#essence girls united

[theeunactive-fashionblog]

uk girl group, FLO for Essence x Girls United Magazine by Munachi Osegbu {2022}

read their interview with Nandi Howard by clicking the source link!

[mihotose]

the hasu anime shouldnt be 103 or 104 or even 102 or 101 it should be 93 and be about the beginning of the club but whatever

[eilidh-eternal]

Captain Price smut? Yeahhhh, Captain Price smut.

Real estate agent reader who’s showing John Price flats in London, but the only thing he cares about are all the surfaces he can fuck you on.

18+ MDNI | f!reader | d/s dynamics | praise kink | oral f-receiving | unprotected P i V | creampie |

“This unit is just under 100 square meters, but it has the open floor plan you requested, and the kitchen has recently been remodeled; all new cabinetry, appliances and gorgeous Calcutta marble countertops. It’s an entertainers dream.”

John won’t be doing much entertaining but he thinks you’re an exquisite show spread out on those countertops you love so much, skirt hiked up around your hips and lacy thong between his teeth as he nips and teases the sensitive juncture of your hip and thigh. The scrape of his beard against your thighs only causes you to spread them wider for him, already burning, and before you can protest—complain that you’d just bought those—he’s tearing the flimsy lace from your body and growling at the sight of your glistening cunt.

“Christ sweetheart, just look at ya. Been drippin’ since we walked through the door.”

The first card of his tongue through your folds is long and languid, and the way he moans at the first taste of you is something purely primal, born of raw desire and burning need. Hands made rough by years of hard work snake beneath your thighs, seeking purchase at your hips to knead at their plush and soft skin. He pins them to the counter when he dips into your entrance and you clench around him, a moan of his own echoing yours, vibrating against the throbbing bundle of nerves pressed against his nose.

You clap a hand over your mouth to muffle what would have been a scream when he takes your puffy clit between his teeth, flicks the tip of his tongue over it until your thighs are quivering against him. You could scream when he pulls away from you, leaves you dangling from that razor thin edge to pull himself up, to brace his arms on either side of your head and pull your hand away from your face.

“No more of that, doll. Need t’ hear ya. Gotta know how thin these walls are. Don’t want any neighbors reporting us for violating the noise ordinance.” With his orders given he returns to his position between your thighs, not wasting a moment as he hooks his arms under you and drags you to the very edge of the counter to throw your legs over his shoulders and continue with his meal.

You grip the edge of the counter with such force you worry it might crack, that it might crumble in your hands just as you are in his. Every searing pass of his tongue, nip of his teeth and bristle of his beard coaxes you back towards that ledge, and every moan and gasp you give him is rewarded with a growl that reverberates from his chest and straight to your clit, sending hot sparks of pleasure licking on your arching spine.

Watching you unravel before him is John’s second favorite part of the tour, tasting your spilled essence as you writhe and clamp your thighs around his head when you cum on his tongue. Second only to the way you feel wrapped around him, the way your brows slope upwards and your mouth makes that perfect little ‘o’ when he sheathes himself to the hilt inside you.

“F-fuck, ‘s too much… I can’t-”

“You can,” he grunts with a pointed thrust, and you whine at the fullness, the stretch of his thick cock and the press of the flared tip against your cervix. “You can take it, honey. Just keep those pretty eyes on me yeah?” You focus on his face, concentrate on the lines between his brows. “Good girl.”

He sets a steady pace, one hand pressing your knee up beside your face and with the other he braces himself on the counter, bent over you to watch your eyes flutter with every drag of his cock in and out of you.

“Fuck sweetheart… ya feel fuckin’ perfect. ‘S like you were made for my cock.” It’s too much, too intense staring up into the swirling depths of ocean blue eyes when he says things like that, and you look away before you drown in them and all of his pretty words.

But John is like a rip tide; calm and collected on the surface, but swift and brutal below. He halts his movements abruptly, grips your face, thumb and forefinger pressing into your cheeks, and forces your gaze back to his. “Did I say you could look away?” A beat of silence and he cocks an impatient brow.

“No…” you squeak.

“What were my instructions?”

“Eyes on you.” It’s less whiny but it still comes out small and breathy.

“That’s right, eyes on me. Gotta be able to see ya so I can take care of ya. Gotta know it feels good, that I’m not hurtin’ ya. Understand?” You nod weakly, but his brows remain furrowed, mouth set in a hard line, and he doesn’t move.

“Y-yes sir.”

“Good girl,” he hums in approval and removes his hand from your face, drags it down the length of your body as his hips begin to roll forward again, following the valley of your breasts down to your navel, your messily bunched up skirt, and presses his thumb to your clit, tracing slow circles around it. It doesn’t take long for him to find his rhythm again, faster this time, each stroke pushing him further and further towards that simmering pool of pleasure as your silken walls begin to flutter around him.

You can feel your own orgasm building, the velvety head of his cock brushing against pleasure centers deep inside of you and his thumb working your clit to fan the flames of your lust and desire into a blazing inferno. Hot tendrils of pleasure lick up your spine, arching you into him and rocking your hips against his as you mewl and whine, desperate for your release and to ease the growing heat within your veins.

“Close… fuck, I’m close-” you can barely manage, and he shushes you sweetly.

“I know sweetheart, can feel ya- fuck… clenching around me,” he says between panting breaths. “Wanna feel ya… milkin’ me. Be a good girl… and cum for me.”

He’s relentless in his mission to see you, to feel you, cumming on his cock, hips slamming into yours at a brutal pace, the sound of skin slapping against skin mingling with each of your breathy moans in the sweetest symphony he’s ever heard. And it’s hard, so, so hard to keep your eyes open, to keep them trained on him when he’s fucking you like a man utterly consumed by the desire to see you shatter beneath him.

You don’t hold back, don’t bother trying to quiet the scream that rips from your throat when he sends you careening over that edge, falling, falling, falling into a warm, blissful oblivion. Every muscle in your abdomen pulls taught, pussy clamping down on him as your orgasm tears through you like a wildfire through a parched forest, and he chases his own release with the same rabid intensity, grunting and panting above you with wild thrusts of his hips. A raging storm of intensity that finally breaks when his balls tighten and he spills inside of you, hips stuttering with a guttural moan that rumbles like thunder in his chest.

You stay like that for a long moment, your arms limp beside you, legs quivering against cool marble with his face tucked into the side of your neck and breathing raggedly. When he finally withdraws you whimper at the loss of him, the absence of his warmth and the fullness he gave now leaves you empty and leaking your combined essence, dripping down your thighs onto the obscenely expensive counter. You open your mouth to say something, try to move back to your feet before you make a further mess, but he silences you with his tongue, lapping at your entrance to taste both of you, and the only sound that comes out is an overstimulated whine.

“I know, I know…” he murmurs into your dripping cunt. “But we’ve gotta get ya cleaned up.”

You. Not the counters—you.

When he finally deems you ‘clean’ enough, he helps you down from the counter, makes sure you’re steady on your feet before you even try putting those ridiculous heels back on. And when you leave he tucks the ruined lace of your underwear into his pocket and guides you out of the flat with a firm hand on the small of your back, all the way to your car, and insists on opening the door for you.

Before you can seat yourself he tightens his hold on you and drops down to place a kiss on your cheek, lips brushing against the shell of your ear as he whispers, “I’ll see you next week for that showing, sweetheart. Be good for me until then.”

©️Eilidh-Eternal.2024 ~ The intellectual property of Eilidh-Eternal is not permitted for reposting, transcription, translation or use with AI technologies.

[ushiwakatrash]

The Bakusquad as Roommates

A/N: Hey babes, it's been a while! I've been so busy will college so I really couldn't write. But, yeah, I'm (kinda) back <3333

!Warning!: smoking (weed too)

According to the new rules, UA has decided to place two people per room.

(This deviates from the original plot line)

See the Dekusquad version here.

Bakugou Katsuki 爆豪 勝己

Did not like the thought of sharing his space with someone random but as per UA's orders, what choice did he have?

Very clean and very strict about house rules

Will constantly nag about how you can't do chores right

Your first weeks were a disaster. He was so scary and so intimidating, you thought he was the concentrated essence of evil

He's blunt and mean, but you figure out he just has a hard time expressing himself

One morning, he cooked breakfast for you but went with lame excuses like "I accidentally cooked too much." or "You look dead so fuckin' eat!"

Since then you went along with his shitty excuses and used them when giving him dinner

"Bakugou, you can have this 'cause I don't feel like eating anymore." or "They looked good so I bought twice as much for, uh, no reason at all."

Seeing your efforts in trying to be a good roomie, he warmed up to you eventually

Now y'all just argue like an old couple

Kirishima Eijirou 切島 鋭児郎

Looks tough, but he’s the sweetest guy you’ve ever met.

A literal angel

Day 1: friends

Day 2: besties

Day 3: you would take a bullet for him

He’s kinda messy and his punching bag takes a lot of space but hey, no one’s perfect

He always waits for you before he eats, and always saves you a plate when you’re running late because of extra training

You seek each other for comfort. Especially when Kiri feels insecure about how his quirk isn’t flashy or how he thinks it won’t make him a top hero one day

You, of course, would never want or let him think that way. It will never be a chore to remind him how he’s so strong and sturdy and how his muscles are hot

You know how much potential he has so if you have to repeat it a thousand times again and again, so be it

MUST PROTECT THIS CINNAMON ROLL

Kaminari Denki 上鳴電気

Had the idea of the old ‘bucket of water on top of the door’ prank as a big welcome to his roomie

What he didn’t calculate is that you have very sharp and fast reflexes.

Before the bucket falls on you, you hit it and the water splashes on Denki

Both of you were stunned at first but you recovered quickly and said “feeling cold, sparky?” with such a smug smirk

His face instantly got red and he stormed out of the room with comical tears shouting ‘MEANIE!!’

An hour later he returns, 2 popsicles in his hands. He hands you one as an apology and both of you reconcile, even if it’s his entire fault

You both get in trouble for blasting heavy metal at 3 in the morning MULTIPLE TIMES

The two of you made an agreement to do this ritual with headphones on because Mr. Aizawa had threatened to make you switch rooms

Sero Hanta 瀬呂範太

Ah, the potheads unite

It was a secret that you tried to keep under wraps since but the your roomie figured you out instantly

At first you both just shared vapes, trying out different flavors the both of you would buy

until you saw a bag in the bathroom that had an oh so familiar scent

You confronted Sero about it but he just gave you a 'what's the big deal' look so you shrugged it off

a few nights later he invited you for a session and you obliged, only if he kept it hush

this has been a routine since you could remember and Aizawa has never suspected you. I don't know about Mr. tape man though.

Ashido Mina 芦戸 三奈

There was no adjustment period for the both of you whatsoever

You both became instant besties and shared EVERYTHING

from skincare to clothes to maybe thongs at times but hey, girls do that shit

As if being roommates wasn't enough, you still hung out after class hours

Mina has been your greatest support system especially with boy trouble

Break a man's heart and she's as proud as any mother could be

Your heart is broken? A tub of ice cream and shitty movies are ready for you

She loves you like her own sister and constantly worries for you

Honestly the best roomie in town

𝓜𝓪𝓼𝓽𝓮𝓻𝓵𝓲𝓼𝓽

[anjelicawrites]

What happened during the heathwave

Paring: Aegon II Targaryen x reader x Aemond Targaryen, Aegon II Targaryen x Aemond Targaryen (brief but implied as established)

Synopsis: your friends Baela and Rhaena invited you over to the family estate on Dragonstone for the summer, where you catch the eye of incestuous brothers Aegon II and Aemond, who make their move during an boiling hot afternoon.

Warnings: Targaryen incest (Aegon and Aemond have a established relationship), kissing, handjob, blowjob, balls kissing, overstimulation, orgasm denial, scratching, biting, titty sucking, spitroasting.

A/N: reader is AFAB but not described. Where needed they/them pronouns used

A/N 2: "Going to Oldtown" "Being Targtowered" and "Oldtown Tower" as subsitutes for "Going to Paris" and "Being Eiffel Towered" courtesy of @aemondsbabe (thank you for letting me use those!)

You arch your back with a filthy moan and a small part of your brain is still, stubbornly, wondering how all of this came to be: how Baela and Rhaena’s invite (“Come to Drangonstone with us! The whole family is going to be there!” “That’s better than languish home!”) evolved into this.

NSFW and 18+ only please!

You squirm when his long fingers tweak the nipple he’s been sucking intently, until you had cried out in pain, and tried to push away from their ravenous hunger for your body; where could you go? There was only one of you, smaller and already reduced into a puddle of screaming nerves, and two of them, big and strong, needy for your taste and curves.

