#query box answer

[spinningbagel]

may I ask if you have headcanons for the ninjas?(mutant busters)

Mmm,,, A.S & Katani..

I can't say I really do? They're not characters I thought about a whole lot (I think this is due to the few episodes they are actually in) I think they didn't get a whole lot of screentime which I had originally thought they might've considering the fact they appear in the end of the intro. But no. Not a whole lot of episodes with them in it.

That being said, I do see them as the two youngest members, around 17/18. No real reason behind this one, just how I personally see them. I also see them having a kind of familial relationship with each other. Again, no real reason, they just seem like they'd have that relationship. (And I know there might be someone out there who ships them and to that I say to each their own 🤝)

But yeah, not characters I've put a wholee lot of thought into. Sighs. They were great, wish we got to see more of them besides those few episodes they were in.

Bonus miitopia Katani for your troubles

(The only explanation I can offer is that there was no other way to hide his mouth)

[wormchamp72]

I don't know if you're trolling or not, but it feels that way. Whether you meant harm or not, continuing to post about a ship and even going as far as to putting up a poll about "which ship is the best" isn't something you should do when trying to "apologize".

It especially doesn't look good when you admit the tags of your posts that you haven't seen the anime. Posting about it an anime or the ships you don't know is something you shouldn't done in the first place. From my experience, people who have done that do it to cause trouble.

You could have just deleted the first post and called it a day. And if you were going to put out an apology post, you could have just said "I'm sorry for posting that, it won't happen again" and then nothing else.

I'm not here to preach to you or anything, but just saying going forward, maybe stick to the fandoms you do know and are genuinely interested in. Don't get into the anime or the ship just because of this situation or like a ship because of research.

How do I even begin.

You have clearly misunderstood EVERYTHING I stand for. You are lucky I am good at containing that strange Jeff the Killer feeling (the feeling he feels when he is angry) or else you would be HUMILIATED in front of my followers. Take ONE LOOK at my blog and you will see that I am not trolling.

First off, I did not delete the post because I believe in accountability. I will not scrub my past sins from this earth and act as if I am an angel upon it. I am flawed. I am human. I am Wormchamp72. Look upon me and despair.

My apology post was 100% /SRS. If you had even an OUNCE of reading comprehension, you would understand that my post was embracing ALL ships and fans. I could not simply have said "I'm sorry for posting that, it won't happen again" because that would not have been enough. And it would not have reflected my change of heart.

As for the poll---DID YOU EVEN READ THE BOTTOM TEXT??????????????? Because I'm assuming you didn't, here it is:

Now, take a nice, long look at what you picked and think about why you did. Did you think the other ships were "cringe"? Did you think yours was superior because it isn't "problematic"? Shame. Shame on you.

CLEARLY this is encouraging people 2 reflect on their own biases and baseless hatred towards others based on their shipping preferences.

And yeah. I haven't watched MHA/BNHA (it is not personally interesting 2 me). But I respect the passion that fans put into their art. I respect their grit. Especially I respect the fans who aren't afraid 2 go against the grain...like Bakudekus.

I am not interested in MHA. But I am interested in starting a movement.

SO THIS STOPS NOW. No more shaming others for their interests. No more calling others "cringe" for liking things like Jeff the Killer or Slitherio. No more bullying. This is a promise. And Wormchamp72 never goes back on his word. I will never betray others because I know firsthand the sting of betrayal (RE: Maximus P.).

This is about breaking norms. This is about radical acceptance.

Even if you do not ship Bakudeku, you can BE a Bakudeku. We are ALL Bakudekus.

[bookwyrminspiration]

opinion on stria's keefe rant?

I've gone over it a bit before here! Essentially I thought there were some concrete, founded critiques (e.g. Keefe's steamrolling), and some that was bad faith/personal (e.g. sense of humor).

I've since read this snippet of the Unlocked rant, and my feelings are about the same.

I agree wholeheartedly that Keefe is being incredibly shitty here to both Fitz and Sophie. I feel, however, it doesn't properly acknowledge how in this scene Keefe's just woken from a 3 day coma after his mom's experiment on him. Does that excuse him? Not in the slightest, he owes them both a massive apology--and for more than this scene. but it recontextualizes why he's being shitty

Same with "Keefe continues to purposefully try to provoke Fitz and hurt him for no other reason than that he enjoys seeing his best friend in pain." The way this reads makes it sound like he causes pain for fun; it overlooks the years of being in Fitz's shadow, wanting so badly to be a Vacker, to be Fitz, to simplify him to a cartoonishly evil bff. Is Keefe's mindset healthy? Nope! But it's certainly much more than hurting Fitz just because he likes hurting him.

I think there's a solid basis for the critiques, I simply have a few alterations I'd suggest. To more fully round it out.

I haven't fully read the expanded infantilization argument, so I won't say more than this, but I think that's got a good foundation, too. Some of the moments pulled are more compelling than others, but the core of Keefe dismissing Sophie's feelings (especially with jokes) and taking away her agency (e.g. by going behind her back to do things himself, like in Nightfall and Legacy) is very much something I agree with.

I haven't looked at anything else, but if there's something you'd like me to check out my asks are always open :)

[justblades]

⋆｡˚ ♰・priest! sunday x afab! reader

┈─ ・(ex)plicit, mdni. contains 2.2 spoilers, blasphemous themes, impregnation, clit stimulation, oral sex, controlling sunday, not proofread.

Even a mere mortal can sense the regret lingering in the atmosphere of the vicinity, a small space dedicated for confessions and atonement of sins committed by those who believe in the Harmony. Numerous pews stand in rows before a single one, each being occupied by two people at best, to which you draw closer to the confession box— one more person to go and it is time to purify your tainted soul.

It was just muffled murmurs of two people from the latter reverberating inside the hall's six walls, along with the sound of the ceiling fans whirring. Your mind starts to drift onto something else: although you have no idea what others hold with regards to their sins, you still could not help but think that yours is shameful.

You can see the person beside you exit the birch box with teary eyes and stuffed nose as she holds a handkerchief to her face. "Next please." a resolute voice echoes, signalling for you to step forward into the confessional. With a wobbly stature, you stand up and tread forward, proceeding to close the oak door behind you.

The golden lights from the hall seep through the confession booth's partition, gleaming upon your stature - creating a silhouette as to where only the advocate from the other side can peer through the woodworks. You attempt to clear your voice before speaking, a dry throat halting the words you intend to verbalize within.

"I humbly ask for your blessings and the forgiveness of Xipe . . ." You mutter as your eyes dart to nothing that catches your interest except for the parquetry etched on the wooden floorboards. Your head held down low, staring at its intricate designing.

"Please feel free to proceed. I have sought their presence within us." The priest answers. "I have committed a grave sin of succumbing to passing emotions. Primarily, I struggled with regulating the purity of one's mind and it was late that I realized I indulged in an extreme activity to quench the thirst for sexual pleasure." 

A reassuring hum resounds. "As a devout follower of the Harmony, I believe my actions do not align with the path I stride. Therefore, I ask for forgiveness and assistance on how I will repent for the sins I have committed." After forming the confession where in sentences you never thought have ever been uttered, it feels as though a heavy weight was lifted off your chest and the shackles on your feet disintegrated.

Glancing at the frosted, colored glass window in front of you, you noticed how the warm yellow lights in the background flicker repetitively in an instant, as well as the birch surroundings creaking. "By committing a grave sin, you've engaged in an activity with a partner you are not married with." The priest reiterates as if the faulty lights are a common occurrence.

You hum in response. "And by committing an even graver sin, you took part in an activity with an objective aside from procreation. Please correct me if I'm wrong."

"Yes, esteemed advocate. Everything you said was indeed correct." Your heart starts racing, "Do you promise yourself you'll turn your back on this lascivious history to start anew?" He queries.

"Yes, Mister Sunday."

"Even if you were to encounter challenges to test your faith for the Harmony?"

Hesitation ruptures through your composure. Your resolution suddenly cracks, as if it was merely a façade with a longing for forgiveness to move on.

"Be honest." Like the advocate could read your mind as of the moment, you believe in the capabilities of Harmony, so there was no use in feigning cleanliness when you know it in yourself, you still struggle. "I wish to seek assistance from those with wisdom."

You receive another firm hum in response, "Very well. Please see me in the reconciliation room a short time after." Your mind spirals into confusion and bewilderment, the emotions painting your features like you were an open book to the audience.

Trekking off the confessional booth, you did not dare to spare a glance back at the priest and only made your way to the distinct, separate room - the reconciliation. It was small, enclosed, and only an oak table, two pairs of engraved chairs, a single ligneous partition and a kneeler reside within the space. Your vision anchors to the sculpted wooden cross sign hung on the beige walls, illuminated by a faint golden lamp on the table.

Patiently awaiting the presence of the priest, you stood still with a heavy heart, seeming like the relief you felt previously was only a glimpse of what you could've been if you didn't commit such grave sin. If only.

The door swings open, followed by the entrance of the figure you were anticipating. Faded sky blue hues of hair tumble upon the male's shoulders, along with the golden earrings he was donning. Feathered ears diluting into white ripple from his footsteps, and his distinct, golden halo stays afloat behind his head.

Being vis-à-vis with the highly esteemed figure of the Penacony like this tugs your heartstrings in unease. It felt bizarre, as you could recall from others' experiences that when you encounter priests or advocates of the Harmony, your heart rests. As for Sunday, it was the polar opposite. Chills run kilometers up and down your spine, your throat starts to become dry.

You trail your vision downwards, setting your sight upon his graceful features. His eyes were a radiant yellow tinged with an ocean blue, framed by his particularly long lower lashes. He purses his lips tightly, curving upwards, flashing a small smile. "Please take a seat." He motions for the chair in front of your figures, your eyes noticing the cross cut out gloves he's wearing.

Sitting down with guard held up high, Sunday follows suit as he opens the drawer from the oak table, retrieving something of a color white and frilly in texture, as you make of what you could from your peripheral vision. "This will certainly be of help to put your faith to test. If you would kindly turn around."

Your hands rest on your lap and as you hear the last phrase that came out of his mouth, you subconsciously gripped a handful of the fabric you're wearing in alertness. Not until your vision was impaired as Sunday blindfolds you with the latter material, it was soft and delicate to the touch - you could not see anything but faint shadows against the lighting. Everything was ivory white in stark contrast, and you could barely peer through the lace folds to see the priest.

"I will now be tuning your mind with the Harmony to which you will face repercussions if statements untrue to yourself are said." He pauses. Unsure where this will lead to, you had no choice but to nod in continuation. "Under the light of the Harmony, all wickedness is revealed. I implore them to shed their light."

What used to be a blurry white in your vision now fringes into colored edges, the prominent colors being purple, white, red, orange, and yellow.

