#some of this is interpretation but most of it is direct from canon | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

sundrop-writes · 8 months

Text

Meddle About

Sub!Spencer Reid x Dom!Fem!Reader

‘Cause it's not just a figure of speech - you got me down on my knees.

It's gettin' harder to b r e a t h e .

Summary:

You hate it when Morgan teases Reid. So when Morgan says that you are Reid's 'Mommy' - you verbally fire back without even thinking about it.

Reid vastly overthinks it.

So much so that he ends up calling you Mommy by mistake. And you definitely don't hate the sound of that word coming off his lips.

Sub!Spencer Reid x Dom!Fem!Reader. Co-Workers to Lovers. Smut. Set during Season One.

Word Count: 6,300

Criminal Minds Masterlist | AO3 Link

Detailed warnings and author's notes below the cut.

Warnings: general smut fic - porn with some plot; dom/sub dynamics (but this isn't a pre-discussed dom/sub relationship, the characters just fall into these roles naturally), Spencer is submissive and the reader is dominant; the main theme is Mommy kink - Spencer discovers that he has a Mommy kink after a joke that Morgan makes, referring to the reader character as Spencer's Mommy; Spencer calls the reader 'Mommy' and the reader also refers to herself with that title; the reader uses she/her pronouns and has a vagina (and breasts); it could be interpreted that the reader has larger breasts/is plus sized (but I think anyone of any size could enjoy this fic); the reader is part of the BAU; this is meant to take place during season one (baby Spence my beloved) but there are no other major canon events mentioned and the case being discussed is one that I have made up; some very background typical elements of Criminal Minds - murder, killing, systemic vicimization of women/violence from men towards women (passing mention of bodies being consumed by wild animals); the reader and Spencer fuck while on a case (but they aren't endangering anyone's lives from lack of their attention, so it's fine); mentions of potential injuries from a car accident (theoretical - doesn't actually happen during the fic); very slight threads of Morgan x Reader (mentions of Morgan being attracted to the reader - it could be one-sided); very passing mention of Reid having breeding kink (doesn't take place during the fic, just one of his thoughts); for the actual smut section: this could be interpreted as virgin!Spencer but that's not explicitly stated here (at most, this is just inexperienced!Spencer) (the reader is definitely way more sexually experienced than him); praise kink (we all known Spencer is so eager to be praised); mentions of breastfeeding - Morgan makes a joke about the reader breastfeeding Reid, which later turns into faux breastfeeding kink (the reader doesn't actually lactate, but she lets Spencer suck on her tits and calls it breastfeeding); the reader calls Spencer: 'baby', 'good boy',; descriptions of subspace - but it's not specifically called 'subspace' in the text; thigh humping - Spencer humps the reader's thigh; cumming in pants (Spencer); multiple orgasms/overstimulation (Spencer receiving); handjob - the reader jacks Spencer off while he is sensitive after his first orgasm; using lube as cum; dumbification kink - the reader calls Spencer 'dumb baby' and generally enjoys seeing his intellect drop the more turned on he becomes (Spencer also likes being called this); technically the reader doesn't get to cum, but she gets turned on from treating Spencer like the good boy that he is (and this is more about him). I think that's everything.

A/N: This was directly inspired by the scene from Reid's birthday party, where Morgan says 'Mommy to the rescue!' (talking about JJ) and then Spencer says '...Mommy?' and it seems like he is discovering his Mommy kink in real time. Especially because he is then trapped between Elle and JJ and he makes direct eye contact with their boobs, and he just has such a look of scared kink realization in his eyes. I considered copying that moment exactly and just replacing JJ with the reader character, but this seemed like more fun lmao. I had so much fun writing this and I think this is one of my best fics in a while. I hope you guys enjoy it!!

...

Generally, you hated being stuck with grunt work.

You knew that it was all part of the job - an important part of it. Paperwork, side interviews, background checks. Sifting through someone’s apartment looking for aspects of what kind of person they were based on their everyday life.

But you thrived more on being right in the middle of things. You preferred interacting with suspects, chasing people down, harsh confrontation.

Gideon said that you were overly controlling, impatient, brutally honest - that you had an ‘abrasive personality’ that put most men off. But that was why he often brought you into interrogations with male suspects. Many of the people you caught - men with superiority complexes who targeted the weak to make themselves feel powerful - they hated that you weren’t intimidated by them. That aspect of abrasion between you and the suspects often brought out a lot of information - things they spewed out trying to intimidate you.

But you weren’t needed on that front today.

No - instead, you were doing grunt work. The kind of work that made you impatient and generally aggravated.

The only upside was that you got to do it with Spencer.

He was one of the only men that voluntarily worked so closely with you so often, because he wasn’t intimidated by you. He took orders from you very well and naturally fell under your authority, bringing a natural chemistry to your partnership when you worked with him. Plus - his seemingly endless stream of ‘fun facts’ was like listening to the radio, which did help to soothe your boredom during these kinds of mindless tasks.

You were on a case in Texas. Five women raped and tortured before having their bodies hung from a tree and consumed by cotoyes that the UnSub knew lived in the area. Since police had closed in on him, he had gone on the run. He had killed three more women since fleeing, while leaving no clues as to what his ultimate endgame would be or where he would be going next.

Hotch sent you and Reid to find that out while the rest of the team worked victimology and profiled the scenes of the most recent murders, following the trail he was leaving.

After spending hours sifting through the suspect’s house, looking for any small clue about where he might be going - you came up empty. When you touched base with Hotch, he told you that you and Reid would be going to visit the suspect’s ex-wife - who lived four hours away. You needed to interview her to see if she could give you any further insight to the man, and perhaps - beat him to the house if she was the ultimate target.

(A lot of the victims looked like her, and it couldn’t really be a coincidence.)

You knew that lives were at risk, and it was juvenile of you, but all you heard was: long, boring drive. Boring day. You hoped that Reid would be good company through it.

Now, you were waiting outside of the police station in the bureau-issued SUV, waiting for Morgan to come and give you the file with the ex-wife’s address and contact information.

“Did you know that over forty-six percent of Texans own a gun? Texas is second only to Montana in registered gun ownership, where over sixty-six percent of citizens proudly tote their right to bear arms.” Reid told you, continuing to look over the case files that were sitting in his lap.

When you looked over toward him to reply to this odd factoid, your mind got caught up on something else.

“Reid, come on, take your feet off the dashboard!” You told him, reaching over to gently smack his knee, trying to encourage his legs down from the awkward position.

It bothered you for several reasons - the idea that he would leave shoe prints on the dashboard, which was minor and cosmetic, but still annoying. And the fact that if the car did happen to get hit head-on, the air-bag would explode out and push his knees into his chest, causing his shattered leg bones to pierce his organs and possibly kill him. (At the very least, he would never walk again.)

Speaking of which:

“And put your seatbelt on!” You barked, now noticing that he wasn’t wearing it past all of the files he had piled into his lap. “You of all people should know how many deaths are caused by not wearing a seatbelt.”

Spencer opened his mouth to spout out this exact statistic, but before he could get the words out, another voice entered the conversation.

“Aw, Reid, listen to your Mommy.”

You were almost startled by Morgan’s voice coming from the open driver’s side window so suddenly. His appearance there as if out of nowhere was so jarring that you couldn’t get caught up on the way he had called you Reid’s Mommy. Your head whipped toward Morgan so quickly that you didn’t notice the flash across Spencer’s features - worry, dawning. You didn’t take note of the way he rushed to comply with putting on his seatbelt. As if he was rushing to please you, even unconsciously.

“I bet if you’re a good boy, she might even breastfeed you when you get there.”

Morgan then pursed his lips and made loudly suckling noises, clearly imitating breastfeeding in what he thought was a comedic way.

Again - glaring at the muscled man through the open window, you didn’t see Spencer’s reaction. You didn’t see the way his large, glassy eyes flickered to your breasts (only emphasized by your own seatbelt crossed over the center of your chest) before he forced himself to focus on the files in front of him so that he wouldn’t feel so caught.

“Shut up.” You told Morgan, your voice so commanding and firm that his simple order was enough to get him to stop his antics.

“And give me the address already.” You held out your hand expectantly, and Morgan handed you the file, which you placed onto the center console.

Then, you turned back to him for one last point, determined to have the final word in the conversation.

“Besides, we both know that you’re the one who’s got an obsession with my breasts, anyway. Just because you stare while wearing sunglasses, doesn’t mean I don’t notice. My eyes are up here, pal.” You told him sharply.

He let out a scoff at this, and rolled his eyes behind his dark frames - but he made no clever comeback.

You had successfully bested him. And with that knowledge, you rolled up the window and left him standing dumbly in the parking lot as you sped off.

…

You pulled over later to put the address into the GPS system, and you let out a long-winded groan when you found that it was more than four hours away. Four hours and twenty five minutes.

So you pulled over again to get gas and stocked up on snacks, and you were surprised that Reid wasn’t giving you some lesson about the colloquial use of ‘soda’ and ‘pop’ (thinking that you hadn’t listened the other ten times when he had gone on the same rambling point about linguistics and how language evolves).

He was being far too quiet for your liking.

But he was keeping his eyes glued to the files, and you guessed that he was churning over something in that big brain of his, like he usually was.

You were entirely surprised when the next time he spoke - it wasn’t about the case at all.

“How - how do you know that Morgan likes your breasts?” He asked, his voice low and mousy, looking straight ahead as he fidgeted with his hands in his lap.

“What?” You gaped, the word flying out of your mouth as your brain was utterly slow to process what he had just said.

Hearing Spencer use the word ‘breasts’ was jarring, but somehow utterly adorable. You found it stirring a slight heat within you. Especially because he was still so shy. The whole thing made you want to pin him down and force the shyness out of him.

Spencer felt the need to further explain himself.

“When - when you were talking to him, you said: ‘we both know that you’re the one who’s got an obsession with my breasts.’” He said, repeating back what you had said, word for word, using that perfect memory of his.

You wondered if that’s what he had been doing, sitting there in his seat so silently for the past hour of the car ride - going over the conversation again and again in his head, trying to make sense of it. And because he couldn’t make any sense of it by himself, now he was consulting you.

Again, you found it so utterly adorable.

“Morgan didn’t deny it. So - was it a hypothesis based on something, or did you just call him out hoping that you weren’t wrong?” Reid continued, sparing only a singular glance in your direction, a look that you caught out of the corner of your eye with your gaze still mostly focused ahead on the road.

You found it intensely cute that he was using the word ‘hypothesis’ in this situation. You wondered if he ever turned it off - the textbook big words and the intellect that he always carried himself with. You wondered if you could make him turn it off. You wondered if there was any situation where Spencer Reid could be as stupid as any other man - chasing a bone, desperate to get his nut off.

For the first time ever - you imagined Spencer Reid underneath you, blabbering nonsense, begging for release with your hand around his cock as you pumped him, red and aching, so slick in your palm. Desperate, empty-headed, beautifully stupid.

(See, this was what happened when you were forced to do grunt work. You got bored. And when you got bored - you had to entertain yourself somehow.)

“It was a pretty well-informed hypothesis.” You replied. Now that Spencer had brought the topic up, you certainly weren’t going to shy away from the discussion. “Morgan often brings up my sex life, and wants to engage in detailed discussions about my sexual encounters with me. So I assume that he spends a fair amount of time thinking about me in a sexual way.”

Reid let out a choked-off noise at this.

You continued.

“Plus, he’s always staring down my top. He’s not exactly subtle.”

“You - you actually notice that kind of thing?” He chirped, his voice becoming a few octaves higher as worry flooded him.

You bit your lip, suppressing a grin.

Of course, you had noticed the times that Spencer stared at your breasts as well. He was even less subtle about it than Morgan was. You didn’t mind it when he did it, because you knew that Spencer wasn’t exactly casanova. He didn’t have a different girl every other week like Morgan did, so taking a glance down your shirt when he passed you a morning coffee was probably about as much action as he got.

Secretly, letting him get away with it was your gift to him.

“Don’t worry about it, baby.” You told him, the pet name slipping out mindlessly as you reached over and gently patted his knee as a form of reassurance.

This movement unintentionally drew his eyes toward your chest, especially in his desperation to look anywhere but your face, not wanting to make eye contact with you. But he found his eyes glued to the swell of your breasts once again - hating how perfect they looked, even through the simple cotton shirt and plain bra that you wore.

“Sorry, Mommy.” The word slipped out before he could even consciously process it. “Sorry!”

Spencer raised a hand to smack his own face at lightning speed, and slumped down into his seat in embarrassment.

You bit your lip to suppress a grin. It stirred a filthy heat in your belly. But you knew that Spencer likely needed a while to sit with this and wouldn’t want to talk about it - not yet. So you reached over and turned on the radio, letting the music fill the space so that the silence wasn’t so awkward and gutting.

…

Spencer didn’t talk for the entirety of the rest of the car ride, which didn’t surprise you.

When you finally arrived at the ex-wife’s house, his hands were shaking with nerves as he tried to unlatch his seatbelt. You probably should have just left him alone to struggle, but an evil spark, likely fueled by the boredom of the day, flared up inside of you. You couldn’t resist the urge to lean over the console, very purposefully showing off your breasts as you gently pushed his hands away and undid the belt for him.

“Here, let Mommy get that for you.” You said, distinct teasing on your breath as you mumbled the words into his ear.

Spencer huffed out a deep sigh and collapsed back into his seat, and pushed his hair out of his face in frustration. But he didn’t say anything more as you gathered the files in preparation for the interview.

He only spoke when you moved to get out of the car.

“Look, I-” He began a half assed explanation, and you easily cut him off.

“You let Morgan get in your head too much.” You told him with a chuckle, opening your door and getting out.

But as he forced himself to follow you with numb limbs - he knew that this definitely wasn’t all Morgan’s fault.

…

The ex-wife didn’t know much.

She described the marriage as hell - the suspect exhibited all the typical behaviors as a husband that they would have expected. He hated women, and he wanted full control over his wife at the time, which eventually led down the path of divorce. They had to sell the house they had bought together, but neither of them had moved out of Texas since. But he hadn’t contacted her in years.

She had two young kids from a new relationship, and when the woman stepped out to take a call, you picked one of them up to soothe his cries, hushing him gently while you rubbed his back.

Because of this, Spencer found himself even more dizzy and confused.

He knew that it was Frueadian - some deep, misguided part of his psychology - something broken and missing inside of him because of his own fractured childhood.

But seeing you being so sweet with a kid, especially after the day he’d had - he wasn’t sure if he wanted to be your baby, or if he wanted to shoot his cum so deep inside you that it would ensure he could give you one.

(Ultimately, he knew that it was likely both - and that didn’t answer any questions for him. It just gave him far more questions.)

…

Even though the ex-wife couldn’t give you guys much more than you already knew, Hotch wanted you and Spencer to stay close by in case the suspect decided to make his ex-wife the end game. The two of you would be able to make it to her first if she called for help.

So you and Spencer had dinner at a random local barbeque place off the highway and Spencer still didn’t talk much through it, other than posing some theories about the case. Even though he was a bit more talkative, he still refused to look at you - he stared down at his plate the whole time. Though whenever he did look up, you noticed that his eyes lingered on your chest - and he still wouldn’t look you in the eye.

By the time the bill came around and the two of you were ready to leave, you knew exactly what you had to do.

…

Spencer waited by the car with his bag while you checked in and got a motel room (needing to stay in town, you got a room for the night). When you came back, you handed him the room key and then moved to get your bag out of the car.

“Do… you already have yours?” He asked quietly.

“Hmm?” You hummed in reply, slinging the strap of your go-bag over your shoulder before you closed the back door and used the remote to lock up the car.

“Your room key?”

You suppressed another grin.

“I only got one room.” You told him. “You don’t mind sharing with me, right?”

