#he only thought of the battles that made him look cool not the details after I'm afraid

[20001541]

this is a good point because the world isn't going to run by itself, what's his plan on handling that?

I don't think he thought that far ahead, the comics didn't mention that part 😔

[girllblogging777]

𝑇𝐻𝐸 𝑀𝐼𝑆𝑆𝐼𝑁𝐺 𝑃𝐼𝐸𝐶𝐸

↳ mattheo riddle x fem!reader (fluff, little angst)

↳ 𝑤𝑜𝑟𝑑 𝑐𝑜𝑢𝑛𝑡 : 1,5k

𝑠𝑢𝑚𝑚𝑎𝑟𝑦 : you and mattheo reunite after two painful months of being away during summer.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

two months. sixty-five days. a thousand five hundred and sixty hours. that was the amount of time mattheo had spent away from you. two months of being secluded from the rest of the world, and from his own world, his girlfriend. two months of enduring the worst and most painful pain, both mentally and physically, inflicted by his father.

ever since he’d started at hogwarts, six years ago, mattheo had always dreaded the time he had to go back to the place others called “home.” despite the whispers and reputation that followed him at school, hogwarts was his refuge. it was the one place that gave him space away from his biggest enemy. because that’s what voldemort was to him, his enemy, not his father.

although mattheo rarely opened up about his family life. or the lack thereof, it was painfully clear for you what he was going through. you knew he would return to school with bruises on his body and scars on his heart, reminders of whatever horrors he had been through at the riddle mansion. the truth was, you had spent the entire summer in a state of anxiety, unable to sleep and feeling like a piece of your soul was missing and hurting. the fact that you couldn’t contact him gnawed at you and made you full of guilt and worry.

“you don’t understand ! if something happened, i would never know,” you had told his friends, who you kept in touch with during the summer. “are you sure he’s okay? i want him back, i can’t bear the thought of him going back there again.” you declared when they all tried to reassure you.

as you said your final goodbyes to your family on the train platform, your eyes wandered the crowded station, desperately looking for the familiar brown-eyed boy you craved like oxygen. one by one, your friends appeared, excited to be back here for another year at hogwarts. you forced a smile, hugging them and making small talk, while fighting to keep your mind off mattheo’s missing presence..

once on the train, pansy cornered you and began to share every detail of her summer flings. you listened politely, but eventually you excused yourself, heading away from your friends and wandering through the narrow corridor of the train. still no sign of mattheo. your heart sank a little more every time you passed through another compartment where he wasn’t.

finally, you found an empty compartment and entered it, sitting down and resting your head against the cool glass of the window. the rhythm of the train was comforting, and despite your best efforts to stay awake, your fatigue won the battle. “where are you, matt ?” you whispered, the words barely escaping your lips before you fell in a deep sleep.

the gentle movement of the train and the distant sound of voices in other compartments surrounded you as you slept, your body curled up on the wooden seat. the weight of the past few months, of sleepless nights and constant worry finally caught up with you, pulling you into a deep slumber.

you didn’t hear the compartment door open. you didn’t see the familiar figure standing there, hesitating, his breath catching in his throat as he looked at you for the first time in what felt like forever. mattheo’s heart ached at the sight of you, your face peaceful but marked by the signs of exhaustion and worry.

for a moment he just stood there, letting the reality of your presence wash over him. he had replayed this moment in his mind countless times during those two long months, as it was the only thing that kept him going. but nothing could have prepared him for the overwhelming rush of emotions now that he was here, seeing you again.

finally, unable to bear the distance any longer, he stepped forward. slowly, carefully and as if afraid to break the fragile peace of the moment, he knelt down beside you, his hand trembling as he reached out to gently brush a strand of hair away from your face.

the touch was featherlight, but it was enough to wake you up. your eyes fluttered open, the memories of your dreams slowly giving way to reality. and then you saw him. mattheo, his familiar brown eyes filled with something deep and raw, something that made your breath catch in your throat.

“mattheo…” you whispered, as if saying his name would make him disappear, as if he was just another dream. but he was real, he was here with you, cupping your cheek and brushing it softly with his calloused fingertips. “it’s me,” he murmured with a rough voice filled with emotions. “i’m here, love.”

you sat up with a pounding heart, your hands reaching out to touch him, to make sure he was real. your fingers traced the lines of his face, the familiar curve of his jaw, the faint bruises that were fresh on his skin. your eyes unconsciously filled with tears, and you couldn’t hold them back any longer. “i was so scared,” you choked out, your voice breaking. “i didn’t know if… i thought-“

“shh” mattheo whispered, pulling you into his arms, holding you close as your body shook with sobs. “i’m sorry. i’m so sorry.” you clung to him, your fingers digging into the fabric of his robes as if you could somehow keep him with you, keep him away him from leaving you again. your touch was hurting his bruised body but he didn’t budge, because your presence was worth all the hurt in the world. “don’t ever leave me like that again,” you pleaded against his chest. “i can’t lose you, mattheo.”

he held you tighter, his own eyes stinging with tears he refused to let fall. “i won’t ” he promised, his voice thick with emotion. “i won’t ever leave you again.” for a long moment, the two of you just held each other with nothing left but the sound of your breathing, the beating of your hearts in sync. you slowly pulled back just enough to look at him, your hands still cradling his face.

“you’re hurt,” you said softly, your eyes tracing the bruises, the dark circles under his eyes, the pain that was visibly there. “what did he do to you?” mattheo shook his head slightly, closing his eyes for a moment as if trying to block out the memories. “it doesn’t matter,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “i’m here now. that’s all that matters, i’m home.” because that was the truth, no matter how much time he spent back at the riddle manor, the only real home he had was you.

you opened your mouth to say that it did matter, that he couldn’t just brush it off like that and that you needed him to talk to you, but the look in his eyes stopped you. there was a darkness there, a pain that made your heart ache. you knew he wasn’t ready to talk about it, not yet. so you nodded, swallowing the lump in your throat. “okay,” you whispered, leaning in to press a gentle kiss to his forehead. “you’re home, baby.”

mattheo seemed to melt under your touch and closed his eyes, his arms still wrapped tightly around you as if he was afraid that you would disappear. but you didn’t. you stayed right there, grounding him and reminding him that you would never leave. “i missed you so much,” you broke the silence, whispering. “every day, every night… it was like a part of me was missing.”

“i missed you too,” mattheo admitted, his voice barely audible. words of affirmations were rare for him, so you cherished each one of his words. “it was the only thing that kept me going. knowing that i’d come back to you.” you looked into his eyes, seeing the truth in his words, the vulnerable side of him he didn’t let anyone else see. you rested your forehead against his, softly tracing the shape of his lips and trying to memorise every single feature of his face.

“i’m not letting you go back there again,” you whispered, your voice steady despite the tears that were about to fall again. “i want to be with you, always.” your boyfriend nodded and tightened his grip on you. “i won’t leave you again, i promise” he declared, a promise he intended to keep.

with that, he pressed a delicate kiss on your soft lips, both of you afraid to hurt one another. you kissed him back, reassuringly tangling your fingers in his curled hair as his hand found your waist, fitting perfectly like a missing puzzle piece. it was gentler than your usual desperate and hunger filled touches, but it meant everything, a promise that the two of you would only ever stay together and protect one another.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

a/n : woop woop here’s a little back to school motivation for y’all, once again highly inspired by a convo from character ai… i loved this request (please give me more !) likes/comments/reblogs are appreciated <3

tell me if you wanna be tagged when i post !

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[galebrainrot2024]

Last Light Inn Gale

I was thirsty tonight. NSFW18+ Minors DNI

Summary: This picks up in the Shadowed Lands from Gale's POV where he tells Tav how hot they are after battle. Light banter from fellow companions Karlach and Shadowheart. Features Gale *ahem* enjoying himself, thinking of Tav once they reach Last Light, right before he goes to sleep.

There is nothing quite like it, the chemistry when two bodies yearn to become one. The way one’s cells quake with anticipation, excitement, and fear - fight or flight kicking in. The way the body responds to the voice of their lover, or one yet to be. 

“Hello?” Tav was waving a hand in front of Gale’s face and he started, rejoining reality before his face turned crimson. He had been deep in thought, admiring Tav as they dodged, attacked, and ravaged their foes once again. His mouth was dry, his knees weak... he felt like a schoolboy again. It was not yet two days prior Elminster had found them, delivering Gale’s fate. 

Now instead of having lifetimes ahead of him, Gale had mere months at best. To once have so much time, to have it violently ripped from you, is a dreadful fate. Becoming one of the faceless, though, forever trapped in a melded wall of unclaimed spirits… no. Gale could not endure such a fate. He hated being rushed, hating feeling as if he had so little time to do what he wanted but he knew that was simply a fact. Now was not the time for inaction. Suddenly the words came tumbling out, like a bad batch of Hundur sauce. 

“It’s quite thrilling, to fight off such grim creatures as this region throws at us. Especially being at your side,” he paused for a moment, considering his next words, “I once… read a book that explained in some detail the effect a brush with danger has on one’s desire for… other forms of stimulation.” He swallowed though his mouth was dry, “Have you ever read anything on that subject?” 

Tav blinked at Gale rapidly and suddenly he wondered if he should have said anything at all. He had been so confident Tav felt something towards him… the late night conversations around whatever tome he was reading, the way she would collect various herbs and fresh vegetables where she could to give him a wider range of ingredients for their meals. He was so sure of it, so sure that his statement would not be misplaced. 

He was suddenly very aware of the looks of shock on Shadowheart and Karlach’s faces. He bit down on the inside of his lip, a nervous habit and swayed a bit on his feet before relief sunk into him as Tav spoke: “I’m not much of a reader,” she said softly, but with a knowing glint in her eyes that made Gale’s heart flutter, “But I’ve seen some very informative diagrams.” 

Informative diagrams. Gale cleared his throat, shifting to conceal his growing arousal. Thank the gods he was wearing a loose robe.”You have? Oh…” he took a deep breath, a smirk toying at the corner of his mouth, “Then might I suggest we pool our knowledge. No sense in letting valuable, first hand experience go to waste, after all.” He tried to steady himself, his brain not quite grasping yet that Tav had indulged him. That she had accepted him. “Perhaps it’s just the thrill of our near-undead experience talking, but standing at your side through such darkness and disrepair,” Gale’s face softened, his lowered voice cool, “it only makes me want you more.” Before he pained the remainder of their companions anymore he continued, quickly - it was unwise to linger here in the Shadowed Lands when reprieve was so close ahead. “Unfortunately this is neither the time nor the place to indulge in such feelings. So, we must be patient and push all such thoughts aside… for now. Did you need anything else?”

Tav froze, seemingly bewildered. Gale worried if he had said the wrong thing, wondered if he still had her favor until he saw the blush that spread across her cheeks, just kissing her skin. It seemed somehow more radiant in this blueish, dark night. 

Although his imminent death lay ahead, Gale knew when the moment was right, he would tell Tav everything. He couldn’t bear to face the notion that Tav would never know the depths of his thoughts, his ardor, his adoration of her. Every waking moment he spent with her he felt more and more alive, more so than it seemed at times with Mystra. He would share it all with her - it needed to be perfect. And, the only way to perfect anything is to practice. 

“Gale - did you just,” Shadowheart breaks the awkward silence lingering between the four as they began the short journey to Last Light Inn. “I’m sorry, did you just tell Tav you wanted to have sex with her by citing a book?” Shadowheart chuckled mockingly, though not out of malice. Gale took it as him replacing the brother she never had, or could remember so he didn’t let it bother him too much. 

“As a matter of fact, I did,” Gale said and the way Karlach began to crack up made his ears burn even though he knew they did it in jest. Gale took most of their joking in stride compared to some of the other, more volatile companions, and so he was often the source of everyone’s humor. The light banter they threw at him was doing some good, anyway, or at least Gale knew that’s what Tara would think. “Besides, it’s more than I can say for either of you.” 

He paused for dramatic effect, his tone teasing though serious, “I know who each of you is pining for. You all think I’m not listening when I’m sitting and reading my book as you sit and drink around the fire late into the evenings…” Gale turns around to face them and smirks, one of his eyebrows raised, “Just because I have a book in hand doesn’t mean I don’t enjoy indulging in people’s personal lives. So, unless you’d like me to recommend how you should approach each of your yet to be lovers, I suggest we change the subject.” 

Tav interjected jarringly, “Is Mystra always such a demanding goddess?” They were nearly to Last Light Now and Gale was pulled violently to a different train of thought. 

“Erm,” he felt as if he couldn’t remember a thing about Mystra for a moment before continuing, “She expects those who seek to use the Weave to do so honestly, and with respect for its potential to destroy, as well as it’s potential to save.” He paused for a moment, thinking carefully before choosing his words, “I doubt she’s asked many of her followers to blow themselves up. That’s a fate she’s bequeathed exclusively to me. She wouldn’t ask such a thing if it weren’t our only means of survival. However much she’s annoyed at me.” 

Gale heard Karlach begin to ask, “So, Tav, are you going to let the wizard“ and Tav began to speak over her, louder. It made Gale grin, the butterflies in his stomach almost overwhelming him. If he could, he would take her here and now. But there was still so much to do and he needed time to get it right. 

“How are you feeling,” Tav gazes into his eyes in a way that made him stop walking for a moment before collecting his thoughts. “It can’t be easy, facing the possibility of death…” 

Even this made Karlach and Shadowheart stop snickering, and Karlach chimed in. “As someone with loads of experience on the matter, I find it best to focus on the positives. What good will it do robbing grief from the future? The future isn’t here yet.” Gale felt a surge of both regret and relief as she said this, entirely forgetting for a moment that they shared similar plights, similar fates. Karlach and Tav talked about it often, how Karlach wanted to face the end of her existence, but Gale had only just learned of the task he was given.

Gale was terrified. Hearing Karlach’s generous advice gave his spirit a gentle nudge in a more optimistic direction, even if by a hair. “Oh, well, you know me-“ Gale said, catching back up to Tav “ever the optimist. The truth is, I was living on borrowed time already. Consuming those items would only have kept the orb sated for so long. If anything, I feel more at peace than I have in months. At least now I knew my death will have purpose. It won’t be a distant ‘bang’ in the footnotes of history.” 

“Damn, that’s beautiful mate. Truly poetic.” Karlach says, “We will both go out with a bang, you can count on that. But before that happens,” she inhaled in such a way you’d think she was delivering difficult, somber information, before saying, “it looks like.. we need to get laid.” 

Gale immediately looked to Tav for her reaction and they locked eyes. His breath hitched and he felt as if he would suffocate, but there was not time to say anything further. They’d arrived and their welcoming at the inn was lukewarm at best. 

** 

Everyone had settled for the evening, scattered throughout the property. Tav was busy gathering information from Jaheria and speaking with the Tieflings who made it to Last Light. Gale knew Karlach wouldn’t be telling any of the others about what he said because she was too busy flirting with Dammon - upon their arrival, they found him to give Karlach's engine the second upgrade she deserved and now she was on a similar mission. It made Gale chuckle a bit to himself, wishing her the best. But what of Shadowheart?

She won’t share because, well, he thought to himself, she’s Shadowheart, first and foremost. Second, She is a Cleric of Shar. Secrecy and discretion may as well been invented by them.

