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five-bi-five-mind · 10 months

Note

Carina x Reader.

The Italian shows off her possessive and dominant side when she sees reader talking/flirting with someone at the bar.

Preferably degradation first then with praise, wouldn’t mind strap too(on either!) , marking, spanking, overstimulation and edging 😍🙏🏻

Can You Do That For Me?

Fandom: Station 19

Pairing: Carina DeLuca x fem!reader

Words: 5.4k+

Genre: Smut

Summary: Carina has a possessive side and even if you're oblivious to how jealous you're making her, she's definitely going to teach you a lesson.

Warnings: slight degradation & praise; slight dom/sub dynamics; marking; strap-on use (r receiving); a tiny bit of spanking; oversitulation; jealous/possessive behavior; dumbification; fingering (r receiving); oral (r receiving); edging; kinda rough sex; top!Carina, bottom!r; mirror sex; if I forgot something let me know...

A/N: I might have gone a little soft on some of the things you requested but I hope you like this. This is basically just pure and utter smut oops... also wanna note I only have completed one year of Italian so DeepL was my friend.

It was almost entertaining how clueless you could be. Carina watched from a distance as you chatted up a few people around the bar. She hadn’t even left your side for that long before you were surrounded. The gala she took you to was packed with familiar faces, so she had to go be personable and greet everyone who came. You insisted on getting both of you a drink while she went and talked to people you didn’t really know. To be honest, you were a little uncomfortable at these things. Usually, Carina would keep you clung to her side and even show you off a little bit as her girlfriend. However, this time things were a little bit too busy for her to do that. So, despite Carina’s hesitation, you parted for just a few minutes. Of course, the minute you did the one thing she didn’t want happening happened.

There were people on all sides of you, chatting you up and you returned their predatory smiles with an innocent one of your own. Carina couldn’t blame them, honestly. You were, after all, wearing a tight little dress that she picked out just for you. If she couldn’t stop staring at the way it hugged your curves and accentuated your legs, then it would only make sense that others were doing the same exact thing.

Carina couldn’t help the jealous frown she was wearing when she watched as someone ignored your protests to buy you a drink and put in the order anyways. She rolled her eyes when you took it with an apologetic smile. She could practically hear the excuses you were making, “oh you didn’t have to do that” or “that’s so nice of you” or maybe even “let me buy you the next one.” Of course, that drink you were getting for the both of you was forgotten at this point. You were just too surrounded and busy trying to please the crowd of strangers to figure out a polite way to tear yourself away from them.

You poor thing, she thought. You had absolutely no idea that these people were trying to hit on you. She had tried to get you to understand once before that people who act the way this crowd around you was acting wanted only one thing for you: To have you the way only Carina could have you. Of course, you tried to see the best in people and would never jump to the same (albeit accurate) conclusion that she did. Carina even warned you that the way you were dressed tonight would attract attention. Even if she picked it out for you, she still wanted you to be aware of the reactions it could cause in other people.

Yet, there you were totally oblivious and sipping on a drink that someone else bought you. People were closing in on you a little too much for her liking. She decided she needed to do something to change that soon, but maybe she’d wait it out just a little bit. See if you actually would catch on to what was going on around you.

Only, you really didn’t. You kept laughing innocently at whatever bad joke Carina was sure would make her roll her eyes. If she was being honest, you were being a little too friendly toward them for her liking. At this point, you had to know what you were doing, right? Of course, Carina would still bet that you really didn’t.

What made her finally decide to make her way towards you and the group of flirty people that surrounded you was when one of them decided to be bold enough to actually touch you. It was brief. You barely even noticed it, but Carina did. She thanked her lucky stars that she wasn’t stuck in some smalltalk with another colleague. If she was, then they’d probably see the way her frown grew and the twitch of her eyebrow as she tried to keep her cool.

Carina walked over to you with a mission. Not wanting to give this random person another chance to touch you again. No matter how innocent it may have seemed, Carina knew it was this girl’s way of testing the waters with you. All the people around you had obvious intentions, Carina was sure of it, and that intention was to take you home with them. Carina couldn’t wait to flaunt the fact that she’d, of course, be going home with you on her arm and not theirs. The gala still had a few hours to go before it was over. In reality, you two hadn’t even been there for very long at all, but the more Carina thought about how she could gloat, the more she liked the idea of that happening sooner rather than later. Plus, you were really testing her patiences with all of these people. She had a jealous side and, even if you were oblivious to it, you were really bringing it out of her tonight.

“(Y/N),” Carina’s voice called your name from behind the group of people around you. You popped your head up over one of the taller men that was directly behind you, chatting with you and the group. When you spotted her, Carina’s frown immediately vanished and turned into a dazzling smile. She didn’t want you to catch on to her jealous mood just yet. She pushed her way, not so politely, through the group that was around you until she was standing next to where you sat at the bar. Her hand grazed your thigh and she bit her lip to hide the triumphant smirk that threatened to break free when she saw a couple people notice what she did. “Let’s go home.” Carina’s hands slid into both of yours and when you nodded in agreement she pulled you up off your seat.

With your hand in hers, Carina pulled you out of the gala. When she turned back and smiled, you thought it was just a kind gesture towards yourself. Really, Carina was just grinning at all the jealous faces she saw as she walked out with you in tow.

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------

When you got home you suspected nothing of Carina’s jealous mood. In fact, you were totally oblivious to her silent stewing as she drove. Yes, she was quite smug that she got to disappoint some people when she walked out of the gala with you, but that didn’t quite get rid of the jealousy that was coursing through you. She couldn’t help it really. You were just so clueless to other people wanting you. It was her job, at least in her mind, to fend off all that unwanted attention you sometimes get, but anytime she did that she would be left with this overwhelming feeling of possessiveness. That feeling would always eat at her until she had the chance to put that energy to good use.

Carina watched you as you walked around the house in that dress of yours like she was a predator and you were her prey. You had no idea she was following close behind as you went to the dresser of your shared bedroom with the intention of getting out of your fancy dress clothes for the night. With your heels off you already felt a little more relaxed from the evening. You started pulling off random parts of your attire. Your necklace, you laid delicately on the dresser top. Then for your earrings, which of course Carina also picked out for you. You paused for a moment, noticing from your view of the mirror that Carina had slipped into the bedroom with you. What you didn’t notice was the look in her eye as she stared you from the door.

As Carina watched you start to reach for the zipper at the back of your dress she decided now was the time to make her move. “Do you like seeing me jealous?” Carina’s voice came up from behind you. “Hm? Do you like playing this little game?”

“Carina, I-“ You looked back at her in the mirror as she approached you, a little taken aback by her sudden mood. The look she was giving you caused a shiver to run up your spine. “I’m not sure what you mean? I wasn’t playing any games.”

“Then why…” She reached you finally, stopping right behind you. Her hands slipped around your body and immediately ran up your chest to practically grope you through your clothes. “Why did you let so many random people hang all over you tonight, if it wasn’t to make me jealous?”

“I didn’t-“

“Shhh,” Carina cooed. “It’s okay, bambina. I know you like to frustrate me. You like the way I touch you after you’ve tempted me, don’t you?” One of Carina’s hands moved up to grab your chin, forcing you to look straight at her from the mirror. “You love playing these games, so that by the end of the night I’ll fuck you the way you deserve to be fucked. Am I right, my love?”

You were honestly speechless, but not because you were shocked by her behavior. No, you knew this was something that Carina liked to do. Get all jealous over other people being near you, only to get to go home and stake her claim on you. No, you were speechless because between the way she was practically manhandling you and the way she was looking at you already had you weak in the knees.

“I’m waiting for an answer, bambina.” She leaned in to whisper in your ear. Her lips grazed the shell of your ear as she spoke and your eyes fluttered closed at the sensation. Carina just smirked at your reaction before dipping down to trail her lips from your jaw to your neck. “You just love all the attention you got tonight, don’t you?” She let go of your chin to move her hands to your arms, running her fingertips up and down them slowly.

“I’m sure you knew how crazy it would make me when one of them touched your arm like this. Am I right?” She pressed her body closer to the back of yours. “Or when they got a little too close to you like this…” Her fingertips stopped to wrap around your wrists. With her grip, she suddenly pulled both your hands forward until she had them pinned flat on the dresser.

“C-Carina, I wasn’t doing that on purpose.” Your brain was really struggling to think of responses for her. The truth is, you really weren’t. You had no idea that you were making her jealous. Yeah, when someone bought you a drink you had an inkling she would not love that you accepted it, but you also didn’t know if she even was paying attention to you while you were at the gala. Something tells you, she saw all of it. Especially with the way her hands squeezed around your wrists and how she was practically forcing you to bend over the dresser with her body.

“It’s a little too late for excuses, mia cara,” Carina whispered before you felt her teeth close down, not so gently, on the most sensitive part of your neck. You let out a gasp at the mildly aggressive way Carina was being with you. No doubt there would be a very visible bite mark on your neck for a few days. It’s going to be interesting to explain that away when you go out in public. “I’m just going to have to remind you…” Carina paused to run her tongue over the fresh bite mark. “...that no one else can have you.”

Carina’s eyes ran down your body from the mirror before meeting yours again and when they did you saw how blown her pupils were. You were in for it tonight, that much was obvious, but you honestly didn’t mind. If anything, it already had you a little wet just from the anticipation.

“Keep your hands there,” she ordered before releasing your wrists. You nodded and looked back down at her hands as they began to push up your dress. She stopped when your dress was pushed up above your waist, completely exposing your panties. Embarrassingly enough, they already had a wet patch from how worked up you’ve gotten by Carina’s behavior. It did not go unnoticed by her.

With one finger, she ran the tip of it down your panties and between your folds through the fabric. “I knew you enjoyed seeing me jealous,” She tsked as she repeated her action. Your head hung low as Carina put pressure onto your clit through your panties from just her finger. Her cockiness at already getting you so desperate for her was going straight to her head. Her fingertips played with the elastic to your panties and she looked back up at you. “Look at me, principessa.”

You willed your head to look up and again met her eyes through the mirror. She gave you a wide grin, proud of how obedient you were already being for her. “I want you to look at yourself when I touch you. Know that tonight is the result of your actions.” With that, Carina slipped her fingers into your panties and immediately began circling your clit. Your hips jumped at the direct contact she was making, but soon you were pressing yourself into her touch.

Small sighs of pleasure left your lips and Carina was soaking in every little reaction she pulled from you. When she moved her fingers lower and traced your entrance with her fingertips, she could feel the anticipation practically radiating off you. Her fingers slid in with ease and once they did, she looked up to see that you were still doing exactly what you were told.

With a steady pace, she started to pump her fingers in and out of you. Your wetness from all of her actions had already completely ruined your panties, but honestly with the way she was touching you, you didn’t really care.

Your fingers curled against the dresser, trying your best to grip at it, while also keeping them right where Carina told you to. Her fingers kept moving in and out of you and you could already feel your legs beginning to shake. Carina pressed herself into you more until you were almost completely bent over the dresser, with your head barely able to stay up to keep focused on the mirror.

Carina leaned herself fully over you, her free hand going to your hair to push it out of the way of your neck before she reattached her lips to the skin there. There was definitely going to be more than one mark now, but that was what Carina loved to do. After nights like this, where she was in a particularly possessive mood, you’d always be left covered in little reminders of what she would do to you. You weren’t complaining much, you just didn’t love the process of covering them.

When Carina started to feel the telltale signs of your orgasm approaching, she had a wicked idea. Without warning, she pulled out and backed away. It took you barely even two seconds to start whining about the loss of contact. You were so close. “Strip and get on the bed,” Carina ordered. “I want to taste you.”

She stood back and watched, biting back a smirk at the pout you were currently wearing. You still did as you were told almost immediately though, removing your dress and your now ruined panties while still on shaky legs. With a shy look towards her, you walked over to the bed and crawled onto it.

“Lay down, bambina,” Carina said as she stalked towards you. “And spread your legs. I want you open for me.”

Immediately, Carina could see the blush on your face. “O-okay,” you mumbled as you did exactly what you were told. God, Carina loved the way you instantly listened to her every command tonight. It made her feel that much more smug that she went home with you on her arm and not any of those other people. You were just so deliciously eager and ready to please.

When Carina knelt between your legs, you watched with awe at the look of desire in her eyes. The need to claim you was so intense in Carina, that even you could feel it. Her hands went to your knees, spreading your legs open even farther. She watched as your thighs glistened from the wetness that dripped down them while she had her fingers inside you. Her mouth watered in anticipation of what she was about to do. She couldn’t wait to taste you, so she didn’t.

Your head fell back on the pillow the instant Carina’s tongue made contact with your pussy. She took one long, slow lick up your folds before wrapping her lips around your clit. Your eyes squeezed shut and both your hands flew to her hair as she sucked on your clit like her life depended on it. You couldn’t help the way your legs shook and squirmed at the intensity of the feeling.

Carina’s lips finally detached from your clit, but her tongue began to trace circles around it. With her tongue still brushing over your clit, she glanced up at you. As much as she loved seeing you totally out of control of your reactions, she wanted to make it hard for you.

“No, no, no.” Carina pulled back from between your legs. You whined and leaned your head back up, your eyes pleading with Carina to keep going. “I want you to look at me while I touch you. Understand?”

You nodded desperately, just eager for her to restart what she was doing with her tongue. Carina dipped her head back down and began lapping at your clit again. Her hands slipped from where they held your legs open to move under your ass. With her grip on you, she encouraged you to move your hips with the rhythm of her tongue, squeezing you when you caught on and obliged.

Carina looked up at you again from where she was between your legs and the sight itself had you close to the edge. You forgot already what you were told and your head started to lean back the moment she took your clit into her mouth again. Carina was quickly bringing you to the edge with just her tongue and the way your hips kept moving against her mouth was making everything overwhelming in the best way. But then it all stopped way too soon. She noticed that your head had dipped back down onto the pillow and her mouth left your clit. You let out another pathetic whine and looked back down at her.

“What did I say, bambina?” She scolded, leaning away from you. “Can you not do this one simple thing? Is it really too hard for you?”

“I- I can,” You pleaded. “Just keep touching me. Carina, I was so close.”

“You only get to cum if you do what you’re told.” Her tone was stern, but you knew she was absolutely loving the way you were responding to her.

“I’ll be good,” you reassured. “I’ll do what I’m told.”

Carina was satisfied enough with that answer and to your relief, her head dipped down again. This time, though, one of her hands left your ass and you felt her fingertips again circle your entrance before sliding in. You groaned and felt your back arch off the mattress at the feeling of her tongue on your clit and her fingers fucking into you, but you never looked away. You kept your eyes glued to the way Carina’s head moved as she sucked on your clit. The way her fingers curled inside you already had your body quivering around her. She was fucking you like her life depended on it and you were already so close twice already, so now it really wasn’t going to take long.

Carina let go of your clit with a pop. “Do you want to cum, bambina?” she asked.

You nodded your head fervently. “Use your words,” she ordered, her fingers curling and hitting the spot she knew you loved before you had a chance to respond.

A moan escaped your lips and your hands tightened in her hair. It took you a moment, but finally you regained some control. “Yes,” your voice was hoarse as you spoke. “Please, I want to cum.”

“Good girl,” Carina mused before pumping her fingers into you even faster. At this point it was incredibly hard for you to keep your eyes on her, but you still managed. Even with your thighs shaking around her head and your body moving in a messier rhythm with your orgasm fast approaching, you still wanted to be obedient for her. “Cum for me, mia cara.” And after two more strong pumps of her fingers, you were suddenly falling apart around her.

Carina pulled back from between your thighs, but kept her fingers inside you. She enjoyed the way she could feel your walls tighten and convulse around her and got lost for a moment in the way you looked coming down from your high. But she only allowed herself to enjoy that for a brief minute. She had more plans for you tonight, and she still hadn’t quite worked through the jealous mood you put her in.

After another moment she pulled her fingers out of you and your body shuddered at the loss of contact. You finally let your head fall back onto the pillow and closed your eyes, trying to catch your breath from how good she just made you feel. Your recovery from essentially being edged until you could cum took all your focus. So much so, that you didn’t notice Carina leave the bed for a moment until she returned and grabbed your legs again.

Yet again, she moved you so that you were open for her. Your head popped up in curiosity to see what she was doing. Honestly, you had a feeling it wouldn’t just stop at one, but you still wanted the chance to take a breath before Carina subjected you to whatever she had planned next. What you didn’t expect was her fully nude with a new, bigger than you were used to, strap-on to be hanging between her legs.

“Carina, that might be too big.”

“It’s okay, bambina,” Carina cooed. “We’ll take it slow.”

You gulped, but with the hopeful look Carina was giving you, you wanted to do your best to please her. So, with some hesitation, you agreed, trusting Carina to take care not to hurt you.

“I need you to relax for me,” Carina said as she moved to crawl over your body. “Can you do that for me?”

You nodded again, opening your legs more for Carina to have room. Your eyes were glued between Carina’s legs. It wasn’t the biggest strap-on you’ve ever seen, but it definitely was still something you were new to in general. Usually, Carina preferred to use her fingers so she could feel you as you came for her, so to use toys was somewhat rare. But then again, you knew Carina was in a mood to really see you fall apart beneath her, and you were sure when she started to fuck you with that, you would instantly become a mess beneath her.

Carina lined the toy up to your entrance, her eyes locked on your face to watch for any signs to stop. You showed none and she started to push in. She took it slow, just like she said she would. Your body tried to relax so you could take in more of the toy and eventually, she bottomed out inside you. You were tight, that much was obvious, but even so you immediately felt the pleasure of being filled more so than you were used to.

Your body trembled slightly underneath Carina, but seeing the way you were taking her so well broke something inside her. Without much warning, Carina pulled out of you almost completely, before snapping her hips back into you. You cried out at the sudden change in pace, but it wasn’t a bad thing. Your hands went straight to Carina’s hips, holding her there as she pressed her hips harder into yours, trying to bury herself deeper inside you. After a moment, Carina did the same exact thing again, drawing a loud groan out of you. She was mesmerized by your reactions. Once she thought you were pretty used to the feeling of this new toy, she set a steady pace, moving her faux cock in and out of you. Her lips attached themselves to either of your nipples as she went, switching off between the two. When she wasn’t toying with them with her teeth, she was leaving marks all over your chest, alternating between hickeys and bite marks. You weren’t even trying to muffle any of the sounds she was causing you to make. The sounds of your moans plus skin against skin as she fucked you filled the entire apartment.

Carina sat up without warning, her hands grabbing your hips and pulling your legs to hook around her own waist so she could fuck you deeper. Your eyes rolled back and your hands flew to grab a fist full of your sheets. She was keeping her pace, but the way the toy hit you deeper than you were used to had your head swimming. You could feel Carina’s nails dig into your skin, no doubt leaving more marks on you, as she held you at an angle to keep fucking into you deeper.

Again, she was pushing you towards that edge, only this time you both knew you were too far gone to ask to cum. Luckily, Carina accepted this happily if it meant that she could see you so fucked out for her. She sped up a little, making you move your hips into hers with her grip on you as she kept going. Your body was shaking again and you were reaching your peak once more. You could only hope that Carina would let you cum immediately this time rather than draw it out.

Thankfully, she did. As she kept going, it finally became too much and you came undone all over her strap. She didn’t even give you a minute to come down from your orgasm. Before you even really knew what was happening, Carina slid the toy out of you and flipped your body on the bed.

“On all fours,” She ordered.

“Carina, I don’t think I can-”

“One more, bambina,” Carina pleaded, already moving your own knees so that you could be positioned the way she wanted. “Please?”

You just nodded and tried your best to get in the position she asked for, your body still shaking from your last orgasm. Soon, you felt Carina’s hand come down on your ass and your body jumped. She grabbed at your ass for a second before moving herself to yet again position the strap to circle your entrance.

“Bellissima,” Carina practically growled, her hand coming down on your ass one more time. You just whimpered, already eager for what was in store, even if you were feeling a little spent. Finally, Carina entered you again and your head hung down as she immediately started fucking you with a strength you weren’t exactly used to when it came to her.

When she said she was jealous tonight, she was incredibly jealous and that much was clear in the way she was laying claim to you. Her intentions were to completely ruin you tonight and she was doing an excellent job at it. You weren’t the only one lost in the way she was fucking you. The sounds you were making and the way your body shook beneath her had her absolutely floored. If she could, she’d fuck you all night long. Maybe you’d be too spent for that, but she was at least going to try.

Her hips pounded against the backs of your thighs with a force that had your hands slipping from where they propped you up on the bed. You were moaning and whining her name as she kept fucking into your pussy from behind. The whole time Carina was moaning out things in Italian that you could only assume would translate into something filthy. It was embarrassingly quick how close you were to coming already, but Carina was fucking you with a ferocity that had you dizzy and all you could do was moan and struggle to stay in the position she had you in.

With a few more snaps of her hips and another couple slaps of your ass as she fucked you, you were coming on her cock yet again. You let out a pathetic whine that echoed through the room as you came and the way your arms were holding your body up failed you. Your face hit the pillow and you panted into it, your ass only in the air by Carina’s hold on your hips. Carina didn’t pull out though, instead she slowed for just a second before starting her pace again.

“I-I can’t,” you whined. “Not again.”

“Yes, you can, mia cara,” Carina grunted as she kept fucking her strap into you. “Please, please give me one more.”

You whined as her hips continued to push into your own from behind, but still you nodded. Despite already feeling spent and sensitive, you still wanted to please and the way she was practically begging you to let her keep fucking you had you ready to do just about anything.

With the nod of your head Carina went even faster. Your face pressed into the pillow and you felt a tear fall from your cheek at the overwhelming sensation of her still fucking your already overly sensitive pussy. The feeling of it all was almost too much and your body hadn’t stopped shaking from the last orgasm. Your hands were grabbing at the sheets and your cries as her cock hit deeper inside you were muffled by the pillow. Carina had a firm grip on you and it was as if she wasn’t tired at all with the sheer consistency and power behind each pump of her hips.

Your eyes squeezed shut as Carina put even more force into the way she was fucking into you. Your walls were yet again quickly tightening around her cock, but she loved the way she could tell you were close to coming again. She also loved the way you were so quick to agree and let her push your limits, even if just a little bit.

Your thighs burned from the way Carina had them spread and from how long they shook from each orgasm she drew from you. All your muscles felt more sore with each orgasm as well and now, as she fucked you into yet another one that was fast approaching, you were well aware of your every nerve. Another tear fell down your cheek at the almost painful pleasure you were in and your hands trembled as you were seconds away from your orgasm.

Carina put all her strength into fucking your pussy and after just a little more, you let go again, coming harder than you probably have before. Finally, finally after just a minute, Carina pulled out.

She let go of your hips too and the rest of your body instantly collapsed onto the bed. Your chest heaved and you turned your head on the pillow for more air. Carina stayed knelt over you for just a moment, taking in the way you looked beneath her. Honestly, you were never more beautiful than you were in this moment, naked and spent on her bed. Covered in her marks, with your thighs glistening with your own cum. She loved when she got to see you like this.

After a moment, Carina moved so that she could lay next to you on the bed. Her arms wrapped around your still, slightly trembling body. Your breathing steady as she held you in her strong arms. It amazed you that she seemed totally fine and not tired at all. Especially when she was fucking you with all her strength behind it. Either way, you enjoyed this soft shift in her and nuzzled closer into her chest.

“You did so good for me, bambina,” Carina praised. “But now, let’s get you cleaned up, hm?”

You hummed an agreement into her chest before she got out of bed and slowly pulled you with her. As you let her lead you to the shower, your legs still weak from all that transpired, you couldn’t help but think you should get her jealous more often.

A/N: once again I feel like I want to emotionally wreck Carina so… send your best angst requests…

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estrellami-1 · 5 months

Text

If I Should Stay

Ngl, I kinda forgot I was trying to do this in alternating POVs. That… kinda failed for a minute. Oops. But here’s Robin! And Wayne!

Part 1 | . . . | Part 35 | Part 36 | Part 37

“How could I have him and lose him in the same moment?” Steve asks, and he sounds so sad that Robin wants to wrap him in a hug and about four fuzzy blankets and give him hot cocoa and kill whoever made him sad. Except, she thinks, that would be Eddie, which would really just make Steve even more sad-

She stops her train of thought.

“Want me to go yell at him again? It worked the first time,” she says, just a hint of a grin in her voice, and it works because Steve sounds further from tears next time he speaks.

They joke a little more, until she feels comfortable leaving him, and when he drops her off at home she barely drops her things inside before bolting to grab her bike.

She pedals hard all the way to Forest Hills. She’s about to dump her bike before she sees Wayne on the front porch, smoking, so she carefully lays it down instead.

“Afternoon,” he says.

“Hi, Mr. Wayne,” she replies politely. “Is Eddie home?”

He tells her no, that he’s gone to apologize to Steve, and invites her in for tea and a talk. She thinks for a second before mentally shrugging and accepting.

He holds the door open for her and begins talking as he grabs a mug. She’s delighted to see that the inside reads, You’ve been poisoned! and says as much.

Wayne grins. “‘S become a habit of mine, collecting these mugs. My momma always said there ain’t much a cup of tea can’t fix, and I’ve found she’s right. Plus, havin’ a fun mug lifts your spirits.”

Robin chuckles. “That it does.”

“Now,” Wayne says, turning to face her. “I’m guessin’ you’re here to kick my nephew’s ass again.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Sir.” Wayne makes a face. “I’ve got a good name that none o’you younguns ever uses. Call me Wayne.”

Robin giggles. “Will do, Wayne.”

Wayne nods. “Good. Now, ‘bout Eddie. You let me say my piece, and I’ll let you decide whether or not he deserves another kick in the ass. Fair?”

“Fair,” Robin agrees.

“Alright then. My Eddie’s not a bad kid, though I’m guessing you know that.” He pauses to take a sip of his tea. “Sometimes he does things without thinking them through, just like everyone. Sometimes people scare him.” Her hackles raise, and Wayne raises placating hands. “I’m not saying any of this is your Steve’s fault. All I’m sayin’ is, people do stupid things when they’ve been hurt in the past.”

Robin cocks her head. “Eddie was hurt?”

Wayne hums around another sip. “The details ain’t mine to give, but yes. He was. Just about a year ago now. I almost had a stupid reaction to what he told me.”

“What stopped you?”

Wayne shrugs. “Experience, partially. But you helped too.”

Her eyes widen. “Me?”

“Yup. See, Eddie’s real observant. So when he came t’me a few months ago, talkin’ ‘bout how he thought you were the same as him, I had an idea of the kinda person you are. No tolerance for idiots, at least those who aren’t your friends. Loyal to those who are. And I thought, now why would she stick around him if he’s that kinda person? And I came to the conclusion that he’s not. Or he’s not intentionally. So. Pair that with the way Eddie’d been acting, and I had a pretty good idea of what was goin’ on.”

Robin nods. “Y’know what Steve said to him?”

Wayne hums. “Somethin’ bout how he’d never been with another guy?”

Robin nods again. “Exactly. And to have Eddie react like that…”

Wayne sighs and tips his head back until he’s looking at the ceiling. “Lord knows I love that boy,” he murmurs. “But he sure does know how to get himself into trouble.”

Robin grins. “And how to get himself out of trouble?”

Wayne snorts and looks at her. “Outta the frying pan, into the fire, more like.”

Robin giggles. “Yeah, I kinda got that impression.”

Just then the phone rings, and Wayne raises a brow at it, then sighs and stands to answer it, waving Robin down when she starts to stand as well,

“Munson residence, y’got Wayne.” He hums. “Wayne’s just fine, son, none‘a that Mr. Munson crap. She is, I’ll hand it over in just a second. My nephew apologize to you yet?” A grunt. “Good. Here she is.” He waves her over, and she hurriedly swallows a sip of tea before hopping over to the phone. “Steve?”

“Hey. The little shit found Dart.”

Robin breathes out a laugh. “Jesus. D’we gotta kill it and live with his sad face now?”

“That’s the thing, though, is it did help. He fuckin’ domesticated the thing.”

“Okay, so which one of us is gonna tell him?” She asks, in a tone that means it’s gonna be Steve.

He laughs, “well I’m not gonna tell him.”

“The fuck you’re not,” she argues, “you’re his second mom, dingus, it sure as shit ain’t gonna be me.”

He squawks, “I am not his-”

She hangs up on him with a satisfying click and a smug grin.

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#stranger things #if I should stay #eddie munson #steve harrington #steddie #robin buckley #wayne munson #Wayne is a gift #as is Robin honestly #platonic stobin #fix it fic #time travel #time travel fix it #starambles

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houseofhyde · 1 year

Text

ii. another man’s comfort.

pairing. aemond targaryen x fem!reader

synopsis. a wedding calls you north, your duty calls you to your husband, your heart calls you to aemond.

warnings. stark!reader, infidelity, purity culture, canon misogyny, deviations from canon (set in 132 ac, the greens win the war), smut (nipple play, dirty talk, dry humping). just so we’re clear, this is set a few years after part one !!

word count. 15.8k (oops.)

hyde’s input. fucked around and accidentally got emotionally invested in aemond x another man's!reader's relationship and now you're all going to have to deal with a series dedicated to them... i reminded myself of why i hate writing world-building within fics, i wish i could just write things easily and have everyone understand the way the world is within my fic without me having to deviate into long paragraphs of plot exposure.

taglist. @schniiipsel @b00kdiary @promisiary @yyiebbg

another man’s series. feast. comfort. pleasure (coming soon).

read on ao3.

there are times where you question if aegon was born insufferable.

surely not, you’d argue with yourself, for there must have been a time where aegon was no more than a small babe in need of his mother’s teat, or a starry-eyed child looking up to the only father-figure he’d ever have and begging the knight to teach him to man a sword with the same skill, or a growing boy finding beauty for the first time within a lady’s complexion.

and then, as if he can hear your every thought, aegon goes and proves you wrong.

“why should i waste my time on some boat that stinks of salt and peasants?”

“because your wife will be on that boat.” the eldest of the hightowers is not a man you are particularly familiar with, and, yet, with the few interactions you’ve both shared, he’s always struck you as possessing two traits: an ambitious lust for power and the drive to do right by his family.

unfortunately for otto hightower, these two things can never coexist in peace.