“Ah! Gods please!” You cry out, trying to dislodge Aegon’s face from between your legs.

“Pay attention, riñītsos, little girl.” Aemond murmurs in your ear. “You’re not going anywhere.”

Aegon’s hands clasp the supple skin of your hips when you try to buckle upwards, almost breaking his nose with the strength of your movements; he’s been teasing you for hours, you think, his smart tongue licking your puffy clit, only to slither downwards to your clenching hole to fuck it, faster and faster, only to stop and start again when you almost reached your peak.

His brother hadn’t been idle, his beautiful lips had wound around your nipples to tease and suck, his teeth had bitten your delicate skin raw, following what, you’ll realize later, are the lines of your bathing suit bra.

Your torso turns painfully when you try to escape Aemond’s fingers and Aegon’s mouth, the overstimulation so severe when Aegon moans and groans against you, the vibration traveling up your spine like a whiplash that makes you scream in anguish.

Did you expect all of this when you met Baela and Rhaena’s cousins (or whatever flavor of family relation ties your friends to the siblings, in the maze that is the Targaryen’s family tree)? No, never, not when Aegon had offered you a drink as soon as you had arrived (“Weren’t you in rehab?” “That was a boring vacation, really”) or Aemond had been commenting on your reading choices (“Poetry for summer?” “Poetry is for all the seasons”), or even when you kept feeling their eyes on you, and your friends tried to shield you from their interest. But it’s summer and everyone is too focused on their complicated love lives to pull up a united front for you, when the brothers kept flanking you during those interminable group trips to hidden beaches, where you would shed your summer dresses in the safety of the group, and their gazes would be drawn to the conservative bathing suits you were wearing. Aegon’s would be more ravenous but never disrespectful, Aemond’s intense, even when he hid behind a thick book and a cigarette lazily dangling from his lips: even amidst everyone, you’d feel them staring, and your skin would burn, and not because of the sun.

Aegon’s lips latch to the soft skin of your tight and you beg, broken and needy for the orgasm he’s been denying you, your body covered in sweat and their spit, your hips sitting in a puddle of your own essence.

You’re burning and it’s not the unforgiving heath of the end of July.

“Best pussy I had in a while.” Aegon says, finally giving you respite from his hunger.

You try to catch your breath or kick him, the best you can do is letting your legs fall open, showing them the mess he’s left behind.

“Let me have a taste.” Aemond answers.

You’d expect him to take his brother’s place, not for them to kiss passionately, one of Aemond’s hands wounding in Aegon’s shorter hair as he lets his younger brother ravish him and pour all his sexual frustration into the kiss. 

You almost come at the sight of their tongues battling and when you hear their moans of pleasure: have they always been like this? Does anyone besides you know? All questions fly out of the window when Aegon grabs his own base in the desperate attempt to stop himself from coming and Aemond doubles the passion he’s pouring in the kiss, chasing your taste in his brother’s slack mouth, until he lets go and focuses his only eye on your writhing body.

“Delicious.” He says and then licks his lips obscenely. “Let me have a second taste.”

They have kissed over you, Aegon still between your trembling legs and Aemond kneeling by your head, now he hovers over you with his reddened erection dangling over your parted lips and grabs your tights when you try to close them.

“I can’t let my older brother have all the fun, can I?” He purrs.

Your hips lift when his soft tongue starts playing with your abused clit and you try to squirm away again when his lips fasten around the puffy bud to suck slowly.

Aegon is staring at you with pupils so blown out that you can’t see the purple iris. You wail at him as his brother positions himself fully over you, never letting your poor clit go, sucking and licking leisurely, as if he has all the time in the world and you’re not crying and begging under him.

“Aemond! Please!” You cry out, desperate.

“Be good.” You hear coming from your right. “Aemond deserves a taste as well.”

“Shh, suck us off, beautiful, and then you’ll come.”

The small part of your brain that’s still working seems to realize only now how well endowed both brothers are, and that they will fuck you using their massive cocks. The slut part of your brain doesn’t care, ravenous your lips wound around Aegon’s cockhead to suck desperately the salty taste of his precome.

The position is awful on your neck, you can’t take him fully the way you want and your hands tremble too much to jack him properly. His taste though, heady and masculine, his girth takes your breath away when he lifts your head and feeds you more of his cock, until he pushes against the back of your throat and you choke on him, wanting more, needing more, frustrated by the knowledge that you’ll need more practice before you’ll be able to deepthroat him the way he deserves.

He doesn’t care, he grabs your head with both hands and uses your mouth to his leisure, fucking you hard and fast, in a heady contrast with the way Aemond is slowly sucking your poor clit.

“Ah, Gods!” Aegon groans when he releases your abused mouth. “No more, darling, your mouth is sinful but I want to come inside your pretty cunt."

You wail at that, hungry for him and your lips suck at his heavy balls until he has to dislodge your face with a pained moan.

He stares at your mouth, wet with spit and his precome, bitten raw and still hungry for more: you’re a gift from the Gods that he and Aemond aren’t going to waste.

“Here, suck him as well, he deserves the treat.” 

Your wails are cut short by Aemond’s thick cock, fed to you by Aegon, who keeps one hand in your hair to control your movements, while he pushes his brother’s slim hips downwards, to your waiting mouth, until his cockhead hits your stretched tongue.

Aemond’s masculine taste drives you mad, any coherent thought flown out of the window as you grab his hips and try to swallow as much as you can, despite Aegon’s tight hold on your hair. Your neck hurts when you move up and down Aemond’s massive erection but you don’t care, you want to choke on him and Aegon lets you, with a satisfied smirk on his face, when he sees you falter as Aemond moans against your abused pussy, the shockwaves traveling up your spine destroying any control you have left and you let him fuck your mouth as his tongue sneaks inside your hole to ravage you there as well.

Aemond’s moans double when Aegon starts mouthing at his heavy balls and you’re hollowing your cheeks to offer him more friction. Around his stiff tongue your muscles clench and he almost comes imagining how fucking you would feel like: so soft and tight around his raging erection, warm beyond belief.

It’s an uncomfortable fit but he manages to push on your poor clit with his thumb as you buck wildly under him when he twists his tongue inside of you fast and hungry for you orgasm.

Under him you’ve lost any control on your body, your legs close around his head as you let your mouth be fucked raw, spit and precome sliding down your cheeks to the hollow of your throat.

You wail and cry when Aemond slips his cock from your mouth, the loss washed away by his moans against your overstimulated pussy; he’s drunk on your taste and wants more, he opens your lips to lodge himself better and fuck you deeper with his long tongue and you clench around him, pleasure burning through your body with every fast stoke, until you arch your back and explode on his tongue, your body trembling violently under his.

Both boys are ravenous for your taste now, their tongues on your cunt lick you clean and entwine to share your honey, their teeth mark the inside of your thighs with small bites that enhance the pleasure still coursing through your body, until you cry, fat tears of overstimulation and someone hugs you tight.

“Breathe now. You did so well.” Aemond murmurs in your ear. “Your mouth is a gift from the Gods.”

He doesn’t clean the mess of spit, precome and tears on your face and chest, he simply keeps you close to himself as Aegon plays with it, spreading the sticky mix all over your sweaty skin to keep your body in overdrive.

It’s not the first time both boys allude to the hometown of their mother’s side of the family, Aemond almost choking on his cigarette when you flatly told them you went once and that the Oldtown Tower wasn’t the experience you expected it to be; your muddled brain now starts to realize that, perhaps, it’s not a physical trip they’re talking about.

“I’m tired.” You whine, when Aegon’s fingers find your perked nipples.

“Wouldn’t you like to go to Oldtown with us?” He asks with a wicked glint in his purple eyes.

“Roll on your knees, issa dōna, my sweet. Like that, sȳz hāedar, good girl.” Aemond orders you and has to help you to get into position.

You feel the bed dip behind you and Aegon’s big hands land on your hips, their grip strong on the soft flesh.

“I promise you, love, that this Oldtown Tower will not disappoint. Are you ready to be Hightowered?”

You nod, eager to see what they have planned for you.

You feel his right hand leave the hold on your hips and his cockhead nudges at your wet entrance. You try to relax as much as you can, but he’s wide, wider than you ever had and it’s been a while since you had sex with anyone.

“Use your words, like a smart girl.” Aemond tells you, while sneaking a hand in your hair to force your upper body up.

“Take me to Oldtown, please? Whatever that means?” You ask with a small voice, a sliver of anxiety rearing its ugly head out of the blue.

“I promise you will like this.” Aegon’s warm lips find home on your nape to leave small kisses. “This is the best trip you could ever take.”

“So fucking tight.” He curses. “And wet, fuck yeah!”

His hips rock slowly against you, opening you up for the monstrosity he calls his cock. Even slick as you are after their ministrations, you feel the sting against your muscles and how hard he has to keep a tight rein on his libido, and you whine as his cock defiles your cunt and molds it for his pleasure, until his hips meet yours and you both groan in pleasure.

“Wait!” You wail, one hand reaching behind to blindly grab at him. “Please!”

You try to breathe and prepare yourself for the pounding you expect to receive, relaxing around his thick cock as much as you physically can. 

Aemond’s hand cupping your chin is a surprise, so is the way he caresses your lower lip, swollen and wet with a mixture of spit and precome, until you suck his thumb in.

“Open wider, sȳz hāedar, like that.” He orders with a soft voice. 

You understand what they meant: ‘going to Oldtown’, ‘Hightowered’ and ‘Oldtown Tower’. Suddenly Aemond choking on the smoke when you said you didn't like the trip you had taken eons ago makes more sense. 

You look into his lonely eye, the purple eclipsed by the enlarged pupil, the dimples of his smile almost masking the naked hunger in his beautiful, scarred face. 

He doesn't have to tell you more, you open your mouth and loll your tongue out, waiting patiently for his next move. 

You both moan when his cockhead touches your tongue and you start licking and sucking, slowly taking more and more of him. Almost on cue, Aegon grabs your hips firmly and grinds against you, forcing a moan out of you that has Aemond groan and kick his cock inside your waiting mouth.

You don't know if someone can hear you three, you don't care that the whole estate is asleep, trying to beat the afternoon heatwave, all that matters are the boys taking you within an inch of your life: Aegon’s cock pounding your battered insides hard and fast, his hand randomly connecting to your arse cheeks when you tighten around him, and Aemond's cock fucking your mouth with abandon, a smirk in his face as soon as he sees how frustrated you are when you can't swallow him whole.

You cross your wrists on your back and the show of submission has the boys fuck you wild and fast, with filthy word of appreciation for your tight cunt and talented mouth.

You cough and let spit fall from your mouth when Aegon’s pushes become brutal, impaling you on his cock and his brother's, your G spot battered constantly by his bulbous head. On instinct your body tightens and twists, chasing and running away from the pleasure that's destroying you. Your cunt tightens without your control with every push and Aegon has to fuck you faster, opening you up for his cock. You moan around Aemond and try to take more of his big cock, choking on the girthy length with whines that travel up his spine and shatter his control.

You beg and cry when Aemond slips his cock away from mouth and curls a hand around his base: you’re sinful and delicious, you deserve his seed in your cunt. 

With a hand on your nape Aegon pulls you up and bounces your lax body on his cock, hard and fast pushes that make you scream and cry, pleasure zinging up your spine that redoubles when Aemond's fingers find your clit, to pinch it as his lips slant on yours, stealing your screams.

You're a ragdoll between their bodies, your nerves screaming with the pleasure forced on you, open and raw to their dual assault you feel the pressure build and build in your belly, until you come, squeezing Aegon so tight he spills with a shout inside of you as he keeps riding his high inside of you, until you both fall on the bed. 

You feel a mix of fluids seeping out of your overused hole, your combined comes staining your tights and mixing with the rivulet of sweat on your skin. 

You feel empty and alone, on instinct you curl with your back against Aegon’s front, seeking his warmth; you don't expect the sleepy way he nuzzles your neck and leaves kisses all over the burning skin. He's sated, for now, the smell of sex from your body lulling him into relaxation; he groans unhappily when Aemond takes you from his embrace and lays you on the bed.

You are a sight to behold, open and used, warm and wet with your come and Aegon’s; you stare at Aemond with pleading eyes, drunk on pleasure already and hungry for him as well, whose cock stands tall and proud, small beads of precome on the red tip. 

“Slow, Aemond please?” You beg with a broken voice. 

Your cunt is so sore already, you can't take another hard fucking like the one Aegon just gave you.

“Yes, dārilaros, princess, I want to enjoy you.”