His thumb grazed his lower lip nervously, unwilling to bank on Shadowheart’s absolute silence. It took a moment before he found her, standing by the water and idly drinking a bottle of wine on her own. “May I?” He said, sitting beside her. 

Shadowheart smirked, “Please,” she took a long gulp from the bottle, turning to Gale and offering it to him. He held up a hand, polity declining. 

“Although I would love to indulge I.. have quite a lot on my mind and would be terrible company. I just wanted a moment of your time, if that’s alright with you.” 

“What if I said no?” Shadowheart looks back out onto the water, grinning. Gale shifts uncomfortably, never quite sure where their relationship stood. The only people she seemed to open up to were Tav and Astarion, to Gale she was a particularly difficult book. “You don’t need to ask, or tell me anything. I can be discreet. Besides,” she giggles and little from the wine and hiccups once, “It would be no fun for me at all if I couldn’t hold this over you. You think I’d hand this power over to everyone else?” She scoffed, “Not a chance. You have nothing to worry about, your secrets safe with me.” 

“Thank you,” Gale said it like a prayer answered, “I appreciate your discretion, truly. And if you’d like any practical advice on how to…” 

“Go.” Shadowheart held up a hand, glaring at him, “Before I change my mind.”  

** 

Gale was in his bedroll, had somehow finessed his way into his own room while his companions were bunked together. He realized it was likely because no one felt like debating with him for hours about the merits of Wizards needing exceptional amounts of alone time to best prepare their bodies and minds for battle without distraction. 

Tonight, though, Gale’s thoughts drifted. For the first time, he allowed them to go to Tav, the old fashioned way - through the sheer power of imagination. He knew he wanted to worship her, to taste the bud between her thighs as his last meal, to caress every curve and supple inch of her skin. 

Before now, before learning of what task lay before him, he only partially indulged the storm of desire that brewed in him, to be with her in every sense of the word. Too much excitement and he worried the orb would destabilize. Now that it had been put to rest, if only momentarily, the need to act on his desires returned in full force. Primal urges hadn’t been an issue in his isolation.. or even early in their journey, for the matter. But Tav was so generous, so compassionate even to those she hardly knew… the way she smelled, the sound of her laugh, even how downright unpleasant she was every morning until she ate something. It drove him wild, the yearning for her deepening by the day. 

He felt that familiar thrum between his thighs, blood pulsing as he twitched to life, he poured some water and unscented oil onto his palm before slipping a hand between his undergarments to grab his erection. 

Gale sighed, thinking of Tav’s lips, what it would be like to kiss them. What she will taste like. He thought of exploring her body and mind within the weave, bestowing pleasure upon her through every sense, in a tantric, almost surreal experience. He moved his hand slowly, deliberately against his erection as he thought then about taking Tav traditionally, in his less than worthy mortal body, but…. oh… to feel the warmth of her skin against his… to kiss and lick down her neck…to her chest to taste those pillowy breasts... to bite her nipples gently before licking and kissing lower… He was moving his hand urgently against himself, his back arching a bit, biting down on his lip, completely lost in the idea of her. He thought about licking across her hip bones and caressing her inner thighs, spreading her legs to taste the sweet nectar that lay between. To become intimate with every fold, every layer, to taste her so fully with his tongue swirling and pulsing into her as his hands gripped her waist.

Gale was shaking now, the urgency at which he stroked himself growing, moaning as he thought of her, wishing his hand was hers. Wishing that she was here with him now. His eyes rolled back as he thought of Tav bent over a bed, he ensuring her comfort and desires being met before thrusting into her, slow and deliberately at first and then with ferocity, imagining how warm she would be, how wet… how eager… how her pussy would grip around his erection, hungry for him, and how he would push deeply to please her. About how they would share both their minds and bodies, how he would tell her how much he adored her, how beautiful and sexy she was as he claimed her entirely, lightly biting her supple flesh while his fingers would explore every inch of her and all at once Gale cries out, “Gods above, oh fuck,” and he erupts, his dick twitching sporadically as the familiar sticky wetness fills his hand and cloth. Gale breathes heavily, dizzy, his face hot, and cleans himself properly before lying back down. 

As Gale drifts into a less than restful sleep, he wonders how glorious the experience will be if it felt so extraordinary just imagining it. 

[uchihaharlot]

I didn't mean to break their hearts, I was just curious, srry!😭😭 (but Itachi's one was kinda funny-)

But anyway, now I'm wondering about how they would react if they found out that you can draw really cool and beautiful.

(I'm an artist, so😎)

Nonny 🥹🥹

That put me in an really good mood; lol. That was way too fun to write; maybe I can one day write a super angsty break up (but I love them too much!!!).

I love all artists 😭😭😭 Painters, writers — digital or paper. Anything that expresses the inner workings of someone’s mind and the fact that they can manifest it to reality is so so so beautiful. I hope I’ve secretly seen your art, I’d probably simp over it. Always simp over art. 😂😂🥹🥹

N/SFW; very cute Uchiha men adoring your artwork! 🥹🥹🥹 (ooc Madara??); Simpy Obito; …Scandalous Shisui; abnormally observant Itachi 😂 suggestive themes rolled out the further I got. For some reason, I just had to. (P.s. I should not be allowed to write when tired??? Half of this was done while my eyes rolled shut in bed).

Madara:

It’s not everyday that Madara is blown like a leaf in the wind. When you mentioned being a patron of the arts, he thought maybe the art of battle?? Didn’t expect your weapon to be a paint brush with some acrylic paint. Thought it was some weird jutsu infused shit.

And then you just had to go above and beyond and do a portrait of him for his birthday!!!!! It’s hung on the living room center wall so that it’s the first thing anyone sees! Honestly, this man is a brute, but your art envokes his softer side! A side that he hasn’t been in touch with for…well, a long time.

Makes sure that everyone and I mean, everyone, is aware of your talent! Still, he tries to find the side hussle in it, soliciting customers for you and all. 😭😭 Will trash talk the chalk art children make on the sidewalk, which ‘…that’s not nice, they’re children..’ you say. He shrugs, nobody is as good as you.

Obito:

Finds out and tries to ‘secretly’ commission you lmao. Makes it totally obvious too, his handwriting is shit and eveeeerrryyyyone knows who Tobi really is…. Plus how can you even begin without discussing what he wants done!! Duh, Obito! Unfortunately for him, you are more interested in drawing matters of the flesh. He’ll only show his chest, nothing more.

‘That’s fine.’ You shrug, and get to work. Obito, however, does not have the resolve to sit still! It’s frustrating to no end, but alas, after what seems an eternity— its done. Sort of. Still much to add, but the basics are there and you’ll work better when he’s not asking how does it look every twenty minutes.

Eventually you do finish this beautiful piece of him, and Obito cries. You made his scars tolerable and beautiful with your mind’s creativity, he feels less self conscious about them, only a little.

Shisui:

Is the least normal about it when he discovered your sketchbook — more like snatched and played keep away. Had to fight him for it, literally. Will ask you to paint/draw him naked…many times lol and you respectfully say no... Not that he likes people to see him naked (ok maybe a little?) but he secretly hopes it might happen one day. It would be a private thing for the two of you, cause he wants that ass.

And when you do cave to his whim, just to satiate him. He’s nervous lmao. Had this oh so macho man idea of rocking a hard on but Shisui simply maintains his usual semi. It’s nice though, you make sure it’s extremely detailed..as he asked for.

But, ‘(y/n)… this is chibbi!!!’ Lol, jokes on Shisui!! He didn’t say how to draw his pp.

Itachi:

Is the most normal about it. Though he still will praise you every time you finish a piece and show him, he is still massively impressed. How does your wrist not get tired? …maybe this is why your hand jobs are so good. 😈 Just watching you try a new technique (pointillism, which is my favorite style) makes his wrist hurt. Enjoys when you ask him for ideas! He has lots of them! Mostly…obscure and derelict landscapes though.

Would not be opposed to having his portrait done, but it’s really not his style. He is disciplined enough to sit still but doesn’t see the value in it. Not until the final product is revealed, does he truly understand how important this piece was. You’ve captured his personality in a new light.

[fuumiku]

Day 2 : Role Swap

Ok I have thoughts for this one bear with me. He’s a mage with a half-foot guild still but his activism is especially targeted towards half-foot mages specifically since they’re rare and so looked down upon (and the two are correlated).

Marcille scouts out places all Tomb Raiser style for lost treasures and knowledge, keeps maps and written info etc in her book. She’s still much of a scholar but more in an archeologist sense, she wants to discover the truth of dungeons and see if it could revolutionize the world. She’s a buildings and engineering nerd instead of magic nerd. She hypes herself up as a passionate cool rogue adventurer like in books✨ Chil thinks it’s a silly and unstable profession. All her um, grace and agility when doing headstands and dancing are coming through with this new role of hers.

Chil does need to borrow mana and so they hold hands a lot. I am so taking advantage of the mana transfer thing. "I’m out of mana, you’re an elf and you never use magic, give some to me! You have so much, don’t be selfish!!" -inparty fight breaks out as he chases after her and she runs away- I imagine that’s just kinda how he and half-foot mages roll? Dunmeshi-typical worldbuilding monologue that explains how "Most people don’t even use their mana, they don’t even learn magic. If you give me your mana I’ll be able to do more magic, win-win, no harm done." I imagine you have to be magic-savvy to be able to transfer mana to someone but it’s fine he can just steal it methinks 🌟 So he gets to be the one who’s very casual about physical touch. He does NOT want to be a healer it stresses him out but ah shit there Falin goes.

More AU details under cut

You’ve heard of onion knight now get ready for onion mage Y’know the saddest part of mage Chilchuck is that he wouldn’t use explosion spells

You know how Marcille uses her staff to grab people by the neck or head sometimes… Chilchuck would have a free choking stick he can use to make people listen to him. He can REACH THEIR NECKS . It doubles as a walking stick for his old man back… /j And a weapon, sort of. I think staff more than lance, but long weapons like that suit him I think. Holding the monster at bay with a 4 feet long stick like "Stay BACK!! Go for my party members shoo shoo!!!!"

From my observations, staffs for magic all have a ‘hole’ at one end, oh size, shape, material and form varying. For example both Marcille and Rin have a similar hoop, but Falin’s is a lantern which imo the metal frame of it and the glass form this hole I’m speaking of. Maybe it’s like, the staff condenses the magic inside the hole and helps channel it and give it form? What I’m saying here is I didn’t decide what it was made out of but I like to think it’s carved wood so it can be homemade but unique to him.

Marcille and Chil both fight in battles, but he stays where it’s safer and does long distance spells only. Marcile uses daggers probably… But yeah her role’s more being a scout rather than a fighter, while Chil’s role is being a magical fighter and his expertise on magical creatures and such.

I think he’d be self-taught, where it’s his own magic system… I think he likes theory more than vibes and working at the whims of creatures, so maybe elven with an half-foot script? He doesn’t seem like the type to get buddy-buddy with spirits much A bit like his cowl it’s like he always has a part of home with him a bit with his half-foot magic… He’d have sucked at the beginning, it’s pretty experimental magic, but he made it work and tbh he’s a Big Deal for it. Learning on the field ofc ofc he’s no honor student

I think the racial prejudices tension would be worse, because he’d be nervous of the whole ‘half-foots who get too curious about dark magic get taken away’, and I think as a half-elf who doesn’t do magic it might be uncomfortable for her to deal with how the half-foot is better at it than her and how her mana would have had better use with him instead of her? Idk brainstorming. I def think she’d habe more of a complex about being a half-elf… Still with existential dread and still Hopes to find a cure to death, but she goes about it through artefacts etc rather than magic. I’m unsure how her career would turn out that wqy exactly because job stability and academia are important to her, but yeah I think she went to school on an agricultural and history level and focused her research on that front? And then she could become that adventurer scholar who explores to pierce secrets of the world and ancient civilizations trope yeah I think that’s the angle.

Maybe his plans for the future after quitting being a dungeon diver would be teacher/mentor instead of shopkeeper 🤔 One one hand oh god have mercy on his blood pressure, on the other he likes contributing to his community and would want to encourage half-foot mages and pass down his knowledge and expertise I think. Empty nest syndrome where…- OHHH mage Meijack……. I was thinking becayse Meijack followed in his footsteps in canon but it could suit Puckpatti and Flertom too… Their dad would have shown them some magic tricks hehe. They can be a magical girl trio in my heart, Powerpuff Girls energy…

A rogue has gotta be able to make intricate af braids and updos with their fingers (ignore how in canon Chil is just barely decent at them nvm). I was thinking maybe one of Marcille’s lockpicks is Ambrosia-shaped… Or maybe it’s an hairpin. Maybe she keeps her lockpicks as pins in her hair but they’re easy to grab… Getting more gimmicky by the second but my heart yearns for it I cannot lie. I ended up doing something close to canon for Marcille’s outfits but at first I imagined she’d wear stuff more akin elven fashion, short dress with pants, light material, though also with a leather armor breastblate. She has long gloves like the ones that look fancy, maybe even up her upper arm rather than just forearm ooh… Also her little pouch, which actually contains stuff this time around (lockpicks). They still have matching pouches yay

In that last doodle Chilchuck weaved her a little familiar with twigs… So it is magical but it’s hers, and it’s a second stand-in for Ambrosia. Maybe a golem… It’s very silly and prob not real in the au but the thought of it is really cute. Someone on the discord said Fantastical Beasts Pickett which yesss lmao, it’s like a pokemon for "(lock)pick it!" I love arts and crafts Chilchuck so much. Sew clothes. Weave twigs. Woodcarve. Necromance a frankenstein. He can make himself a new wife (/J I AM SO /J)

Also for Izutsumi: I think the reverse of a ninja is a bard. Take that as you will. Angry bard who grew up in a troupe……

[rainbowmoonstonestories]

A Bounty As Boundless As The Sea | Chapter 3

Chapters: 3/? Fandom: One Piece (Liveaction 2023) Rating: Explicit Relationships Dracule Mihawk x F!Reader Characters: Dracule Mihawk, Original Characters, Akagami no Shanks, Roronoa Zoro , Perona. Warnings: Mention of blood and physical torture, violence, 18+ content (minors DNI), explicit sexual content, POV switching. Summary: Constantly evading capture due to a bounty on your head, you were forced to embrace the life of a pirate, despite your initial desire for a thrilling adventure and a simple exploration of the world. One fateful day, the Marines dispatched Dracule Mihawk to hunt you down, plunging you into a game of hide and seek with the formidable Warlord of the sea throughout the East Blue. However, to your surprise, the man proved to be less bloodthirsty and hostile than you had anticipated. His piercing, hawk-like eyes, shimmering with a deep golden hue, left an indelible impression on your mind, while his apathetic yet self-assured demeanor ignited a newfound sense of intrigue within you.

Credits: The divider was made by firefly-graphics.

Tagging: @gg-trini, @commanderfreethatdust, @canthebest1, @shakysif, @i-am-vita. If anyone else wants to be tagged in the future chapters, feel free to drop me a comment!

Read on AO3.

Dracule Mihawk, a man shrouded in mystery, had an allure that was almost impossible to ignore, even with scant knowledge about him. As fate would have it, this powerful attraction was reciprocated.

Warning: This chapter includes detailed smut!