You gave him a purposeful look - looked at him through your lashes, bit your lip slightly, and subtly squeezed your breasts together with your upper arms, emphasizing them. You knew exactly what you were doing to him, but hopefully it seemed subtle.

“I - uh - no.” Spencer stuttered. “It’s fine. We can share.” He gave a grin, not wanting to appear upset, even though his entire body was racked with nerves.

Spencer followed you to the room and he fumbled with the key with shaking hands for a moment before he sighed and then handed it to you.

His insides quaked when he saw that there was only one bed.

He wasn’t sure if he should say anything about it. The two of you had slept in the same room before, but you had never shared a bed before. Sure, you had slept near each other before. He had accidentally fallen asleep on your shoulder on the plane or vice versa. But you had never crawled into bed together with the intention of sleeping together.

And yes, just the entendre behind it made Reid’s head spin.

He had a heavy knot in his gut, and hatefully - a distinct stirring in his crotch. He could only imagine how embarrassing it would be for you to wake up and see him compromised in some way. Or god forbid, if you caught him moaning in his sleep because of unconscious dreams that he couldn’t stop - for you to think that he was some kind of dirty sex pervert because of it.

He felt an overwhelming need to clear the air overtake him. He had no clue how to broach the subject, but he knew that he wouldn’t be able to spend the night like this. He wouldn’t be able to sleep with this anxiety hanging over his head.

He studied you carefully as you sat down on the edge of the bed, ditching your bag off to the side and heaving out a tired sigh as you began taking off your shoes.

Spencer put down his own bag and then stood there, fidgeting nervously as he searched for words.

“I - uh - I am sorry about earlier.” He mumbled out the beginnings of an apology. “What Morgan said was stupid, and I-”

“I don’t think it was stupid.”

You let out a chuckle, and reached up the back of your shirt. Spencer found himself frozen, his eyes tracing your every moment as you unhooked your bra underneath your shirt and then moved to maneuver the straps out from your short sleeves while you kept talking.

“I think he had a point.” You added on. “Good boys should get a reward. And I think you were fairly good today. You didn’t eat all your veggies at dinner, but you kept your feet off the dashboard and you were quiet during the car ride. You definitely get points for being patient during such a long trip, baby.”

Your voice smoothed into a soothing tone, that word - baby - melting like butter over your tongue in a way that made Spencer’s knees wobble. He hadn’t known it until right now, but you calling him a ‘good boy’ and listing off such mundane things he had done that made him worthy of a reward fired off sparks inside of his brain.

A breath choked off inside of his throat as you stood up off the bed and peeled your bra completely out from under your shirt. Somehow it was one of the sexiest things he had ever seen, revealing the hard peaks of your nipples and the beautiful natural teardrop shape of your breasts to him through the cotton fabric.

Spencer wanted to speak, but his tongue felt so heavy and dry inside of his mouth. He knew that he was staring at your chest so blatantly now, but he couldn’t peel his eyes away. He couldn’t even feel ashamed anymore.

That dull tingle in his crotch had turned into a full on stinging interest, and he unconsciously pulled at the fabric of his pants, trying to loosen some of the tension that was growing, not even considering how it might look to you - him dumbly reaching for his crotch to make it look looser when his hardening bulge was becoming more obvious by the second.

It was one of the most ‘caveman’ things he had ever done in front of you - standing there with his mouth hanging slightly agape, pulling at his crotch without caring how it looked. You definitely wanted more, wanted to see how dumb he could get. How far you could make him devolve.

“So what do you say, baby boy?” You hummed, stepping close into his personal space now, causing him to get a whiff of your perfume - something that was only a dull trace after such a long day, but still smelled so good. “Do you want Mommy to breastfeed you? Do you wanna suck on my tits as your reward?”

You gently ran a thumb across his cheek, and paired with the words, Spencer’s brain short-circuited.

He knew realistically that you weren’t actually offering to breastfeed him. There was no evidence in your life to say that your body could actually support the production of milk currently - but you were offering to let him play pretend. To suck on your tits with a very sexual air, to call you Mommy without the teasing humiliation behind it that Morgan had hinted at (or maybe Spencer liked that humiliation, he wasn’t even sure). (He hadn’t even known before this morning that he liked the idea of calling you Mommy, but here he was).

All he could conjure in response was the dumbest, non-human sound.

“Nngh.”

It was a grunt from the back of his throat - too much blood swelling to his cock all at once and too much direct attention from you making him dizzy.

You giggled quietly.

“Come on, baby. Just say the word. And Mommy will give you everything you need.”

Spencer inhaled sharply. At this point, he was desperate to get some oxygen to his brain.

His mind was racing, chanting out:

‘Yes! God, yes! I want it so badly, Mommy! I want anything you’ll give me. I need you. I need you so badly.’

But all his lips could form in the wake of such dizzying lust was:

“Please.”

“Good boy.” You sighed.

You used a hand on his chin to tilt his face up to meet yours, and you consumed him in a kiss - he was hungry and eager to meet your touch, moaning loudly into your mouth, his hands racing to touch you now, rushing up to grip on your hips in the most utterly needy way. He balled the fabric of your shirt in his fists, like he couldn’t get enough of you - like he was afraid you would dissolve away if he let go of you for even a second.

It was cute, to say the least.

You only let the kiss last for a moment, though. You pulled away to a disappointed whine from Spencer, which you quietly hushed.

“Hey, it’s okay baby.” You soothed him. “Come here. Mommy’s gonna take good care of you.”

You lead him toward the bed, getting rid of his tie in the process, and Spencer stepped out of his shoes along the way. You slid onto the bed and laid up on the pillows on your back, Spencer clumsily following you, crawling on all fours. The two of you had barely started, but he was full-on panting now, racing to catch his breath while his blood hammered through his veins.

He watched on with eager curiosity while you got comfortable, fluffing the pillow under your head before you then reached down and pulled up your shirt. You pulled the fabric to sit up under your chin, finally revealing your gorgeous breasts to him.

If he was lost for words before, then he had receded back to a total neanderthal now.

His mouth fell open and his salivary glands started working overtime as his eyes raked hungrily over your chest - enjoying the pure beauty of the fatty mounds, striped with zig-zagging stretch marks and completed by your hard peaked nipples.

“Here, come on, baby.”

You had to remind Spencer what the goal was, guiding him into place with a hand on the back of his head. You helped ease his body to lay on top of yours as he relaxed into you - and his mouth finally found its rightful place on your breast. He became greedy, suctioning hard on your nipple as though he might actually get something out of it.

Truthfully, he did get something out of this.

It definitely wasn’t any form of nutrition, but it was something that drove him lustfully insane and made his head fuzzy and warm in the best way. This was the only time in his entire life that he didn’t have ten thousand thoughts running through his mind like the news blasting on television in the background. This was the only time since his first conscious memory that he had actually known his mind to be quiet.

He felt intensely thankful for it. Intensely thankful toward you for giving him this feeling.

In that moment, without all the noise, all he knew was the comforting feeling of your fat tit under his mouth, the heat of your body under his own as you cradled him. The soothing firmness of your hands through his hair and down his back - and the distant, sweet purring of your voice in his ears.

“Good boy.” You hummed, loving the feeling of him moaning around your nipple - so constant and so greedy now that you were sure he didn’t even know that he was doing it. “Such a good boy for me. Such a good boy for Mommy.”

Your cunt was humming between your thighs, aching so hard at seeing Spencer like this. The usually composed, intelligent, practically robotic Doctor Reid reduced down to a blubbering, moaning, needy mess just because he wanted to suck on your tits.

Just because you had called yourself Mommy a few times in his presence.

It was so utterly beautiful, and you wanted more.

(You didn’t think that you could ever let him go after this. You probably wouldn’t be able to stand the idea of another woman touching him after this. But you would have to think on that more later.)

You noticed Spencer canting his hips, unconsciously seeking friction against his hard cock while he continued to suck on your breast. With his eyes closed blissfully, drool gathering around his lips where they met your skin in the most utterly adorable way. You couldn’t help yourself - you scooted your knee between his thighs. You then used a hand to help his hips into place, adjusting him so that he was getting good friction against your denim-clad thigh.

“There you go. There you go, sweet boy.” You hummed, feeling another jolt through your body when he let out a sharper moan against your tit, and began humping your leg in earnest.

You were quick to encourage him, putting both hands on his hips and helping him along while he greedily hung onto you. He had on your hip, the other hand slipping up to cup fingers around the bottom of your breast, making sure you didn’t escape him while he moved his body against you so frantically.

“That’s just what you needed, isn’t it, baby?” You moaned out, your voice wavering slightly as the pleasure of it all thrummed through you. “Just a dumb little baby who needed Mommy’s tit.”

The term ‘dumb little baby’ came flying out of your mouth before you could stop it. Though you knew exactly why it happened. Seeing such a brilliant genius reduced down to this truly did something to your ego. And apparently hearing those words from you did something to him, too.

He whined sharply against your skin and his hips stuttered abruptly. You knew it wouldn’t be long before he came in his pants, his cock throbbing against the friction of your thigh. And this thought alone caused your mouth to run off without restraint.

“Such a needy little thing.” You sighed. “You love being Mommy’s dumb baby, don’t you? Not a single fucking thought between your ears, just sucking on Mommy’s tit without a care in the world.”

Spencer moaned and it sent another jolt through your body - another harsh pang through your cunt. You loved how much he needed you. You loved how much he was clearly eating this up.

You didn’t even care if you got to cum tonight; you just wanted to exhaust him for all he was worth. Because he was so fucking pretty like this.

“You gonna cum for me, baby boy? You gonna cum for Mommy? Come on, baby. Cum for me.”

These words were what ultimately sent him over the edge. Well that along with your strong hands on his hips, encouraging him along while he was mindless and busy mouthing on your breast.

His jaw dropped open, finally loosening that desperate suction on your now slightly sore nipple as he began to pant frantically over your now spit-soaked skin. He moaned hotly while he humped you in an entirely adorable, almost distraught manner - absolutely desperate to have the most friction on his cock while his orgasm overtook him.

You could feel his needy cock throbbing against you, trapped inside of his pants, shooting off hot ropes of cum that quickly soaked into his underwear and even then, seeped into the fabric of his slacks. You grinned and bit your lip as you felt that wetness even beginning to soak into your jeans, knowing he must have set off quite a big load.

Spencer soon collapsed on top of you, gulping in air as he tried to catch his breath.

Any normal person would have taken pity on him (seeing as he was clearly nervous and inexperienced) and wound things down to end the night here. Anyone else would have likely let him rest.

But again, you felt devilish temptation overtake you. (It was a feeling that seemed to be much more ripe around Spencer Reid.)

You just felt thankful that your temptation and inclination toward chaos came in the form of lust, rather than something more violent, like the people you studied every single day. Everyone around you should be thankful for that.

You used your leverage (and the fact that you weren’t nearly as exhausted from the experience) to flip him over onto his back. He let out a surprised sound as his back made contact with the mattress - blinking up at you with shocked, glassy eyes as you moved down his body slightly.

“Wha-?” He mumbled out the question, only getting out part of the word before you reached for the zipper on the front of his now wet pants.

“Hey, shh, baby. I just wanna see you.” You told him quietly, causing him to stare down the length of his own body at your hands as you worked.

You got the button and zipper undone quickly and you let out a quiet ‘fuck’ as you peeled back the wet fabric of his grey slacks to reveal the sight of his simplistic (very Reid) white cotton underwear slightly transparent and stuck tight to his cock, coated in wet, sticky cum.

“So pretty baby.”

He only whined in response.

You couldn’t help yourself - you reached up and pulled down the waistband of his underwear, feeling more lust pricking through you as he was truly revealed to your eyes. He was perfect. Glossy and wet with his own release, his cock pinky red from the exertion and friction, still half hard. You pulled the clothes down over his hips and he lifted his body to help you, clearly glad to be rid of the mess, and the second you untangled the fabric from his ankles and ditched everything aside, you were back on him.

You skimmed the tips of your fingers oh-so-lightly up his shaft where it was sprawled across his pelvis, and his hips jolted. He let out a bitter gasp - as though cold water had been splashed across him.

“You said-” He choked on the words as you ran your thumb right underneath the crown, gently pressing into the head, causing him to choke on a moan while his knees quaked.

You sat on his knees to keep him still and his head became so fuzzy once again.

‘You said that you only wanted to look.’

The sentence died off in his lungs somewhere, and truthfully - he didn’t want to protest. He didn’t want you to stop.

“Sens-sensitive.” He whined. “Too much.”

“But you’re so pretty, baby.” You replied, your voice turning smooth and warm like butter again, melting over his whole body, causing all of his muscles to go soft and pliant for you. “Your cock is so pretty. I need to touch you.”

He let out another strangled noise when you cupped your hand and took him fully in your grip this time, giving one good tug across his cock from root to tip. When you did this again, faster this time, his lungs seized inside his chest - trying to take in oxygen so quickly, as though he were drowning on dry land.

“You gonna be good for me, baby?”

“Yes.” He gargled back in response. “Yes, Mommy.”

He was already so wet from cumming in his pants, and he let out a pathetic dribble of precum as you continued to move your hand - so it was an easy, slick slide. One that sent harsh shockwaves through him from overstimulation. Against his own will, he soon ballooned back to full hardness - becoming painfully swollen in your hand while you sped up your touch and closed your fist tighter around him. It caused the most wonderful hurt between his legs, and made a downright filthy wet sound as you pumped your grip faster along his needy cock.

Spencer heard wailing and felt the soreness against his throat before he realized that he was the one making those desperate sounds. He distantly wondered what it might sound like to someone else, if the rooms on either side were occupied, if the motel would receive a noise complaint about some frail woman getting fucked to death by her husband next door - because that’s what he sounded like in his own ears.

But any of those half-thoughts were chased out of his brain the second you flicked your thumb up over the head of his cock and your dirty mouth filled his ears once again.

“Gonna milk this pretty cock, baby.” You told him, your voice firm. “You gonna show Mommy how much you can cum for me? Gonna show me what a good boy you are?”

Spencer let out another pathetic sound, his body singing with pleasure at his pure need to prove to you that - yes, he was a good boy.

He felt tears wet on the side of his face before he realized that he was crying, but it was all too good to ask you to stop.

You used your other hand to cradle his balls and you swooped down to capture his gasping mouth in another kiss (a very messy, open mouthed kiss that Spencer could barely pay attention to). Spencer screamed into your mouth while he painted his stomach with cum once again.

You only stopped jerking his cock once you had truly milked every last drop from him, his hips seizing up off the bed and your hand almost slipping off him completely from how sloppily wet it was with more of his cum added to the mix.

He was purely exhausted then. His eyes blinked heavily, struggling to stay open. He vaguely remembered you cleaning him off and tucking him into bed - but he definitely enjoyed falling asleep curled up next to your warmth.

…

The next morning, Spencer felt hungover.

He wondered if that’s what good sex always felt like - the combination of endorphins rushing through your body and physical exertion tackling you over. His legs were sore, as though he had run several miles. (Which wasn’t even something he could make a bold comparison to anyway, because he didn’t exercise nearly as much as he should for someone with this job). He woke up starving, grateful when you drove to a diner down the road after checking out of the motel and planted him in one of the booths before going outside to call Hotch in order to touch base with the rest of the team.

You came back with a small grin on your face.

“Turns out that tip the ex-wife gave us about their first house in Arlington was pretty solid.” You told Reid. “They caught the guy on his way there. He had another girl in the trunk. They got her back mostly unarmed, and took him into custody.”

Spencer nodded. “That’s good.”

When he moved to grab another sugar packet out of the caddy on the side of the table, three of them already open and empty beside his cup of coffee, you grabbed him by the wrist.

“That’s enough, baby.” You told him.

His stomach curled, that distinct feeling running through him again. And against his will, that word slipped out - again.

