#trees watches invincible | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

aphroditesmoon · 4 months

Note

heyy for the clarisse head cannons, maybe a enemies to lovers w clarisse

enemies to lovers hcs with clarisse

clarisse la rue x fem!reader

warnings: fighting, mild violence, kissing.

- I feel like you would probably be in athena cabin or hermes, (or whichever ur prefer)

- clarisse has a lot of people who hate her, but no one brave enough to challenge he, until she met you.

- the two of you match eachother's skills, and it's frustrating for clarisse to admit that you're actually good.

- "you really think you're all that, don't you?"

- "of course not, we both know no ones better than you, clarisse."

- you probably meant it literally, but everyone watching laughs anyway.

- everytime you spar with her, its not because you want to humiliate her but simply because you're intrigued by clarisse.

she was an angry, violent girl, and you wondered deep down if that was the only side of her that existed.

- she doesn't know that ofc.

- she thinks everytime you try to be funny or nice to her, you're just being patronizing.

- for example, when you tell her she's not that bad or try to help her up after you win she's sure that you meant it in a mocking way.

- that was until she got beef with the new kid percy jackson and he broke her spear 💀

- when you found her alone in the ares cabin while everyone's eating dinner, you tried to comfort her. she doesn't appreciate the notion.

- "you shouldn't have went after him, clarisse." you told her.

- "how was I supposed to know he was a son of the big three?" she snapped back, refusing to look anywhere else but atnthe spear.

- the cabin was sileny for a moment before yoi spoke again, "maybe you could give it over to the haphaestus kids, they could fix it."

- "this is a magical spear, not a normal one." she answers back.

- she assumed you came to gloat, to tell her she deserved it, to call her a bully like everyone else did, but she was weirdly comforted by your presence instead. she didn't have to lie or pretend to be strong in front of you, something she learned of after a few months in of sparring with you is that you wouldn't hit someone during their weakest.

- "I remember the first gift my mom/dad gave me when I first got here. a knife, It meant so much to me, but I didn't know that it wasn't invincible, I broke it while trying to pull it out of a tree after I accidentally staked it into."

- clarisse was quiet for a moment before turning to you with a frown and said: "that's so stupid."

- you smiled at her and nodded your head. "yeah it was." she smiled back at you and shook her head. "I can't believe thats the same person who beat my ass last week."

- your eyes widened. "I can't believe you're actually admitting that I've beat your ass." she scoffed at that.

- "how did it end up in the tree anyways?" She asked. you blinked for a few times and reluctantly responded, "I tried to carve my name onto the tree." you could tell clarisse was so baffled by it that she wanted to laugh, but instead she just stared at you with her mouth wide open.

- "thats-" "stupid, yeah, you already said that."

- "carving your name on a tree? really? what, were you 10 years old or something?"

- you were 10. "I was 10 actually." "oh." her face relaxed, all of it finally making sense.

- "anyways, what I mean is, at least your spear went out in a fight. I'm sure your father must be really proud of you."

- clarisse looked away immediately, as if the idea of her father at all, hurted her.

- "you know nothing about my father."

- you shrugged and sat next to her on her bed. "I don't, but I know you. and I'd say you did pretty damn well.".

- you expected her to snap at you again, that was her thing, confronted by kindness or any kind of empathy, fight or flight. but instead she smiled sadly at you. "you think so?"

- you answered yes and inched closer to her. "everyone at camp is either scared of you, or they respect you. that respect didn't come out of nowhere."

- clarisse nodded her head, staring back down at the spear on her lap. "do you really think they can fix it?"

- "it's worth a try." you told her.

- the next time you see her was the following day after she and the other cabin leaders were gathered together for Percy to choose for his quest.

- you noticed she still tries ti act cold with you, but she was less meaner than before.

- "chiron gathered the best of the best to join the quest." she had told you when you asked her where she went.

- "and he asked you to be there?"

- "what, you don't think im good all of the sudden?" she asks, glaring at you.

- you rolled your eyes at her. "I know you're good, but I also know that you tried to kill Percy yesterday, not exactly team spirit is it?"

- she considered it for a moment and shrugged. "who cares, at least that punk will be gone for a while. everything can go back to normal." you follow her as she walked out of the cabin with a normal spear.

- "normal as in?"

- "normal as in, I'm going to kick your ass."

- the two of you sparred for an hour and a half, you wont say that you were holding back today, but you weren't exactly giving her your all. you liked to see the eay she smiled everytime she won, even if it was annoyingly smug.

- that same night, rumors were going around that clarisse was going soft. breaking her infamous spear, befriending her nemesis.

- "we're not friends," she told her cabin siblings. "It's not my fault she's obsessed with me."