When you offered that invitation to Dracule Mihawk, your intentions were unclear even to yourself. His heroic deed of saving you from a nearly unavoidable fatality seemed to instinctively provoke this response, and the prospect of an early departure was far from desirable, given the considerable time it took you to expunge his presence from your thoughts.

But now, as he stepped onto your ship and entered your private quarters—a place where no other man had previously been allowed—your heart refused to stay silent. The confined space of your vessel, where the bar area was placed in close proximity to your bed with only a modest couch acting as a divider, certainly did not help the situation.

Fortunately, you had a separate room dedicated to personal hygiene, discreetly placed on the opposite side and hidden behind a modest door. Thus, you allowed him to make himself comfortable, promptly excusing yourself to retreat into the washroom.

You hastily freshened up to restore your appearance after the strenuous battle, fixing your makeup and swiftly changing into a new attire. You didn't want to come across as overly provocative, but as a woman, you felt compelled to look decent in his commanding presence. You opted for a pair of velvety shorts, fastened with a broad belt that featured a striking golden buckle. You also picked a soft, high-quality leather top, adorned with a tasteful set of front laces that ensured it clung flatteringly to your torso. You chose, however, to completely abandon any form of footwear, allowing your legs and feet to be entirely unencumbered.

While looking good was of utter importance, you also needed to feel comfortable in your own space. Perhaps it was a bit too much considering you had a special guest, but you always valued presenting your authentic self, regardless of the occasion.

Or maybe, unbeknownst to you, Mihawk's calming aura instilled such a sense of ease that any need for formality was discarded. This notion struck you as profoundly ironic, especially considering that his initial task was to pursue and capture you.

Or worse.

As you exited the room, your bare feet meeting the cool wooden planks, your eyes locked with his golden stare. He was seated on the couch, legs crossed elegantly with his hands resting on his knees. His sword, tall enough to be mistaken for a menacing figure, was strategically placed beside the couch. Despite the indoor setting, his hat remained firmly on his head.

He was silent, scrutinizing you with an intense gaze. Attempting to maintain your composure, you sauntered over to the counter and fetched a pair of glasses.

With an air of nonchalance, you remarked, "You strike me as the wine type. Do you like it?”

"Wine is fine," he responded, his voice carrying a subtle undertone of indifference.

You acknowledged his response, turning to uncork one of the most exquisite wines procured in the East Blue. As you proceeded to pour the liquid, his expression immediatly altered, his eyes catching a glimpse of the scars on your back, stretching across your right shoulder from under your sleeveless top.

"What is that?"

He shattered the silence with a question that momentarily eluded your understanding. You swiveled your head around to face him, registering how his focus had drifted to your back. It didn't take long for you to discern what had suddenly ensnared his interest.

You answered with a casual shrug, filling both your glasses. "A souvenir from the Admiral I took down.”

Would he even have the inclination to learn about it? Did you harbor the bravery to revisit a nightmarish past you had strenuously endeavored to expunge from your memory?

Mihawk maintained his silence, which eventually led you to decide to lay it all out. "He took pleasure in using my back as his personal canvas to inflict and inscribe his marks.”

The echo of the man's laugh still rang in your ears, his sadistic, malevolent grin imprinted in your mind.

"Everything started with a mere piece of bread. I was starving and my timing was off. They assumed I was a pirate, never bothering to reason with me or listen to my side of the story.”

You made your way back to the couch, extending his glass for him to accept. His hawk-like eyes were transfixed on your form, not blinking once. Gradually, Mihawk accepted the offered wine, his fingers lightly grazing yours in the process.

You resumed your narration, settling down on the plush cushions next to him. "They always label pirates as the scum of the earth, the vilest breed of men alive. I've encountered my fair share of despicable ones, that's a fact, but the Marines can surpass them all in their depravity.”

Mihawk sipped his drink, his focus drifting away as he seemed to be engrossed in deep thought.

"It's not your identity that defines you. It's your actions, your choices. Deeds can resonate more powerfully than words.”

He swallowed the ruby-red, invigorating liquid, and you couldn't help but be captivated by the movement of his Adam's Apple.

"I apologize if I'm boring you," you confessed, smiling. "But tell me something; is your presence here really just a mere coincidence?”

Finally, as he set his glass down, holding it just above his lap, he hummed in response. "I have no interest in chasing after you.”

"Ouch," you answered playfully. "That's unfortunate. I was under the impression I was starting to grow on you.”

The way his eyes shifted back to you from the side, stern yet somehow comical, elicited a gentle chuckle from you.

"Regardless of what brought you here, it turned out to be beneficial for me, so... thank you.”

You changed your position, leaning your back against the couch and bringing the rim of the cold glass to your lips. As you moved, your thigh brushed against his, sparking a fleeting touch that sent a flutter of butterflies to your stomach.

Your hand softly traced your belly, where a few twinges of pain from the kick you received were still lingering. Mihawk appeared to notice this, his eyes falling on your fingers as they curled around the soft fabric of your top.

"I wonder, who is Dracule Mihawk, truly?" You pondered aloud. "You are not the subservient figure everyone portrays when they talk about you Warlords, are you?”

"I am certainly not,” he said with a grimace.

You appreciated the concise and earnest responses he offered when he was perfectly capable of delivering more elaborate speeches out of the blue. He was one-of-a-kind, enigmatic, and undoubtedly a man of many talents.

Once, you were filled with fear at the mere thought of him. Now, all you felt was a pulsing curiosity and a magnetic attraction.

"No, of course. I can see that.”

If only you could probe deeper, uncover more about this formidable man who had the power to erase your existence with the slightest touch.

"What held you back when you first saw me?" You questioned him. "I wasn't even aware of you then. You could have easily trapped me, vanquished me as you were expected to do.”

"Like I mentioned, I wanted to verify for myself if the reputation that preceded you was warranted.”

"Yes, and you also told me that you can become particularly laidback when you don't have anything interesting to keep yourself occupied with.”

He gave an almost imperceptible shrug, raising the glass back to his lips for another sip.

"Was that all there was to it? Boredom? Did you spare my life simply because there would be nothing to gain from my death?”

Was there something more underlying his benevolence?

"Why are you interested in knowing?”

"Because I don't get it.”

“You don’t have to.”

“Yes, Mihawk. I do.”

He didn't react, merely looking at you while keeping a calm and elegant posture on the couch. He had the aura of a refined Lord from affluent lands, akin to a king who carried his throne with him wherever he went.

"I left my hometown with the aspiration of finding a better life, oblivious to what I could find. All I was met with was prejudice, cruelty, violence, and greed.”

He listened in silence, gently swirling the half-empty glass in his hand.

"I genuinely thought you were no different, that you would kill me. But not only did you spare my life once, you literally saved my neck today.”

You leaned in, tilting your head to lock gazes with him more intensely. “I wasn't your responsibility, you could have left me there.”

His eyes dropped momentarily, only to return to your face with renewed determination.

"I simply chose not to," he responded.

No explanation or reasoning. His statement just stood as an unquestionable fact.

At that, you smiled. "Like I said, actions can define us better than words will ever do. You might be a Warlord of the sea, and the most formidable swordsman in the world. But more than anything, you're a good man.”

"A good man, you say?”

“Yes.”

"Don't be naive. I operate by my own rules, at my own pace. I can remove anyone without needing a particular reason, and I won't hesitate to topple those who dare to oppose me.”

Clearly, his aim was to sound intimidating and threatening. Yet, for some reason, his efforts didn't seem to impact you as he intended.

"Obviously," you retorted, as if his words were the most normal thing to hear. "But here's the thing; I held my knife to your throat, and yet, here I stand.”

His eyebrows arched as he regarded you with a mix of playfulness and mockery. "Did you believe that would frighten me away?”

"Certainly not. My point is that you didn't even make an attempt to disarm me.”

"So?”

You sighed. "So, we're back to the beginning. You could have overpowered me in a multitude of ways, left me to my fate, but for some inexplicable reason, you decided to help me.”

He hardly even blinked.

"You claimed I was intriguing, yet I mean nothing to you. I don't even pose a substantial challenge in battle.”

"That is your perspective.”

"No, it's an undeniable truth.”

"You were battling against a whole crew of men eager to claim your head.”

"And they would have succeeded if it weren't for your intervention. What do you think would happen if, for some reason, I found myself in a fight against you?”

He rolled his eyes. "All I'm hearing is pointless prattle.”

He definitely had a knack for being unnerving as well.

"What enjoyment could you possibly derive from keeping me alive?”

For the first time, you saw him genuinely struggle, as he parted his lips to speak, but halted himself mid-sentence. He pondered over it, searching for the appropriate explanation to provide.

When he finally did, you felt your breath hitch in your throat due to the spark you saw in his golden irises.

"I'm intrigued to see where your resilience might take you.”

You blinked a few times, feeling the glass almost slip from your grasp. "Are you implying that it would be a waste if I were to die?”

"This world could use a bit of a shake-up.”

The Warlord was artfully sidestepping your questions, not providing the answers you seeked but instead offering new perspectives on his intentions. As the strongest swordsman with no real competitor capable of giving him a worthy challenge, he had no other ambition left to chase after. Was he longing for a new type of world, reformed with more deserving and honorable people like yourself?

Your lips stretched into an even wider smile as you quietly brought the remaining drops of your wine to them.

He mirrored your action, draining his glass without breaking the eye contact, before setting it on the coffee table in front of him and rising to his feet.

From your seated position, he appeared incredibly towering and commanding.

"You ought to leave this town," he suggested, reaching for his sword. "Before someone else decides to come after you again.”

The color almost washed out from your face as you realized that he was about to depart. You knew it was irrational, preposterous, and somewhat immature, but you weren't ready for him to leave just yet.

Perhaps it was the wine, coupled with the earlier Daiquiri, clouding your judgment and bringing forth your most illogical thoughts. But for a fleeting moment, you were tempted to grasp his coat, draw him back down, and ask him to stay for a little while longer.

But you didn't.

"Oh... uh, yes. I should indeed.”

You also rose from the couch, moving towards the counter, intent on procuring more wine to drink. Without even a second thought, you poured some into your glass, watching as the crimson liquid flowed out, reminiscent of the blood that once seeped from your now healed wounds.

"It's ironic, you know," you voiced out, unable to suppress your churning thoughts.

"What is?" He asked indifferently.

You weren't supposed to reveal it, you shouldn't have let the alcohol amplify your instincts.

You didn't bother to turn around, as your mind became chaotic the moment you let it all spill out for him to hear. "There was a time when I wanted to just rid myself of you. But now, I almost wish you didn't have to go.”

As much as you tried to find a reasonable explanation, you couldn't decipher what it was about Mihawk that had you so enthralled. You had only shared a few words with the man; he was a solitary figure with an apparent disinterest in anything or anyone around him, unless it involved a good fight. He was sent by the Marines to hunt you down, only to observe you and then let you be. He saved your life of his own volition, stating that he wanted to see where your path would lead.

He was a stranger, someone you might not encounter again anytime soon.

And somehow, irrespective of the influence of alcohol, you found yourself needing him.

Given that Mihawk had noticeably halted in his tracks, you anticipated him either distancing himself with a harsh retort or simply walking away, disregarding your partially inebriated state completely.

However, he didn't even budge, boring holes into your back with his hawk-like, fiery scrutiny.

You spun around, leaning against the counter and bringing the glass to your lips once more. "Stay safe out there, Warlord.”

How foolish did that sound? If there was anyone who didn't need to worry about a single thing, it was Mihawk. You had heard tales of how he could even slice a bullet in half when someone attempted to shoot him unawares.

And yet, a part of you still felt compelled to worry about him, to wish him safe travels, free from any potential hazards.

Silly, that's what you were. So utterly, ridiculously silly.

However, events took such an unforeseen twist that you didn't even know how to process it. Silently, he returned the sword to its original position next to the couch, before taking a few strides in your direction. He halted right in front of you, so close that you could feel the warmth radiating from his body. He simply inspected your puzzled face, quiet and thoughtful, while you could only return the stare with a questioning expression.

The moment he reached for his hat, your heart rate quickened, pounding so heavily that you could hear it in your ears. For the first time, he removed the accessory, liberating his head from its covering, and placed it on the counter right beside you. You observed his forehead, no longer in shadow, and his eyes seemed even brighter and more golden. The dark roots of his hair were impeccably combed and aligned, with his soft locks following the curve of his head and ending at his nape.

Unable to hold back, you let your eyes fall directly onto his lips. They were perfectly sculpted, the upper lip creating a sinuous curve, looking absolutely enticing and positively delectable.

He continued, slowly taking hold of your glass and removing it from your hands, only to gently place it on the other side of the bar counter. You were left speechless, bewildered, and at a loss for words. Your hands lingered in the air, now empty.

You wanted to ask him why he was standing so close and suddenly looking as if he wanted to devour you. You wanted to understand what was going through his mind, but you couldn't even construct a coherent sentence because he didn't give you the chance to. His fingers brushed along the back of your neck, sliding upward, and gathering a handful of your hair in his fist. He wasn't gripping you particularly hard, but his hold was firm enough that your head was gently tilted backward. Your pupils dilated, and his followed suit. He wasn't causing you any pain, not even the slightest bit... but you could sense the roughness in his actions.

“You do enjoy playing with fire, don’t you?”

His voice was low and alluring, his hot breath on your skin exhilarating.

You smirked, swallowing your nervousness. "What can I say? Water is for the weak.”

He hummed in his typical manner, seemingly approving of your comeback.

"I should warn you, I'm not the gentle type.”

You laughed, your breath slightly shaky. "Is that supposed to scare me off?”

Instinctively, your hands found solace around the edges of his coat, drawing him closer against you.

His grip on your hair slackened, but he kept you securely in place. "If it did, I would be disappointed. As long as you understand what to brace yourself for.”

"Why are you still talking?”

The corners of his lips tilted upward, so subtly that it could easily go unnoticed. It was a faint grin that made your knees feel weak.

“Not a worthy challenge, hey?”

In that moment, you understood he was referencing your earlier statement. You might have been utterly insignificant against him on the battlefield, but he was clearly viewing you as a great adversary throughout your intimate banter.

Somehow, that provided a significant boost to your confidence.

You tightened your grip on his coat, breathing against his lips, your own barely brushing his chin, eagerly anticipating his next move. "Still talking. Come on, you can do better than that.”

It didn't take long for him to finally relinquish his own inhibitions. Without any warning, he crashed his lips against yours, initiating what you could only describe as the most intense, sexiest, and passionate kiss a man had ever bestowed upon you. His mouth was so forceful and quick that you could barely keep pace; his tongue immediately found yours and initiated a sensual dance.

You didn't want to be left behind. Pushing aside the slight haze clouding your mind due to the wine, which you could also taste on his lips, you grasped the lapels of his coat and reciprocated the kiss with equal intensity and a mounting desperation. His fingers completely let go of your hair, only to fan out over your nape, enveloping it in his grip. His mustache and beard were tickling your face, but you found it absolutely enchanting.

Only when you felt the need to breathe again did he detach from you with a wet pop sound, immediately descending to your neck to plant open-mouthed kisses on its sensitive nerves.

You felt his touch on the front of your top, as his middle and forefinger started to tug at the laces, undoing the main knot slowly but with evident eagerness. He wasn't joking when he said you shouldn't expect the gentle type, as he preferred to get straight to the point without much preamble. Given his typically apathetic demeanor, you were taken aback to see him so engrossed in the situation, let alone in you. Never for a moment did you think he could view you in such a manner, and whether he was doing it now in response to your provocation, or because of a deeper interest that began well before that day, you weren't sure.