“Yes, Mommy.”

...

A/N: This is a standalone oneshot. There won't be a sequel or a continuation, so please do not ask for one. If you liked the fic, please comment about the body of work that has been written, or consider reblogging to show your appreciation. If you want to see more Spencer Reid fics that I have written, you can check out my Criminal Minds Masterlist, or you can check out my Masterlists for other fandoms to see if anything catches your eye. Thank you for reading!

#sundrop writes #criminal minds fanfiction #spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid imagine #sub!spencer #sub!spencer reid #spencer reid smut #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x you #criminal minds #criminal minds x you #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds fic

2K notes · View notes

dunmeshistash · 12 days

Note

G'day, I hope you are doing well.

Ever since I finished the story of Dungeon Meshi (all supplementary material included) I've been writing down bullet points on characters in addition to in-depth synopses as a way to tidy up my rather busy mind. To this end I've also greatly enjoyed reading other folks' interpretations of particular characters, as it gives me further insight into aspects of that character I may have glossed over.

However, there's one character I'm struggling to write a cohesive synopsis about, that being none other than 'miss enigma' herself, Falin Touden. I get that her whole shtick is that she's kind of a mystery, but I find myself drawing a lot of blanks when it comes to her as a character, and while I have nailed down some important bullet points, there are a lot of different interpretations on her, all of which starkly contrast one another. Though perhaps it's just the wording. Hard to say.

It could very well be that I'm being too dense i.e. perceiving "Falin is willing to risk killing others to save her friends." and "Falin, in the heat of the moment, when faced with certain death, was willing to face the prospect of harming potential passersby in a final Hail Mary to get her friends to safety." as entirely different observations. I have a hard time with those kinds of things.

With this being a hub for all sorts of observations, interpretations and cool trivia, I was wondering if you'd perhaps be willing to share how you yourself perceive Falin as a character, so I can compare notes and perhaps gain a more proper understanding of her as a character as a result. I know this question is very broad and kind of vague, but if you could spare the time I'd be most grateful.

Other than that, I wish you an excellent day.

Hello!!! I love Falin!!!!!

She *is* a mystery, we mostly know Falin through the perception other characters have of her instead of a direct deep look onto who she is, which I find very interesting. I think the best post I've seen about her (which as usual I can't remember where edit: someone linked it thank uu) I think called her perceived altruism/love "selfish" and I've been thinking about that ever since.

In that sense the way she cares so much about the comfort of people around her might be a way to keep *her own* comfort because she doesn't want to see other people suffer.

This girly died and came back to life from bones and the first thoughts she has is that she caused trouble for her loved ones

She probably has felt this way since she was a child, "because of her" that her family was torn apart "because of her" that Laios left, her mom was sick, her father had to send her away. (wasn't actually her fault but she might think it is)

I imagine ever since then Falin has done her best to not cause trouble and to make the people she loves happy, everything we know about her and the things she was doing was always for the people she loved, that's why I enjoy the post canon comic where Toshiro asks her hand in marriage again so much. The first time she considers accepting just because "might as well" while for the second time she finally wants to live for herself.

I think Falin herself has lost who she "really is" by trying to accommodate everyone around her and that's probably part of why we ourselves don't really know her, so much so that the most cynical character is uncomfortable around her (probably cause he notices Falin is "hiding" something)

I think Falin is quite the melancholic character to be honest, someone who has lost herself in self sacrifice and who is only now learning how to live for herself doing what she wants.

Both the teleportation scene and the bit about healing show "cracks" in the selfless front she puts out tbh. By context I don't think what she did was only due to "desperation of the moment" she says out loud "Even if I end up hurting others I want you and my brother to live on". She weighted out how much suffering she might cause and decided she wanted to save them anyway, and I'm sure in that calculation she knew that they would suffer because of her sacrifice too.

Falin is saving them for herself, I'm not great with words so this is all over the place and maybe sounds a little negative about Falin but the thing is, you cannot live your life for other people, you can't sacrifice yourself for other people's happiness, you shouldn't erase your own presence so others are happier and I think Falin is starting to learn that by the end.

I'd probably keep rambling without getting anywhere and missing a lot of more meaningful moments but I'll stop here, if anyone has recs for Falin analysis please share!

#Dungeon Meshi spoilers #I think the way Toshiro speaks about the moment he fell in love with Falin to be telling too #He had to see her in the dead of the night finally just doing her thing instead of putting on what others expect of her #to finally notice how wonderful she is #But Falin cannot reciprocate those feelings because as opposed to Laios #She is putting up a front to these other people so she can't engage with them in a meaningful manner #Nobody (besides Laios and Marcille) got past the wall Falin put up so they couldn't reach her #I think in the conversation she has with Toshiro in that extra she's finally letting him thru that wall #instead of avoiding it like she did before #she caused discomfort by saying what she really feels and that's okay #Anyway #dunmeshi thoughts #ask #Falin Touden

285 notes · View notes

datura-tea · 10 months

Text

i read this whole thing! a few takeaways:

was developed for tv by the westworld show creators; the showrunners wrote for captain marvel, tomb raider, portlandia, the office, silicon valley, and baskets

one of the leads, lucy (ella purnell) from vault 33, is naive and "doe-eyed" and left the vault for a rescue mission

the other leads will be a brotherhood of steel squire (aaron moten) and a bounty hunter ghoul (walton goggins)

vault boy will be there - he even gets an origin story

it's set in los angeles

todd howard was an executive producer on the show

everything in the series is officially part of the lore. direct quote from the article: “We view what’s happening in the show as canon,” says Howard. “That’s what’s great, when someone else looks at your work and then translates it in some fashion.” He admits to being envious of some of the TV show’s interpretations and additions: “I sort of looked at it like, ‘Ah, why didn’t we do that?’”

most of the characters are "chasing an artifact that has the potential to radically change the power dynamic in this world"

the article's pretty cool and made me a little cautiously hopeful about the show... we'll see on april 2024 whether it'll be good though

#i bet the artifact is a geck lol #shh peri shhh #fallout show #there are bits that i'm still iffy about but. thinking positive here

845 notes · View notes

svsss-fanon-exposed · 6 months

Text

Exposing SVSSS Fanon: 25/∞

VIOLENCE AS COURTSHIP IS A PART OF DEMON CULTURE

Rating: CANON

A nearly universal trope, especially in Moshang fics, is the fact that courtship is performed through violence in demon culture, and that the misunderstandings between the pair are because of cultural differences. The fact that demons mistreat the targets of their affection is canon, however, it is important for fans to note that this sort of characterization and worldbuilding is rooted in racial and ethnic stereotypes.

This is one of the most-requested topics I've ever written on this blog, and I took a long time to think about how best to approach the subject in a way that both keeps to the intention of this blog (referencing canon & providing quotes) as well as raising awareness to the very real problematic aspects of what is a well-loved and often-used trope in fanon that I don't think most western fans are aware of.

First, the canon analysis:

“If you hold unique feelings for a certain person, how can you make them understand your intentions?” Luo Binghe asked. Obviously, no one dared to tear down Luo Binghe’s facade and expose him directly, but this question was really very…unsuited to the demonic approach. After a long moment, not a single person had answered. In fact, the answer was so simple that any normal human could have given it to you. If you liked someone, you should just tell them. Unfortunately, there was not a single “normal” person on the scene—and aside from Shang Qinghua, there also were no “humans” either. Mobei-Jun thought about it. With the paths his mind was given to take, there was no telling how he had interpreted “unique” feelings. “Beat them up three times a day?” (7 Seas, Ch. 26)

Most of the fandom remembers this passage, and some may think that this is where the interpretation of violence as courtship comes from-- however, that is not the case. This passage might actually not refer to courtship at all-- while that is one possible interpretation, Mobei-jun could also be interpreting "unique feelings" to mean something different than "romantic feelings," since Luo Binghe didn't specify romance directly.

The "violent demonic courtship" idea actually originates much earlier in the novel, just after the invasion of Qiong Ding Peak:

In truth, Shen Qingqiu didn’t intend to tease; he thought himself very straightforward. The one who’d tampered with Luo Binghe’s dream realm was Sha Hualing. Though she did have some harmful intentions, her underlying motive was obvious. Naturally, she was driven by a young girl’s secret yearning for love. Otherwise, she would have directed her aggressions toward others, not specifically Luo Binghe. Demons were compelled to viciously bully the person they liked. Only if the object of their affections failed to die would the demon accept them. If their target died, that meant they were useless and not worth nursing any lingering affections for. (7 Seas, Ch. 3)

This, in fact, has somewhat more serious connotations than the way I have often seen it interpreted in fanworks-- it is not merely beating up a potential partner, but pushing them to their limits, nearly driving them to death, and it is certainly implied that it is not uncommon for the object of a demon's affections to actually die.

Now that the canonical basis of the idea has been established, let us move on to the second, and arguably more important part of this post: the racism.

I would like to add a disclaimer here-- I am going to discuss this in hopes of raising more awareness in the fandom, but I am not North/West/Central Asian myself, so I will only mention things in brief and somewhat generally-- if anyone who belongs to the affected cultures would like to make corrections, or more detailed explanations, or any other additions to this post on this topic, I greatly welcome that, as I feel it is an important issue that should be addressed.

In Chinese fiction, particularly fantasy genres like xianxia/xuanhuan/xiuzhen, but also in historical and wuxia fiction, there is a pervasive, prevalent tendency for authors to use racial and ethnic stereotypes against Central, Northern, and Western Asian cultures such as Mongolian & Arab cultures in their worldbuilding regarding the North, while stereotypes against Southeast Asian cultures are used in worldbuilding regarding the South. These stereotypes are most typically applied to villains and villainous groups, and are so widespread as to be ubiquitous within the genre. MXTX has used these tropes before-- notably with the Banyue people in TGCF, with adaptations of both TGCF and MDZS including design stereotypes, such as CQL's portrayal of the Qinghe Nie (combining their tendency toward violence and 'unnatural' cultivation method, with design traits typically associated with Northern/Central Asian cultures).

It is worth noting, though, that most authors do not intentionally use these traits as racist stereotypes in their worldbuilding, especially when regarding a non-human species-- in the same way that western fantasy authors use goblin and orc characters and tropes without realizing or acknowledging their racist origins and connotiations, these stereotypes have simply become genre tropes without that direct connection to their origins. Nonetheless, it is still worth noting-- and worth trying not to fall into the trap of leaning into stereotypical traits in fanworks' character portrayals.

Stereotypes include but are not limited to barbaric and brutish cultural traits, association with animals/having animal features, dark or corrupt magical/spiritual practices, certain types of braided hairstyles & other fashion choices, and originating from the far north or south.

Some of the prejudice and stereotyping of Northern Asian cultures likely originates from the fact that in the past, China was invaded and subjugated by peoples from the north (under Mongolian rule during the Yuan dynasty, and under Manchurian rule during the Qing dynasty) as well as having many conflicts with these peoples throughout history. In fact, the Qing dynasty only ended in the early 1900s, so some of this oppression is still in recent memory-- nonetheless, people belonging to ethnic minorities in China are still affected by this negative stereotyping today, so regardless of the origin, racism is still racism and should be addressed, and China today is a majority Han Chinese nation-- even if Han Chinese are considered a minority and affected by systemic racism in other places in the world.

Additionally, many tropes specifically applied to the southern demons, but also used for demon culture as a whole, are tied to stereotypical portrayals of Southeast Asian culture, which is rooted in a long history of Imperial China's invasion and oppression.

All of those stereotypes listed above apply to SVSSS' demon culture. Even in Mobei-jun's name-- 漠北 meaning "northern desert," which is the real-world name for a region in the north of the Gobi desert in Mongolia.

Therefore, it is important to remember that though violence-as-courtship in demon culture is canonical within SVSSS' setting, it nonetheless originates from harmful racial and ethnic stereotypes. It would be a good idea for fans to keep this in mind when creating their fanworks, and to treat the topic with sensitivity-- but I will leave any direct suggestions on how to handle this to those who are actually part of the affected groups.

(thanks to @flidgetjerome for additional notes regarding SEAsian stereotyping and author intent!)

Also, to be absolutely clear: I am not saying that svsss’ demons are specifically coded as any real ethnic group— it’s only that in many ways the portrayal is similar to the common portrayal of various ethnic groups in cmedia. I don’t believe they are specifically meant to parallel a real life group, unlike for example TGCF’s Banyue— but it’s worth questioning why these traits, why these characters.

#svsss #fanon exposed #svsss demon culture #mobei jun #canon #I don't know if I did a good job addressing the sensitive topics here so please feel free to correct anything I got wrong #or if I've overstepped anywhere #i just want to use the platform i have to bring this to the western fandom's attention since i don't think it's widely known #i will very gladly reblog any additions from fans who wish to weigh in but definitely don't feel pressured to do so

519 notes · View notes

aalghul · 5 months

Text

Thinking about Jason's outward expression of emotions. He tends to only get angry as a response to perceived injustice (the same way Bruce, Dick and most of the others do). But unlike some other characters, Jason rarely every gets wound up in it, nor does he get angry even when he sees injustice if the situation doesn't call for it. Some characters get angry first and then manage their response to whatever's more appropriate, but my interpretation has always been than Jason doesn't need to because he doesn't often begin with the rage. It's not a default, instinctual response for him in most situations. It seems to be that he becomes angry when there is a perpetrator (and specifically, of a crime that hurt people with less power than the perpetrator has, in some way) towards whom he can direct that righteous anger (righteous as in the cause is his drive for justice. I'm not discussing the rightfulness right now). Can he hurt the man who was about to hurt a woman enough that he doesn't dare to try imposing his power over another woman again? Can he do something, anything to stop a serial rapist who has already caused the suicide of at least one woman? But he doesn't possess the sort of blinding anger that could become a driving motivator for his actions outside of someone in front of him to punish. He doesn't need the anger (mostly because he will instead fixate on the crime without rage to fuel him).

The notable exception to this being his behaviour preceding his death (which is explicitly referred to as atypical for Jason by both Bruce and Alfred. The whole reason he's forced to take a break from Robin is because that anger is so unusual for Jason that Bruce and Alfred are worried about Jason's mental wellbeing).

We see in Lost Days that Jason’s default state has become (to the concern of Talia and Ra’s) seemingly unfeeling, and he shows signs of a persistent flat affect throughout Lost Days, with exceptions for when he sees injustice (which is responsive, as compared to the aloofness he uses as a constant state of defence -> see: his and Talia’s conversation after he killed for the first time, Talia being glad that his sense of empathy and justice were able to overcome his general coldness). Jason's aloofness was entirely a conscious defence, but at times he was consciously exercising it (his reaction to Tim in front of Talia vs alone).

We see him cry for himself a few times, which tends to be how Jason first reacts to what hurts him deeply. Then there's his cold hatred for Bruce, which can be taken as anger in the face of heartbreak and perceived betrayal. But that anger never goes very far: Jason couldn't even make himself blow up the batmobile. In the end, it's Jason's belief that he hates Bruce and must make demands of Bruce to force him to redeem himself in Jason's esteem that fuels him. Because Jason wants Bruce to redeem himself, even if it's unlikely that he will.

All throughout Lost Days and UTRH, Jason uses teasing/biting humour in a very Robin manner to direct attention to whatever he pleases, whether that be pulling attention away from vulnerabilities or drawing attention to distortions of the truth. This habit returns to Jason strongly around times when he breaks out of his apathetic state (when he’s killing people who hurt others, pretty much), but the undertones of coldness and derision even with that humour don’t leave. We can see in this habit especially how Jason's become a distortion of who he was as Robin. He's still witty and he still teases people and you can hear the humour in his voice. But now he's using that wit to say cruel things to Batman, deceiving him constantly, and his voice no longer has a youthful kindness to it.