With unhurried hands, Aemond helps your legs around his trim waist and covers your body with his, the golden pendant he wears is up your face now, the skull with sapphire eyes dangling over your parted lips. 

You can't escape his piercing gaze, the way he absorbs every small expression you make with a soft humming sound, as if he's studying you to learn how to play your body for later use.

Slowly, Aemond kisses you, waiting patiently for your lips to part, only then he deepens the kiss with a long moan, when he breaches you slowly. 

If he had to follow his instincts, Aemond would take you fast and raw, desperate as he is to satiate his hunger, yet he keeps a strict control over himself: he's seen how hard Aegon had gone, he can't risk harming you. Your response is beautiful, the way your body sucks him in takes his breath away and your back arches when he starts pushing and pulling to make way for his cock to own you completely. 

The whine he hides against the side of your neck has you curl your legs around his waist: he's so deep inside of you, you want to keep him there, warm and thick, forever.

When he starts to move, gentle figures of eight, you arch under him, one hand raking down his long back, the other shooting out to grab the bedsheets; you’re surprised when Aegon's big palm curls around yours and his lips leave small kisses on your knuckles and wrist.

“Look at me.” Aemond orders. 

Your eyes snap open to bore into his, his long hair curtain your bodies, as if it's only the two of you in the whole world and he hasn't already fucked you with the aid of his older brother.

His hips move with longer strokes now that you’ve relaxed around him, he reaches deeper inside of you, in no hurry to chase his own end, mesmerized by the way your face scrunches with pleasure, wet with tears and spit. 

“Aemond.” You moan. 

“I'm here, let go.”

You feel him everywhere, his strokes filling you, opening you to his ownership, the pleasure like a fire that builds with every passing second. Your free hand scratches down his back when he grinds against your G spot, dead on and relentless he forces your hole to curl and curl, whined sobs escape your lips and Aegon is there to kiss your face, consoling you during your onslaught.

Your body is trapped under Aemond's, your hole invaded and so, so full it almost hurts with the way Aemond takes you: you feel every inch of him against yourself, your body arches under his but you have nowhere to go, your lips wound around the pendant to snuff your moans, to save your sanity. Your legs kick uselessly when he picks up speed and grinds faster, his lips and his brother's on yours, in a kiss that steals your breath away and keeps you focused on the burning of your nerves.

The more the pleasure ebbs, the deeper are your scratches against his back; you twist under his weight when you feel the familiar band tighten in your belly. You whine about how scared you are, you can't take another one please! And both boys are there, encouraging you to fall into the abyss again, praising your body, until you come. 

You black out and barely feel Aemond push again and again, until he explodes inside of you, only to keep riding his own pleasure with an animalistic groan, stopping only when it hurts to continue.

You're so warm when you come back to yourself, having both boys laying partially on your chest and tummy. They're both lazily smoking and kissing your tacky skin, unhurried in their own post orgasmic daze and drunk on the smell of sex saturating the air. 

With a shaky hand you steal someone’s cigarette for a quick drag: you needed that!

“You can always ask.”

Oh, you’ve stolen from Aegon.

With that, he rolls to your bedside table where his crumpled pack lays (when did it get there?) and he takes another one. Smirking he leans close to your face and grabs your hand to use your cigarette to light his up; it’s a simple action that has your insides tingle with want, the soreness between your legs notwithstanding.

“I don’t smoke.” You say, giving him back the cigarette.

“Keep it. You look hot when you do.”

A companionable silence falls between your three, broken only by the sound of your three smoking; you’re not sure of what you’re supposed to do. You didn’t think about an after, when the boys emerged from the shadows of the corridor that lead to your room and had silently followed you; you knew what was going to happen, if you welcomed them inside, no siesta like the rest of the sprawling mansion, no idle chat and flirting the way you did since you arrived to Dragonstone, no, sex instead, heated and mindblowing, until you were too tired to stay awake, then what?

The answer to your question comes in the form of Aemond, who picks the finished cigarette from your fingers and kills it in the ashtray that’s appeared on the other bedside table (from where? Are the boy magicians as well?).

You know you desperately need one, your body is covered in sweat and fluids, but you’re tired now, you want to sleep until the end of time; with whatever little strength you can muster, you turn on your tummy and hide your head under a pillow

“We need a shower.” He says.

“Noooo.” You whine.

His body hovers over yours, his face somewhere near your exposed neck.

“Come on, be good. Don’t make me drag you.” Adds Aegon, with a swift pat on your arse.

“Ow! You would never!”

“Do you wanna bank on that?”

The lovebite he leaves on your skin is playful and, if they hadn’t fucked you the way they did, it would have made you straddle him until he begged for mercy.

Aemond’s big hands grab your lax body and he lifts you against his sturdy chest, you shriek and hold to his neck, afraid he might lose his hold on you.

“Come on boys! I can’t walk!”

“That’s not an issue.”

You elect to ignore the bickering between the brothers and hide your face in the long curve of Aemond’s neck. With your teeth you nibble the golden chain, warmed by his skin, and kiss the small moles you can reach. The low rumble of Aemond’s humming courses through your body and again, if you weren’t so sore, you’d have him until he couldn’t come anymore.

“Start the shower.” He says, adjusting your position to make sure he’s not letting you fall.

“I always have to do all the work here!”

“Stop bitching and do something!”

Your legs wobble dangerously when Aemond deposits you in the ridiculous big shower. The first time you used it, you weren’t even sure which button to push and, if you have to be sincere, you are still unsure of what half of those are for.

Both boys join you under the warm spray, their bodies keeping you up when your legs threaten to fold, Aemond in front of you, Aegon behind.

Honest to the Gods, Aemond shudders in disgust.

“Why do you need all those hair products?” He asks, when he tries to find your shampoo.

“Because, unlike you, dear brother, they care about their hair. Give it here.”

“Five bottles?”

“It’s the bare minimum for summer.” You inject yourself in the conversation

“I only need one.”

You can feel the beginning of an erection poking your arse, and you wiggle against him.

“You’re so lucky, Aegon. Why do guys need beautiful hair and long eyelashes?” You whine.

“To be pretty for nice little things like you.” He answers, plastering his body against yours.

“Careful, you look very fuckable, all wet and naked.” He says, popping his chin on your shoulder.

It’s surprising how at ease you feel with them, with your past partners you had always felt uncomfortable at showing yourself naked, with them it comes like an afterthought: it’s so liberating and you’ll forever be grateful for that.

Aemond coaxes your head backwards and starts massaging your scalp with your nice smelling shampoo while Aegon squirts too much body wash on his hands to clean the mess on your body; you’re not sure your breasts need that much attention though, not that your are complaining, you feel your whole body relax in their care and if Aegon wants to play with your tits, who are you to stop him?

Once he’s done with your conditioner, Aemond grabs your loofah and gently cleans between your legs; you shudder in pain when he starts with your pussy, you’re still so sore!

“I know, gevie, beautiful, I know it hurts, but I need to be thorough.”

He’s mindful of your clit when he cleans up your hole and outer lips, only to refocus on your legs and arse, until he’s sure no leftover fluid is staining your skin.

You help them wash off as well, your hands are still shaking on the firm muscles and white skin, their fingers are soft and caring on one another, caressing you as well, until they are hard again.

You let your fingers wander until you meet their erections and they both take a gulp of air, before crowding against your body. You feel suddenly shy and hide your face against Aemond’s neck as you move over their cocks slowly, feeling the steel under the soft skin.

A shudder courses through you when they move to kiss your chest and breasts, soft and gentle they worship your body and drink down your moans: you’re a sorceress, the first they had taken without having their thirsts quenched by mindless sex.

Aemond comes first, with a long moan against your breast, Aegon grabs your hip to maintain his balance when his orgasm hits; you keep a loose hold around their cocks as they ride out the high and praise them with a soft voice.

You three stumble out of the shower and the boys are quick to grab the big towels to dry you, and themselves, their hands lingering on your breasts and arse a tad too long, sending shivers down your body.

The bed looks like a battlefield and you shriek when you see the wet mess you three have made of the sheets, and the marks on your skin you will never be able to hide.

They’re still both naked and now it feels strange to be dressed, after what you let them do to you.

“That’s what housekeeping is for, darling.” Aegon says with a wink.

“You look pretty in blue.” Aemond adds, when he sees the bathing suit you’ve picked for the afternoon.

“Thank you.” You answer, suddenly shy.

He’s standing in front of you, naked and proud, and you wish you weren’t this sore, to have him, to have both of them again.

“You’re prettier naked.”

“Aegon!” You shriek.

“Just stating the truth.”

Almost reading your mind, the brothers hug you, their naked bodies against yours, wet hair leaving tears of water on your heathed skin.

Ewanverse taglist: @vhagar-balerion-meraxes @zaldritzosrose

“You should take today easy.” Aemond tells you with hunger in his voice, his sharp chin on your shoulder. “Recuperate.”

“What for?” You try to keep the tremble in yours under control.

“Because once is not enough.” Aegon murmurs against your lips. “A body like yours needs to be worshiped properly.”

“And for as long as it is needed.” Concludes Aemond.

Tagging also @aemondtargaryenonlyfans who asked to be tagged in this one.

[theblackfemininesociety]

The Power of Black Women Supporting Each Other: United We Win 👑

(Black Women in Hollywood, Essence. 2024)

In a world where black women have historically been marginalized and pitted against each other, it is crucial now more than ever for us to stand united and support one another. The notion that there is only room for a few at the top is a fallacy that has perpetuated division and hindered our collective progress. It is time to recognize that there is an abundance of talent, brilliance, and strength within our community, and by lifting each other up, we can shatter barriers, redefine success, and create a new narrative of solidarity and empowerment. Together, we can break through the glass ceiling and rise to new heights, leaving no black woman behind.

🪄 The Magic Behind Supporting Each Other Includes:

👑 Embracing Sisterhood:

As black women, we understand the struggles and challenges we face in various aspects of life. By supporting each other, we foster a sense of sisterhood that allows us to connect on a deeper level. Through embracing the concept of sisterhood, we find common ground and create a safe space where we can share our triumphs, challenges, and knowledge. Together, we uplift and empower one another, ensuring that no one is left behind.

👑 Breaking Stereotypes:

When black women succeed, we shatter preconceived notions and pave the way for future generations. Our collective achievements inspire others to pursue their passions, regardless of societal limitations.i

👑 Collaboration Over Competition:

Rather than viewing one another as competitors, we choose collaboration over competition. We recognize that our individual successes do not diminish the accomplishments of others. Instead, our achievements collectively contribute to a stronger, more vibrant community. From sharing techniques and experiences to supporting each other's businesses, we foster an environment where everyone can thrive.

👑 Leading By Example:

When we support one another, we become beacons of inspiration for young black girls and women who aspire to become successful in all areas of life . By showcasing our unity, we demonstrate the power of collective success. We encourage future generations to embrace their talents, chase their dreams, and support their fellow black women in their respective endeavors.

As we stitch our efforts together, we have the chance to showcase the power and harmony of black women upliftng one another. By celebrating each other's victories, we reinforce the belief that there is more than enough room at the top for all of us. Let us continue to uplift, empower, and inspire one another, for when one of us wins, we all do.

[dailyadventureprompts]

Adventure: A Draft Through the Door

An unnatural gloom creeps over the countryside, the shadows grow long and the dawn seems slow to rise. The townsfolk grow increasingly listless, and have asked your party to investigate the mage's manor across the lake, which seems to be the origin of this miasmic melancholia. Your journey will not be an easy one, as the landscape grows ever more eerie, and things are seen to move in the drifting banks of mist.

Of the many reasons that wizards take on apprentices (passing down knowledge, having a sounding board for new theories, an extra pair of hands to prepare spell components and do the sweeping up) one of the less discussed ones is how vital it is to have a second pair of eyes on lookout for when something magical inevitably goes wrong.

It makes sense when you think about it, a proper wizard's mind is too full of brilliance to bother with things like making sure that week's batch of potions don't boil over in the cauldron or that the stacked tomes of lore present a firehazard if they're not put away.

So it was with the mage Milghram Brightstaff and his precocious apprentice Adaline, who lived a quaint existence in the manor by the edge of the lake filling their days with scholarship, experiments, and attending to the problems brought to them by locals visiting from across the countryside. That was until mage Milghram decided to pop off to his extra-dimensional storage unit by way of a shadowfell portal in the manor's basement. He thought he'd only been gone a few hours, but neglected to apply the protective charm required to spare himself from the memory-sapping defences guarding his vault. now Milghram wanders the land of shades in a perpetual state of "why did I come into this room?" while the essence of that dread dimension leak back through his unclosed portal.