You surmised that he needed to let go from time to time to release his tension. After all, he was still a man.

And you were completely on board for it.

His lips were impatient, almost hungrily latching onto the skin at the juncture between your neck and shoulder. Your eyes rolled back into your head, and a soft moan escaped from your lips, which only spurred him on to touch you with even more force.

It was different, and it was new. But he wasn't causing you any pain, and this rougher side of him was rather enticing.

He lifted your top, the fabric brushing along your stomach, up to your breasts and over your chest. You silently complied, raising your arms and allowing him to remove the garment, which ended up tossed on the floor. His eyes were mesmerizing, and you couldn't look away.

Now, with only a thin bra as your shield, a surge of self-consciousness began to creep in. Despite this, you stood your ground, refusing to let it hinder you. Tentatively, you slid your hands along his arms, daring to rest your fingertips on his collarbones. He waited, motionless, anticipating more.

Your exploration continued, descending to his pectorals and lightly brushing the cold metal of his golden cross. Then, you moved back upwards, sliding your hands under his coat, gently pushing it off his shoulders to remove it. His skin was silky smooth and warm, it made your mouth water from your caresses alone. The coat dropped next to your shirt, and without it, he suddenly seemed incredibly bare despite still wearing his trousers and boots.

It was quite amusing to see. His coat was like a suit of armor, a cape, protecting him from all that was undesirable. And now, he stood there, a figure of strength yet imbued with vulnerability, prepared to surrender himself to you.

Once more, blinded by your desire for him, you fervently locked your lips with his. Your arms encircled his neck, fingers entwining with the strands of his hair. The discomfort of your back against the counter urged you to move away from it, unintentionally pressing your breasts against his chest in the process.

"Bed," you murmured amidst the flurry of kisses, just before you leapt into his lap, wrapping your legs securely around his waist.

It was a bold move, one that he welcomed with a firm grip and squeeze of your thighs. With careful steps to avoid tripping over the table and couch, Mihawk made his way to the mattress, unceremoniously hurling you onto it. You bounced as he climbed up, encasing you between his legs on either side of your body. His penetrating stare from above served as a vivid reminder of who was truly in command, eliciting a smirk of satisfaction from you.

His right hand gravitated towards the cross pendant on his chest, while his left one deftly located the knot of the black lace that held it around his neck. He loosened it, only to take off the golden cap of the cross, revealing a concealed small knife within it.

Admittedly, you were decidedly perplexed and anxious, observing him gaze down at you with the dagger held delicately between his fingers. However, the moment he guided the blade to your chest, positioned precisely above the center of your bra, his intentions became clear.

The instant he slid the knife under the band connecting the cups of your bra, you stopped him by seizing his wrist.

"Don't you dare," you warned menacingly. "It has a clasp, you know.”

The way he arched an eyebrow at you spoke volumes, subtly hinting that he had no intention of wasting his time with it.

With a frustrated groan, you arched your upper body, managing to reach the clasp yourself and unfastening it within mere seconds. "I swear, men can be so lazy at times.”

As you allowed the straps to slide off your shoulders, maintaining the cups in place, Mihawk reassembled the cross and casually placed it on the nightstand next to your bed. He immediately locked his mouth with yours, quickly removing your bra and haphazardly tossing it into the room, his hands simultaneously finding its place on your waist.

You could feel his palms smoothly traversing your sides and making their way up your spine, but the moment his fingertips grazed over some particularly sensitive scars, you jolted upward, and a muffled gasp slipped past your lips.

He paused, his actions coming to a standstill as he studied you. A sudden rush of embarrassment overtook you, prompting you to cast your eyes downward.

"Sorry about that," you apologized, your voice faint and almost inaudible.

You feared that he might decide to leave, irked or repelled by the unsightly network of scars that was ingrained into your skin, resembling an irregular spiderweb. You instinctively guarded your body, precariously perched on the edge of the mattress, awkwardly biting your tongue.

His tone was firm, authoritative, yet unexpectedly gentle when he spoke to you. "Show me.”

Before you had the opportunity to look at him again, he hastily guided you to rotate, nudging you to sit facing away from him. You found yourself frozen, rendered mute, with your arms protectively crossed over your chest as he inspected your back. He observed every nuance, carefully tracing the outlines of your scars with his index and middle finger.

When your voice finally found its way back, you released your pent-up thoughts. "It's not a pleasant sight, I know.”

"I've seen worse,” he stated.

He sounded unperturbed, casual, as if what he was observing was nothing to fuss over.

You smiled. "And done worse?”

"That might be true as well.”

Somehow, as macabre as the conversation was, it managed to lighten the mood, eliciting a brief chuckle from you.

“Are you scared of me?”

But then, his question took you by surprise. "No. Why?”

“You’re shaking like a leaf.”

And you realized that he was right, as your entire body quivered under his soft touch. Despite his inherent deadly nature, it felt incredibly soothing to have him attentively handle the scars you so deeply despised.

It was nothing he hadn't seen before. As a swordsman, he had undoubtedly came across countless injured and fallen bodies in all sorts of gruesome conditions. Your scars meant nothing to him, and yet, he behaved as someone who genuinely felt a need to reassure you about them.

In a way, you got the impression that he was attempting to make you feel proud of the marks you bore.

"I'm not afraid, Mihawk. Not of you.”

Should you have been, really?

"And right now... this feels nice.”

His fingers decelerated their movement, hovering over the lengthy scar that trailed along the back of your shoulders. He tuned into your breathing, shaky and rapid, using it as an indication for his subsequent moves.

He drew you closer, reaching out to guide your arms away from your chest, granting him a better view. The cool cabin air heightened the growing excitement stirring in you, causing your nipples to stiffen instantly. Releasing your wrists, his roughened palms smoothly traveled along your stomach, eventually encircling your breasts, now fully exposed. Holding their soft flesh and lifting them, his thumbs traced tantalizing circles around the tips, making you involuntarily lean onto his elbows for support.

You let your head find comfort on his shoulder, the slight prickling sensation of his beard grazing your cheek. He was relentless, teasing you with his enticing motions, awaiting the moment when you would unravel under his skilled touch. Already, you were a picture of disarray, moaning and squirming within his hold.

Both of you rose to your knees for better positioning, and as he continued to stimulate your body, you could increasingly feel his undeniable hardness pressing against you through his trousers. You grappled to maintain your balance, his thumbs quickening their pace on your nipples, while his hips executed synchronized grinding circles with yours.

To say he was driving you wild would be an understatement. One of his hands left your chest to venture lower, this time, making a beeline for your belt buckle. He quickly managed to undo it, slipping inside your undergarments, and reaching his intended destination.

The moan that escaped you was quite unabashed, but there was little you could do when his fingers discovered your clitoris, skillfully stroking it up and down. Any other man, upon getting to this point, would stop before you could reach your climax, purely to extend your pleasure and ensure that you wouldn't finish before them. Mihawk, however, was not just any man, and judging by the escalating pace of his fingers, it was clear that he had absolutely no intention of severing the physical connection.

He was typically impatient and easily bored, evidently searching for some entertaining diversion to pass the time. Edging you didn't appear to be his goal, and the moment you could sense your impending gratification, trembling and writhing uncontrollably, he applied even more pressure against you. You could feel your clit throbbing, on the brink of release at any moment. Mihawk remained quiet, not making a single sound, his breaths echoing in your ear through his nose.

It was intensely heated, unbearably seductive.

As your legs parted, he took advantage of the moment to gather some of your wetness and employ it to enhance the friction. Your nails dug into the flesh of his arms, yet he remained unfazed and continued. Eventually, he began to move in sync with you, navigating to your entrance and tenderly caressing your clit with the heel of his hand.

The ease with which he curled those digits inside and promptly found your most sensitive area was astounding. He targeted it directly, moving in and out, making a constant beckoning gesture with his fingers. Your eyes rolled back into your head, your voice growing progressively louder, but you found it beyond your control to rein it in.

Your orgasm crashed onto you, exploding from your core like a lightning strike. You jolted and moaned, gasping for breath, as the bed emitted creaks beneath you. He didn't retreat, instead, he slowed his pace but never fully disengaged. Only when he was certain you had no more to offer, did he carefully remove his fingers, affording you the opportunity to regain your lucidity.

It took you a moment to gather yourself, leaning over the mattress and collapsing onto it.

"Well," you declared. "You certainly know what you're doing.”

"Why, did you believe me to be completely inept?"

"Not at all. It's just... you really don't dawdle, do you?”

As you rolled onto your back, you nearly choked on your own saliva. He was hovering over you again, casting a menacing stare from above while he unbuckled his own trousers. Before you could fully process it, the gleaming, flushed tip of his member emerged from the elegant slit in the front of his trousers, a view that subconsciously incited forbidden imagery by putting his navel on display in a normal setting.

He appeared to pause, awaiting something. He glanced at you with a hint of expectation, subtly lifting an eyebrow as if conveying: "What are you waiting for?”

Thus, with your heart fluttering wildly and your stomach churning, you raised your hands to further uncover him, pushing his trousers down along with the undergarments and letting his arousal spring free. It was proud and formidable, as robust as a sword, as fierce as a beast.

Without waiting for him to speak or make any further action, you encircled the base with your palm and guided your hand along its length to the tip. He didn't overtly react, but you noticed him swallow subtly and press his lips more tightly together.

You replicated the maneuver, but with increased pressure and quicker movements. He kept his hands still at his sides, but his fingers twitched intermittently, indicating to you that you were on the right track. You cherished his calmness as much as you relished witnessing his chest heaving at a faster pace than before.

Regrettably, he didn't allow you to complete what you had started. The moment he decided he'd had enough, Mihawk grabbed your wrist and pushed your hand aside. He grasped the hem of your shorts and panties together, swiftly sliding them off your legs in one fluid motion.

He possessed no patience at all, simply taking whatever he wanted, repositioning himself between your legs and aligning with your entrance. As much as you would have loved to see him come undone under your touch, you couldn't truly protest, for you wanted him as intensely as he yearned to be inside you.

His face was stoic, unaltered, almost as if chiseled into a mask. But the way his golden eyes sparkled before you, and his jaw tightened in response to the palpable need overtaking him, managed to stir you even more than the sound of a man moaning in pleasure.

You shifted on the mattress, clutching the covers and spreading your legs further to grant him optimal access. Once again, he hummed in approval, encircling your thighs with his arms and drawing them to his waist.

But he silently stared at you, the tip of his arousal gently nudging your folds without proceeding.

Bewildered, you inquired. "What?"

"Are you truly certain about this?”

Your mouth fell open as you regarded him in disbelief. “I'm right here with my legs spread wide and your damn dick against me. It's a bit late to question me now, don't you think?”

He drew a breath through his nose. “Do you understand what you're about to get into?”

“Uhh… yes? We’re supposed to have sex here. What else could there be?”

Mihawk subtly thrust his hips forward, his warm length nearly entering.

"I won't be gentle," he responded.

“Yeah, you said that already.”

"Even if you plead with me, I won't stop.”

“Do you think I’d ever do that?”

You inferred he simply wanted to ensure you were granting him clear consent to continue. And while you strived to maintain composure, feeling him so close yet so far away, you held respect for his unconventional gentleness. Or whatever it could be called.

“You’re brave,” he stated with a hint of satisfaction. "But don't shed tears later.”

You rolled your eyes. "Mihawk, seriously. Just do it. If you believe I'll break and weep, then don’t.”

To further emphasize your point, you moved your waist allowing his tip to partially slide in. You bit your lower lip to suppress the emerging moan in your throat, and comfortably adjusted by raising your arm and positioning it just behind the pillow under your head.

You were presenting yourself to him, unconditionally, prepared to accept everything he had to offer.

Unable to resist his impulses any longer, Mihawk finally made his move. With a firm, confident thrust, he fully sheathed himself in you. A hiss escaped your lips as you inhaled sharply, your body pushed upwards, head thrown back in response.

You felt unbelieavably full, and without giving you a moment's respite, he quickened the pace. He moved with a rough, and powerful rhythm, his fingertips digging into your skin so deeply that you could feel his nails on it.

At first, your body stretched to accommodate him, a sensation that was slightly painful and not as pleasurable as you wanted it to be. But as soon as you adjusted to it, your muscles relaxed, leading to a wave of delightful ecstasy that ignited your core and sent electrifying sensations through your nerves.

And it felt unlike anything you had ever experienced.

Your moans were soft and melodic, contrasting with his quiet grunts that echoed in his chest. Mihawk quickened his movements even further, generating a set of scandalous sounds that deepened your blush. He was moving with such intensity that you feared your bed might split in half, given the way it vibrated against the wooden wall.

Then he stopped, albeit briefly, to guide you into a different position. "Turn around.”

There was an undeniable ecstasy in the way he treated you. His actions were primal, far removed from romantic, yet paradoxically, despite the evident force in his behavior, he still seemed to treat you with a degree of tenderness and delicacy.

You complied, bending over the mattress, and without wasting any time, he entered you again from behind.

Isaiah had been a wonderful lover, the best you'd ever had, until Mihawk came into the picture. Though you typically refrained from making comparisons, acknowledging that every man is unique in his own way, you couldn't ignore the irrefutable truth: the Warlord was in a league of his own, making you feel guilty for even entertaining such a thought.

The act was carnal and sensual, stirring within you a desire for more when you believed there was nothing else to ask for. He felt absolutely wonderful both in and out, and his touch, tracing over your scars with a strangely protective tenderness that you didn’t expect, ignited a flame in your chest that cascaded downwards. Your clit throbbed, your inner walls convulsed and gripped him with an impossible tightness. You could sense your climax approaching for the second time, spurred on by his relentless thrusts.

Neither of you spoke, but it was fine. You were engrossed in the moment, disregarding the ache in your limbs from the previous exertion. Letting go of the built-up tension post-battle was exactly what you craved, and Mihawk had his fair share of unsettled nerves too. For all you knew, he could have countless women scattered across the four Blues, but the desperate and hungry way his body melded into yours indicated that he wasn't one to frequently seek out or appreciate the company of others.

People often depicted him as a lone wolf, a man enamored with his sword. And yet, here he was, providing you with the most remarkable sexual experience of your entire life.

You found yourself entirely consumed, yielding to his dominant aura, continuously pushed against the mattress, moaning in delight. He had warned you that he wouldn't stop, not even if you pleaded with him, but the only entreaties that escaped your lips were for him to quicken his pace and to continue for as long as he could go.

When he brought his mouth close to your ear, prompting your knees to spread wider with his own, there was only so much you could do to prevent your core from exploding.

Mh. You're managing this better than I expected you would, I'll give you that.”

A chuckle bubbled up from you. "I thought you held me in higher regard.”

“I certainly do now.”

His left arm slithered around your shoulders, securing itself around your neck to encase you and hold you in place. His other hand glided along your side, sneaking to the front and locating your clitoris, so sensitive that you nearly climaxed the moment he pinched it.

You were panting quite heavily now, teetering on the brink of orgasm as you rested your cheek against his arm. You didn't even realize that you were pressing kisses to it, grazing your warm lips along his skin, which was hot and salty.

"Are you there?”

You nodded your head. "Almost.”