"This will serve as a gentle reminder that I am assisting you to a path where grave sins  are not succumbed to, and only ▅▅▅ exists alongside philosophy to instill moral duties to a functioning member of a society."

His words cut through the thick atmosphere, thawing the glacial tension growing with each passing second.

He lowers his stature to face you, gloved fingers trailing from the hem of the laced blindfold down to your cheeks, cupping your face lightly with a careful grip. "Does this send a shiver down to your spine?" Sunday inquires and you shake your head in disagreement. It seems like he has a whole plan on how this will play out, and you were merely a pawn in his chessboard to see what you would react under these circumstances he will put you in.

The touch ghosts a caress on your lower parts, specifically, the frame of your chest. His thumb twirls on the middle part with an unraveled goal of making your buds perk up underneath the confinements of your clothing - making you grit your teeth as a poor attempt to stifle the sound threatening to escape.

A question arises amidst the confusing situation, a question that will surely be received in a poor taste as it will question his authority and legitimacy. You wanted to ask, is this really necessary?

However, the aura he exudes now was far different from what he displays when he's in front of the audience of the masses. He seems more strict now, judging from the tone lacing his voice from his query earlier. "Does this feel good?" He proceeds to unbutton your top, letting the fabric come undone and fall down to your lap. A singular  gloved hand of his snakes its way to your back, and with a single fidget, your bra was unclasped.

The priest takes his precious time in all these. He carefully observes the clothing that you wear, as he had come to adore the fact that you were wearing pearly white brassiere, one that was similar to the blindfold's texture and design, it was frilly in the edges and soft to the touch.

A light chuckle slips out, "Well? What's your answer?" Desire and temptation brews within your stomach, even spiking higher as he caresses your mounds with both of his hands. His touches feel light and blissful at the same time, like your body was basking in the warmth and enjoyment the priest had to offer. You struggle to keep your body still, knees trembling even though you were only sitting.

"N-No, Mr. Sunday."

A sharp throbbing ache courses through your head, granting him a wince of both surprise and pain. "It appears that you haven't put your mind and whole heart to this yet." He says as he walks away from your stature, leaving you dumbfounded. As silence encompasses the vicinity, you hear the male seat himself on the chair across from you. "Come to me." He simply orders.

"Just take steps forward and trust me."

With blind faith, you solemnly obey - approaching his figure with an extremely bleary vision. As your feet meet with an obstacle, seemingly the chair's legs, you stop in your tracks. "Now straddle my lap." Following suit, you feel a bulging sensation under your remaining clothing. Your breath becomes even more jagged than before, especially now that your clothed folds come in contact with his throbbing dick. It was clear cut enough that it was his erection continuously growing.

A brief moment passes and Sunday continues to envelop your hard buds within his lips, teeth grinding on your nipples in an attempt to inflict pain and pleasure all at the same time. "M— Mr. Sunday . . !" You yelp but he does not halt. He proceeds to twirl his warm, slick tongue all over your glazed areolas, your boob dancing in rhythm with his mouth in somewhat harmonic tunes played by your stifled mewls.

His other free hand pulls you tighter to his chest as he adjusts his position, bucking his hips upwards to create some sort of friction. The tip of his covered cock brushes against your already wet slit, granting him another lewd sound - this time, a soft moan. "I— I— I can't—" your hands clutch on the man's broad shoulders, feeling his long, muted blue and white locks tangle along your fingers. "You can. Yes you can. Only a little bit more you would be rewarded by proving your loyalty to the ▅▅▅."

Your sense of hearing downgrades as your mind drifts into pure bliss, lower limbs becoming numb as more pleasure courses through your veins. As if it's still not enough, Sunday simply lowers your remaining clothes to your feet, revealing your folds sopping wet with arousal already.

With haste and care in Sunday's every movement, he lays your back on the table in between the chairs, forcibly revealing everything down there to him — for him to revel in. The gelid wind traces shivers upon your sweat dewed skin, especially your folds now glimmering with muddy white liquids.

He raises your legs and stands up, resting your lower limbs upon his shoulders. The position is embarrassing enough as it is, but having the priest tower over you is another experience that feels even more intense than what unfolded previously. Not to mention that the throbbing pang in your head brought by your dishonesty upon the Harmony worsens minute by minute.

The male buries his face in your inner thighs first, flicking his tongue over your soft skin while his eyes are darted on your face, in high alert to which action of his you will react the most to. "Need I remind you to be honest this time around? Or is the headache that you're feeling not sufficient for you to stay true to your words?" He asks with a demanding tone, the margins of his lips drawing closer and closer to your slit.

"I have learned my lesson, Mr. Sunda—"

Gloved fingers begin to stimulate your clit, moving in motions you cannot fathom with your current state - your lower body jerking up in response to the stimulation. A sly smile creeps up on Sunday's face, his navy blue pupils fixating on each of your actions and expressions.

All you could think of was the fact that he didn't even let you finish, he went straight to pleasure you more, the sensation becoming more overwhelming as he starts to glide the tip of his tongue on your folds. "Do you feel good?" Although his voice was muffled from the proximity from his face and your pussy, you could comprehend and immediately answer, "Yes! I-I feel good . . !"

You rack your head back once Sunday buries his face further into your inner thighs, wallowing himself in your slit as he sucked on your sweet spot, sticking his tongue into your velvet walls while still toying with your clitoris. You bite back your moans, you cannot afford to lose the remaining dignity you had in you left - if there was any.

"Don't do that."

His voice sounds stern as ever, you were left with no choice yet again but to let mewls and moans come undone at this point in time. You were noisy, along with the sucking sounds accompanied by your hums of pleasure, continually bouncing off of the reconciliation room's four walls. "Very good. As for the last part, you must continue to be truthful, to stand by the ▅▅▅, and to ▅▅▅ to what I ought to be ▅▅▅ for you. Do you understand?"

Much to your relief, your vision was once again back to normal as he unties the lacey blindfold on your eyes. This time, you could see Sunday's disheveled hair, as well as the golden earrings dangling at every movement he makes. He swiftly unzips his slacks, therefore revealing his cock he had been concealing for so long before. It stands in its full glory, hues of purple and indigo veins threatening to pop - it was evident he's at his limit.

"Use your mouth. Make me feel good." He commands and peers at you with a somber expression. You muster enough strength on your body to stand up and kneel in front of him, positioning your head in a perfect angle to receive him. Slowly parting your lips open, he shoves his dick inside you, granting you a hoarse moan of satisfaction slipping past his lips.

You bob your head up and down and as if it felt natural to wrap your digits around the remaining length of his cock, you pump him in accordance to your pace, taking him inside with no hesitation, with only one goal in mind: to make him feel good. You could feel the crown of his dick kiss your throat every time you go deeper, making your eyes water as you try to keep yourself from gagging for the priest's satisfaction.

"That's enough, stand up." Your momentum was cut off as he hooks his arms on yours, making you stand from your previously kneeling position. It seems he has indulged enough in your submission and now it is time for him to try something new, something far more amusing in his perspective.

With both of your statures still standing up, he flips you around, making your back face him. He can examine every nook and cranny of your body in this way, and with a hum of approval, he bends you over slightly, wrapping his arms around your waist and reach for your tits. Your breath deepens, more beads of sweat proceed to trickle down your naked body. "M-Mr. Sunday, are we really going to do it?" you ask as he wraps his hand around himself, brushing his tip on your entrance.

He stops in his movements. "Do you have a problem with that?" A domineering tone laces that sole sentence, one that a person cannot delve deeper furthermore.

With one more stroke, he finally pushes himself inside your velvet walls, molding themselves around the shape of Sunday's dick - wallowing in the pleasure and warmth he emanates inside you. "So . . . warm . . ." He whispers, his breath ghosting a caress on the shell of your ear.

Sunday builds up his pace from a painfully slow one to picking it up, thrusting into you with additional force, pistoning your pussy as he's balls deep. Sounds of skin slapping add onto the lewd tune you two have been playing for the past hour, a whole sixty minutes of pleasure pooling your stomach and arousals seeping out of your holes.

Your legs start to quiver once more, exhaustion gnawing at your bones. But amidst this, Sunday kept you still with his force, hitting your sweet spots with the tip of his cock. If you could beg for mercy as of the moment, you certainly would take the chance. But to who, exactly? To whoever aeon is witnessing this lascivious act unfold in front of them, committed in such a religious place?

Or perhaps to Sunday, who you've knelt to before, received him inside your body in more ways than one. Perhaps. Perhaps it is he who shall show you mercy in the heat of the moment.

"M-Mr. Sunday, please forgive me!"

Interest sparks inside his mind, revelling in the way of being viewed as someone highly, someone sought out, someone in a legitimate authority. "You shall be forgiven." He states as he bites down on the blade of your shoulder, teeth leaving a bite mark and an aching sensation alongside it. You could do nothing but wince in pain, but waves of pleasure start to crush upon your conscious self.

Surely this is too much pleasure to handle for someone asking for forgiveness as they committed a grave sin for partaking in debauchery . . . but to be done this way by a priest is a little too exhilarating.

He picks up the pace, earning himself more moans of pleasure escape your lips, "I'll ▅▅▅ ▅▅▅ inside you." Sunday says as a fair warning, but a sentence you could only form at the present time was a lighthearted "Do as you please, Mr. Sunday."

With one single thrust, strings of satisfaction sprawl inside your womb. It feels warm yet again, but now, comforting in stark contrast to the nervousness welling up in your heart earlier.

"Well done. As you've shown resolution that you're on a path to atone for the sins you've committed in the past, you shall be forgiven."

[eraenaa]

Tea Party (Modern AU)

Aemond Targaryen x Stark Reader Tag List

Synopsis: Aemond convinces you to let Helaena join your group’s exclusive tea party, using any means necessary just for you to agree. 

Warnings: ¿Super Soft Aemond?, Mature, 18+, Stimulation, Aftercare, P in V Sex, {Using Sex as a Weapon}, Not Proofread

Word Count: 2,349

A/N: Based on a request by @slytherincursebreaker

“I have to go,” You sighed and pecked Aemond’s lips as you two were walking along the courtyard of your university. Aemond quietly groaned in protest, “Do you really have to? Just skip it this week,” He said, not letting go of your hand, instead pulling you closer to him, making you laugh. “I’ve already skipped last week’s session, per your request— the girls will have my head if I miss today as well,” You sighed and rested your palm on his chest as he rolled his eye and shook his head. “It’s just an hour… or two,” You added and went to the tip of your toes to peck his lips again, but Aemond took hold of your cheek to deepen your kiss. 

