even “Intelligence” or “Beauty”. So, people always think she was called that cos her parents wanted her to be a free spirit, and be intelligent, all the while she’s a scaredy cat that doesn’t want to leave her home and she’s dumb as bricks, not to mention she’s just called that cos she’s a chicken.

[razieltwelve]

Yun-Farron Solutions (Final Rose AU)

Fang took a moment to savour the scent of the cigar before she took one last puff and then tossed it onto the creature bound by the ring of salt and a handful of esoteric seals painted onto the ground in blood.

“You bitch!” the creature screamed, writhing as the flames spread over its twisted, malformed body. “I’ll kill you! I’ll your family! I’ll kill your fucking dog!”

Fang smirked. Being a werewolf had its benefits. Being able to smoke a cigar without worrying about cancer was one. Being able to use her own blood for seal work without worrying about dying of blood loss was another. But the best thing was being able to laugh at creatures like this for being stupid enough to pick a fight with a werewolf on a full fucking moon.

“You won’t be doing shit.” Fang tossed some more kerosene onto the screaming creature. “Those seals? I’m not sending you back to the Pit. You’re on a one-way trip to Oblivion.”

The creature renewed its struggles, but it wasn’t going anywhere. She’d tracked this damn thing for close to a month. She’d learned exactly what it was, so she could pick seals that would exploit its vulnerability to the max... and then she’d waited for a full moon, so those same seals could be empowered by her werewolf blood.

It was the difference between chugging around in a car with a cute, little V4 engine and roaring around the neighbourhood in a beast with a V8 under the hood. The seals might not be the most efficient things she’d ever thrown together, but they packed a fucking punch like a bazooka.

The creature stopped screaming after another ten minutes. Just to be sure, Fang waited another five minutes before sweeping the ashes into a pile and dousing them in acid. A spritz of holy water on the remains was the finishing touch.

Satisfied that the creature was not only dead but was actually going to stay dead, Fang pulled out another cigar.

“That is an awful habit to have.”

Fang didn’t bother to turn. “Finished up already, sunshine?”

Lightning’s scowl was a physical force. “Yes, actually. The cultists responsible for summoning that thing were surprisingly forthcoming with information.”

“Was that before or after you ate a few of them?”

“I am a vampire, Fang. I do not eat people. I drink their blood.” Lightning sighed. “Was the holy water really necessary?”

“You can never be too careful. Besides, it’s not like it can actually harm you.”

Lightning wasn’t some paltry fledgling in the same way that Fang wasn’t some newly turned pup. Holy water might annoy her, but that’s all it would do.

“Even so. It’s presence is... aggravating.”

Fang turned. As usual, Lightning was dressed like something out of a gothic novel. Ancestors... vampires really did take fashion seriously, especially the older ones. Gods forbid they dress like regular people. Hell, even the younger ones had their own styles, the most popular of which was a kind of steam-punk re-imagining of what they thought the classical era had looked like.

Lightning dressed sort of like that... but then again, she’d actually lived through those times.

“I can tell what you’re thinking,” Lightning drawled. “And I am not about to take fashion advice from someone who dresses like a hobo.” A century or two ago, the words might have been laced with genuine contempt. Now, however, there was only fond exasperation behind them.

“Yeah, well, there’s not much point in my wearing expensive clothes everywhere when transforming rips them to shreds.” Fang took a puff of her cigar. She should order another batch soon. She was starting to run low. “What did you find out?”

“They learned how to summon that thing from an acolyte of a very old friend of ours.” Lightning’s eyes narrowed and flashed scarlet for a split-second.

“Fuck.” Fang snarled. “Salem? Was it asking for too much for the bitch to actually stay dead?”

“Fang, we both knew she was unlikely to stay dead forever. That’s what happens when you bind your soul to a slumbering eldritch monstrosity who is most famous for eating a whole bunch of other eldritch monstrosities. At the very least, however, she can’t be at anything close to full strength if she’s sending her acolytes out to teach a gang of barely literate conjurors who have only just barely glimpsed the surface of the Twilight World.”

Fang sighed. Shit. She really should have brought some booze. As if reading her mind, Lightning tossed her a bottle of bourbon. “Where’d you get this?”

“Fang, if I’m going to murder a whole gang of cultists after tearing through their minds, a bit of theft is hardly going to matter. Besides, it’s not like they were in any condition to appreciate it.” Lightning waited for Fang to take a swig straight from the bottle before doing the same. “We’re going to have to get the band back together, so to speak.”

“Yeah. If Salem is back, we’ll need all of them.” Fang could already feel a headache forming despite her werewolf physiology. “You realise that nobody has even seen Raven for, what, three hundred years or something?”