"Would you look at that. Your endurance is impressive.”

You laughed, a surge of pride filling your heart. “You're talking too much again, Warlord.”

“Mhh.”

You absolutely adored the vibrations that resonated through his chest whenever he hummed. You felt him pulsing and twitching inside you, signaling that he was as close to the brink as you were. As the resounding slaps of skin meeting skin filled the air around you, his fingers expertly manipulated your sensitive bud. His fingers stroked it, moving in rapic circles, combined with the consistent stimulation of your tender spot inside.

It was too much, and you buried your face in his arm the moment you finally crossed the point of no return.

Your second orgasm was even more intense than the first, a feat you never truly believed was possible. You twitched and trembled from head to toe, tightening around him with each wave of pleasure that took some time to recede.

Eventually, he joined you, quietly succumbing to his own pleasure, grunting softly and brushing his lips against the scar on your shoulder. You were aware that Mihawk did not harbor any specific feelings for you, but despite that, you found his gesture deeply endearing.

And with that, your heart constricted.

As the enchantment of the moment faded, he extricated himself from you and left the bed, fastening his belt and heading back to where his coat lay. As he slipped into it and reached for his hat still resting on the counter, you watched him. Disappointment washed over you for reasons you couldn't quite articulate.

Gathering your strength, you pushed yourself up from the mattress, hastily collecting your underwear and putting it back on, disregarding the shorts strewn on the floor. It took a moment for you to locate the bra he had tossed, which had ended up in a distant corner.

His golden cross knife was still on your bedside table. It felt significantly lighter than you had anticipated as you held it in your hand, lingering on its weight a moment too long. Mihawk was right behind you, his towering presence looming over your smaller frame, waiting for you to return it.

You turned immediatly, smiling, taking hold of the cord on either side and looping it around his neck. You tried to recall the exact length he preferred, gently positioning it on his chest and tying a knot to keep it in place. The ends of his short hair tickled your hands as you secured it, and he allowed you to do so without a single protest or complaint.

Somehow, that act felt even more intimate than what you had just done. His gaze was once again fixed on you, frozen, expressionless, difficult to interpret. The temptation to kiss him again was strong, but with the sexual tension now gone, you feared he might not reciprocate.

And so, you took a step back. "Thank you for the company," you said evenly, feigning indifference to the entire situation.

Whether he believed you or not, you couldn't ascertain. As he casually strolled towards the couch to get his sword, a surge of disappointment engulfed you, leaving you more downcast than you were prepared to acknowledge.

You knew it didn't mean anything. But for the very first time, a part of you had dared to hope there could be something more. You dragged your feet to the bar counter, picking up his empty glass from the table along the way. You quietly cleaned things up, letting the cold water from the sink cascade over your hands.

And just when you thought he had already left, he spoke words that instantly set off a flutter of butterflies in your stomach, soaring straight to your heart.

“Be careful out there.”

You glanced at him once again. His face was as impassive as ever, but the fact that he had taken a moment to express his concern was more than sufficient for you.

You grinned in delight. "Always.”

With a barely noticeable nod, he slung his sword onto his back and stepped away, opening the cabin door and disappearing up the steps. You stayed there, still, listening to the rhythmic sound of his boots meeting the wooden floor as Mihawk steadily departed, until silence engulfed your vessel.

You didn't know when or if you would see him again. The only thing you could do was hope that, sooner rather than later, you would encounter those mesmerizing golden eyes once more.

And as fate would have it, you did.

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 (currently reading) Go to Chapter 4 ->

[autumnslance]

offering the other your coat

(Bet you all thought I was done with or had forgotten about these intimacy prompts...)

He had quickly built a fire and given everyone time to dry off, except for Alisaie who kept diving back in to search until her brother made her stop, and Aeryn herself when she finally emerged, looking oddly dazed but unharmed after a quick check by both Alphinaud and Urianger. Now the chill mountain air of Il Mheg cooled further, hinting at nighttime past the endlessly oppressive Light above. Only a hint of a cold breeze could make it past the stagnancy. Were they in Coerthas, it would be a cutting wind, mayhap even a gale.

Thancred missed weather. Even the bad types.

“Here,” he said, shrugging off his coat and dropping it over Aeryn’s still-damp shoulders. There hadn’t been time to let her finish drying before they had to move on, especially if the Fuath were not done with their games. “Your Thavnairian blood can’t handle this cold,” he tried to tease.

It used to be so easy to joke between them. Five years was a long time.

She looked at him even as she pulled the coat closer. “What about you?”

“I’m fine,” he lied. He was mostly dried, and his chest armor and the shirt under it did help. He was a little chilled, but it was nothing like the shivering she was trying to hide. Even in Coerthas, she had not reacted so strongly. 

—

“Here,” he said, shrugging off his coat as they made their way back through the tunnels to the surface. He winced at how dirty and tattered it still was, even with a few hasty spells from their comrades. Maybe when they returned to Twine more could be done.

Aeryn didn’t protest when he dropped it over her slim shoulders, shivering again. Her face seemed ashen and her eyes glassy, since battling the Lightwarden. “Thanks, but what about you?”

“I’m fine,” he lied. “Could do with a little less weight at the moment, really,” he continued, giving a grin somewhere between jaunty and pained. Insisting on continuing to protect the others so soon after his battle with Ran’jit had not been the wisest course, and both Ryne and Y’shtola’s looks indicated he was going to hear quite a lot about that in sharp detail, but it had also been necessary.

As was this, as Aeryn didn’t stop shivering, but did relax slightly, holding his coat close, and granting him a soft smile. She would be all right.

—

He wrapped her slim form in his coat and lifted her into his arms. Aeryn trembled as the Light wracked her. Under the sweat and blood of battle, she seemed strangely pale. Strands of white marred the midnight of her hair.

“Thancred—” Ryne began as they trudged out of Vauthry’s palace to the mountain path.

“I’m fine,” he lied. They were all battered, bruised, and weary after fighting their way through the hordes of sin eaters and against the Lightwarden himself. They were all still better off than whatever Aeryn was going through.

Urianger wouldn’t look at any of them, and that would have to be a discussion once they were safe and their wounds tended. But for now, Thancred kept his coat close around Aeryn and willed her to hold on as they descended.

—

The seabed was damp and cold, the darkness murky and difficult to see more than a few yalms distance. They had left the Ondo and made it through the initial set of twisting caverns, and now had to cross an open space—some deep ravine, filled with corals and limp fronds of strange plants and so much more swampy, sandy ground—to another cave that would lead to the depths and the lights their fishy friends had spoken of.

Could they swim, things might be much easier, but not all of them shared the Kojin blessing, and Bismark’s breath now held malms and tonzes of water at bay.

There was no starting a fire, so the Scions huddled close as they rested briefly before continuing. “Here,” Thancred said, draping his coat around Aeryn before they collapsed onto the damp ground.

“What about you?” she murmured, speech slightly slurred.

“I’m fine,” he lied. “With you on one side, Ryne on the other, and the twins at my back.” He put his arm around Ryne as she snuggled in, watching Aeryn.

Aeryn made an indistinct noise he wasn’t certain was agreement or protest, but she kept the coat. He put his other arm around her, trying to will her shivering from the Light’s ravages away, while ignoring the quiet, tearful shaking from the twins pressed against his back and between his fellow archons.

—

Morning dawned cool and clear over the Crystarium. Thancred slid out of the bed and padded to the washroom, yawning. The scent of coffee brewing wafted across the apartment, and he debated how soon and how circumspect he should leave.

His clothes and gear were all easily found, aside from his coat. That was on the balcony—Aeryn had donned that instead of a house robe, sipping her own overly sweet and pale with cream coffee as she watched the sunrise.

Thancred picked up the mug of plain black brew waiting for him and joined her, wrapping an arm around her shoulders.

“Need this back?” she asked, teasing with the slightest touch of anxiety, expecting him to slip out immediately, as he might have before the First.

“I’m fine,” he replied, and she smiled and leaned against him as he meant it.

[shuttershocky]

I like how Waai Fu's story arc went, and thought it was especially cool how they contrasted her journey with both Du Yaoye's, and her own father Huai Tianpei's.

In Invitation to Wine, Du was a spoiled rich girl trying to escape the shadow of her father, wanting to become a warrior while he set up a successful inn and restaurant business for her to inherit, since she believed her father turned his back on the martial arts out of believing his daughter shouldn't be a fighter. What Du didn't know was what made Zheng leave the bodyguard business was him failing to protect one of his new recruits during a terrible mission, and realizing he had to go to the recruit's father and tell him his son died in battle protecting a stupid goblet that they didn't even manage to secure. Zheng didn't want that kind of violent, heartbreaking life for his daughter, and so he pivoted to the restaurant business instead. This is why Du left Shangshu for Yumen, as she still refuses to leave the path of a martial artist and set out for a new city to make her fortune doing her dad's old job.

But while she complains about all of this to Waai Fu, Fu can't help but muse that even if Du's father was overbearing, he did what he did out of love for her. Her own father ditched her to go on a kung fu journey and never looked back, focusing only on becoming the best kung fu master in Yan and leaving Waai Fu to grow up without him. For Fu, having a dad like Zheng would have been much more preferable. Even if the path Zheng wants for Du is not what she wants for herself, at least he thinks about her, and lets her go her own way. Even if she's annoyed with her father, she still loves him, seen when she mistakenly assumes Waai Fu is still rooting for Huai Tianpei in his duel vs Chongyue, because obviously you'd still be cheering for your dad right?

There's quite a few details about Waai Fu's issues with Huai Tianpei. For example, whenever she watched TV at home, Hung or Mr. Lee would quietly change the channel any time a soap opera involved a child meeting their missing father. Lee is also concerned about Waai Fu losing her way and becoming too obsessed with a deadbeat that abandoned her and never even visited in ten whole years.

I liked that even after Tianpei saved her life by fighting a literal nature god for her, Fu thanks him for the rescue as is proper, but still immediately challenges him to a duel anyways. It's not going to be that clean, convenient story where Tianpei does one good thing and that somehow makes up for a decade of neglect.

Fu loses the duel. It's to be expected, as Tianpei has been training in kung fu for 40 years and has never lost to anyone, but despite that, Fu's satisfied. She managed to finally kick him right in the jaw as payback, and for her to be able to land blows on a master who's been training for longer than she's even been alive makes her confident the gap between them isn't impossible.

Eventually, she may surpass him, and even then, she doesn't have to. In the ten years since he left, she graduated magna cum laude in mechanical engineering, got a job at Rhodes Island, became a detective with her fellow strays in Lee's Detective Agency, she has a whole other life outside of the only thing her father cares about, and even then she's still on track to defeating him. She doesn't need him, and she doesn't need his respect, what with having her own life and family now. She just really, really wanted the opportunity to break his jaw, and she got it.

As a bonus, she also got to see Tianpei challenge Chongyue, First Under Heaven, immortal god, and the guy that literally created half of kung fu, and watch her dad get his ass kicked. Tianpei finally manages to find an opponent that even he can't defeat, and Chongyue is delighted to see that there's a mortal warrior so dedicated that someone finally managed to get the upper hand on him (momentarily) after centuries. It will take 360 more years of training for Tianpei to be able to surpass Chongyue, three centuries that he doesn't have (tigers don't live that long). It will take MUCH less time for Waai Fu however, to eventually catch up to him, though she may not even have to anymore.

In the end, Waai Fu is satisfied. And even when Tianpei leaves once again without saying a word, it doesn't bother her. She helped save the city, got to fight a god, got to punch and kick her deadbeat father, got to see another god demolish her deadbeat father, and now she can go home a hero with her real dad, the shady fish conman detective.

[flowerandblood]

The sweetest fruit (9)

[ Aemond • Targaryen x Valyrian! • female ]

[ warnings: sex content, smut, angst, domination, dirty talk ]

[description: (Anon Request) Aemond is to meet his future wife from Essos, in whose veins runs the blood of Old Valyria. They’ve been engaged since they were kids, but he’s in no hurry to get married and he’s not happy about her arrival. His future wife, however, turns out to be someone completely different than he expected. Smut, angst and a lot of sexual tension.]

* English is not my first language. Please, do not repost. Enjoy! *

Previous and next chapters: Masterlist

_____

He was awakened by the intense rays of the sun, falling on them from behind a large, balcony passage. He opened his eye and saw that his wife was lying a short distance away from him, his hand on her back. Both of them were drenched in sweat, only the morning breeze brought them a little coolness.

He grabbed her waist and pulled her close to him, burying his face in her hair, wanting to continue his nap. He heard her grunt of displeasure.

"I'm hot." She mumbled, wanting to break free from his grip, feeling the warmth of his body. He pressed his hand against her skin even tighter. He pulled off the delicate bedspread that they were covered with, pressing her even tighter against him.

"Sleep." He grunted, cuddling into her from behind.

She wrapped her arms around his, pressing her face into his hand. They both fell asleep in that position for some time. They knew they didn't have to rush anywhere.

Here Aemond had no duties or trainings. He could do whatever he wanted. This freedom was completely new to him, and he intended to take advantage of it.

His wife made him happy with the information she gave him as they ate breakfast together in their chamber. She was teaching him how to eat a kiwi with a spoon. She was pleased when he said that he thought it was one of the tastiest fruits he had ever eaten in his life. She decided it was the perfect time to tell him the itinerary of their trip.

She said that she wanted to show him around Volantis, following in the footsteps of their common ancestors. She even found some books for him, describing the places she wanted to take him to, and the events that took place there. Aemond didn't say it out loud, but he was excited.

He'd heard of these places from maester history lessons, but never thought he'd actually see them. Lady Vhassar smiled as she saw the twinkle in his eye. She had clothes made of finer, thinner fabrics prepared for him. The ones he had brought with him from Westeros were useless in this climate.

They set out on the journey together with two guards, who were supposed to keep them safe. Lady Vhassar led him from several old buildings and temples, that had once been the residences of the first Targaryens and their houses of worship. She also showed him the lairs of the first dragons and the battlefields of the great battles, that he had read about in books.

Being there, he could finally imagine what it all looked like. He hadn't expected it, but her knowledge of the history of their common lineage was astonishingly wide. When he asked her about a specific event or person, she easily answered or corrected him, telling him everything in detail.

It turned out that she now knew alternate versions of various stories, passed from mouth to mouth to the next generations of her family. Thanks to her, he learned about new nuances that he had no idea about.

Their trip was divided into several days, so they did not see everything at once, wanting to dose the impressions. However, after the first hours, Lady Vhassar could see how pleased he was and how curiously he listened and watched everything that she showed him.

When the sun was high in the sky and the temperature became unbearable, they decided to return to the buildings of the city and take shelter in their shade. His wife wanted him to see what the city of Essos looked like.

What caught Aemond's attention were the colors and smells. Access to dyes and spices, made people living there colorful and ate interesting, exquisite dishes. All fabrics and dyes came to Westeros from Essos. He watched with curiosity the great markets, full of screaming people. Here, no one knew him and no one looked after him, so they walked confidently ahead, being able to see everything that pleased them.

A young man suddenly spotted them in the crowd and held out his hands to them. Aemond had already noticed that touching was more frequent and familiar here than in his realm. That's why he didn't react, despite his inner rage when the men embraced his wife, obviously knowing her.