“my wife goes to the privy to take a shit, need i accompany her there too?”

“aegon!” alicent hightower speaks up for the first time in what feels like an eternity, and it does wonders to lessen the tense feeling in your shoulders, which deflate on command as your husband’s mother rests her hand atop your own. “have some respect!”

the topic of conversation is one you blame yourself for, having foolishly brought up your brother’s upcoming wedding when asked by sweet helaena what you looked most forward to in the upcoming moons, with a hand resting on the growing swell of her stomach and her other placed delicately in the hold of her husband’s, one qoren martell.

the pair were a love match, unexpected as that may be, meeting by chance on one of the many times otto hightower had attempted to barter for the lord of sunspear to aid the greens in the war of dragonlords. the martell boy took no interest in the war, leaving the family to fight their own troubles- and their own kin- but he took great interest in the pretty blonde daughter and, not even a night after the war had met it’s conclusion with the parading of the rogue prince’s head and the charred remains of the black queen throughout the city of king’s landing, he had her wedded and bedded.

the raven that carried news of cregan’s remarrying was one that came with no warning. nearing a half decade since the passing of his beloved first wife, with already an heir born to succeed him once he should pass on, your brother had not only no need for remarrying, he’d also voiced no interest.

until he let himself be enchanted by the blackwood daughter.

it’s pitiful, really, how your elder brother could discover something as fickle as love not once in this lifetime, but twice, while you find yourself shackled to a man who’d likely rejoice at your demise.

“what kind of message would i be sending to the northern cunts if i dock their shores instead of arriving on dragonsback, like the targaryen king i am?” it’s a card aegon has not once failed to play since his war-inducing coronation, a constant reminder of the power his mother and grandsire have bestowed upon him against his wishes, much like his betrothal to you. “sunfyre will deliver me to winterfell quicker than the most royal of fleets.”

“aegon, this is not a debate.” the strident words echo in the small dinning hall for a flurry of moments after otto hightower has spoken them, face baring fury and hand grasping chalice. all have fallen quiet: at the table, among the serving folk, within their own thoughts. “your wife will be on that boat, as will you. you’ll depart together, arrive together, and you will do good to remind lord stark of the great care you swore to give his dearest sister three years ago in exchange for his support for the throne. he has held his side of the bargain and it is time you show him you have too.”

only, he hasn’t.

“she doesn’t need me there!” aegon has this ability to somehow sound like a spoilt child and a boy who’s been deprived of his every want, all at once. “helaena will be on the ship to keep her company. perhaps she can give my dear wife some tips on how to finally make use of her womb.”

a chair scrapes the ground.

loud, poignant, silencing. the one eyed prince stands tall, a foreboding figure who’s still features only serve to rouse a sense of unease, like the calm before the most brutal of storms. aemond perches forward in a sluggish motion, as though he’s thriving off the anticipation every serving wench casts for his next act, hands splayed out on the table and gaze fixed on the king. the two stand at opposite heads of the table and, as is the norm in recent years, exchange few words.

“i’m retiring to my chambers.”

you watch with baited breath as aemond’s eye meets your own and visibly softens, though only for a moment, like he’s apologising for your husband’s lack of tact when it comes to choosing which words to speak.

wishing to ask him to stay, you swallow down the plea with a sip of wine.

“you’re dismissed.” aegon grants him leave, knowing full well the prince was not asking for permission.

it has all been one big power-play between these two targaryen men- the words they speak, the looks they share, the decisions they make- since they defeated their enemies and lost the vehicle in which to deviate their inner-family conflicts.

“it’s no bother, truly, lady alicent.” finding the nerve to speak had seemed impossible mere moments ago, yet the voice within your own head tells you it’ll garner the attention of a certain prince. the voice is correct. “his grace is true in his words, there’s no reason he should accompany me on ship. the journey is that of sixteen sleeps, and that is only if the seas treat us kindly. the ruler of the seven kingdoms should not waste his time with such a silly thing when he has a dragon at his disposal. and, though i do not agree with his choice of words to describe the people of my ancestors’ lands, the northern folk would do good to see their king on dragonback, if only to remind them all of his great power and the protection it brings them.”

from the corner of your eye, though you give your best effort to not cast your gaze in his direction, you witness a look of disagreement bleed onto aemond’s face, as though the words of flattery you speak in honour of your husband serve as daggers piercing his flesh and bone.

helaena speaks up before the one-eyed prince can.

“are you sure, sister?” your heart melts under the warmth in which the princess addresses you, smile upon her face and care within her voice. growing up with only brothers, you’d never known the true joy of having a sister, till the day you married into the tortured targaryen household and the sweet girl who made friends with slugs approached you with the proposition of tea in her chambers. “mother only thought it best aegon accompany you to help you feel at home on the ship, as my own lord husband shall do for me.”

“i thought it best, my dear girl, after helaena told me of your own discomfort on ships.” alicent smiles meekly and, in your defence, you do your very best to meet her halfway but you’re certain your face is more wrinkled in displeasure than intended.

you do not enjoy the way everyone’s eyes are so focused on you, especially when aegon looks at you with a challenge, daring you to say something to land him on a ship rather than his fearsome mount, and when aemond casts his undivided attention onto you, no emotion in his eye yet the faintest clench of his jaw tells you he cares about what you say next.

for better or for worse, he cares and it is enough to tear you apart.

“ah, i see there’s been some misunderstanding.” anyone smart enough notices the waver in your voice, no matter how quick you are to mask it beneath an empty chuckle and a dishonest smile. “what helaena said is true, yes, i was once afraid of ships. but this was many years back, when i was a child. i’m far better now. so, truly, i insist the king should travel on dragonsback. perhaps we could even send for daeron to attend, it would be an excellent first sighting of the three targaryen men and their mounts since the end of the war.”

“what an excellent idea, your grace.” otto hightower flashes a kindhearted smile your way, giving two quick claps of his hand before requesting a serving wench refill his cup. “your wife truly is a gem to this family, aegon. you have no idea how fortunate you are to stand with such a woman by your side.”

you smile gratefully, aegon laughs dishonestly, aemond tenses visibly.

“no, he does not.” and, with that, the one-eyed prince retreats to his chambers, paying no mind to the continued festivities of his family nor the way your eyes follow him out of the room.aegon makes no attempt to awaken and bid you goodbye.

aegon makes no attempt to awaken and bid you goodbye.

it comes as no surprise to you. despite three years having passed since you had both sworn oaths to honour one another, the young king had made no place for himself in your marital bed, preferring the warmth of a woman bought with coin over a lady traded through politics.

there was a moment, singular though still there, after the ringing of the bells and the announcement of peace at last in the realm, after hours of plundering himself in cups of mead at the feast to end all feasts- thrown in honour of the man who slayed the last of the crown’s enemies: aemond targaryen- in which aegon gave his best effort to act like the dutiful husband he’d sworn to be. he’d lead you in stumbled dances, lay kisses on your fingers, smiled earnestly at the things you’d spoke of. and, while you’re certain it was all simply a show for your elder brother who was in attendance, you’d cherished the fleeting affection.

the moment passed when prince aemond asked for your hand in dance and the king stormed out of the hall with a jug of wine in one hand and an unfortunate serving girl in the other.

while your husband’s absence was one you’ve grown used to, the glances of pity from those who work the halls of the keep still twist your guts in knots that sting your throat with bile and your eyes with tears.

they’ve been all around you this morning, from the maidens who dressed you to the squires who carried your trunks of clothing down to the carriage.

even your sworn shield, ser arryk cargyll, can not mask his solemn eyes this morning.

“i will meet you at the docks, your grace." he does his best, nonetheless, hand steady as he guides you up the wooden steps to the royal carriage. “myself and two other brothers of the kingsguard will arrive first, as to ensure your safe arrival before the people.”

his words bring no comfort, not when you know full-well what your ensured safety means: harmless innocents seeking only to glance upon the queen being pushed and shoved and kicked to the ground. you’d seen it all before, in the few times you’d meant to greet the smiling faces of the small folk, only to unintentionally bring them harm as the guards surrounded you.

you’ve learnt to stay within the castle, looking upon the city through cracks in the walls and your chamber balcony, longing to know what it’s like to be part of the nightly festivities or the daily markets with the people of your husband’s land.

after casting an appreciative smile toward the knight, you enter the carriage and welcome the peace of the door shutting behind you, alone at last for the first time since you’d been shaken awake at dawn.

sinking into the cushioned seat on the right-end, you heave a sigh and smooth your dampened palms over the skirt of your gown. these days this seems to be the only facet of your life you have control over: the clothes you wear. this morning you’d chosen blindly, eyes still clouded in unfulfilled rest and unable to truly notice which garment you’d pointed at. now awake and aware of the world around, you find yourself dressed in something you’d sworn to save for a special occasion, like a royal tourney or the festival of the mother.

instead, you’ve wasted it on a carriage ride.

the gown is not the prettiest, nor the most lavish one you own, and you’re sure it would rouse whispers of impropriety among the ladies in the court, each of them adding new detail to the scandal of the queen and her unbefitting wardrobe.

instead of it’s looks, the dress holds your favour in the memory it holds in it’s seams.

you’d received it on your second nameday within the castle, amid a war for the throne and sat at a feast made up only of your good-mother, the sweet helaena, otto hightower and your wine stained husband. as the evening came to a close, a pair of your handmaidens entered the dining hall, a great box carried between them. presenting it at you feet, they’d loudly proclaimed the gift was from aegon himself, which sent you near flying out your seat, for your lord husband had bothered naught to get you a single gift on the first nameday you’d spent under his roof.

the sight of the dress itself furthered your shock, a beauty of onyx black silks and leathered details, the emerald green three-headed dragon crest which adorned the centrepiece of the gown’s chest making you feel part of the targaryen family. what caught your eye truly, though, was the stitching that held the dress together, the faintest saphire blue on a dark canvas.

you’d loved the gown enough to ignore how aegon failed to discreetly whisper to his mother in his drunken confussion, swearing up and down that he’d gotten you no such gift.

tracing your finger over the blue stitching now, you smile and wonder where exactly your husband’s mother or sister must have commissioned such a gown.

the carriage has yet to commence moving. you assume it’s waiting for the kingsguard to depart first, and let your heavy eyelids shut, body melting slowly down toward the bench till you’re splayed across it, hoping to fall deep enough into sleep to not notice when the carriage shakes alive with movement.

instead, the door bursts open once more and you rush to sit up-right, gods forbid someone catch the queen resting.

“i see you’ve made yourself comfortable.” a voice, calm as a gentle breeze on the warmest of summer days, brushes over you and your eyes find his.

there he stands, smelling of the leathered coat he wears and of the smoke of past rides upon dragonsback and of the freshest of linens you imagine he lines his bed with. he’s too tall, too large for the measly doorway into the carriage, and so he near-bends himself in two to slip through and into the bench across from you, door closing once more, leaving only you and him.

the queen and the prince.

lady stark and aemond targaryen.

if ever the history books were to write of this encounter, one day once both your bodies have decayed and nothing remains but the legacy of your names, you hope whoever the author may be will make sure to mention that the carriage jolted awake before you could kick the prince out.

the history books have told greater lies, after all.

“what are you doing here?” it comes out of you with accusation, as if the one-eyed prince means you harm, and you cringe, readjusting yourself till you sit as perfectly poised as him and his stretched spine. you clear your throat of surprise and aim to start over again. “i thought you were in oldtown alongside prince daeron. what brings you here instead?”

“a change in plans, lady stark.” aemond has not once addressed you by your royal title since the crowning of his brother, the only one within the realm to not do so. and while some whispered of this being a sign of the prince’s distaste of you or his refusal to acknowledge you as the true queen of westeros, you’ve always found comfort in it, as though he views you as unchanged since all the bloodshed and expectation bearing and tiara wearing had begun. “it seems neither my sister nor her husband will be joining you on the ship after all. with the impending arrival of their child the pair thought it best they return to the martells’ homeland and surround themselves with the care they’ll need should the babe make an early arrival."

you cannot quite place your finger on why his answer brings forth the feeling of disappoinment, like you’d been hoping there was a greater reason for his presence than mere last-ditch efforts to ensure you not be sent alone up north.

“that’s delightful!” you find yourself leaking false excitement, a smile breaking over your face till the muscles in your cheek ache and the skin pulls imposibly tight. most certainly the prince must find your look rather deranged. you try and correct both your demeanor and your words. “that helaena may meet her child soon, i mean. it’s a shame she can not join me, i’d hoped to make up for the time we’ve spent apart since her marriage.”

“yes, well, i’m afraid you’ll have to settle for my own presence instead.” his tone is ever sardonic and you’re not blind to the rolling of his eye. were you a braver woman, you’d perhaps take this moment to ask what you’ve done over the years to scorn him so badly he chooses to mess with your head, one moment warm- offering you the chance to dance while your husband drowns in his cups, delivering books to your chambers you’d mention in passing at the dining table when you were certain no one had heard you, interrupting conversations and saving you from sleazy lords who done their best to make passes at their queen- and the next moment cold- leaving the library everytime you find him there alone, sitting himself the furthest seat from you at every table, speaking with impatience and indifference any time he gets caught in conversation alone with you. you are cowardly, though, and instead you try to uphold your tired smile. “mother ordered that one of us accompany you and, though she pretends to not see, she is not blind to the fact aegon would deny her demands, so she insisted it be me. worry not, however, i’ll do my best to keep out your way.”

the wheels of the carriage must catch on something- a rock, a street cat, the foot of a passerby, you’ve no real clue- for you’re sent hurling out of your seat, hands flying out to break your fall against the floor and-

“if you’re this unsteady on dry land, i fear for your safety once we reach the northern seas.” his hands never touch your skin, yet you feel the heat of his touch burn your ailing heart and send warmth flying to the corner of your body you find it best to ignore.

yet you do not brush him off, allowing him to guide you back into your seat. the leather he wears squeaks as he sits back down and this is enough to break out a giggle from you, something so unserious about a stoic-faced prince and his noisy wardrobe.

“i’ll make sure to only send myself overboard,” you catch yourself before you say his name. a hand lands over the left side of your chest, where you feel the beating of your own heart beneath the layers of skin and the tissues of fat. a sign of oath-swearing. “you have my word.”

perhaps the fatigue has won at last, but you swear you almost catch a glimpse of a smile.

you collapse onto the bed with a heavy heart.

the dock had been littered with folk pleading to see their queen, dirtied faces and tattered clothes painting your view as the guards stood their ground, harshly shoving back those who ventured too closely.

one man had thrown himself at you from behind, arms long enough to grab at strands of your hair and yank you backwards. down you’d went, balance ripped from beneath your feet and pain splitting through your skull as you physically felt strands of hair ripped from their roots. you could hardly yelp before the man pulled again, hissing some obscene slurs aimed at your husband and his neglect for the impoverished folk.

his grip on you was released before he could pull a third time.

“touch her again and it will be the last time you have hands.” the prince never bothered with glancing your way, not even as he leant you his hand to pull yourself back up, positioning himself behind you till you were both aboard the ship.

you’d parted ways from there, a dozen of ladies-in-waiting swarming around you with questions of your wellness and offers to assist in carrying your possessions to your quarters. you’d hardly the chance to glance back at the prince, catching the sway of his hair as he walked alongside the captain, leading the way as the pair headed towards the ship’s helm.

only hours later, once exhausted and twice fed, did you make it to your room at last. accompanied by your sworn shield, the familiar man walked you down into the lower half of the vessel, away from the sounds of crashing waves and skwaking birds. a sour mixture of pity and shame staining the back of your throat as you passed by the open doors of the crew’s shared quarters, each so small it could hardly be considered a wardrobe, much less a room. the beds- if one could call them that- were stacked atop one another, leaving little room to breath between.

your logic tells you it’s sensical, needing to fit as many in a quarter to sleep the crew who man the boat. your heart tells you it’s unfair, leaving those of value in discomfort whilst you, no more helpful than a crying babe, are given your own room to be at ease in, soothing your aching body with rest after yet another day of not having to lift a single finger.

not even to open the door to your own quarters.

at the very back of the vessel, a fair length of empty hall between them and the crew, stand two doors side by side, both so identical in shape and colour, you were near sure you’d been seeing double. alas, ser arryk had pulled out a key, unlocked the door on the left and pushed it open, stepping aside and gesturing you inward.

“i’ll remain posted at your door each night, your grace,” he’d spoken with a softness in his tone. when you’d first met the man, you were still shaken from the consequences of a war freshly begun and he was grappling with the fact his own twin, the man who wore his same face, had switched sides in the fight for a new ruler. both broken, neither familiar with the other, a sense of solace was found among you both, cultivating over the years of war and, now, in peace at last. the knight has become a friend, a trusted companion, a reminder of your own brother and a taste of home so far away from the icy grounds of winterfell. “only in the day, post the breaking of your fast until the sun reaches the highest point in the sky, i will take my rest. prince aemond has agreed to guard your side during my hours of sleep, so you’ll be in safe hands.”

you’d thanked him with a nod and a squeeze of his hand, slipping into your temporary quarters, your new safe haven for the upcoming weeks of travel.

now- head upon goose-feathered pillows, shoulders falling lax at the freedom from prying eyes, chest a heaving mass of stress relieving exhales- you struggle to find the motivation to loosen your corset or relieve yourself of the stiff leathered arms of the dress.

for just a moment, you tell yourself as the weight of your eyelids becomes overbearing, i’ll rest. i’ll close my eyes and be anywhere but here, be anyone but me.

your eyes reopen hours later.

it’s dark past the window panes, what little of the moon that sits the sky this evening providing you with a glimmer of light. there’s resistance as you rise up, dress squeezing around your ribs, the ends of it already having traveled half way up your legs, a sign of your restless sleep antics.

an ache in your throat makes itself known as you pull in a breath, deep and calming, arms shooting out in a stretch that your gown limits. shuffling off the bed, you feel your way through the room, utilising what little light you have to spark a match and let the flame meet the thread of a candle. within moments, you’re doused in orange hues and your surroundings become tangible.

with a sip of water- a jug filled to the brim at your bedside you’ve only now just noticed- life returns to you once more, lips no longer drier than the deserts of dorne and eyes no longer heavier than a mass of stone. you focus this new found energy on undoing the threads of your corset, arms powering through the aches and pains of reaching backwards in such unnatural angles.

the dress hits the ground and air-flow returns to your lungs at last.

it’s on shaky feet that you take to exploring the room. it is much smaller than the royal chambers you’ve slept within since swearing vows beneath the seven, yet it brings you more comfort, a reminder of home, of winterfell.

with wooden floorboards, wooden walls, wooden ceiling, the first spark of colour is the bed which sits with it’s head beneath a window, the vast mass of sea-water and night sky a stark contrast to the pure white linen sheets atop the bed. at it’s foot sit your trunks, filled to the brim with gowns of green and gold and black. gaze moving from the bedside table over to a remarkably plain vanity, the sway of your chemise reminds you of the fact you stand in only your underclothing, far too thin and retaining no heat for a night’s rest aboard the ship.

a craving for your chamber’s fireplace warmth sparks within.

the feel of a shiver running down your spine urges you down to your knees, hands prying at the trunks clasps and ripping them open. you delve forward, seeking out the feel of one of your thicker, warmer, heavier night dresses, only to come back empty handed.

heaving a frustrated sigh, you drag yourself up from the floor. the cold has rapidly begun to nip at your near-bare skin, leaving evidence of it’s existence with skin of goose and shivers down spine and hardening of nipples. panic ensues, mind plundering into the depth of worries and ignoring the feeble cries of reason from within your mind.

surely, it tries to tell you, the maids have not forgotten to pack you warmer sleepwear.

it’s instinctual, how your eyes find the door. you know that the man stood on the other side, your protector, would have no troubles in finding you a lady willing to lend a chemise or two your way. it’s for the queen, is all he’d need say before the hypothetical lady begins to offer the clothes off her own back. the image leaves you unsettled, hand dropping back down to your side before you can fully clasp the doorknob and twist it open.

but then you notice it, blended near perfectly into the wall to the right of the entrance: another door.

the worries begin to melt from glaciers to mere puddles on the ground as the warm thoughts of your maidens having unpacked your precious night dresses and hung them neatly within the closet, some part of them knowing it would be the first piece of attire you would seek out. the speed at which you twist the lock and rip the closet open is near beastly, a force great enough to rip the door from it’s hinges, the need to heat up and crawl beneath the inviting furs and blankets atop your bed growing by the second.

the door crashing against the wall rings out louder than the shriek you let out.

“your grace?” ser arryk’s voice calls from beyond your chambers. “are you okay? i heard a noise.”

the man staring daggers into you speaks no words, holding up his pointer finger and pressing it against his lips in a shushing manner.

you swallow back a million questions and obey.

“i’m fine, ser arryk,” you speak, and pray to any higher power that the knight not notice the waver in your words. you’re not fine, you haven’t been for many years. “i... i stubbed my foot against the bedpost. small toe took the brunt of it, but i’ll survive."

the knight chortles, in what you imagine is relief he needn’t draw his weapon nor another’s blood this evening, and calls back to you with words you don’t quite catch, too busy holding focus on him.

“what are you doing here?” it’s the second time you’ve asked him this in a single day. need you ask once more and you’ll fear it’s becoming a habit.

“what am i doing here?” he parrots you, hands dropping the leather coat that you imagine smells more like his dragon than it smells of him and, oh, how so much more aware you’ve now become of how he stands with only a loose tunic to cover his chest, neckline dipping enough to grant you view of pointed collarbones and freckle lined skin. “these are my chambers. ‘tis you who should be answering for their presence.”

“your...” sense hits you over the back of your head, like your older brother would do each time you’d miss the target in archery lessons. a bed like your own, with a bedside table and a window at it’s back. no vanity, but a desk and chair in it’s place. not a closet, but a room instead. “chambers?”

the prince may have but one eye, yet it holds the weight of a million as it trails it’s way down your figure. you shift in place, hand scrambling to get a hold of the door.

if only you could pull yourself away from his gaze.

“get some rest, lady stark.” he dares to step closer. much like you, he’s lit his room with candlelight, which flickers and sways behind him, looming his shadow larger than the man himself. daunting, dangerous, daring is the thought of how one simple movement is all it would take to cross the border into his chambers, his territory. “we have a long journey ahead. i don’t think either of our brothers will be pleased to find i’ve delivered you to winterfell all heavy-eyed and languid bones.”

the moment you form a grip upon the handle, you swing the door shut, fumbling through shaking hands to twist the lock once more. forehead meeting cold wood, you pull in one, two, three breaths and try calm your wavering heart, nothing working to soothe the knowledge that a door separates you from the prince. so little, yet too much.

seconds later, you hear the turning of a lock and sigh with- relief? exasperation? grief? you’re not sure what this hollowness in your chest stems from- as you come to terms with how you’ve both now locked one another out of each other’s chambers.

you sleep with only your embarrassment to keep you warm.

routine is easily found within the one-eyed prince.

he’s meticulous, this you’d already known before boarding the ship. since the conquest against the blacks, his life upon land has melted into a copulation of days where he’ll rise with the sun, often breaking fast alone, and then drag himself off to the training grounds as the rest of his family gather round the table, with only his mother and sister insisting that he stay and share the first meal of the day with them all. his time with a sword ends only when it’s forced on him, the likes of the king’s hand- ser criston- informing him the king has called for a meeting of his small council, and how could he host such a thing without his trusted commander of the citywatch present?

the meetings rarely hold any merits, mostly an excuse for aegon to talk over others far wiser than him and drink himself to a state where even the cupbearers begin to deny his requests for a refill. excusing himself, aemond would go on to spend what was left of the day either in the company of his beloved vhagar, a kindred spirit to his suffocatingly too much kind of existence, or in the peace of solitude, whether that be found in the corner of the keep’s grandiose library or his own chambers. some nights he’d wind his way down the halls to reach the table in time to share at least one meal with his family. most night’s he eats alone, nothing but his own reflections- in mirrors, in metals, in the single glass of wine he indulges himself with- seated around his table for one.

with his life more scripted than a history book, the prince seems to waver the first few days of the journey.

the routine he does find is shakier than what he’s used to. he struggles to wake up as early as the sun, the window within his chambers not providing enough light in the early hours of the morning to rouse him. by the time he sits the table to eat, everyone else is seated and half-way through their meal, nowhere for him to sit other than ser arryk’s seat- who merely nods at the prince as he departs his post by your side in favour of getting a few hours rest. till the sun peaks in the sky, he remains by your side, meaning those hours change each day in his routine: you read for some, you knit during others, you exchange small talk with the ladies who tend to you and who’s eyes are far more interested in the brooding prince by your side, and aemond simply stands there, mind distracted by the endless what-ifs your presence plagues him with yet his eye focused perfectly on anyone who dares approach the queen. the instant he’s free from his service as your faux-guard, the prince runs off to wherever the captain may be, using his time on the sea to learn more about manning a ship and the route that you’re taking to reach the north. from that point, you see him no longer till the next morning, the only thing to assure you that your good-brother returns to his chambers at some point in the night is his brief chatter with the knight stood at your door and the gentle closing of his own, heavy footsteps careful as you imagine him treading lightly towards the safety of his bed.

weeks pass by this way, aemond a fleeting companion you spend a fragment of your day with.

at no point, much to your own relief, do either of you bring up the incident with the door between your chamber walls. not much is spoken between you both, in all honesty, and it’s not from a lack of trying on your end. you’d tried, bless you, the first few days to converse with him, prompting talks of the weather and his most recent studies you’d only ever hear about from alicent herself, over the cups of tea and bites of sweet pastries she shares every so often with both helaena and you. but all your effort was met with hums and one-worded responses, the politest way for him to make it clear he has no interest in speaking with you.

which makes it all the more shocking that he’s just called your name.

“are you okay?” the question slips out of you with ease, like you were always meant to care for his well-being, but you can hardly be blamed when he’s approached you so suddenly, sky already dark with night and his own eye seemingly as wide as a saucer.

“we’re heading towards a storm, lady stark.” he speaks calmly, patiently, letting the words fall over you. “it’s nothing the crew isn’t prepared for, the captain’s assured me. they’ve traveled this route many a times, it’s only natural that the tides grow wilder and the skies greyer as we reach the north. there’s no need to worry.”

there it is again, an insinuation that you’re fearful of being on ship. it irked you at the diner table when it caused aegon to scoff at you and it irks you now as it causes aemond to stare at you with a level of attention he rarely gives when it’s only you two.

your teeth grind under the pressure of your ire, any comment on your bravery instantly swallowed as you remind yourself of why it truly irritates you: because it’s true.

the open waters, the life on deck, the crashing of waves and raging of storms, it’s always terrified you, every part of your body rejecting the way the boat rocks. it’s the whole reason you’d snuck away from the tables of food shared amongst the crew and yourself, stomach twisting in knots that released themselves only after you’d stumbled out onto the near-empty deck, darkness engulfing you as you managed to throw your upper half over the edge in time to watch the breads and meats you’d just eaten fly out your mouth in chunks and into the raging waters below.

of course, you would not be admitting this to the fearless prince.

“i appreciate you sharing this news, but i assure you i am not worried.” he nods like he believes you, yet his words say differently.

“the nights will be much rougher from now until we reach winterfell, and it is likely that the rains will not stop even after daybreak. it’s perhaps best you stick to below the deck, the cold may take an ill-effect on you.”

“i’m a northerner, my prince.” there’s a heavy rumbling of thunder above. “i do not need protecting from it’s cold. you, on the other hand, have spent most your days in the keep. perhaps ‘tis you who should stick to below the deck.”

“i will be wherever you are, my lady.” you’re unsure of which cracks first: the bolt of lightning or your neglected heart. strange in every way, you feel a sickening guilt to hear the words a man should speak to his wife come from him instead of aegon, who could not even feign interest in you enough to accompany you in your travels. the guilt quickly melts away when aemond seems to clarify his intentions. “as that is what my agreement with both my mother and ser arryk requires.”

your heart falls in your chest.

but the rain falls on your face. first, small drops, like the sight of morning dew slips slowly down a window pane. then, drop by drop, it grows in volume, peble-sized raindrops staining the silks of your dress and the leathers of his tunic in blotchy discoloration.

feet planted firmly on the wooden deck, you inhale the scent of salted air and misery, dripping off both of you in the silence of the growing night. nothing is keeping him here, you think, and yet the prince stands beneath the shower of the gods and let’s himself be soaked.

a simple glance his way, while his eyes stare voidly out into the darks of the raging waves, fills you with a deep sense of loneliness. it’s all you’ve seen in him over the last few years, in the few glimpses you get: as he passes behind your chair in the morning, as he rushes past you in the direction of the halls where they host the small council, as you spy his return to the palace grounds in the late of the night likely smelling of smoke and dragon’s breath.

a lonely man with a lonely dragon, that’s all you see.

but when the halls are alight with festivities and the people are bountiful, he plays his role of the realm’s prince and, what he may lack in jovial nature and welcoming smiles, he makes up for in charismatic quirks of his lips and entertaining the lonely women who’s husbands are too far gone in their cups with a dance or two. by women, of course, you mean yourself and, on the occasion that ser criston let’s himself be tempted with wine, his own mother.

he must have felt your blatant staring, for you empty your thoughts and find him gazing back at you, the near-white hair that marks him as a man with fire in his blood sticking to his skin under the pressure of the water.

“it’s cathartic, isn’t it?” you wonder if he hears you, words a simple whisper beneath the echoing of bangs and booms above you both, the storm fighting to put itself together and rain down on the ship with no forgiveness. “i used to sneak out my room as a girl, back in winterfell, on nights where the sound of rain filled the castle walls. i wasn’t a happy child, not the way one’s supposed to be, but growing up with only brothers left me embarrassed of these things, like i couldn’t express this unhappiness in front of them. when it was just me and the rain... it was okay for me to have wet eyes and flushed cheeks. so i’d bottle it up and wait till that moment where i could let my tears be dragged away by the storm.”

“doesn’t it rain every night in winterfell?” he surprises you with his response, so used to the act of you talking and him never replying. “you must have cried a lot.”