When you parted, you breathed out a laugh, “Now I really have to go,” you sighed and turned away to hastily walk to the hall before your dearest partner could drag you to your shared flat, “Hi, Helaena!” You greeted her as you passed his sister, waving your hand and giving her a wide smile. “Where is she going?” Helaena quietly asked her brother, who sighed and shook his head, “Tea party,” He answered, and Helaena nodded, “That reminds me, we found another for you to add to your collection,” Aemond said as he walked with his sister, reaching in the pocket of his leather jacket and acquire a small, clear box that housed a beetle his sister was overly fond of collecting. 

Aemond gazed at his sister, slightly frowning as she appeared unimpressed by the small gift you and he had acquired for her. Normally, a smile would adorn her lips, and her eyes would twinkle in mirth; now, however, her expression was threading to melancholy. “Are you well? Do you not like it? Or perhaps you already have this variant?” Aemond asked in concern, halting his steps. Helaena shook her head and plastered a small smile, but her brother saw right through her act. “Tell me,” Aemond insisted, and Helaena sighed, her gaze plastered to the ground. 

“I… I want to join their tea party,” She said quietly, but that did not aid Aemond’s confusion about her sullen state. “It’s just… it looks like quite fun. The treats they serve always look so delicious, and I would always see them laughing in the hall,” She explained further. Aemond licked his lips and hummed, nodding in understanding. “Do you truly wish to join?” Aemond asked, and Helaena cast her gaze upward in hope and fervently nodded. “I’ll see what I can do,”

“No,” You responded to Aemond’s query; the both of you were having dinner when he asked you if you could let Heleana join your group’s tea party. “Why not?” Aemond asked. “Aemond, I love Helaena… I do, but she cannot join,” You say, and Aemond’s furrowed brows only severed. “Why not? You’re not giving me a reason. My sister truly wants to join— she noted how fun you and your group have, and she wishes to be part of it.” You sighed and shook your head, taking a sip of wine before speaking. 

“Aemond, they’re not having fun— they’re making fun at other people’s expense!” You explained and stood, moving to clear the plates, but Aemond hindered you and took the empty dishes himself as he followed you to the kitchens. “What?” He asked as he placed the dishes in the sink. “Those girls are vicious. They look sweet, they truly do, but they’ll eat her alive,” You explained, but still, Aemond was just wholly confused. “Aemond, you and I know of your sister’s little quirks… and I love them; I find them endearing, but to others… they won’t be so… welcoming to it,” you said delicately. 

“Helaena is a Targaryen. She belongs in that group with you and the other daughters of the great families.” Aemond insisted, and you drank the finality of your wine. “Yes, I am aware of your family’s standing— your family’s power is not the problem here. It is that Helaena is too… soft to be a part of that group,” Aemond scoffed, “You are part of the group,” He stated, and you shook your head, stepping closer to him. “I have been desensitized by those girls; our familiarity since childhood had prepared me for their harshness,” You said, “You should have been there today; they did a full half-hour making fun of Jacaerys’ posture alone!” You added, and Aemond snickered. You gazed at his reaction, noting that he would do well in that group along with the ladies who had no problem in drawing criticism at the expense of others. “I just don’t think she’ll be comfortable there,” You said quietly. Aemond sighed, not conceding until he had accomplished getting Helaena into your overly exclusive group. 

“Are you not their leader? Can you not just order them to play nice?” Your lips agape at Aemond’s question. “There’s no leader here,” You denied, but Aemond raised his brow, a smirk slipping his lips as he knew fully well that you were practically queen in the eyes of those girls. You breathed out a laugh at the stare Aemond gave you. “Aemond,” You sighed as he wrapped his arms around your waist. “Please, for me,” he said, and your heart grew soft at the pleading in his eye. “Aemond,” You sighed once more and tried to walk away, but he urged you to stay rooted on your spot, burying his face in your neck and placing small kisses upon it, trying to sway your mind. 

“She… she would not like it,” You stuttered, mind distracted and your body filling with the familiar need that only he could conjure and sedate. Aemond hummed as he sucked on a delicate spot that made your knees weak and your whole being wanton. “How are you so certain?” Aemond hummed as his hands squeezed the flesh of your behind, smirking against your skin as he felt the buds of your breast peak and strain through the thin sheet of your dress. Aemond returned his lips to yours, kissing you in the way that he knew would leave you dazed, the two of you stumbling toward the bedroom of your flat, him gently laying on the bed as his hands wandered through your body, leaving fire in the wake of his cold touch. 

You called for his name as his lips traveled from the apex of your neck to your bosom. His hands hiking up the fabric of your dress higher and higher. “Reconsider, my darling?” Aemond hummed as he sucked on your skin, leaving his little marks. Your breathing labored as he bundled the skirt of your dress to your waist. You mindlessly shook your head as he pulled down the bodice of your dress and took the bud of your breast into his mouth, his tongue circling and his teeth lightly biting it. 

When Aemond heard no reply, he knew he should double his efforts. His hands slithered upwards, resting on each of your thighs. He tailed his kisses further south and planted them on the insides of your thighs. “Aemond, please,” You called, and you felt him smirk against your skin. “Reconsider first,” he said, and you groaned. His stubbornness and insistence placed a buffer on your wants. Aemond sighed as he felt you push him away, trying to stir away from his hold, but his arms hooked around your thighs prevented you from doing so. 

“I’m not in the mood anymore,” You sighed and tried to release yourself from his hold, and Aemond started to regret pushing you further. Aemond sighed as he watched you hop out of bed, and he groaned as he was filled with need for you, but he had overplayed his hand. “Darling,” he called as he followed you to the washroom, trying to wash your face with cold water to lessen the flush on your cheeks. Aemond walked behind you and rested his forehead on your shoulder, a grieved sigh escaping his lips, and you felt his need pressed against your backside. 

“I’m sorry,” you hear him murmur and place a kiss on your shoulder. “It is just… I do not want Helaena missing out,” Aemond sighed and brushed away a lock of your silky hair. “I do not want for her to miss out as well— and she won’t! She won’t miss out by not attending this tea party; she’d be saved from their ill topics.” You said and turned around; Aemond flushed against your frame, and you situated between him and the marble sink. You watched as Aemond licked his lips, eye darting around the room. 

“Then let her decide. Let her try it first; if she does not like it, she does not have to return now, does she? Let her see for herself,” Aemond suggested, his hands cupping your cheeks. You sighed and relented, nodding your head as his fingers caressed your cheeks. “Fine,” You sighed and Aemond placed a kiss on the side of your lips. “Swear,” He said, knowing you could never go back on your word. You groaned at his tactic, “I swear to you,” You said quietly, and you felt a smile on his lips as he kissed yours. 

You moaned quietly as Aemond perched you upon the cool marble of the counter, his fingers caressing your back and slyly undid the zipper of your dress, the sleeves of it coming loose on your shoulder. You moaned against his mouth as his hand yanked downward the bodice of your dress, and his hand toyed with you. You wrapped your legs around his waist, pulling him impossibly closer, your need for Aemond severe. You hear a quiet sound emit from his throat as you ground your hips against his, your hands flying to the waistband of his trousers to remove it. Aemond parted your lips as he felt you cup his length, your soft hand lightly moving against the pulsating and stiff bulge. 

“You’re teasing me, my darling.” He warned, his lilac eye turning deep amethyst with want. With your other hand, you reached to remove his eyepatch to see the whole of him, your thumb tracing his scar, and you breathed heavily as he leaned further into your touch.  “You were teasing me first,” came your reply and Aemond smirked before capturing your lips again, him being the one to fully remove his trousers. “Fuck, I missed you,” You hear him breathe out as he sheathed himself inside you. Wetness had greatly gathered and offered no resistance to assist Aemond’s well-endowed length. “You just had me this morning,” You say breathlessly, slightly amused by his statement. 

“That was not enough,” He hissed as he felt the tip of his cock press against the spongey spot in your cunt; his hand rested upon your waist as he tilted your head back and rested upon the mirror of the sink. “Aemond… oh god, don’t stop— just like that,” You moaned as his thrusts were relentless, presenting you with pleasure that consumed you whole. You feel his thumb pressed flatly upon your nubbin, drawing circles upon it, and he hissed as you clenched tightly around his length; you were quick to come undone. You moved and placed your hold on the nape of Aemond’s neck, locking your lips as the altered position had proved to lead his thrusts deeper. Aemond groaned as you bit his lip through your kiss, pulling you close and willing you to do it once more. 

“Aemond… Aemond,” You cried as you felt the familiar knot in your core tightening once more, your orgasms always quick to follow one another. “Will you come again so quickly, my darling?” Aemond hummed as you guided his hand to your tit once more, him smirking as your eyes rolled back and his hands palmed your breast. “Only I can make you feel as this… only I can have you like this,” Aemond gritted in pleasure. You nodded your head, a moan escaping your lips as you agreed. “Swear it. Swear that you are only mine.” Aemond’s thrust began to falter, his own release coming quickly. “I am only yours; I swear.” You moaned and peeled your eyes open to watch his pleasure-etched face as he spilled himself deep inside your cunt. 

You breathed heavily and simply observed as Aemond opened the faucet of the sink and took a towel to run through the water. You bit your lip as slipped out of you, watching as he smirked as he saw your cunt drip of your essences. Your hazy eyes observed as he sank to his knees and cleaned the consequences of your coupling, placing a kiss on the inside of your thighs before hoisting you up and carrying you to your bed so the two of you may rest. He tucked you in his arms and ran his hand through your hair, lulling you to sleep. 

The following week, Aemond observed from a distance as you introduced Helaena to your group, who held their weekly tea party. He watched as a smile was on yours and his sister’s face and you guided Helaena to seat next to yours. He observed for a moment as the girl was rendered silent, and you tried to return them to their conversation to reassure them that the outsider they deemed his sister to be would not be a hindrance to their topics. 

Aemond glanced to his side and saw his brother appear, his brow in a furrow as he observed the scene. “How… what is Helaena doing there?” He asked in disbelief. Aemond smirked, recalling how he had convinced you. “I have my ways,” he said lowly and watched you take a cup to your lips, the conversation of your group continuing once more. “Will she even fit in there? Does their group not just gossip and criticize other people?” Aegon asked. Aemond watched as his sister’s lips began to move, sharing an anecdote with your group, and he noted how the group’s full attention was on hers. “She’ll do just fine.” 

[lostcauses-noregrets]

Hiatus

I'm going to have to put this blog on hiatus for a few months as I'm dealing with some serious health issues.

Apologies to all those who sent me asks recently that I haven't been able to answer, I'll do my best to get round to them when I can. I'll leave my ask box open on the off chance that I'm well enough to reply. It's always great to read your rants, queries, theories, headcanons and questions, so feel free to keep sending them in and I'll reply if I can.