"My Lady! It's wonderful to see you. Is this your husband of whom I have heard so much?” He asked cheerfully, despite his stubble, it was obvious that he was older than them by a few years at the most. He bowed to him respectfully, and Aemond nodded, saying nothing. His wife answered for him, her expression confused.

"Yes, but let's not talk about it out loud. I don't want to draw attention to us for safety reasons." She said quickly.

The last thing she wanted was for someone from the crowd to find out that there was a prince among them. Not to mention the fact that she didn't want her former lover talking to her husband.

"Dearest husband, this is Nomoss, my father's business partner. Nomoss, this is my husband. He came with me all the way from Westeros." She said, smiling broadly. Nomoss bowed again, smiling warmly.

She had met him a few years earlier when he started working with her family. Her father lent him a large loan, which Nomoss repaid with his large vineyard that he now ran. It was from his winery that their wines from Essos had been brought for her wedding.

It turned out that in addition to his weakness for wine, he had a weakness for women as well. He was sweet, handsome, and intelligent, so she didn't need much persuasion.

She spent several pleasant nights with him. He told her that if she wasn't already engaged he would have asked her to marry him. However, she recognized that she had a duty to her father and family, that she must fulfill.

She liked and respected him, but she did not fall in love with him. She knew it now that her husband was standing by her side. She thought that Aemond fascinated her so much, because he was completely different from the men of Essos.

At Volantis, men were open, direct, and confident in what they wanted. They did not pretend when it was only about bed fun, did not promise marriage and a happy old age.

She appreciated that about them, but she couldn't take what they said seriously either. When one of them said that he fell in love with her, that she could become his wife, she laughed, not believing him.

Only now did she understand why her mother had rejected her father's betrothal three times before agreeing to marry him.

She didn't believe in his sincere intentions, didn't think he was mature enough to be a father and a husband, to give up entertainment and other women for her sake. Only when he proved to her years later that he was serious about her and changed for her, did she start a family with him.

However, when Aemond told his mother in front of her that he was in love with her, she knew immediately that he was telling the truth. Her husband never uttered any superfluous words, and he certainly did not lie.

He could be painfully honest, and he hated to pretend. His rough honesty and directness, the fact that he kept his promise and did not visit his mistress, made her involuntarily trust him and open up to him.

That's why she told him the night before that she wanted to be the mother of his children. She felt so safe with him that she wanted to have a family with him.

Nomoss nodded understandingly, scratching his beard. Aemond glared at him with murderous eye. Lady Vhassar knew that he felt she and Nomoss knew each other before, and not in the way he would have liked.

"In that case, will you allow me to invite you to my mansion for dinner? It would be a great honor for me.” Said Nomoss, bowing low. Lady Vhassar saw her husband's lips tighten. He looked away, impatient.

She wondered why Nomoss was doing this. It may have been simple cordiality, but she felt it was something more. Trying to show her husband his strength and confidence, putting him in a situation he couldn't escape and had to be kind to the man who fucked his wife. She decided that enough.

“No.” She said to Nomoss, surprising them both. The man opened his mouth to respond, but she continued. “My husband and I will eat with my parents. We will not burden you with our presence." She said, slightly turning around, smiling.

"Let's go, husband." She said softly, as she walked forward. Aemond walked past Nomoss who bowed to him without saying a word.

Lady Vhassar continued the discussion that Nomoss had interrupted before they encountered him, but her husband only grunted back at her, withdrawing into himself.

She knew that what had just happened had unnerved him. She grabbed his hand and intertwined their fingers, looking at him pleadingly. He gave her a surprised look, not expecting such a gesture in public, in front of strangers. Sensing his thoughts, she smiled warmly.

"We are in Volantis. Here you are allowed to touch your husbands in front of others." She grunted contentedly.

They actually had dinner with her parents, on a large terrace overlooking the surrounding sea. A beautiful sunset accompanied them. Her father was trying to get information from her husband, about how he enjoyed the first day of their trip.

Aemond expressed satisfaction, but she could see that he was escaping into his thoughts and not looking at her. She thought he suffered from jealousy. She knew she would feel the same way if they happened upon his mistress. She thought she'd comfort him in the night by showing her complete devotion.

She said she wanted to go to bed early, tired after walking all day. She left the terrace, her husband watched her with a surprised look. She knew he wouldn't stay with her parents for long, without knowing what he would talk to them about. She took advantage of this moment to undress, with the help of the servants. There was no point in wearing any nightgown.

When he opened the door, she was waiting for him on the bed, lying on her stomach, reading a book. She smiled at him, swinging her legs, lifting one calf, then the other, up. He stared at her with a stony face as he untied his thin chemise, shrugging it off with a light movement.

"How did you like today, my husband?" She asked softly, seeing how hungrily he stared at her body.

"Did you sleep with this man?" He asked suddenly, taking her completely by surprise.

She felt a cold shiver run through her at the tone of his voice, her legs dropping to the sheets. She felt her heart pounding hard. She did not know what she should say. He pursed his lips when she didn't answer him for a long moment, knowing it meant confirmation of his suspicions.

"Did you sleep with him more than once?" He continued, approaching her slowly.

She looked at him imploringly, her throat constricted so tight she couldn't utter a word. She wondered why she felt such remorse. Even though he also had a mistress at the time, she was in pain by the fact that he found out and met this man. She saw him undo his pants.

"Do you love him?" He asked coldly.

“No.” She replied quickly and confidently, frowning.

"Good." He said low, as he slipped off the fabric and climbed onto the bed.

He straddled her, not letting her roll over onto her back, so that she still had to lie on her stomach. She felt her heart pounding, for some reason she got wet between her thighs. She knew that he was about to fuck her and that it would not be the tender love of two lovers. He leaned over her, so that his mouth was close to her ear.

“I was already afraid that I would have to pay him a visit and kill him.” He hissed, lifting her buttocks up in a firm, quick motion, so that she was kneeling in front of him, his hard manhood throbbing impatiently against her skin.

She propped herself up with her hands, shivering slightly and breathing fast, her nipples hard with desire. He grabbed her neck and pulled her up, making her buttocks slap against his thighs, his arms hugging her tight from behind.

"Do you think you deserve the tender, gentle caresses of your husband tonight?" He asked menacingly and dangerously, she felt a pleasant shiver run down her cheeks, her core tightening around nothing, swollen and wet. She swallowed loudly.

"No, my husband." She whispered humbly, breathing fast, her breasts rising and falling. His hand closed over one of them, massaging it. She moaned softly in pleasure, throwing her head back.

"Exactly. I'm glad you understand that." He said low, rubbing his swollen cock against his wet entrance, dripping onto him from above.

They both began to pant loudly, moving faster and faster. She wanted nothing more than to feel him inside her. She inhaled loudly and tightened her hands on his shoulder as she felt his buttocks pull away from her. He thrusted into her suddenly, in one, firm motion, filling her completely.

He began to fuck her with a loud, wet slap, his thighs hitting her buttocks with a force she didn't yet know. She moaned loudly in surprise at the sensation. She was so wet that he slid inside her with ease, their skin covered with her sticky juices that dripped onto the sheets beneath them.

"Were you so fucking wet for him too?" He hissed, pumping his cock into her quickly and intensely, enraged and jealous, his fingers tightening painfully on the skin of her waist. They both panted heavily, enjoying this almost animal act.

"N-no." She sobbed helplessly, her hands clenching the sheets in front of her, trying to keep her balance in any way, flexing her body so that he was rubbing her at the point of her greatest pleasure.

"Remind me, what was the name of this sweet man?" He asked maliciously and low, breathing heavily, getting closer to his fulfillment. Her hot, fleshy insides clenched wonderfully around him.

He fucked her brutally, his cock throbbing harder and harder inside her. His hand slid down to her clit, only teasing her, not giving her the pressure she wanted. Feeling it, she moaned helplessly.

"Aemond, please…" She mumbled, wanting nothing more than to be fulfilled, feeling the tension in her lower abdomen unbearable. Her entire body throbbed with each of his thrusts, completely surrendered to him, allowing him to penetrate her as deeply as he wanted.

"I can't hear you." He hissed, taking his hand from between her thighs. She sobbed softly, her hands clenching the fabric of the sheets beneath her, her breathing ragged and loud. He fucked her so hard that she could barely think, let alone form a sentence. She knew what he wanted to hear.

"I-I don't remember, please, touch me there again" She sputtered, giving up completely. She wanted him to know that he was only his, that she would do anything for him.

She would never let another man do something like that. With him, it felt wonderful and cathartic. She wanted him to punish her. To cum in her and show that she belongs only to him.

She heard a smirk of satisfaction appear on his face as his hand slid down between her thighs again. His fingers began to massage her around her clit just the way she liked it, in circular, slow, repetitive motions. Her lips parted, gasping with pleasure, feeling her orgasm approaching.

"That's right. You're going to be a good girl now, aren't you?" He asked in a trembling voice, he knew he was about to come inside her.

His thrusts were already uncontrollable and chaotic. He panted loudly with her, their bodies slamming against each other quickly, with a loud, sticky sound.

“Yes, I will be so good to you, please!” She sobbed loudly and opened her mouth wide, squeezing her eyes shut.

For a moment she couldn't make a sound, her fingers clutching the duvet tightly. Then a loud, helpless moan escaped her throat, as the most powerful orgasm of her life surged through her body, like a wave of heat and pleasure.

She heard his low, loud groan, as her walls began to clench tightly against him, unable to utter a word. He just cum inside her, throwing his head back, panting heavily, slithering into her for a while longer. His cock was a complete mess, all sticky and wet with her juices. He stroked her buttocks reverently, staring in delight at her trembling body beneath him.

"Mine."

_____

Aemond Taglist:

(bold means I couldn't tag you)

@its-actually-minicika @notnormalthings-blog @nikstrange @zenka69 @bellaisasleep @k-y-r-a-1 @g-cf2020 @melsunshine @opheliaas-stuff @chainsawsangel @iiamthehybrid @tinykryptonitewerewolf @namoreno @malfoytargaryen @qyburnsghost @aemondsdelight @persephonerinyes @fan-goddess @sweethoneyblossom1 @watercolorskyy @astral-blossoms @randomdragonfires @amirawritespoorly @apollonshootafar @padfooteyes

Others: @ethereallocs @bellameshipper @tssf-imagines @menaosama @it-is-getting-better @czegochceszlol @strangersunghoon

[comdrspock]

True Blue

It wasn’t unheard of for Amanda to receive a message from her son Spock, though he was most often stationed far away in a different quadrant of the galaxy. He did his best to stay in touch in spite of his often unpredictable schedule, and she appreciated his efforts a great deal. Sometimes, however, she selfishly wished he would do a poorer job. It was one thing to be aware of how dangerous his Starfleet career could be and quite another to hear a detailed account of his most recent brush with death. That Spock always recounted these adventures as drily and matter-of-factly as possible was, if anything, worse for Amanda’s nerves than learning the gory details.

This call was out of the ordinary in part because it had nothing to do with any of Spock’s most recent missions. He inquired about her experiences as a human woman on Vulcan and even, to her great surprise, about her courtship with his father. The two of them usually danced around the subject of Sarek, with whom Spock had barely been on speaking terms since he left Vulcan to attend Starfleet Academy years ago. Though he posed them with his usual impersonal, academic curiosity, the questions themselves raised Amanda’s suspicions.

She knew, of course, about the fractured engagement between Spock and T’Pring. Arranging a marriage for her son at such a tender age had always made her uncomfortable, but as in so many things in her marriage, she hadn’t protested Sarek’s insistence on following his tradition. As the human wife of a very stubborn Vulcan man, she had to pick her battles. She and Sarek had been away on a diplomatic mission and therefore unable to return home for what should have been Spock’s wedding, which was probably for the best. Her husband had been furious at what he perceived to be an insult to his house and his son. Only time and distance had cooled his head.

At the time, she’d been hurt for Spock, too—who could ask for a better husband than her son? But her romantic heart had whispered that now he was free. 

She hadn’t thought much about the matter since then. When she did hear from Spock about his work, he mentioned his close colleagues only in passing, so that she knew the captain’s name, but no one else’s. He had certainly never talked about any women. Yet now...now, she wondered. Why these questions, and why now?

“Spock,” she asked, wishing she could reach across the unfathomable distance that separated them and touch his dear face, “is there a reason you’re asking me all this?”

Though she had no telepathic abilities and though he’d carefully trained in all those Vulcan mental disciplines, Amanda knew him better than almost anyone in the galaxy. She’d given birth to this boy, raised him, and knew his tells. As she watched him glance away from the screen and watched the corner of his mouth twitch, she had to keep herself from laughing out loud. 

He looked back at the screen and, after a moment’s silence, he said, “You will certainly be the first to know if there is, Mother.”

When the call ended, Amanda was on cloud nine. Her head was full of thoughts of weddings and grandchildren and a thousand questions about the woman who had brought that softness into Spock’s face. Amanda loved her already, whoever she was, whatever she looked like, whichever position she held aboard the Enterprise. 

*     *     *

Spock felt better after talking to his mother. He was more sure of himself and of his plans and more confident about asking Christine to bind herself to a him despite his alien ways. After all, if his mother could live with Sarek on Vulcan with few qualms, surely it was logical to think that Christine could find contentment with him on a starship or even a colony somewhere. Though their future after this mission was still hazy, he doubted that either of them would leave Starfleet, and he had no intention of returning to Vulcan permanently with or without a human wife.

He now had to consider a proposal and balancing Christine’s human expectations with his own more reserved nature. They had discussed the ways in which Vulcan marriage went beyond the human notion of matrimony only briefly. His mother had reassured him that she found her own mental bond with Sarek, while it had taken some “getting used to,” wonderful. He only hoped that Christine, medical professional that she was, would not be intimidated by the idea.

But this morning there were other matters at hand. The Enterprise had picked up a message from a nearby Class M planet that had, it seemed, very recently developed the technology necessary to contact potential life beyond their planet. Their society was reminiscent of that on Earth several centuries earlier, and the captain assembled a small landing party that included Spock, Uhura, and one of the ship’s anthropologists to beam down.

“Their energy clearly comes from a non-renewable and toxic source such as coal, captain,” Spock remarked with distaste as soon as they materialized on the surface. The acrid smell of smog that hung in the air made his tricorder readings completely unnecessary to back up that particular observation.

@multirptrash

[sumn-somethin]

Why I still love Olegsey Dushnov even after episode 5

This post contains mentions of homophobia, sexism, and misogyny. 

This is gonna be a longggg post lol but TLDR: I am very aware of his flaws and I sincerely believe that his struggles are valid but I don’t condone his beliefs. I’m looking forward to how his character will develop in season 2.

This post will be formatted as follows: 1. Olezha’s actions from episodes 1 to 5

2. My theories and analyses + information from Leena's VK

3. Elaborating on my theory about Olezha and Anton's argument

4. Overall thoughts

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

1. Olezha’s actions from episodes 1 to 5

It was already hinted multiple times throughout season 1 that he was not straight.

In episode one in the original Russian dub, he made a gay joke about possessing Dima’s body (which I will discuss in more detail below). He looked a little too happy when he saw Anton, which is weird considering someone just died. He recommended to ghost Dima the shower rooms of both the girls' and the guys'. He had a habit of pressing his index fingers together, making him appear effeminate (which I will also discuss later). He explained how he was “drawn” to Dima physically (played off as a joke) when the notebook was brought outside.