- when word got out about what she said, you decided that maybe trying to get to know clarisse was a bad idea. not really being the confrontational kind of person, you just stopped talkiing to her.

- it was a few days later when she went out of her way to find you. all the cabins were in disarray. they were all choosing sides between zeus and poseidon after the news broke that the two powerful gods we're against eachother.

- uncharacteristically, clarisse aided with poseidon. she weighed her choices as cabin leader and daughter of ares and decided it was the best option

- (if you're a daughter of athena) then, you sided with zeus. athena is known to having feud with the god poseidon, and you would side your mother.

- (if you're in the other cabins), then you just use the feud as an excuse to not talk to her, claiming that all kinds of provocative interaction should be kept om a liminal time.

- clarisse found you in the bathroom and tried to get you to listen to her.

- "you're saying that this feud bothers you so much that you've just completely stopped talking to me?"

- "I think, that I'd like to stop being so obsessed with you, considering it was you who said that you wanted me out of your hair."

- she chased after you as you walked out of the bathroom and pulled you to the side.

- " I didn't mean it that way." she was lying and you both knew that.

- "you know what your problem is clarisse? you care so much of what other people think of you, what their perception of you is like. people who wouldn't blink twice if you were in danger. but what about the people who do care about you? the people who want to keep caring about you?"

- your words caught her off guard, she knew it was her fault but she didn't think as far as you had said.

- "I care about you too." she says honestly.

- "you don't hurt people you care about." and she knew that. she knew what it felt like to be scorned and hated by the person you love. and clarisse la rue, will not be like her father.

- "give me one chance to make it up to you, let us start over again." she pleaded.

- you might resent her for what she had done, but that doesn't mean you're immune to her wishes. "one chance."

- "one chance." she agreed.

- the next day, while everyone was out practising, she finda you helping a younger girl in your camp with her stance in fighting and called you to the side.

- "I got something for you." she said.

- the two of you walked a bit further away from other people but she stopped and pull out something from her pocket.

- "the haphaestus kids couldn't fix my spear, but I did get them to work out something new for you."

- it was a knife, similar to your old on2, but the engraved heart shape on the black holder was different. The holder was made if rubbee, easier to grip, and the tip was sharper than anything you've seen.

- "this is for me?" she nodded and placed it into your right palm.

- "it's not magical, but it'll be useful."

- you did not hesitate to pull her by the back of her head to lean down and meet your lips halfway.

- and she did not hesitate to wrap her own arms around your nwck and waist to kiss you back just as strongly.

- "I'm gonna get laughed at for this aren't I?" she muttered against your lips as she pulls away slightly.

- "not something you can't handle." you decided with a small smile on your lips.

- "right, definitely not something I can't handle." she agreed.

#clarisse la rue #clarisse la rue x reader #pjo series #pjo #percy jackson and the olympians #percy jackson #the lightning thief #dior goodjohn #wlw

802 notes · View notes

cartoonist-in-theory · 5 months

Text

You’re walking down a long quiet road. It’s winter, snow covers the ground, the sky fades gray. All around you are trees that have long since dropped their leaves, cold and dead, waiting for spring. You stop beneath one, eye caught by a striking sight. Amid the bare branches you see a round bundle of stunning green leaves. Hanging down above you are dozens of beautiful little pearly white berries. The fruit tempts you, but you don’t dare touch. Instead you simply admire them. Life among the dead of winter. Mistletoe.

@slocotion Hi, here is my design for slocotion's patreon dyo doll contest. Her name is Haustoria of the Pale. I was very excited to put this together once it struck me. I thought of all my favorite fruits I could have used but then inspiration hit me as I was considering less common fruits and fungi. Mistletoe is used medicinally by some but the entire plant, including its cute white berries, is toxic. Since this is a longer post, I’ll include more notes on my design under a cut but to point out the most important thing, I’ve combined the nature of the toxic berries with some historical+mythological inspiration that I think echoes it nicely.

In Norse mythology, a well known story is that of the death of Baldr. Baldr was the most loved god of the Aesir, so when a vision of his death reached his parents Odin and Frigga, they did all they could to protect him. Frigga sent her servants all over the world to make every creature and thing vow to never harm a hair on Baldr’s head. All but mistletoe promised, too insignificant or too young to make the vow. After it was done, Bladr seemed invincible. Since nothing was willing to hurt him, the gods would sometimes gather around and throw things at him, watching everything bounce off without injuring him. Loki, jealous of the love and affection that was always paid to Baldr, came up with a plan to get rid of him. He had an arrow made of mistletoe and brought it to Baldr’s blind brother Hodr. He gave it to him to throw at Baldr as all the gods pelted him with objects and weapons. Hodr threw the arrow and, since mistletoe had never promised not to harm him, it pierced his chest, killing him instantly... And so Baldr was delivered to the depths of the land of the dead, looked over by Hel.

specific design notes under the cut thank you for looking!