One of the most Helena-esque character traits that Jason’s picked up (in fanon and reboot canon) is anger as an initial defence and reaction, actually. It’s nearly the opposite of Jason’s pre-flashpoint defensive state but is essential to Helena’s. It’s actually not surprising that this happened (even ignoring reboot kicking Jason’s character into a closet and superimposing much of Helena onto him) because of how DC pushed “angry” as Jason’s defining trait, and how fans have believed it for so long. It seems almost natural for a misconception this severe to happen, even in the face of evidence to the contrary, because every action of Jason’s is misconstrued as proof for an angry temperament.

#if i'm using a very simplified version of various emotions it's because so does fanon and current canon. i've gotta match that i guess #sometimes i feel like i get too annoying about how different jason's anger is from fanon and newer canon bc there's nothing wrong with that #type of anger in a character but that's irrelevant. because jason's not the firey explosive seething 24/7 sort. he's much colder and far #more pathetic actually because he's lamenting not seething. this is essential. he wouldnt have been able to do any of lost days or utrh if #not for this. literally everything would have gone down a lot differently if jason had that kind of anger in him #jason todd

254 notes · View notes

s-brant · 1 year

Text

Little Dragon

In a the aftermath of a fight sparked by the feud between him and her brother, Lucerys, Aemond and his wife are now trying to fix things between them. (or judas part three)

10k (18+)

Warnings: smut, p in v, rough sex, knife play, choking, spitting in mouth, strong language, yandere (so basically canon) aemond, and some of the language used to describe past sex acts could be interpreted as dub-con, but everything is consensual.

Married life is not what she thought it would be.

Everyone told her their days would be spent in honeymoon-induced bliss that seems as though it will never end for the first year or so of marriage, but that wasn't their experience at all. When they weren't fucking, which was about all they did together, Aemond and Y/N were typically fighting for the first four months of being wed to one another. There were good moments, though. They bonded over shared interests that appeared the longer they lived in close proximity, and he began to open himself up to her little by little. It wasn't nearly as much as she wanted, but he still offered her more than he did most other people.

It was evident in the little things, such as how he would feel comfortable enough to take off his eyepatch at certain times when alone in her presence or how he would always, no matter how far apart they were when they fell asleep in his spacious bed, end up with an arm around her by the time they woke. But, then, there were the times when the wall between them would come down again and she was left wondering if her husband would ever speak freely in her presence.

As of late, it seems they are leaning more on the side of fighting rather than fucking.

Her temper has been running hotter than usual, so when she heard of an incident in the training yard between Aemond and Lucerys, who is visiting alongside Rhaenyra after a close call with Viserys' health that thankfully ended without complication, she was out for blood.

"Have you no shame, husband?" she asked as she walked after him, chasing and herding him in the direction of their shared chambers after having to watch her brother be tended to by the maesters. "I asked you to not harm him, and you ignored me at the first opportunity presented to you!"

This led to a screaming match that ended in him storming off to fly on Vhagar for the better half of the night before coming back to their chambers—soaking wet from the rain—ripping the sheets off of her, hiking her shift up around her waist, and fucking her until she was babbling and incoherent for him. It was a vicious fight masked by the actions of lust and passion. Her nails broke skin open on his pale back while his hand squeezed down around her delicate throat, providing her a heady little head rush that made the pleasure of his cock gliding in and out of her intensify.

The rainwater dripped off of him and onto her, turning the mattress damp beneath their writhing bodies. Not that either of them minded. By the time they finished, she was on the verge of passing out again and didn't do much other than sigh as he lifted her into his arms to move her around before setting her back down on the bed. Come morning, she found herself alone, but the bed was not cold or damp. Her side of the mattress was covered with a warm fur hide that had been draped atop the divan, and she couldn't help but smile to herself at that before she remembered their argument.

Aemond was never a cruel husband. If anything, he was the opposite. Their arguments did not mean he mistreated his lady. Yes, they would fight and fuck like animals, but, at the end of the day, she was his. In a world where he was granted nothing, not even a dragon's egg in the cradle as his siblings were, the Maiden had blessed him with her. Every other girl or woman balked in his presence, but not Y/N. She and Vhagar were the only things he ever had to himself, and he would never mistreat either of his dragons.

Hence, the fur hide.

As angry with each other as they were and, he knew, would continue to be on the morrow, his face softened when he came back from the bathing room to find her curled up in fetal position and shivering in her sleep from the wet sheets. She hardly stirred as he lifted her up, one arm under her bent knees and the other holding firm around her naked back, and walked over to the divan to fetch the warm fur hide. It took little effort for him to hold her as he picked it up and spread it out atop the bed, then set her down. It took him searching the room to find another blanket to cover her with, but, once he did, he sighed to himself at the sight of her and tried to resist the urge to reach down to brush her hair out of her face. What had she done to him?

He had little trouble falling asleep on the damp sheets and left early before she woke to avoid the consequences of the things they said to each other the previous night.

Since this morning, they haven't crossed paths much at all. For she was spending what little time she had left of their visit with her mother and brother, trying to conceal the turmoil within her caused by her marriage and, well...

"Are you certain, mother?" Y/N asked. "It is so soon, and I have only missed one of my courses thus far. It was just last month's, I am certain it will come again soon. I always feel sick to my stomach before my blood comes, and I have felt that way for days."

What she didn't want to tell her mother was that she already knew. Deep down, she knew the answer, yet she was too stubborn in their ongoing argument to want to admit to herself. Or him.

Rhaenyra smiled softly at her from where she braided her hair for her, something she would continue to insist on doing for her only daughter no matter how old she grew, and said, "Feeling sick to your stomach is an indication that you may be with child as well. Considering that you told me you missed one of your courses and you winced when Lucerys hugged you too hard upon our arrival"—It was true. When Luc threw his arms around her in a tight embrace, she couldn't help but grimace at the tenderness she felt in her breasts upon impact against him. And, the previous night, with Aemond, her nipples were uncharacteristically sensitive whenever he made contact with them, though she did not say that to her mother—"I do not think it out of the realm of possibility, my love...You should tell Aemond what you suspect."

Having told the handmaidens to leave them to their own devices, they did not have to bother with concealing their conversation from eavesdroppers by speaking in Valyrian. They simply sat together and spoke openly, and honestly, and Y/N was glad for it. It was the type of open communication she found difficult with Aemond due to his closed-off nature. It wasn't for lack of trying, either. She knew he tried as much as she did, but they both have too sensitive of tempers to get very far with civil discussion. Once they misunderstand one another's intentions, they lose control and allow emotion to guide them, not logic. Then, the truly hurtful things are said in the heat of the moment that neither of them means.

Since leaving her mother's rooms, she has wandered around the keep aimlessly to avoid the argument that will reignite once she sees Aemond again. So, she goes to the one place she knew she could flee to to clear her head. The Weirwood tree she once had a tendency to read under.

Yet when she finally sits down and settles into place with her back against the thick trunk, all she can think of is her husband. Although infuriated with him for the training yard incident in which he injured Lucerys, she cannot help but imagine what it would be like. She pictures him with a tiny, newly-born babe in his arms and feels her knees weaken at the thought. Then, her mind conjures images of their child a few years down the line, resting their head on his shoulder with their silver hair falling down his back to blend in with his. He may be perceived as an unfeeling man by most, but she knows he will be a decent father. A better one than her grandsire was to him, she's sure.

As fond as she is of him in the safety of her mind, hearing his voice out of the silence causes her to turn still.

"I thought I might find you here."

There's a brief moment of hesitation before she lifts her gaze to find his eye fixed on her quite intensely. After last night, she cannot blame him. They were two seconds from brawling one another in their chambers before he walked away to blow off steam by flying Vhagar late into the night, and what happened after he returned wasn't much less aggressive than the argument they engaged in hours prior. It did little to solve anything other than stifle their remaining anger.

"You were not there when I woke," she says without greeting him.

The unforgiving tone she takes with him tells him everything he needs to know. Despite their passionate, near-feral fucking last night, she has yet to forgive him for "accidentally" injuring Lucerys. Perhaps he made a mistake. Perhaps he shouldn't have taunted the younger man as they practiced in the training yard together, nor should he have let his retort turn him blind with anger, but it's too late to change that now. All he can do is try to navigate the rough tides of her temper in the aftermath, still shocked that he even cares. Never once would he have thought that he'd be so willing to bend himself to the will of his lady wife when he first spoke of betrothals with his mother years ago.

He doesn't dare to step any closer to her, though. Instead, he holds his hands behind his back and tilts his head as he looks down upon her face in the buttery daylight, fighting the admiration felt in the center of his chest at the sight of her silver hair glowing in the sun. Although he's trying to get back in her good graces, he still refrains from surrendering all of himself to her in order to do so. Sometimes it scares him; the urge he has to allow her to render him pathetic and subservient.

It confused him this morning when he fled to find his mother and sister breaking their fast together. Luckily for him, Helaena was leaving at the very moment he entered, leaving him alone with his mother in the privacy of her secluded rooms.

He paced back and forth in front of where she sat at the table, too distracted by his neurotic movements and ranting to indulge in her poached egg.

"You did not prepare me for this, mother," he said, not with any malice or anger, but honesty. When it came to his mother, he could never find it in himself to be anything but gentle with her. "She is driving me to madness."

A frown crossed Queen Alicent's face at this.

"You know I wanted to betroth you to one of the Baratheon daughters. Y/N may not be a good match for you, but it's far too late for a change of—"

He didn't even need to say a word. No, she was silenced by the look cast in her direction. His features hardened into a mask of impenetrable force and threat as if daring her, his own mother, to finish that sentence before he remembered himself and averted his gaze to the ground. Still, it was too late. She saw everything he fought to keep hidden beneath the surface every time he was in public in the presence of his wife.

"Oh," she said softly.

This wasn't something she thought she had to prepare him for, but he was right. She hadn't properly prepared him for it. Considering her own experiences with marriage, as well as most other royals and aristocrats who wed people for power or alliance, the thought never crossed her mind. But based on the look on his face and the embarrassment that now shows in his flushed cheeks, it should have.

"Aemond," Alicent said, her voice a quiet push of air before speaking up a bit more clearly to ask him, "Do you mean to tell me that you truly love her? Is that what this is about?"

The lack of response and refusal to make eye contact with her spoke every word he refused to say aloud. He simply stared off at the ground as if in amazement, wondering to himself how he ended up there. Although part of it felt wrong, wrong in the sense that he swore to never let his guard down around anyone, least of all the sister of the bastard that maimed him, there was so much of it that felt right. Though he would never have spoken of such crass things in the presence of his mother, he kept thinking back to the previous night—to how every touch, every thrust, every kiss felt so inherently right that he couldn't imagine himself wanting to galavant the Street of Silk as his older brother had. No, he wanted her. He wanted her in a way that consumed him, in a way that scared him, and it crept up on him slowly but surely in the months following the wedding ceremonies.

He swallowed the lump in his throat and said, "We do nothing but argue and...perform our marital duties to produce an heir...yet I find"—The words eluded him at first. Never having spoken about his emotions out loud to many people in his life, he found it difficult to articulate, but to get the advice he sought, he had to—"I cannot bear the thought of her being angry with me."

Those were the types of thoughts that chased him on his aimless stroll, ignoring every member of court who attempted to greet the sullen prince with a wary smile or pleasant few words. They chased him all the way here, to where he walked unconsciously and found the object of his incessant infatuation sitting beneath the tree.

Snapping himself out of the haze of his memories, Aemond straightens his shoulders and offers as explanation, "I left because I did not wish to fight with you again. I needed time to think." He shrugs. "I took a walk."

This silences her for a moment. But it's just that, a moment, before she's summoning the nerve to retort back at him with a snarky tone, "And what did this time to think do for you? Have you realized how much shame you've brought me as a result of your actions yesterday?" Her face then softens, as does her voice. "Everyone saw. It's all that the servants are talking about. Everyone either pities me or thinks I am weak for marrying someone who hurts my own kin."

Although his raging temper and unrelenting pride urge him to say something equally as aggressive back, he wills himself to remain silent and mindful of every word that may leave his mouth. The self-control it takes to restrain himself is immeasurable, but all he hears when he closes his eyes are the words of advice his mother gave earlier.

"I don't blame you for holding a grudge against Lucerys," she said, "but, she is your wife. If she asked you not to harm her brother, the honorable thing to do would be to listen."

His body stiffened at this. At the thought of letting anyone or anything tell him what he can and cannot do, but when he voiced such concerns, he was shut down.

"A wife is meant to obey her husband, yes, but if what you've come here to tell me is true, you must treat your marriage differently." Her eyes never once left him, nor did the intensity in them recede. "In order to receive obedience and respect, you must be willing to give it. Love is a fickle thing, Aemond. If you do not nurture it, it will become resentment."

There's a beat of silence between him and Y/N, then—

"I came here to tell you it will not happen again. I swear this to you."

That was the last thing she expected to hear. Not technically an apology, but, she supposes it's the closest she's ever gotten to one from him. Most of their fights end in them making up after sex or from the healing touch of time gone by. This is a first for them. They're both typically too stubborn to admit defeat, yet here he is.

Her brows furrow at him as if in confusion.

"You will not make any attempts to harm my brother again? Either of my brothers, for that matter."

He nods. Just once.

"Unless he makes the first move, I will not touch him," Aemond says slowly, hating every second of it but forcing himself to proceed for the sake of following his mother's advice. More importantly, for the sake of preventing any resentment from growing between them. "Or Jacaerys. You have my word."

And even though it's the outcome she longed for the whole time, she can't help but feel infuriated with him. How dare he be so...kind. How dare he give her a reason to genuinely admire him in favor of using their near-constant disagreements as reason to keep him at a comfortable distance? She never wanted to account for the fact that he may be more to her than a tolerated presence. She never wanted him to hold such power over her, and still...

Y/N takes in a deep breath, the low-cut neckline of her dress accentuating the rise and fall of her breasts, and looks up at him. What she finds in his gaze is pure honesty.

"Well, good." She chews at the inside of her lip for a second, unsure of how to proceed in light of these unforeseen circumstances. "Thank you for your understanding. I won't forget this kindness."

With that, he turns to leave, assuming she'd like to be left alone after everything they said and did to one another last night. He takes all of three steps before he's halted by the sound of her voice.

"Where are you going?"

He slowly turns back around to face her again and takes note of the hopeful glint in her eyes that he's never seen before. Strange...

"Do you not wish me to leave?"

No, she thinks, I do not wish you to leave. I wish to spend all day and night with you. If I could live beneath your skin, I would.

The obsessive nature of her thoughts startles her a little, but she tries not to judge herself too harshly. After all, she just got confirmation from the maesters after breakfast that she is, in fact, with child as Rhaenyra suspected, and the fluctuation of hormones tends to cause heightened emotions, so it makes sense. Not to mention, there's an added layer of intimacy that makes her feel closer to him now that she knows. A part of him lives within her. It's not something she takes lightly despite her initial trepidation surrounding the idea of childbirth in the weeks after their wedding ceremonies.

Y/N takes her time in responding, allowing herself the opportunity to stand from where she rested on the thick root of the Weirwood tree. Her palms flatten against the back of her dress to dust the dirt off, and it isn't until she's done so that she looks up at him again.

"I did not say that," she says matter of factly. "I was curious what you're doing today because I want to spend time with you. That is unless you have prior commitments to attend to..."

The speed with which he utters, "I don't," verges on the type of embarrassment severe enough to make him flee and hide, but he doesn't. He instead focuses on the fact that she actually wants to be around him after the fight they had, far too preoccupied to think about how pathetic it is that all he has to do today is mope around the Red Keep over her. Although they've had passion and fondness for one another in the months that have passed since they married, this is the first time he's ever felt truly wanted by her in a way other than that of carnal desire.