In episode two, he tried to hide his interest in theatre and dancing. (The video he was watching is actually a reference to the prologue of West Side Story! https://youtu.be/bxoC5Oyf_ss?t=215). He stared a little too long at Dima while putting on his shirt. He hugged the guy who insulted him multiple times even after accidentally leaving him on the train.

In episode three, Karina, one of the psychics, said “He had a relationship. Strong. Nobody knew. Complicated connection. Blind leading the deaf. Domineering, stately person…” Olezha didn’t want anybody to know about his relationship and asked Dima to stop the psychic. Later in the bathroom stalls, Dima told Olezha, “Come out when you’re ready”, which is a pretty cool usage of the ‘coming out’ metaphor.

In episode four, Olezha told Dima how he learned knitting from his grandmother. Later, he presses his index fingers again out of habit. He crosses his arms to restrain himself from doing so. Upon arriving at the grave, Olezha talked about how he wanted to be an actor but his father rejected the idea. In a short flashback sequence, it was revealed that his father disapproved of his son’s habit of pressing his fingers together. Later, Olezha discovered flowers on his grave, which were actually placed by Anton. Olezha asked Dima to give him and Anton privacy. The way they said “Hello” to each other hinted that they had history together.

In episode 5 while watching Psychic Battle, Olezha had a strange reaction when Dima mentioned Anton. Later, Olezha had an extreme reaction to how Olya dresses. Dima defends her but Olezha insults him, calling him a feminist. When Olya visits the dorm, Olezha insists on asking Dima about her clothes. Olya, offended, talks about how Dima reminded her of a certain ‘moralizer’ (Olezha).

______________________________________________________________

2. My theories and analyses + information from Leena's VK

“Окей, это немного по гейский но…” This is a line from the first episode that translates as: “Okay, it’s a little gay but…” At first glance, it’s just a gay joke. But after watching episode five, I realized that it’s a deliberate joke that is in line with his character.

Olegsey Dushnov is a hypocrite. Specifically, he's a misogynistic closeted biromantic asexual who believes in "traditional family values".

He’s insecure about the fact that he isn’t straight, so he overcompensates through a self-deprecating gay joke. This has to do with how his father, Mikhail, raised him.

Although the show only talked about Olezha’s finger-pressing habit and interest in acting, it goes beyond that. Olezha knew how to knit and possibly even did makeup.

Mikhail has very conservative beliefs and did not approve of his son straying from masculine norms. Olezha was conditioned by his father to live by his conservative beliefs. Over time, he learned to hate himself and anyone else who did not fit the norm, including his own sister.

Olezha and Olya represent the duality of not fitting society’s norms. One is self-hatred and the other is self-acceptance. Olezha, even after death, could never be truly himself. Although his love for Olya is genuine, the way he expressed it only caused pain for both of them. He hates how Olya dresses because other people might judge her. But mainly, he is jealous of her freedom. He is jealous of the fact that Olya is free to do and wear whatever she wants, especially now that her moralizing brother is dead.

______________________________________________________________

3. Elaborating on my theory about Olezha and Anton's argument

Going back to Olezha’s self-hatred, what if he was the reason why he and Anton fought? Considering everything I mentioned above, what if Olezha was the ‘domineering, stately person’ that Karina described? There’s the possibility that Olezha’s beliefs instilled by his father, were the reason why his relationship with Anton became toxic.

______________________________________________________________

4. Overall thoughts

I love love LOVE how My Student Spirit teaches the audience not to become like Olezha, despite being one of the main characters. He is a literal ghost of his own past, afraid of the future. He is someone who had no control over his life (and his ‘life’ in death).

Personally, this is the first time I encountered a character with deeply rooted internalized homophobia (albeit indirectly). I am blown away by how angsty and complicated and difficult Olezha is as a character. He’s hauntingly, tragically beautiful.

Olezha was designed as an introverted theatre kid who knew knitting and makeup and I was so afraid that he was just gonna be a gay stereotype. But episode five broke me in ways I could not describe. Leena definitely knew all the common character tropes and how the fandom headcanoned Olezha but the route she went with his character is insane. I can’t help but admire her.

Overall, I love you Olezha but you’re a loser and YOU SUCK.

(All images are taken from Leena's VK account. Sadly, I don't have the direct links to these images 😥)

[kaiju-art-for-the-heart]

An heir to the throne

Ok, I made this blog for both art and fanfiction. Welcome to the first chapter of my Mothzilla addiction. Enjoy!

As the smoke cleared, debris and crushed buildings riddled the entirety of the city.  The smell of burning flesh permeated the air as Godzilla composed himself. The fight was finally over, and Godzilla has finally brought peace back to the planet once again. As he looks around him, the same kaiju that had been causing mass destruction merely hours before, bowed to him in recognition of their powerful king. Godzilla growls, getting the attention of the large titans instantly. "Return to your territories. And do not leave them unless called upon. Go." He snapped, the air around them instantly changing. With haste, each kaiju bowed to their king once more before starting their journey back home. As Rodan raised himself, he could hear another low growl bellow from his superior. "You. Stay." He commanded, his piercing eyes felt as if they cut straight through Rodan's hardened exterior. Watching as the rest made their speedy exit, the fire demon quietly looked back to Godzilla with worry. For the first time in many years, Rodan felt true fear wash over him.  "My king.." he clicked calmly, lowering his head to Godzilla as he approached. "Silence." Godzilla huffed, causing Rodan to look up in shock. 

"You are a traitor, Rodan. I should have your head for your foolishness." Godzilla scowled. Rodan's gaze dropped to the floor, unable to look Godzilla in the eye. He knew what he did was reckless and defiant. He aided in the murder of the Queen, something he knew he wouldn't be able to get away with unscathed. With a few clicks of discontent, Rodan sighed in recognition. "I'm so sorry my king.." he started, searching for an excuse to somehow get out of this. "I just-" "Just what?" Godzilla interrupted, he seemed to get more irritated as the conversation went on. "I.. I was merely following the orders of the alpha. I promise.. I will never do such things again! You are the true King!" Rodan paused, his breath hitching in his chest as he waited for Godzilla's final answer. After a minute or two the large titan huffed loudly. His gaze still locked onto Rodan as he spoke. "If you ever pull a stunt like this again... your life is mine. Get out of my sight." Godzilla growled, watching as Rodan quickly spread his flaming wings and lifted himself into the air, only the ash remaining as he squabbled away. 

Godzilla watched as each Kaiju disappeared into the smoky waters away from the city. All this work just to take down one bad egg, what a waste of time. Taking in one deep breath, the titan exhaled in a seemingly relieved fashion. He turned once more to the large metal bird the humans liked to observe him in. Though they didn't do much work, he was somewhat grateful for their little help to get him back into the fight. After a moment, he turned away from them to make his way back to the shoreline. He needed to take a nice long nap after this mess. Finally getting back to the water felt amazing to Godzilla. The cool waves felt almost healing to his aching muscles and skin. Thinking back to it, he hadn't reached that burning state in quite a while. It had been years since he came so close to death, though this time was different some how. His mind pondered for a moment before remembering a crucial detail. 'Mothra's sacrifice..' he thought to himself, swimming effortlessly through the ocean currents. 'She sacrificed herself for me.. I survived because of her..' he continued, feeling an intense set of emotions take over in that moment. It had been many moon's since he last saw Mothra as well. One day she was there, warning him of a battle she would be fighting alone. And the next, she was gone. She was always so fearless when it came to fighting, though he already knew why. The thought of her re-emerging as a feisty little larvae made him crack the ghost of a smile.

Night had fallen fast as Godzilla traveled the calm seas. Slowly he rose from the waters, soot and grime falling from the creases of his battle hardened skin. He was finally met with unoccupied grasslands, the cool breeze of the night helped put him in a much more somber mood. "Mothra.." he sighed quietly, lowering himself into a large patch of grass. 

'Where ever you are..' His golden orbs raised to the moon, its rays glistening off his watery scales. 

'I know you're healing..' his thoughts continued, the sound of soft crashing waves easing his mind. 

'It does not matter how much time passes.. I will always wait for you..' he yawned, his eyelids quickly becoming heavy as exhaustion took over. 'My Queen.. I will find you again..'

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

The days quickly passed by Godzilla. Turning from weeks, to months, to years since the fight with Ghidorah. Though it hadn't been all sunshine and roses since then. The number of fights Godzilla found himself in was quite staggering to say the least. From Kong and Mecha Godzilla, to Scilla and Tiamat, then back to Kong and Scar King, Godzilla was tired(Though some of those fights he intentionally started).  Within a fraction of a second, Godzilla's eyes snapped open at the sound of familiar singing, a soft scent lingering as well. The large nest he had found seemed to be the same, no signs of those pesky humans at the moment. Before he could even shift from his position, her golden presence gracefully landed on the ledge of the colosseum. The soft clicks and purrs of her calls instantly calmed Godzilla as he raised his head to look at her. "My Queen..!" he snorted happily, quickly rising out of the comforts of his nest to greet Mothra. 

"My King." Mothra trilled back, watching as the large titan bowed before her. As their eyes locked, Godzilla's usual scowl softened into a longing gaze. Their initial reunion was sweet but short due to the following fight. And to add to that, Mothra stayed behind for a bit to finish up some chores in hallow earth. With that, its safe to say they didn't have the time to enjoy each others company. After a moment, both titans leaned into each other to form a tender nuzzle. Mothra's soft head fluff grazed Godzilla's snout, sending shockwaves of comfort through his body. Gentle yet excited trills and clicks came from Mothra as she melted contently into his warmth. "I have been waiting for you, my queen." He chirred quietly, pulling away just enough to look at her again. "I assume you've taken care of the humans down below?" he huffed, getting a nod of agreement from her. "I made sure to make their barrier extra sturdy." she stated triumphantly. "Though I have confidence Kong will make sure they are safe as well." she continued, a grunt of approval coming from Godzilla . "Are you ready, Goji?"  she questioned, watching as Godzilla's expression changed to instant confusion. "Ready? Ready for what? Did I miss something?" This made her chuckle as she lifted herself into the air above him. "No silly, I have a surprise for you. But you have to follow me in order to see it. So up you go." she chirped, watching as the large lizard lazily left the comfort of his nest to follow her back to the ocean. 

As Godzilla's body disappeared into the blue of the water, his calls to her could still be heard as clear as day. After small back and forth, Godzilla was finally informed of their current destination. A decently sized island just far enough away from human civilization to live comfortably. This was a pleasant surprise to him. He had been so used to stepping around (but mostly on) humans that he forgot it was truly a problem. Without sparing anymore time, both titans made their way to their new nest. As Godzilla lifted himself from the icy ocean waters, Mothra landed in front of him to present her findings. As he looked to her, his golden orbs rested preciously on her refined elegance. She truly is as beautiful as the day he lost her. And now was the perfect time to keep her as close as possible. 

[lakesbian]

Worm Ask:

Perdition and the Yangban, what are your thoughts?

well obviously the yangban is ridiculously sinophobic. i was adding Wildbow Moment points to the Wildbow Moment Counter more or less every time they were mentioned. so so visibly written by a guy whose only perception of china is that it's an Evil Regimented Communist Cult Country Comprised Entirely Of Bad Stupid Brainwashed People With No Individuality (Unlike Us Special Americans). will never be over how funny and ridiculous it is when the characters in the story outright acknowledge that the yangban were literally right abt the PRT sucking but this doesn't change anything abt their opinions on the yangban because [taylor voice] whereas the PRT is simply a flawed system that could've been freed of its corruption and fixed the yangban is just like. inherently evil and fucked up by dint of being chinese.

anyway. perdition is fucking hilarious. like he sucks. he's fucking insufferable. he plays LoL. it's so funny how he's there during the travelers' arc and it's all like "huh i wonder what happened 2 him/when he'll show back up since he's not with the main team in the present day?" and then he still doesn't show up for like 7 more arcs and when he Does finally appear literally all he does is be annoying and misogynist, fuck everything up, and then fuck off into the distance never to be seen again. accord fucking sold him to one direction. it's so funny. he sucks and his life sucks.

that said. i also genuinely love his sole appearance. because despite the fact that i had to read wildbow's terrible sinophobic opinions about china during it, and despite the fact that he's a clown, he's a fantastic little feature for the simurgh. i love the detail that he'd been hearing the simurgh screaming in his head for months and months on end without realizing, that he only notices the noise once it cuts out after he's done something terrible and unfixable, and he's left with the horrible silence as he finally processes out what she made him do. the simurgh is such an incredibly cool concept bc like. as taylor puts it. you win the battle but lose the war with her. society plays all these charades about trying to stop her or minimize her damage, but none of them work. the madison quarantine zone doesn't stop noelle from happening, and it's still in place long after she's already died, with all of the people the simurgh had no plans for still trapped inside. the madison quarantine zone doesn't stop perdition from being turned into one long rube-goldberg machine of tragedy, where he ends up in just the right place at just the right time to make an already bad endbringer fight that much worse, and he suffers all the way through it. and nobody ever realizes! nobody will ever know that he did that solely because the simurgh got to him. it's such a perfectly unsettling example of how there's nothing anyone can actually do against the simurgh, because she's going to keep getting shots against humanity in ways no one will even notice. everyone is so so paranoid about her and they never even notice the knives she's stuck in their backs. i've never seen this movie before so if this simile doesn't work just smile and nod anyway but she's like if the experience of watching It Follows was a kaiju. it rocks. perdition's interlude sucks overall but that one part is such a special little fucked up look into exactly why the simurgh is terrifying. did i mention i love the simurgh.

[florent1s]

Saccharine Hearts ( i )

Pairing: Aemond x Reader

Summary: To fall in love with Aemond is one thing. But to question if he truly existed is another. Warnings: angst? A/N: Hello! This is a time skip into what their relationship is like years after meeting as children. All writing is just for fun 🫶🏼. Also, I like to add songs that give a little inspo to the story/I think describe the relationship. And a thank you to @oneeyedvisenya and @inthedayswhenlandswerefew for both being so kind and cool and inspiring me to write 🩷.

Song Inspo:

“Hate you? You are the reason I exist, the reason I breathe. At night when I lie awake, it is you who fills my thoughts. Don’t you dare claim I hate you when it is you who makes my heart sing. To question my love for you is to question my very being.”

“… at God’s Eye- are you listening?”

Septa Arsa looks at you intently, and once she realizes you are daydreaming she slaps your wrist. The stinging of your skin rouses you from your thoughts.

“What was that for?” You quipped with irritation.

“The history of the realm is an important subject. Being a lady doesn’t excuse you from knowing such things.”

Septa Arsa places the book in front of you and points at the text. With a roll of your eyes, you thrust the book away and rise from your seat.

“There was no need for that. I was listening to every word.” You quickly make way for the door but Septa Arsa stops you.

“Then tell me, child, what have we learned today?” She extends her arm and places her hand on the wall, blocking your path for escape.

This was a daily occurrence. Septa Arsa has taught you many things as you grew older. From sewing to proper etiquette required of a high-born lady. But when it came to the histories of the realm, that was when you wouldn’t even bat an eye. It always ends in two ways. You pretend to listen or leave before she can stop you.

“… we were learning about a battle. A battle I particularly have no interest in nor care for.”