“believe it or not, the north isn’t that cold.” there’d been a time when you believed this, way back before you spent your hours in the sun of the keep. nowadays, not even the coldest of hours in king’s landing were a match for the warmest days in the north. “somedays, the sun is generous enough to warm our lands so that we need wear only one layer of fur!”

the thunder steals the sound of his amusement, but you see it, in twists of lips and shakes of shoulders and relaxing of postures. it’s fleeting, no more than a few seconds, but it’s the first that you’ve seen the prince look his age, two and twenty and untouched by the harshness of life.

he straightens his back and returns to the face of a lonely man.

“i’d sooner call it a nuisance than something cathartic, lady stark.” he answers your previous ask, eye returned to the dreaded sea ahead. “it’s making a mess of not just our travels but our clothing too.”

the stick of your dress’ sleeves against your arms, so soaked they’ve near merged with your body and become a new layer of skin, feels a little poignant as you twist to look upon him properly. it takes every inch of sanity you have- which, these days, seems to be less and less- to not follow a raindrop as it slides down his scarred cheek, his pointed chin, his delicate neck, his soaked ches-

lighting snaps you out of your trance, as if the gods themselves had caught you ogling the man and sent a message your way: stop this insolence, at once.

“i’m sure a man like yourself has sullied their clothes with far more distasteful liquids than mere water.” naïveté, an old friend who rears her head your way every so often, takes you by the hand and leads you up the road of shame the moment you see the prince’s brow quirk with a questioned gaze, face awash with a look stuck somewhere between utter shock and lustful satisfaction. “by blood! i mean, surely the battles of the great dance had you covered in mud, and blood, and bloody mud, and-“

“my brother complains you scarcely talk.” the sudden mention of your husband physically shakes you- or, perhaps, it is simply the cold which causes such a reaction. either way, your hands are trembling by your side. “yet here you are struggling to cease speaking. fascinating.”

“yes, well," a feigned clearing of your throat to relax your nerves. the rain feels colder within an instant, the mention of aegon- no less from the one-eyed prince’s mouth- enough to send you into a state of discomfort. “perhaps if the king were better at holding conversation, he’d find me as talkative to his liking.”

finally, you’re able to hear his laughter.

it is not ser arryk who accompanies you back to your chambers this evening, but aemond instead. stood a good few paces behind you, he lets you take the lead, no sound but the thudding of your footfall and the squelch of your soaked linens to fill the ship halls. the knight who guards your side already stands post at your door, no surprise nor shock on his features to make you believe he was unaware of the prince keeping watch over you on the deck.

before the prince can step into the refuge of his room, you halt him.

“wait!” the volume of it is louder than you intended, and leaves you no room to wonder over whether or not ser arryk has heard you. the knight shows no sign of his listening while the man you’ve called for stands frozen, the expanse of his back filling your vision as he stands one foot in his chambers and the other still lingering in the hall. “if the nights are to become rougher, as you said, i will pray that rest finds you easily, good-brother.”

his door slams in your face after a toneless humm leaves his lips.

as if irony has not cursed your lifetime enough, it is you who finds no rest. first you shift around, rolling from back to front, switching the sides upon which you lay, crossing and uncrossing legs. when that fails, you count sheep, one after the other as you imagine a dire-wolf chasing after them with a bloodlust unquenched by a thousand hunts.

then comes the thinking.

like a virus feeds off it’s host, your mind eats away at your sanity with thoughts of past, present and future. a past of snowy hills and frozen hands, a present of misery kisses and empty beds, a future of misty unknowns and dark unsureness. there’s also thoughts of your older brother, likely laying within his own bed and anticipating the second marriage of his life.

you wonder if someday you’ll do the same, should the stranger call for aegon before you, releasing you from the grip of duty and leaving you free to chase the passions of life.

the contents of your stomach sway with the boat, the storm above raining fury down and the tides rising and falling with tremendous waves that crash against the wooden structure and tease you with how easily you could be swept away into the depths of the dark waters, one blow strong enough being all it would take. it’s what frightened you as a child and what does the same even now, turned twenty a handful of moons ago. your chest quickens it’s breaths as your heartbeat rises along with the waves, panic twisting itself into your bloodstream and transporting itself to every nook and cranny of your tired bod.

you lay back, eyes squeezing shut as another roar of thunder rings from above, and clutch the blankets in your grasp, as if burying yourself in them will hide you from the world around you. two more claps of thunder and you spring out of bed, no time to process where your legs carry you towards until you feel the cold of the golden doorknob.

the flick of a lock has you pausing, hand clasping around the handle.

would he still have it locked on his side? surely, you think, there’s nothing the dragon prince must despise more than the thought of you having free-reign to step within his lair. swallowing your fleeting pride, you twist the handle and-

the door opens with an offensive creak.

“shh!” in a near future- as near as dawn- you’ll turn squeemish at the memory of how you’ve attempted to hush an object. but, for now, you’re too concerned with the sight that greets you.

the room is as you remember it: a bed, a flickering candle, a desk- though, it now carries a pile of abandoned leathers and trousers strown across it.

you tread carefully with your first step, a chill dancing on your spine while your foot presses against the cold wooden floors. with another step, you’re fully in his room, the ends of your shift pooling around you. you can’t bring yourself to close the door behind you, a tremble of doubt still in you.

upon the bed lays the slumbering dragon.

a normal woman, hot-blooded and lust-craven, would take delight in trailing her eyes over his exposed flesh, chest bare to the night as the blanket rests a few inches above his hipbones. you sooner notice his uncovered face, guilt awash your features as you spy the entirety of his scar for the first time.

pink, harsh, uneven. it’s hard to see clearly, yet the sight of it is enough to shoot sympathy pains through your own face, wonders of how a child could face such a traumatic laceration and survive it plaguing you. over your years in court you’d heard a vary of different tales of how the prince came to lose his eyes. some claimed vhagar, in all her might, had taken his eye as payment for becoming his mount. other rumours say he tore it out himself, an angry little boy who’d never gotten the attention he wanted finally driven to the brink of self-mutilation just to be seen.

the how matters little, you’ve always believed, the why seems far more important.

why must a young boy give up an eye, why mockery is made of his injury, why a scar not only dirtied his skin but marked him till the day he dies, that's what you'd love to know.

the unscathed eye opens.

the prince seems confused, face twisting the scarred side away from your view as he sits up right, squinting through the flickering light and the sleep-filled eyesight to make out your features. his hand shoots out to the side, scrambling along the bedside table.

“i’m so sorry!” you exclaim, mindful to keep your voice down as to not alert your knight, and turn around to face the emptiness of your own chambers, giving him the privacy needed to resit his eyepatch. “i just thought...”

there’s no end to your sentence, because you hadn’t thought.

“why are you awake, lady stark?” not how are you in my chambers, not how long were you looking at my scar.

just like you, he cares more for the why of things.

“i...” you shift your weight from one leg to another, and then back, stalling your reply as your hands come to rest in front of you, fingers intermingling and keeping each other company through the shame flooding your system. “i could not sleep.”

there’s rustling behind you, and then a muted thud. a crack of joints, rising from the bed. some more movement, fabrics slipping onto skin. you face away, still, and wait with baited breath for a reply or a dismissal back to your chamber of misery.

“so you decide to take away my right to rest?” the light from the candle dims and the familiar darkness of his shadow looms over you, large and all consuming and stretching till the top of its’s head rests within your room. “it’s safe to look. no more grotesque sights out in the open.”

his words make you feel sick, even if they’re inflated with humor and self-deprication. the need to reassure him his scar is not grotesque, nor shameful, nor something he should feel the need to cover- much less in the comfort of his own bed- dies when you fail to put it into words.

you choose only to face him once more, no words finding their way out upon the discovery that he’s not only dressed his face but his chest too, loose shirt thrown over his porcelain skin.

“your company, that is all i wish to take.” your voice finds you at last, returning to you with a cough and a crack. “i’d grown sick of staring at the ceiling, forgive me for awaking you.”

“i was not sleeping, regardless.” he’s lying, you both know it. neither of you address it. “my company is not one that rouses comfort in many. how strange you’ve chosen to seek it in your hour of need.”

that, too, is a lie.

within a breath of time, the prince has taken seat at his desk, chair turned towards where you sit upon the edge of his bed, crosslegged and heavy-eyed yet still so far away from the calling of sleep.

he entertains your talking, sitting back and listening as you dance around the true reason for your presence: your fear of the storm, of the boat and the storm above the boat.

as is the norm, he replied with little, hmms and yeahs and nods of approval to continue forward with whatever your next tale is. but it’s no use, as no amount of rambling and reminiscing your days of freedom and girlhood can seem to drag you into the arms of the mother, awaiting to send you to sleep with her sweet song and warm touch.

so your mind wanders a little less back in time, to when you’d already sworn vows and been broken in by your lord husband, and it latches onto that night. the one you’d spent years questioning if you’d dreamed it all- the unlit fire, the buzzing of your nerves, the head between your legs- or if it had been real. the prince had never spoken of it, had never made a repeated attempt at his indecent act, had never acted on his offer to show you more, touch you more.

“i can not sleep.” it tumbles out of you in a whisper as you replay the memory of awakening to the cold night and the warmth between your thighs. you uncross your legs, tucking them beneath the rump of your arse and attempting to distract yourself from the pulsing of your heart between your thighs.

the shift in position only serves to stroke the fire.

“i know, lady stark. it’s why you pulled me away from my own slumber a near hour past.” the prince speaks to you over the top of his book- which he’d picked up somewhere between your last rant on the chill of the walls of the keep and the silence your words had dissolved into- eye flickering over in your direction as if to let you know he sees you, all of you, even the way you’ve taken to clenching your thighs in the past few moments.

“help me.” desperation is a sin, your septa told you so all throughout your girlhood, tales of how it could drive a young maiden to seek from a man what only her husband must bring her: love, comfort, touch. and so you’d spent your days avoiding it, burying the sickly green feeling in your chest each time you’d spy upon a loving lord and lady, reminding yourself that you are a queen, and a queen wants for nothing, not even affection. the sin has been buried so far down it’s dug it’s roots into the ground and made home in you, however, and now you find yourself wanting. “tire me, please.”

“and how do you propose i do that?”

“you’ve done it,” his attention becomes more unnerving the more he gives you it, book snapping shut and discarded to the desk behind him. there’s a danger in his eye, one you’d only ever seen in the wolves as they preyed upon the sheep. “once. summers ago, the night you came to check upon me in my chambers.”

the silence is stifling, red hot feelings pulsing through your veins as the pale blue eye keeps it’s focus on you. the air is thicker, warmer, harder to take in through simple shallow breaths and forcing you to let your lips part, pulling in gasps of it just to cool your burning lungs. the ends of your night-dress dance over your calves while you readjust once more, doing anything to not acknowledge the unspoken events you’d just brought back to the light.

a part of you wishes he’d laugh in your face, or scowl in confusion, and send you back to your quarters with denials of such a thing ever having happened. the other part of you wants it to ring true to him.

so, you keep talking.

“whatever you did to me that night, how you made me feel, it exhausted me.” the sleep you recall, with the fire relit and door shut gently, was one of the greatest you’d ever gotten. “so please, i beg you, good-brother, do what you must to make me feel it again.”

gaze on the floor, you find your line of sight invaded by uncovered feet and swallow back a series of exclamations when realising he’s risen from his chair. a hand, one who’s softness you can recall from holding it in a waltz, grasps the point of your chin, tilting your head back, back, back till you meet his stare.

there’s no confusion in his expression, only hunger.

“are you asking me to make you cum again, my lady?” the words are so dirty, unfiltered for the ears of a highborn lady, and they have you squirming in your seat. the prince only watches, fascinated, like he’s studying you the same ways he’d studied the inner-workings of the ship these past few weeks.

“don’t...” your protest ends before it can begin, his fingers holding your face in place as your try turn away from him. “don’t say it like that. it’s so... crass.”

“you are harlot enough to ask such services from your husband’s brother,” for all his aloofness, there’s no disguising the pleasure he takes out of reminding you of aegon and how he ties you both as family by law and duty. if anything, you think, the one-eyed prince enjoys the shame it’s casting upon you, the humiliation with which you’re forced to stare up at him with, glossy eyes and trembling lips. “yet you shy away when i call things as they are. did you not enjoy how my mouth on your cunt drove you to your peak, good-sister?”

the hand on your face travels upwards, cold as it cups your warmed cheek. his thumb soothes over you in a calming manner, yet it only serves to unnerve you more, heart beating against the confines of your ribcage and begging to break free, deliver itself right into his palms.

aemond steps closer, till his knees brush the end of his bed and his body heat mingles with your own. he’s calm, collected and ever so eager to touch his thumb along the tender petals of your lips.

the pressure of his touch is greater than any kiss you’ve taken from the king.

“please, aemond...” you plead. the meaning behind it is lost in the night, neither the prince nor yourself sure of what exactly you’re begging for: release from his hold or release via his touch.

“a lady shouldn’t beg, ‘tis beneath her,” the smell of his hair, his clothes, his skin, it crowds your senses as the light of the candle halos around him. the targaryen line have always been a thing of beauty, men of delicate features and women of striking looks, yet they all fall mute to this dragon, broken in the eye of many, ethereal in those who actually look. the sudden appearance of his hand touching your calf jolts you, thighs clenching and face fighting his grip once more. “but, gods, do you sound pretty when you do.”

this is a greater torture than any prisoner of war.

the touches that never quite reach where you want them, the heat of his gaze falling over your heaving chest, the twitch of a grin upon his lips that mocks your wanton desires. the prince holds you in the palms of his hands, literally, yet is choosing to do nothing about it, admiring the sight of you as you twitch and squirm and shrivel up beneath his watch.

the descent of his hand is slow, thumb brushing over your bottom lip. the prince repeats the action, if only to see the way it bounces back into place after he releases it, and then continues his journey south. fluttering traces of skin against your neck, caresses of fingers over collarbones, gentle soothes of hands over the tops of your mounds.

there’s no denying your racing heart as the prince cups the fullness of your chest.

“why are you- oh!” the question is stolen before it fully forms, your eyes widening as you feel a delicious sting as his lithe fingers pinch at your nipple. it’s a feeling you never knew was possible, the twisting of the twin buds shooting blood to your core and causing your pupils to blossom with lust.

“i see my brother still wastes away your pleasure in sake of his own.” he delights in how you’ve unknowingly started forcing yourself further into his touch, back arching and shoving your chest forward. “you’d think that, with all the whores he’s taken to bed, he’d have learnt something in regards to a woman’s body by now.”

a normal wife would weep at accusations of her husband’s infidelity. she would wretch her heart out her chest and proclaim herself incapable of trusting, loving, taking another for the remainder of her days as she dealt with casting aside her lord’s indiscretions in benefit of their children.

you cry for your husband’s brother to touch you more.

and oh how he obeys, the disappointment of losing his touch on your right breast quickly coerced away at the glide of his touch down, down, down, till the tips of his fingers dance over the crease of your thighs, brushing over the mound of curls that lay hidden beneath the thin layers of your night shift.

“aem-“ you choke on his name, too sensitive and neglected to process the way he presses his finger against that precious pearl of yours. aegon, for the life of him, had tried once to stroke his forefinger against it- amid rythimless humps into you from behind- and had failed miserably, giving up with a huff and an exclaim of how you must be so boring the mother never blessed you with the nerves of ecstasy. if only he were here to witness how seamlessly his brother finds it, coaxing the floodgates to open and spread over your aching cunny.

the prince giveth and the prince taketh away, hands abandoning their glorious touch upon your body. before you can make so much as a protest or a demand against it, both hands land on your waistline. two squeezes he gives, the second tighter than the first, and it somehow works to calm that chill down your spine, a reassurance that he’s there, and only him.

in a shocking juxtaposition, his grip serves to flip you over effortlessly.

facing the sheets below, you struggle out a cacophony of sounds as you scramble to pull yourself up, only to be met with the shove of his hand against the middle of your back, pinning your front to the mattress beneath as the other hand pulls you onto your knees, arse up in the air.

“i told you i could teach you things, my lady.” the confirmation is there, even if he’s not stating it explicitly. the night in your chambers was true, his tongue on your cunt and his fingers gripping your skin and his stare between your legs, none of it had been a work of your tired mind. it both delights and disgusts you, that same old lick of shame ringing in your ear with the reminiscence of your septa’s lectures on a woman’s duty in the bedchambers: please her husband and give him an heir, both of which you’re yet to do. “best it will be if i start with the basics of how a man and woman move, don’t you agree?”

you’ve hardly the capability to nod your head, but you doubt he’s searching for a true response anyway.

the bed dips behind you, creaking with the added weight of him atop it. he mounts you like a horse, slotting himself between the spreading of your legs and nestling something solid against your cheeks of your rump.

it’s a position you know all too well, the very same as the one aegon puts you in when he decides to inact his royal duties against your disillusioned body.

“this is how a lord takes his whore,” he speaks into the night and steals your breath away with one simple roll of his hips. there’s fabrics and cloths that separate your arousal from his hardened cock yet you feel it all the same, warm and heavy and so real as it drags itself over the dripping slit of your cunt. “it’s impersonal, perfect for a man who wishes to think of another’s face as he fills a woman’s cunt.”

the pressure of him becomes a constant, that rubs and soothes and works it’s way over you. it’s only a grinding of bodies yet the sensation is greater than any the king has given you with his rancid cock twisting your insides uncomfortably.

“but it also allows a man to rut deeper, to fuck up against her crest till he’s spilling his seed into her empty womb.” it’s an embarrassing truth to realise how calm the prince sounds behind you, breathing even and hands solid in their grip against you, while you’re a mess of whimpered breaths and grinding hips, working sloppily back against his thrusts and trying your damn hardest to get him to graze over your aching pearl.

you’d gladly commit the rest of your waking days to the faith of the seven, handing yourself over to the so called silent sisters, never to know life away from doing the stranger’s biding if it meant aemond would touch you properly, no night dress and breeches to block the contact of his skin on yours.

if this is how the prince mounts his whores’, you envy the ladies of the silk street- a feat you never imagined possible, with all of your husband’s ventures into their beds- for even the sheer grinding of his body against the back of yours feels greater than any night you’ve spent with your head shoved into the bed below, aegon’s senseless battering against your womanhood leaving you numb with dissatisfaction.

“is this how my brother fucks you, lady stark?” the prince’s hand presses down on your midback, shoving you into the sheets. you twist your head to the side, if only to keep the air flow in your lungs, and startle over a moaned wail as the man behind you ruts into you deeper, brushing right over your cotton covered mound down to your aching bud.

he repeats the same action, once and then twice, your mind dragged too far off into the rolling waves of pleasure to pay mind to his wandering hand, pulling on the thin material of your nightdress and tugging it upwards

the cool air does little to soothe the burning between your thighs.

“do you get this soaked for the king?” it shouldn’t arouse you to hear him speak of aegon whilst he’s bucking his covered cock against you. but, could you really be blamed when he lets his hand join in, skilled digits finding your pearl and pressing into it?

“n-no...” shaky breaths take over your bod as you do your utmost best to appear as calm and collected as the man behind you. it’s cruel how you’re a dripping pile of lust whilst he remains soft-voiced and level-headed. “he’s no good at- ah!- no good at touching.”

you both hear and feel the prince laugh.

“it takes a man a certain hours of dedication to his craft to become an expert at it,” the thrusting of his hips ceases, yet he makes no attempt to stop the stroke of his fingers over your pulsing centre, soaking his perfect skin in your sinful essence. “i don’t think all the time in the world would be suffice to teach aegon how to please his wife.”

you want to agree, want to nod your head, but you’re too caught up in staring back him over your shoulder. clothes perfectly intact- spare for a few wrinkles in his shirt you’re certain were not there before-, his hair threatens to fall loose from the tie that holds it out his face, silver strands falling over his face. which, for once, is anything but stoic, eye blown wide with darkened desires, lips locked tight in a teasing smirk, brows furrowed with the concentration he bestows unto you.

it’s a vision to behold, a man carved to the perfection of a marbled statue.

it leaves you all the more relieved to feel him take hold of your hips once more, the traces that remain of your arousal on his skin now soaking into the fabrics of your shift as he flips you over.

landing on your back with a squeak, you welcome the sight of him staring down at you.

his hands remain cold against you, gripping at the meat of your thighs and forcing your legs apart, till he slots in like a missing puzzle piece, completing the image of you, hair splayed out around you and eyes hooded over in a tired haze of pleasure.

he somehow feels harder than before as he gives the first roll of his hips.

“this,” a crack in his composure, a sharp intake of breath as you trap him between your legs, nothing but pure want driving you to arch your back and meet his thrust halfway. he composes himself. “is how a husband should take his wife.”

you’re flushed with shame, watching as the prince’s stature comes crashing down onto you, like a wave meets the shore, washing over you with his scent, his warmth and the feel of his chest pressing down on yours.

a tilt of your head to the right and you’d find an answer to whether his lips are as soft as they look.

your head turns left.

“it’s the proper way to fornicate,” the words lack that spark of dirtied excitement, spat out of him as though it pains him to say such a thing. “at least the septas would have you women believe. something about letting your husband own you and watch your face as he claims your body for not only himself but the future of his lineage too.”

his words are whispers, mouth mere inches from your ear. a new pace is found between you both, one where his hips grind down and yours buck up, two planks of wood that burst into flame with the adding of a little friction.

the prince’s hands seem restless, unable to settle on a part of your body to focus on. if they’re not squeezing at your hips, they’re crawling up beneath the skirt of your dress, rucking it higher till you’re sure to be staining the front of his trousers with your slick. if he’s not cupping the side of your face in a futile attempt to have you face him, he’s winding his way down your neck, your chest, your breast, kneeding his fingers into them.

it’s when you throw your head back in a shallow gasp that aemond chooses to add his mouth into the mix, latching onto your neck. it’s warm, as warm as you remember it being the night he’s pressed it to your cunt, and it’s with sheer relief that comes along with realising that night had all been true- not a fictitious event conjured by your cruel mind to drive you mad- that you feel yourself begin to let loose.

your leg winds around his hip, pulling him deeper into you with each thrust.

“aemond, please,” there you go again with the mindless pleading, no clue of what you’re asking of him nor the effect your desperate whines have on him. the man answers with a tightened grip on your thigh, fingernails digging crescents into your skin and branding you for any to see- even that good-for-nothing husband of yours that he calls brother. “more.”

luckily, the prince knows what you’re wanting, knows what it is you’re trying so hard to achieve.

unfortunately, he’s not in a position to provide you with it.

“i can’t give you more, good-sister,” his voice is no longer that composed one from before, a mixture of heavy breathing and chocked groans littered across them. “a woman must take no seed other than her husband’s. i will not sully you beneath the eyes of the seven.”

you wish to argue he’s done worse, taken you in an impure act of meaningless lust, tongue and teeth and fingers working over your core till the dam broke and the gates were flooded with the essence of your peak. even now, he does worse, by showing you the pleasure that could be in your life, should be in your life, if only the fates had gifted you more fortune.

instead, you opt for reminding him of earlier words.

“whores bed men who they are not married to all the time,” in a cruel act of silencing you, the prince has taken to peppering kisses down the length of your neck, the top of your chest, eye watching you intently the whole time. “why... why can’t i do the same?”

instead of an answer, his mouth finds your stiffened nipple.

with your shift still in the way, he latches himself onto the bud, lips suckling it into his waiting mouth. your hand, no longer in your control, flies to the back of his head, tangling itself in the strands. a sharp tug and it’s now the prince who is a mess of sinful noises, eye watching your reaction as he brings his tongue into the mix, stroking the skilled muscle with precision.

your eyes clamp shut and, all at once, you’re back in the dark of your chambers, his tongue lapping at your soaked centre and his hand grasping your own, guiding you through the first taste of adulterated satisfaction.

“because,” he mumbles, lips unwilling to part from you and thus forcing you to squirm through the way his lips brush over your chest with every word they form. “you’re not a whore. and i will not treat you like one.”

and yet he’ll rut into you harder, slower, teasing you with the outline of his stiff manhood, condemning you to a life where you’ll spend the rest of your days torn between hating him for giving you a taste but not a bite. and he’ll leave you with the memory of how his lips can pucker and his tongue can twist and turn, rubbing your nipple raw with the chafing of your night dress.

it feels crueler than anything he may have done in the years when the dragons danced.

“what if,” you swallow back a particularly pathetic whine that threatens to spill as the tip of him bumps against your pulsing pearl. “i want you to?”

in all her septa’s tutoring on the many duties of a married woman- remaining seen but never heard by her husband’s side in public settings, tending to her husband’s needs and desires, baring children so that her husband’s legacy shall live on even once he is dirt in the ground-, never had the possibility of a woman putting her own desires first been mentioned. and so, to do so now, legs spread and bent at the knee, chest heaving with every breath you fight to take in, the very centre of you dripping with molten liquid that stains his breeches with every roll of his hips, it all feels wrong, dirty, sinful.

the prince would stop, if you asked, and you know this.

you don’t ask.

aemond halts with a grunt and burrows his head into the crook of his shoulder, breath dancing on your skin and the weight of his cock pressing right down into you. his chest pushes against your own with every breath you both take. fingers intertwined, hands coming to rest between your beating hearts, the act feels more intimate than any you’ve shared with aegon.

“don’t say such things.” at first, he sounds angered, tone low and threatening as he mumbles into your skin. his grip tightens around your hand, near painful, and he grinds himself further down into you, a whimpered sound killing any level of danger he possessed. “i’ll become selfish and take what i want instead of focusing on what you need.”

to live in a world where this man, beauty carved into every inch of his skin and spirit stronger than any lord or castle, denies himself of what he desires seems impossible.

“then take it,” your free hand winds it’s way around his body, rumpling the shirt he wears in it’s iron grip, urging him closer despite the lack of space existing between you. “i’m offering myself to you, aemond. it’s not selfish.”

there’s an exciting aggression behind the way he tears himself away from you, feet returning to the floor as he rises to a stand. grabbing at your ankle, a harsh tug is all it takes to get you to the foot of the bed and tangled in his hold once more, those muscles he trains showing their benefits in the way he so carelessly, effortlessly lifts you off, nails digging into the skin of your thigh to hold you against him. dropping himself back on the bed, the prince sits you down, legs spread out on either side of him as you come to rest within his waiting lap.

his cock presses up between your thighs, the shape, length, girth more defined than ever as the thin material of his breeches sits between your aching arousals. he’s bunched your shift up till it’s a mess of fabrics pooling around your waist, leaving your bottom half naked and exposed to cool air of the night. aemond makes sure you stay warm, icy finger gripping at the flesh on your hips and rolling them forwards, the lips of your opening spreading to make room for his length.

he repeats his action several more times, eye staring deep into your own like they hold all the answers to the unasked questions and forbidden needs in his life. squeeze, pull, grind, a pattern of three moves he’s dancing with your body, and it’s intoxicating to witness, stare down at his face as he lets his brow furrow and his lips part in silent moans and his chest heaves for every breath of air.

“if... if the two before were how a lord takes a whore and a husband takes his wife,” you decide it’s been too long since he spoke and you miss the way his typically dutiful words melt away to make way for sin and longing, spewing filth your septa would have had his tongue cut out for. “what’s this one?”

“this is how a woman claims a man.”

his answer does something to you, awakening a part of you you’d closed off for years after that night. you’ve lost all autonomy over your actions as your body takes manners into its own grasp and you begin to grind down against him as one hand tangles itself in the locks of moonlight silver hair.

the prince throws his head back when you accidentally tug on it.

“is that what you like, prince aemond?” confident movements, shy words. you’re so incredibly aware that you’ve no real clue what you’re doing, driving on lustful instinct with no clear direction ahead. “the woman in charge?”

you must have struck a nerve for the prince is quick to level his own head and tighten his grip on you once more, the sting of skin breaking under his nails delicious in all the wrong ways. you hope he draws blood, hope he leaves your hips marked with thin scars.

“a woman empowered is not the same as a woman in charge,” he punctuates his words with the returned control over you, fighting against your own body to grind you down over him however he likes. which, apparently, excludes your pearl from joining in on the fun, neglected with each roll of your hips. “don’t be mistaken. i like watching a woman take what she needs from me, i like to see her eyes roll back with her head and her mouth spew out incoherent filth as she cums around my cock. but it’s no fun if i’m not the one controlling what she does and when she does it.”

it’s not hard to picture the prince with a multitude of women- likely the whispering ladies of the king’s court who like to spin tales on how good of a lover he is-, his hands around their bodies as he fucks them from beneath, throwing them off the edge of ecstasy.

the picture turns you green-eyed, jealous of the ones who he places no limit over, the ones he desires enough to break his honour for.

“now, please lady stark,” he heaves a sigh, cold hand trailing over your hip and down to the center of your legs, digits smoothing over the groomed curls of coarse hair till the chill of them greet your burning pearl. “i need to make you cum, or else neither of us will be getting any sleep.”

there’s no time to dwell on how his words make you feel less desirable and more like a nuisance, a wanton woman who ruined his slumber and demanded he give her the relief only his older brother should be giving her. there’s no time for he’s refamiliarising himself with you quicker than expected, taking advantage of the angle you hover over him in to breech a single digit into your warm, silken hole.

“ah!” you squeak out when his finger reaches deeper than anything you’ve felt before, pressing upon your gummy walls at a new angle.

he shushes you, pulling the finger out ever so slightly before fucking it back in. its only a few more times that he does this before your eyes are widening and a second of his fingers is slipping it’s way into you. in a motion you may only describe as come hither, the two press into your walls and coax whimpered delight out of you.

the prince is eager to see you like this, your head thrown back when you feel his fingers spread inside you, stretching your insides so different to the painful jabs the king’s cock has ever given you. perhaps, you think, if this is what cuppling felt like- truly is meant to be- you could understand why such a thing was a sin, for it would be far too easy to renounce your loyalty to the seven and, instead, spend your days worshipping whomever could play your body like their favorite instrument.