“Three hundred and twenty-five to be precise.” Lightning’s brows furrowed. “But Summer might know where she is. Even if she hasn’t said anything so far, she’ll tell us once she knows Salem is back.”

“Yeah. That’s true.” Fang glanced up at the moon. “You can handle that, right?”

“Summer and I are still on speaking terms,” Lightning said with careful blandness. “Although she may be reluctant to leave her current... life.”

Fang chuckled and shook her head. “I almost admire her audacity, thinking she and Taiyang can just settle down and live regular lives. None of us can. Once you’ve walked in the Twilight, there’s no going back, not for people who’ve gone as deep as we have.”

"True. But I can’t blame her for trying.” Lightning turned. “We should go. We have calls to make and plans to devise.”

Fang laughed and followed her. “At least Vanille will be happy. Who knows what kind of shit she’s got prepped in case of emergency?”

[rubydracogirl]

oh no💘 that totally answered my question! the mind body and soul thing is something i hadn't noticed, but it feels very endearing and i feel as if i understand them on a deeper wavelength! i appreciate the fact you divert from canon, because while having a perfect replica is definitely an achievement- small differences are a sure requirement to allure readers, and make your story pop! the readers being the heart is a very flattering concept and you can definitely see the display of this lovely dynamic in the "stars in your eyes" fanfic! if it wouldn't irritate you, i'd love to hear all of your headcanons, even the small ones!! if they're hidden in chapters or yet to be shown i would love to hear what you have to say 💗💗💗

Omg. Oh boy. Hell yeah I wanna talk about more of my headcanons! Idk if I can list all of them but I'll see what I can do!

This is probably gonna get long, so I'll list the things below the cut! Also, if there's any specific headcanons you wanna ask that I might miss, please feel free!

Alright, let me see if I can do this in some kind of organized way.

I'll start with Ink!

I know Ink's canon height is like, below 4ft. but I usually prefer to write tall/bara Sanses, so he's a solid 6 ft (All other Sanses in my works would still be taller than him, lmao). I just like them big sksksks don't question it

He eats weird stuff and gross combinations of food. Which, considering that he drinks paint (emotions) isn't too unique of a headcanon.

Even though Ink can't feel emotions, I headcanon that he does feel sensations. He can feel both pain and pleasure, and extreme sensations can be very addicting to him. Hence why he can be so thoughtless about consequences, towards himself and others.

Ink is not a virgin, but I won't go into it any more than that.

🤭Alright now let's do Dream!

Dream's height fluctuates depending on how much positive energy he's got stored/is surrounded by. Typically, I picture him to be 6.2

Speaking of positive energy, I like the idea that he collects energy in bottles and keeps them on his belt. He'll ingest the energy directly in dire times, but also uses his reserves to boost others.

Dream is a shapeshifter and an illusionist. He can change the perception others have of him according to who they most want to see. This ability is especially strong in the dreamscape. (I like to write him with tentacles like Nightmare. It's not a form of corruption, more like an overflow of his magic)

Dream's ultimate purpose in the multiverse is to regulate and monitor the hopes and dreams of others. He has no intention of stopping or destroying Nightmare because he believes the both of them are necessary forces for the multiverse to exist. However, he will fight when Nightmare becomes greedy for more power.

And now Swap!

Swap (and most of the other AU sanses I write) is 6.4. He's also very athletic- pretty much a jock.

Swap learns to travel the multiverse from Ink. It takes a lot of energy, but he's fairly adept at it.

I've never really gathered a headcanon for why Swap becomes friends with Ink and Dream. I think most likely, Ink and Dream chose him as a third companion/ally based off his energy and abilities.

Swap becomes more stoic during his adventures with Ink and Dream. He never loses his hope, but he does become more quiet as he sees the darker parts of the multiverse. He does act as a grounding presence for the two immortals, and in turn, they train him to become a stronger, more efficient magic user.

That's all I can think of right now. There's a post where I talked about my headcanon voices for the Star Bois, which is right here.

If there's any other questions or more specific things you wanna ask about, let me know! And if you have any headcanons you wanna share, I'd love to hear them!

[funkymbtifiction]

Te/Se or Se/Te

Hello Charity, 

First of all, congartulations on your book, it was very informative. 