He prays the overwhelming relief hasn't reached his face by the time he elaborates, "I was only going to see Vhagar. She gets quite restless when she hasn't seen me, so I make a point to visit her every day even if we do not fly." There's a dip of silence. His face softens. "Come see her with me, then. I realize you two haven't been properly introduced."

The only times she got relatively close to Vhagar were when flying beneath her on Vermithor and when she and Aemond arrived at the keep at the same time those months ago before their betrothal. Unfortunately, she hadn't been lucky enough to know Vhagar's last rider, Laena Velaryon. Her father was wed to her, yes, but she never once met Daemon until her funeral at Driftmark, and that very night was when Aemond claimed the ancient war dragon for himself. So, in her eyes, Vhagar has always been intrinsically entwined with her husband.

She smiles at him, saying softly, "Okay."

The journey to the place outside the palace walls where Vhagar rests, too big for being kept inside the dragon pit as the other dragons are, is not too strenuous. Aemond made sure to show her the quicker route to the unoccupied land where they once held Queen Aemma's funeral rather than taking her through the streets of King's Landing, preventing her from being exposed to the indecent things that occur in plain daylight. Not that she hasn't done such things with him before, but for the people of the city to see their future queen anywhere near that type of behavior is not ideal.

The earth is soft beneath her feet as she hikes up the rolling hills with her hand grasped in Aemond's. His hold on her is strong, never allowing a chance for her to trip and fall or slip out of his clutches now that he so clearly has her full attention. A gentle wind blows strands of hair back from her face to cool her amidst the typically sweltering summer air. Back in the city, it's hotter due to the palace walls and droves of people, but, here, it's open and free. It's no wonder that Vhagar prefers to reside out where she can roam as opposed to the confined field outside the Dragonpit where she can hardly fit.

She hears her before she sees her, but once they come up over the crest of the hill, it isn't long before she sees the great beast lounging on the grass in the valley between the rolling hills. A Dragonpit of her own making, Y/N supposes. The closer they get to her, the more enchanted she becomes with the creature. Out of the corner of his remaining eye, Aemond notes the look of awe on her face as they come to a stop roughly ten feet away.

"Nyke maghatan ñuha ābrazȳrys kesīr naejot rhaenagon ao," he says loudly to be heard by her over the sounds of the wind and sea not far off from where they stand. I brought my wife here to meet you. "Sagon sȳz naejot zirȳla." Be kind to her.

The elderly dragon huffs out a sharp breath that Y/N can feel the warmth of reaching her face despite the decent space between them. Apparently, that's her cue, because Aemond is now looking at her expectantly and egging her on, daring her to do what no one else would. No one but them. It's part of what thrills him about their marriage. This is why Targaryen weds Targaryen, he thinks to himself. How else would they share this simple pleasure if she weren't also the blood of the dragon? Vhagar would tolerate her presence, sure, but not in the way she does with those of her own kind.

Having tamed the Bronze Fury herself and knowing her husband's dragon will obey his commands to be kind to her, she takes a few steps forward until she's close enough to reach her hand out and allow her to smell it. The scaled creature's nostrils flare out to inhale and catalog her rider's wife for the first time, but she's surprised at what she finds lingering in the scent. There's a bit of him in there. To her, his scent is the most alluring, the most comfortable since she's been claimed by him, so when she notices his scent clinging to Y/N's, her head tilts a little to get closer.

She sees a certain understanding in the beast's eyes despite the fact that they've never been properly introduced until now. Vhagar looks upon her with a reverence no one but Aemond and her previous riders have received. Your womb shelters a little dragon. You carry him inside of you.

Vhagar dips her head down and nudges her nose against the princess's belly, which, as of right now, is not showing any obvious sign of her delicate condition. This action doesn't seem to stick out to Aemond—thank the Gods—it seems to surprise him. To see his two dragons coexisting and displaying affection for one another is a magical thing, and it's something he will never forget. Not even when he's old and frail and can no longer patrol the skies on her.

The sweet gesture brings a chuckle out of Y/N's throat.

"Iksā sepār iā dōna riña, issi ao daor?" she says, reaching up to rub along the massive bridge of her nose. You are just a sweet girl, are you not? "Issa sȳz naejot rhaenagon ao, Vhagar. Ñuha valzȳrys ēza ivestretan nyke sīr olvie nūmāzma ao." It is good to meet you, Vhagar. My husband has told me so much about you.

Though Y/N cannot see it, Aemond smiles slightly behind her. He tries to fight it, but it's impossible. His lips curl up into a grin against his will at the sight of his wife and his dragon cozying up together much like a mother and child. And though Vhagar is old enough to be a grandmother many times over, she, for reasons Y/N has yet to reveal to him, decides to play the role of the child in this instance.

Before he can wipe the smile from his face, she turns to look at him with her eyes widened in wonder.

"She's beautiful." She then turns back to face her. "Iksā gevie, dōna riña." You are beautiful, sweet girl.

"Are you ready to ride with us? You must climb up first. I will sit behind you."

This time, when she turns around to look at him, her gaze does not stray.

"Are you jesting?"

He just shakes his head, smug at the sign of her hesitation after trying to present herself as bravely as possible to his beloved beast. Silver hair cascades over her shoulders and shimmers, even under a cloudy sky, enough so that he has a hard time finding words in the wake of his longing for her.

"I do not jest about dragons," he says with a sadistic look in his eye. If he were being honest, he'd admit that he hardly jests about anything, least of all Vhagar. "But if you are craven, then I do not mind escorting you back to the keep."

That shocked expression of hers shifts into one of amusement.

"I claimed Vermithor when I was two and ten years old, the same year you claimed her, when he was a wild dragon living in the mountain caverns on Dragonstone. Does that sound like the actions of someone who is craven?"

He inclines his head in the direction of Vhagar as though to say, "Prove it."

It takes no less than five seconds for her to spin around and march right up to the side of the dragon, grabbing the rungs of the rope ladder slung over her back to allow small beings like them to scale the massive creature. The skirt of her dress blows in the wind enough to expose her legs to him but not to expose her entirely as she climbs, thanking the Gods that she opted for a pair of riding boots instead of the heels she wore with her dress originally. Once she has reached the saddle, she feels the rope ladder jolt with movement far below and swings her leg over to straddle the dragon. And when she looks down, she sees Aemond climbing up after her.

The feeling of his hard, lean body settling into place behind her stirs a sudden pulse of arousal in the pit of her abdomen. This is very new to her—marriage, sex, intimacy. To feel her husband's hands grip her hips to tug her into him, her ass pressing against his crotch without an inch of space to spare, is a welcomed but scandalous thing. Still, it pleases her. Even though she was taught to guard her heart and body fiercely from men growing up, she feels safe with him. Riding on any dragon other than Vermithor or Caraxes would be stressful, hence her hesitation when he asked her to ride with him, but now that she's up here, she is at ease. For nothing can frighten her with Aemond at her side.

His lips brush her ear as he reaches around her waist to put his hands over hers on the handles of the saddle and asks, "Are you ready, my lady?"

She turns to look at him and nods.

"Yes."

The grip of his hands over hers tightens, and he shouts, "Sōvēs!" Fly.

Beneath them, the creature they sit on begins to move, a deep rumble purring in the back of her throat as she moves from her lounging position upon the grass and gets a running start to take off. The flapping of her wings is loud enough to stifle the crashing of the waves against the land, isolating them from everything that surrounds them until all she can hear is her husband's voice giving Vhagar commands in Valyrian. The strength of the arms wrapped around her brings her mind back to memories of last night—his biceps flexing as he pinned her hands above her head and rutted into her, groaning at the feeling of tight cunt clamping down around him.

With another flap of her wings and push off the ground from her sturdy legs, they take off. Wind blows cold against her face where it comes in from the shore they swiftly fly over, and Vhagar swoops down to dip her clawed feet into the ocean water, sending up a spray of water that mists over them. The temperature draws a sharp gasp from Y/N's throat. Water soaks her intricately braided hair and the fabric of her dress, both of which things she spent time picking out only to have them tarnished. But, she thinks as she feels Aemond's body jolting from his laughter behind her, she does not truly care.

She laughs with him after a few seconds of processing the surprise, allowing her head to tip back onto his shoulder with the wind plastering her damp hair to her skin. Aemond's hands have since left hers to use the reins to steer Vhagar, but his arms remain tucked around her waist even as he does so. They turn around to fly back in the direction of the city and soar far higher above the ground than they had the sea. Although he does not usually push Vhagar to fly this way for a quick rush of adrenaline due to his care for the old girl, he does today. He knows better than anyone that a person only gets to have their first ride upon Visenya's dragon once in their lives, so he figures it might as well be as exciting for her as it was for him.

He remembers that moment like it was yesterday. The warmth of the fire curling in the back of her throat when he tried to mount her at first and got off with a warning, the stinging abrasion from gripping the reins and saddle for dear life to keep from falling to his death, and the joy of that freshly made bond between him and Vhagar. It isn't too different from what he feels with Y/N now at the beginning of their marriage. A visceral connection that takes hold deep in his soul and refuses to untether from it.

The view from above King's Landing is beautiful to her. With the waves crashing against the cliffs alongside the Red Keep and the clouds converging not far above their heads, she thinks to herself that it would make a fine painting someday and makes sure to save the image in the back of her mind for it.

It isn't until they feel the first drops of rainfall, accompanied by a booming roll of thunder, that Aemond commands Vhagar to return to the hills where she previously rested. The ground itself trembles with her landing, dirt kicking up from beneath the grass where her clawed feet dig into the earth. Although they are damp from the ocean water that sprayed up on them, the rain that is coming down now is fierce. It could chill them to the bone if they remained up in the sky, and while Aemond does not mind, he surely will not subject his lady to such a thing. It matters not that she rides her own dragon, sometimes in the teeth-chattering cold of rainy skies. She is his wife and shall be treated accordingly.

The two of them are quick to climb down the rope ladder as droplets of rain come down harder and harder as the seconds pass, and the moment her feet hit the ground, they both hurry beneath one of Vhagar's outstretched, membranous wings to take shelter from the storm until they can walk back to the city.

Her hand is grabbing onto Aemond's arm for support, allowing him to swing her around under the shade provided by his dragon's wing, and she smiles so brightly, he's shocked it has yet to blind his other eye. Their bodies collide with a soft thump—his arms around her waist, her hands bracing against them—that leaves them both a little breathless. Her chest rises when his falls in a push and pull like that of the tides they flew over in the long span of seconds that pass while they stare at one another.

It's the internal aftermath of this heated stare that sends them rushing forward into a kiss.

His hands hold her face with a sense of ownership too confident to deny, and she allows his tongue to invade her mouth when she feels him lick at her closed lips as if in request. And the moment is quite easy for her to become lost in. Between him kissing her like that and the adrenaline pumping through her from the ride on dragonback, she almost misses how they move together, feet stumbling to lead them further beneath the cover of Vhagar's massive wing so as to not be seen should anyone venture out here. The implication of this action turns her blood hot with desire.

He doesn't want to be seen—he bites down on her lower lip and takes a breath before coming back for more—he wants me—one of his hands slides around the back of her neck to keep her locked into the messy kiss while the other slides down the front of her dress—he has me. Gods, he has me.

The hand descending the front of her body undoes the clasps of her coat with a deft touch so few men ever accomplish until it comes loose around her torso, leaving her to shimmy it down from her shoulders while he tugs at the sleeves to get them off. His other hand drops to catch it, never missing a beat, and tosses it down on the ground presumably for her to lay upon. As if she cares about a little dirt or rain.

Aemond breaks the kiss by a fraction of an inch to whisper the question into her mouth between panting breaths, "Will you have me?" and it's by far the most restraint he has shown in initiating physical intimacy with her. Last night he had stormed in and fucked her like it was a challenge, like she was something to be conquered and broken and willed into submission. This, however, is a far cry from that. It's almost...gentle. That is if anything he does can be considered gentle.

The unspoken continuation of that question is, Will you have me after last night? After everything? And in answer, she kisses him harder and reaches for the buckle of his belt. It is weighed down by the weight of the fine sword and knife he carries in two sheaths attached on either side, but once she gets him free of it, it troubles her no longer. It simply clatters to the ground beside her discarded coat without another thought given to it.

What happens from here on is hazy to her in the way most distant memories are, but the difference is that she finds it hazy as she experiences it, not due to the passing of time. It's likely a combination of everything she's endured for the past forty-eight hours, the knowledge of her pregnancy weighing down upon her shoulders, and the feral lust felt for Aemond deep within her, but there's something about it that addles her brain similarly to when she drinks a cup of wine.

Somehow, they end up on the ground together with him slotted between the legs she opened so willingly for him and her pinned beneath the weight of his body. Her dress is not cut in half as it was on her wedding night seeing that they have to return to the Red Keep on foot. The skirts are pulled up though, and his lips leave kisses along her cleavage as he ruts his clothed cock against her. Feeling how hard he is, feeling what she alone does to him, brings pulsations of need to her already aching cunt.

That was another thing that surprised her about marriage. How little time it takes for him to arouse her beyond reason. Whenever she pleased herself, she had to work to get herself wet enough to lubricate the movement of her fingers, but he gets it done in a matter of seconds. All he has done is kiss her and shed her coat from her body and here she is.

It takes him a despicable amount of time to undo his trousers and shove them down his legs, so much so that she cannot help but move her hips up against nothing and whine, "Kostilus, valzȳrys." Please, husband.

And, fuck, if he claims that sight isn't what it takes to urge him on quicker through the act of undressing, he's a fool and a liar.

Aemond balances his weight on the forearms pressing onto the ground on either side of her when he finally nudges at her entrance with his tip and, once he feels it slip inside of her, presses his hips forward until they are flush with the back of her thighs. At the same time that he groans, she gasps. The blunt edges of her fingernails dig into his shoulders enough that he can feel it through his clothing. Her jaw goes slack at the indescribable feeling of his cock filling her, buried deep enough that she thinks she can feel him in her belly, and she allows her head to tilt back onto her coat as she looks up into his eyes.

He can hardly keep control of himself when she looks at him like that. There's a part of him that wants to pin her arms above her head and take her the way he had last night, but the softness in her gaze gives him pause. It soothes him. Seeing her look upon his face like that makes him take it slower with her, drawing back and thrusting back in at a relaxed pace that is more of a sensuous grinding than it is outright fucking. It's tender, caring, and much different than any time they've done this in the past. While he isn't always rough with her, he also isn't as sensual and sweet as he is now. No, this is new. Wholly new.

He leans down the rest of the way to kiss her, allowing half the weight of his body to keep her in place now that there's no space left between them. The only time he halts their exploration of each other's mouths is to whisper in a hushed slur of strung together words, "Mmm, taking it so well—"

The praise is punctuated with a hard returning thrust. He felt her walls squeezing around his cock from the sound of his voice alone, and there was little he could do to prevent himself from succumbing to what his cunt-struck excuse for a brain wanted him to do. He is, in every other situation, a man who takes pride in his intelligence and well-nurtured education as a member of the royal family, but all of that is scattered to the winds when he's inside of her. Aegon would tease him mercilessly if he were to ever discover that his brother's sole weakness is, despite Aemond's refusal to discuss the topic with him, his wife's pretty cunt.

Y/N wraps her arms around his shoulders and keeps him trapped in the little prison of her own making as she is being ravished by him. The familiar sensation of pleasure building in the pit of her stomach draws a moan out of her, and he can't help but make it harder and faster. But through the haze of this intense gratification, she sees his face above hers and is reminded of the previous night. When they'd taken their anger out on each other as a result of their fight. As a result of what he did to her sweet brother.

Her features harden at the thought, the soft smile vanishing as she takes thrust after thrust with little gasps that escape without her permission, and she can almost sense the fiery spirit that lives within her—the sleeping dragon—rising from its slumber in response to the anger. Suddenly, she remembers who she is. She is the eldest daughter of Rhaenyra and Daemon. She is not so easily placated.