In the meantime, take care, be kind, and remember, Eruri is canon ♡ Lost xxx

[mostlysignssomeportents]

Too big to care

I'm on tour with my new, nationally bestselling novel The Bezzle! Catch me in BOSTON with Randall "XKCD" Munroe (Apr 11), then PROVIDENCE (Apr 12), and beyond!

Remember the first time you used Google search? It was like magic. After years of progressively worsening search quality from Altavista and Yahoo, Google was literally stunning, a gateway to the very best things on the internet.

Today, Google has a 90% search market-share. They got it the hard way: they cheated. Google spends tens of billions of dollars on payola in order to ensure that they are the default search engine behind every search box you encounter on every device, every service and every website:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/10/03/not-feeling-lucky/#fundamental-laws-of-economics

Not coincidentally, Google's search is getting progressively, monotonically worse. It is a cesspool of botshit, spam, scams, and nonsense. Important resources that I never bothered to bookmark because I could find them with a quick Google search no longer show up in the first ten screens of results:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/02/21/im-feeling-unlucky/#not-up-to-the-task

Even after all that payola, Google is still absurdly profitable. They have so much money, they were able to do a $80 billion stock buyback. Just a few months later, Google fired 12,000 skilled technical workers. Essentially, Google is saying that they don't need to spend money on quality, because we're all locked into using Google search. It's cheaper to buy the default search box everywhere in the world than it is to make a product that is so good that even if we tried another search engine, we'd still prefer Google.

This is enshittification. Google is shifting value away from end users (searchers) and business customers (advertisers, publishers and merchants) to itself:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/03/05/the-map-is-not-the-territory/#apor-locksmith

And here's the thing: there are search engines out there that are so good that if you just try them, you'll get that same feeling you got the first time you tried Google.

When I was in Tucson last month on my book-tour for my new novel The Bezzle, I crashed with my pals Patrick and Teresa Nielsen Hayden. I've know them since I was a teenager (Patrick is my editor).

We were sitting in his living room on our laptops – just like old times! – and Patrick asked me if I'd tried Kagi, a new search-engine.

Teresa chimed in, extolling the advanced search features, the "lenses" that surfaced specific kinds of resources on the web.

I hadn't even heard of Kagi, but the Nielsen Haydens are among the most effective researchers I know – both in their professional editorial lives and in their many obsessive hobbies. If it was good enough for them…

I tried it. It was magic.

No, seriously. All those things Google couldn't find anymore? Top of the search pile. Queries that generated pages of spam in Google results? Fucking pristine on Kagi – the right answers, over and over again.

That was before I started playing with Kagi's lenses and other bells and whistles, which elevated the search experience from "magic" to sorcerous.

The catch is that Kagi costs money – after 100 queries, they want you to cough up $10/month ($14 for a couple or $20 for a family with up to six accounts, and some kid-specific features):

https://kagi.com/settings?p=billing_plan&plan=family

I immediately bought a family plan. I've been using it for a month. I've basically stopped using Google search altogether.

Kagi just let me get a lot more done, and I assumed that they were some kind of wildly capitalized startup that was running their own crawl and and their own data-centers. But this morning, I read Jason Koebler's 404 Media report on his own experiences using it:

https://www.404media.co/friendship-ended-with-google-now-kagi-is-my-best-friend/

Koebler's piece contained a key detail that I'd somehow missed:

When you search on Kagi, the service makes a series of “anonymized API calls to traditional search indexes like Google, Yandex, Mojeek, and Brave,” as well as a handful of other specialized search engines, Wikimedia Commons, Flickr, etc. Kagi then combines this with its own web index and news index (for news searches) to build the results pages that you see. So, essentially, you are getting some mix of Google search results combined with results from other indexes.

In other words: Kagi is a heavily customized, anonymized front-end to Google.

The implications of this are stunning. It means that Google's enshittified search-results are a choice. Those ad-strewn, sub-Altavista, spam-drowned search pages are a feature, not a bug. Google prefers those results to Kagi, because Google makes more money out of shit than they would out of delivering a good product:

https://www.theverge.com/2024/4/2/24117976/best-printer-2024-home-use-office-use-labels-school-homework

No wonder Google spends a whole-ass Twitter every year to make sure you never try a rival search engine. Bottom line: they ran the numbers and figured out their most profitable course of action is to enshittify their flagship product and bribe their "competitors" like Apple and Samsung so that you never try another search engine and have another one of those magic moments that sent all those Jeeves-askin' Yahooers to Google a quarter-century ago.

One of my favorite TV comedy bits is Lily Tomlin as Ernestine the AT&T operator; Tomlin would do these pitches for the Bell System and end every ad with "We don't care. We don't have to. We're the phone company":

https://snltranscripts.jt.org/76/76aphonecompany.phtml

Speaking of TV comedy: this week saw FTC chair Lina Khan appear on The Daily Show with Jon Stewart. It was amazing:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oaDTiWaYfcM

The coverage of Khan's appearance has focused on Stewart's revelation that when he was doing a show on Apple TV, the company prohibited him from interviewing her (presumably because of her hostility to tech monopolies):

https://www.thebignewsletter.com/p/apple-got-caught-censoring-its-own

But for me, the big moment came when Khan described tech monopolists as "too big to care."

What a phrase!

Since the subprime crisis, we're all familiar with businesses being "too big to fail" and "too big to jail." But "too big to care?" Oof, that got me right in the feels.

Because that's what it feels like to use enshittified Google. That's what it feels like to discover that Kagi – the good search engine – is mostly Google with the weights adjusted to serve users, not shareholders.

Google used to care. They cared because they were worried about competitors and regulators. They cared because their workers made them care:

https://www.vox.com/future-perfect/2019/4/4/18295933/google-cancels-ai-ethics-board

Google doesn't care anymore. They don't have to. They're the search company.

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/04/04/teach-me-how-to-shruggie/#kagi

[duchi-nesten]

Surprise

Summary:

Danny gets a little surprise from his dad.

Word count: 1,117 || AO3 Link

PHIC PHIGHT TIME!!! Prompt by @underforeversgrace:

Someone gets The KnifeTM.

___

Danny really fucking hated his life sometimes.

Don’t get him wrong. He was definitely glad he had the power to keep his town and loved ones safe. Really. Not complaining one bit. 

Alright, maybe complaining a little bit.

Being the hero was nice, but coupled with school work and house chores it unfortunately left Danny with very little time for personal joys. So when his dad decided to interrupt the lovely free time he was having with the hit game Subnautica (2014) by calling him down into the lab, he was maybe a LITTLE bit peeved. Sue him.

Groaning quietly to not hurt his father’s feelings, he descended down the stairs into OSHA’s worst nightmare of a lab. He skillfully avoided the ectoplasm stains decking almost every step wondering how no one has slipped and got severly injured on these yet.

When he finally reached the bottom, he saw his father standing by one of the furthest desks, his back turned to him. The portal resided right beside him, its opened doors currently being the only source of light, giving the room an eerie atmosphere.

Why his parents wouldn’t just fucking keep that door closed at all times was beyond him. Maybe if the portal to literal hell was perma-closed he would have more time for Subnautica (2014).

Danny was brought out of his alien ocean planet related thoughts by his father’s voice.

“You might be wondering why I called you down here,” he said, voice uncharacteristically low for Jack FentonTM. 

“Is it a new invention you wanna show off or did I accidentally forget to clean a shelf or two?” Danny definitely didn’t accidentally forget. He forgot fully on purpose, hoping his parents would be too engrossed with their inventing to notice. 

He was readying himself to parkour up the stairs again and bring down some cleaning rags, when his father finally turned around. The first thing that caught Danny’s attention was how serious the man seemed to be. There was a hard, unreadable look on his face. 

If that uncharacteristic expression wasn’t enough to make a shiver run down Danny’s spine, the object his father was holding definitely made him freak out on the inside a little bit, because was that a KNIFE?

The knife didn’t look like a Fenton invention, quite the opposite actually. It looked very normal if not really fucking old. It was hard to tell from the distance, but the handle looked handcrafted. Knowing his parents, he wouldn’t be surprised if it turned out to be some old timey anti-ghost artifact, though where they would get such a thing was a question he wasn’t sure he wanted an answer to.

Danny looked back at his father's face with a silent query. The man’s eyes hardened a bit more as his voice once again rang out through the lab.

“I know what you are.”

And damn was Danny freaking out a bit on the inside before? Because now he was FREAKING THE FUCK OUT both on the inside and on the outside. He took a step back while his heart threatened to jump out of his throat.

His father knew. His father knew he was a ghost and here he was with a FUCKING KNIFE. This was it. Danny Fenton dies fully today at the hands of his father of all people. He never expected this to actually happen. He thought it was just something the phandom liked to put him through.

In the last ditch attempt to save his life, Danny crossed his arms in front of his chest.

“I SWEAR I’M NOT A GHOST!” he squeaked out in a very manly fashion.

Sudden confusion painted his father’s face as he lowered the offending object. “What? Of course you aren’t a ghost, Danno!” 

There was a beat of silence.

“Then..uh…what?” Danny asked very intelligently.

“I wanted to say you’re finally a man!” his dad yelled proudly as he stepped closer and wrapped an arm around Danny, who was still trying to process what the actual fuck was happening. “I saw you yesterday! Fighting that weird box obsessed ghost all on your own like a champion! Oh, I am so proud, my own son,” he pulled away to wipe a tear from his eye.

Danny just stared, now fully and utterly lost. It was true that he did fight the Box Ghost yesterday as Fenton, mostly because he just didn’t wanna bother to transform, but he had no idea his dad was watching that.

It wasn’t even an interesting fight, it was literally just another huge L for Boxy. Danny barely had to do anything.

His dad continued to sing his praises, but Danny’s attention turned to the object still in the man’s hands. Now that he got a closer look, he could definitely tell it was handmade. The craftsmanship was incredible. The handle was full of carefully carved swirls and old looking signs. 

“Uh, dad?” he asked slowly, pointing at the knife “what’s this for then?”

“Oh!” His father's attention now also turned back to the blade in his hand as he held it out to Danny excitedly. “This, my son, is the KnifeTM.”

“A knife?”

“No, The KnifeTM,” he accented the trademark by saying the words in a very specific manner. “It’s been passed down from father to son for millennia! I’m pretty sure it was handcrafted by some old ancestor of ours, way before the times when the Fenton family brand was a thing. Therefore it’s …The KnifeTM. I would rename it to The Fenton KnifeTM to make it more obvious it’s ours, but you know, old family heirloom… Just have to accept it as it is.”

“Uh..”

“Anyway, I’d like to pass it down to you now!” he pretty much shoved the knife into Danny’s hands, yet still careful enough to not cut off anyone’s fingers. “You really proved yourself out there yesterday! You deserve to bear our family heirloom with pride!”