In my workplace we currently have a workshop for us, managers, and MBTI is a strong part of the topic we discuss on it. We needed to make one test (almost everyone got xNxJ type which I highly doubt it'd be accurate), I've always got Entj on those test. I wanted to understand better how my functions interact with each other, because I still not sure if I am Entj or Esfp. I feel like I am not a typical either way. I said I feel like I have stronger Fi, I have a strong sense of self, individualism, I vary deeply about different issues and I have a "No" reaction from nowhere to certain situations. I notice everything that is around me: I notice a new hair color in a person first, a new sound, smell, etc first in the room.  He reject the possibility of Esfp, as in work I use a lot of Te: I am good at organizing, managing task, I am a natural problem solver, a no bs person. But focusing that part of me too much usually stress me out and I tires me very much: I need to recharge when I use it and I don't necessarily like to use it: I need to reward myself with something sensory: clothes, go for a walk, go eat something nice in a restaruant, listen to music, paint, yoga, gym, spa day, anything that stimulates my senses. That always calms me down. The coach we have says I am not that of a party person, a superextroverted natural performer as an Esfps usually are and I am way better in organizing things than an Esfps are, therefore I am an Entj: But aren't just a typical Esfps like that? Can you be an Esfp if you are a good problem solver, have only a few close friends, good with numbers, not a party person? Or is it possible that you feel better from your tert function when you overuse your first one and I am an Entj? 

Thank you in advance. 

You sound like an ESFP. They can competently use Te to get things done, be responsible, and efficient, but they prefer to be "in the world" and engaged with their environment/feelings. You can be an ESFP and hate parties, an ESFP and only have one or two friends, an ESFP who likes to spend time alone, or an organized ESFP. It sounds like using Te is more exhausting to you than it would be for an ENTJ, so you are not an ENTJ. In this instance, I would trust your own sense of yourself as accurate over what the test administrator tells you. :)

[artifactsbeyondtime]

💜🔥❄️ We may actually be living within a concave world! Mythological lore from Scandinavia to Japan describes our planet in a meaningful and yes enclosed stage. All traditions believe in Giants and mythological beings. I believe they were all far more in alignment than we are. I'm very concerned at how pop culture is raising its children because we have no magical meaningful reality. Every generation is becoming more efficient and superficial than what was before. Consider what that equation means. (Continued) 🔥⚡👽🔭🌠💜👽✨🔭🌠💜👽✨ 95% of my Belongings/Art are Gone again!🙁 Some stolen, some thrown in a landfill by my ex-landlord (Peter J. Belitsos). The art that I gave my life to! 😇🎨🌟☺️💜 I HANDMAKE primarily Talismans! I also make metaphysical clothing, paintings/sculptures for you or your loved ones!🌷All of my creations are made of 100s of ancient, powerful symbols! I use only the symbols I've seen to repeatedly work wonders! 🌷🔥🌟💥⚡☀️✨ I have been trying to rebuild all my jewelry & art that was stolen when I was assaulted & robbed (10 times past few years) I am looking for a quality SPIRITUAL STORE or ART GALLERY to TRULY help with sales/marketing their work & mine! I am a rare, tireless entertainer, salesperson and psychic. I have huge internet reach and can work day and night continuously! I don't even need to eat. I have got by on hard work & skill alone, not cheating & it shows! If you would like to make a connection happen contact me. If it works out I will pay you! 🌟 A very modest GoFundMe here! Please spread the word! https://ift.tt/BUJbuXF Thank you!🌟💜🗽💜🎿💜❄️💜🦌 . . . . . . . #SPIRITUALart #STARSEEDS #CONSCIOUSNESS #disclosure #admiralbyrd #icewall #torusearth #cropcircle #conspiracies #awakening #donutearth #torusearth #consciousness #ascension #Firmament #stargate #doughnutearth #starseed #secondsun #extraterrestrial #paranormal #worldview #reptilians #hollowearth #flatearth #theworldisflat #concaveearth #flatearthsociety #agartha #journeytothecenteroftheearth — view on Instagram https://ift.tt/l01XLxr

[skydinzeal]