Adventure Hooks:

The party might've been sent to seek out the wizard, or visit town on their own buisness. Either way nothing's getting done so long as the countyside is blanketed in memory erroding fog and creatures from the shadow realm stalk through the murk. After several nights worth of exposure the town's defenders have had the wost of it, having forgotten what they're guarding or why they've established barricades.. it'll take some guile or calm negoitation for them to let the heroes past the gate.

When the party eventually gets to the manor they'll not only find the place locked, shuttered, and in many cases barricaded, but also protected by a slew of arcane defences ranging from animated objects to teleportation traps that will hurl them out into the lake. Two thirds of the way through their magical B&E and likely expecting a mad wizard to emerge from the shadows and begin a villain monolog, they'll instead find an exhausted teen running through the manor hurling heedless spells at a fleeing bug-thing demanding they help catch it before it gets too big.

For a girl of only fourteen winters beset on all sides by living nightmares Adaline is handling herself marvellously. She's activated the manor's wards sealing the worst of the cursed mist in the basement (or atleast she had until the party chopped their way in) and has been using a borrowed wand to hunt down most of the shadow creatures that have begun to infest the manor grounds. She's deeply worried about her teacher however, and blames herself for the series of distractions that led the old man to forgetting to throw on his protective charm. Depending on how they play it, they can either have her charm them and venture into the portal looking for the errant mage, or attempt to distract her long enough to close the portal themselves and leave the old wizard for dead.

Art

[cerastes]

You know, I was just thinking, there's this game I like, I've talked about this one both on and off stream, it's Luminous Arc 2. It's one of those Way of the Samurai 4 games that are garbage games that did some things REALLY well but are still very much not good games overall, but that I LOVE. You know how much I love Way of the Samurai 4. I also love Luminous Arc 2, it's not a good game, it's a game that merits 0 playthroughs, and yet I gave it 2 full playthroughs.

With WotS4, I can explain to you what parts of it are genius hidden in an ocean of shit, but I can't with Luminous Arc 2, I've not done the mental homework on that one, so I did this weekend, and...

Luminous Arc 2 executes the Nanoha-style Magical Girl formula very very well.

Now, you may have heard that Nanoha is a mecha show but instead of mecha, there's magical girls. And that assessment is absolutely 100% correct. Luminous Arc 2 somehow distills the purely Magical Girl elements from Nanoha's mecha-magical girl execution and pulls them off REALLY well.

Allow me to elaborate.

Nanoha nails down the Good Fight Scene. Not just in fight choreography, but also, in essence of what a good fight scene aims to accomplish for an overarching narrative as an element in the bigger scheme that you can't just skip. Think about Code Geass for a moment: Is Code Geass a mecha show? It sure has mecha, but it's not a mecha show. You could replace the mecha in Code Geass with tanks and helicopters and nothing would change. In fact, at least one adaption of Code Geass does exactly this. Code Geass is a great show but it's not mecha in its themes and execution. Code Geass is a not mecha show with mecha. Nanoha is a mecha show without mecha. You can't remove the fights from Nanoha without it not being Nanoha anymore, and in each fight, we learn more about the characters, the characters learn more about each other, and even if any given fight does not move the plot forward, it does move the character arcs forward, on top of being fun to watch.

And Nanoha accomplishes this by making the same characters fight each other a bunch. Symphogear also does this. Each fight between the same characters feels different each time, because they are growing in terms of motivations and themes.

Luminous Arc 2 does the same with each of its big arcs. In the optional sidequests, you often just fight some mooks and a stronger, sometimes recolored version of a generic monster. The main story stages of the game, though? You are always fighting someone important or a consequence of someone's important's actions. Initially, you fight an ice witch named Fatima and her cat familiar and companion Josie a bunch. As the plot advances, your rogue's gallery keeps expanding, from the bandit Karen and her gang, who initially seem to be disconnected to the overall plot and is more of a Team Rocket deal, to actual lore powerhouses like Master Matthias and others who I shall omit for brevity. Luminous Arc 2 has three big arcs, and each of these have an evolving cast of reoccurring bosses that you fight for plot reasons, and you get to know each other a lot more with each fight, shedding light on their motivations, and them shedding light, in turn, on the motivations of your own side, which are actually not immediately discernible to you in their entirety.

And this is all really good! You get used to their signature moves, their animations, the way they usually structure their units, a bunch of really cool little things.

And maybe this game is sounding good to you, but make no mistake, it's a pretty fucking mediocre SRPG that you can play with your brain turned off. No cohesion, very little unit identity, incredibly self-indulgent first and everything else a distant second, it's NOT a good game... But what it did good, it really knocked it out of the park.

In terms of getting to know your enemy, their motivations, and how they in turn get to know and let you know more about you... Luminous Arc 2 does it better than most. Which is hilarious because this game sucks in every other department. It's not a good game. I did two full playthroughs and I would do a third.

[sassykinzonline]

ok i saw the post you guys meant when you were asking about platonic SNS aka "SNS should be platonic because that makes it selfless", heres what i'll say (some of these sort of rehash the ask, but with a more direct rebuttal to the specific point):

the manga explicitly shows how various types of love (platonic, familial, professional, romantic, sexual) can be "imperfect", therefore, the manga rejects the idea that one sort of love is implicitly "correct" or "selfless" or whatever ontological good you want to attach to the love of your choice

action/shounen's propensity to pose the love interest as the "reward" for the hero's journey not only doesnt apply to SNS (nor the naruto manga from an SNS lens), but this is also another example of attaching an ontological idea that is irrelevant to a concept. tropes are not what define a genre nor a story archetype, theyre simply a common device used within these things. for example, the "heroine as a reward" trope for the hero may be a device used to exemplify success, honour, or nobility. it likely stems from cultural patriarchal norms where what was "desirable" was a "brave" man with deeds to his name. the point of this trope is likely to inspire a reader to emulate the hero, thinking that they will also ~get the girl at the end of their "journey". but the trophy doesnt have to be the girl. the trophy can be riches. the trophy can be a title. the trophy can be peace itself. it can be all those things. why? because the core of a hero's journey is literally the hero's journey, how and why they get from point A to point B and what the effects of that are. and thats typically how you choose what trophy to give your hero at the end.

the naruto manga subverts this trope by making the "journey" the feelings themselves: do you have them, how to express them, are they enough, are they even appropriate to have, what does the other person feel, what can be done about that? thats why i said the trope doesnt exactly apply to SNS. by making the journey about the feelings, the "reward" of the heroine at the end is no longer a patriarchal holdover but a logical conclusion to a conflict. this is why i joke that naruto the manga works better as a YA novel from the twilight/hunger games era, because typically those kinds of books have room for this kind of complexity. this is also why "sasuke" is not primarily an antagonist, he is a deuteragonist. he is tangentially going through the same journey as naruto, he is not running counter to naruto's journey intentionally.

even if you wont agree that the feelings are the journey, and instead the journey is becoming hokage or uniting the shinobi world or whatever, by definition naruto's feelings have to change for the journey to be possible. otherwise theres no point in the journey, hed be able to be hokage at the start of the manga and everyone would agree on that despite him being weak. there is a reason why naruto's power-ups also come with some sort of emotional lesson, and that emotional lesson is what gets people on his side. every arc in the manga is naruto has to do something -> naruto has an idea -> someone tells him that his idea is immature -> he trains while pondering the idea -> he needs to use the idea to complete his training -> he voices his revised idea that he learned from the someone -> he wins. theres only one exception to this. i'll let you figure out why that is.

many people who make this argument about how "platonic love is better" are both understanding the point and not understanding the point. these people are taking platonic love to mean "friendship" and thats not what it means in the sense its used in the manga, nor in a classical sense. platonic love according to plato (the one its named after), is the idea that it is a love that transcends earthly ideas like carnal desire and physical unity and instead becomes desire for one's true essence and unity in the "truth" of one's being. this means platonic love isnt "love without sex" but "love that can be more than just sex". so these people understand that "platonic love" is above any other type of love, but not because its "friendship". platonic love is "better" because it is permanent and unchangeable. truth is inherent. a soul is inherent. thats why within SNS there are themes of reincarnation of souls, of sharing of pain, of cosmic unity, of reuniting after death, of inexplicable yet unavoidable attraction, of the recognition, understanding and acceptance of someone else's truth.

in summary: SNS' souls are having cosmic sex and thats what saves the world.

[lasapoperro]

discrimination

me van a funar por esto.

(since I only know how to read English well and barely know how to write it, much of this will involve a translator)

Since ATSV came out, my fanaticism towards Miles Morales returned, which led me to read content related to this character from both universe 42 and 1610. There are many fanfics about him. But now, here is my complaint. In many of these fanfics, the writers have chosen to portray the reader as someone of African-American ethnicity, which is fine. These fanfics are still enjoyable and serve as a representation of this community. Writers have every right to choose the reader's ethnicity according to their comfort. However, lately it seems that this choice has become a requirement. It is stated that Miles looks better with someone of African-American ethnicity rather than someone of "white ass." insisting that characters of dark ethnicity can only be with people of the same ethnicity.

A common device in these fanfics is that Miles Morales from the 1610 universe cheats on the reader with Gwen Stacy. What about Margo, though? Even though she has shown chemistry with Miles, Margo is rarely (if ever, in my case) used in these stories. Isn't it strange that the African American reader always gets fooled by a white girl? This phenomenon makes me feel that we are facing discrimination. It seems like some writers believe that an African American character can only be with another African American. I remember seeing a comment from an anonymous person that said "I'm sick of seeing black people and curls", and the response was: "No, not White ass." This reaction baffled me. I want to believe that the writer responded that way because of a poorly formulated expression from the anonymous person, but the response, even with a touch of humor, reinforced the idea that writing white readers is not welcome.

I'm not sure if this has to do with cultural differences between the United States and that I am from Latin America and therefore I see these discriminatory fanfics. I also don't understand why this is more frequent in Miles Morales fanfics from universe 42 than in those from 1610. However, I want to focus on one fact: mentioning ethnicity or not does not change the essence of the story, unless it is specifically to fight racism. Reaching a point where white ethnicity is denied is discrimination pure and simple.

Since I left my complaint/opinion, I'm going to continue reading

[hikarry]

As a unit the Good Omens fandom reached the conclusion Crowley is good with kids and has a soft spot for them because of The Flood episode, playing Nanny with Warlock for 11 years and, most recently, the Bildad episode and his adorable relationship with Jemima (apologies if that's not your name, child, but everyone knows who I'm talking about. Pot Girl)

Alas, no such conclusion has been reached regarding Aziraphale

He either is naturally skilled with kids because of his angelic essence or he is allergic to them to the point he doesn't know how to hold a baby properly and would rather set himself and then the whole of Soho on fire than interacting with children for more than an hour without Crowley's assistance

Honestly both options are absolutely delightful in my opinion, but panicked leaning on chaotic Aziraphale will always give me a special taste

[artificialfanfiction]

Ikigai-One Shot

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Disclaimer: The content on this blog is entirely fictional and created for entertainment purposes. None of the scenarios depicted here are based on real-life occurrences. Enjoy the stories and let your imagination run wild!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

pairing Noah Sebastian x reader

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

In the quiet, moonlit suburbs of a quaint town, a young couple named Noah Sebastian and y/n sat anxiously in their cozy living room, surrounded by the gentle whispers of anticipation. Noah, the charismatic singer of the rising rock band, Bad Omens, gently cradled y/n's hand, her eyes reflecting the excitement and nervousness that danced within her soul. The sound of their unborn daughter's heartbeat echoed through the room, a symphony of life growing stronger with each passing moment. They had chosen the name Ikigai, a Japanese concept that embodied the essence of their love and the purpose they had found in each other. As the clock chimed midnight, y/n's contractions grew closer, signaling the imminent arrival of their baby girl. With a mix of awe and apprehension, they looked into each other's eyes, ready to embark on the most profound journey of their lives together.

As the first light of dawn pierced through the curtains, y/n took a deep, steadying breath, her eyes meeting Noah's with a silent communication of love and determination. His gaze was filled with reassurance, a promise that together, they could conquer the world. Her contractions had become a rhythmic crescendo, and it was time to head to the hospital. Noah helped her to her feet, wrapping an arm around her waist to support her as they made their way to the car. The cool, early morning air washed over them, carrying with it the scent of dew kissed grass and the faint whispers of a new day beginning. He opened the car door with a gentle touch, helping her in before taking his place behind the wheel. As the engine roared to life, the reality of the moment sank in Ikigai was on her way, and their lives were about to change forever. With a firm grip on the steering wheel, Noah navigated the deserted streets, the headlights carving a path through the darkness. The world outside was still, yet within the confines of the car, a storm of emotions swirled, a potent mix of fear, excitement, and hope. Each mile brought them closer to the hospital, and with it, the culmination of nine long months of anticipation. Their hearts raced in sync with the growing intensity of y/n's contractions, counting down the moments until they would hold their daughter in their arms. The silence was broken only by the occasional murmur of comfort from Noah and the soft, persistent beat of the car stereo, playing the unreleased lullaby he had composed for Ikigai.