Before Danny could react in any way, his father was hugging him tightly (avoiding the knife somehow) and turning to bounce up the stairs.

“I’m gonna go grab one of my spare jumpsuits and we can go out to hunt some ghosts together! Just me and you!” he yelled excitedly, barely missing slipping on one of the bigger ectoplasm stains. “While I do that, you can take care of those few shelves you accidentally forgot about!”

The door slammed shut behind him and Danny was left in the lab alone, weird knife in hand. Now that his father was gone and his feelings could be spared, he let out the loudest groan ever heard by humankind.

“Ugh, I just wanted to play Subnautica (2014).”

[spinningbagel]

can I have some more of the hero au? I just really want more of the story and relationship of shooter, sheriff, and brutux. Have a wonderful day/night! :)

You most definitely can!!!! My under appreciated baby fr....

So, Sheriff, Shooter & Brutux's relationship kind of depends on where they are and who they're acting as. See, outside their respective vigilante/villainy work, they all work together in a supermarket, going as Jim, Max & Alex/Alexander and they get along decently enough. Though Sheriff & Shooter have definitely given Brutux an aneurism by simply existing. They do get along quite well and together they make quite the trio (Jim refers to them as his "highly dysfunctional family" to the amusement of no one). Together they stock shelves, scan items, almost kill your average entitled woman and constantly wonder why they're always working together. They're like siblings, kinda. Yk?

OUTSIDE of that work and in their respective "second jobs" it's a bit different? I mean, Brutux runs a black market and is one of the largest weapons dealers in the city. He's not a man to be messed with and Sheriff & Shooter are aware...they just ignore that part. Because they're dumbasses. Are we surprised? Anyways. They completely ignore that and annoy the fuck out of the guy, sure he's sketchy in everything he does but he hasn't tried killing them yet so why would they wanna get rid of their buddy? (Note: Brutux ABSOLUTELY doesn't want to be here). He tolerates them, similarly, they haven't tried stopping his operations in any way so he has no reason to remove them from the picture. Though, he might if they suddenly decide to become a little too goody two shoes for his liking.

And, as for the story it's not all figured out yet, frankly I haven't touched this au in a hot minute so forgive me. But, I believe that the gist of it is that Vegan decides to do a bit of undercover work, either wanting to arrest or bring into the hero's group Sheriff & Shooter and the two are none the wiser, easily taking her under their wing and showing anything and everything that they can, thinking that's she's just some rookie vigilante. She's not and ends up detaining them (yk how in that one episode the white family is in the glass cell thing? Yeah they get put in one of those.) something or another happens and look at that they're free again!! Chaos ensures.

I have not worked out how Wart and that whole group will fit into this, I don't want to have it like how I've got it in the Cyber!au with him being an evil scientist and all. Like I said, I have not touched this au in quite a bit. I should, it's not half bad.

Nevertheless, I hope this answers your questions to some degree and any/all further questions about anything, specific to this au or not are most certainly welcomed and encouraged 🧡

[wormchamp72]

not to be rude but are you like 12 years old the way you type makes it seem so. reminds me of my middle school self 🤭🤭 silly

Twelve.

TWELVE?????

I will give you the benefit of the doubt due 2 the seemingly innocent nature of this ask, as well as due 2 my growth as a person. New Year, New worm after all...well, at least I'm trying.

But I am not. Twelve. I am sitting at my desk, sighing at your query. Do I truly come across as so juvenile? Perhaps some self-reflection is in order...But alas, I shake my head and forgive.

Also, I am not silly. But, I am "glad" I put a smile on your face.

[bookwyrminspiration]

there needs to be more gross and disgusting kotlc fanfic. this would fix society i think

I think you're absolutely right, I'm listening. What's cooking up in that nogging o' yours, nonsie? What kinds of gross and disgusting are you picturing?

Of course we don't have to be limited to your ideas alone, I'm just curious the direction you're thinking because we could take it so many ways

(note: this ask predates the recent elven sexuality posts)

[weirdlookingsnakewithlegs]

I’m surprised I haven’t posted about this soon but Seekers definitely don’t sound normal and the Vosian language definitely isn’t normal either.

I have no doubt that a seeker’s voice box is much more specialized than the average Cybertronian, they need it for their language. The Vosian language, complex as it is, hold three main points; the EM field, wing movement, and vocalizing.

Now seekers don’t necessarily have words in their language, it’s a mixture of calls, mimicry, movement, and emotion. It’s perhaps a reason why seekers have such a reputation for being dramatic. Now some may only view seekers as wild animals completely for the fact they click, warble, bellow, chirp, and so forth.

I imagine bellowing similar to the way alligators do it, that low and heavy rumble building up in their throat. It’s likely a way to show content, only doing it when they feel safe. Similar to purring, which honestly could be a cause for the bellowing as well.

Chirps are probably more on the acknowledging side, used to find trinemates or sparklings, the high pitched noise surprisingly different to each seeker which helps with identification. I also imagine they do it when answering yes, a sense of approval marinated in the noise.

The little warbles are probably more like queries, often paired with a cocked helm and a little wing flutter. Other times it’s used when they’re gently surprised, like the noise a cat makes when you pet its back while it’s not looking.

The clicks might be more aggressive in nature, a warning perhaps before the seeker revs their engine with a growl. Likely often heard when wings are raised high and a snarl is on their face.

There’s so much more you can do, especially with mechanical noises. If anyone else has any thoughts I’d love to hear them >:3

[casuallyanidiot]

yandere vampire whos a total sweetie most of the time, but loses his mind whenever youre bleeding?

This is so interesting and fun! Make it Victorian and it's extra yummy.

Vampire in the Garden

[Yandere M. x Gn reader] tw. noncon, blood, MDNI Nfsw under the cut 1.6k words

You're annoyed and yet flattered to have such a suitor. He's the mysterious marquis who hardly attends social gatherings, and yet he appeared in your garden near nightly. How scandalous!

But he managed to endear himself to you despite the odd visiting hours, and you found yourself waiting up later and later into the evening to greet him. His ashen skin shone even when the moon was new, and he had such a charming smile upon his visage that you found it hard to refuse him.

The marquis sent you gifts often. Flowers from his personal greenhouse, suits and gowns tailored to your form, books that you expressed interest in reading in passing from your nightly chats, and small trinkets and gems would arrive the morning after you awoke. It was truly flattering, and you felt your heart flutter softly each time you graze fingertips now.

You asked him to attend a ball with you, and he did. It caused quite the stir when the wealthy, reclusive man steps into the grand hall only moments after the sun set. He smiled, and you returned the gesture. You could hardly pay attention to the murmurs of the crowd when he had so quickly whisked you away onto the dance floor. He was so beautiful under candlelight that you were left breathless. It was almost unfair how his dark eyes could sparkle with such golden intensity when they looked at you.

He pulled you aside to a moonlit balcony after the music died down, and he slipped a ring on your finger.

"I would be delighted if you would so deign to have me as your husband, my dear," He murmured as if he was a man begging for food, for the right to have something needed to live. He clutched you to his chest in a manner so intimate that you wondered how either of you had ever managed to stay so far apart before. It was quite improper of you at the time, yet you answered not with words to his query but instead a passionate meeting of the lips.

You were married shortly after.

It had been a grand yet private affair, and your things were boxed and packaged, loaded into a carriage, and you were taken deep into the countryside where your new spouse's estate resided. You weren't used to being so isolated from people, and it was odd getting used to living outside of city life, but you weren't one to complain.

Living with Victor, your husband, was smooth and sweet. You found that he tended to sleep during the day and dine, work, and pamper you with affection once the sky streaked orange and dark navy blues. He was truly ecstatic to have you, and you found that you were settling nicely into this odd, nocturnal routine.

You tried not to think about the small, odd things that you found cropping up, though. Servants whispered in the halls about shadows that seemed to linger longer than they should. Gossip surely. Victor also sipped from crystalline wine glasses at almost every supper, and you got the faintest whiff of iron from them.

"Darling, I'm curious. You seem to enjoy your drink quite much," You mentioned one evening, and he seemed to freeze and then bashfully hang his head.

"My dear, I am afraid to say that this is far too harsh and offending for your delicate lips," He teased, and you dropped your curious queries in favor of giggling like a young maiden.

Nothing was out of place until one night, when the stars shone brightly upon your rather scantily clad self. You relaxed within the gardens, enjoying the crisp night air. The roses were in full bloom, a brilliant white shade covered the flower beds. It resembled a snowy field, peaceful and fragrant. You hummed a soft tune as you reached down to pick one of the full, unfurled blooms.

"Ow!" You cried out and hissed softly. "Oh... you fiendish little thing," You sighed and glared at the rose which had been painted with a flash of vibrant scarlet from your blood. How foolish you had been. Of course they would have thorns. Now your poor little finger was bleeding freely and staining your formerly pristine nightgown. You clutched your injured hand to your chest and turned to walk back into the manor to tend to the wound when you spotted him.

His face was downcast, shadowed and hidden from you. His shoulders were hunched, and you blinked in confusion.

"Love? Victor?" You called out to him, your pain forgotten momentarily. He was trembling, and you furrowed your brows. Whatever had possessed him to see him so... eerie? You approached him quickly, your hand cradling his face to bring it into the light.

It was then you saw his expression in all his glory.

Victor's fangs were on full display, drooling and snarling your name against the empty night. His golden eyes seemed to glow unnaturally, and you stepped back in shock.

"V-victor?" You squeaked out, unsure of whether or not you should me scared when his full blown pupils dilated and focused on you.

"Oh darling..." he half moaned as he shuddered in your arms. You could feel your heart beating out of your chest when you felt the razor sharp pinpricks of what you could only assume were claws poking into your shoulders when he gripped you far too tightly. Your lips parted in quivering terror, and all of a sudden, he was sinking his teeth into your exposed neck.

You screamed, but no one was there to help you from the man you wed.

Victor, sweet and gentile, was a beast. He shoved you into a nearby rosebush, and you sobbed as he tore your nightclothes from your trembling body. Never in the months you had been courting would you have ever imagined that he could be so brutish. Tears welled in your eyes, and the blood from your finger was smeared across his face from where you had tried to push him off of you.

Scratches littered your body, and you clutched the crook of your neck from where he had bitten into your supple skin. You whimpered as you felt the flat of his tongue lapping over the weeping cuts on your thighs. His hands gripped the plush flesh in a vice, and he spread them with a gratuitous groan.

"Oh darling, oh [name]," he murmured over and over again as he pressed hot, sloppy, open mouthed kisses to the available surface. In your chest, you could feel your heart break at the sight of how utterly depraved your lover was through the thin slivers of lights that showed off his feral expression. Through the darkness, you could still make out his flashing, toothy grin. His lips were caked with your blood, dripping like poisoned honey and planted across your legs and chest in kiss marks like it was some crude imitation of rouge.