💜🔥❄️ We may actually be living within a concave world! Mythological lore from Scandinavia to Japan describes our planet in a meaningful and yes enclosed stage. All traditions believe in Giants and mythological beings. I believe they were all far more in alignment than we are. I'm very concerned at how pop culture is raising its children because we have no magical meaningful reality. Every generation is becoming more efficient and superficial than what was before. Consider what that equation means. (Continued) 🔥⚡👽🌟🦋👑🌷 😇🌟I began teaching (Psychic Techniques) at the Edgar Cayce Center & Meta Centers in Manhattan back in 2011. During all this time I have Documented & PROVEN which designs, which symbols consistently improve reality! People have reported magical experiences from owning my paintings too! A painting of your loved one will bless them. Visit my site, http://www.skydin.com I am likely LIVE to answer your questions! 😇🎨🌟☺️💜 I HANDMAKE primarily Talismans! I also make metaphysical clothing, paintings/sculptures for you or your loved ones!🌷All of my creations are made of 100s of ancient, powerful symbols! I use only the symbols I've seen to repeatedly work wonders! 🔭🌠💜👽✨ I am looking for a quality SPIRITUAL STORE or ART GALLERY to TRULY help with sales/marketing their work & mine! I am a rare, tireless entertainer, salesperson and psychic. I have huge internet reach and can work day and night continuously! I don't even need to eat. I have got by on hard work & skill alone, not cheating & it shows! If you would like to make a connection happen contact me. If it works out I will pay you! 🌟 . . . . . . . #SPIRITUALart #STARSEEDS #CONSCIOUSNESS #disclosure #admiralbyrd #icewall #torusearth #cropcircle #conspiracies #awakening #spirituality #consciousness #ascension #Firmament #stargate #aliens #starseed #secondsun #extraterrestrial #paranormal #worldview #alienlife #reptilians #hollowearth #flatearth #nephilim #concaveearth #flatearthsociety #agartha #journeytothecenteroftheearth (at New York, city) https://www.instagram.com/p/CoVIiZ3O7YC/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=

[mikumanogi-blog]

2023-02-03 “Did my makeup fall apart just perfectly?” Tereblog #3 [ENG]

A story from yesterday evening..

I needed to get in the bath but I became tired and couldn’t move. My mascara fell off my eyelashes, my lipstick was fading and disheveled and yet for some reason I felt like this was the perfect look…..I’m tired so maybe my decision making skills have fallen🥱･°Also where are my bangs?

The lame scattered and my eyes are sparkling..

Ahhhhhhhhhhhhh

 I was thinking about what to write for today’s blog…but I decided on doing a Q&A!

 I’ve been reading the comments on my last relay blog and the individual blogs that started two days ago. To tell you the truth I was a little worried that since changing to an individual the amount of comments would go down but when I saw the number of comments I became more energetic!! Thank you for all the comments this week, thank yo yo ( ･_･)/-------◎

I’m so glad at how many people are reading these blogs. I’m also really grateful to everyone wishing us 5th generation members a happy anniversary (tears)

#Nogizaka 5th generation member 1st anniversary since joining. When I saw this hashtag on February 1st I cried a little.

 Well then lets get started with the Q&A

💌The last meet and greet I participated in I had a whiteboard where I just had to write my feelings of gratitude and the speed at which Tere-pan reacted was abnormally quick and I was so happy and wow are you quick! Amazing! Tere-pan are you trying to make reading speed one of your special talents? I’m a slow reader and so if you have any tricks to reading faster please let me know…

(Blog name: Taiga)

🤍I grew up reading books and so I think that’s why I’m so fastι(｀･-･´)/

Right now I exclusively read manga and I can finish a volume of jump manga in about 10 minutes (in the case of a new volume I’ll reflect on it and then read it again in about 30 minutes)

That being said I don’t think you can read or shorthand that fast as I think I’m faster than the general population, I want to challenge it one day!!!

A trick to read faster…

When you hold up a sketchbook for me to read, I don’t read individual words but it’s like a sensation of having a whole screen in my head  

💌Tere-pan have you ever overslept?

(Blog name: Mameta)

🤍Not since I started living by myself! I’m a light sleep and I put my alarm at the loudest volume setting and have it go off from anywhere between every 2 hours to every 3 minutes. But I have failed to make meeting times… but this isn’t a established fact right staff-san｡ﾟ(ﾟ^ω^ﾟ)ﾟ｡

💌Tere-pan-chan do you also do oil paintings??

(Blog name: Shoutarou)

🤍I’ve only ever drawn it in art class in school. It’s a habit for Teresa to get drunk off the smell of Turpentine oil

💌You’ve entered your second year now, and compared to your first year is there anything that you’ve feel you’ve grown at?

(blog name: Taiyou)

🤍Speaking very specifically, I’ve gotten more efficient at taking notes on our standing position, when I look at my notes from the 10th birthday live they are so illegible I can’t read then…!

💌 Tere-pan what is your favorite vegetable?

(blog name: Shogo)

🤍Bukkorory

From my mom, before I prepare it I put it in water for an hour to kill any bugs, hard boil it and then stir fried in oyster sauce is how I like it

(TL Note: I’m pretty sure she means broccoli but I’m not sure)

💌Gauauawa 🥚what’s your favorite way to eat it?

(Blog name: Michael)

🤍Tamago kake gohan! I like eggs with red egg yolks

💌I made some ducks out of clay in my art class! Do you have any good names for them?

(Blog name: Makoto)

🤍Nietzsche

When you’re lost in life, just talk to the duck and you may get something out of it.