The hospital loomed ahead, a beacon of hope and comfort amidst the serene stillness of the early morning. Upon their arrival, the expectant couple was ushered into a warm, welcoming room, where the soft hum of machinery and the gentle footsteps of the nurses offered a soothing contrast to the urgency of the situation. Noah held y/n's hand tightly as she was wheeled into the delivery suite, the air thick with anticipation. The medical staff bustled around them, preparing for the miracle that was about to unfold. His voice, usually a powerful instrument on stage, was now a quiet pillar of strength, whispering words of encouragement into her ear as she focused on the task at hand. The doctor's calm demeanor filled the room with an air of competence and care, easing the tension that had been building for hours. With each contraction, y/n's resolve grew stronger, and Noah's eyes never left hers, a silent pact to conquer this challenge as they had done with every hurdle in their life as a united front. And as the first tender cries of their baby girl filled the air, the world outside seemed to pause, acknowledging the profound beauty of new life. With trembling hands, Noah cut the umbilical cord, and Ikigai was placed into her mother's loving embrace, their hearts forever entwined. The moment was pure, unfiltered joy a testament to the enduring bond of love and the incredible journey they had just begun.

The world outside the hospital room was a blur of pastel colors and muffled voices as the couple marveled at the perfection of their newborn daughter. Ikigai's tiny fingers curled around y/n's thumb, her eyes searching for familiarity in the sea of unexplored faces. Noah, unable to resist the magnetic pull, leaned in to press a soft, reverent kiss to her forehead, his heart swelling with an emotion so intense it threatened to consume him. The nurse, noticing the proud father's quivering lip, handed him a camera with a knowing smile. As he snapped the first of what would be countless photos, capturing the fleeting moments of their daughter's arrival, y/n couldn't help but feel a sense of peace wash over her. Despite the exhaustion that clung to her like a second skin, she knew that in this moment, everything was exactly as it should be. Their little family of three had just begun their symphony of life together, and she couldn't wait for the melodies that were yet to unfold.

The days that followed Ikigai's birth were a whirlwind of sleepless nights and endless cuddles, as Noah and y/n navigated the uncharted waters of parenthood with a mix of excitement and trepidation. The rockstar lifestyle took a backseat as Noah traded his microphone for diaper changes and late-night feedings, his eyes never straying far from the tiny being who had so swiftly stolen his heart. The melodies of his band's hits were replaced by the sweet, soothing lullabies that filled their home, each note a declaration of love for their daughter. Y/n watched him with a quiet smile, her heart full as she saw him transform into a devoted father, the same passion that fueled his music now channeled into nurturing their child. Together, they learned the delicate dance of caring for their newborn, finding joy in the smallest of moments the way she cooed in her sleep, the softness of her skin, and the way she looked at them with an unspoken love that transcended words. The world outside continued to spin, but within the walls of their little sanctuary, time stood still, a gentle reminder that amidst the chaos, the true meaning of life had just begun.

The couple's bond grew stronger with each shared smile and giggle from their daughter. The rhythm of their lives shifted to match the tempo of Ikigai's needs, and amidst the chaos, a new harmony emerged. Noah found inspiration in his fatherhood, penning lyrics that reflected the profound love and responsibility that came with it. His music took on a deeper, more introspective tone, resonating with fans who could now see the softer side of the bad boy rockstar. Meanwhile, y/n discovered a newfound strength in herself, balancing her role as a mother with her own aspirations, her dedication to their family a testament to the power of a woman's heart. And in the quiet moments, when Ikigai slept peacefully in her crib, they would sit side by side, holding hands and whispering about their dreams for their daughter the adventures they would share, the lessons they would teach her, and the love that would guide her through the symphony of life. Their world had expanded in ways they never could have imagined, and as they watched her grow, they knew that their love for each other had grown even stronger, a foundation upon which their little girl would build her own life's masterpiece.

As the months rolled into a year, as the sun kissed the horizon with a gentle goodbye, Noah awoke to the sound of Ikigai's soft coos, her eyes fluttering open to meet his gaze. He picked her up, her warmth seeping into his soul as he cradled her close. The melody of her first giggles filled the room, a sweet reminder of the new chapter they had entered. y/n stirred, her eyes opening to the sight of her husband and daughter in a tender embrace. She couldn't help but feel a sense of completeness, a symphony of love playing in their little corner of the world. As they began their day, the rhythm of their lives with Ikigai grew stronger, each moment a verse in the ever evolving ballad of their shared journey. The house was alive with the music of their love, each day a new chorus in the grand symphony of their growing family.

The next evening, as the setting sun painted the sky with a warm embrace, Noah and y/n sat on the porch swing, Ikigai nestled between them. The air was filled with the sweet scent of jasmine, and a gentle breeze played with her hair as they watched the world slowly come alive with the whispers of twilight. Noah softly strummed his guitar, the melody of an unwritten song drifting through the air. It was in this tranquil moment that they felt the first whispers of a new tune, one that spoke of the uncharted territories of their future as a family.

"Hey, baby girl," Noah whispered, his voice as smooth as the melody he had composed for her. "You're going to love this one." He began to play a new tune, the strings of his guitar vibrating with the depth of his feelings.

Y/n leaned her head on his shoulder, her eyes closed in contentment. "It's beautiful," she murmured, feeling the music resonate within her.

"It's for you," Noah said, his eyes never leaving the fretboard. "For all of us, really. It's called 'Our Melody.' It's about the journey we've been on, and the one we're just beginning."

Ikigai stirred slightly in her sleep, a small smile playing on her lips as if she too could feel the love woven into the notes.

"Every beat, every chord," he continued, his voice a soft serenade. "It's all for you, Ikigai. You're the reason we're singing this song."

Y/n kissed his cheek, her eyes brimming with tears. "And we'll keep singing it," she said, her voice a soft crescendo of emotion. "Through every joy and challenge, we'll find our rhythm together."

Noah nodded, his eyes meeting hers with a silent promise. "Forever and ever," he said, his voice a gentle bass to the sweet lullaby of their lives.

The music continued to flow from his guitar, a testament to the love that surrounded them, a promise of a lifetime of harmony in the symphony of their shared existence.

The night grew cooler, wrapping them in a blanket of quiet companionship as the final notes of "Our Melody" faded into the twilight. Ikigai's breathing grew steady, a silent metronome to their whispers of hope and dreams. They watched as the stars above them winked into existence, each one a reminder of the constellation of moments that had led them to this very point. "Do you think she'll inherit your talent?" y/n asked, her voice a soft harmony to the night's serenade.

"I hope so," Noah said, his thumb gently stroking the strings of his guitar. "But more than anything, I want her to find her own tune, to live her life in a way that brings her happiness."

Y/n nodded, her gaze fixed on their sleeping daughter. "Together, we'll make sure she has all the notes she needs to compose her own masterpiece."

With that, they held each other closer, their hearts beating in time with the soft lullaby of the evening, ready to face whatever crescendos and decrescendos life had in store for them. For in the grand symphony of their love, Ikigai was their most precious composition, the melody that brought their hearts together in perfect harmony. Ikigai's eyes grew heavy, lulled by the music that had been her constant companion since conception. With a final yawn, she closed her eyes, her breathing deepening into the peaceful rhythm of sleep. They exchanged a knowing smile, their hearts in sync with the quiet symphony of their love. As the stars began their nightly performance, they rocked gently, the three of them bound by an unspoken promise to face the world's crescendos and silences together, their love the everlasting melody that would guide them through the symphony of life.

The days grew into weeks, and the weeks into months, each moment with Ikigai a new stanza in the love story of Noah and y/n. They watched her discover the world, her eyes lighting up with every new sound and sensation. Her first wobbly steps turned into confident strides, her babbling into words that grew into sentences, each one a note in the melody of their lives. And through it all, the music remained a constant, a thread that connected them as a family, weaving through the fabric of their days like a never ending chorus. Noah's career continued to flourish, but it was the concerts at home that truly brought him joy, his heart swelling with pride as Ikigai danced to the rhythm of his guitar. y/n's career blossomed alongside her role as a mother, her dedication to both a symphony of strength and grace. And as Ikigai grew, she began to show a natural affinity for music, her small hands plucking at the strings of her own miniature guitar, a mirror of her father's passion. The house was alive with the symphony of their love, each room a stage for the most important performance of their lives the raising of their daughter.

[ave-cave]

Lucy in Chapter 118: an Analysis 🫧

Hooo boy

Chapter one-eighteen. Where do I even 𝓫𝓮𝓰𝓲𝓷?

Unlike a lot of folks in this fandom (all more imaginative than I could ever hope to be, lol), I had basically no solid predictions for this chapter (or… any chapter thus far, really, and I've been following the manga religiously since 103, so… yeah, there's a reason I'm a BSD analyst, not theorist, lmao).

Needless to say, this chapter is heartbreak and bombshells galore: Tanizaki and Kenji’s apparent Ame-no-Gozen-ing, the possibility that all of those “Jun'ichirō and Naomi aren't real siblings” theories were just proven dead right, the protagonist and villain finally meeting because it's about goddamn time, so on and so forth.

But because a) the fanbase is already abuzz with talk about those things + no doubt already in the process of doing them analytical justice, and b) I'm annoying, I’ve decided to dissect the ever-loving hell out of the chapter’s three most innocuous pages: this interaction between Kyōka Izumi and Lucy Maud Montgomery.

Inhales

MY GIRLS ARE BAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAACK (⁠≧⁠▽⁠≦⁠)

Does a little jig 🎶

Sorry, just had to get that out of my system

No, but seriously. We haven't seen Kyōka in person since chapter 91. Three whole years; definitely too long for a character of her importance. But Lucy… Lucy’s been out of the picture since chapter 81. That’s four whole years. So in other words, two significant female characters, sidelined for ages, are back. That’s kind of huge, IMO.

Of course, we have a vague idea of what they’ve been up to. Given Anne's Room has more than once been shown serving as the ADA’s safe haven and base of operations, per the rules of AOAR, Lucy must be nearby if not inside herself – and Kyōka we see in silhouette form in Anne's Room in chapter 92. But this is the first time in a hot minute we've seen either of them in the flesh, let alone gotten dialogue out of them. I nearly choked on my cereal when I turned the page and saw their faces, lol.

So then, pray tell, what does this long-awaited appearance in the flesh entail? Well…

Lucy and Kyōka:

Right off the bat, the two girls are seen in Anne’s Room (where they’ve ostensibly been this whole time), standing in front of the white door (i.e., the door opposite the prison, which – unless linked to a surface in the real world – will cause those who leave through it to experience amnesia. Not relevant to the scene, just thought I should give a refresher.) The exit is blocked by rubble; the airport, as well as the surrounding buildings, have all been devastated. How to leave Anne's Room at this point is anyone’s guess.

Kyōka suggests Lucy deactivate her ability, but Lucy points out that, chances are, they'll be flattened by rubble as soon as she does. In response, Kyōka does her signature knife-unsheathing and insists, rather ominously, that they'll just have to take a gamble then. Lucy grabs her wrist and tells her to stop, and upon being asked why, she replies solemnly, “Because… if you died… it would crush him,” this followed by a picture of Atsushi’s smiling face.

YES. YES. YES.

Now THIS is what I love about Lucy and Kyōka’s dynamic.

In essence, they're rivals. Thing is, they're not your generic “two girls fighting over the same guy” rivals. Kyōka’s feelings toward Atsushi aren’t even romantically-coded.

Their shared love for Atsushi doesn’t divide them; it unites them. After all, since the Guild Aftermath arc, the “rivalry” aspect of their relationship has had almost nothing to do with him. There, they were only at each other’s throats because Kyōka didn’t like how Lucy, still angry about the Moby Dick, was treating Atsushi, and Lucy didn’t like how Kyōka was standing in the way of her talking things out properly with him.

But once a much-needed heart-to-heart was had at the docks and Lucy officially turned over a new leaf, there was no longer any reason for her and Kyōka to bicker. Kyōka didn’t have the full context of Lucy’s actions, and was thus within her rights to suspect that she couldn’t be trusted, but Lucy proved that she could be when she led them to the right boat.