“aemond...” there’s a tightening of something in your guts, twisting and turning and threatening to snap under the pressure of his hands, crotch, touch against you. you feel the need to chase it, to run toward it, yet simultaeniosuly it frightens you. the night within your chambers had been slow, a gentle coax into letting yourself come undone around fingers and tongue. tonight, it’s urgent and desperate and something he’s near forcing your body to experience, no proper build up to get you ready to feel yourself float into those moments of pure ecstasy.

“i know, i know.” his words are soothing, just like the free hand that comes to smooth the hair on the top of your head, pulling you right into him till you’re tucked in his arms and hidden from the world within his warm chest. “just let yourself go, don’t fight it.”

his thumb against your pearl is all it takes to have the floodgates open.

you cum for the first time in years around his fingers, your cries muted against his skin as the prince continues to work you through it, not a single protest to the way you’ve stained his breeches nor soaked his hand.

there’s a possibility you cry out his name, or choke on your own whimpers, or cry pathetically, but the sound never reaches your ears as the prince cradles you to his chest, holding your shaken body captive against him. it’s far less intense than the euphoria he’d sent you off into all those years ago, and thus you feel robbed of everything you know his tongue is capable of doing.

but the exhaustion is the same, crashing over you in waves of heavy eyes and relaxed limbs, sinking yourself deeper into your guardian. wordlessly, he drags you both up the bed till his head hits a pillow.

a shift of your leg reminds you of his untouched arousal.

sluggishly, you fight against the calls of lady sleep and scramble to sit yourself up, hands shooting straight for his crotch. you revel in the intake of breath he gives as you brush over the bulge, yet you whine as his own hands fight you off.

“no,” his protests are firm, unlike your tired attempts to untie the laces of his breeches, hands halted when his own grasp them and pull them towards his heaving chest. you struggle against his hold, head shaking in protest. “stop this at once, lady stark.”

“but you need to...” heat spreading over your face, neck, just about anywhere it can get to, you can’t bring yourself to say the words that dance between you both, despite the remnants of your own liquid pleasure still painted on his fingers. you need to cum.

the prince understands, even if you can’t bring yourself to say it.

“and you need to rest.” he hushes you, pulling your tired limbs into his and tangling them, till you find your head resting atop his chest and his hand stroking over your back in a well practiced dance, soothing your every ailment without a single word of false comfort nor practiced poised filling the void between you both. “you can sleep sound here, the waves can’t catch you and the storm can’t harm you. i promise, i’ll fight them off before they can reach you.”

though you try to fight it, his soft whispers work greater than any sleep elixir and your eyes close within his chambers, the weight of the prince’s body and the heat it radiates enough to lull you into a state of golden comfort, the sound of his breathing drowning out the storm that rages on outside.

when they reopen, an empty bed and your own chamber walls greet you.

watching you is making him dizzy.

the hall is filled by laughter and cheer, an earnest warmth radiating from the cold northerners as they dance beneath the candlelight. while the feasts in king’s landing are grandiose and glittering with every golden dish, the wedding of cregan stark will remain an engraved memory on the prince’s brain till the day he should pass, the energy within the room happier than any he’s bared witness to before. the wedding itself had been short and sweet, straight to the point and unionising the warden of the north to his lady in a matter of a half’s hour, a cheer for the couple’s kiss before the party had been rushed indoors, out of the cold and into their assigned seats. he’d gritted his teeth at the fact you and aegon had not sat the same table as him, being the sister of lord stark meaning you and your husband were required to sit at the couple’s table. to make matters worse, he’d found himself seated with his empty eye socket facing you, daeron to the right of him and some southern lord on his left.

he’s kept an eye on you from the minute you entered his eye-line, hand grasped in your brother’s and a smile upon your face. it’s hard to think of the smiles you do not bare in the capital, trading the toothy grin for a tight-lipped curve of your lips. the resentment for his oldest brother- one that had first sparked to life in the early days of his childhood- grows greater to think he’s the reason why it’s taken the prince this long to witness how your eyes light up with true joy.

your brother’s arms rise into the air, inviting you to twirl beneath his hold, the skirt of your dress billowing out in front of you- it’s blue, a colour you’ve always worn best. the cups of wine you’d taken throughout the night must have hit you at once for, not even three spins in, you appear to trip over your own foot, stumbling right into another dancing couple, of whom the lady steadies your fall and guides you back to balance. the four of you break out in laughter he can not hear.

it must be infectious for he too finds himself producing a chuckle.

“i’m sorry, my ears must be deceiving me, for i swear i just heard you laugh.” daeron has always stood to represent everything the prince could have been, were the fates not cruel and his childhood not crippling. now more than ever, he contemplates the possibility of shoving his brother’s head into the table.

“hmm.” there’s no answer he can give that will lead him to victory in this verbal battle with his younger brother, and so he settles for a dismissive humm.

back on the dancefloor, he finds you no longer stand hand in hand with your brother- whom has found his way over to the welcoming arms of his new bride and finds himself stuck in a locking of lips, pulling away only to mumble what the prince imagines to be sweet nothings and foul words only a husband and wife may share- and, are instead, now making your way over in his direction.

like a beacon of light in the darkness, you shine as you walk through the crowd, eyes meeting his and a smile so shy he struggles to believe you’re the same woman who’d taken a place within his bed only nights before. ignoring the teasing of daeron, the one-eyed prince comes to rise, well prepared for an evening where he’ll entertain your wishes to dance till his feet ache, and takes his first step towards you, a familiar tingle dancing atop his spine and the beating of his heart growing louder with your proximity. only a few more steps and-

a hand clamps down on his shoulder, halting him.

“tonight, dear brother, i should like to dance with my wife.” the voice comes from behind him, but the lick of disdain and the smell of wine tells him enough. “i’m aware you lack your own bride, maybe use this time to dance with some maidens and find yourself one. mother would be overjoyed.”

the sight of the king leading you out onto the floor, those who circle you gawking and swooning at the sight of the ruler of the realm and his lady wife intertwined in dance, acts as a bitter reminder the prince would do well to never forget.

you are his brother’s wife, and that is all you will ever be.

the truth has a funny way of revealing itself.

it’s a fact you come to learn sat across the table from the queen mother, teacup in hand and ears spying upon the occasional coo from helaena’s young babe, tucked neatly in his mother’s arms as he drinks all her teat has to offer, the woman herself still wearing the face of exhaustion two moons after the birth had taken place.

“aegon was my favourite to deal with as a babe.” alicent speaks with hush, like she’s sharing a secret just for you girls to listen upon. “he was so easy, always smiling. i remember being so scared that everything i done was wrong, still so young myself, but one look at him and i knew not everything i done could be wrong, not if what i’d birthed him.”

“the wind has changed it’s way, the babe has fallen out it’s cradle.” helaena speaks her riddle, hand reaching to smooth over the three tuffs of moonlight hair on the boy’s head. “aegon never smiles anymore, mother. you must hate him now.”

your dear sister-by-marriage is a braver soul than you’d ever be, daring to smile at her mother even after bringing up, though only through insinuation, the events of three evenings past where aegon, angered from gods no what had transpired between him and his younger brother during a small council meeting, had sat the dining table and slated the one-eyed prince all night, going so far as to toast his lack of appearance at the family feast.

his malice ceased only as alicent herself shot out her seat, hands slamming down on the table and swearing to take both her elder son’s eyes if he dared mock his brother’s imparement once more.

he’d taken you to bed that evening, though toppled over his own breeches amidst removing them and left himself a snoring mess on the floor, too close for comfort as you crept your way out the marital chambers and down the winding roads to the empty library.

it was the maester himself who discovered you the next day, noon already in full swing and a stack of books in his hands as he let out an exclaim upon spying your resting form. moments after, he’d appeared behind the elderly man, eye-patch in place and face stoic.

the prince left abruptly, before you’d gotten the chance to bid him good day.

“i never got to thank you, lady alicent, for sending prince aemond up north on the boat.” maybe it’s an excuse to talk about him, maybe it’s a way to steer the conversation away from the king’s ill-manners. you’re fearful to consider the later ringing more true. still, it feels nice to say his name aloud again. “i’m sure the prince would have much preferred his seat upon vhagar, but his presence was greatly appreciated. just knowing he was there brought me as great a comfort as having my husband there.”

never has your good-mother looked so confused.

“i... i’m afraid i’m not sure what you mean, my darling.” the words drop like a led weight, crushing your ribcage and flattening your beating heart as it fights to stay alive. “while it’s true that i encouraged aemond to accompany you on the ship, it was only after he himself offered to. quite adamintly, might i add. i did not force aemond’s hand in any way."

across a courtyard, palm sweating as he grasps the hilt of the sword of a man he’d slain not so long ago- dark sister, he believes they called it- aemond hacks at a dumby stuffed with hay, each blow a metophorical slice through the king’s words from weeks ago.

i should like to dance with my wife.

dance with my wife.

my wife.

#aemond targaryen smut #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen oneshot #aemond targaryen fluff #aemond targaryen angst #aemond targaryen fic #aemond targaryen imagine #house of the dragon smut

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onlyseokmins · 12 days

Text

$$60 billion (part 2) • l.s.m.

How did a legendary bounty promised for turning in the wasteland's most infamous outlaw transform into a sick, little inside betting joke amongst your traveling companions? Though you have no idea why they're doing it… you sure as hell don't want that very same gunslinger comrade worth sixty billion double dollars to know anything about it either — but oops — looks like he already does! Damn you and your temper, some unhelpful lip-loosening alcohol, and one no-good, sorry excuse of a preacher you sometimes think of as a friend.

Pairing: outlaw!lee seokmin x fem!reader Genres: smut (minors dni!), trigun!au, action!au, apocalyptic/post-apocalyptic!au, space western!au, slight enemies to comrades to ??? !au, angst, fluff, they're dumbasses your honor 🙏 Warnings: swearing, blood, guns, injuries, medical tingz, destruction, mentions of knives, violence, unsettling space western things, slight body horror and hints at altered dna, weird religious cults, mentions of eating/food, alcohol, threats, bets among friends, tame-ish alien/monster/plant sex (????? listen it'll make sense - think of him like howl's bird form on steroids idk), mating, possessiveness!, marking, bruising, jealousy, smelling/scent kink???, wet messy sex uwu, wing kink (??? listen i was gonna explore it more but decided not to ok??), BITING (bc it's me), mechanical/robotic fingering???, gagging, bulge kink, oral sex (explicit male receiving and brief fem. receiving), seokmin's dick is like SLOPPY TOPPY LORGE w/ a mind of it's own, lowkey forgot how to write smut sorry </3 WC: 13.2k of 32.7k | Part 1 | Read on AO3 A/N: this is for the Now that's 90's - A Seventeen collab and loosely based off/inspired by the Trigun anime/manga! You do not need to know it as I manipulated a whole lot of elements for my own narrative but beware of various spoilers if you do go ahead and check out the series after reading!! I hope everyone enjoys the conclusion and please check out the other writers in this amazing collab ❤️PS, I know nothing abt chess lmaooooo but let me know your thoughts and feel free to ask any questions regarding this au's intricacies!! This part might get a little confusing because of a flashback!! (starts right after the italicized paragraph and ends with "...in this moment...")

The silence is palpable.

"Does it hurt more to get stabbed in the back or shot?"

Only the continual rustling sound answers your philosophical question. Not that you actually care because you weren't really expecting a reply.

So, you keep talking.

"I think it would be more painful to get stabbed… but it would take longer to heal from a gunshot wound."

There's a brief pause in the motions behind you. But the quiet resumes, though the practiced skill of a needle threading through your skin quickens. While the local anesthetics Tonim's doctor supplied is doing its job for the most part, you swear you can still feel the tug of flesh being sewn together.

Or maybe you're just thinking too hard.

"Look. I'm… I'm sorry."

If tension could personify itself right at this moment, it would do so with ease, given how heavy its presence currently sits in the room. A low voice finally speaks up, gravely and roughened after such a long period of silence and the hairs on your neck rise.

"Are you really?"

"… Yes."

A heavy sigh — one burdened with all the worries of the world — follows. You wince and then tremble, wishing you could turn around. It's easy to guess what he's thinking but god, do you wish you could see his face to confirm. The fear of the unknown paralyzes you.

"I seriously am."

"Doubtful. I know you only asked me that question to subtly say you'll be okay and heal just fine but it's not that simple."

The callousness in his tone and the sharp way he says your first name makes you want to shrink down, shrivel up, and quite frankly die on the spot. Gritting your teeth, you succumb to the apparent silent treatment until the snip of scissors signifies your surgeon has finished treating you.

You think twice about your options upon hearing the click-clack of medical supplies being put back into the first aid kit. Then you think, "fuck it!", and use your good arm to keep the fabric of a spare t-shirt pressed against your chest and shift so you can face the man who just rather aggressively threw a handful of unused alcohol prep pads back into their designated slot.

"I'm super duper, utterly, and truly apologetic, Seok."

The gunslinger heaves another grand exhale of irritation. He doesn't even so much as glance at you, frowning sourly down at the roll of gauze in his hands instead. The temptation to reach out and touch him — soothe him — is strong but you decide against that (for various reasons) and resort to huffily pouting instead. Amazingly it seems to work, because he notices right away and folds way too easily without much of your sway, finally facing you with a reluctant but serious expression.

"Then what did you learn?"

Your gaze lowers, eyelashes fluttering while you drown in your feelings of shame and wrack your brain. The urge to toy with the silver chain around your neck is strong though you resist the tick and hesitantly answer instead.

"Um, that I need to fortify my mental block better?"

"Try again."

"Uh…"

"How about the way you're not supposed to play the hero?"

The tin of the trauma kit rattles as Seokmin slams his left hand down on the bed, leaning menacingly toward you. Though narrowed, his eyes seem to glow. You can't help but whimper at the intense ire dancing in those irises paired with his sharp tone. Like the desert's suns, it simmers and radiates off of him with rays of heat that you can easily feel given how close he is.

"I'm, I'm sorry!"

"No, you're not," he states sharply though the rigidness in his body relaxes after your squeak of another apology. "You almost died!"

You'd defiantly cross your arms if you could. "Between the two of us, you were most at risk of dying."

"Was not! And we both know my chances of injury are much, much lower than yours."

"You can't lecture me and flex your stupid powers this time! It's different 'cause Jihooon was fuckin' with my mind."

The harsh bitterness is more so directed at yourself and the damned Crimsonnail than Seokmin. But as usual, you vent all your frustrated emotions out on him, especially whenever he brings up the fragility of your mortality. You both stare stubbornly into each other's eyes, thinking back to what happened and what could've happened.

Lina's protected. The Tonim residents were all immobilized. Seungcheol, Seungkwan, and Mingyu are in good spirits. You are safe.

A burst of air rushes into Seokmin's lungs, relief filling him as he idly scans your figure for injuries. Casually reloading his revolver just in case, he beams as you approach. The mirrored expression of victory on your face accompanied by a hand reaching out causes his whole body to shudder in pleasure. There's nothing he'd like more than to intertwine his fingers with yours.

Instead, he settles for returning your enthusiastic fist bump. Nudging his shoulder against yours, Seokmin chirps out, "Good job, partner!"

"Partner?"

"Yeah, partners."

You shake your head like you can't believe him, amusement tilting up the corners of your lips. He wants to tell you everything, all of it. But his ears catch the faint click of a contraption behind him and he looks over his shoulder just in time to see Jihoon's crossbow assemble.

Joshua looks mightily displeased but makes no effort to put a stop to the Crimsonnail's actions. Seokmin can only thank his lucky stars that Soonyoung remains in a catatonic state. Dealing with a ginormous worm so soon after being in its stomach a couple days ago was not appealing in the slightest.

The fingers of his prosthesis splay out, cybernetic arm lowered and extended outwards in front of you as you turn around as well. He knows you hate unwarranted protection but you'll have to forgive his instincts this time. Nevertheless, he trusts you. And as Jihoon opens fire, Seokmin leaps into action, expecting you to do the same — only to do a double-take when you don't move despite a flurry of nails breaching the air.

Your eyes remain unfocused. Glazed over and cloudy, posture tense but still. He sneaks observatory looks your way from afar while firing Geranium. Round after round, breaking nail after nail to prevent any harm befalling you. A maniacal laughter rings out and Seokmin freezes, putting two and two together.

Then he snarls.

Jihoon must've sicced his killing intent — a nasty ability to project and create illusions of destruction in someone and break their will — on you. Cursing, he starts making his way closer to you, inwardly reaching out to you and begging that you'll break free of the blonde-haired man's clutch on your psyche.

You're obviously more than capable. He knows this. But your movements are sluggish, slowly releasing Sirocco from your grasp. The empty pistol lands on the sand with a muffled thud and Seokmin's pretty sure his heart mimics it. A look of terror and horror spreads across your facial features, surely subject to something awful within the confines of your own mind.

And while you're experiencing visions of things you fear coming true, he's stuck in the vivid reality where they do.

You spin around with a wild look in your eyes — full of rage and anguish. He stumbles back as you teeter one foot at a time toward him and in the distraction, a nail pierces right below your shoulder blade.

Someone wails behind him.

You scream.

Seokmin rushes forward. But he's tackled suddenly to the ground and ends up flat on his back. Completely winded and left with his vision smarting, blinking in confusion at the blurry double halos that definitely shouldn't be around the duo of suns in the sky.

Then your face comes into focus. And god, forget the suns — in all your glory and in all your fierceness, you shine brighter than them all combined — hallucinations be damned.

It takes a bit of wrangling around, given how you try to wrestle and pin the man down. The clunky gun you're waving around goes off several times, harmlessly lodging bullet holes into the sand cushioning around Seokmin's head.

"Stop it, you're gonna hurt yourself!"

Moving and lashing out like a wild animal before it's fully sedated, his words don't come through the hellish haze Jihoon's trapped you in. You pull the trigger with no regard for the injury to your shooting arm.

Bang!

He dutifully counts each round fired, multitasking between that and the effort it takes to contain your struggling movements. Once again, thanks to the overpowered strength of his prosthetic, the man's finally able to sit up with you secured in his arms to cease any further movement.

"Lovely, lovely mayfly," he murmurs. The stable cybernetic hand gently feels around the impaled shoulder while a trembling thumb rubs your abnormally chilled cheek. "C'mon and snap out of it, pretty."

Not a spot of recognition in your blank glare. His eyebrows furrow as cold metal presses in between them. Seungcheol is cursing, Mingyu and Seungkwan are shouting loudly. Jihoon gloats.

But none of that matters. Seokmin drowns all of it out by diving in the pooling depths of your empty irises. Searching, calling, begging. Biting his lip, he delivers a quick slap and pleads, "Come back to me, love."

And like a mist that rises after dawn, you return to him. Your stunned grip on the gun falters, the final bullet rattling in its chambers. The pained expression on your face slices open his own heart but its shredded form takes flight in utter relief.

You're back. You're going to be okay — he'll make sure of it. And even if you don't know it, you're his and he's yours.

"Y-you're dead," you choke out and all he can do is smile despite feeling like he's on the verge of crying. Elation, anger, guilt, hope, longing, worry, joy — all of it turns and tosses within him like a rustling flurry of winged creatures struggling to break free.

So, he smiles at you and grasps the barrel of the old pistol aimed at his forehead. "I know, mayfly."

Jihoon howls in fury. Joshua finally steps forward, striking a military pose with his hands behind his back. Composed as ever, his voice remains its deceptively sweet self compared to the harsh jerking movements he's subjected upon the gray-eyed man via telepathy.

"You've crossed the line, lost number thirteen."

"Don't call me that!"

It's no surprise that the pecking order in Dokyeom's henchmen sowed seeds of dissent. Though Joshua was simply a right-hand man, he remained the only unnumbered member, proving the lack of disposability DK saw in him versus the others.

"Know your place."

"Which has always been at the top! But because of you — !"

" — The top of those already at the bottom, perhaps. Respect your superiors and your orders, Crimsonnail. You were not to lay a hand upon Master Dokyeom's brother. Ever."

"I didn't!"

"Or a member of his little group." His indifferent gaze swept over Seokmin protectively cradling your body. "This voids our involvement and nullifies any further implementations of the game."

Joshua would thank his lucky stars that the humanoid typhoon is letting them leave scotch-free if he was a decent man. Unfortunately, he's not — already considering what punishment to enact upon Jihoon per his master's orders. The Crimsonnail feels a shiver down his spine, further enhanced by Joshua's frosty, disdainful look of disapproval as he telepathically drags Jihoon to the car.

Still, it's a good thing Seokmin's a pacifist by nature, that he's more preoccupied by your well being than anything else. Your brow begins to bead with sweat, the pain of your wound finally sinking in past the adrenaline rush wearing off. Black circles dance in your blurring vision, the gun falling from your grasp as you droop forward and rely on the unerring sureness of his support and the safety within in it.

Seokmin knows he needs to get you medical help right away, and it's the only thing he can focus on. There's no time for exchanging a blow with a blow nor the faintest idea of revenge.

Not yet. Not now. Maybe never if it means putting you in harm's way.

Was he really going to give up following the bloody trail to hold his brother accountable for the unspeakable crimes he's committed? Throw away the blank ticket Rem spoke about? All for one person?

The questions all swirl around in his head like a nebulous mass. And like a newborn star — one that's been long in the making — the answer is crystal clear and shining bright as you sit in front of him now looking devastatingly beautiful to him despite all that's happened. Most importantly, you're safe.

But all he can say in this moment aloud is, "I'm sorry."

For a multitude of reasons. So many of them. You seem to spot something in his eyes, frowning ever so slightly.

"You don't have to apologize for anything. I'm fine."

"I almost lost you."

"But you didn't."

"…I know. And I'm so fuckin' glad."

Seokmin runs his fingers in a distressed manner through dusty, matted strands of reddish-brown strands. Immediately drawing attention to the dirt, grime, and dried blood coating and dulling the cybernetic's buzzing glow.

"That's gonna be a pain in the ass to clean."

He appreciates the subject change, shooting you a lopsided grin. "Yeah, tell me 'bout it."

"Let me help."

You get up before he can protest. A tactical way to coerce him into worrying about helping you rather than arguing. The coy part of yourself is applauding the method, especially when the calloused flesh of his palm splays against the bare skin of your lower back in the name of support as you both walk to the bathroom.

That same part whispers naughty temptations to drop the t-shirt covering your chest, press up against him, and see his reaction. But your reasonable, reserved side is too held up on various other matters to give in.

Sadly, you find out you can't offer as much assistance as you would've liked. But Seokmin seems heartened by just seeing you up and about and close to him. Plus, you make use of your idleness while he washes in the sink by reaching for the few stocked amenities you can reach with your good shoulder above it when he asks for them. And you receive a heartfelt smile in return.

"I probably should've just showered."

You shrug. "You still could."

"Nah, it's fine, I can do it later. What about you, though? You're going to need help with those stitches."

"What a roundabout way to say you want to bathe together, Seok. You could've just asked."

Maybe you expected him to splutter nervously or protest fiercely at the tease. You certainly don't expect him to just shake his head — silver earring flashing in the vanity's dull lighting — and chuckle.

"I'm being serious, goof. Besides, it's not the first time I've seen you in the tub."

"What?" you squawk and his grin doesn't falter. In fact, it turns into a smirk.

"I'll go get Sherry. Lina's gonna want to see you too, she wouldn't stop crying about her pretty savior getting hurt."

You frown. Was he still going to dodge The Talk™? And did he think you were really just going to him out of your clutches that quickly?

"We still need to chat. You promised."

His eyes flash. "… And you don't like promises."

Yes, that was exactly why. He knew your history. Still, you refused to back down.

"No, I don't. But I like you… and, and most of all, I trust you. I just want the truth, Seok. Even if you think it'll hurt me, at least be honest. Trust me back. I promise it'll make it less painful if you tell me why you thought I wasn't serious. So, please…"

Don't let me down.

It's unspoken, but he can clearly hear it in your tone. A battle-worn sigh escapes so you try to lead him and finish with a question where he can give a more straightforward answer.

"… How long have you known? About the bet, I mean."

Despite wavering between semi-alertness and bordering the edge of losing consciousness, you're aware of Sheryl's presence as she bustles around with Seungkwan and Mingyu to clear out an empty room above the saloon temporarily used for patients. Seungcheol waits outside the door with you two, a cigarette loosely dangling from his lips.

When Sheryl leaves, she sneaks a peek at the way your face buries into Seokmin's neck, how the man carefully assesses the rest of your body for injuries. His touch is gentle, the cybernetic arm coated in blood as it holds the nail in you steady. He'd been adamant about being the one — the best one — to treat you. Smiling, she hands Seungcheol a couple of double dollars and the pastor raises an inquiring eyebrow.

"For that little game of yours," the woman whispers knowingly and gestures to the two who just exited the room and Seokmin hurriedly heads inside. "They told me all about it."

You lift your head to glare at Seungcheol and then your other comrades as you pass, wondering if this was some sick form of revenge for pulling one on him and if Sheryl was so keen to set you up with someone in the same way pompously done for her. But your shoulder feels like it's on fire so rather than reprimand your stupid, back-stabbing friends and slump back wearily against Seokmin.

He's a simple man who certainly can't hide a silly smile at the unconventional snuggling. Lifting his chin, he then tilts his head questioningly to the money in Seungcheol's hands. "You're still doing that bet?"

"Haf'ta win the lasses 'n hopeless romantics over 'n have 'em rootin' fer ya."

"Y-you know about the bet?"

Seokmin hushes you with a low murmur, words muffled by the press of his lips to the crown of your head. You can't make out what he says, but the timbre is soothing enough that your eyes close.

"Gotta make that sixty billion somehow if we're not turnin' ya ass in."

"Fair enough!" The wanted man laughs and closes the door with his foot.

His cheerful demeanor then dropped to focus on the proper procedures to treat your wound and that's when the silence settles in, soon followed by the weighing air of unresolved tension between you. And now, you're continuing the determined path to fully speed-run ahead and break it, though he shrugs nonchalantly at the question.

"Known for a while, to be honest."

"Seriously? I thought it was a secret!"

"C'mon, you know how bad Cheol is at keeping them."

"Yeah, right," you roll your eyes. "That man takes things to the grave — literally!"

"You're too hard on him." Seokmin leans toward you, bracing himself with an arm supported by the sink and brown eyes sparkling with humor. "Think about how much you've learned about him."

"Against my will, too much…"

"Which means I'm right."

"… I guess you do make a fair point."

"Of course. He's a completely open book once you peel back that damn protective hardcover of his."

Still, you sniff disdainfully and frown. "I swear, you're the only one who sees him like that."

"Like what?"

"Like…. unafraid, unconcerned, unbothered by all that he is, all that he's done, et cetera."

"Why not? He's done the same for me. Besides, I've said it before but he has those eyes, you know. Kind."

Ah, and that's what gets you to resign with a small grin. It's just like Seokmin to see only the good in people.

"And you're not all that different," he continues with a broad, knowing smile. Immediately you bristle and he clarifies, "from me." Some part of you momentarily wonders if you spoke your thoughts aloud or if he just simply knows them that well. "As loath as you are to admit it, you care for him. Most importantly, you trust him."

Though your face sours at the thought, you don't retort right away. Sure, Seungcheol is a trusted ally. And maybe the motivation to free Jeonghan from the control of the Eye of Joshua wasn't solely because it was simply the right thing to do. But also because it might brighten the dull spark and leave one less bloodstain on the hand of a man who bore the burdensome weight of all sins like a cross on his shoulders.

Then you wave away those thoughts for now. "So, is that why you thought I wasn't serious on how I feel about you. 'Cause of the bet?"

"No, because I never knew the full extent of it. But… if you're saying it had to do with your feelings, then I would have to say yes — though I find it hard to believe any bet's worth my bounty."

"Oh." Your cheeks heat at unwittingly giving it away.

Seokmin smirks when you avoid his gaze, and he moves in even closer. "No one has sixty billion double dollars just lying around, mayfly."

"You're just saying that so no one turns you over to July."

"Well, you won't do it, will you?"

"You don't know that," you fire back, intending to heighten your defenses that only weakly falter because you're still not looking at him.

"But I do."

"Yeah? Prove it!"

Ooh, a challenge.

And one more step closer.

"Because you care too much about the man you like to put him behind bars."

Your eyes dart back to meet his, ready to squint reproachfully only to widen at how the gunslinger's face is only a breadth away from yours. Breath hitching, you desperately want to whine out in irritation but it comes out in a low whimper. Seokmin's canines flash in the bathroom's dim lighting.

"That's not, that's not fair." The wall pressing into your bare back keeps you from retreating and the hand keeping the t-shirt covering your chest feels how your heartbeat speeds up. Your skin is on fire, only the cool temperature of your locket and its chain preventing you from utterly exploding after the plaintive admission of, "You already know everything. But…"

"But…?"

The unconscious action of biting into your lower lip only gets realized by the way it keenly draws Seokmin's eyes. Electric blue flashes against brown irises yet they darken to almost black with the sudden thrill of desire that rises to the surface. He's so close, you can feel his breath caress your face, and you swear you hear it deepen into a low grunt before he raises a brow for you to continue.

"But… b-but I don't know…a single… thing."

Seokmin has forever believed Rem's take regarding the ticket to the future always being blank. For him, it's always been an unknown path forward that he's let lead him wherever and to whatever destination.

He holds himself back, just enough to utter the (practically what should be unneeded) words of reassurance, "It could only ever be you — and it's always been only you — that I could be in love with so much, mayfly," and then he's eliminating the meager distance between the two of you. For the first time, he stamps that blank ticket with an assuredness of the future and outcome he's never had before — with a kiss.

Cradling the back of your head with his cybernetic prosthesis, the other cups your cheek and then trails down to your collarbones — but no further than appropriate. His mouth, though, disregards the very notion. A teasing tongue repeatedly runs across your bottom lip to smooth out the indents caused earlier by your teeth then naughtily pokes and prods its way between, eliciting a sweet gasp from you he absolutely devours.

Your whole body shudders with happiness, eagerly surrendering to the man's wild, possessive fervor as he passionately steals the breath out of your lungs and stakes his claim on you by leaving behind shiny kiss-bitten lips. Seokmin only draws away, panting, to admire his handiwork, light-headed and dizzy with delight.

"I love you," he reconfirms with his forehead resting against yours and nose tickling your own, "… partner."