At my place there’s been an increase in ducks with hair.

Manager-san had a hair transplant… this one’s name is Buu-kun (named by Aya)

Kekeke

💌Please tell me some trick for taking selfies (˙˙*)

(blog name: Chiaki)

🤍Selfies…taking many till you get a few is a strategy, so just take a lot and choose! They also do this in the photo studios don’t they.

The pictures I can post now are more than I could before because it was a relay blog and behind the scenes pictures? Other cuts? Are they types of pictures I have a lot of.

From now on the pictures I can post on this blog, as well as the ones I posted before are around the ones I’m going to keep posting but I also want variety from the ones in Nogime (Nogizaka46 mail and Nogizaka46 message is the double meaning of Nogieme)

Recently I’ve really been like the retro filter feel kind of like the Zetsubou MV…I think I’m going to want a film camera one day. The pictures on Men’s blog are really on point and they have a good aura and atmosphere, I hope to be like that （´-`）.｡oO（🎞🤍

↑The theme of today’s Blog names are names that boys would have.

 Night time is more for Q&A but while saying that I kind of want to do some during lunch time as well. If you like please continue to comment blow🤲🏻

 By the way I also read the letters💌

My SNS notice section is always lonely (so in other words I don’t have a lot of addresses…) and to have this letter!!! This was my first noticeeeeeee you can get to know what people are doing with a picture attachment… I’m grateful to have this for of communication outside of meet and greets, an outflow of strong emotions･:*+.(( °ω° ))/.:+

It reminded me of the information class in elementary school and it calmed me a little

P.S: I won’t forgive you people who send me letter of food at night time 😡so just bring me the real thing 😡

Yesterday was twin tail day

And so I felt like I muscle post this picture of twiNagi💪🏽( ¨̮ 💪🏽)

Twineresa’s picture was posted by the New Nogizaka Star Tanjou producer Shinobu Mori-san!!!

Thank you

Please check it out

 Please forgive me for this whimsical blog

Thank yo-yo for reading this blog today ( ･_･)/-------◎

Finishing off with a Twin Sakusaku-panda🌸🐼

The setting is missdirectionnnnn

#Tereblog #3

https://www.nogizaka46.com/s/n46/diary/detail/101131?ima=5650&cd=MEMBER

[jccomp491]

Personal Productivity and the "Waste" Perspective

Recently, I’ve had to reshape the ways that I think about being productive. Because of issues regarding my health, it’s become very important for me to regularly get adequate sleep, eat a more specific diet, and take frequent breaks when working, especially on a computer. Making these accommodations for myself while also staying on top of school and work has been challenging, not only because of having to find the time to take care of myself, but because of the guilt that came with taking that time. Having to spend a decent portion of each day resting felt, in a word, unproductive. I’ve been slowly working through that mindset, and reading the chapter Productivity by Amy J. Ko—though it was specifically about productivity in software development—helped to give me some concrete ideas to be able to describe the changes in the ways I think about productivity in general. The connections that I made between the concepts in this chapter and my own thoughts—particularly the “waste” perspective—makes me think that those concepts can be applied to productivity in any facet of life, not just software development.

The description of a “waste” perspective to productivity was one of the clearest connections that I made between the chapter and my own thoughts. Ko describes waste as “any activity that does not contribute to a product’s value to users or customers.” Her examples of waste included things like rework, unnecessarily complex solutions, and psychological distress. To apply this idea to my personal experience, I alter the description a bit: “any activity that does not contribute to bettering my health or education.” With this in mind, it’s easy to identify “productive” actions; taking a twenty-minute nap is productive because it will make me feel more energized and present, which in turn will make it easier to efficiently complete my schoolwork. However, taking a twenty-minute break to scroll through social media is not productive because staring at a screen for my break will not allow me to adequately rest.

These are very personal examples, but the idea can apply to any person in any situation simply by creating a personal description of “waste.” Someone who is trying to fix up an old house might define waste as “any activity that does not contribute to the long-term quality of the building.” Therefore, it would be productive to replace outdated electrical systems with safer, modern ones, but it would not be productive to paint over water damage rather than fixing the leak that caused it.

The one thing to be careful of when using this concept in one’s personal life is to not let the idea of “waste” create more guilt. When at work and on the clock, it’s more important to minimize wasted time. It is acceptable to justify time spent doing unproductive things on your own time, especially if they are relaxing or enjoyable (in which case I wouldn’t consider it wasted time at all). What this is best suited for is achieving a specific goal; for Ko that goal was a product that was developed efficiently, for me it’s successfully finishing the semester and continuing to recover, and for you it can be anything you want.