Later on, Lucy showed that she wasn’t holding any grudges when she advocated for Kyōka, forcing Atsushi to leave her to her thoughts upon learning the truth of her parents' deaths.

The next chapter, Kyōka calls Lucy’s coffee mediocre, but Lucy herself admitted that she's not much of a barista, and so Kyōka’s criticism is really just her not mincing words. What’s more, Lucy is offended at first, but then concedes without any real hostility.

In the Cannibalism arc, Kyōka is shown bowing politely to Lucy while enlisting her help, even if she is just following Atsushi's lead (and later does the same for Mushitarō).

Fast forward to the Sky Casino arc, Kyōka is miffed by Lucy’s hot-and-cold behavior around Atsushi, but that’s not exactly unique to her...

... and moreover, they agree without resistance to work together to infiltrate the casino. In chapter 81, i.e., the last we saw of Lucy until now, the Agency reunites and Lucy encourages Kyōka to join in on the celebration.

Perhaps most notable is that, in chapter 78, the two are lumped into the same category by Ango; he recognizes them both as people who would choose Atsushi over the good of the world, and this nearly drives him to kill them on the spot for fear of what their loyalty could turn into.

In this chapter, however, it’s underscored that, while Lucy and Kyōka may be the same in their care for Atsushi on the surface, they’re still, at the end of the day, foil characters.

Both are orphans. Both were taken in – and subsequently exploited – by criminal organizations for their abilities. Both found their place in the story by virtue of meeting Atsushi. Both are undyingly loyal to Atsushi because of what he’s done for them. But that’s about where their similarities end.

Kyōka was introduced as a remorseful killer seeking atonement by death. Atsushi managed to save her (twice, for that matter) in the conventional hero way, cementing himself as her savior and playing into the reckless heroism by which he determines his worth.

Lucy, on the other hand, was introduced as a bitter villain who believed she was justified in lashing out. Atsushi tried, but he couldn’t save her in the traditional hero way. Only his vulnerability managed to get through to her, and if anything, Lucy saved him. This utterly subverted the philosophy by which Atsushi had begun to define both himself and his relationships.

Since then, Lucy has been trying at every turn to get Atsushi to see himself as more than just a hero. She reprimands him for his reckless heroism when she sees it. She stops him from inserting himself into other people’s plights uninvited. She confronts him when he fails to understand his relationships beyond the framework of hero and savior. Kyōka, meanwhile, has been doing more or less the opposite; she’s passively allowed Atsushi to keep playing the perpetual hero, and this wouldn’t be the first time she’s taken on his philosophy of self-sacrifice herself.

To these ends, the girls’ thought processes here are perfectly in line for them: Kyōka tries to push forward without care for what could happen to her, whereas Lucy emphasizes self-preservation.

One might perceive Lucy replying the way she does to Kyōka’s question as callous, but I don’t really think so. She isn’t saying “the only reason you shouldn’t risk your life is because it would make Atsushi sad.” She’s applying her philosophy of self-preservation to Atsushi and Kyōka at the same time. She's encouraging Kyōka to be more than just a hero by telling her to think of how it would affect Atsushi as a person if she died.

If Lucy is good at anything, it’s communicating what she wants from people in a way that she knows will get through to them. She did this with Atsushi on the Moby Dick when she bluffed about waiting on his salvation, knowing that he would be more motivated to stay alive himself if he thought there was someone counting on him to save them. Here, she communicates with Kyōka in a way that highlights the reason they get along; the reason they’re both here in the first place. And if the way Kyōka resheathes her knife without a word is any indication, it works.

Lucy knows that she and Atsushi are close, but she knows that Kyōka and Atsushi are closer; losing her would be the last straw. She recognizes their relationship as something beyond hero and savior, something precious. This is far from out-of-character for her; to the contrary, it’s in keeping with who she’s been all along. All that’s different now is that she’s acknowledging it out loud.

Lucy and Atsushi:

When Lucy pictures Atsushi in her mind’s eye, she sees the spirit that would undoubtedly be broken if he were to lose Kyōka. This in and of itself is heartbreaking, but when you consider the greater implications, well…

In the Sky Casino arc, a huge breakthrough was made in Atsushi and Lucy’s relationship: her elusive “impossible” debt to him was finally repaid, though not in the way you'd expect.

At the time, all Lucy felt she could give in return for Atsushi’s turning her life around was conventional heroism – or in other words, many a close call and many a trip to Anne’s Room. This conventional heroism was a worthless currency in her mind – it wasn’t the kind that saved her, after all – but on the other hand, the vulnerability she so valued in its stead she wasn’t capable of giving; where she came from, being vulnerable was a death sentence, after all. Because of this, how she could ever come close to repaying Atsushi’s ultimate favor was a mystery unto itself. All she knew was that she had to do it one way or another, and that’s where her most glaring flaw – her quid-pro-quo mindset – came into play, eventually driving her so far as to override her own philosophy and embody the reckless hero she so discouraged Atsushi from being.

But when Atsushi saved her from Nathaniel – thereby repaying her for her acts of service as he’d promised so many times he would – she realized that, just as her care for Atsushi doesn’t depend on his being a hero, Atsushi's care for her doesn’t depend on her being vulnerable. The illusion was shattered.

From this point forward, Lucy is no longer helping Atsushi out of a sense of indebtedness. She's doing it because she wants to. Because she truly, genuinely cares. Not the artificial kind of care that comes with repaying a debt, but the care that she showcases when she stays by Atsushi’s side after he faints, pressing a cold towel to his face. The kind of care that involves refusing to hurt Atsushi in any way, even to jog potentially vital memories.

Lucy considering what Kyōka’s death would do to Atsushi’s psyche is a perfect continuation of this new leaf she’s turned over, but it also goes to show that her shared arc with Atsushi is far from finished.

Lucy’s character development has always been structured in a rather unique way: each arc she’s appeared in has worked either to establish or address her current most glaring flaw, more often than not in unexpected ways. Her appearance in the first half of the Guild arc established her villainous façade being just that – a façade – by having it crumble as she realized the kind of person she was up against in Atsushi. The second half addressed her unhealthy attachment to the Guild by having Atsushi dissuade her from villainy via empathy. The Guild Aftermath arc added the finishing touch to all of this – the last little push needed to propel Lucy into her new role – by addressing her and Atsushi’s “promise” on the Moby Dick. The Cannibalism arc subtly established her quid-pro-quo mindset, which the Sky Casino arc would then go on to address.

Another great subversion of the tropes usually involved in these dynamics is that, despite Lucy being the closest thing to Atsushi’s “love interest,” only he’s managed to bolster her development, not the other way around. This isn’t for lack of trying, of course; Lucy tries. But Atsushi is a tough nut to crack. The fact that she’s still, nearly fifteen chapters later, trying to steer Atsushi toward personhood instead of heroism – albeit indirectly – is testament to this.

If she could reach him now, she’d no doubt be trying even still. She’d be conveying to him that none of his friends’ deaths so far has been his fault – that he can’t be expected to carry the burden of hero to all when the world is going to hell in a handbasket. But she can’t reach him. She’s trapped, and so is Kyōka. Thus is the cruel irony.

Anne's Room:

Anne of Abyssal Red has played a key role in pretty much everything plot-related up to this point. It’s only appropriate, then, that its owner finally appearing alongside it would give it all the more significance.

Lucy’s last line in this chapter is as follows: “So the enemy… even took this into account.” She’s right; Fyodor had countermeasures against her ability. That said, I don’t think this is attributable solely to Fyodor being, well… Fyodor.

AOAR is in the same ballpark narrative-wise as, say, For The Tainted Sorrow in that it’s overpowered to the point of detriment. It’s Lucy’s playground; the product of an imagination run wild due to crippling loneliness. This in and of itself is scary. A power having rules that malleable is automatically dangerous, because it means that, while its wielder can bend and exploit said rules, so can an enemy. In both major fights Lucy has been a part of, the rules of Anne’s Room being molded to favor her opponent has spelled either victory or loss on her end: Atsushi used the prison room loophole against her, and she indirectly used the transportation loophole against Nathaniel. Hell, her capture by the Guild following her betrayal was thanks to the loophole that, while Anne couldn’t be defeated, she could be restrained.

So basically, for as powerful as AOAR is, underneath that power is a shaky foundation. Power doesn’t always mean stability, and this is underscored by the fact that, at the end of the day, Anne is only infallible in terms of strength; she could only do so much to alleviate Lucy’s loneliness growing up (which is honestly a pretty clever mirror to her conflict of strength vs. vulnerability with Atsushi.)

With Anne’s Room nullified by Fyodor, Lucy has truly nothing at her disposal. She's not physically strong (she’s 165 cm and 44 kg, so… yeah ˙◠˙), and while by no means stupid, she doesn’t repeatedly say in this chapter that she doesn’t know what to do next for no reason. Anne’s Room is all she’s ever had. While at the orphanage, it was her only comfort. While in the Guild, it was her only value. With Atsushi, it was all she had to offer in return for his ultimate favor.

This, I feel, could be the establishing point for the next portion of her arc. She could strive to find a way out of the rubble, working together with Kyōka, and in the process learn to break away from her ability as what defines her role in all of this. One thing's for sure: something has to be done sooner or later, otherwise, they'll starve.

I dunno, maybe that’s wishful thinking given how much is already going on. But either way, I’ll hope against hope that this isn’t some one-off return, because Lucy has proven time and time again that she has a lot to offer to the story, both plot-wise and thematically.

[judyprincess]

Too Pink for me- Logan Howlett +18

02: The Wolf and the Rabbit

Paintings were never really loved for what they were.

People admired the beauty, the reflection of the artist's imagination captured on the canvas.

But could anyone truly love a painting by seeing beyond its surface, embracing only its meaning?

When has anyone ever appreciated a painting while being fully aware of the story it really tells?

A sea of praise, received by those who simply admired the artist's skillful creation.

________________________________________

Leaving the ancient lands of Europe behind and drawing closer to the vast American landscape, we find ourselves in Westchester County, New York. Unlike the beautiful Venice, cradled by the sea, Westchester was a colder place, embraced by forests.

Away from the bustling city, nestled within the woods, stood the X-Mansion, a classical structure amidst the modern cities of the United States. Majestic in its presence, this grand building, now a school, was reminiscent of the old European buildings, known for their classical architecture, fit for kings.

The view was breathtaking for the young Italian, who anxiously moved her legs beneath the soft fabric of her floral dress. She could feel the cold seeing through the structure of the Jet-X, an electrifying sensation that reminded her she was no longer in warm, sunlit Venice. Everything about this journey thrilled her, and through the material of the vehicle, she could already see the mansion in the distance, making her even more nervous. Her lips stretched into an eager smile, while her hands gently traced her thighs in a nervous gesture.

Calm down, calm down, Rosellina. You must make a good impression.

The artist reminded herself. Although she knew she rarely needed words to charm others.

"One step at a time, one hope, then another," she whispered to herself, as if it were a mantra.

Ororo, from the pilot's seat, heard Rosellina's voice although she couldn't make out the words from afar, and simply smiled with amusement. She knew the girl was nervous.

"You haven't slept at all," Ororo remarked, referencing the advice she had given Rosellina a few hours earlier. Rosellina lifted her head and laughed nervously, nodding. She remembered how Ororo had suggested she sleep, as it would be a long journey, but her nerves and the anticipation of this new chapter in her life had kept her wide awake.

"Don't worry, no one there bites," Jean assured with a smile.

Ororo glanced sideways at Jean, though a particular individual was on her mind-someone who should keep his thoughts private and often blurred them out impulsively.

"Well, not all of them," Ororo murmured under her breath, reminding herself that she would need to have a word with that person upon Rosellina's arrival.

More than a person, Ororo had in mind a man whose behavior often bordered on the animalistic.

And there he was, pacing around the mansion, trying to stave off his boredom.

Logan.

Logan Howlett, the infamous Wolverine. A man who was blunt, stoic, with more than a few anger issues, doing what he wanted, when he wanted. He was highly allergic to what others thought of him, indifferent to whether his actions were right or wrong in their eyes. A man with nearly two centuries of life behind him, far from being a model human being, and certainly no friend of polite conversation.

Logan hated many things, and his list was longer than any spoiled child's Christmas wishlist. Not to mention, humanity itself disgusted him. His happiness was rooted in smoking and drinking. He smoked like a poor devil with a serious nicotine problem-more smoke billowed from his mouth than from a chimney in winter. He drank so much that it was common for his natural scent to be a mix of alcohol, sweat, and a hint of something that could only be described as the essence of the woods.