Breathlessly, you joke back after placing a soft kiss on the corner of his mouth. "Love you too, partner."

And that was that.

With your shoulder injury on the mend and the other members of your little ragtag group nursing their own bumps and bruises, you all decided to spend one more night in Tonim — much to Lina's delight. While she merrily bounced from one 'hero' to the next, you playfully reminded Wonwoo that he still owed you some free drinks. You were eager to take advantage of the fact and he was more than willing to accommodate.

The tavern that originally held a subdued, slightly hostile air to it when you first arrived was now filled with an unfettered joyous harmony. You're so easily swept up in the ambiance of such high spirits and jubilant townsfolk as mug ales filled to the brim get passed around and clinked together, you fail to notice Seokmin's sudden withdrawn nature.

Not until the next morning do you first realize something's off.

"You're sure about this?"

"Oh, no. Not you too, Seok."

You'd already flipped off and shoved away a complaining, terribly hungover Seungcheol and finally got rid of the watchful, fretting gazes of Seungkwan and Mingyu. The duo had been hovering around you with concern ever since you downed a full glass of alcohol last night. While you generally just let them be and were quite thankful not to wake up with a pounding headache, you certainly weren't above crushing all of Mingyu's pudding cups if he meekly asked one more time if you were okay or needed help.

Seokmin leans against the open door frame as you pack. The pulsating glow of lost technology flickers in your peripheral and keeps you aware of his quiet presence. Part of you had always wondered if the ever-running currents of lighting synced with the flow of blood through the rest of his body.

The gunslinger doesn't speak, and you wonder why. And though you'd like to flatter yourself and entertain the notion that he's watching you — while other times that may be true — you don't feel the weight of his eyes trained on your motions. It wasn't like there was much to stuff in your bag, the satchel's leather cracked, faded, and well-worn after all these years of use through the desert and everything you truly value remains strapped some way to your body. So once you're finished, you inquisitively peek over in his direction.

Brown eyes are trained on the clunky gun on the mattress — the same one you'd pressed against his head. It's also the exact same pistol Chan had spent his adolescence restoring and repairing. Left unnamed unlike the honorary grave Seokmin had helped you prep before leaving the ruins of Ivywood behind. Meanwhile, his gaze darts to linger in contemplation on the chain around your neck before his eyebrows furrow, emphasizing the drawn out features and dark circles beneath his eyes.

"You look tired, you doing okay?"

"Yeah, just haven't been… sleeping well."

Frowning, you step toward him. Although he doesn't back away, his entire posture stiffens. "Will you be able to make the journey?"

He snorts, gesturing to your shoulder you're trying not to move too much. "Isn't that what I'm supposed to be asking you?"

"I'll feel better at the border."

Seokmin nods understandingly. "The weather will align well."

Within the sandstorms that relentlessly swirl near the Melca Border Sea of Sand, hides the only SEEDS floating ship that survived the Great Fall and you have to get the timing just right to reach it. It's home to a large community of humans, and most importantly, it's what you would consider a true home to you and Seokmin. Already, your energy restores — excited at the prospect of getting to relax in a place you trust and people you truly enjoy being around.

"Jun can take a look at my shoulder."

"That's true, it would be good for him to do."

"And I'm sure Hao's going to want to check your arm, maybe fashion some fabric that's not only bulletproof but also nail-proof."

"He's gonna give us both a scolding."

"Wouldn't be the first time."

You share a look of fond chagrin. Even though Seokmin's well over a century older than Juhui and Minghao, they were direct Earth descendants aboard a ship full of lost technology and geniuses in their own right. Those facts alone gave them all the confidence and utter audacity to more often than not, act like fretting toma mothers over the two of you.

Nonetheless, you appreciated them with all that's remaining of your heart.

The trip to the Melca Border wasn't a straight shot from Tonim but it wasn't as far as you thought. A bittersweet farewell to Wonwoo, Lina, Sherry, and the rest of the townsfolk was to be expected. Though their sorrow weighed you down, the knowledge that you were parting from them with good memories and the expectations to visit again kept your steps light-footed.

Seokmin remains zoned out the entire time. You bulk it up to his normal reaction whenever something emotional was on the horizon. Returning to Melca held a grand spread of wonderful, warm memories with a scattering of dreadfully sad ones too. Though the floating ship's defenses have been bolstered to the max over the years, the terrible events weren't easy to forget.

But they were incidents in the past and it's thanks to the intellect of the two who greet you at the entrance of the ship that their defenses continue to improve. Luida proudly stands behind them, accompanied by Brad and his wife.

"Greetings, weary travelers."

"We're no strangers, Luida," Seokmin protests against her formality.

The elderly leader's playful grin smooths out the wrinkles lining her wise face. "Welcome home, children."

It's a simple phrase but one that fills you with inexplicable warmth. Hansol might be the son born of her own body, but no one is immune from her maternal instinct. She beckons for everyone to come inside where the main quarters lie and the growing crew population will certainly be enthusiastic upon hearing about your return.

Seungcheol, Mingyu, and Seungkwan trail after without fuss, also elated to be aboard the familiar floating ship. You smile with genuine delight and step forward to follow while Minghao takes one look over his wire-rimmed glasses to survey Seokmin's dusty figure and elegantly tilts his head knowingly in the hallway leading to the technology laboratory. Glittery, colorful beads woven through the long strands of his two-toned hair clink in time with the movement.

It's hard to hide the snicker that escapes as you watch Seokmin trudge after Minghao like a scolded puppy. Your glee at someone else's suffering doesn't last long when a gentle hand clasps your shoulder. Wincing at the pain, you meet Junhui's puzzled look before his eyes narrow.

"You're hurt," he says, disappointed but not surprised, and leads you away to the med bay. It's exactly what you expected, in fact, the main reason behind why you're here — and yet, you sulk and whine petulantly just because you can.

"Not my fault that the only way to get here is by timing everything right to jump into a sandstorm and then onto a flying platform."

After instructing you to lie down on the medical bed and cutting the fabric of your shirt without fanfare, Junhui clicks his tongue. "You only come to visit when you're hurt."

"Not true!"

He concentrates on disinfecting and resewing the torn stitches in the tender flesh around the parts of your wound that are still healing. His tone borders on slight resentment but the concern weighing in it smoothes it all over.

"And yet most of our time spent together is only when you visit so I can patch you up."

"It's not like that."

"I know… but I would've met you elsewhere."

"Boring."

"Can't you courteously pretend to care about yourself out of consideration for those who worry?"

"You'll go gray at such a very young age if you stress all the time, Jun."

He shakes away silver bangs that threaten to impede his vision, unamused. "And you'll end up buried under the sand next time."

"Sounds cozy."

"I swear —"

You wave his growing ire away. "Seok takes care of me just fine."

"Yes," Junhui's cat-like smile causes your metaphorical hackles to raise. "He does care deeply about you."

"I'll punt you into the fifth moon and give it a second crater with your body."

"Now, now… violence is never the answer."

"Violence is the only reason you have a job!"

If you weren't as close as you were, perhaps he'd be offended by your claim. Instead, he kicks you out (after ensuring you're indeed in relatively good health), leaving you to laugh victoriously. Then, you set off to the technology lab in good spirits, hoping to catch Seokmin and commiserate with him.

Instead, you find a lone Minghao sitting refinedly amongst all the tech with grace and poise. He was in his element. Fiddling with and poking at a well-worn, familiar cybernetic tech with a thin silver instrument, he simply raises an eyebrow to acknowledge your presence.

"Did you fit Seok with a new arm?"

"But of course," the man sighs wearily, "despite my best efforts, my darlings always return home to their father with quite a beating."

"… Then you'll hate what I'm about to tell you."

"No, I cannot fashion you a pierce-proof trench coat. However, I will acquire some stronger material… but there better not be a next time."

You purse your lips and pout. It often seemed like Minghao worried more about his inventions than the people using them, though you knew that to ultimately not be true.

"So, he already told you what happened."

"Oh, yes… he told me everything." Heterochromatic eyes suddenly meet yours, sharp with a spark of amusement. "See, I almost didn't want to give him the latest modification but…"

"But…" You repeat warily.

Junhui was always mischievous, though most of it only ended with harmless pranks. On the other hand, Minghao's sarcasm-filled humor rarely made an appearance, and when it did, it usually delighted in the sickest of satisfactions.

Yet, he simply shrugs, evasive as always. "I think you'll like its improvements."

There's something foreboding about that statement, but he ushers you away under the pretense that he needs to concentrate. And shortly, you find yourself stopped by curious passersby or familiar faces in the hallways to the main quarters. Since your last visit, a multitude of passengers have a lot to share and update you on. By the time you reach your own pod, you're socially exhausted.

Sleep came easy but finding Seokmin did not. The SEEDS ship was already big in the first place and additional construction enlarged it further. An itchy, achy feeling pooled inside your gut on the second evening you'd been unable to catch sight of him. Finally, you acknowledged the bitter truth — he was avoiding you.

You had to come to terms with how delusional it was to think that once everything was out in the open, the scattered puzzle pieces would magically fall together in their rightful places. It should be easy, right? It's what happened in those cheap novels Junhui dug out of an abandoned pod in Melca back in the day. He'd given them to you as a birthday joke — Minghao sighing and handing over your real present (the first bullet-proof trench coat) — but you'd actually read through all the cheesy, steamy piles of romantic drivel.

Seungkwan, ever the cynic, and Seungcheol — who's naturally a heathen — quickly destroyed the slim spark of hope of ever hoping to feel those flutters in your gut. Meanwhile, Mingyu was someone precious and wholesome with a romantic outlook on life underneath the great muscular physique he'd gained from carrying that heavy concussion gun around.

You often wondered why they never tormented him like they did to you. But despite his indomitable stature, the emotionally soft man's tears were the most powerful weapon in his arsenal. Even if he didn't quite realize it, his comrades certainly were aware.

And Seokmin… well, if you knew how Seokmin felt about romance, you wouldn't be stuck in the position of wondering why the fuck he was avoiding you.

Again.

"Where is he?"

"Good morning," Mingyu greets the following morning, cheerful as ever. "If you're still hunting Seokmin for sport, he said he's feelin' a little sick!"

"Sure."

"No, he really is." Seungkwan refutes your aggressive eye roll with a gentle shake of his head. "Loverboy hasn't come out of his room for days and when I almost knocked the door in earlier, he finally responded only to sound like a dying toma."

Your face contorts into a morbid combination of concern and irritation, shifting between the two expressions. "Probably 'cause he stayed out all last night!"

And with a dramatic huff, you glower at the pastor seated in the cramped corner of the floating ship's kitchen area. Seungcheol deemed it was cooler, darker, and the farthest spot in the enclosed space from any of your misplaced wrath. He smiles, the white stick between whiter teeth jollily flicking up and down at you, taunting.

He reveled in the knowledge of being safe since he'd been the only one able to provide any information on the humanoid typhoon's whereabouts. The pastor — who still enjoyed a late-night smoke to cure some of his insomnia — considered it his saving grace to catch sight of the fellow gunslinger slinking through the shadows in the halls. Apparently, Seokmin had been sneaking outside the past few nights and remained resolutely ever-elusive during the day.

"Should go see 'im. Yer all antsy and 'm bettin' he's missin' his… mayfly."

"Oh, go fuck yourself," you snarl and storm out, missing the man's bark of laughter before he continues contemplating the best way to siphon money during a confessional.

The unfaltering stomp of your combat boots is the background beat on your walk to Seokmin's pod. His halls aren't far from the kitchen area and yet each footfall feels like a step into the unknown, the lights above seeming to grow dimmer the closer you get.

Why was he acting like this?

Did he regret everything that happened between you?

Was something wrong?

Would he shut himself away from you?

Worry and anger swirl together, mirroring the vortex of sand you had to pass through to get here. Seokmin's never shut you completely out before but you're familiar with his reclusive acts when things get too much. Too close. Too emotional. And you're afraid to be the catalyst to another spiral.

So, you knock. Harsh, loud, and ultimately unforgiving if ignored.

"Seokmin, open up! I know you're alive!"

A mutter of "Barely," carries through the door before he clearly answers with a curt, "I'm not feeling well but I'll be fine."

"Open the door."

Silence.

"Please."

The silence continues — and your temper flares. "Don't make me go get my bag and grab my lock-picking set!"

You can hear sounds of cursing and some rustling around before the door slowly and reluctantly opens, Seokmin hiding in the shadow it casts.

"As you can see, I'm quite fi —"

Both a coughing jag and the firm push of your shoe interrupts his confident statement. "Sure hope you weren't about to say you're fine!"

A faint smoky scent permeates the pod. You cough and pause to let your vision adjust to the darkness. The first hint toward Seokmin's unusual behavior because he thrived in the sunlight, no matter how weak the sunrays that reached the floating ship were. Then second, you blink in wonderment at the black heaps littering the bed and floor.

Feathers. Everywhere.

Reminiscent of the time you'd broken Seungcheol's ridiculously expensive pillow against Mingyu's bulky bicep during a good-natured fight with Seungkwan's assistance. But instead of an explosion of brown and aqua toma plumage causing you all to sneeze, these were inky dark like the night sky and resembled piles of soot against the pod's stark white backdrop.

You whirl around to find Seokmin retreating to the corner of the room, hands slamming on top of the dresser for support. His back is to you with two thin wings jutting out from it. Feathers rustle as he pants, shoulders coinciding up and down with the motion of the wings.

"Seok, how did… how did this happen?"

It's not fear that causes your voice to tremble but worry. The appearance of his natural Plant form is no longer shocking. In fact, the more you see it, the more you find it eerily beautiful. Probably similar to those who believe them to be messengers of a higher power. But he's only ever transformed in dire situations — either due to stress or the rare exhaustion of his superhuman abilities against stronger foes.

He doesn't reply so you take a cautious step forward. An animalistic growl erupts from his throat, followed by a pained groan. You gasp as he shakes, protrusions rupturing from the lower parts of his shoulder blades. Two more wings burst out and unfurl below the trembling ones already quivering on his back.

So that's how they hide and reappear.

"Is it 'cause you're sick? Choi said you've been staying out all night. You could've caught a cold or something's in the air. Never know what's floating around here." You babble as you frantically search for signs in the mirror above the dresser for any hints to what's caused this.

Seokmin's bent over and you note what should be brunette roots of hair are now pitch-black too. Closer and closer you creep until you can make out each bead of perspiration trickling down his neck and how they coat every bare part of his body in a sheen of sweat.

Then his head snaps up. An eye — unshielded by the black fringe of his red-brown tipped bangs — narrows to glare into your widened ones. A tempest of electric blue rages within it. Like the hottest type of fire, it burns more than you could ever expect in a vortex of one prominent emotion.

Desire.

An involuntary shudder overtakes your whole body, and you unconsciously bite your lip. Seokmin slumps back down, granting respite from that ardent azure glow.

"Sick," he snarls and laughs, strained. "Sick in the head, that's for sure."

"How… how can I help? What can I do for you?"

"Get out."

"Seok —"

"I'm serious, mayfly. For your own good. Leave."

"My own good?"

"I'll, hah, I'll explain… explain it later."

Your arms cross. "Oh, really? Or will you avoid me again? Like you have been for the past several days?"

"I haven't —"

"Don't you dare feign indifference! I'm not stupid — we talk about our feelings and then you retreat. Just be honest with me… please."

You promised.

He sucks in a very deep inhale through clenched teeth, seeming to regret it instantly because his grip on the edge of the dresser is hard enough to crack the strong material. Glowering at your reflection again — not daring to acknowledge your very real and extremely close presence in the room — Seokmin bares his sharpened and widened incisors in a snarl.

"We will talk, mayfly, please believe me. Now's… hah… just not great timing with… with what's happening."

Irritation easily gives way back to worry. "At least tell me what I can do for you. Should I get Jun?"

"He can't do anything. Gotta just… work it out of my system."

"Work what?" You frown, knowing how rare it is for the medical specialist to be stumped.

"It's not for certain…" Four different wings flutter in agitation at various speeds. "Not a lot's known about Plant physiology," his mouth turns downward, "even I don't have a thorough understanding."

"Is it a disease?"

"Wish it was that simple."

"You're talking in riddles and running verbal circles, Seok."

"… Dokyeom and I are independent Plants. Likely the only ones, well, you know — still functioning. Alive. When Rem found us, research was obviously done."

You know the story very well and nod. "And had been conducted before."

"'Course thanks to Rem, it wasn't as invasive but there were, hah, occasional talks. Theories. And then, of course, before us twins, there was…"

"… Tesla."

A Plant with a lifespan of only two-hundred and thirty days.

Seokmin swallows. "Tesla. Yes. I recall bits and pieces. Hypothesized with Luida and company… Outside of Dokyeom following the unethical methods humans sometimes conduct for experimentation," he snorts at the irony, "it's thought that Plants… can copulate… with a mate… of their, hah, choosing."

"Really?" Your eyebrows raise, intrigued. "That's a brilliant discovery!" Then they furrow. "Wait, are you saying that this," you wave your hand to gesture at his current form, "is because… you're, er, ready to… mate?"

He holds his head. "… Yes."

"Oh, okay. So, you need like… relief? A mate? Should I…?"

Your questions hang uncertainly in the air, unfinished because you're really not sure what you're supposed to even offer. A sarcastic smirk graces Seokmin's lips, condescending in the sort of way that's aimed more at himself.

"What kind of man do you think I am, mayfly?"

"A very, uh, Planty one for sure."

"Better than leafy, I suppose."

"Though you are quite… feathery."

Finally, he turns toward you, a wry and defeated smile on his weary face. His wings stretch outward and curl back in, elegantly waving toward you as if drawn in your direction. You can't help but smile at the object hanging from a cord around his neck.

"You still keep that old thing around?"

He looks at the golden cartridge and chuckles. "It's special."

"Me holding a gun to your head was special?""Meeting you will always remain a treasured memory, no matter the manner of how it happened." Seokmin falls quiet, lost in thought before hesitantly asking, "Did I not mention Plants mate for life? Well, at the very least, I know I do."

"Oh." Your astonishment reveals itself in a breathless gasp. There's no escaping that all-consuming, fiery cerulean gaze. "So is this the first time you've been… ready to, uh, mate?"

"No, I'm used to the way these cycles come and go. But this for sure is the worst bout yet."

"… Why?"

You hold your breath. He takes a step forward. Then another.

He's so close, if you leaned the slightest bit forward you'd press up against each other. Somehow, with an overwhelming sense of shyness guessing the underlying thoughts and what his answer will be, your eyes roam his bare upper chest and torso.

If you could caress him you would. All the shiny black feathers adorning his wings and the occasional ones sprouting along his forearms pointing to his Plant abilities. Each scar along with every bit of metal or his body's naturally grown wood that replaces chunks of lost flesh. He's kept them as reminders of when he's failed humans, though you've seen them only as when they've failed him. He shivers, like he can feel it, as if he knows what you're thinking and you questioningly re-meet his burning stare as he shoots you a wane smile.

Sheepishly, he rubs where the cybernetic arm attaches to his shoulder. Many have turned away in disgust or mock pity at the disfigurements. Yet despite the true abomination he looks like right now, there's only ever been pure empathy and acceptance he doesn't deserve — all from you.

"Conscious consent and reciprocation."

Your lips turn upward, joy causing your soul to unwittingly sing. "Does that mean… I'm your mate?"

"No."

It's like Gunsmoke completely collapses, and you're left twirling without footing in space. Seokmin matches your fallen expression with one of his own.

"What? Wh-why?"

"Don't get me wrong, it's —"

"I swear if you say 'It's me, not you'…"

He rather adorably tilts his head. "How did you know?"

"It's a typical cliche," you roll your eyes, "just give it to me straight, Seokmin. Is it 'cause I'm human?"

"… It's not that simple, and this isn't something trivial. It's — hah — it's a huge commitment." The use of your given name indicates his seriousness. "A lifetime one. For me, it's only ever been you… and it will always be you for as long as I live, which could be your whole lifespan! And I don't, hah, I don't know — hell, it's taking everything I can not to tear a dead man apart, let alone what I'd do if you'd change your mind, want something — someone else."

"You're doing it again, projecting and underestimating my feelings for you."

"It could be the effect of my pheromones, mayfly. We don't know every —"

"That's right! We don't know! So we have to trust each other and see."

"It's —"

"Let's not subject ourselves to the hypothetical. And what do you mean by dead man?"

Seokmin's jaw tenses, fingernails digging into numb skin. His wings waver, like they're considering cocooning around him for protection. But their tips simply flutter as if soothed by an unseen force, preventing them from enclosing completely.

Teasingly, you lean toward him and squint. "What else aren't you telling me, Seok? You pick a side hustle up that involves the deceased like Choi?"

He snorts at the audacity and doesn't take the bait. Instead, unfamiliar but still achingly familiar irises dart to your neck, tracing the silver chain laying against your skin. A dull sort of sadness fizzles out those blue fires and you clasp the shape of the locket beneath your shirt in realization.

"He was a boy, Seok. A boy I grew up with for a short period, one that felt like a brother to me."

"… You said you loved him."

"When?"

"… To Cheol. After you first met him."

"That would've been so long ago? How do you even remember that?"

He sighs, heavily. "It's not easy to forget. Your voice was so warm, so gentle, so in love when you admitted it."

"Love can mean different things! And I assure you, my feelings for you differ greatly from how I felt about him. And… he's… he's long gone, Seok."

Guilt burns in his eyes. "I know. Which makes me all the worse."

"No, it doesn't." You shake your head, a resigned smile resting on your lips, and hold your arms out. "'Cause I understand and forgive you. And most importantly, I love you."

It's uncertain if those words break or restore him, but the hard rigidness in his body melts away, sagging in a semblance of relief. Then he rushes forward into your waiting embrace, wings helping to propel him forward until they wrap around and press you to him tight, tickling areas where his arms aren't squeezing around you.

"And I adore you, my lovely mayfly."

You groan. "When will you stop calling me that?"

"Never," he snickers and you feel the curve of his lips as he comfortably nuzzles into the crook of your neck. "For as long as you're mine."

"Yours?"

"Mine."

"Sucker."

A chaste kiss brushes the lower tip of your ear. So ticklish and unexpected, you pull back with a giggle and playfully swat his shoulder. And just as he's about to dive forward and prove your little comment correct in retaliation, you burst into full-on laughter that leaves Seokmin to settle his hands on your waist with confusion crinkling his brow.

"What?"

"So that's why you were always having a deathly staring match between my childhood memorabilia?"

"… Was not."

"You — the most sentimental loser ever — definitely were!"

He pouts momentarily, the cute jut out of his lower lip quickly transforming to a devious smirk. "You'd bet on it?"

"Totally." You place your arms around his neck, bringing your bodies closer again and matching the charge of electricity with a clever tilt of your lips. "I'd win, too."

"And what's on the table?"

"Sixty billion double dollars, of course."

"That so?"

"Mhm, and it seems like someone's bounty matches that worth."

Seokmin quirks a brow. "Seems like you want me on the table."

"Winner takes all?"

"Mayfly, I've always been yours."

"Sap," you laugh again.

A bright grin certainly declares your delight in victory, though your partner in crime uses the distraction as an advantage for his earlier loss and wastes no time. Diving in, a sharpened canine grazes your pulse point, automatically causing your head to tilt to offer easier access. Two left wings sweetly swoop down for support, feathered tips tenderly brushing your forehead.

The heat of his tongue placates the dragging scratch of his fangs. Though it sears you alive, heating your entire body from the tips of your toes, swirling in your core, and concentrating beneath Seokmin's lips on your skin.

When reaching that cold, familiar necklace you treasure so much and he can't help but loathe, it's seized between his teeth before he registers the action. Tugging it away from your neck like a dog, you wonder if he'll even shake it like one. His eyes follow the length of the chain, focusing on where the locket pops out above your chest.

You raise a questioning brow. "You gonna just play with my jewelry or take my clothes off?"

"Oh," Seokmin whispers, jaw dropping, and suddenly stands stiffly at attention.

You watch, entranced by the bob of his Adam's apple as he visibly gulps. Large, calloused hands — so practiced in undressing you for baths and patching up wounds — falter as they skim along your sides in a fleeting touch. Smiling encouragingly, you intertwine your fingers with those of his prosthetic while leading the other one beneath your shirt, the rough flesh of his palm blisteringly hot against your stomach.

"Is this okay? Can it help calm your Plant powers?"

"Yes… but that means… giving yourself to me… forever."

"Can't think of anything I'd enjoy more."

Confident, you trail kisses up his jaw to his cheek, stopping near his ear. Playfully tugging at the earring hoop as you pull away. Then you break away and bend over, shimmying off your shorts in one smooth motion. Stepping out of them, next goes your top. As each fabric hits the floor, Seokmin's eyes become more lidded, heavy with want. Smoldering. Desiring.

Four black wings fan out and stay as rigid as his stance. As if they're waiting with bated breath. And when you finally stand bare before him, he sheepishly drags his gaze to the floor with a flustered smile.

"I'm the one naked and you're embarrassed?" you tease and his posture relaxes.

"Because you're a vision to behold."

"Says the one who looks like an angel."

You back up until your knees hit the side of the bed. Like those morbid tales that depict curious listeners following a luring call to their demise, Seokmin's only a step behind you. He doesn't dare let his eyes stray further from your own, a goofy grin on his face.

"Consider this my fall from grace then, mayfly."

Gingerly, you sit on the edge of the mattress, waiting for his next move. He towers over you in this position. Formidable in appearance yet oh-so-gentle when picking up your left hand to kiss your knuckles and rub his thumb across its faded scar. Another smooch gets placed to your inner wrist and you hold your breath at the passion in those blazing cyan depths that refuse to look away. Then, a cautious touch to your shoulder urges you onto your back. Obediently, you lay down and a bunch of stray loose feathers fly up into the air upon impact.

"Beautiful," he murmurs.

The clothed knee resting between your legs helps his arm support the weight of his body hovering above you. A tentative hand slides down from your shoulder to your hip, leaving goosebumps in its wake. Caressing every scar, memorizing each color and swirl of ink decorating your skin, and erasing any insecurities or blemishes you see in yourself. Cold digits draw whimsical shapes and tickle your abdomen, stopping above your pelvic bone.

"May I?"

"Of course."

Seokmin rejoices in your consent by littering your collarbone with love bites. And his touches move lower, tender despite their mechanical nature. Warmth blossoms and flows under every surface of your skin Seokmin's traced, coiling and settling in a pulsating — almost painful — heat rupturing between your legs.

Only he can be the one to relieve this ache which he precisely aims to do. A simple, single brush across sensitive folds instantly has your breath hitching, shaking beneath him.

"Are you alright?"

"Mhm… yes."

He audibly gulps at your unexpected whimper of ecstasy, reluctantly tearing away from watching amorous bliss overtake your facial expression to the wet heat detected by his pointer finger's sensors. A feral growl rumbles in his chest at the debauched sight of desire beginning to dampen your thighs — the trace of what he's been smelling from you now overloading every single one of his senses as he coaxes more to flow from you. Seokmin's more than thankful for his enhanced vision and the glow of cybernetic technology baring your most intimate parts to him.

Guided by an instinctual impulse, he eases a finger inside. Your back automatically arches off the bed, eliciting a sweet gasp of delight. The cool touch of the digit seized tightly by the pulsating walls of your cunt slowly warms as it adjusts to the welcome intrusion. He soothingly brushes the knuckle of his middle finger across the soft outer flesh of your pussy to relax its grip. Eventually it lets up enough to let him explore further and deeper than your own have ever reached.

"I'm… I'm not sure how best to please you," Seokmin admits, drinking in your every reaction to his curious ministrations. "But there's this urge, this need, to make you feel good. Prep you properly for my… my entry."

By pure accident, he strokes a rough patch of nerves that makes your eyes roll back, hips lifting at the sensation of wanting more of whatever that feeling was, and your quiet noises melt into a loud, needy moan.

"More," you plead, "touch me more, Seok."

He eases his other finger inside without question, grunting at the squeeze that almost prevents him from moving to where you want him the most. But unlike the rest of his quivering body, the prosthesis remains steady, still, and patient. Waiting until it can bully itself and a third finger past your entrance's vice-like clench.

You start pulling on your breasts, trying to alleviate the tingling in them. Seokmin observes with a keen eye and a toothy, fanged grin. After a bit, he leans down to let his tongue trace the underside of one mound, leaving behind a saliva trail shining in the unconventional lighting as he tends to the next. Alternating with playful nips and naughty tugs to your nipples whenever your grip on them falters from the overwhelming pleasure.

So attentive and eager, soon you're writhing beneath him as you hit your peak. One hand grips your hip tightly, surely to leave a bruise with the way it cramps. His other doesn't let up, well-oiled mechanisms continuing to pump in and out of your trembling pussy until you whine from the overstimulation.

His wings fold protectively around both of you like a canopy as you share a tender kiss. Dazed and happy, you tenderly brush back black bangs and play with one of the feathers that's sprouted near the hairline above his ear. He shivers.

"Let me take care of you too."

"Are you sure? What about your shoulder?"

"That's the least of my concerns right now."

"I can still…"

"Later. First, I want to help you."

Suddenly, Seokmin's shy again, flushed cheeks darkening. "I… I think I'm a little different… down there so it's okay if you don't want to… or get scared."

"It's not like I've seen enough dicks to compare whether what you're packing is normal."

The both of you share a goofy laugh that eases the presumed awkwardness. He sits back to unbutton his pants but you stop him.

"May I?"

You might as well have knocked the air out of his lungs. He stares at you wide-eyed and then emphatically nods, finally clearing his throat to squeak out, "Sure."

Ignoring the aftershocks of your earlier orgasm, you sit up and kneel in front of him. Intent on a few minor distractions, your mouth and hands start at his shoulders to work their way down. Imagining you have the power to heal the damage dealt to his body and soul through tender touches.

You see a sad sense of beauty and justice in the patchwork of metal bolts and bark. And as you apply marks of love that bruise and blossom between them, he lets out a content warble. You're quick to undo the button of his pants, both of you gasping at the utterly wet mess seeping through the material when you tug the zipper down with your teeth.