The leg that is wrapped around his hip is used to help her flip him onto his back along with the force of her hips pressing up against his and the hands she placed on his shoulders. Her hands remain there for the first moment she spends perched on top of him like this, gripping hard to give her leverage while she begins to ride him. The surprise is evident in his remaining eye, but he does not stop her or make any discomfort known. If anything, he likes it a little too much. To see her like this...

She takes him even deeper than before with this new change in position. Every time her hips come down on his, the broad tip of his cock brushes the sweet spot inside of her and sparks a kind of pleasure far more overwhelming than the kind she gets when he rubs the overly sensitive nub at the top of her folds. He reaches for her hips reflexively once he realizes why she moved him so suddenly, but she shakes her head and pins his arms down by the wrists above his.

In response to this, there's a strange war that is waged in his mind.

Part of him isn't sure what to think, another part wants to take back control and gain the upper hand as any good fighter would, and the other...Well, the other part is the one currently in control. It's the part of him that cannot think about anything save for the sight and feeling of her fucking him, trembling and moaning like a wanton whore. It isn't long before this haze wears off and he begins to come to his senses though. The wrists pinned against the ground push back against the hands holding them captive as though to test her strength, readying to break free in order for him to pull out and flip her over onto her hands and knees.

He can already feel the words on the tip of his tongue, "If you want to behave like a whore, I will treat you like one."

But he doesn't get to say them. Apparently, his wife is already one step ahead of him, and when she witnessed the muscles in his arms flexing in preparation to take back control, she made her move. All he heard was the sound of steel sliding against steel, the knife that he hadn't thought twice of allowing to fall to the ground being ripped from its scabbard, before the sharp tip of the blade is pointed at his throat. One of her hands keeps holding his wrists down even though they both know he could break free if he pleases while the other is wrapped around the hilt of the blade.

He would open his mouth to speak, but he knows he'll get cut if he does, so he just stares up at her with an incredulous expression.

"Swear on your life," she says, moaning before speaking again from the feeling of cock sliding into her. Her breaths are shallow, her chest heaving, as she cants her hips and rides him harder. "Swear you won't hurt them again. If you don't, I shall let this pierce your throat, and we can be finished with this feud."

Her body leans down enough that her chest brushes his with every exchange of air exhaled and inhaled in the limited space between their mouths.

She croons, "Is it not enough they gave me to you? If you are owed a debt"—another moan—"is it not now paid? It is not an eye for an eye but believe me when I say the idea of you defiling me is worse to my dear brother than being maimed."

The stirring sensation within him begins to crescendo as a result of her brutal pace and everything she says. At this point, his brain is no longer in control of him. The ecstasy he feels is too great for him to string together a coherent thought outside of variations of, "She is utterly divine, she is perfect, she is—"

Once again, he finds himself thinking that this is why it had to be her. This is why it had to be someone as wild as him. All it takes to frighten most other women from noble birth is a sharply edged sentence or harsh glare, but she is the type of person to hold a blade to his throat while performing the most intimate act of devotion that exists, and if being driven to that degree of madness by your feelings for a person isn't love, then he doesn't know what love is.

"Did you never think about it?" Based on the look in his eye, he hadn't considered what she just said to him, and it makes her smirk. "Your distaste for him must not run as deep as you claim if you have never taken pleasure in being the one to claim his sister." She laughs quietly. "They all thought you would be cruel, that you'd be a selfish husband who'd use me to warm your bed and nothing else"—his cock twitches in her—"Little do they know, you are the one they should be worried for. No one is near to witness what I may do to you, and here you are. Trapped beneath me with your own knife to your throat and your cock inside me."

Gods help him. Every word she says is fuel to the fire. What a filthy mouth.

At last, she pulls the tip of the knife back an inch or so to allow him to speak without cutting himself, and he never breaks eye contact with her throughout the process. Not once. All it takes is her raising a brow to spur him into speaking the words she wants to hear. And once the words leave his mouth, she knows they are binding. Unlike his older brother, she knows Aemond to be a man of his word, and if he swears something to her, she can trust him.

"I swear," Aemond says, breathless, although his features are set with a harsh rage to counteract the softness in his voice. "I will not hurt them."

They're both interrupted by their own need to suck down breaths of air to compensate for the exertions of their bodies, but he still refuses to look away. He refuses to surrender and let her think she has frightened him despite his willingness to abide by the promise she requested and allow her to think she's the one in control. And now that he's sworn this to her, she taunts him for the fun of it.

"What do you think Sir Criston would say if he saw his best swordsman in such a vulnerable position?" She makes a tsk sound. "I think he would be quite disappointed to see how you let your—"

In a movement strong and swift enough that she cannot process it until it is done, Aemond twists the knife out of her grasp and has her on her back in a matter of seconds. The blade is pressed to her neck, not quite cutting but pressing in just enough for her to feel the threat of it there, and her throat bobs against the sharp side of the blade when he forces her mouth open with his fingers pressing on her soft cheeks.

He says, only warning her once, "Never say another man's name when I am fucking you," and does not hesitate before spitting in her mouth.

The same fingers that pressed on her cheeks to force her mouth open force it shut again, clamping down over her kiss-swollen lips to make her swallow his spit, and once he sees her do so, he tosses the knife aside and devotes his full attention to worshipping her. His lips smear against hers in a sloppy kiss to match the haphazard, pounding strokes he makes into her now that he can feel himself getting close. With every sharp thrust, she cries out and holds tighter onto him to keep him close.

Aemond continually hits that perfect spot within her and never lets up, groaning and trying his hardest not to come before she does. She is close. He can feel it in how her cunt spasms around him, clenching and unclenching in the way it always does before she is sent over the edge. All she needs is a few more thrusts, so he brings his arms down to rest on either side of her head and cages her in so all she can see is him and him alone, forced to look upon his face as she finds her peak.

"Ossēninna mirre vala qilōni māzigon rȳ īlva. Mirre vala ao qogralbar tolie than nyke morghūlilza. Ao sytilībagon naejot nyke," he says in the language of their ancestors because he does not know if he can be so honest in the common tongue. Valyrian provides an added privacy that is a comfort to them both. His voice is a low hum that runs along her skin like a tender caress, and that is all it takes for her to come undone, hearing what he said over and over in her mind. I will kill any man who comes between us. If you fuck anyone else, they will die. You belong to me.

Y/N's jaw falls open in a gape as it hits her, harsh and unforgiving in its brutality but plentiful in its euphoria. The rush is unlike any other climax she has had with him in the past likely due to everything that preceded it. Although she has thoroughly enjoyed every time she's been with him before, this is on a different dimensional scale. Hearing him say that she belongs to him, that he's willing to kill any man who poses a threat to their marriage...to think that she has brought the great Aemond Targaryen to his knees is intoxicating.

The feeling of her cunt clamping down around his cock like a vice brings him to his end much quicker than he anticipated, and he groans as he spills into her.

All he can think to himself is that he is lucky. He is lucky to have a wife that he formed a connection with, lucky to have a wife that makes him feel things he didn't know he could feel. It's difficult to imagine being bound by blood to anyone but her. Whenever he passes by noble married couples, he can't help but feel pity for them. They do not know what it is to love a person with every part of their soul, even the part that hates them.

Aemond and Y/N are panting for air with their foreheads pressed together once they've begun to come down from their respective climaxes, and she cannot do anything but hold onto him as her heart rate begins to slow down again. She can see in the way he looks at her that it was different for him this time too, that he could feel what she felt between them, and to think that it doesn't scare him off...

He collapses onto her chest with a tired sigh and allows her to cradle his head against her, her hand stroking his hair in a soothing pattern that lulls him into a state of peace.

The flames burning in the fireplace crackle and surge when the servant tending to them for the night adds another log, then bows her head toward where Aemond sits before exiting their rooms. From the room over, he can hear Y/N humming to herself as she prepares herself for a night of rest. They were both so thoroughly worn out from their prior exertions that they slept together beneath the cover of Vhagar's wing for the better part of an hour before heading back to the Red Keep.

Shockingly, neither of them felt the need to talk about what they experienced this afternoon. There was no overly-emotional profession of feelings or official conversation about what shifted between them, but they both recognized it to themselves. By the time they returned, Queen Alicent had already been looking for them for an hour, and her eyes nearly bulged out of her head at the sight of them walking through the halls together with stifled laughter and rain-soaked clothes.

It was when they reached the staircase she was walking down that Aemond met her gaze and gave her a slight nod. That was all the confirmation she received on the state of her youngest child's marriage before they disappeared to clean off and ready themselves for dinner, which they managed to drag themselves out to share with Alicent and Helaena as per the former's request. And when the queen watched them interact at dinner, she couldn't help but smile to herself as she sipped her wine.

Now, it's late at night, and Y/N is brushing out the long strands of silver hair that cascade down her shoulders. The only item of clothing covering her is a thin chemise, and as she sets the brush down on the table beside her, her eyes are drawn to her stomach. A tentative hand slides down the front of it, keeping the white fabric flat against her body, and rubs the imperceptibly small bump residing there that she blamed on natural weight gain or bloating.

Deep down, she supposes she already knew. She can already pinpoint the time she thinks did it—when he woke her up with his head between her thighs before fucking her right there. It was early in the morning before any servants would come knocking, and she was still half-asleep when he spent his seed in her. As she fell back to sleep with his release dripping from her sensitive cunt, she recalls feeling the large palm of his hand settling over her belly to keep her back pressed to his chest. It was almost as if he knew too.

This morning, she couldn't imagine telling him what the maesters confirmed, but now...

She walks out past the bed to the main area of the room where they spend their time either reading, drinking, or talking before it is time to sleep. Her footfalls are quieter than usual, yet he can still hear her approaching from behind, and when she leans down with her arms wrapping around his shoulders to kiss his cheek, he does not flinch in alarm. All he does is offer a hum of approval, eye fluttering shut in appreciation of his wife's gentle touch.

There's a short pause during which she stands and wrings her hands in front of her where he cannot see, then moves around to the front of the chair and sits on his lap. Her legs are bent over the arm of the chair with her side pressed to his chest and her arm draped over his shoulders.

"Aemond?"

He turns his attention from where it had been fixed on the fire onto her. No verbal response is granted to her, but she knows from months of living alongside him that this is his way of telling her to say whatever it is that's on her mind.

Her next exhale trembles a little.

"Um," she stammers, unsure of how to break the news other than coming right out and saying it. "I went to see the maesters this morning..." Her bottom lip is drawn between her teeth as she tries to summon the courage to say it. "Iksan lēda riña." I am with child.

The typically harsh stare set on her face softens with these few words. Just like that, her nerves dissolve into nothing, and she is left to wonder how she had been so scared to tell him this morning. Of course, his reaction would be a pleasant one. He is nothing if not a duty-driven man. Providing his family with more potential heirs is a cause for celebration, even as a second son. Another way to fulfill his duty with his lawful wife, unlike Aegon who has fathered bastards with common whores and neglected his wife. And now that he has discovered a new side to his relationship with her, the idea of her bearing his children is sentimental in a way he hadn't expected it to be in the past.

Aemond's lips curl into a slight smile, his face leaning forward through the space between them to brush her nose with his. The hand not placed against her back comes down to rest upon the barely-there swell of her belly that serves as the only physical evidence of this good news.

"I know."

Her body still atop his. Seconds later, she tries to move to stand up only to be stopped by his strong arms holding her in place.

"You know?" she asks, face flushed with heat.

The emotion present on her face, he notices, is embarrassment. Whatever for, he does not know, but he's quick to settle her down once he notices. His fingers tuck her hair behind her ear, combing through it the same way hers had done with his when he collapsed onto her after their passionate coupling. A wry chuckle escapes him at her shock.

He says, "Did you think I had not noticed when you missed your blood? We share a bed, ñuha jorrāelagon"—My love. Her heart may have skipped a beat—"I would be stupid if I had not known."

Her mind is sent reeling from this.

She missed her blood at the beginning of the last moon, and she would be due for her next bleeding any day now if she were not with child, so...has he known this whole time? Wait, no. More importantly, he cares enough to make note of things like that? He may have said it as though it was obvious, as though every husband would notice, but he is far different from most of the men in this city. She is willing to bet an absurd sum of coin that her grandsire Viserys never paid such attention to the queen, nor does Aegon to Helaena.

He and his brother have vastly different marriages. For one, Aegon and Helaena live separately. She and Aemond do not. They have only consummated their marriage out of necessity for the sake of continuing the bloodline, meanwhile, she has not needed to take Aemond to bed every night. She simply wanted to. And that is the difference. That is the thing she had yet to realize in her denial of his feelings for her. They were wed for the sake of unifying their families, yes, but it is not a marriage that subsists solely on duty. At least, not anymore.

Y/N looks at him like she does not believe he is real.

"You"—she shakes her head as if to dispel her disorganized thoughts and allow her to speak with clarity—"I did not know you paid attention to me that closely."

He is countering back in a matter of seconds, running the tips of his fingers up and down the length of her back, "Nyke daor dohaeragon nykēla." I cannot help myself.

The crackling of the flames not far from where she is perched atop his lap fills the gaps of silence left between them. It allows her to consider the past day or so with the care she was not capable of in the midst of her anger. It was difficult to navigate, and she feels terrible for her brother, but she thinks it may have been a necessary hardship for them to overcome as husband and wife. The issue of their families would not have been settled with them ignoring it as they used to and pushing aside their feelings for the sake of the marriage. It had to be faced at some point, and now that it has, she feels lighter. The weight has been lifted from her shoulders.

Her hand then drops to rest atop the one he has placed over her belly, and she looks down at their entwined fingers with a tender smile blooming on her face.

"Nyke pendagon se rūs iksis riña," she says. I think the babe is a girl. "Skoros gaomagon ao pendagon, valzȳrys?" What do you think, husband?

A/N: let me know what you think :) thanks for reading

Tag List: @m-indkiller, @tinykryptonitewerewolf, @hopebaker, @bcon24, @eleganttravelercloud, @aemond-targaryenx, @the-blue-banshee, @saramayu, @merakiaes, @its-sam-allgood, @grungegrrrl, @singitoutgirl26, @scarlettmoon98, @cicaspair418, @itisjustwhatitis, @cl-0-vr, @d34d-4c1d, @hargrovehoe, @vainillasmil157, @leahjean, @captainweirdo42, @magnificantmermaid, @dark-night-sky-99, @kaicyl, @ladybug0095, @bellaisasleep, @blackravena, @isaxbella749, @reneki, @heylosers06, @izzicle, @bucky-thorin-winchester, @hangmanscoming, @harrypotteranna23-blog, and @shintax-error.

#aemond targaryen #house of the dragon #aemond targaryen smut #aemond targaryen x reader #fanfiction

1K notes · View notes

pikahlua · 9 months

Text

Control your heart, but not like how you think

I've tried so many ways to write this idea out before. Hopefully I get it right this time.

There's a widely-accepted fandom interpretation going around a lot lately that I think needs to be challenged. Perhaps I won't be able to express it in its complete version because I don't subscribe to it, but I'll try my best to approximate it and hopefully most of you will know what I'm generally talking about.

It seems like a lot of people believe "control your heart" is a plot line that refers to Izuku's inability to contain his love for Katsuki, that "control your heart" is advice from a well-intentioned but ultimately incorrect adult who wants Izuku to suppress his feelings for Katsuki, and that Izuku is hiding his feelings but will eventually let go and embrace his love for Katsuki in an explosion of anger. Or something. Admittedly this interpretation varies a lot depending on who's talking about it, and I cannot hope to encompass every interpretation of it with one paragraph. But it always boils down to some version of "control your heart is about Izuku repressing his feelings for Katsuki."

Let's discuss.