Among the things he despised was being treated like a babysitter. This was a frequent occurrence at the mansion-getting stuck playing nanny while the rest of the team went off on small missions, usually involving tracking down mutants causing chaos or responding to what Charles pinpointed through Cerebro.

Charles had been urging him to become a teacher at the school, but Logan had no patience for dealing with kids. He'd probably throw them out the window before listening to a single complaint, so he refused to take on a role he couldn't picture himself doing. He was a bitter soldier, not someone interested in raising other people's children.

Yet, that didn't spare him from being a substitute teacher or a frequent assistant in simulations, or from playing nanny when everyone else was out and he wasn't included in the mission, thanks to Scott's kind remarks about his impulsive nature.

Frustrated, Logan leaned against the wall near the front door, arms crossed. Being idle while the others taught, and having the displeasure of seeing Scott in the hallway from time to time, didn't help his mood. Logan and Scott's relationship had deteriorated further from the rocky start it had when Logan was marked as the sole culprit for the flirtations between him and Jean, Scott's girlfriend.

It had worn him down-the mixed signals from Jean, as if she both wanted and didn't want him, and how Logan was always the one to lose out in the end. Despite the bitter taste Jean left, it was the same feeling he got from whiskey when he drank it. Bitter and burning, searing his throat, hard to swallow, yet creating an inexplicable addiction within him.

An addiction that was clearly unhealthy. Toxic, both physically and mentally.

And like the taste of whiskey, the Canadian found himself submerged in Jean's essence. He recalled her particular scent, and those eyes that often looked at him with a teasing glint-it was intoxicating. I have longed to see her once more.

Though, of course, he had no idea where the hell she had gone. He only knew from Bobby, who seemed to keep tabs on everything happening at the school, that they had gone to Italy. What were they doing in Italy? They'd been gone for two days now, and he was smoking more than usual due to the anxiety.

"You're going to have a meltdown, Logan," Logan was slightly startled and turned to see Rogue, the one that couldn't touch anyone with her bare hands.

"I don't know what you're talking about, kid," Logan replied indifferently, as if Rogue wasn't the person who knew him best around here.

"Yeah, well, lying isn't your strong suit, you know," she said with a little laugh, leaning against the wall beside him.

"That's because I don't care to lie, so I'm not doing it now," I responded.

Lies upon lies. Yes, he was lying to himself more than to Rogue.

"Well, if you say so, I'm not going to question the babysitter," Rogue teased him lightly.

Logan raised an eyebrow at her before turning back to the door, his lips curling into a slight smile.

Like a dog that had just heard his master's keys jingling from a block away, Logan pushed himself off the wall when his sharp ears detected the sounds of the Jet-X. Rogue looked at him with accusatory eyes, almost mentally shaking her head. She wasn't a big fan of Logan's strange fixation on Jean, and seeing him act like this almost made her want to touch Logan with her bare hands just to knock him out for a while so he'd stop acting like a headless chicken whenever he came to the red-haired woman.

The door swing open after a few minutes. Jean and Ororo made sure both sides were fully open so Rosellina could pass through easily when she arrived with her things.

"Logan," Jean said first, finding the tall man standing in front of her, almost as if he had been waiting for her.

"Hey, Jean," Logan replied quietly, almost gently, dropping his usual gruff and indifferent tone for a moment.

Logan met Jean's flirtatious eyes for a moment, and he wondered, did she do it on purpose, or was it just her natural state? Because it seemed only he ever fell prey to that doe-eyed look of hers.

Ororo cleared her throat, suppressing a sigh at the all-too-familiar scene. Her words were more than just unheard by Logan's rather sharp ears.

"Hello to you too, Logan," Ororo greeted, as always, remaining in the background.

She glanced at Rogue, who was watching Logan with slightly accusatory eyes.

"Ah, Rogue, I'm glad you're here. We've brought a new companion, a very sweet girl," Ororo said, leaving Logan and Jean in the background, as she often did.

When it came to getting along with the teachers, Rogue couldn't say she liked Jean. She could greet her and be polite, but she harbored no affection for her. Logan was like an older brother to her; he was the one who brought her to this place she now called home and the one she could read on when she needed a shoulder to cry on.

To Rogue, it was clear that Jean had a thing for the bad boy of the school, but to her, that's all Logan was-a man with whom she would only spend one fiery night if she could. Jean's flirting felt like a game that had turned into a daily habit, and Rogue didn't like it one bit. To her, it was the behavior of a two-faced flirt.

Rogue shifted her gaze away from the toxic zone, softening her expression as she smiled at Ororo.

"A new companion?" Rogue looked genuinely excited.

There weren't many girls her age at the school besides Kitty, and the thought of someone close to her age gave her a thrill of excitement.

"You went all the way to Italy for a girl?" Logan asked gruffly, searching for the supposed newcomer.

"Yes, it was a direct favor requested by an old friend of the Professor's," Ororo responded to Logan.

Logan raised an inquisitive eyebrow at Ororo's words. As always, he was left out of the loop in the X-Men's group discussions, or at least unaware of their plans until the last minute, only learning half of what was going on.

He let out a tired, mocking laugh.

"Of course, since you never tell me anything, I was totally up to speed on the situation."

Ororo shot him a look that discreetly said, -Please, behave-.

"We didn't have time to inform you, I'm sorry," Jean offered with a gentle smile.

That look. Logan regulated his breathing and looked away, placing his hands on his hips. Maybe he could always argue with Ororo, but it only took Jean's most logical words for him to drop the conversation and accept it.

"And where's the kid?" he asked, glancing at Ororo.

But his keen sense of smell almost answered his question instantly, ignoring any other noise after he asked. His nostrils filled with a sweet scent, as intoxicating as a field of blooming flowers. Could a perfume ever smell as good as the fragrance he detected? It was as heady as a glass of summer wine.

Logan's eyes shifted toward the door, noticing through the strong sunlight streaming into the mansion a small figure approaching. His eyes widened slightly as he saw the woman, the one who seemed to carry with her the most enchanting fragrance any girl would wish to have in her perfume collection.

Pink hair, fair skin lightly dusted with brown freckles. She was dressed in a floral dress, fitting for a girl who might live far away in the countryside in her own fantasy world.

Rosellina struggled a bit as she dropped her luggage to the floor, almost harshly but unintentionally, her delicate hands barely managing to hold onto it as it nearly slipped from her grip. The sound of the suitcase hitting the mansion's expensive wooden floor echoed. The Italian winced and let out a nervous laugh.

"Sorry, I'm not one of those mutants with extraordinary strength..." she admitted with embarrassment.

After another nervous chuckle, she straightened up and tossed her long hair back with the help of her arm, sighing a bit from the effort. That's when her eyes met Logan's. Rosellina's eyes widened slightly, having to tilt her head up to look at a man who was probably about 190cm tall. His figure was imposing, his features exuding ruggedness, and his body seemed as though it had been sculpted by Michelangelo himself under that shirt, surely. Not to mention her mischievous eyes saw more than they should. He was a man whose masculinity was evident in his aura and posture, staring at her with those piercing eyes.

Rosellina felt exposed under his gaze, as naked as the muses in the paintings of Velázquez or Goya. This man was looking her up and down without shame, without any semblance of manners. A gentleman wouldn't look at a woman so intrusively, at least not in Rosellina's mind. But she could see how his gaze finally settled on her eyes, a rough, fiery eye contact that... made her sense more, something beyond the roughness that this man, with an almost animalistic aura, projected as he looked at her as if she were prey.

Logan, on the other hand, didn't even know where to begin looking once the Italian girl stepped through those doors. His gaze eventually anchored itself to her eyes, as firmly as an anchor buried in the sand, keeping the ship from drifting away. Those emerald eyes, so innocent, so full of life-Jean's gaze had never been so naturally flirtatious, so damnably sweet that it stirred his most primal instincts.

What's wrong with me?

Logan asked himself, unable to tear his eyes away from hers, from that face. This little one had him rooted in place, staring at her like some creepy old fool. He felt like an idiot, unable to say a word at first glance, just staring.

Without a doubt, he'd add this girl to the list of things he hated.

Why?

He hated how she made him feel like a boy standing there, like an animal without reason. That dazzling appearance, so eye-catching. Those intrusive eyes that seemed to want to read his entire being, as if begging to be let in. Everything about her seemed designed to be adorable, to be liked by people, or so it seemed. He wondered if her mutation was driving people mad, and he was close to the mark, though not in that sense.

His gaze hardened in the face of her bright presence, wanting to strip away his senses to rid himself of this weakness toward her appearance.

She's just a damn kid, Logan! For God's sake!

He screamed at himself mentally, wishing she'd stop looking at him like that, so curious, so submissive. As if she were expecting something from him. And he wasn't going to give in, no way.

"Logan?" Logan snapped out of his trance at the sound of Ororo's voice.

The dark-skinned woman had snapped her fingers to get his attention. Logan had shut down his entire system and wasn't aware of any conversation that might have been happening.

"What?" he responded gruffly.

Ororo sighed, not understanding what was going on in his head.

"This is Rosellina. She's been living in Venice all this time. Her father works at the Pentagon," she informed him about the new arrival, hoping for some semblance of politeness from Logan.

Rosellina looked at Logan with those curious eyes. He was an interesting figure, to say the least-she had never encountered such a walking embodiment of masculinity on the streets of Europe. But she had the feeling that this person didn't like her.

"My name is Rosellina Wilson, a pleasure to meet you."

Rosellina was about to step toward him but hesitated. Back in Europe, she would have greeted him with two kisses on the cheek. It was her foreign custom wanting to emerge, but she knew that on this side of the pond, it wasn't appropriate. Besides, even if she stood on tiptoe, she couldn't reach him, nor would she have the courage to do so. Something about his piercing gaze made her legs tremble.

Was it being surrounded by so many warm, good people that made her feel so small? Or was it him?

Logan raised an eyebrow at her foreign accent, a clear sign of her upbringing in Italy, despite her seemingly American roots.

"Logan," he responded curtly. Politeness wasn't accompanying his words today, at least not for her.

Rogue observed the tension between them, suppressing a smile, biting her lips to keep from laughing. She had never seen Logan like this; it piqued her curiosity.

She herself was struck by Rosellina's beauty. The young Italian girl evoked envy and jealousy for her naturally enchanting appearance without even trying. But not in a bad way-there was more a sense of admiration. Plus, the way she made the great Logan react amused her.

Ororo's eyes darted back and forth between Rosellina and Logan, not understanding Logan's sour mood toward the sweet girl. The first thing she asked Logan not to do (be rude) was the first thing he did. The man was absolutely incorrigible.

"Don't look at me like that, Storm. I looked after the brats like you asked."

Logan muttered irritably, pulling out a cigar and lighting it in the middle of the conversation.

Jean watched him, suppressing a small giggle at his behavior. Although she found it curious, at the very least, why Logan was more irritable around Rosellina-he had always seemed protective of Rogue and Kitty.

Ororo, on the other hand, wasn't pleased, deciding to let Logan's attitude slide.

"Oh, thank you for your care, Logan. At least the mansion didn't burn down."

She said, rolling her eyes slightly, while waving a hand in front of her face to avoid the smoke that started billowing from Logan's cigar.

Rosellina wrinkled her nose at the unpleasant smell of smoke, letting out a small cough as the fumes invaded her nostrils without permission. She had never encountered someone so rude and indifferent to the comfort of others around them. She waved her hand in front of her, trying to disperse the smoke, and took a step back on her small heels.

"I believe this is a smoke-free space, Signore. It's a school," Rosellina said in a polite tone, offering a small smile.

"That's not right."

She added, to which Logan raised an eyebrow at her, pulling the cigar from his mouth and letting the smoke drift in another direction. He could hear Ororo trying to suppress a smile.

"Don't lecture me, brat," he warned immediately.

"I'm just advising. There are many children here; you're not setting a good example. Aren't you a teacher?"

Rosellina looked at him curiously, placing her hands behind her back. Logan stood still for a moment, taken aback by how she was trying to "educate" him. The situation was amusing to the others who weren't involved in the conversation. Rogue watched with admiration, thinking, "I like her," since no one usually dared say anything to Logan.

"Besides, I'm not a child; I'm nearly 24 years old," she corrected him with a sweet smile.

Logan stared at her as she smiled sweetly, like a little angel who would never harm a fly. Knowing he was the target of the moment's mockery didn't sit well with him. Logan took a deep breath, trying to steady himself, avoiding an outburst.