Mistletoe is a very interesting plant to me. It’s not a tree or vine or bush, but instead its an evergreen parasite. The sticky seeds attach themselves to the branches and grow into it with a haustorium, which is a structure that lets them sap nutrients from the host plant. Haustoria’s name is a reference to this structure. “of the Pale” is a reference to not only the color of the berries but the pale gray and white landscape of winter.

Mistletoe berries are heavily toxic but also exist in winter, when other plants may be barren and “dead.” Because of that and their parasitic nature I see them as a sweet little balance of life and death. In addition to that, I use the split colors of the face/mask of Haustoria to reference the goddess of the land of the dead, Hel, who is described as having a body that is half black as death, split down the middle.

The structure of the outfit is inspired by Scandinavian and specifically Norwegian folk dresses, since I’m borrowing old Norse history for more inspiration, it seemed fitting. I also felt the style would be good to accompany the botanical and berry designs attractively.

The twin peaked hood is to further split the design down the middle, with little charms to show life and death.

I included white beads all over the outfit to represent the mistletoe berries themselves so they could stand out.

The dark side of her face is adorned with thorns and has three mournful black tears leaking down from her eye, as well as a hollow half of the center heart.

The light side is blushed and lively with shiny eyes, leaves shaped like the mistletoe leaves, red petals like the mistletoe blooms, three white dots to be the mistletoe fruit, and the center heart is full.

Her cape is white on the inside to represent the white of the berries and also the white of snow.

To cap it off, I do believe mistletoe is fitting for a plague doctor as they are still used medicinally to this day. :)

Thank you for reading everything and looking at my design! I’m very proud of her and I hope she doesn’t stretch the theme. And definitely more than anything else I hope you enjoy looking at her!

#I hope you like her #I suddenly was struck with a vision of this design so I had to drop everything to work on her for a few days #sorry for the long post though I had a lot of thoughts #<3333 #good luck to all the entrants I have been having fun looking at the other cute designs #I take immense interest in both botany and Norse mythology #kleptodoesart

433 notes · View notes

aemxnd · 1 year

Text

midnight rain | daemon targaryen x niece!reader

Can the sunshine win over the darkness?

Heavily inspired by a gender-swapped Taylor Swift’s Midnight Rain as requested by @prettycutebunny, I hope I did your idea justice (and apologies for changing one lyric to suit the plot!)

WORDS: 5.3k (I’m so sorry)

WARNINGS: canon typical incest, dubcon, angst everywhere you look, p in v, v fingering, physical violence, breeding, degradation, praise, pain kink, Daemon being a real asshat, reader is Viserys and Alicent’s third child, reader has silver hair for plot point, Stockholm Syndrome, terrible High Valyrian translations, crying, power imbalance due to age difference.

DISCLAIMER: I do not own any of the House of The Dragon/Fire & Blood characters nor do I claim to own them. I do not own any of the images used nor do I claim to own them.

My requests are open! 🖤

Such a pretty little songbird.

Little Starling, your mother had once named you as a child. A free spirit, bound only by the towering castle walls that clipped your wings as the youngest child of the King and his second Queen. Weeks, months, years passed daydreaming beneath your favourite tree, reading the same fantastical books and listening to the same wistful odes from your minstrel.

All the while under the careful eye of your kepus.

Life’s tragedies and horrors had never crossed your path, never entered your realm, therefore could never harm you. Your childhood as idyllic as you could imagine, save for a loving father. That void was dutifully replaced by your uncle Daemon, whose unrivalled care and indomitable attention ensured you never wanted for anything more, evermore understanding that your father’s duty to his throne far exceeded the loving relationship expected toward a daughter and that his brother could offer the closest companionship to his. Yours was an unbreakable bond that defied all secrets, surpassed all proprietary expectations and often branched into full conversation in High Valyrian to remain undetected by outside ears.

Meanwhile, your elder brothers Aegon and Aemond sought to salve the absence of a protective male role model closer to your own age, ensuring they trained in the sword to their own degrees should their little sister ever need rescue. No matter how often you reassured them, they refused to share your belief that no danger could come to you, for danger did not seek you. With the guard of three silver-haired Princes, you thought yourself invincible.

As you matured together, however, your brothers discovered distractions. For Aegon, it was women, cups and the sordid activities beyond the castle walls. For Aemond, it was Vhagar, studies and bitterness. You could not begrudge them the right to grow, to extend their roots beyond your all-too-comfortable sibling unit, as you too had become distracted by literature, music and the pursuit of a quiet life with precious few responsibilities. Somehow your tranquil existence had eluded the conversation of marriage, recognising your unfettered spirit aspiring to greater things than a life secluded within the Red Keep.