Without another word, you brush past her, leaving Septa Arsa to her thoughts. Upsetting Septa Arsa was never your intention. She is more of a mother to you than your own. Septa Arsa was the only one other than Aemond that sincerely understood you. Yet you could not help your distaste for her constant lessons on the histories of Westeros. As of late, your father has been speaking to you about the possibility of marriage. The thought of becoming betrothed to someone who wasn't your beloved gives you an unpleasant taste in your mouth. You intend to put a hold on your father's plans for your love. For Aemond.

Despite knowing Aemond for years, he would never describe the details of his life. The more you pry it would drive him away. So you left it as it was, as two people slowly but surely falling in love with one another. Even as children, he rarely spoke of his family or where he came from. The one time he gave you a glimpse of his personal life was when he lost his eye. Wanting a dragon seemed unbelievable, though you wouldn't tell him that. Most times, it seemed as if your presence was more than enough to keep him at ease. Holding you in his arms as you ramble about nonsense. Providing a hum or a nod of the head to let you know he was still listening. With Aemond, you were always such an open book. His closed-off personality made you question whether he truly is fond of you. Unbeknownst to you, your heart would be put at ease tonight.

You are very punctual, especially when it comes to Aemond. He always wanted you there at the same time on the same day. Your attempts to convince him to meet more than once a week were always denied. Aemond was as stubborn as he was handsome. Despite it all, you found yourself falling for him. As the both of you grew older, his touches grew more affectionate. Going from a kiss on your forehead to the corner of your mouth. Shy hand holding to placing you in his lap while he rests his head on your shoulder. The comfort the two of you gave one another was enough to make your heart flutter. So why won't he court you? Why hasn't he offered to take you elsewhere? Perhaps you took his affections the wrong way.

That night you arrived late, something you knew he wouldn't appreciate. You couldn't help it since your father kept you within his sights. He had presented you to every eligible lord in hopes one of them would inquire about a betrothal. There was only one man you desired most in this world, yet you could tell no one. As you make your way through the clearing there he was. Aemond paces around the tree, once he sees you he looks relieved, though it's quickly replaced with irritation.

Before he can say anything, you run up and hug him tightly. His body tenses from your touch till finally, he envelops you in his arms.

"I know... I know that I am late. But just this once, just-"

Aemond cuts you off by holding your face in his hands. Though his face remains stoic, he always showed his emotions through his touch.

"You talk too much"

Your cheeks burn, and your eyes flit to the floor, much to your chagrin.

"Look at me," he says gravely, his hand reaching down to tilt your face.

Without another word, he kisses you and suddenly all of your doubts flood away.

A moment after, you rest your head on his shoulder. The strong scent of leather and smoke engulfs you. A smile graces your features as you hold him close.

"My father wishes to wed me to the first lord who shows an interest. How does that make you feel?" Your voice lingers in the air, and Aemond grows silent.

"That... that is quite unfortunate", Aemond exclaims quietly. His grip on you tightens though his face remains expressionless.

His words make your blood run cold and suddenly you pull away from him. Your hands ball into fists and tears threaten to spill from your eyes. He reaches for you put you hold out a hand to stop him.

“Unfortunate? That is all you have to say to me? After all these years? I wait every morning and every night until I get to see you again. Regardless of how often you shut down any plead I presented towards you. To see you more often, to know you, to love you. Had I known you hated me, I would have never come back here over and over again.”

Your words make Aemond tick and before you can react, he forces you against the tree, the air leaving your lungs. The chill of the night creates a fog as the two of you breathe heavily. Seeing Aemond this enraged makes your heart want to leap out of your chest.

“Hate you? You are the reason I exist, the reason I breathe. At night when I lie awake, it is you who fills my thoughts. Don’t you dare claim I hate you when it is you who makes my heart sing. To question my love for you is to question my very being.”

"Then why must our love be confined within such boundaries? It is you I want. Not some drunken old lord who wishes to wed me only to disregard my presence. What are you afraid of? If you are from a lower house, that is of no importance to me." you let out an exasperated sigh as you cling to his arm.

Aemond clenches his jaw and scoffs, "A Targaryen is above all." he mumbles under his breath.

"A what? Speak clearly. I don't understand." your lip trembles as you grow weary.

"It is too late, I must go now. Tomorrow we meet again. Do not be late this time."

Aemond kisses you one last time before vanishing into the forest.

[robotslenderman]

Remind me, what was the Nords version of Lord Nerevar’s death again? Was it the one where they had one dude shout so hard the sky itself got sick or was that a different one?

I love the Nord version

The Dunmer are like "yeah so there was a battle and the Dwemer poofed and shit happened yo"

whereas the Nords just fucking. took this entire-ass historical event. and just SHOVED A BUNCH OF SHIT IN IT THAT NO OTHER VERSION MENTIONS. AT ALL.

it's like a super bad movie adaptation and it's fucking hilarious.

So in the original tale, Dagoth Ur learns about the Tools of Kagrenac and tells Nerevar. The Tools of Kagrenac would allow the Dwemer to make a mechanical god by being used on the heart of a dead god called Lorkhan, which is sacrilege to the Chimer. Nerevar prays to Azura and she confirms it. Nerevar goes to Dumac, the King of the Dwemer, about it. Dumac, who doesn't know what Kagrenac is doing, is like "first of all, how dare you." So Nerevar's like "well a literal goddess I just consulted confirmed it so fuck you I'm gonna fuck your shit up."

Nerevar goes to fuck Dwemer shit up.

Here Dunmer accounts diverge wildly, and the fact you never find out which one is true is what I love about the lore of this game. The gist we know that's true is that Nerevar fought Dumac, the Dwemer disappeared, the Tribunal became gods and Nerevar died at some point of his injuries.

The details are fuzzier. Some accounts say that Dagoth betrayed Nerevar. Others say that Nerevar betrayed Dagoth. Some say the Tribunal were present, others say they weren't. Some say Nerevar and Azura wiped out the Dwemer. The generally accepted story is that the Dwemer wiped themselves out, but some accounts blame Nerevar. And then of course the most disputed topic of all -- the truth as to how Nerevar died, whether he was injured by Dagoth, whether the Tribunal killed him, etc etc.

No mention of Nords, to my knowledge. It was all Chimer and Dwemer stuff, and the whole thing is a very tragic tale I still get sad over when I'm drunk enough, eleven years after playing the game.

THEN YOU HAVE THE NORD VERSION.

The Nords took one look at this story and basically turned into total Americans about it.

So THEIR super special secret OC was a dude who was dead and CAME BACK TO LIFE to lead their forces into Morrowind and to the Battle of Red Mountain! Why??? because their god was stuck in the mountain or something? Which wasn't entirely off-base -- Lorkhan is also known as Shor, and Shor is a Nord god, and his heart was in the mountain and a major focal point of all this history-bending bullshit. So the Nords were like "we can't have this story about our god without it being about US, too! WE WERE TOTALLY THERE AND LED BY THIS SUPER COOL GUY."

So their SUPER SPECIAL OC marches into the mountain only to find out IT WAS A TRAP, Shor's heart wasn't REALLY there, and the EVIL ELVES literally then go and and DROP A FUCKING MOUNTAIN on them. Also even though it was a ruse and their god wasn't actually there, he also WAS there????, and got the mountain dropped on him too, because EVIL ELVES. Also their SUPER SPECIAL OC killed the Dwemer king and made all the Dwemer disappear.

At which point Vivec showed up and "blasted [him] into hell".

I'm guessing Vivec somehow managed to add that little bit into Nord lore because it sounds like something Vivec would do. Both in the sense that he'd talk about how he wrecked this guy's shit because Vivec loves making himself look awesome but also in the sense that he'd insert that little addendum into history because he thought it was funny.

In another Nordic version of this story their SUPER SPECIAL OC joined forces with their god, instead of getting a mountain dropped on top of them, and fought Nerevar and Dumac. Dagoth took advantage of the chaos to randomly stab Dumac. Nerevar was like "the fuck, dude? I wasn't done talking to him" and stabbed Dagoth. So Shor took advantage of this stabbing to stab Nerevar himself, but not before getting stabbed right back by Nerevar.

Everyone dies, except the super special OC.

So yeah, the Dunmer have this point of history that's super controversial and the Nords just basically yoinked the whole thing and shoved their OC into it and made a hilarious Hollywood movie over it.

I'm seeing an aside note about a dude getting sad that his Voice "failed him" at Red Mountain so I'm guessing that COULD be the guy who yelled at the sky, not sure.

[shine-reblogs]

Errant Kingdom: thoughts about the Finale (spoiler alert: am disappointed)

Sorry for putting negative opininons in the tags, but I've seen it done before and I'm warning you to stop reading now if you don't wanna see it. That said, spoilers for everything ahead, read at your own risk.

(I wanna complain in detail, so I'm gonna break every point down)

•Where's my Convergence

Up until the finale the game was hinting towards all three routes merging at the end. And then it just. didn't. This would've been okay if from the start Nomad/Knight/Ambassador were the three roles you could choose, and even if they were nods towards the other two, they didn't have any real weight on the story and who you chose was the only, well, Chosen One. But they didn't do that!! It's obvious all three routes are supposed to happen simultaneously!! Maja literally tells Knight they're not the only one marked, Raiden tells Ambassador if they know anything about Knight because Erik is worried about them (implying their being snatched by the gods), I'm pretty sure in Nomad x Erik he tells them they're not the one they were looking for/expecting (he was looking for Knight!). And then in the finale they forgot about the existence of the roles you didn't choose. What happened with the other two Chosen ones. I get it would've been difficult to orchestrate this, but if you build up expectations then you need to live up to them.

•Erik's Bloodline

Where the actual hell did that come from?! You can't just pull that kinda stuff out your arse at the end in a haha gotcha, if you wanted to go for that you should've left hints. And no, having him exiled on weird circumstances isn't a hint. I assumed their Majesties set up a trap for him because he was a good knight who cared about people and that doesn't bode well for you when you're doing things that will actively harm said people. And in this assumed scenario it makes sense they exiled him? They didn't need him dead, just out of any position that holds power. But with the actual reason? Him being the Chosen One the only who can defeat their plans and their god? Yeah, I'm not buying that they went "well maybe exile will be enough lol".

Plus, Erik being from a bloodline of kings and then becoming King it's. eh. Don't get me wrong I'm not mad that he is King, he would make an amazing one, but I kinda wish getting back his old life (now upgraded) wasn't the only way he can get his happy ever after. It would've been cool if they went for 'what happened was not your fault and you don't need to go back to your old life for happiness', but I understand that's a subjective thing.

•Sword for the Ambassador

This is how I dubbed the fact that no matter which role you take the Mythical Item To Defeat God is a sword. Even when you're an ambassador that (canonically) hasn't held a blade in their life and just barely gets the basics of how to hold a dagger before the final battle. Yeah, sure, just strap the thing to their back and sent them to battle, what could go wrong? The sword made sense for Knight, but I assumed the item would be different for every role tailored to each on'es skills.

•The Final Battle

It was kind of anticlimatic after all the build up of it being a battle between gods/gods' Chosen Ones. And in the end it's a man with a bloodline and magic sword, a Fake Chosen One, and a god that *checks notes* gets distracted by mages throwing debris at them. This is where convergence and magic items tailored to each role would've been awesome.

•Suddenly Important Triplets

Look. I'm not against having the triplets have an important role, but the last time they appeared was all the way back in the prologue, Ambassador route only, and they were presented as kind of shallow and dumb. And now they are the masters of secrets holding super important information? What?! If they wanted to go for this it should have been hinted so that, at least in hindsight, it makes sense.

Also, side note on the favours. They should be different for every role. Up until I caught up that the three routes were not hapenning simultaneosuly anymore I thought good lord why is everyone being asked for Erik's hair. But no. Not everyone. Just who you're playing as because the other two Chosen Ones are not that important anymore and hold no role in the story.

•Dialogue Recycling

I mean, in the end a lot of the other points are tied to this. They wrote one thing and made the bare necessary changes to make it for the three roles. And we've seen dialogue recycling before! Sometimes it's necessary! In ch5 we've seen some dialogue recycling, but it was less... obnoxious is not the word I'm looking for but it will have to do, and generally made more sense (there were a couple instances in the polyam options were the recycled dialogue implied you'd entered the romance from the wrong side, but I'm not here to critique ch5, let's stick to the finale). However, in the finale the dialogue recycling has been constant across all three roles. Not much to distinguish if you're playing as Knight, Ambassador, of Nomad from the events/dialogue except how people address you. Before every route was distinctly different.

•Loose Threads

It drives me nuts that we've had the finale without all questions being answered. What the fuck happened with the cultist at the forest, for once? It was given so much importance and then they were not to be seen or even mentioned again. And what about Callisto's hiring of Raiden? I'm okay with not knowing how she got the Guild's favour (I would be more okay if the sisters were introduced from the start as sneaky and secretive little bitches), but who is Rai murdering? He even mentions it's a job he would have gotten eventually and it feels wird af that you can't even guess about it?

•No Time for Love

This might be slightly more petty, but it is a big pet peeve of mine when once a romantic route is selected you actually have less romance/content with the LI instead of more. But it's only a natural outcome when you combine 'Where's my Convergence' and 'Dialogue Recycling'

•King, Queen, and Special Little Friend

More petty things, but why don't MC, Erik, and Maja rule as a throuple in the polyam routes? I could buy it that Nomad doesn't want to because they made it clear they do not want to live in court like that (and still Maja and Erik could pester them about it). But with Knight and Ambassador? If ruling by three isn't a concept yet then their new Majesties would certainly make it one.

•I Love You but I Love Heist More

Also a petty one, but it didn't feel right for Lucien to leave for the next heist when you just started your relationship with them. Lucien, who so romantically told you that being so ancient they count time not by the seasons but by the lives of those they love. But then they can't wait the blink of a human lifetime for the next heist? Or failing that take you with them? I get that in the polyam routes Raiden has to stay in Novus as the new Viper, and that MC would stay with him rather than leave too, but the monogamous route? Kinda unnecessary for MC to stay.

(And then again, if Lucien is so ancient what is a human lifetime to them? Heist is good and all but are you really telling me it's the only source of entertainment you get? My friend, I say this as someone who loves you: you need to get hobbies)

•Bad Ending

I could write a whole essay on this, but enough to say that the Bad Ending isn't bad as in tragic but bad as in nonsensical. Why can Novoth make you replace the god who marked you? Why does that make you forgive you about yourself, your friends, your lifes and experiences? Why does everything go to shit immediately after (the gods told that Novoth wanted a utopia eventually leading to ruin, not the apocalypse? But well, they made Novoth straight up evill instead of not understanding how humanity works which was a far more attractive idea, so yeah. I could make a whole other point about this, actually). Additionally, why do your friends give up immediately after and scatter? They had strong bonds tying them together before you came around!!

Also, if you change your mind last minute and switch to the Good End halfway through it is. the most. nonsensical thing. of all.

And that has been all!! Thanks for coming to my TED talk. If you're still reading I commend your commitment.

I genuinely liked the game (still do, finale notwithstanding), the characters and overall game up until ch5 were amazing and it seemed like they were leading to an equally amazing finale. I was wrong. But I became attached to the LIs and my OCs, so I'll still be obsessed with this game for the foreseeable future.

All in all, bad canon exists so fanon can thrive, I guess, so I'll be working on my own fanfix for the finale because it deserved better.