The sound of clothing shuffling around reached your ears through the haze of burning pain and cold realization. What had you done? Who had you married? It was as if you were on some twisted mockery of a wedding night. The Victor you had pledged your vows to was not the one latching onto your neck once again. The bed of roses was that of your new consummation, and you wept as your husband stole the innocence of your soul.

He whispered sweet nothings with the grace of a snarling thing, and lined himself up with your entrance. You cried out in anguish as he took you swiftly. It was a violent affair. His slow, languishing style of making love to you was replaced by a feral, primal fucking. He clutched you tightly to him to save you for shredding your back as he thrust in you. He whispered your name reverently, and you begged him for mercy.

By the time he had gotten his fill of both your body and blood, you were on the verge of fainting and limp in his arms. Your vision was hazy and distorted, and your body bloomed with searing pain. You couldn't handle it for much longer, you hole sore and filled with his his essence, and you passed out with the white roses around you dyed with speckles of your lifeline.

When you awoke in the morning, the curtains were drawn tightly as they usually were during the day. Victor was kneeling over your bedside, his face twisted in worry.

"Darling!" He cried out and cupped your face the second he realized you were moving. You flinched from his now delicate touch, no sign of his claws, and he frowned.

"[Name]... oh my love, you must forgive me!" He said with adoring eyes and a saccharine smile. He grabbed your jaw more tightly than he ever would have before. Your entire body was covered in bandages, and you whimpered as he looked at you almost desperately. It was like he was forcing himself into the version of himself that you had become so comfortable around.

"It was a momentary lapse in judgement, though I must admit that I cannot promise it won't happen again," Victor sighed almost wistfully as he draped over your form in a mockery of an affectionate embrace. Instead it felt far too possessive and constrictive than anything he had subjected you to before. He inhaled your scent and buried his face against your hair. "You're far too sweet for me to show such restraint, my love," He laughed. He laughed like the previous night wasn't one of the most horrifying things you had ever encountered.

Maybe when you thought of him yearning for you like you were something he needed to live, perhaps you should've considered it much more harshly.

[fayes-fics]

The Wonderful Unexpected: Chapter 3

Masterpost PREV | NEXT

Pairings: Anthony Bridgerton x fem!reader, Benedict Bridgerton x fem!reader (future chapters), Modern AU

Chapter Summary: Boxing Day with the Bridgertons.

Warnings: not much, really… brief mentions of parental deaths.

Word Count: 3.0k

Author’s Note: The Bridgertons rope reader into their Boxing Day plans. For those wondering, Benedict turns up next chapter :) Please see the masterpost for a synopsis. Thank you to @colettebronte for beta reading. Enjoy! <3

As you go to leave Anthony’s hospital room, his family are all arriving again.

“Y/n! Hi! We didn't know you were here,” Violet bustles up to you and gives you a quick hug, already treating you like one of the family. “Were you here all night?” She doesn't wait for your answer, instead tugging you back into the room. “So, how's my darling son?”

“Oh, well, he's got more colour.” you attempt a platitude, eyeing up the doorway wistfully. 

Your plan to escape - to be an apocryphal family tale - is not exactly going as you planned.

“Oh yes!” she agrees happily, brushing his cheek affectionately with the back of her hand and then fussing with a lock of his hair—the very picture of a doting mother. 

“I have to go, but it was lovely seeing you again,” you excuse, edging away.

“Tell her…” Marcus elbows Violet gently. “Go on.”

“So…” Violet begins, looking a little sheepish. “We didn't get to celebrate Christmas yesterday as planned, so we thought, now we know Anthony’s prognosis looks good, we would do so tonight. A day late, but still. And we thought… well, it would be nice if you could join us,” she rushes out, grabbing both of your hands. “ You are to be family soon after all!”

You stumble a few umms and ahs before Hyacinth pipes up: “Benedict is going to be there!”

“Oh, yes! That's right!” Violet brightens immediately. “You haven't met him yet?” 

“Nope…”  you confirm, having absolutely no clue who that could be. Seriously, could this family be any bigger?

“Oh, he'll be so happy to meet you!” Violet grins, and something about that makes you feel an odd flutter in your chest. “So you'll come? Tonight?” She looks so hopeful you feel bad saying no.

“I have to work until 7pm...”

“Come afterwards,” she insists. “We won't be eating until late. Give Hyacinth your mobile number. And I will call until you say yes….” She smiles, and you are uncertain how much of that is a jest.

Still, you feel unable to give them the wrong number. So, with a sigh, you take Hyacinth's proffered iPhone, the latest model you notice, and reluctantly punch it in.

Well, how the fuck am I going to get out of this one?!

—

You are waiting for the lift to take you down to the street when an orderly flags you down, holding out a large plastic bag for you to take.

“What? What is this?” you query, confused and tired, just wanting to get home and grab two hours of sleep before you have to go to work.

“These are your husband's things, Mrs Bridgerton.”

Something drops hard in your stomach at the word husband. You are glad you have finally learned his last name even as you grouse in frustration: “He's not my husband!”

“I'm sorry. Your fiancee,” the orderly corrects, shoving the bag into your hand and walking away as the lift sweeps open next to you.

“Uh, you're Anthony's fiancee?” The query comes from a tall man in a suit.

“Okay. Yep. Fine,” you shrug, defeated.

“Fife. Alastair Fife. Colleague of Anthony's,” he introduces, with the air of a man expecting you to be impressed somehow.

“l have to go…” You attempt to get into the lift he just exited, but he blocks you.

“Can't believe this has happened. Ant’s had a shit year. What with the accident in September….”

“Accident?” you frown.

“Well, of course, it was an accident!” He blusters, then seems to get agitated. “Wait… Did he tell you it was my fault?! The fucking cheek…” 

He pauses to run a harried hand through his hair, then launches into a diatribe before you can even protest. 

“Look, here’s the real story…. we're playing doubles down in Roehampton. l had an Apple pencil in my back pocket, but I swear I didn't know it was there. I’m always losing those blasted things. Anyway, I crouch, and Ant jumps high to hit a crosscourt smash….”

You sigh, watching the lift doors sweep shut, resigning yourself to a story you know you are going to have to endure from this rather twitchy man.

Great, juuuuust great.

—

Two hours of sleep is definitely not enough to face the insanity of Boxing Day crowds piling into London to shop the sales. And then, of course, demanding coffee from you. Everyone is back on shift today but still, fully staffed; you can barely keep up with the queue, which is out of the door at times.

“I need a new place,” Prue laments at some point during the afternoon. “Me and Phillipa simply CANNOT live with Mum anymore. It's just too much….”

“The flat above mine is free,” you report as your phone pings yet again. “I mean, it's in the attic, so it's a bit small, and the landlord is… a character, but I think it's a two bed….”

“OMG, give me the details!” she demands as Gen wanders over.

You check the message, and it's Hyacinth. This time, with a pin drop to their house and a bunch of champagne and fire emojis.

“Ladies, this isn’t the time to be slacking,” Gen chastises gently, nodding to the queue.

Prue pouts but goes back to the till as Gen hovers while you wash out the smoothie maker. 

“So…. your phone is blowing up. How goes it?” She wheedles, asking for even more information than you have already given her over text and during your shift today.

You groan and drop the scrubber. “I’m fucked. They think I'm their future daughter-in-law!”

She chuckles heartily, and you throw her a side stink eye. 

“The grandad? He's got this heart thing. If l tell the truth, he will die. I'm not a murderer, Gen!”

“Well, then, go along with it,” she suggests, her schadenfreude almost gleeful. “Look, when he wakes up, they’ll be so happy they won't care you told some porkies. They'll probably even thank you for it, mate.”

You scoff at that. “And what if he doesn't come out of it?”

“Morbid,” she contends, then just shrugs. “Could be worse. When Henry’s mum found out I was pregnant? Her fucking intestines exploded.”

Edie whips around from manning the espresso machine and narrows her eyes at Gen. “I thought you said she shat herself?”

“Meh… po-tay-to, po-tahh-oh”: Gen fires back.

You sigh. “You fuckers are no help….”

—

You check your phone five times, looking down at the screen and then back up, certain that despite your little blue dot hovering over the pin Hyacinth sent, it can't be the right place.

This cannot be their home. That would be ridiculous. 

It's a mansion in Mayfair. It looks more like a fancy consulate building than a residence. 

Just as you go to text Hyacinth a ‘Haha, very funny’, Agatha materialises at your side for a second time. 

“Y/n, you made it!” She greets with a knowing smile.

“Agatha! Hello! So I am in the right place?!” 

“Indeed,” she confirms, tapping open an old-fashioned cigarette case as you stare up again at the handsome building, belatedly realising you haven't done your usual Googling of someone as soon as you learn their name. But then, it's not exactly been a typical 36 hours. 

“So the family owns this? All of it?” You ask, secretly hoping that maybe they just have a flat inside or something.

She laughs. “Yes, dear. The Bridgertons are… not exactly wanting for money,” she attests in what is clearly a classic understatement.

“But they seem so nice, normal,” you mutter rhetorically, a knot forming in your stomach, suddenly feeling way out of your depth.

Agatha just chuckles again, and flicks open a lighter. “Keep me company for a while? l don't like to smoke in their house.” 

She signals to a seat inside the gates, and you follow her after she punches in a code to gain access.

“I’m trying to quit,” she breezes, offering you one silently from her case, but you shake your head. “Did you know that I was Anthony's godmother?” she queries, exhaling a swirl of smoke. 

“I did not,” you concede. “It must be nice to be around family at this time of year…” Your mien is likely wistful, for she twists to look at you with piqued curiosity.

“You have no family?”

“I'm an only child, just like my parents. I don't remember my Mum; she died when I was just three,” you shrug matter-of-factly. “It was just me and Dad. Then, four years ago, he got ill. Eventually, he sold the house in Bath and moved in with me in London to be closer to Guys Hospital for treatment. I had to give up working my old job to look after him in the end. But about a year ago, he went too.” You conclude—an economical but truthful potted history of your life. 

There are a few moments of silence, just the constant swish and drone of London traffic, as Agatha shoots you a look of sympathy, tapping to discard some ash.

“My husband died when I was relatively young,” she volunteers. “But Violet was, and always has been, my rock.”

“You are friends from long ago?” 

“Oh yes. We go back a long way, my dear. Longer than she even knows….” she pauses to take another drag, then fixes you with a pointed, almost intimidating look. “Y/n, the Bridgertons, you should know I consider them my family. I'd never let anyone hurt them.”

It sounds like a warning, but for some reason also an invitation.

“Neither would l,” you confess honestly, a gust of light wind catching your hair that you have to tuck behind your ear.