He lifts his hips to help and once he's just as naked as you do you take him in. Anatomy was meagerly touched upon during your days at the convent, so truthfully all you're aware of at the sight of his heavy cock is the need to be filled with it.

And the closest thing to take him is your mouth, jaw already aching before you even open it. Almost reverently, your hands wrap around to stabilize it. Seokmin hisses pleasantly at the contact.

"You don't have to —"

He's cut off by a groan as you inquisitively suckle the tip. The copious amounts of slick smearing from it and down the base taste sweeter than Seungcheol's lollipops and you moan heartily, causing his thighs beneath your elbows to tense at the vibrations.

"Oh, mayfly."

A wing caresses your cheek that bulges as you take more and more of him, Seokmin's hands tearing at the sheets. The tip of another wing tantalizingly drags down your bare back. Your hands begin to explore, finding the puffy edges around the slit from which the thick cock emerges from. His hips jolt upwards at the contact to sensitive tissues, causing you to gag.

"Ah, 'm sorry!"

While he whispers repeated apologies, you're only compelled to take him further. Slowly you get used to the stretch, but no matter how much more you're able to squeeze down your throat there's still enough of his length for both of your hands to play with. It gets easier the more aggressive you get, his cock seeming to respond to your vigor in tandem. Soon you're lost to the haze of whether you're bobbing your head up and down or it's swirling languidly in your mouth on its own accord.

Seokmin's hips stutter but you feel the tremor first pulse against the inner walls of your throat. His cock throbs as you pull off of it, hollowing your cheeks and parting with deliberately powerful suction. A loud pop releases its tip and your hand supports its weighty girth falling forward. You dig the nails of your free hand into the muscle of his quaking thigh, ducking down to teethe at the puffy slit from where his cock must emerge.

Moving on to licking and dragging the point of your tongue along the sizable vein lining the underside causes Seokmin's low groans to turn into a high-pitched trill. Once you reach the swollen, leaking head and nibble on the hard glans, it spasms wildly and finally erupts. From the top slit seeps sweet syrupy fluid that readily overflows into your awaiting, open mouth.

"Thank you, thank you, thank you," he blabbers.

You'd reply that there's no need for gratitude, perhaps you'd thank him, but the viscous release keeps spilling out. Rivulets trickle well past your lips and coat your chest. Although still in a euphoric daze, his eyes flash with sharp satisfaction. Instantly possessive at the sight of your bare body decorated so erotically.

His wings snap open — filled with purpose — and your face is pressed down into the mattress. Surrounded in a smoky musk as the angelic monstrosity it belongs to and destined to be your mate hovers above.

Your voice comes out hoarse as you raise up onto your elbows and spitefully spit out a black feather. "Do those wings of yours prevent you from being topped or something?"

"I'll let you find out another time, partner," Seokmin huffs, laughter evident despite his apparent breathlessness. He steals a tender kiss, pleased grunting at how your lips — shiny and swollen — taste of him. "But for now…"

Like an anchor, the tech material warmed by your shared body heat and passion winds underneath your hips, keeping them raised. A calloused, ticklish touch roams traces your spine. He draws an occasional spiral here and there as he goes, mindful of your wound, until firmly pinning the nape of your neck to the side, creating the perfect arch of your back.

"I think you'll like this," Seokmin says as if he isn't liking the view below him.

But for you, straight ahead lies the dresser's mirror. It reflects the full manifestation of an independent Plant poised to devour a human in the most intimate sense. The fearsome size of his cock lies heavy on top of your ass, leaking droplets of arousal all over your backside.

"Will it fit?"

"Of course, you are mine to claim and take." His hips just forward and you both moan. "I think we're both wet enough to try."

"I trust you."

"Let me know if it hurts in any way and we'll stop right away, mayfly."

Many troupes of desert-traveling dancers have mesmerized you before. Yet even they can't compare to the graceful and smooth motion of Seokmin releasing your neck to align his tip with the entrance of your cunt and slowly bullying his way in.

Tears of pain mixing to unfathomable pleasure blur the vision of your mouth widening to let out whines and moans. "Seokkie…"

"Mhm, mayfly… my love… my mate."

Finally, the front of his thighs are flush against yours. Hips pressed tight against your ass. Fully sheathed inside your tight hole, neither of you have ever felt such intensity before. He surrenders his body weight on top of yours, hands braced outside of yours clenching loose feathers and silk sheets. The outer heaviness matches the intensity of what your pussy struggles to accommodate.

"Mine."

Seokmin's hips swirl at a slow pace. Rather than thrust, he massages the sensitive glands at the base of his cock with the soft flesh of your ass. His length seems to shrink and grow and writhe with a mind of its own, filling and teasing you nonstop. Leaving no surface of your inner walls untouched or untended to for too long.

"Yours."

You shudder in blissed-out delirium and Seokmin lights up — literally.

Fluorescent lines glow in distinct patterns across skin, brightening the more he starts to pant and build up your shared pleasure. Sharp canines prick into the skin of your unmarked shoulder as he wraps his prosthesis under your stomach to raise your hips, the new position driving you faster to that rapidly approaching edge. You cry out with a lurch, blurrily making out his glowing form that shudders above.

Though the view in the mirror gets hidden by black wings stroking your entire body. Teasing the underside of your tits and tenderly brushing away the stings of his teeth marks.

"I-I love you," Seokmin rasps.

"Love…" You manage to enunciate the words, mind emptying and drool wetting the bed as your second peak approaches. "Love you too."

Pain and pleasure draw forth an onslaught of your apparent arousal that lecherously mixes with the frothy mess dribbling from his cock. Claws appear on Seokmin's right hand, another addition to the bestial Plant features emerging in the throes of passion. He's not completely lost to the primal thrall though, able to resist from breaking skin.

Delicately scratching your waist without drawing blood, then using the finely pointed tips to pluck and tease effortlessly at your clit. You cry out, body shaking as waves of euphoria crash against the shoreline of imminent pleasure.

Seokmin helps ride out your peak with a couple of speedy thrusts. The feeling of his hips slamming into you has you seeing more stars than Gunsmoke's galaxy contains. And just as you're overcome with too much stimulation, he lets go with a particularly strong bite into the top of your shoulder.

His cock softens and its heavy weight like a blanket along with the continual pump of his warm, soothing release. The feeling of it leaving none of your inner walls untouched feels as sweet as it tasted on your tongue and helps ease the ache inside your cunt. Still joined together and slick with stickiness, he collapses onto his side and gently assists you with rolling over so you can face him.

"Hey, you."

"Hello there yourself, lovely mayfly."

Your nose wrinkles but gets smoothed out by feather tips playing with the ends of your hair. Seokmin smiles as you snuggle closer into his chest so two of his wings can cocoon around you as the heated fervor from prior activities cools.

"Did that help?"

"… Yes," he says though his tone wavers with hesitance.

You raise your chin and see the electric blue luster hasn't faded yet from his gaze. Sheepishly, the corner of his mouth raises and you shiver, feeling the swell of his cock stretch out your pussy. The bulge it creates brushes against Seokmin's abdomen and he twitches.

"Sorry, it's… I'm gonna be kinda insatiable now that I've had a taste…" He trails off, wings snapping behind him. Slowly, he pulls his hips away and you both hiss as his cock is dragged out.

"What are you —"

You're cut off by the animalistic glimmer in his gaze, catching the feral smirk that he attempts to hide by licking his palm. Quick as lightning, Seokmin fleetingly swipes the outer lips of your cunt and brings his fingers, tonguing at them. Body set aflame again, neither of your break eye contact as he moans headily.

"But not of this," he rasps.

Before you know it, you're staring up at the glow-in-the-dark stickers on his ceiling with your mate between your legs. His wings trail along your calves, their flexible ends curling near your inner thighs, encouraging them to spread and stay open, pinning them in place.

"Oh, aren't you a beauty?"

He moans shamelessly at the sight of your messy, glistening pussy. You squirm at the ticklish sensation of his feathers and that smoldering, ravenous look. If only he knew what it was like to see him devour you with his mouth.

Delicious.

Just like the feeling of his tongue working its way inside and licking up the shared essence of your releases.

Your fingers weave between strands of hair as black as night, tugging lightly and accidentally snagging one of his ear feathers. He moans eagerly, and the vibration has you shuddering, already quickly nearing another mind-shattering orgasm. But you don't let him carry you there too fast, smooth brain muscles trying to form a question.

"How… long… how long do these cycles last?"

Seokmin presses a loving kiss to your twitching clit and blows, entranced by how you clench around nothing. Then he smirks, elongated teeth shining in the darkness like a predatory warning though you have nothing to fear.

"As much as you can handle but… we're really only just getting started, mayfly."

The motion light kicks on as Seungcheol shifts his boots in the direction of the unlit kitchen area. Junhui and Minghao's entrance awaken the rest of the lights and they frown at the makeshift bunker set up.

"What are you three doing in here?"

Seungkwan sleepily mumbles a curse word and next to him, Mingyu blearily rubs his eyes. A scattering of empty pudding cups and bottles lie around them as well as a disorganized array of poker cards.

"We're afraid to venture out of here."

Junhui shares a secretive look with his closest friend at Seungkwan's cryptic words. "Ah, so that's happened. Or happening."

"'Bout time y'all came 'round. Time for ya to pay up!"

"Pay up for what?"

"Compensation. 'M the one who got the closest to bein' right knowin' they'd fuck after confessin'."

"If anyone needs compensation, it's me for the mental damage of having to make one of my lovelies into an enhanced sex toy."

Seungcheol guffaws. "Ya didn't! Ya lil cheatin', schemin' scientist!"

Meanwhile, Mingyu looks mighty concerned. "Does that mean Seokmin has a dildo for an arm?!"

Minghao crosses his arms with a steely glare. "No."

"Oh good. I don't think I could look at him the same."

"I don't think any of us will ever look at him the same again."

Junhui eagerly rocks back and forth on his heels, hands stuffed in the deep pockets of his lab coat. "Do you think they discovered all the functions and benefits of it yet?"

"Should be our next bettin' round."

"No more bets. I don't care if it's half a double dollar to go in, I refuse to go through this again."

Mingyu elbows his raven-haired companion. "C'mon, your heart's warmed by this!"

"Warmed and consumed by the rage and fury of hellfire, yes."

Giggling, the tall man smiles widely and holds his hand out. "Alright, I win then!"

"Win what? Thought you didn't remember your bet."

Mingyu purses his lips. "Only because none of you took me seriously and joked with a bunch of gross innuendos when I said they'd find their home in one another!" He then sighs dreamily. "But if I'm right, we'll know by tomorrow morning."

"Who says it'll be tomorrow mornin'. Might take weeks. Months even, I reckon'."

"I'll kick you all out before it comes to that," Minghao threatens and runs a hand through the few strands of hair without a bead. He tosses a wad of money in front of Mingyu. "Never involve me in this again."

Despite all the grumbling, everyone has a sense of lightness in their hearts at the thought of their dear friends finally getting together. And the happiest of them all is Mingyu, who cheerily gathers his prized double dollars, dreaming of all the pudding he can buy.

A lone figure stands on the edge of the valley of the Melca Border. The Sea of Sand, aptly named, can change tide and turn vicious at any second. Their cloak billows in the sandy winds that whip around them, though even the steadfast hood can't hide the satisfied smile on their face.

"You did well," they commend and the name that falls from their lips is one some might consider lost to the sands of time.

"Saintess." Another figure materializes out of the sand gusts in response to the praise. "It is to be done as you said."

"Very well. Shall we go now?"

Whether it's the mysterious sands that swirl around and whisk them away or the lost technology cube that transports them, no one will ever know for no one ever saw them. Like ghosts, they disappear and find themselves outside the real ghost town — where it all began.

A toma croaks in the distance. Brave travelers dare cross the ruined wasteland and the saintess meditating atop one of the largest rocks hidden in the shadows opens her gray eyes tinted by lilac in the glow of the moons to observe. Despite all of her traveling, the white robes wrapped around her body remain in pristine condition.

She turns behind to look at the man standing over a scattering of stones, staring intently at one of them. With poise and purpose, she dusts off her clothes and strides over to him.

"Chan."

Brown eyes tear away from his own name carved into the headstone in front of him to look at the one who's said it aloud.

"Yes, Saintess?"

"Do you regret it?"

"No. Never."

"Good," she states, satisfied with his response. With a grand sweep of her hood to cover short, dark hair, she gestures to the east. "We will set up camp one more night before returning to the Saint in the morning before he speaks with our Master."

Chan mutely nods, following the saintess back into the desert where she confidently leads him to a cave that will shield them from the unpredictable nature of Gunsmoke's wastelands. He thinks of you, the girl he must keep safe and two brothers. One with wings as pure white despite his continual revelry with hate-filled darkness, the other bearing ones the complete opposite color of his twin — a wild card.

He reminisces over the Blessed and Holy Sisterhood of Little Ivywood, the convent and all the orphans that lived there. Pondering Sister Meryl's role, who stands before him now as the revered Saintess, leader for the Eye of Joshua and second only to the Bishop of the cult named after himself. She moves curious little statues back and forth across the surface of a large flat rock and the young man can't help but ask her a question in the unnerving silence.

"Do you think this will work?"

Meryl smiles elusively, as always. She picks up the smallest one with a deliberate flourish, placing it on a blackened space close to the last row of alternating squares carved into the stone's surface.

"Have you ever played chess before?"

"No, what is it?"

"An Earthern board game. It is quite complicated." Gesturing to the piece she just moved, she continues. "This is a pawn, the weakest of all chess pieces."

Chan bristles. "But strength comes in numbers, no? There are eight of each color, surely the right side can find a way to win."

Unfazed by his agitation, the saintess nods placatingly. "With the right strategy, even a pawn may become a queen — the most powerful. Unpredictable." She points to a white figurine with a cross on top of it. "Enough to checkmate a king."

Entranced, Chan watches as she rearranges and repositions various pieces across the faux chessboard. Soon, the pawn that took on the mantle of a Black Queen captures the White King. His eyes roam what's left on the battlefield at the end of the match, pointing to one that looks like a tower.

"What's that one?"

"A rook. It best supports an allied pawn towards promotion from behind the scenes." Her eyes sparkle mischievously. "It's most powerful during the end of the game, as you can see."

Chan gulps, holding his breath for a moment, and clears his throat. "Then I'm ready."

"Wonderful," Meryl nods, "we'll depart for Master Dokyeom's stronghold in the morning. I'm sure Joshua, our dear Saint, will be… pleased upon our return."

"To the glory of the Black King's rise."

"And to the glory of our so-called queen."

Keep him safe, Chan thinks to himself as he settles on the ground. And yourself. One day we'll reunite in the most joyous of occasions…

He pulls out a faded wanted poster with the infamous outlaw worth sixty billion double dollars, donning a wishful smile before closing his eyes and murmuring, "I'd even bet this impossible amount on it."

onlyseokmins: April 2024 ©

#ez.creates #svthub #svt.smut #dokyeom smut #dk smut #seokmin smut #lee seokmin smut #svt smut #seventeen smut #kpop smut #trigun au #svt au #seventeen au

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izicodes · 3 months

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Sunday 21st January 2024

>> I made a post yesterday of me mini-ranting about how I don't have any proper career goals because the ones I made years ago I've achieved now, so I'm questioning myself "What now? 🙃".

Then I remembered I have a recruiter mate and I emailed him asking for help and he gave me a long list of what I could do now to get better from my position. And I like sharing help so here's what he said + my own notes of what I understood from them~!

Hope this helps you too~!

🩶 Assess Current Skills and Set Goals

Identify your strengths and weaknesses.

Set clear goals for technical and leadership skill development.

My notes: I am good at some languages/technologies whilst I am a complete noob in others. Yes, I use them but I am not confident in them and always have to Google what is going on. I need to make a list of all the languages I am good at and those I am not so good at. Maybe even list why I'm not good at them. The same goes for non-technical skills. Got to make plans/goals on how I will improve them and get out of my comfort bubble on my comfort technologies and expand! Leadership skills would probably improve when I get solo projects given/have to present at Team meetings on my own in front of everyone~!

🩶 Technical Skill Enhancement

Deepen your proficiency in current programming languages.

Explore new technologies and frameworks relevant to your field.

My notes: I already answered this in the top one, but I shouldn't neglect my current skills to be able to learn the new ones. With the languages I am good and confident in, I still feel as though I haven't reached the more advanced stuff of that language. OOP stuff skill scares me in any programming language so I need to face my fears and learn it. From time to time, check what's popular in the market in terms of technology used and see which one aligns with my dream tech stack to use in the future and make plans to learn and develop myself~!

🩶 Project Leadership and Collaboration

Volunteer to lead small projects or take on more responsibility in current projects.

Collaborate with cross-functional teams to understand different aspects of project development.

My notes: At work, I eventually (since I'm still new) should ask to be the lead on some projects just like my higher-up developer is to me. Lead my own projects, without having to report to someone unless in dire need or when the project is complete for testing, etc. The team is small so I should talk to the non-developers in the team and see from their POV how the project is. Understand different types of people in the team and communicate effectively. All of this can be transferred to non-work projects like an online group project on an Open-Source project on GitHub for example - lead projects and taking more responsibilities. Being able to talk to people with different skillsets as we work on a group project~!

🩶 Attend Workshops and Networking Events

Attend workshops, conferences, and networking events to expand your knowledge and connections.

Seek mentorship from experienced professionals, including CTOs.

My notes: My gosh, I dread this honestly. I'm still a relatively shy person so going to workshops and events still brings small anxiety but that's something I do want to break~! I will never know what I will learn, who I will meet etc if I don't go to one! I want to aim that this year I would like to go to one, preferably in or near my city. I always love the idea of having a mentor, honestly, I was going to pay someone to help mentor me on that part ( >> loads of cites offer mentorships for programming!!! ) but I feel like my manager right now is that person so I will keep working with him to develop more~!

In conclusion, self-improvement as a programmer is both challenging and super hard to get started BUT rewarding in the end~!

#xc: programming blog post #my resources #codeblr #coding #progblr #programming #studyblr #studying #computer science #tech #study inspiration #career advice post #career tips #career advice #career #resources

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madrone33 · 3 months

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Ok, so heavy SPOILER WARNING for Pjo episode 6! And the rest of the show since I have read the book! Just, y’know, there’s your warning.

I’d also like to preface this by saying this post will be a rambling, not at all ordered, completely unscripted, kinda-rant kinda-essay of my thoughts on the episode, which means it is inherently biassed and completely composed of my thoughts, feelings, and opinions! None of this is fact, and I’m not trying to force my opinion on you. If you think differently or disagree, that’s completely fine! I would hate to live in a world full of clones of myself lol

With that out of the way, onto whatever this will turn out to be!

Ok, so I really liked the Hermes scene. That part was well written and acted. The family drama and guilt and blame is this show is really complex and everyone just needs multiple hugs tbh. Also, seeing a bit of Hermes’ powers was interesting.

I’m intrigued to know more about Percy’s flashback, while at the same time dreading it because I know it’ll be something heart wrenching and traumatic for poor Percy.

Hermes not agreeing to help them was a kinda foregone conclusion; it would be way too easy for them if he just let them into the Underworld, and we can’t make things easy for them now, can we :D

The Kronos stuff was cool to see, with Luke desperately covering his ass lmao, and Percy confiding in Annabeth. The slight change in Iris Messaging, with them not needing water and using a crystal instead was good. Both that it saved time and that it’s more believable. If your one communication tool is rainbows, of course you’d carry around a portable crystal to make ‘em.

It does make me wonder if they’re ever going to explain that technology - as in phones - makes it easier for monsters to find you. ‘Cause currently I… don’t think that’s been made clear to non-book audiences? Maybe I missed it in an earlier episode? Idk.

The scene where they released the trafficked animals was funny, and Grover completely overlooking if humans would get hurt and only thinking of the animals was a nice touch. I get why they didn’t show the animal abuse explicitly, even if I liked how in the books it was shown more clearly.

Them actually realising that the Lotus Hotel is connected to the Lotus Eaters from the Odyssey was good. I like how they’re identifying the threats faster in the show, whereas in the book they really fell for the monsters’ traps a lot. And the fact that they were on guard and were thinking that it was the food to watch out for added a different kind of danger than the books, where it was more just the readers sensing something wrong and hoping they’d not get trapped.

I like that the Lotus was actually being pumped into the air the whole time. And the fact that Percy and Annabeth being together helped them remember what they were actually there for vs Grover being alone and succumbing quicker was logical.

I didn’t like what they did with Grover so much. Him finding a fellow Satyr and trying to talk to him the way that he can’t to Percy and Annabeth was sad, but then, uh, idk he kinda just felt a bit useless? And the Satyr (who’s name I’ve completely forgotten oops) I think was supposed to be seen as funny? But he was… not. He wasn’t funny. And Grover was just very meh.

Like, this is one of those instances where I would’ve liked for them to change it from the books. In the books they all get split up become slowly addicted to the games in the Lotus Hotel and all that, and then Percy snaps out of it and he goes to wake up Annabeth and Grover, and they find Grover playing something like ‘Destroying Humanity’ and then drag him out of there. Which is basically what happens here, but it’s just-

They’ve changed so many other things for the better, turning moments from a randomness scene to a character beat. And I think they tried to do that by adding the Satyr and the ‘Finding Pan’ game, but it just. Didn’t work for me. He was just kinda there and did basically nothing and, like.

Ok ok so my main problem with this episode is the lack of tension.

First off, they were more meandering around looking for Hermes, it didn’t seem like they were that worried they might not find him. Like, they literally just wandered around and found him, without asking for any directions from strange people that might’ve given some insight into how sus this place is, or even having a quick montage cut of them jogging around peering into shady places. They just- walk around slowly and then there he is. Incredible.

Second, I know the Lotus is supposed to be like a drug, where you forget things and just focus on feeling good all the time, but I would’ve liked if Grover figured out that it was in the air, or that too much time has passed, and tries to fight it or smth?

Like, he starts to forget, and knows he’s forgetting something important, and tries to find- someone- the people he knows he came here with- not just so they can help him remember but to warn them that they were wrong, and it’s not just if you eat the food it’s everywhere and they need to go because the time- it’s all slipping away and he can’t let them be trapped here-

But something or someone stops him, hold him back, makes it so he can’t, and slowly he starts to forget why he’s fighting or what he’s fighting for and then he succumbs, and the switch you can see in him from scared-determined-panicked to dazed-confused-happy is terrifying.

And now we viewers are on the edges of our seats, because now we know that Percy and Annabeth are in so much more danger than we thought, and now there’s a time limit, and now Grover is trapped in his own mind slowly losing himself, and now we’re wondering when it’s going to start happening to Percy and Annabeth too, and now we really need them to realise and save Grover and get the fuck out of there before it’s too late-

But uh, yeah, we… didn’t get that. Instead it was almost- portrayed as comical? Like, there wasn’t a lot of weight put on it.

Old man Satyr keeps forgetting ha ha ha. Oh Grover’s forgetting too? Wow it’s gonna be super hard to get out of that one! Oh, no it’s super easy. Barely an inconvenience! Oh really? Yeah, Percy and Annabeth have barely started to forget anything important, and then they happen to look up and see the Satyr and get reminded of Grover. And then there’s a super short chase scene and then jump cut to them finding Grover playing video games and oh funny, he doesn’t remember them! But it’s fine, it actually doesn’t matter, they get him and go and he remembers on his own a few minutes later! 😀

Speaking of; I might have missed something but did Annabeth do anything at all during that chase scene? Like, I think she went another route to try and cut him off, but then she just kinda disappears, Percy tackles him, and she never shows up…? Idk, I’ll rewatch it sometime, but as of now it’s very strange in my mind.

The car scene was kinda funny, but again, not a lot of tension at all.

(Though as someone learning how to drive that scene made me cringe because of how relatable it was lmao. Honestly, Percy drove way too well for a first timer in a crowded parking lot, and the fact that he actually made that turn decently well? Yeah, someone give him a pat on the back lol.)

… Okay so I just thought of something that is unrealistic and wildly deviating from the books to the point that it’s basically just fanfic, but hey, they deviated anyway when they introduced Hermes this early and it’s my shitty tumblr post so - imagine if there was a car chase. There. I said it. If you’re going to make Percy drive a basically stolen taxi through Los Angeles, fucking commit and make him have to outrun the cops/some monster until they manage to activate whatever makes the car teleport!

Like, do an ‘IKEA after dark’ situation where things are all happy go lucky in the club at first, and then after they talk to Hermes and the Lotus starts effecting them, shit starts to get weird, and the patrons around them start becoming strange, and there’s a creeping sense of wrong wrong wrong as they rush to find Grover and then they find him but he’s wrong, and he looks at them like they’re strangers and they don’t know how to fix it, so all they can do is grab him and run, barely remembering where they’re going or why, but they’re holding themselves together, and when one starts to slip the others are there to haul them forward and remind them what they’re doing.

They have car keys in hand, and they might not know how to drive but fuck it they need to go, so bring on the dramatic dark lighting and wild driving and many bumpy, jerky, shit-we-almost-ran-over-something-important escapades, sirens closing in behind them and then he takes a wrong turn and stares wide eyed into the headlights of an incoming truck, flinches back, eyes slaming shut and-

Silence broken only by crashing waves. Insert Santa Monica scene after slightly hysterical laughter because holy fuck they survived.

… Um, yeah soz, idk where that came from lmao.

Moving on! So, I didn’t mind them getting Hermes’ car too much. Like, hell yes she pickpockets a god. But I didn’t like the way that Annabeth got the keys. Like, he’s the God of Thieves and she’s pretty smart. No way she wouldn’t realise that he let her take them.

A way to make it better would’ve been if he’d done some subtle shit, and she’d done some subtle shit, and then it was shown with some shots that here he puts his keys in this pocket, and then a few shots later maybe she brushes past him, or she “leaves” the room but you can fuzzily see pot plant leaves moving in the background if you know to look for it, and then boom, no more keys in his pocket, and when Percy catches up with her she reveals that Hermes let her take them, and we’re like “ahh, of course, can’t help directly but isn’t stopping them if they take initiative, cool cool.”

But nope. She got they keys, thinks she somehow stole them without his knowledge, and then it’s revealed that, duh, he knew, and they’re just like, welp, guess we should’ve known! Yeah. You should’ve. Annabeth is just- not? She’s just not? Like this? This isn’t how she would- do stuff. She’s smarter than that.

But see what I mean? No tension. Need to find Hermes, oh there he is. He won’t help them, but they got his keys. Lost Grover, but found him almost right away. Don’t know how to drive, but whatever lets go. Grover lost his memory, but nah he’s got it back just fine.

Yeahhh. Idk it just felt weirdly lacking.

What also felt weirdly lacking was the reveal that the Solstice has passed and the gods are going to war.

So, most of that underwater bit wasn’t how the books went, but I’m kinda withholding judgement on how I feel depending on how the next two episodes handle it.

The deadline being up and the gods already going to war? I don’t like it, but yeah, I can see how it might work with the themes laid out.

This isn’t just a war, it’s a family fighting, and instead of Percy just doing it because it’s The Quest, this - his father releasing him from the quest, and Ares telling him it doesn’t matter and they’d go to war regardless of it the Bolt is found, and everyone saying it’s not his place - it gives Percy agency because he’s choosing to forge ahead and save his mother, and find the bolt, and save this family he’s become a part of from itself. It’s his choice now. I can see why they made that change.

Though for some reason the pacing was weird, and the reveal that war was literally upon them was… eh? Like, “oh btw you’re too late and now we’re going to war.” “Huh, interesting, but I’m still going.” Like I said; lack of tension. There’s just no real urgency. It went really fast, or maybe too slow? Idk, there was just something missing.

The four pearls thing? I was very thrown by that, and I’m still pretty uncertain on if that’ll remove all the tension in the Underworld part. Because the whole conflict is if he’ll choose going after the Bolt and saving the Olympians? Or will he choose his mother and doom them to war?

If he has four pearls, then he can do both, which means zero stakes. But I’ve read some other people’s opinions, and I agree that one of those pearls is definitely getting lost/broken/used up before he can give it to her, which means this was done to raise hopes and then bring them crashing down, so I’m withholding judgement and hoping that it won’t be too contrived.

And I don’t like that Poseidon basically says he wants Percy to save Sally too, because a huge part of Percy’s dilemma was that the gods didn’t understand or agree with Percy wanting to save his mum.

Poseidon being on Percy’s side certainly serves the themes the episode set up, with Hermes wanting to be there for his family and failing, this time with Poseidon trying to be there for Percy and Sally, and hopefully succeeding. But it just feels like Percy isn’t as alone as he should be, which is good for him as a person, but bad from a writing standpoint because it makes it feel too easy.

In the books, it’s kinda an act of rebellion, that he would even think of choosing a mortal over the gods, but here he’s… not? Because the gods - or at least Hephestus, Hermes and Poseidon - are on his side. So he’s not choosing a mortal over the gods, he’s just saving his mum, and half the gods have given him the thumbs up to do it.

Not saying they weren’t secretly supporting him in the books too, but Percy didn’t think they were. He felt alone. He felt the pressure of the consequences that would come with whatever descision he made. In the show he’s not really going against the gods, because the gods are actively endorsing him. Which means, say it with me, no tension.

Anyway, like I said: withholding judgment. I'll see how the next ones go, and then come to a proper conclusion based on a complete picture.

Also, side note: When the nereid said, “What belongs to the sea can always return” all I was thinking was the musical and Poseidon’s goofy ass voice saying “It’s a SeAShElL” 😂

Oh and btw, the graphics/makeup/cgi of the nereid was well done to my untrained eye. I have no idea about how it’s done, or if it’s actually shitty in the professional sphere, but I thought it was pretty, so- thumbs up from me.

Though the whole scene at the beach and swimming to her was so dark I literally had to turn my tv’s brightness up to see what was happening, which I also had to do with the Theme Park last episode, and I almost did with the Minatour. Man, they really have a problem with lighting during the night scenes.

But just throughout the whole episode, there's just this feeling of non-urgency. Like, in the episode where time is the most important thing, it... doesn't really feel like it matters all that much.