Table of Contents I. Why I want to challenge this aka false dichotomies II. What Banjou said III. Katsuki's rage IV. Tomura doesn't control his heart V. The AFO connection

I. Why I want to challenge this aka false dichotomies

I want to challenge this interpretation of "control your heart," but my main goal here is not to shoot down BKDKs. I want this to be understood more than anything: the goal here is to help BakuDekus.

You see, fandom and shipping arguments--they're very susceptible to false dichotomies. I believe this is the source of a LOT of certain shipping interpretations that seem to go so far in one direction they fall off the rails.

I'll give you an example. I vividly remember how an anti-BKDK once went for chapter 1 in which Izuku rescues Katsuki. They started with the argument "Izuku didn't save Katsuki because he loves him, he would have saved anyone else in that situation."

This is a false dichotomy. "Izuku loves Katsuki" and "Izuku would have saved anyone else in that situation" are NOT mutually exclusive. It's very possible for both statements to be true (and I would argue they both ARE true). However, in the heat of an argument, it's very easy to accept the framing of these statements as mutually exclusive without stopping to think. You can try to argue against the premise. You can try to argue "no, Izuku saved Katsuki BECAUSE he loves Katsuki, and he wouldn't have done the same for anyone else," but you have to ignore or distort so many canon elements to get there. That makes it very easy for your opponent to point and laugh about how your interpretations are so wrong that they have to bend the story to make them work.

But there's another option: reject the framing. If you accept the framing, you're allowing the other person to dictate the discussion.

What does this look like? Let the evidence lead you to the conclusion and not the other way around. And that's a difficult thing to do. I would never say I'm perfect at it either. But if you are convinced Izuku loves Katsuki, then whatever evidence lies in canon shouldn't scare you. In some way, it doesn't MATTER what happens in canon--in that you're invested in their dynamic together and you'll ship them regardless, because there's ALWAYS an interpretation that will support the ship. But you can read the ship into whatever the canon provides. If someone says "Izuku would save anyone, so the reason he saves Katsuki is not because he loves him," one potential response would be "Izuku would save anyone, and also he saves Katsuki because he loves him." Don't let others control how you interpret the story with their words.

To take this back to "control your heart," there may or may not have been a shipping argument that spawned this--I have no idea. But there doesn't have to be. The point is to challenge the framing of the assumption, because there may still be another shipping interpretation if the original assumption doesn't hold up.

"Control your heart is bad advice that causes Izuku to repress his love for Katsuki and he will end up exploding" is one way to frame this.

But consider this new framing: "Control your heart is about Izuku using his anger/love as a source of strength so long as he doesn't let it control him--just like Katsuki does."

II. What Banjou said

The "control your heart" line comes from Banjou in chapter 213.

But I think people really gloss over the part that comes before:

This isn't about repression. Banjou says, "It's okay to get mad. That rage can be the source." Control here is not about repression at all.

This is about whether or not the rage controls Izuku instead. This is about Izuku going berserk and losing his senses. I've discussed the phrasing in Japanese before:

The phrase in Japanese is "kokoro wo sei suru" (心を制する). The word in question, kokoro, does not have a direct translation into English. It is often translated as "heart," "mind," or "spirit." The meaning of sei suru is "to control," "to command," "to get the better of."

The notion that "control your heart" means "don't let your rage get the better of you" is supported by chapter 367.

Tomura reveals that the reason he wanted to leave Izuku the "presents" of his comrades beaten and Katsuki dead was to anger him--which would cause Izuku to fight poorly. Mirio talking Izuku down after this further supports that "control your heart" is meant to be a good thing, something Izuku should do.

We also see a precursor to this in All Might vs AFO in Kamino (you know, the first one). AFO was determined for years to find something to "steal a bit" of his heart away--and he came up with using Nana Shimura's grandson.

Tomura himself stokes All Might's anger by attacking his students at the USJ.

But each time All Might gets angry, he keeps control and saves the day.

All Might is able to be effective despite his anger--or perhaps even because of it. Izuku needs to be able to do the same.

III. Katsuki's rage

In a weird way, the poster child for using anger as a source of strength is Katsuki Bakugou.

I say "in a weird way" because Katsuki's anger is often used as a front for something else. He hides behind anger. But at the same time, since he seems to be angry constantly, he surprises everyone with how much control he has over himself...

...to the point where Tomura even misjudges Katsuki's veil of anger at the sports festival to be resentment towards society.

And we know a big part of the dynamic between Izuku and Katsuki is about emulation.

We've just had a grand battle between Katsuki and AFO in which Katsuki achieved his strength by emulating Izuku--his battle analysis, his tolerance and willingness to endure pain, his use of his own pain as a weapon, etc.

So what if "control your heart" is the corollary to what Katsuki just went through? What if Izuku's "control your heart" is about him learning to use anger to win in the way Katsuki always does?

IV. Tomura doesn't control his heart

If Izuku does need to "control his heart" to be like Katsuki, this provides an opportunity for a moment in Izuku vs Tomura where Izuku can acknowledge Katsuki's role in Izuku's growth. This will depend on Tomura acting as a foil.

I start with the assumption "control your heart" means “if I want to save the people I love, I can’t let anger in the moment control me. I have to use my anger, which comes from my love, to reach the bigger goal.” In this case, Izuku has to control his heart long enough to get what he wants (to save Tomura), and he may have to go even further by applying this ability to someone else who doesn’t control their heart (Tomura).

I do think Tomura can represent a person who is not in control of his heart--which is why he lashes out and destroys everything. He gives in to his instincts to destroy. He loves destruction. And he represses the child inside him who has to explode out when someone like Mirio says he doesn't have any friends. If there's any character who represses his true desires, it has to be Tomura Shigaraki. He denies the idea that he's human, that he's saveable, that there's a crying child inside him--things Izuku asserts because he has seen the truth of them. So Izuku learning to control his heart may be what allows him to save Tomura, and if so, he can give some credit for that to Katsuki (and to All Might as well).

V. The AFO connection

I think one of the major details people discuss surrounding "control your heart" is this notion that Izuku lied about what triggered Black Whip in chapter 217.

"Any clue what set it off? Maybe something's triggering it." "I dunno..."

There's this assumption by the fandom that Izuku is lying because he should know that Black Whip going berserk was triggered by Izuku's anger at Monoma insulting Katsuki. Honestly, I think this is a misreading of the above scene. I don't blame anyone for the misreading because the scene is written in a confusing manner, but I think this page is talking about something else.

Katsuki isn't asking "What caused Black Whip to go berserk?" (answer: Izuku's emotions). He's asking "What caused Black Whip to become accessible?" In other words, why is One For All evolving in this way now? Why didn't All Might have access to these quirks when he had One For All? Why didn't you, Izuku, have access to these quirks until now?

To which all Izuku can say is, "they [the vestiges] just told me the time was right."

If you think about it, it doesn't make sense that Izuku's emotions triggered the "unlocking" of Black Whip and Izuku's sudden access to all these new quirks. If all that was necessary was for Izuku to have a surge of emotion and the desire to "catch" something to unlock Black Whip, he should have unlocked it back at summer camp when Compress kidnapped Katsuki or when Katsuki was about to disappear through Kurogiri's portal.

So in the above page, we're really meant to hone in on Katsuki's suggestion: "Yeah, something to do with All For One..."

There's evidence to support All For One is connected to One For All's evolution. In chapter 209, right before Izuku's team's match in the joint training exercise (where Black Whip first appears), we "randomly" get a cut to All For One in prison:

There are plenty of hints scattered about that this all has something to do with AFO. Remember, Izuku has a dream where Yoichi spoke to him the night before the Joint Training Arc begins--and the dream included a bit of AFO's backstory. It's very possible this was the true "unlocking." I would argue the best hint we have about what's happening with OFA is AFO's line of "I hear my little brother's voice!"

...because it sounds like the AFO-OFA resonance from chapter 369.

Putting all these pieces together, I would like to share with you my current theory about "control your heart." You don't have to subscribe to this idea, but this is where I personally am at right now.

I think the fact Black Whip went out of control in the Joint Training Arc reveals this evolution is about the resonance between OFA and AFO (the QUIRKS, not the people) that we’re seeing in the story right now. Katsuki’s role in this is that he’s the trigger for Izuku’s anger, which didn’t unlock the quirk factors but allowed them to go berserk in the moment. The idea of "control your heart" most likely means “anger is good, but don’t let your anger control you, you should be the one in control.” And Shigaraki understands this because he tries to provoke Izuku’s anger to defeat him. Izuku has to keep his own anger from interfering with his heart’s desire to save Shigaraki, and Katsuki is horrified that he’s a trigger for Izuku in this way (which is why he freaks out when Izuku attacks Tomura in the Paranormal Liberation War, and why he tells Izuku "stop trying to win this on your own" after he gets stabbed saving Izuku). This informs Katsuki's desire to "no longer stand in Izuku's way," because Izuku can only be triggered when Katsuki isn't strong enough to keep himself from being exploited. Izuku was triggered by Katsuki's death, but he managed to CONTROL his anger, not suppress it. He's still angry, he's just channeling it to achieve his goal of saving Tomura. And it's likely this point could come up in Izuku's attempt to save Tomura as Tomura is someone not in great control of his heart. And in the same way Izuku was an example for Katsuki to emulate so that he could use his pain and analysis as a weapon to defeat AFO, Izuku can use Katsuki's example to emulate "controlling his heart" aka controlling his rage to be his power in battle.

For your consideration.

#my hero academia manga spoilers #final arc spoilers #meta #theory #izuku midoriya #katsuki bakugou #bakudeku #tomura shigaraki

360 notes · View notes

devondespresso · 1 year

Text

FINALLY

after NINE. HOURS. (NOT including meals and sleep) ITS FUCKING DONE.

A complete floorplan of the entire Harrington house. Including too much thought about random, throw-away lines from characters and squint-to-see-it background glimpses inside.

plently of stuff in the actual house is altered or straight up ignored in favor of following the fiction logic and because I Wanted To. A lot of this is motivated by my headcanons for the Harringtons and how I'm writing them in my fic, but I'm also certainly not an architect so it's by no means perfect. It is, however, unreasonably canon compliant in the few bits we do see.

Thought Process (for context):

the darker shaded floor areas are lower than the rest, some bits like the garages having stairs and some areas like the sun and dining rooms list being like a step lower. Windows are marked with dashes along the outside, sliding doors are two thin lines slightly overlapping, stairs change color as they diverge from the level we're looking at, and furniture is eyeballed so don't look to closely a the scale.

not all closets are labeled, just the ones i figured could be confusing. Steve and the guest rooms have closets i promise.

the laundry room and pantry are not the same size but by the time i noticed i was exhausted. so pretend they're both more reasonably sized.

i don't know what the floorplan symbol for garage door is and then i forgot to look so the headlights point to where the doors are and you can see them clearly in photos so yeah.

The general layout is based on the idea that the Harringtons are or were into hosting dinner parties and business meetings in their home, especially as a young rich couple looking for respect in their circles (Mr. Harrington taking on his father's business and reinforcing that power, Mrs. Harrington climbing her own social ladder and building an image).

So the house is laid out with hosting areas towards the right with the office big and near the dining room because it's more than just a workplace, it represents him as a businessman. In canon the entryway and living room both have very high ceilings and no second-floor above them, so I'd imagine they're also aware of how the top floor looks from below, hence the fancy double/french doors to the master bedroom which is in plain view from below. Steve's room and the guest room are's nearly as visible.

As for the kitchen and sun/pool rooms, I see them more as secondary hosting areas that aren't used as the main location most of the time and are more this background setting to these events that still feel rich. The kitchen is massive and mostly for dinner-parties and Mrs. Harrington's social events.

The kitchen and main bathroom's placement is based on a line Steve said to Barb giving her directions to the bathroom: "down past the kitchen, to the left". With the massive living room on the left and wanting to keep the dining and office close by, i interpreted the "to the left" part being like "find the kitchen, then turn left". And with the rest of the area being open-concept, the bathroom would be the only normal door over there and easy to find. it's a bit of a stretch with just that line, but it makes sense to me with the rest of the context for the layout.

the basement is similar to this, though not as openly displayed so I imagine its for slightly closer friends. Theres a garage door down there so I figured Mr. Harrington might have a cool car he shows off, like he's letting people in on a personal detail about himself. There's also a guest room down there (the only one still considered 100% for guests, more on that later) for those people.

beside the basement garage, there was originally one main garage that holds two cars, obvious Mr. and Mrs. Harrington's cars. I imagine they bought the house before having kids, so a third one wasn't on the mind but after having Steve they added the front one (either turning the carport into a closed garage or they never had a carport and added a whole new addition, up to you)

Both garages lead to the same part of the house, and that area is the only one besides the water heater room that is purely function over effect. It still looks good like the rest of the house but it's not made to be fancy because guests would rarely need to be over there if at all and it's not noteworthy from other parts of the house.

In my headcanon, Steve's room used to be a guest room, staying his room from nursery to present with Mrs. Harrington renovating every now and then. Its one of those places in the house that doesn't have to look perfect for all to see, so she gets creative and has fun with it.

The upstairs guest room is also unofficially Mrs. Harrington's room, based on a line where Tommy mentions a fireplace in "his mom's room" instead of "guest room" or "parent's room" or "master bedroom". I belatedly realized this could be a solidarity thing with Steve hating his dad and calling the master bedroom his mom's room, but that was after 9 hours of this and im not changing it but there you go. In this version, I imagine she leaves the master some nights because her marriage with Mr. Harrington is failing (cheating and all, I wouldn't want to be in the same bed with someone who cheated either)

the master bathroom was an executive decision, just looking at the house in canon and not having enough space in my first attempts, i decided the triangle roof part above the dining and office could fit a master bathroom.

Feel free to use or reference this in your own fics! Feel free to block out my furniture or walls and make your own version. If you share my image please credit with an @ mention!! (again, 9 hours) (thank you fhalsfhd)

985 notes · View notes

a-doubleh-x · 6 months

Text

Why I like Charlastor

The other day I noticed there was some negativity in the Charlastor tag, including antis and people feeling the need to defend against antis, so I thought I might as well take a step back and just write candidly about why I like the ship.

I only got into Hazbin in October of last year, but already it has inspired me a lot to write and fantazise about it. Like most people, I started with the classic "they look cute together", but as I kept looking I couldn't help but think there was something else to these two than first met the eye.

For starters, I love Pollyanas! I think they get a bad rep for being naive, but I just appreciate an optimist like Charlie who just wants to make people around her happy because it makes her happy. I also like bad boys 😳 I'm a pretty heteronormative guy, so I haven't had a big chance to explore that part of myself yet, but I do like the danger and excitement someone like Alastor brings to the table.

I will admit when I started writing Charlastor I felt like I was handling dynomite. It's a lil scary to ship a boundless altruist with a manipulative sociopath, but bear with me.

I think each of them has something the other needs. I think Charlie needs someone to challenge her, someone to steer her in the right direction while she's mostly isolated. At the start of the series, practically nobody but Vaggie takes her seriously, and Alastor is no exception. He mocks her, teases her, but she still listens and I think it's because somewhere deep down she understands there's something he's trting to communicate in his annoying, but curious way.

Of course, I also love the fanon Charlie who's down bad for Alastor, and even if that Charlie is a little naive, I think it's also sweet and she can use some indulgence while most people treat her like a child.

On the other hand, when it comes to Alastor, this is a bit of a theory on my part, but I think he's secretely lonely. He has friends, certainly, like Rosie and Mimzy, but they're not good enough friends to live together with him. They don't seem to be able to save him from "pure, absolute boredom". But Charlie, for some reason can, even though she's a stranger at the beginning when Alastor chooses to move into the Hotel.