Agatha observes you pointedly for a beat, then seems satisfied with whatever she finds.

“l believe you wouldn't,” she opines, stubbing out her cigarette.

—

When the door to Bridgerton House sweeps open, your jaw drops. Somehow, even magnificent seems somewhat inadequate as a descriptor. The grand hallway is bedecked in heavy garlands festooned with lights, a Christmas tree almost as tall as the building you live in taking pride of place. Everywhere you look is tasteful Christmas decor, and among it antique furniture, glittering chandeliers and oil paintings of what looks to be the family antecedents.

The poinsettia from M&S you clutch seems entirely pointless now, and part of you wants just to hide it, but you don't have time. While a friendly-looking man takes your coat, the gaggle of Bridgertons descend upon you. Violet takes the plant from you with profuse thanks as they all crowd around, talking over each other excitedly in the manner you are almost used to now. All dressed up in novelty jumpers, which is a relief. A setting this grand seems more black-tie, but that would leave you woefully undressed in the simple skirt and jumper you wear.

Before you quite know what has happened, you are swept into a dining room, where a glass of bubbly is pushed into your hand. 

“That’s so you don't have to take any of my dear father's mulled wine,”  Violet murmurs before sweeping away.

“It can cause temporary blindness,” Agatha adds under her breath, nodding sagely in a way that suggests there could be some truth behind what you hope is a jest.

You tilt your glass in a gesture of thanks for the forewarning and take a seat in front of the place setting with your name upon it, trying not to feel overwhelmed. You thought this might be a little gathering around a kitchen table in a modest family home; this is a long way from that.

Staff from a catering company bustle in, placing platters down the middle of the long table as Violet taps a fork against her glass and stands up, a rare hush falling over the table.

“I am glad we get to celebrate today as a family. Our thoughts are, of course, with darling Anthony for his hopefully speedy recovery, but I am so happy the soon-to-be-newest member of our family can be here." You feel all eyes turn to you, smiling, a lump in your throat as she continues. “It's so wonderful you came to join us, y/n; the first of many celebrations we shall be happy to have you at!”

“Here, here!” Marcus cheers, tilting his glass in your direction.

“So here is to family, new and old, blood and found,” she smiles at Agatha and Marcus. “Happy Christmas!”

Everyone clinks glasses, and there is a round of festive greetings before people start getting stuck in—platters being passed around the table as pockets of conversation break out. However, you can't help but notice significant gaps between the chairs and spares pushed against the walls off to the side of the room. Violet, ever watchful, notices and leans over. 

“I'm afraid we are rather reduced in number today. You will likely only encounter less than half of my errant offspring. In fact, just three of the eight.”

“Eight?” your eyes go wide, almost spitting out the bite of warm bread roll you had just popped in your mouth.

“Anthony did not tell you?” She looks momentarily confused. Luckily, you don't have to provide cover as she soon continues: “Well, they are scattered around the globe, and I did not want to ruin their Christmas by telling them about Anthony. I don’t want them flying back, especially now we know he should be okay. My son Colin is off travelling in the Costa Rican jungle, and my daughter Eloise decided to tag along. I think mostly to annoy him, to be honest. My musical daughter Fran is at Julliard in New York City. My eldest daughter Daphne is in Dubai…”

“I thought they were in Singapore?” Hyacinth pipes up.

“I thought Tokyo?” Gregory counters with a knitted brow.

“My son-in-law Simon, her husband, has many business interests; they do tend to zip around the globe a great deal,” Violet discloses.

“So Gregory and & Hyacinth are here…” you nod to them as they grin back. “Who’s the third you’re expecting?”

“Benedict. My second eldest.” You recall the name from earlier and Violet seems to light up in a way that suggests she might have a favourite, even if she may never admit it out loud. “Although he texted his train from Edinburgh was cancelled, so unfortunately, I don't think he’ll be here in time for dinner. But he will be later. You can meet him in the morning, if not before.” She smiles.

“In the morning? I-I-I was not expecting to stay…”

While you had left out enough food to last Chairman Meow a day, you are certain he won’t appreciate another night left all alone.

“Oh, of course you shall!” Violet contests congenially. “And if you have any of the mulled wine, you likely won’t have a choice,” she chortles, and again, you feel yourself ill-equipped to disappoint this lovely woman.

And so the meal progresses with lively conversation, stories of old being regaled to you as you relax a notch. Even though they are obviously very wealthy, there is something so warm and genuine about the Bridgertons, and you can't help but feel a glow that isn’t entirely attributable to your second glass of fizz.

After dinner, with a brief stop by the hallway tree where you are reluctantly pulled into a family group photo, you all decamp to a large living room. A fireplace is roaring, and Christmas music is playing softly from hidden speakers as you gather on a clutch of comfortable sofas, forming a U-shape. Everyone is still wearing their novelty paper crowns from the crackers you all pulled at dessert. Well, with the exception of Victor, who wears two, claiming it is his right as the oldest.

“It's presents time!” Hyacinth trills, excitedly diving into the pile under yet another beautiful tree.

You are happy just to sit back and observe, so you are surprised when she and Gregory smirk as they drop one in your lap.

“To y/n, with love from Santa,” they wink.

Your mouth goes dry, and you don't know what to say. 

“Don't worry, dear. We don't buy fancy gifts,” Violet pipes up. “It's just for fun,” she reassures as Victor rips open his gift: novelty socks that start playing an obnoxious tune and flashing gaudily.

“Oh ho ho,  I’ll have fun wearing these to church on Sunday,” he guffaws.

“You’ll do no such thing,” Agatha chides affectionately.

As Gregory and Hyacinth pull focus with their gifts, you open yours quietly. An odd wave of emotion at a lovely picture frame containing what is obviously a photo of a teenage Anthony smiling handsomely, holding what looks like a sporting trophy of some kind. You look up to see Violet smiling benevolently at you as Marcus pulls her in for a temple kiss for the embossed golf tees she has given him. 

“That’s Anthony’s favourite photo of himself,” Violet explains. “I thought you would enjoy having a copy for your home together.”

Maybe the third (fourth?) glass of champagne isn't helping, but there’s a bittersweet pang in your chest. Feeling awful the longer the misunderstanding continues, especially with how lovely this all is. Still, you just don't have it in you to admit the truth right now and ruin their Boxing Day after their Christmas was so royally fucked. There is something so irresistible about this lovely, chaotic family and how they have welcomed you with such open arms. It's like a festive hug you don't want to leave. 

And that’s without you even noticing that hung at the end of the mantle, next to Anthony’s, is a simple red stocking with your name emblazoned upon it. Good thing, too. You’d probably ugly cry into your Moet, and that would be a real waste. 

—

Unbeknownst to you all, right at that very moment, half-buried on a rubbish tip somewhere on the outskirts of London, a mobile phone screen lights up with a notification:

Merry belated, etc. LA is absolutely fab, but cutting my trip short. I’ve been doing a lot of thinking… and, okay, sure, why the fuck not? Bridgerton, you are on. l WILL marry you. Sxx

masterlist • wips • taglist (must follow this blog to be tagged)

Taglist pt 1: @makaylan @longingintheuniverse @iboopedyournose @colettebronte @aintnuthinbutahounddog @severewobblerlightdragon @writergirl-2001 @heeyyyou @enichole445 @enchantedbytomandhenry @ambitionspassionscoffee @chaoticcalzoneranchsports @nikaprincessofkattegat @baebee35 @crowleysqueenofhell @queenofmean14 @fiction-is-life @lilacbeesworld @broooookiecrisp @queen-of-the-misfit-toys @eleanor-bradstreet @divaanya @musicismyoxygen84 @miindfucked @sorryallonsy @cayt0123 @hottytoddyhistory @elizah99 @fictionalmenloversblog @debheart @zinzysstuff @malpalgalz @amanda08319 @panhoeofmanyfandoms @kinokomoonshine @causeimissu @delehosies @m-rae23 @last-sheep @kmc1989 @fern-reads @corpseoftrees-queen @magical-spit @bunnyweasley23

[jasper-tarot-reader]

New Guidelines

Hey y'all, this is Jasper! I am a nonbinary (they/them), aromantic, and asexual tarot reader. This side blog is explicitly only for tarot/oracle readings. As such, let's go over the rules.

If you want a free reading, you will follow the following rules in exchange for a free one-card draw. I would appreciate receiving feedback afterwards in exchange for the effort I put into these readings. Send reading requests through the ask box only.

All readings are posted publicly.

Here are all of the things I need for a reading:

your preferred name, nickname, or initials

your pronouns

your question

background information around your question

Here are what I need if your reading includes someone else:

their preferred name, nickname, or initials

their pronouns

background information on your relationship with this person

If no pronouns are provided, I will default to they/them pronouns.

If you want me to use a specific deck, send the deck name as listed on the page (this is because I often have decks with similar names). Otherwise, I will choose the deck myself. If you want me to use a particular deck or to avoid particular decks, let me know in the reading request. There is a chance I will pick a deck that I have given to a deity I worship, and they may provide commentary if or as they see fit.

I will NOT answer the following types of questions:

“What does X think of me?” or “How does X feel about me?” (my decks will always tell you to just talk to them yourself)

yes/no questions (the divination systems I use are not good for that)

time-related or time-sensitive questions (your readings get answered when they get answered)

medical or legal questions as I am not a medical or legal person (don't fucking sue me)

future spouse readings (like it or not, there's a chance you could marry multiple people in the future, and you might not like any of them!)

readings about celebrities (I don't know who those people are)

entity identification readings (again, I don't know who those people are)

anything I’m not comfortable answering

any readings that require me to somehow read minds

I am aromantic and asexual. If you want in-depth relationship readings, I am not the best tarot reader for that. I can give it a shot, but the answer to such a query is almost guaranteed to just come down to "talk to them or dump them since you can't talk to them" based on past times I've read for that sort of question.

I will not do readings for you if you misgender me.

Your questions will get answered when they get answered.

[e-vay]

CC’s Present

[A/N: A quick little Lovebytes-sized ficlet for the holidays! Please forgive grammatical errors, I wrote this while on my flight home. Merry Christmas!]

“What do you want for Christmas?”

CC replayed the audio clip again in hopes it would spark a solution, to no avail. Normally, she could answer any query her lab-partner-turned-life-partner presented to her, but for the first time, Tails had her completely stumped.

After all, apart from Tails’ affection there was only one thing she desired; something that couldn’t be purchased or crafted. So when “The Team” floated the idea of meeting up to check out the holiday marketplace as a group, she immediately cleared her and Tails’ calendar so they could attend. This would be the perfect opportunity to study the art of gift-giving and hopefully spark some inspiration.