Um, yeah. I think that was all I wanted to say…

In conclusion, I liked Hermes, aaand not much else. It was still a fun episode, but just all round pretty iffy plot wise. Rip.

I shall leave this with saying WE FINALLY GOT WISE GIRL!! 🥳

#pjo #percy jackson and the olympians #pjo episode 6 #spoilers #essay #rambles #my posts #percy jackson #annabeth chase #grover underwood #hermes #long post #poseidon #percabeth #writing #analysis #sorry for any typos

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cityzenshark · 2 months

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Things to fix in Earthspark part 3

Nightshade's sudden intelligence

Character traits and their lack of relevance

Lack of character flaws

These are my personal takes, no hard feelings

1. Nightshade's unexplained sudden intelligence.

In "Hashtag: Oops", Hashtag gets her alt mode and discovers her (possible Outlier) ability to hack into the intranet systems without needing a hardwire connection. In the same episode, Nightshade makes the dugout by themselves that consists of a super computer and fancy systems.

Where and who does Nightshade learn from to build all those? Wheeljack? They never met him until "Disarmed". Tarantulas? They meet on the next episode. Alex? Possibly, yet there are no scenes or dialogues. The internet? The farm has bad wifi, it's been reminded several times. Nightshade is more interested in books than the internet.

It took Hashtag at least one whole episode to learn about her ability and this naturally leads her to learn about tech. But Nightshade's knowledge came out of nowhere.

Like I said in the first part of this post, involve Wheeljack and the parents in making the dugout. From there, we could see Nightshade learning from Wheeljack first and later more from Tarantulas.

Have Nightshade feel overwhelmed by their own intelligence that they struggle to understand themselves which is why they refuse to have an alt mode. Now that's a start to their character arc.

2. The lack of relevance of certain characters and their traits.

Alex is a professor (right?) in Cybertronian history and culture yet this is only shown in the pilot episode and no more. This went over my head and I thought he was a stay-at-home husband throughout the whole season. The lack of show of this makes his trait irrelevant to be honest.

Tarantulas promised to help the family, didn't he? Where is he when they need all the help in the finale? They shouldn't have replaced him with Soundwave. The latter has nothing to do with the Maltos.

Wheeljack should've had the most involvement with the Maltos next to Bee. Besides Twitch and the dugout, he should be their defacto medic. Have him help the Terrans understand their biology (seriously, the show never considered discussing that at all). Have him study the Emberstone water. He's a scientist - come on now.

Arcee. Just Arcee. Why is she even in Season 1? She plays no important role in it until the finale where she and Wheeljack block the Terrans path. I expected a little bit more from her...

Elita should be Jawbreaker's mentor, not Grimlock. Even though JB is a dinobot like Grim, Elita is the one who taught him about finding the right alt mode. Not to mention Grim is suffering from very recent PTSD - he could've killed JB by accident.

Show Elita together with Optimus more. She's the Second in Command but Megatron is constantly with OP, I forgot he's not OP's second.

3. Lack of character flaws. I'm focusing on the main characters here.

This is a HUGE problem in children's shows nowadays. Character flaws are what makes progress feel earned and have meaning. Everyone has something they dislike about the people they love. It's normal.

The twins are proven to be impulsive and short tempered but the difference of how their personality affects their temper is blurry.

Have Thrash be the angrier twin since he's the big brother. He's the one who jumps into conclusions, throwing assumptions everywhere. The episode with Swindle should've concreted his distrust towards Decepticons/new people. Meanwhile Twitch is more levelheaded and open minded to contrast with Thrash.

The triplets have confidence issues. Nightshade and Hashtag with their intelligence & abilities, and Jawbreaker with his reaction. This is proven when the kids get stuck in the dugout because Nightshade & Hashtag don't plan the security out properly.

Jawbreaker is the only Terran whose flaw is shown well. I don't know why people don't like it. JB feels left behind, of course he'd overreact and get overconfident when he finally got his alt mode.

Make Nightshade eccentric by having them mimic their book's main character. Children tend to do that, I know I did. After 'Disarmed', their siblings get annoyed and tell them to cut it out, further signifying the Terrans' rocky emotional state due to their missing link.

Hashtag is the embodiment of 2010's internet energy which is perfect to make her trust the internet too much. It could also add "internet info vs books info" banter between her and NS.

Robby should act like an actual 14 year old. (He acts like 10 - 12 imo.) Kind of an emo, easily annoyed, visibly irate of his siblings' constant emotional presence. Have him wish the cybersleeves are gone. Those things do not look comfortable.

Like Robby, Mo should feel weirded out by the emotional link, the cybersleeves, and the Terrans occasionally but not as much as Robby. Other than that, she acts like a nine year old with high emotional intelligence.

Writers should avoid treating official media as their personal fanfiction.

#accidentally posted this incomplete #transformers #transformers earthspark #earthspark #tf malto #tf terrans #its complete now

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anxiety-elemental-kay · 10 months

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Leonof and Luida on Vash’s Inhumanity

I want to write a longer thing for Volume 3, but there’s a specific thing I want to call out because I think this one thing says a lot on its own! Leonof and Luida, at opposite ends of the volume, make the same observation about Vash, but draw different conclusions from it.

In chapter 1, after Vash destroys a large amalgam puppet, Leonof says this:

He notes the immense suffering Vash has experienced, and how he hasn’t succumbed to it. He specifically compares Vash to Knives, says they’re the polar opposite of humans, and thinks Vash would make for “untainted material”. Vash’s suffering makes him a monster, and Leonof wants to weaponize that monstrousness for himself. During chapter 7, the last in the volume, Luida, speaking to Wolfwood, says this:

She notes the immense suffering Vash has experienced, and how he hasn’t succumbed to it. The way she talks about it feels like admiration, and we know she’s already stated clearly to him that what happened wasn’t his fault, that his intervention saved lives, and he’s still part of their family. Vash’s suffering is part of who he is, but his resilience is a positive trait. Whether it (or his extreme memory for people) makes him inhuman or monstrous is irrelevant. Being nonhuman at all is irrelevant. Luida sees a good person, and that’s that. Even Wolfwood, who’s been largely antagonistic to Vash at this point, and deeply fearful of Vash’s inhumanity, looks at Vash and thinks:

(everyone look! the hitman has fallen for his target!) Wolfwood makes a soft face as he thinks about Vash’s resilience, and after a volume spent mostly going feral trying to kill a thing that absolutely refused to die, it stands out! Until this point he’s had no reason to think of Vash as anything other than a self-righteous prick who refuses to dirty his hands, but between the earlier hospital scene (part of what I want to talk about later! Promise!) Wolfwood sees that Vash is sincere! His kindness and self-sacrifice isn’t an act! And we see the beginnings of the bond they create and nurture over the rest of the story. Anyway, two (/three now I guess oops) different people observe Vash’s emotional resilience and draw very different conclusions based on their interpersonal relationships and I have Many Feelings on the matter.

#trigun #trigunbookclub #trigun maximum #i forgot how good the puppet arc was #rip to leonof confirmed not in stampede #i'd love to hear how he talks with/without the creepy puppet avatar he has around all the time #kay writes things

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sytokun · 10 months

Text

Watching the Spider-verse crunch discussion going on in relation to RWBY and the whole #GreenlightVolume10 thing has been interesting to say the least.

Of course, there's many fucked up people who don't care about the crunch, and even endorse it since ATSV did so well; but from what I've seen, most people have been sympathetic and acknowleged that waiting for the third movie to be finished in due time and treating the workers well is far better than rushing the conclusion to what could be one of the greatest animated film trilogies of the decade.

You make your best work when you don't have the gut-curling dread of unemployment and impossible deadlines hanging like a sword over your head. ASTV could have been even more amazing without the crunch.

Good God, if only we had voices this loud in the RWBY fandom. If only the RWBY fandom's loudest voices were the ones who advocate for ethical treatment above everything else, and not the ones pushing to get more RWBY content made above everything else, fighting tooth and nail and lining the parasitic company's pockets to see their beloved franchise continue, regardless of who would be ground to dust to make it happen.

I've seen many animators and artists saying they worked on shows most people look down on like Big Mouth and Mulan, and saying those productions treated them far better and they felt way better working on them, in spite of the end quality of the product. It made me at least respect the work more, because even if it was disliked, at least the people making it didn't have to suffer making it, or even gained much from it.

But with RWBY, it's a lose-lose game. The show's writing and animation quality is fleeting at best -- certainly nowhere near the level of Spider-verse. Its great moments are always undermined by the absolute worst writing decisions and character derailment in modern fiction. Outside of its core fandom, RWBY is the fucking laughing stock of the greater anime community and this is sheer fact. Nobody takes it seriously and every Tuesday a RWBY fan is going around picking fights with other anime communities or with other RWBY fans. I love RWBY but it does no favours for its own reputation at all.

If the workers making RWBY were treated well, I could care less how many Volumes they make and their quality, or how much of a laughing stock it is. But this is Rooster fucking Teeth we're talking about. Do you really think if they cared about RWBY's quality, they'd wipe out their entire animation department all at once after V9? This means every Volume's production is a literal coin-flip because there's no time to build a functioning team there with established lead animators.

So you guys want to bleed these animators and artists dry, just to get the same mediocre product anyway? Rooster Teeth had 2 years to perfect the script of Volume 9 to the finest detail and still somehow took a page out of GEN: Lock's universally hated suicide plot for their climax. We had the goodwill to give them 2 years to make V9 the best it could be, and they took that goodwill to cut episodes from it and go make the JL crossover movie instead. And even if we still get the same mediocre product, we fucking know like 80% of everyone who's worked on it are going to be crunched to the bone and left without a job afterwards, so there's not even the comfort of the staff having a good work experience or stable employment from it.

Every single thing I liked about Volume 9's action scenes, environments or characters, I have to live with the fact that the person responsible for it may never return to RWBY's production to keep making it better. There was a fight animator you really loved? Too bad! RT didn't find them valuable enough so they went elsewhere to offer their skills to Trigun: Stampede or Spider-verse instead. Oops! Those animated stories ended up doing really well are are praised for their amazing animation! Sucks that we didn't keep them around for RWBY, huh?

So, why the fuck is the fandom fighting so hard for Volume 10 then? Certainly it's not for the now non-existent animators occupying their empty offices, which as we speak Rooster Teeth is clamouring to fill job openings for. I wish the RWBY fandom knows that by pushing for Volume 10 just out of sheer stubborn attachment, they are not on the good side here, and never will be. No amount of emotional music and stellar fights are going to justify knowingly putting animators through the grindstone for another year or more, only to be tossed out until they are needed again.

You think I like this either? I really fucking don't. I believe RWBY deserves to see itself through to the end. I love its cast and world and want more people to give it a chance, if only to properly understand what they're dismissing. But real people are the cost here.

I don't care how "complicated" or nuanced you think it is because you have some imaginary box of who you think in CRWBY are good or not, or what scraps of representation you think people's livelihoods are worth ruining over -- it really is not. Either the workers are going to be sacrificed on the altar of your attachment to a fictional show, their mental health and compensation only a secondary concern, or you think that this shit is evil and should never be allowed to fucking happen.

And if the Spider-verse situation hasn't made that line clear already, then I seriously ask you to reevaluate whatever sliver of humanity you have remaining.

#rwby #rwde #spider man: across the spider verse #rwby volume 10 #spider verse

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kyurizeu · 9 months

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#18 - I missed you. (Im)possibly fate

★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★

Recent - masterlist - next

Warnings: cursing, awkwardness, boring ass convos, bad grammar

Word count: 1,2k

A/n: hello everyone! I’m trying to come back to tumblr tho it really hard because i have no ideas for stories. So help is very much appreciated! I havent proofread this (oops)

★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★

The week had passed quicker than expected. You hadn’t had any energy or motivation the whole week because your biggest energy source wasn’t there. You were way too scared to go talk to Jungwon as a result of possibly irritating him again, so you decided it would be best if he just thought about it alone. Although it did pass your mind to go talk to him and make him feel bad about being distant, you knew it was unfair; you were in the same situation after all. You felt like he was mad because for the whole week he didn’t send a single message, not even a "gm" or gn," so you were anxious about seeing him again, especially with the same conversation. It would’ve been smarter to text him and get all of the worries out of the way, but before you knew it, it was Thursday morning, and you had to talk the whole thing over again.

Just like your everyday routine, you got ready and left the dorm with your members. The day's schedule was filled with a couple meetings, scheduling, and promotions, and later in the evening, the most important thing was an interview with Jungwon about the song.

You sighed and sat down in the meeting room. You were the first one there, which was definitely not fun. Whoever is the first person to be in the meeting room has to wait for everyone to come separately and stay quiet and awkward when there's only one or two just sitting. So you took out your phone and scrolled on it, afraid to look up when someone entered the meeting room. "Good morning, yn," said Jungwon. You looked up at him, trying to read his facial expression to match his feelings. Oh, hello, Winnie," it was so awkward. You two hadn’t spoken in a week and were a couple; the room atmosphere was so uncomfortable. Should you even call him "babe" anymore, or does he want to break up? You started to fidget with your fingers while overthinking everything until your thoughts were interrupted by him again. "look umh… Things have been a little strange between us the past week, but I just want you to know that I’m not mad or anything." He sat down across the table. "I didn’t text you because I tried to give you space. I realised that it could seem like I’m trying to pressure you to make up your mind." "I did that too." It was still strangely awkward, but you just needed to say something. "Jungwon?" He looked back up at you from his phone. "I missed you so much." Your lips formed a straight line. Jungwon got up and gave you a warm hug, and without a word, you felt so much more comfortable. "I missed you too, sweetie." Just then the meeting room doors opened and more people came in. Jungwon didn’t sit back on his original chair, but now next to you. The meeting started about 3 minutes later.

Okay, so today we have arrangements. We need to plan the meetings, interviews, promotional activities, and the rest of the week so they fit into both Jungwon’s and Yn’s schedules. But first we have the big question. Jungwon and Yn wanted to take it into consideration to let them make their relationship public. What do we do?" Your manager started

Well, um, me and Jungwon took some time thinking about our opinions on it separately." You stated this, and Jungwon nodded next to you.

Okay, so what do you two think?"

"I was thinking about pros and cons for both scenarios. I came to the conclusion that, in my opinion, It’d be better if we went public."

Jungwon finally told me which decision he ended up with.

"Don’t you think that it’s more on the bad side to go public, though? The public is spreading rumours and isn’t making things easy for either of you." His manager spoke up.

"Of course the fact that the public is suspicious and spreading rumours about us isn’t good and would hurt our case, but they have in fact spread them for a while now, meaning that they have become a little normalised, which takes away the problem, plus my fans haven’t sent anything weird to live comments or anything like that, unlike when the rumours started a little over a week ago."

You stared as Jungwon defended his decision, and you couldn’t help but admire the way he was explaining everything. His hands waving in the air made cute gestures, and his brows moved up and down, making him look more convincing. His dimple popped up on his cheek at times when he was talking, and your mind told you to boop it with your finger, but then you heard your name being called out.

O-oh, yes, what?"

"Which choice do you find more smart?"

Oh, yes, well.. I thought about how our future in our careers would go in both directions, and I have to admit that our careers would suffer a little from going public, but then I thought about our future together, which has nothing to do with our careers. I realise that we can survive a little damage, no matter if it’s with our careers or not, or even a lot of damage, when we have each other. I assume also Jungwon’s but especially my career would get a little damage from either situation since being away from Jungwon would take a lot of energy and motivation from me. I learned that this week. I would be able to get through rumours, hate, scandals, and god knows what else if I had Jungwon by my side. So going public Is definitely my choice."

You nodded at your manager after letting your thoughts out, and he gave a quick glance at Jungwon, as did you. He was smiling cutely, and he looked back at you. "Well.. i guess if we can plan the rest of the week in this meeting, i guess that’s what we will do, unless our plans clash with going public. See, we haven’t planned anything where you two would have the opportunity to announce it."

"Well, we don’t have to do some big splashy reveal. We could just go live and tell everyone, or maybe walk hand in hand somewhere and let the news spread."

Ooh, does that mean I can post the cute picture I have of myself in your hoodie?" You turned to your boyfriend, who chuckled in response. "Not the best way to announce this," he said, patting your head, and you fake pouted. "Let’s discuss the reveal when you get better ideas; we need to do a lot more."

And so the meeting ended happily, just as you wanted it to. Jungwon and you walked out of the room, and he pulled you into a big hug again. "The explanation why you wanted to go public was so cute. God, I really do love you," you smirked, looking up at him while you were squished between his arms and chest. He gave you a quick peck, and you two had to leave to do your own work for the day.

★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★

Taglist:

@harperwasstaken @strwberrydinosaur @letapostropheesgo @yngwife @chogolei @ddeonmixx @j-wyoung @xiaoderrrr @vivibelov3d @ablackbtsstan @chaechae-23 @vizstars @tlnyjoong @ahnneyong @deobitifull @jungwonnieee @yumilovesloona @ikeu4life @nyxtwixx @s02zjy @choclate32 @soobiverse @maimoirs @gigi-honeyjaes @kimiplx @jakeify @sullkyoons2 @hoonieluv @minnesueng @luvmura

#enhypen fanfiction #enhypen smut #jungwon #jungwon smut #kyurizeu #jungwon hard thoughts #kpop smut #enhypen fluff #enha fluff #enha smau #Enhypen smau #enhypen au #enha au

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triphimi · 8 months

Text

So a lot of people really dislike Dittophobia for messing with their theories. So let me tell you all the things that Dittophobia actually confirmed for my theories.

1. Fnaf SL happened after fnaf 1. The book pretty much confirmed my timeline of games order which I'm happy about since there was really not a lot of evidence for either side and I'm glad we finally have an answer for that.

2. Experiment theory. Self explanatory. Even though it was pretty known a lot of people still belived we play as CC in a coma (and I wad really surprised by how many since I haven't seen that theory being popular since the logbook came out)

3. Nightmare animatronics weren't real or at least not in their in game forms. Among experiment theory believers there were still arguments whenever nightmare animatronics were actually real. My theory was that yes but no. In short there was something either plushies or mannequins (which actually turned out to be correct!) That were moved around and the whole illusion was made with factor of darkness. Well that is true however I never really considered the whole nightmare gas thing so I'd say I was like 80% correct on that one.

4. William was already a killer before CC died. I've even had a post about how I think MCI happened in 1983 bc there's already rumors about haunted robots while CC is still alive. And people are mad about that one because it supposedly "ruins his motivation" which for them was death of his son but I always found that theory unbelievably stupid. William's motivation isn't really covered in games. Sure he wanted to experiment on fear and agony. But the most motivation on why he would do this is in book trilogy where after killing Charlie he's scared of what awaits him in the afterlife so he tries to find the key to immortality. And it doesn't have to be the exact same reason in games since the trilogy is different continuity from games. However I could see that be the case but it's just speculations.

5. Since Fredbear plush is just William talking through it finally is a nail in the coffin for "William was actually a good father and wanted to protect his family" theory. I've also had and entire post about why I don't think he was a good father before Dittophobia came out just based on games so no trilogy evidence there. I honestly don't know why would someone think that William wasn't all that bad and why would he be somehow redeemable.

6. Midnight Motorist isn't about Aftons. I've actually had a rocky path with that minigame and it's interpretation (as pretty much everyone) but for the past 1-2 years I've came to the conclusion that it's not Aftons and probably a family of one of William victims which turned out to be true. But honestly I was wrong about which victim bc I thought it's about someone from MCI but it's most likely Rory so oops.

7. There were maaaaaany victims. Yeah William is a psychopath and a serial killer. People are still to this day arguing whenever toy animatronics are haunted and some say he only killed 6 children. So it makes so much sense to me that there were many victims beside them and even more beside toy animatronics kids bc William was monster who would do anything for his own gain. "He always comes back" but not just from the dead but to commit another murder.

So yeah these were the things that I've already belived before Dittophobia came out and said book just confirmed them. Did it confirm literally every and each one of my theories? No, like 70% of them. But am I gonna claim other 30% that were disproved are a retcon because I'm never wrong? No lmao and I don't get why people are like that since all the things I listed above are conclusions to which I came to some years ago (most recent being probably Midnight Motorist one). So it was possible to form these theories without Dittophobia and yes I'm happy we finally have fnaf 4 explained and I still would be even if it disproved all of my theories as long as we have a consistent story.

#fnaf #fnaf lore #fnaf theory #fnaf theories #fnaf 4 #fnaf sl #fnaf books #dittophobia spoilers #fnaf dittophobia #my fourth dittophobia post and it might be the last one but no promises

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semi-sketchy · 1 year

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#i do hope this arc doesn't go with whisper apologizing and tangle being justified if she really was trying to “honor the old team” #i'd rather it went into a “i don't hate you i'm just upset with you” angle #let whisper be angry and upset #let tangle know why #please don't push whisper to say she was wrong for being upset #i say that because i don't actually trust it not to go that way

Welp.

Aight issue 58 leaked and I'm actually gonna take a swing at this comic now because I genuinely did not think it could get to this level of bad. Like not even just the senseless Tangle and Whisper drama, the whole arc so far is just flat out bad and I wanna unpack it.

1. Tangle and Whisper drama

Let's get the elephant out of the way first.

This was dumb and had absolutely no point whatsoever.

All this leads to is Whisper apologizing for...not helping everyone and being a bad teammate?

Because yes, throughout this arc she has totally been uncooperative and not helping the team at all!

Oops.

Even in the context of the previous issues, she went off on her own to hunt Mimic again, fearful he'd hurt her friends to get to her even though she already went through that whole shtick and then she fought Surge to try and protect a town.

Please, tell me more about how she was being selfish and "not helping anyone."

This is not an empowering moment. This is an embarrassment, both to Whisper and Tangle. This has fully turned me off from Tangle.

Her side of the apology basically boils down to "I'm upset that you're upset at me, I did what I did to help us" complete with waterworks, leading to Whisper being like "no, no, you were right, I'm sorry for being triggered, I need to get over my trauma" and that is just manipulative. Top it off with Tangle NEEDING to be told what was wrong when she had a VISUAL REACTION upon seeing how affected Whisper was, and that just makes Tangle a bad friend.

You can have messy apologies in writing, it's more realistic and interesting for characters to have faults, but this whole thing was written around Whisper being in the wrong when she really didn't do anything. Seriously she gets about three pages dedicated to her apologetic speech while Tangle gets two panels.

And again, that's all that comes of this. It only serves as a do-over on Whisper's growth from their mini series. It has no effect on anything else. This was pointless to include and just wastes time.

2. The city expanding is solved way too quickly, for the convenience of the reader and not for the plot

This is actually the exact same problem I had in Frontiers. All concepts of mystery and suspense are thrown out the window just to feed exposition to the reader/player.

This is it. They come to a conclusion as out there as "the city is alive" with clues as shaky as it's bigger and the damage from weeks ago has been fixed. No build up. No evidence. They don't have to work for the information. That wild idea is just accepted.

I take pot shots at Xenoblade 3 for lacking build up, and I can't believe I'm saying this, but I have to give that game a bit of credit because at least there everyone needed some form of confirmation before accepting a concept as weird as there being two Noahs.

This type of writing does not serve the plot or characters. It's just a quick and frankly lazy way to give the reader context. If you can't make the reveal/realization of the information your plotline revolves around even feel earned, you've failed your job as a writer.

3. Sonic has to be taught the power of friendship and teamwork.

Sonic T. Hedgehog actually learns it's good to work with others. Something he's literally been doing this entire comic. Like please name a single time he hasn't been working with at least some part of his ensemble to complete a goal.

I suppose it's trying to be a response to this line from the previous issue, however Sonic never suggested going at it alone. He literally said they should work as a team and get the job done together.

This isn't even a case of "play the games" because it doesn't bother being consistent with itself.

4. Why is Sonic deferring to Lanolin

Does everyone forget this is a part of Sonic's character?

But it's because she's the next Sally stand-in. That's why he's tolerating her scolding and following her orders. Forget the fact that she's the least experienced one on this team and knows it herself, this mission was her idea so clearly she's in charge!

I don't dislike Lanolin and frankly I don't really care that Flynn is trying to find someone to make the new de facto Sally, better Lanolin than Amy in my books. However, this bossy bitch attitude is pretty far removed from when we last saw her. She was more easily startled, a bit submissive yet still kind and courteous.

Really not the type of person I'd expect to be saying things like this.

And therein lies the problem. By trying to make different characters into Sally, it erases what personality they had before that was arguably more interesting. If they want to say Lanolin just changed and grew into this, then they should've given us some indication.

I said before what makes a new character compelling is seeing how Sonic inspires them, but we don't get to see that journey with Lanolin because it's glossed over in a small summary.

Well, maybe her character arc is just kicking off, she is still jumpy and breaks down after they fell in the portal, after all. Maybe the whole boss-man routine is just a facade and Sonic will offer her encouragement and teach her it's better to be true to yourself, giving her the confidence to lead her own way– oh, nope. That's Tangle.

Where the hell does Sonic fit into this universe if none of these OCs really need him for anything?

5. The great OC debate

I've already said my peace about why I'm not fond of the huge focus on OCs in IDW, so I won't repeat myself here.

Part of me gets it, there's less restrictions on entirely new characters than there are on the pre-established game cast. Of course, those restrictions –or "mandates" as they've been coined– exist for a reason and should really only be a constant hurdle if you refuse to learn, both from your own mistakes and other official media.

If you are frequently getting notes about your portrayal of a character that is not yours, the fault lies with you and not the person giving you the notes.

Creating a bunch of characters as a way to get around that process does nothing to address the actual issue.

Of course, I've seen it said with this arc, "stop complaining about all the OCs, a bunch of the game cast is coming in soon, so just wait!" Oddly enough, that's another issue I'm having with this arc and the comic in general.

I am frankly fatigued by the amount of times they mash tons of characters together for a big ol' Avengers-style gig. Is it too much to ask that some of the extended cast that aren't named Tails get used in smaller, more personal ways rather than giant team ups?

We've gotten some of those, don't get me wrong. It's been a bit since the last huge cast clash, but it's just not something I'm itching to see again, especially after the story has revolved around OCs like Belle and Surge for awhile. I want more small-group adventures with the game cast so they can truly be utilized in a meaningful way.

6. There's too many big subjects fighting for space on the page

The Diamond Cutters fiasco played no role in anything, partly because there just didn't appear to be time to show it actually causing any tension. Lanolin's introduction and self-doubt as a leader comes and goes very quickly without any build up or foreshadowing. The expanding city, while being the main focus, is figured out way too fast on loose clues. They try to teach Sonic a "lesson" but it never actually bothers to show him having issues with that subject.

Everything is rushed and not getting enough time to fully cook, causing pacing problems. There's already this many things competing for focus and they're just gonna throw more characters at it. That's not gonna solve the issue. All of these points should be significant to the story, yet they are condensed to hell and no part of this plot is actively being played up in the slightest.

I'll be honest, I don't know if I even want to bother with this comic anymore. I liked Scrapnik Island, but I am just growing tired of the mainline stuff. I didn't even bother reading #57 until the leaks happened, my dash blew up and I went "SURELY there's some context in #57" only to find there was none. We're only two issues in and this arc is already suffering with pacing problems and has shown no redeeming qualities.

If this is the quality they've settled for so far, then I'm scared what they're gonna do with Team Dark.

#anti idw sonic #idw sonic spoilers #idw sonic #long post

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pinkandpurple360 · 3 months

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ill try to find the brandon rodgers video it was at a con apparently. also im sorry i said tantrum im just going with the wording i was told/how viv will frame it (honestly she’s 1000% in the right). and your stephen point is fair. i just meant like…blitzo is supposed to be the main character but the show spends so much time on stolas he doesnt feel like it. and even in mammon’s fizz is the main character, which is fine for an ep or two, but like … blitz didnt really add anything to the plot there. again, why i personally prefer oops.

also i really liked fizzarozzie in oops but found them really annoying in mammons? idk why like oops had some of the uwu stuff but mammon made it a soap opera and it just want fun.

I hope she doesn’t frame it that way, because Via seems like the one female character she allows us to give focus to. Sadly Andrealphus will be the scapegoat though, using him to “manipulate” Octavia into realising all the horrible things we’ve all seen stolas do.

But I have absolutely zero idea what she’s doing with her other than her “forbidden love” fuel for her toxic ship. And if the damn ship is hurting Octavia Loona Moxxie Millie and Blitzo this much, it only makes me hate it more. In canon. So as to not offend shippers: How the hell am I supposed to root for such a nasty codependent pair who, when together, destroy everyone around them? But mostly themselves?

Blitz was there in Mammons for continuity and to be honest I felt like he did a lot more plot wise than Asmodeus. B set up the entire theme of the episode and then Asmodeus just echoed basically every single thing blitz says. It was actually so annoying to watch. He showed up to save the day with a song and dance, after blitz did most of the hard work. It just annoys me I feel like he was taken advantage of because Oz wouldn’t stand up to mammon himself until the end.

Yeah same it was just…kinda off. Like they didn’t talk much about fizz’s confidence, Asmodeus praised him and fizz said it’s hard to trust that, and then he just confesses his love? It felt inauthentic

Actually when we think about it…what was the plot? The theme, setup, the conclusion? The competition doesn’t matter, yes it does because reasons, no it doesn’t, maybe it doesn’t, clown girls song, panic attack, love song, quit song, the competition doesn’t matter, kiss, confession.

Maybe if Glitz and Glam had rich boyfriends too they’d realise they don’t need the competition !!

#helluva boss critical

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finniestoncrane · 1 year

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Ok, I thought which combination I want to choose from scenarios I came up with but in the end it ended on

Jervis,

enemies to lovers

⚫ wow you look...beautiful

Bunny

mad hatter x female!reader/enemies to lovers oop i am hard on the jervis train, bless that silly little rhymin man 🐇 minors DNI!! 🔞 500 words, cw: pining, obsessive if you want 👀 send me a request • kofi link • minors DNI • tag: finnie500

Jervis Tetch had thus far been a difficult one to catch. Evading others, using his talents in hypnosis to strong-arm the GCPD, the other vigilantes out there. You weren’t one of them, you were a civilian, but you had been the only one at the bank who hadn’t succumbed to his hypnotic chanting over the intercom. When everyone else had been under a trance, you sat, cowering in fear, but entirely in control of your own faculties.