This little girl had the knack for making him angry without even trying, not to mention the audacity to keep trying to school him.

"Listen, Pinky. I don't care if you're 24 or 30. I'm nearly 200 years old, and to me, you'll always be an utterly impertinent brat," he said, not bothering to hide the disdain in his tone.

Rosellina was stunned by the first revelation-was he really nearly two centuries old?

Before she could respond, Logan blew out more smoke, nervously puffing on his cigar.

"And I can smoke wherever the hell I please. I don't need your little pink health flag telling me what to do and what not to do. You got it?"

He warned her again, his tone menacing, his gaze like a freshly loaded gun aimed right at that pink point. He leaned in dangerously close before lowering his voice.

"If you don't want smoke blown directly in your face next time, I suggest you save your lectures and move your pink ass out of my business."

Rosellina stood stunned by such aggression; she hadn't even intended to anger him. Was he really that irritable?

She watched as he stormed away from her, taking long strides far from the main entrance, leaving clouds of smoke in his wake.

"Logan, Logan!" Ororo called after him, trying to follow with a few steps. "Don't be rude, apologize to Rosellina!"

Logan didn’t bother to turn around; he had no interest in staying in the same space as the one who specialized in short-circuiting his temper.

“Blow me,” Logan spat out harshly before disappearing around the corner of the hallway.

A long silence settled among the four women at the entrance. The Italian looked at the three women, even at the one whose name she still didn't know, who seemed to be stifling a laugh at the situation.

"Did I do something wrong?" Rosellina asked, worried about Logan's irascible behavior.

“No, you didn’t. I actually found it amusing,” Rogue commented, smiling at her.

“Logan’s like that, don’t worry. Don’t take it personally,” Ororo said with an apologetic smile.

“I wasn’t going to…” Rosellina murmured to herself, wondering what the man's problem was. In the background, she could hear Jean saying she’d go prepare the room.

Why doesn’t he like me?

The little rabbit pondered, unable to understand the fierce wolf.

____________________________________

The vision of something you don't understand can always lead you to madness.

Not understanding can lead you to rage.

The most arrogant being on earth is always unnerved by the idea of not comprehending something when they believe they know everything.

[itsclydebitches]

CLYDE. I was thinking about the RWBY vs Ace Ops fight again because it's one my least favourite moments in the entire show and I realised that Qrow/Clover/Robyn weren't part of the conversation prior, nor were they ever acknowledged. Nothing of the effect that "Hey, maybe we should wait for Qrow/Robyn/Clover's opinion on this plan before moving onwards, considering their experience and leadership skills?" before being shut down that time is of the essence and they can't wait for them. It just feels illogical to have the Ace Ops leader, Mantle's primary representative and the leader of the Happy Huntresses and one of James' closest allies be completely absence from one the most impactful turning points of the Volume. It feels they were either purposely left out arbitrarily for the sake of two poorly conceived fights or the writers just forgot...which wouldn't be the first time. This show is very...frustrating to say the least.

YEAH. The other day I was thinking about RWBY and ludonarrative dissonance in video games. Specifically, the number of action/adventure games I've played that have a, "OMG COMPLETE THIS MISSION IMMEDIATELY TIME IS OF THE ESSENCE SOMEONE IS GONNA DIE!!" narrative paired with a "Look at all these fun side quests populating the map, you should totally spend a month of in-game time leisurely exploring them" gameplay. RWBY feels similar to me (minus the interactive elements, obviously). The narrative continually pushes the urgency of the situation, but what the characters do don't align with that. Waiting in the mansion is the classic, go-to example of this, but it's also seen in questions like, "If the group is so concerned with the safety of the Relic why don't they.... put it in the vault?" and "If Qrow needs to speak to Ironwood so badly, why doesn't he just... go to Ironwood in handcuffs rather than starting a fight that, unforeseen airship crash or not, is gonna SUPER delay him getting there." Importantly, these moments go beyond the characters simply making impulsive, fallible, human decisions. It always feels like the writers haven't thought through the situation, or are so focused on one (badly chosen) outcome that they'll ignore all logic to get there.

So, same idea with this fight. I completely understand Ironwood's position because there is a clear line of logic here. Salem is about to attack, the group has consistently lied/undermined him, ergo he is removing a potential threat by locking them up until this battle/escape is complete. No one has to agree with him, but I think the reasoning makes sense both in general and for his specific character. (Which is also one of the reasons why I think some fans are willing to hear consider his side: his writing, however messy in other places, is leagues beyond the group's, particularly in the first half of the Atlas arc.) The girls though? They're all over the place. They don't want secrets but they're going to keep them from Ironwood. But they're also going to spill them all to Robyn, someone they don't know and shouldn't trust. They want to save everyone but have no idea how and can't/won't troubleshoot an answer. They're determined to unite the people but are simultaneously determined to solve their problems with a fight. They start said fight and then Ruby immediately tries to talk her way out of it again. And, as you say, they ignore that unity/experience/help available to them by not looping the others in because, supposedly, there's just no time... but then we have long scenes where they just sit around the mansion, tearfully bemoaning the fact that they don't know what to do and getting angry that no one has magically shown up to help.

I can EASILY picture a better-if-not-perfect scenario where the girls' decisions in that fight actually follow their proclaimed intentions AND the not-actually-very-critical timeline they have (because remember, even after all this Salem just sits there for an extended time.) What if Ruby ordered the team to let themselves get arrested and then we got a cool break out of jail scene? (I mean... Ruby blasts through Ironwood's steel doors that are meant to keep people in + they sneak into Atlas HQ. Clearly this would not have been difficult for them.) What if they ran into Qrow and Robyn while in their cells? Or what if they escaped, realized they needed their uncle, and started a help Mantle/find Qrow dual mission? What if instead of broadcasting a horrifying and near incomprehensible message to the whole world, they spoke to all their allies in Atlas about the plan they'd come up with, calling them together? Maybe coded so Cinder wouldn't understand. Maybe bluntly honest like a gauntlet throw-down: we know you're here, but we're ready for you this time.

Instead Ruby forgets she exists...

There are just SO many things you can do with that fight/the aftermath that don't completely undermine the themes, the tension, the proclaimed desires, and the narrative expectations. If there has to be a battle of ally vs. ally when Salem is on her way and half our villains are roaming the streets (god I can't emphasize that enough), why is everyone with the wrong person? Why isn't Robyn fighting the Ace Ops, her political enemy long before the girls showed up? Why isn't Qrow fighting Ironwood, the guy he (stupidly) blames for Clover's death? Why isn't Clover with his team? Why isn't Ruby facing Salem? Why the hell would you have Qrow team up with Tyrian?

As a side note, I've seen a resurgence of discussion about Ruby's breakdown in Volume 9 and everything above re-emphasizes for me just how much she HAS demanded this power and responsibility. "Hey, maybe we should wait for Qrow/Robyn/Clover's opinion on this plan before moving onwards, considering their experience and leadership skills?" is one of MANY considerations when weighing the question of whether Ruby has truly been burdened with the unwanted expectations of others... because they've never been unwanted and she has never down a thing to lessen that burden. She doesn't wait. She doesn't ask. She doesn't lean on others' experience and leadership. And this goes all the way back to Ruby responding, "Yes, I want to attend Beacon and take on all the responsibilities of that despite not being old enough," but there is also a LOT in the Atlas arc - right before her Volume 9 breakdown, literal hours in-world - where Ruby stood her ground and said, "No, we're doing this my way and my team, whether they've disagreed with this decision, or suggested this course of action in the first place, will ultimately follow me because I am the leader." She told Qrow to stand down and let her continue fighting Cordovin. She made the decision to lie to Ironwood and talked the others out of coming clean. She made the call to attack the Ace Ops instead of submitting to arrest. Using the Relic and dropping Atlas was a group suggestion, but Ruby sanctioned it. Based on literally 8 Volumes of content, if anyone HAD said no to her Ruby would not have listened to them. That is an overt, consistent characterization of hers.

And then Volume 9 expects me to feel bad because she's going, "Everyone expects me to take the lead"??? Like sure, in a very general, "That's indeed stressful no matter who's at the helm" sense, but Ruby has spent years at this point loudly yelling, "I'M THE PERSON YOU SHOULD LOOK TO AND I'LL FIX IT. IF YOU DON'T LIKE MY PLAN I'LL FIGHT YOU :)" Not roping Qrow and the others in is a part of all that. Not overtly on screen - we don't have a scene where Ruby goes, "We don't need to talk to them" - but the story doesn't think their input is important. We get the closeup on her smiling face when she thinks of using the Relic and then the others just inform Winter of what is happening when she happens to call. Major decisions in RWBY have often been collaborative when it comes to suggestions, but the final call is always Ruby. Whether we're talking about "This is my fight too!" when Qrow warns her to stay back, or using the Lamp's question when Ozpin is begging her not to, or shrugging off Yang's concern that she lied to Ironwood, or telling the whole damn world about Salem when numerous people with more experience than her have said, "That's a terrible idea" for generations, Ruby forcibly takes the lead and will not back down no matter who is asking that of her, or how they're asking. In fact, I'd say that is the most OVERT and CONSISTENT way in which she displays agency in this show (which, ugh).

[11queensupreme11]

I was re-reading the chapter where the trip to New York took place and after reading this chapter I started to think about how unlikely it is to find the same trunk food in the same place in another universe

this kind of made me wonder if the owner of trunk food is the same, do all the PJ people have an alternate version in the ROR world?

It is kind of implied that all important people and essences for the development of humanity (people like Tesla and Qin Shi Huan) have an alternative version in any universe, but what about civilians? those unimportant ones that do not leave a significant mark on history, do they have an alternative version?

What if in each universe these civilians made a different choice that ended up determining a different life for them?

What if at ROR univers Sally Jackson exists? What if in this universe she has a better life?

In this universe Poseidon never fell in love with her, she never had a demigod daughter, she never had to make sacrifices like suffering in an abusive relationship to protect her daughter, in this universe she had better opportunities and made better choices

imagine the expression Percy would make when encountering an alternative version of her mother, a version that is happy, that was able to study and is professionally successful, that fulfilled her dreams, has plenty of money to enjoy life and has a family perfect, a family with a loving husband and a prodigious and joyful normal human child and a little girl on the way

was always a suspicion, deep down Percy always knew that in a life without her Sally would have been happier, her mother always denied it saying that she would never have been happy without her, but now faced with living proof it is undeniable that without the presence her life would have been one full of satisfaction and self-fulfillment, her denials were lies since it was perfectly obvious that Sally was very content without having a demigod daughter paralyzing her life, pulling her down the same way a lead ball drags a person in a lake to the bottom

Percy wondered if deep down her mother also knew this but preferred denial so as not to be confronted by a sea of ​​wasted dreams, maybe her mother preferred not to remember all the opportunities she had to give up because otherwise she would probably pass hating her daughter for representing everything she could have been, and hating herself for having such a grotesque feeling about an innocent person when the only one to blame was herself, she was the one who chose her decisions so why did she couldn't find comfort in that? Why did she REGRET IT SO MUCH!?

Looking at the perfect family in front of him Percy wondered that if her mother were here she would also be looking at her alternate version with regret of what could have been and envy of what already is.

I like the idea of ​​Percy finding an alternative version of her mother, it would be an angst fest once she realized how different Sally's life is without her, Percy would be SO DEPRESSED and only the Valkyries, Beelzebub and Loki would understand The reason why it's worse is that they couldn't even console her because it's impossible to see the positive side in this situation, the other gods would probably think that that human family offended her in some way which results in certain death for these humans

I wonder how Sally herself would react to knowing that in another world she has a much happier and more comfortable life at the cost of her own daughter's existence, would she be jealous of her other version, would she be horrified for not being Percy's mother? Would she be able to look Percy in the eye and say that she doesn't regret anything and that she would do everything the same way?

Poseidon (and the other yanderes apart from Beelzebub and Loki) would probably think that she is sad about not having a completed family unit (father, mother and siblings) so he would take matters into his own hands by creating a new family unit, he will be the father, Percy will be the mother and they both had many children/siblings/grandchildren (the unit is SLIGHTLY DIFFERENT from what Percy was imagining but it is the intention that counts)

I hope you like this idea, it practically wrote itself hahah 😘😘😘

i don't wanna say much... BECAUSE YOU ACTUALLY GET TO SEE A LITTLE BIT OF THIS IN CHAPTER 29!!!!!! sorta..... it's not completely similar to your idea, but it's somewhat kinda like it??? you'll see what i mean when you read it 😅😅

all i'm gonna say is that a certain god gets very jelly and does something mean >:3