CC found that this time of year brought out one of the traits she adored most in Mobians. There was something about the holidays that encouraged a sense of camaraderie unlike the rest of the year. No matter the number of board meetings, busy schedules or other duties that plagued daily life, everyone seemed to drop everything in order to spend time with each other during this particular season.

Upon entering the market, the group broke up and darted in various directions. Sonic and Knuckles linked arms with Tails and began chanting “Brats! Brats! Brats!” before carrying the tall, yellow fox towards one of the food trucks. Tails looked over his shoulder to CC. “Sorry, it’s our favorite. I’ll be right back!”

“Please, enjoy yourselves,” CC encouraged, chuckling at the “brothers” antics. She politely clasped her hands behind her back before meandering through the market to analyze the crowd. She smiled at the numerous small children whose pupils dilated at the sight of candies on display. Women laughed and clinked souvenir mugs brimming with spiked hot chocolate. Merchants cheered and greeted customers in numerous different languages.

The Robian decided to make her way to a booth that was currently occupied by two familiar hedgehogs.

“Gaia, look at this one! It’s so gorgeous—Sir, you are so talented!” Aurora had her hands clapped over her cheeks in excitement. Her green eyes were sparkling like gems as she ogled the handmade decorations that were hanging all over the merchant’s booth. “Oh wow, did you see this one Shadow?! Oh Gaia it’s the prettiest thing in the whole wide world!” She bounced on her heels trying to contain her enthusiasm. “But wait this one! This one looks just like you! Look at that grumpy little face- ahh!!!” The black and red hedgehog smirked while sipping his mulled wine and sent a pointed look and nod to the vendor who secretly began boxing up each of the items the woman had pointed to.

CC didn’t follow as Aurora ran off to another booth that had caught her attention. The Robian furrowed her brows. Sure this market had plenty of pieces of art that were pleasing to the eye, but nothing that stirred a desire in her. Nothing made her “want.” How was it these things came so easily to Organics? It was so… frustrating.

Her grimace was quickly replaced with a soft smile and a sigh. Every emotion, no matter how negative, was a blessing. Not every synthetic-being could experience these feelings, so she thanked her lucky stars for the brief ”annoyance” before moving on for more analaysis.

One of her ears rotated to catch the sound of some youthful hollering. Following the commotion, she spotted Rouge with her two sons. The bat was adorned head to toe in luxurious faux furs with fibers so ivory they rivaled the fresh winter snow. Her poise and glamor was in complete contrast to the young hyena boys who play-wrestled and tugged on each others scarves. But to everyone’s surprise, the refined woman suddenly scooped the boys up in her grasp and attacked them with tickles that sent them howling with laughter.

“Are you boys hungry?”

“Yeah I’m STARVIN’!” groaned Tumble. He patted his round, youthful belly. “I’m waistin’ away, Ma!”

“How do s’mores sound?”

Both boys jumped out of Rouge’s grasp and looked at her with eyes as wide as saucers.

“Seriously?!” asked Ruff, the oldest. “They’ve got s’mores here?!?”

“Only for kids who say ‘Please’,” the bat teased.

In unison, the two hyenas clasped their hands in a begging motion and wagged their tails side to side. “Please please please please please!”

CC giggled at how aggressively their tails wagged, to the point it made their entire bodies sway. How interesting it was that this extension of the vertebrae was used not only for balance and steering, but for conveying emotions. Hmm.

“Okay let’s go!” Rouge took her children’s hands and the three ran through the crowd, laughing and cheering.

“There you are, my darling husband!” Sang a familiar voice. CC looked over to spot Amy Rose waving at Sonic who was finishing up his third bratwurst. Though his mouth was stuffed, he smiled and beckoned with his hand to come meet him. He swallowed down the last large bite. “Heya, I was just about to look for-“

In a sudden mad dash, the pink hedgehog closed the gap between them and leapt forward, arms outstretched. Sonic managed to catch her but stumbled back a few steps from the sheer force of her hug. Amy crashed her lips into his and kissed him with such vigor one would think the lovers had been apart for years.

CC had to avert her eyes for a moment, her cheeks warming up from being an onlooker to such strong displays of affection. Still, Amy’s passion and the ease with which she showed her love was something CC truly admired. She hoped Tails and herself would be able to express themselves as freely one day.

“Wowza!” Sonic laughed breathlessly once he and Amy finally broke their kiss.

“You taste like mustard,” Amy teased, her nose scrunched up.

Sonic wiped his thumb along her bottom lip and smiled with a large, lopsided grin. “I coulda warned ya if you didn’t come at me all gung ho like that.”

“You know I can’t help myself,” the pink hedgehog took Sonic’s muzzle into her hands, combing the tan, shaggy fur that filled out his cheeks. “Especially when you’re extra fluffy like this!”

“Extra fluffy, extra irresistible,” Sonic chuckled before Amy kissed him again with an enthusiastic “MMM-HMM!”

CC turned her back to the couple to spare herself from more blushing. She reached up and placed her fingertips along her own cheek. Though the muzzle she built herself was outfitted with a soft, suede like texture, it didn’t have nearly the plush or fullness of Tails’ or even Sonic’s during the wintertime. She removed one of her signature charcoal gloves and studied the segments in her robotic fingers. Her eyes glazed over as she ruminated over the data she had collected and an idea began to grow.

She was startled when a gloved hand took hold of her own. Her electric blue eyes followed the arm to identify the owner and felt a growing warmth in her soul once she realized it was Tails.

“Hello there,” the fox smiled.

“Hello. I did not see you returning from the delicatessen.”

”Lost in thought?”

CC’s smile grew wide and she laced her fingers with her partner’s. “Yes. I have decided what I want for my Christmas present. However, I would like to ask that I receive it earlier than is customary. It is a ‘topical’ request, you see.”

Tails grinned. “Sure! Let’s hear it!”

His girlfriend leaned in close and whispered her idea into his ear. His eyes lit up and his twin tails swished with inspiration.

“That’s brilliant! Let’s do it!”

———

It had been almost two weeks since The Gang had heard from Tails once again. It wasn’t unusual for the fox to go “radio silent” for long periods of time as his work at Yellow Sky Industries kept him plenty busy. But when the group received an urgent request to come to Tails’ home out of the blue, it had them raising their eyebrows.

What made the situation all the more suspicious was that Tails had everyone waiting on the lawn standing before a curtained off display. The group of friends and family members huddled close and muttered curses under their breath for making them gather in the frigid winter air.

“Bud, why exactly do ya have us all gathered outside? It’s cold as Holoska out here!” Sonic groaned, rubbing his arms in an attempt to keep warm.

“It’s vital to the presentation,” Tails responded curtly.

Knuckles snapped his fingers. “Then hurry it up, already. My wife’s wings’re about to snap off!”

Rouge elbowed Knuckles. “My hero.”

“Very well,” Tails clapped his hands before suddenly jumping into a crouched position, his hands splayed wide to entice his audience. “Ladies and gentlemen!” He projected a voice far more confident and engaging than his friend group was used to. It was clear Tails had transitioned into ‘tech-presenter’ mode. “This holiday season we are thrilled to introduce to you-“ he pressed a button on his wrist-watch and a drumroll began to play from a series of hidden speakers. He stepped backwards towards the curtain, waving his hands to emphasize his words.

”The stunning-“

He gripped onto the curtain.

“The dazzling!-“

With a dramatic flourish, Tails drew back the curtain and the small crowd gave a collective gasp.

“CC: Winter Edition!”

Upon the makeshift stage, CC was a vision in white posed gracefully to best show off her recent upgrades.

“Marvel at CC as you’ve never seen her before,” Tails continued with his best salesman impersonation. He delicately took the Robian’s wrist into his hand and held her arm up, waving and gesturing along her limb. “-With brand new features perfectly suited for this frosty weather.”

Where CC’s external bodice was once gray with short fibers or smooth, hard casing, she was now fully covered in plush white fur except for her slate ears. Instead of traditional gloves, her hands were covered with just enough artificial pelt to hide her seams and give her fingers a more natural look. Her smile was accentuated with a muzzle that had tufts of fur on either side of her cheeks. Her short, silver hair was now a few inches longer, ivory, and considerably more voluminous.

Tails’ fingers trailed up CC’s shoulder where he delicately twirled one of her locks. “Now adorned with a luscious winter coat as pearlescent as the winter snow but as soft and warm as a summer’s day.” The fox paused for a moment as he locked eyes with his girlfriend and the two shared an unspoken blush. He cleared his throat before continuing with the show.

“And with the most highly anticipated feature yet-!”

CC grinned and twirled, fanning the group with a breeze as they were brushed with a large, soft object.

“THAT TAIL!!!” Everyone exclaimed at once.

Protruding from a seam in her miniskirt was an extra long, extra fluffy tail that rivaled her partner’s. It would still take a good amount of practice to determine when and how it would best be used, but for her friends’ enjoyment CC gave the appendage a few swishes and flicks which was met with oohs and ahhs.

“Oh!” the Robian turned to face the group once more, earning a whine from some of her friends who were enjoying the warmth and softness of her new tail. CC excitedly pointed in the air with one hand and used the other to clutch onto her stomach. “Additionally, I now have the ability to brew hot cocoa! I simply open this compartment-“

Tails quickly placed his hand atop hers to stop her. “Let’s skip that demo. It’s pretty unsettling but she insisted we add it.”

CC shrugged and recalled a phrase she had heard Sonic use on similar occasions. “Your loss.”

A small hand raised up from the group. Tails resumed his showman performance. “Yes, young man. You have a question?”

Tumble, the youngest of the crew, stepped forward. His teeth chattered as he fumbled with his scarf, “Ssssss-CC, d-d-do you ssstill have your toasssty mode?”

CC smiled and opened her arms wide. From the center of her chest, a subtle orange glow was visible even from under her light sweater. ”Come see for yourself,” she invited.

All at once, friends and family rushed forward and embraced CC in a giant group hug. There was a muddled collection of sighs and compliments as everyone soaked in the warmth.

“Yes, so warm!”

“Your fur is so soft, I could fall asleep!”

“You look beautiful,” Amy cheered, affectionately holding CC’s chin to get an even closer look, “but more importantly you look so happy!”

”I don’t know if I’d say that’s more important,” Rouge chimed in. She hugged CC’s arm to drape around her neck like a shawl. “Look at that shimmer in her fur! Like diamonds!”

The Robian laughed at all her friends’ remarks. She was so thrilled when she and Tails first assembled these seasonal accessories, but now she was even more delighted at everyone’s response. Cozying up with her found family, she now had just about everything she could ever want.

Her tail found its way towards one of her partner’s and she curled it around his. The touch made Tails look her way, and when their eyes met once again they found their blush return to their cheeks.

“Thank you,” CC mouthed so as not to speak over everyone else’s commentary.

“Merry Christmas,” Tails mouthed back with a wink.