So, you resolved to use this, up until that point unknown, talent for good. A cat and mouse chase. The tortoise and the hare perhaps? Because it didn’t take long for him to realise that someone was on his tail. He made it clear through his notes, his messages, his stunts with other victims. It had become personal, and one of you would win. It just depended on who would fold first. Who could play wits better than strengths. And you were mentally strong, strong enough to withstand his mind games, his hypnotic charms. At least you had thought.

Thus far, he had remained a name, a voice, a threat you couldn’t put a face to. And luckily, you had maintained the same level of anonymity with him. But now you stood across from him, finally tracking him down after weeks. With an empty, echoing space in between you both, you stood still, facing each other. Neither of you sure what to do now. It was an anti-climactic conclusion, you thought, until you got a better look at him.

His face, angular, yet sweet, framed by soft brown locks, deep brown, almost black, eyes staring into your own, features softened in an almost smile. He opened his mouth to speak, short of words for a moment before he found them.

“Wow. You’re different to how I pictured you. You look…beautiful.”

You fought to suppress the blushing smile, but it spread across your face anyway. When he stepped towards you, your heart fluttered, but not in fear. You were hopeful, you wanted to see him up close, wanted to take more of him in. Everything you had planned, all of your intentions, your sole focus for the longest time, it all fell apart as soon as you saw him. Not to be romantic, or cliched, but it felt like love at first sight.

Maybe he did have an effect on you after all. Perhaps you were susceptible to his charms, albeit in another manner. You were under his spell, something he hadn’t even needed to strive to achieve. And as he approached you, you took a deep breath in, cautious but excited.

“I…apologise. Had I known it was such a sweet little bunny who was…well.”

He took off his hat, holding it to his chest as he bowed, taking your hand and kissing softly at your knuckles.

“Jervis Tetch, ma’am.”

You smiled, pressing your lips tight together to try and hide how deeply infatuated you were becoming with him. But it was a futile attempt. You were hypnotised.

#finnie500 #finnie writes #mad hatter #jervis tetch #gotham #gotham fox #mad hatter x reader

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milarqui · 6 months

Text

Scarlet Lady: Ikari Gozen

Directory | Desperada

Everybody sighed in relief as classes for the day finally ended, and everyone stretched out as they put their stuff back into their backpacks and bags.

And, of course, the talk of the day was the 'Friendship Day' the city was organizing on the weekend, for people to enjoy time with their friends at cafes, shops, and other entertainment options.

“Hey, mec, got plans for 'Friendship Day'?” Nino asked Adrien, who gave a strange smile.

“Actually, I'm the 'Hidden Celebrity' for KIDZ+'s hunt,” he admitted, and Nino gave a jerk of surprise.

“Whoa!” That meant he'd likely be stuck somewhere while waiting for the contest to end.

“I don't mind!” Adrien added, still smiling. “I like meeting fans!”

Behind his back, his friends began to think.

Adrien's the prize?

Then a terrible idea came to mind.

What if the winner is a crazy fan?! Or a creepy old person?!

The mere idea that their friend could be in danger made them sweat in horror. And they all reached the same conclusion.

One of us has to win the game!

----

Ondine smiled as she read the message she had just received.

“Kagami, did you get Marinette's message about the KIDZ+ Buddy Game?”

“Yes,” her friend declared, as she pressed on her smartphone's screen. “And now it's deleted.”

“Wuh–?! Why?!” Ondine asked, shocked.

“My mother goes through my phone,” Kagami said, as if it were normal, and Ondine felt angry on her best (female) friend's behalf. “So I delete messages and don't save any contacts.”

“Huh? How are you able to text me without my number?” she asked again, and Kagami gave a small, bright smile.

“I've memorized it. And Marinette's. And Adrien's and Alya's and Kim's and --”

“Wow!” She doubted she could memorize more than her family's and Kim's numbers, and here Kagami was doing that with everyone she knew!

----

“Okay, Buddies!” Aurore announced as the countdown began. “When Adrien pushes this button, you'll get your first riddle!”

“This will lead you to your buddy!” Mireille continued, holding the large tablet with the image of a button. “From there you'll solve more riddles that'll lead you to Adrien!”

“I'll be waiting for the winners!” Adrien said, as the studio began the final countdown.

“3, 2, 1, GO!”

And Adrien pressed the button.

----

“'I'm the highest heart of the city',” Alya read, grinning. “Ah, the Sacre-Cœur! See ya!”

----

“'Where animals live next to dinosaurs,'” Rose read, smiling as she came with the solution. “Oh, the zoo by the paleontology museum! Fun!”

----

“'Once home of royalty, now home of art',” Alix read, smirking and pumping a fist. Seriously, the clue was aimed at what was pretty much her home! “The Louvre! Easy!”

----

“'With one turn of a handle I can raise the level'?” Marinette read, grimacing at the apparent nonsense she had been sent. “What's with this difficulty spike?!”

----

Kagami jumped back as her mother's bokken came too close to her face, before she could try to deflect it.

“Too slow! Remember the story of Tomoe Gozen!” her mother screamed. “A female samurai when warrior women were rare and scorned!”

Kagami took off her mask as her mother stepped back, marking the end of the bout.

“As elusive as the wind! As powerful as the flood! As swift as lightning!”

Ugh, this story again, she thought. Her mother wasn't much of a talker, but she loved to tell the tale of Tomoe Gozen. No matter how many times she had said it, she would always do so at least once more. Also, a deeper part of Kagami pondered her mother's hypocrisy in telling her to be like a woman who had gone after the expectations of society while stifling her opportunities to have a normal life.

DING!

Oops, she forgot to turn off her smartphone's warnings.

“What was that.”

And that was why she shouldn't have forgot.

“Um...”

Great, now she had to see how to get away with it.

----

She hadn't got away with it.

“It's for a game, Okaa-san,” she said.

“You don't have permission to play a 'game',” her mother declared, as if that were the end of the discussion.

“Adrien is participating,” Kagami pointed out. Not that it seemed to sway her.

“Hmph,” Tomoe Tsurugi growled. “Then Gabriel is more foolish than I thought, being so permissive.”

Given how much of a... alright, control freak Gabriel Agreste was, that said more about her mother than about the man.

“Regardless, this and that have nothing to do with each other. I forbid you to play.”

That did it. Every time she had wanted to do something for herself, to have what other people would consider normal, she had to hide, escape, lie. Because heaven forbid that Tomoe Tsurugi's daughter was more than a doll for her to play with when she wanted and kept in a box the rest of the time.

Today, she would do it again.

I'm gonna play even harder now! Kagami furiously thought, while her mother remained unaware of what was going to happen.

“Tatsu, to the Grand Palais,” Tomoe ordered. Unbeknownst to the woman, Kagami had recorded her voice. Hopefully, she'd be able to find where she had to go first and have the car lead her there.

----

As pairs of teenagers checked their phones and run around Paris to follow the clues of the Friendship Challenge, a certain someone was looking at them and discarding them.

“Too dumb looking. Too unfashionable. Too ridiculous!” Chloé Bourgeois said aloud, pointing at the different pairs, while Ondine and her friend Freddy looked at her with confusion and a bit of irritation.

“Chloé, what are you doing?” Tikki whispered from the bag.

“I'm looking for a smart-looking pair of 'buddies', duh,” she said. “That way I don't have to do the dirty work of finding Adrien! I'm so smart!”

Tikki raised an eyebrow.

“Why didn't you just sign up to play?” she pointed out.

“My application was denied for some reason,” Chloé pouted, and Tikki rolled her eyes. Right, the prohibition from the bowler hat competition...

----

It had taken a while for her to realize the meeting point was Canal Saint-Martin: one turn of a handle, and the water level would change for the connection between the Seine and the Canal de l'Ourcq. A different turn, and it became drained, which happened at least once per decade, as needed.

The best, though, what who she found at the point.

“Kagami's my buddy, yay!” she cheered, and Kagami replied with a smile.

“I'm glad too.”

Immediately, Marinette moved on to hook an arm around Kagami's and the two began to make their way out, and towards their next target.

“Between the two of us we'll win for sure!” Marinette happily declared.

“Un,” Kagami agreed. “So, the second riddle...”

Marinette pressed the button to declare that she had met her buddy, and got the riddle.

“'To get closer to your goal, you must explore further and deeper',” she read out loud.

“Hm. Further down the banks of the Seine, which is deeper than this canal,” Kagami suggested.

Behind them, out of sight, a girl they both despised was stalking her.

“Target acquired!” Chloé said. As she followed them, Tikki stuck her head out of her hideaway in Chloé's hair.

“Gawd, Chloé, leave Marinette and Kagami alone!” the Kwami chastised her.

“True, they're not smart enough to win,” Chloé answered, demonstrating, for the n-th time, her inability to understand such simple concepts as 'common decency'. “But, like, they might! And that's not fair! Adrihoney already plays with Dupain-Cheng at school and not me! And then he plays with Tsurugi after school and makes no time for me! The only way to make it fair is to make sure they lose!”

“Nooo!” Tikki complained. Once more, she wondered: what had she done to deserve this?! She had saved Joan from the fire, dammit!

----

“Why'd they only give us one pole?” Marinette pondered as she cast the line. She hadn't done this much, but she thought she could do it.

“So... do you prefer to be called by your whole name or a nickname?” Kagami suddenly asked as she looked away.

“Huh? What brought this on?” Marinette asked in a low voice, but she supposed there was nothing to lose in answering. “I don't really have a nickname. Though Alya calls me 'M' sometimes.”

“I see,” Kagami said, uncertain. Marinette, knowing what she did about her buddy, was certain she wasn't sure of how to continue, so she did it for her.

“What about you?”

“No one's ever given me one before,” the fencer admitted, which made Marinette a bit sad on the inside.

“Alya will for sure!” she tried to cheer her up. “Hope you like being 'K'.”

After a couple of seconds of silence, Kagami replied.

“... can I workshop that?”

Marinette smiled widely.

“Is 'Gami' good?”

“Not bad. I'd call you 'Mari-chan', but...”

“Yeah, not in French,” Marinette replied, laughing. It would certainly be awkward to be called 'husband' by her buddy!

----

“What are they doing?” Chloé asked, mystified as she saw the two girls talking.

“Being friends?” Tikki replied, dripping so much sarcasm that she could have probably filled a barrel with it.

----

Chloé had found a box, and was trying to get away with it.

“Hey, look, that's the box!”

Chloé threw the box away and ran.

----

Chloé had moved the box under one table.

“Marinette, I have found the box. It's strange that it was put under this table, though,” Kagami said.

Chloé bit her nails in anger.

----

Chloé had found another box, and quickly went to throw it out of the building.

“This is the box we were meant to find!”

“Good. We're getting closer to our goal!”

Chloé twitched as she realized she had actually helped those two!

Tikki just snickered.

----

“Last step: Trust Challenge. Take a selfie in front of a monument using each other's phone,” Kagami said, as she handed Marinette her phone, “then regroup and take a selfie together. Only then will you get Adrien's location.”

“We're so close!” Marinette replied as she passed her phone to Kagami. Since they were at the Place de la Concorde, there were plenty of monuments to take a selfie with!

“We'll meet back here and win!”

With cellphones exchanged, the two girls rushed to find different monuments to certify the first half of the challenge, and Pollen came out of the bag.

“You did it, My Queen!” the Kwami cheered.

“Almost! Teaming up with Kagami has been a total dream~!”

“DUPAIN-CHENG!”

“AHHH, CHLOÉ! MY NIGHTMARE!”

Great, even now Chloé was out to ruin her life.

“C-Chloé, wha–?!” Marinette asked, but Chloé interrupted.

“You finally got the last clue, right?” the major irritant asked, pointing at Kagami's phone in her hand. Before she could react, Chloé stole it off her hand and began to laugh. “Now I'm going to meet with myyy Adrien!”

“Hey!” she finally reacted, and began to run after her.

Only for a very furious Kagami to intercept the eyesore.

“EEP!”

----

In his lair underneath the Agreste Mansion, Hawkmoth perked up.

“Hm?”

Another potential Akuma?

----

“GIVE IT BACK!” Kagami shouted as she tackled Chloé, but found herself with an ugly sandal on her face.

“NO!” Chloé shrieked as she was tackled from behind by Marinette, grabbing her by the neck. “OH!”

“CHLOÉ!” Marinette shouted as well, grappling with her life's personal demon, when the phone began to ring.

And Chloé picked up.

“Hello~?”

“KAGAMI!” Tomoe Tsurugi's voice shouted from the other side, causing Kagami to let go in shock, allowing Chloé to escape. “WHERE ARE YOU?! YOU'RE SUPPOSED TO BE AT HOME!”

“Ohoho! Little Kagami snuck out to play a game?” Chloé laughed, as she ran just ahead of Marinette and Kagami.

“Why are you so fast?!” Marinette complained, which was understandable, given that Chloé was wearing sandals while she and Kagami wore shoes that were better for running, and yet Chloé was staying out of reach.

“SCANDALOUS!” Chloé shrieked, as if she were an American schoolgirl called Ashley.

“GAME?! BUT I FORBADE HER!”

“Uh, I know? That's why I'm telling on her?”

The distraction from that was enough for Marinette to finally tackle Chloé and recover the phone, but the damage had been done already. Still, she had to try to fix it!

“Mme., don't worry, Kagami's with a friend, staying safe–”

“Kagami doesn't have friends!”

Marinette gave the phone a weird look, as she grabbed Chloé's face when she tried to steal the phone again. Either Mme. Tsurugi was willfully ignorant of Kagami's life, or she was another Gabriel Agreste.

Then again, Gabriel Agreste was willfully ignorant of Adrien's life as well...

“Wha–? That's not true,” Marinette replied, but then Kagami gently picked the phone and started to talk.

“Actually, Okaa-san, I do have friends! Lots of friends! Wonderful friends!” she said, her expression turning thunderous as she kept talking. “Friends I chose myself because I'm DONE with you CONTROLLING MY LIFE –!”

“With pleasure, Hawkmoth.”

“UGHHHHHH!”

Heaven's sake, one couldn't even berate their parent for being a control freak without them being akumatized.

----

It was only moments later that the Akuma, a large metal statue-like golem with the same colors as the Tsurugi's car, showed up at the Place de la Concorde.

“Kagami! You disobeyed me!” Yeah, this was Kagami's mother. “You'll never go out again!”

But, as she made to grab her daughter, Kagami dodged – and the red hand grabbed Chloé.

“Wha–hey!”

“Tsk! Missed,” the Akuma said with a gravely voice, but clearly it didn't care who she had grabbed – and opened its mouth wide.

“Ooooooom–”

“EEEEEEE! EW! EW! EW! EW!”

And Chloé disappeared down the gullet of the Akuma.

Kagami and Marinette looked at each other, a bit disgusted about what they had witnessed and also a bit scared at what was going on.

“You won't get away from me, Kagami!”

Yeah, it was time to run.

----

“ARE YOU KIDDING ME?! YOU DON'T EVEN HAVE BLUETOOTH, THIS IS SO LAME!” Chloé yelled from the (surprisingly) comfortable seat in the 'stomach' of the Akuma.

Tikki rolled her eyes at the priorities of her wielder.

Not to mention you can't transform here without giving away your identity, she thought.

----

Adrien checked his friends' photos on the phone as he waited for the end of the contest. Aurore and Mireille had been updating him on how people were doing (in general – they couldn't tell him who was where), and he knew that the contest would end soon. If he was lucky, it would be at least one of his friends that won. If he was very lucky...

“AKUMA ALERT, AKUMA ALERT,” the loudspeakers announced, and he quickly turned off his cellphone to put it in his pocket. “WE ASK ALL VISITORS TO KINDLY EVACUATE THE PALACE VERY CALMLY.”

“Claws Out,” Adrien said as soon as he was somewhere out of camera sight, transforming into his superhero alter ego.

“REPEAT, PLEASE EVACUATE THE PALACE CALMLY.”

That was what he was doing, evacuating as he calmly whistled on his way out.

He hoped that the Gorilla would evacuate instead of just searching for him...

----

Marigold had been lucky when Kagami suggested splitting up, to divide the Akuma's attention: it had allowed her to sneak away to transform, and then she had tracked Kagami again, so she could protect her.

“I see you two made a new friend for Friendship Day, Honeybee!”

She turned to see Chat Noir, smiling at them both, and Marigold was thankful for the levity, even if it was not the time.

“More like she's jealous of Kagami's friendships!” she replied. “She captured a civilian trying to get her!”

That left Chat Noir worried: civilians being taken hostage by the Akumas was not fun, because you had to be careful when you fought them.

“Would Venom work on an Akuma that big?” Chat Noir asked, worried.

“Probably,” she replied, remembering how it worked on Animan when he turned into a dinosaur, “but then we wouldn't be able to get the hostage out until Scarlet Lady gets here.”

“Hm...”

Given Scarlet's penchant for not showing until the eleventh hour, it was better if they found a way to save the hostage.

“We'll probably need some help,” Chat Noir suggested. “One of us should go and one should stay with Kagami–”

The girl promptly hugged Marigold's arm, leaving both heroes bemused.

“Uh, guess I'll get help then,” Chat Noir said, stunned.

----

Adrien entered the parlor as quick as he could, not forgetting to take his shoes off.

“Hello, Master,” he greeted.

“Adrien! You got away from the competition,” Master Fu noted as he drank from his teacup.

“Heh, yeah,” Adrien agreed. “Anyway Scar's her typical no show.”

“Ah,” Master Fu said, quickly opening the Miraculous Box, having expected this to happen. “Adrien Agreste, pick an ally you can trust, blah, blah, blah, greater good, you've heard it all before.”

Adrien gave a small snort as he checked the options. The Fox and Turtle were out, so was the Snake, and the Mouse – he held hope that Marinette might be able to pick it again at some point – but then he saw one that he realized would be a good fit.

“Wind, water, lightning, perfect!” he exclaimed, picking up the Dragon. Then he looked closer. “Is this too obvious for her?”

Plagg just shrugged.

----

Marigold jumped on top of the chimney while carrying Kagami in her arms, and kept rushing – Ikari Gozen was getting closer, and she needed to buy time until the reinforcemens arrived.

“We just gotta hang in there until Chat Noir gets back (or the off chance Scarlet Lady shows up)!”

Then, she looked down at Kagami... who was smiling a bit too much for someone who was being the target of an Akuma.

“No rush,” the Japanese girl said.

… was that a blush?

----

Chat Noir gracefully landed next to his partners for the day, box secure in his hand, and gave a short bow to them.

“Ladies~” he greeted.

“Chat Noir!” Marigold greeted back. “Have you got something for our friend?”

“You bet!”

“Huh?” Kagami said, clearly confused.

It was time to undo that confusion.

“Kagami Tsurugi, this is the Dragon Miraculous,” he said as he offered the box with the choker. “With it, you'll help me and Marigold save your mother. When we're done, you'll return the Miraculous to me. Can we trust you?”

“Yes,” Kagami replied, gently picking the box from his hand. “I am grateful you recognize me as the perfect candidate.”

“Um...” he mumbled, not quite believing the fact that Kagami was preening. And Marigold seemed to be about to burst out laughing.

----

As she opened the box, she covered her eyes in reflex from the burst of light in front of her.

“Ah–!”

“Greetings, young lady, and good day to you,” a voice that sounded old and wise said. “Fear not, I am Longg, the Dragon Kwami.”

As she looked up, she saw a creature floating in front of her. About the size of her hand, mostly red and black with eight horns around his head, golden eyes, two long whiskers, two spikes on its (her? The voice did sound female) back, and a long tail. It (she?) looked like a dragon of Chinese mythology.

But, still...

“A what?” The term was unfamiliar.

“A kwa-mi,” the creature – Longg – repeated. “Allow me to tell you the many feats that a magic being like myself will help you accomplish by saying 'Longg, Bring the Storm'.”

She picked the choker and carefully put it aoround her neck, feeling it a bit constraining, but then it suddenly fit her just fine. This was magical, right?

“Using the element of your choosing – wind, water, or lightning – you can defeat Ikari Gozen with panache–”

“Uhuh,” she interrupted. She had realized that she could be a superhero like Marigold (and Chat Noir). And also the fact that she could finally get back a bit at her mother without fearing reprisal. So, perhaps one might forgive her for being a tad too enthusiastic about it all. “Longg, Bring the Storm!”

“Wait, I'm not doooo–” Longg said, before he was absorbed into the choker.

Her clothes transformed into a red jumpsuit with black accents, with the most impressive part being the dragon tail image on her torso. She could feel the horns that were now growing on the back of her head, and the half-mask covering everything from her cheeks up, save for her nose. And, as she moved, she felt the sheathe on her lower back, with the pommel in perfect reach of her left hand.

She smiled.

“Looking good!” Chat Noir said, smiling.

“What do we call you?” Marigold asked, and she thought on it. It was the same conversation she had with Marinette earlier, but now it was important. She was a dragon. A dragon's name had to evoke power.

Well, if the kwami's name sounded like the word for dragon in Chinese... why couldn't she do the same?

“Let's go with Ryūko,” she said. And, somehow, it felt like the name just fit her.

----

Happy that Kagami (or, rather, Ryūko) was good and fit with her new circumstances, Marigold decided to check at the other side of the wall, to see if she could find either the Akuma or some idea of how to deal with it.

“Still no sign of Scar,” Chat Noir commented.

“'Scar'?” Ryūko asked, shocked. “You call your leader Scar?”

“Gross, Scar's not the leader. She's a mascot at best.”

There was no one on the street, thankfully, but then a sign caught her attention. A cosmetics shop, one she had gone to a couple of times, was having a sale on bath bombs.

Ryūko should be able to do something with water, right?

That was it!

“Guys, I have a plan!” she announced. “I need you to distract Ikari Gozen!”

“HEHEHEH!”

Turning to her left, she saw Ryūko sporting a very unusual face, the kind that came out in slasher movies. A bit like her own, too.

“Eager, aren't you?”

----

Ryūko quickly ran towards Ikari Gozen, with her sword at the ready, followed by Chat Noir, while Marigold went to get the supplies they would need to succeed.

Then she was there, next to the Akuma, and she attacked, using all the skills she had learned in the art of fighting, but Ikari Gozen, in spite of her size, was agile enough to parry and attempt to counter, which was no easy feat: her mother's akumatization was clearly not impeding her own skills.

But it was enough to keep her distracted from Marigold, and she knew it. But, still, she had questions to make.

“You push Kagami to be strong willed yet shelter her from having friends?” she asked, laying bare her mother's hypocrisy.

“You know nothing! She doesn't need friends!” Ikari Gozen shouted as she slashed the air. “Friends only betray you, abandon you! Like mine did when I went blind!

She gasped. Given how her mother behaved, she had supposed she simply didn't want to have friends... but to learn that she had been left behind?

“STOP HAVING YOUR SOAP OPERA MOMENT AND GET ME OUT!”

Oh, right, the hostage. As irritating as Bourgeois was, they still had to rescue her.

“Ryūko! Now!”

Perfect! Now it was time to trick the Akuma! She jumped up and prepared her sword for a slash.

“You should have faith in your daughter to have her choices!” she shouted, and as expected, Ikari Gozen grabbed her.

“I've had enough of your opinions!” the Akuma shouted, and she closed her eyes. This was not going to be pretty. “OOOOOOOOM–”

And down the gullet she went... into something that resembled her mother's town car. Well, at least she knew what had happened.

“Hahaha!” Bourgeois laughed. “What a loser, getting caught–”

As if to mock the other girl for her hypocrisy, the box Marigold had procured entered and fell on top of Bourgeois' head.

“OW!”

“Heh,” she chuckled as she moved to grab the box.

“Bath bombs?” Bourgeois asked as she saw the box's contents.

“You're going to want to hold your breath,” Ryūko warned.

“What–?”

“Water Dragon!”

“Hey, wai–!”

This was not going to be pretty either.

----

Suddenly, Chat Noir and Marigold saw water and soap suds coming out from the seams that formed Ikari Gozen's armor, and Ikari Gozen's face twisted to a form that looked like something had really not sat well in her stomach.

“Ugh, urgh,” she mumbled, “I'm going to–”

The two averted their eyes just in time.

“BLARGH!”

Yikes. Even if they knew it was just Ryūko in water form with the result of the bath bombs, it was still disgusting.

“WAAAAAH! I HATE YOU, PUKE-KO!”

Well, at least Chloé was out of there. Marigold felt sorrier for Ryūko, who had had to share space with her, but she paid no mind as her classmate ran out of the way. With the Akuma incapacitated by her stomach's sudden rebellion, she summoned her power.

“Venom!”

One touch, and the Akuma was finally paralyzed.

But the fight wasn't done yet.

“We can't release her without the Ladybug,” Chat Noir said, and Ryūko growled in annoyance.

“Where is Scarlet Lady?!”

Someone landed next to them, and they saw it was the devil in red with black polka dots. She was drenched in water and smelling like bath bombs. She had likely been in the bath or something when the call got out.

“Worry not, my poor, lost sidekicks, I have arrived–”

He would rather save himself all the irritation of hearing Scar speaking, and quickly jumped to push her ahead, while the angered Dragon Heroine pulled from her arm.

“Hurry up, we need the Cure!” he shouted.

“HEY!” Scar shouted.

Nobody cared.

----

One Miraculous Cure later, Ryūko approached her mother, who was recovering now from her akumatization, and holding onto the car she had fused with.

“What happened to me? Where's Kagami?” she asked, and Ryūko smiled a bit. While the woman didn't show it much... perhaps she did love her daughter? She put her arms over the one holding her cane.

“Your daughter is safe, Madame. She'll be here soon,” she told her, and her mother nodded in quiet thanks. She turned towards her heroes, who were holding a fist in the air, with a space left for her.

She smiled wider. She had seen the duo doing this after defeating Akumas... and they were willing to allow her to join them. She held her fist next to theirs.

“BIEN JOUÉ!” they shouted in unison.

“Rest assured, everyone, I got Chloé Bourgeois to safety~”

“Who are you?” Tomoe Tsurugi asked, showing that, much like the rest of the world, nobody cared about Scarlet Lady.

----

With everything fixed and back into place, Ryūko followed Chat Noir to a secluded place, where she undid the transformation and took off the choker.

“Excellent work!” Chat Noir praised her, and she nodded.

“Well, you gave me the Miraculous with a sword,” Kagami replied. “It was practically made for me.”

Longg floated around before stopping, giving her back to Kagami.

“Such rudeness to cut me off when I'm speaking!” the Dragon Kwami declared. “There's wisdom in patience, you know! Youths these days.”

“M–My apologies,” Kagami said, bowing respectfully to the divine being. “Please forgive me, Kami-sama.”

Longg perked up, and quickly turned around to begin patting Kagami in the head, which she took with a smile.

“There is also wisdom in admitting fault, so this Dragon God will forgive you,” Longg replied.

Chat Noir just rolled his eyes.

----

The car was exactly where it had reappeared after the fight, and Kagami knew that it was because her mother was waiting for her. And, as she approached, she saw her, sitting in her usual place, looking as stern as always.

“Okaa-san, I'm sorry I wasn't truthful. But I'm not sorry for making friends,” she said.

“Friends can be disappointing–”

“I know,” she interrupted. “Maybe these friendships won't last forever. But I know I won't regret making the choices I did. Because you taught me to never second guess myself.”

“'GAMI!!”

Before she could react, her buddy had jumped on her back, put legs around her waist, and hugged her like a koala hugging an eucaliptus.

“M–Marinette!” she shouted in shock.

“I'm so glad you're safe!” Marinette replied, before she turned to look at the car. “Oh, hello, Madame!”

She heard her mother sigh.

“Be home by dinner,” Tomoe Tsurugi said, and the car door gently closed before the car drove away towards her home.

----

In the time they had spent dealing with the Akuma, the two of them got a message warning that the contest had ended. Kagami received a message, and semi-dragged Marinette to meet two of her school friends.

“Hey guys!” Ondine greeted with a wave and a smile. Next to her was a girl with two large ribbon-infused hairbuns, heart-shaped earrings and plaster over her nose. “This is Freddy!”

“Hey,” the other girl said, and Marinette saluted with a smile.

“I'm glad you avoided the Akuma,” Kagami said, and their phones vibrated.

“Looks like we lost,” Freddy said, seeing Adrien in the photo accompanied by the two winners, Aurore, Mireille, and his bodyguard (who was giving Aurore bunny ears).

“Oh, that's Alya!” Marinette said, happily. The other winner was a boy she didn't know, but he appeared to be nice, so she considered that a success. “Mission: stop a total weirdo creep from meeting Adrien,”

“ACCOMPLISHED!” she said along with Kagami.

“You guys know the game has an age limite, right?” Freddy pointed out.

“EH?”

----

That night, Paris' two heroes went on their usual night patrols, and they were now sitting in one of their favorite spots, which had a great view of the Eiffel Tower.

And now, their discussion had turned to their newest temporary partner.

“The Dragon's powers are really cool!” Chat Noir said.

“Yeah! Can you believe you can use three powers before the timer starts?!” Marigold replied.

“I call hax! How is that fair?! Imagine three shots of Venom!”

“Or three times the Cataclysm.” Marigold leaned back. “Well, technically the Ladybug has two powers – Lucky Charm and the Miracle Cure. It's just easy to forget since one leads into the other.”

Silence fell around them, as they considered the implications.

“You think maybe we have multiple powers?” Chat Noir asked.

“Maybe we should ask Master Fu...”

----

Crocoduel

@zoe-oneesama:

* Tomoe Tsurugi: You must be like the woman who ignored society's rules and her father's demands to become an independent warrior!

* Also Tomoe Tsurugi: How dare you ignore society's rules and MY demands and attempt to become an independent person!

Seriously, hypocrisy knows no bounds.

That's 466 pages, 186142 words, 1003366 characters

#scarlet lady the novel #fanfiction #milarqui #long post #marinette dupain cheng #marigold #adrien agreste #chat noir #kagami tsurugi #ryuuko #Ikari gozen

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