Alastor is not as much of a cynic as someone who chooses to see things in a perspective that benefits him. He doesn't think redeeming sinner is "hopeless", but "hilarious" instead, which has interesting implications to me. That's why he chooses to hover around Charlie, not because he thinks she's lame, rather because he thinks she's silly. She makes him laugh. Which I think is kind of how Alastor sees "love".

And then you have fanon Alastor who, depending on the writer, is either a horny animal, a wisecrack edgelord or a soft boy who's mean to everyone but Charlie XD I like several of those interpretations, but I kinda prefer mine just out of personal taste. I think the best part about Alastor is that he doesn't *care* what anyone thinks of him and always does what he wants, even at the expense of other people, which I find pretty enviable.

They're kinda both outcasts in their own ways. Charlie by being unable to fit in and Alastor being unwilling to compromise. But they don't judge each other. He supports her in his own weird way and she houses him and is delighted of him in general, which is tasty food for his ego. I do wonder why Alastor is interested in Charlie, both in canon and in a fandom vacuum.

There's some cool potential for drama there, but also growth and healing, in my opinion. Personally, I think Alastor doesn't want to actually *hurt* Charlie, but he may hurt those around her, which will be a moment to start settling compromises if Charlie puts her foot down.

That haz bin my review so far! I'm honestly pretty grateful for Vivziepop for all of the work she's done so far, I know directing, animating and writing two shows over the course of 5 year or so ain't easy. I'm also grateful to the fandom who shares their thoughts and vision, which calms the terrible voices I started hearing in my head since I bought this weird old radio.

I'm in the middle of a break, but if you're interested in my fanfics I'll get back to writing very soon. Cheers! 🌈❤🦌

#hazbin hotel #charlie morningstar #alastor hazbin hotel #charlastor

187 notes · View notes

yellowbrickramble · 1 month

Text

Obviously, Dorothy didn't wear the exact same dress for her entire stay in Oz. She was there for roughly two months!

Nonestica is often the name given to the continent where Oz is located. A map first appeared in the 8th book, Tik-Tok of Oz. Many of the surrounding countries are from some of Baum's other non-Oz books. For instance, the forest of Burzee on the lower left is from The Life & Adventures of Santa Claus.

Now, this is a low resolution image, but if you're very clever, you may not have needed to read the compass rose to notice that east and west are reversed. Even people who have only ever seen the 1939 movie know the witch of the EAST enslaved the Munchkins and the witch of the WEST enslaved the Winkies.

Dick Martin and James Hoff later came up with an expanded version of the map that "corrected" the directions:

A lot of people like this one and I'm not an exception, but it wouldn't hurt to make the surrounding areas a little bigger.

Now, Robert A. Heinlein (yes, that Robert A. Heinlein) once proposed that the compass in the first map is flipped because Oz is on planet with a retrograde rotation. I love that explanation. It's canon to Yellow Brick Ramble.

So, I based the planet of Nonestica on all three of these interpretations with some tweaks of my own. I included a few other continents. One of them is called Tazara. I doubt all the lands on this planet are magical, as Oz is a special land. I did a little math and I'm guessing Oz is roughly 4 times the size of Kansas?

The planet of Earth, on the other hand, is one most of you are familiar with.

If you like my comics, please support me on Patreon (link in bio)

#dorothy gale #silver shoes #land of oz #kansas #nonestica #planet earth #maps #A reminder that this comic is not called Yellow Brick Brief & Concise News Posts

130 notes · View notes

maxphilippa · 9 months

Text

A lot of the neg claims about II are really just making a problem really big/treating it as , or taking things out of context, so let's talk about some of them, ESPECIALLY because of a certain someone(s) lately. Let me clarify that I know that II's writing ISN'T perfect, but nothing is perfect really, and most of these issues are misinterpretation, the choices of the fandom and/or even AE TRYING to fix the writing of a character because a certain SOMEONE was fired on early stages of the writing of said character.

So.

Let's talk about Inanimate Insanity Invitational, and the usual claims that come with it.

1. Cabby's Writing, Interpretations of Her Relationships, and ableism.

Cabby is one of the most... "controversial" characters when it comes to talk about III's writing, which it really shouldn't be like that at all, although I get where people are coming from expressing their concerns when it comes to the writing of her. Let me clarify something. Yes, I am aware that Cabby's writing changes A LOT and that it isn't perfect by any means, but I think that what people fail to understand most of the time is that Taylor was the one that started the Cabby-Test Tube storyline as a whole, and at some point as early s3 was being made, Taylor was fired from the team due to. Well, you guys know it. Pretty bad stuff. So of course, they had to figure out what direction they could go with Cabby as a whole, and to giving her character more depth than her just using her files for the game.

Now, it is obvious that they didn't plan from the start to have Cabby as a disabled character, but again, writing isn't always perfect. They had to somehow make things work. And even IF it wasn't planned, you guys have to remember the other factors that came with the writing on general. So of course her writing isn't as consistent as the writing of the other character on s3, but on later episodes it does get more better. I can see why people don't really like her arc, but those factors really matter when criticizing a form of media.

Cabby's writting and her disability isn't bad. Yes, it could've had better ways of execution, but it's not bad.

When it comes to relationships, I have seen someone seeing Cabby's relationship with Test Tube as a canonically sapphic thing because apparently Cabby's VA had that sort of intent, and therefore even claiming that Cabby suffers from lesbophobia(via claiming that she had a crush on Test Tube) and misogyny.

And that's not true. First of all, Cabby's and Test Tube's relationship is pretty much an example of friendships that don't work, and Test Tube pretty much exposed Cabby to the world and made her feel bad about herself for the rest of the episodes. A headcanon doesn't mean that the whole thing changes on canon, it's just that, a headcanon/interpretation, and claiming that what they did to her was lesbophobic is. Pretty weird. Since it is shown that Test Tube hurted Cabby a lot. As well, just because the Voice Actor had an intention, IT DOESN'T mean that the writers had said intention.

When it comes to the claims of misogyny, I still don't quite get why people try to see what isn't there.

The thing is that there isn't a lot of femenine characters on II and such, but Cabby isn't treated like that because "she doesn't do anything for men", she helps everyone on general, she cares about people. But she isn't put as a bad woman because of this. What you guys tend to forget is that. Cabby WAS kind of a prick on early s3. She DID commit mistakes and wasn't a great person, but that doesn't mean that misogyny is there just because for that. Just because people treat a fem character badly/not great BECAUSE OF HER PAST ACTIONS, doesn't mean that there's misogyny. The cast on general didn't like Cabby at all until she "redeemed" herself/changed/was true to herself. So that claim is. Pretty out of nowhere.

Now... with the ableism. I do get where you guys are coming from, but if you look into it deeply, they genuinely did have other intentions. The thing that people usually tend to forget is that the II characters aren't all white and black, they're gray. They do messed up stuff when they don't understand things. What the characters do to Cabby before she becomes more open about her disability is NEVER glorified and they always end up learning about it one way or another. Is it reasonable? Yes, was it ever justified on canon terms? Nope! People can be assholes without knowing that they're assholes and THEN learn! Things like that happen all of the time. Writers don't condone the actions of the characters.

Let's take an example at the scene with Bot and Cabby on episode 14. The main problem here was Bot giving fake information to Cabby, which yes, I agree that was a very bad move to do and you should NEVER do that to a disabled person (especially taking in count that Cabby suffers from a sort of memory disorder), but they didn't have an malicious intent whole doing so at all. Bot was still figuring out themselves and didn't want to be written down by somebody (because. THAT'S WHAT TEST TUBE AND FAN DID.), and Cabby doing the file thing was also easy to take on a bad light, but after Justin's explanation, it makes sense.

Could've it been treated on a better way? Yes. And YET, Bot apologizes for what they did to Cabby and DOES the disability aid themselves for her, and apologizes on EPISODE 15, just a few hours later probably or some days later. And on the same episode, Lifering tells Cabby that she shouldn't be ashamed of using her aids and that she shouldn't feel bad about those. Test Tube RESPECTS Cabby's space once she gets that she was wrong about her too. She knows she messed up too badly.

Later on, on episodes 16 and 17, everyone finally gets Cabby's files and respects them, because they finally saw that she actually needs those and that hey, she changed a lot. They treated her good. Characters can be human and can make mistakes, but they can also get better and learn. Although Cabby's arc is not flawless, it is still good. And all of the issues are easily explained just like that.

2. Bot's creation, and how it's never justified by them.

One of the main points that some people tend to bring on "III's poor writing" is the fact that Bot was pretty much built based on a parasocial relationship of sorts. However said people dare to say that AE portrays it as something good/thought that it was okay, and never did anything else to show Bot being uncomfortable by it, but this is NOT TRUE.

Ever since Bot found out that they were a replica of someone, they knew it was pretty fucked up coming from Test Tube and Fan. Meanwhile it is not explained the loss these two went through (The Shimmer egg probably does not count, since traces of "Bowbot" have been seen on early-mid s2), we know for a fact that what happened was pretty bad for the two of them. But, Bot never really forgave Test Tube. "What about the chat they have where Test Tube apologizes to them?", Bot is willing to give her another chance for the fact that Test Tube offered to help them to be themselves.

Even then Bot explains on their interview that the main reason they acted poorly towards Cabby, was because they got attached to Test Tube, the "only" person that could've helped them to change at the moment. However, again, III doesn't justify what Test Tube and Fan did. Sure, Bot considers them their parents, but they just created them and even when Bot was discovering themselves, Test Tube was. Still pushing the fem terms on them.

So, Bot is fully aware about their existence being fucked up, but they're just trying to live their life as well. These claims do not make any sense despite it being the easiest part to look into.

3. Invitational's writing. (And how The Bright Lights not being themselves is part of the fandoms fault, but also what happens when you try to expand an character who's arc is over).

Ah... one of the most... complicated points here. People tend to absolutely want to kill AE over the writing feeling weird or unprofessional on S3, but I think that all of you just kind of forget many factors at hand that came with it.

The reason as to why the most of the main Bright Lights were there IS because of viewer voting. The Bright Lights had their arcs finished on s2, and trying to have an story where something is going on with characters that are pretty much done in their stories is VERY difficult, and should not even happen at all. The only characters that did have something going on were Nickel, Balloon and Yinyang on s2 terms. Even OJ was just not having it.

So of course the viewer voting getting those 3 Bright Lights there kind of made things so much more mid on a building up relationships term. Other characters had a lot going on that needed to be solved, not them. I do think that AE should NEVER let the viewers do anything anymore because that's one of the weakest points of s3: most of the s2 characters. When you try to develop characters who's arc is closed, you kinda pretty much go nowhere with it. But you can't just have them sitting doing nothing till their elimination.

However... it's not bad when you forget those 3 characters (Fan, Paintbrush and Test Tube) and have the remaining s2 guys and the new characters. It isn't bad at all. In fact, their arcs are pretty consistent for the most part (except for Cabby's if we count the start of it), and the arcs of Nickel & Balloon AND Yinyang show some real growth and ARE proof that AE does know how to write characters. As long as they ACTUALLY HAVE something going on for them.

As well, something that people forget a lot when it comes to III's writing, is that it is more lighthearted on comparison to S2. Which I can get to an extent, but then, let's remember this: AE made S3 because they were burnt out from S2's writing.

They wanted to make something more fun, something that was more S1 like, and meanwhile I do get people not liking S3 at all because of this, please do remember that S3 is meant to be more silly. More funny. Less serious stuff. Until the last episodes dropped that is, but it is still it's main intention.

4. ...Transphobic? Allegations/accusations.

This point makes me feel so SO tired at this point and it's how people say "AE gets the trans characters out just when they came out" and get so SO tired of people missing the point with Bot's design, but also missing the whole Paintbrush thing.

The reason as to why they get eliminated is because they get closure to their arc, and they have to get growth off-screen. On both of Paintbrush's eliminations, they were gone as a way to have closure, because the competition wasn't a healthy place for them, and Paintbrush's growth off screen is subtle, but it is still there. Back on s2 they were scared of saying their identity, but after they got eliminated, they got comfortable enough to the point of having the non binary flag on their shared room with Fan, and are pretty respected by the whole cast afterwards.

On s3, their elimination is pretty much the same, but it's them knowing that they don't have it on themselves to keep competing in the show. They get closure with Mephone4 instead.

When it comes to Bot, I have genuinely seen people complain about AE getting rid of the "fem traits" because Bot is... nonbinary. But. That's. That's fucking dumb at this point. The pink and the EYELASHES are FROM BOW. Bot's whole arc is about finding themselves and showing their true self to the world, and Justin has confirmed that Bot still DOES like those things, but that they're trying to find themselves! Trying to be their own person! And them getting out was also them getting closure because they finally know who they are, and they know that no matter what, no one can change that for them.

And for the last part of this... it is pretty obvious that s1 and early-mid s2 had quite some poor humor regarding Painty's gender, but this can be explained by two things: 1- They were still quite young when these seasons were made, 2- Taylor was still on the team (and he was the main reason as to why there were slurs on II, please do correct me if I'm wrong), but they ended up getting treated with respect and decency despite all things. Again. It wasn't perfect. But they managed to fix it and make it work.

Now, are those factors worth pointing out? Yes, they are, but are they arguments to try and say that AE is transphobic on actual times? No. They showed growth and tried to fix their mistakes. And meanwhile it isn't flawless, it's still pretty good.

5. Nickel's Writing Is Actually Good, You Guys Are Just Too Convinced In Your Own Headcanons

Oh boy, now, if you are quite familiar with the plots I usually analyze here, you must know already how strongly I feel about Nickel as a character and his arc with Balloon as a whole. Because everyone gets them so so wrong and misses the whole point of it. You may know this but people complain a lot about Nickel's arc taking "too long" or "being way too rushed", and both of those takes are pretty much wrong. Some also say that Nickel was worthy of a big villain just because, oh, what was his crime? Sucking at communication and trying to protect his alliance from someone he saw as dangerous at the time? That's called being a complicated character. That's literally it. Some even complain about him "not getting what he deserves" but he pretty much does get called out on the series, but also yelling at him and telling him to die won't help.

That's now how it works. Nickel's arc makes sense and it was long because he had to solve a lot about himself and about learning how to be a good, genuine friend. He became soft because he ended up having people (ex: Box) that told him to get his shit together and to stop putting his petty feelings first to focus on the team. Nickel's whole arc is about knowing what you did was wrong, and wanting to become a better person despite all odds. Even if those who you care about might never forgive you. It was necessary for The Grand Slams arc to make sense and to keep on growing.

You guys want a character to get better, but then complain when one character does become a better person, a more genuine version of themselves. And no, Nickel's actions were never justified by the show or by himself, although he did excuse his actions with fear at some point, but even then, he fully recognizes that his actions were terrible and understands if Balloon won't forgive him.

Just because you hate a character it doesn't mean you can just mischaracterize them and or forget the whole point of their arc. Nickel's arc alongside Balloon's MAKES sense and it's pretty much the best arc on s3 all factors considered.

6. Is Invitational a bad season overall?

It isn't a bad season. Yes, I keep repeating myself, it is not perfect, but that doesn't mean that it's a bad season. It doesn't stand up to the point where s2 is, but that's the goal, it's meant to be a season made for fun and to chill, and meanwhile I can agree that there are things that can be better or could've been executed on different ways, and it got way better on later episodes due to better structure.

I can get people not liking s3 because of it's flaws but it's not the WORST THING THAT EVER HAPPENED AND A MOCKERY, it's genuinely just something made for fun. And people tend to forget that.

There is not a media that is perfect. Inanimate Insanity isn't by any means.

But man. Isn't it a good show anyway? Isn't it a show that made you feel for the stories and it's characters? Isn't it imperfectly perfect on it's own way? Isn't it made with care and love? Isn't the fact that it has flaws makes it feel more genuine?

I personally think it is. But that's just me.

Thank you for reading.

270 notes · View notes