But not in the eyes of your kepus.

~~She was sunshine, I was midnight rain~~

“What troubles you, little starling?” Called a familiar voice from behind your favourite reading spot in the Godswood. You squinted against the midday sun to find your beloved uncle Daemon watching over you, an uneasy frown skewing his lips. “Why are you so often here alone?”

“Good day, dear kepus,” you closed the tome in your lap, clasping your hands together. “My brothers are at the Dragonpit, where I fear a princess may never tread.”

“And you are content with reading in solitude?” Daemon stepped closer, treading carefully over the gnarled roots of the tree upon which you sat. “Would you not prefer company?”

“I am sure others would not wish to read the tales I choose to indulge,” you clutched your book closer to your chest, hurriedly attempting to conceal its cover from him. Sighing thoughtfully, you smiled up at your uncle. “I am resigned to the life of a quiet Princess Regent, neither an heir nor a common-born. No responsibility, no authority, yet still no freedom.”

Daemon approached and perched on a root beside you, chuckling softly under his breath. “I suppose that notion is all too familiar to us both, Princess.”

“Then how did you assuage it, uncle?” You looked over to him, noticing a distinct pain behind the considerate smile on his countenance. “How did you counsel yourself to contentment with such an existence?”

“What in the Seven Heavens makes you believe that I have?” Daemon snorted, gaze dropping into his lap. “How do you counsel yourself to contentment with a life of loneliness, niece? You are but seven-and-ten, do you not wish to take a husband? Make an honest man out of some egotistical Lannister?”

You smiled warmly. “I do not wish to marry, uncle. No aspect of marriage or childbearing holds any attraction for me, for I could never find the love of which I read in literature.”

“That I find hard to believe, Princess. If you wish to marry for love, your parents would be only too happy to oblige.” His hand reached to clasp over your thigh reassuringly. “One day, you will find the Prince you deserve.”

A comfortable silence fell between you, enough to hear the rising volume of the wind in the Godswood. You glanced up in tandem to see the once-turquoise sky fading to an ominous grey.

“A storm is coming, Princess,” Daemon clicked his tongue, slapping his knees demonstrably and rising to his feet. With a kindly hand proffered in the space between you, he beamed down at you. “May I accompany my little ray of sunshine to shelter?”

As you reached to accept, Daemon finally caught a glimpse of your book’s cover and smiled to himself. “The Tales of Persephone and Hades, I see.” His voice lowered to a mutter so indistinct you could not hear him. “How apt, vēzos.” Sun.

You paced slowly toward the library together, Daemon always one step behind, his hands clasped studiously behind his back as you meandered around hallway after indiscriminate hallway, wordlessly travelling as if no conversation could be found. You would never notice the manner in which Daemon consumed the image of you before him, a woman grown so distinctly from the small babe he had observed in your youth, born with gleaming silver hair which now tumbled to the length of your hips. Your regal green gown swayed as you moved and swept the hallway before his intrepid footsteps, Daemon swallowed harshly as he imagined the frame concealed by your bodice and boned skirt.

~~She wanted it comfortable, I wanted that pain~~

Upon your arrival at the dimly-lit library hall, you turned to nod a farewell to your escort.

“Thank you, uncle,” you smiled before quickly turning on your heels in search of another book to lose yourself in. As you paced, you heard your footsteps echoing with another, realising that Daemon had followed you. After a few more steps, you ground to a sudden halt, giggling gently as he bumped into you and nearly lost his footing. You grasped his arms behind you and steadied him, the gentle clearing of his throat behind you making you chuckle harder. “Kepus, are you following me?”

His hands searched for your waist and skimmed the contour of your hips, pulling you flush to his chest so close his warm breaths fanned your hair. Your laughter silenced with the sudden realisation that this was no child’s play.

“I would follow you to the ends of the earth, little starling,” he whispered into the shell of your ear, venturing a hand to brush your tumbling silver curls from your neck so he could blaze a trail of butterfly kisses unimpeded. Your breath hitched in your throat, eyes fluttering closed as his gentle touch melted your resistance immediately.

“Kepus… what do you mean?” You asked timidly, almost afraid of the response.

His next searing kiss into the base of your neck lingered a while, his lips wrapping you up in anticipation and longing for a touch you had never before desired, but now that you had it, you craved it more than the air you breathed. Your head threw back into the blissful sensation, earning a low groan from Daemon that vibrated softly against your skin.

“You have always been the midday sun to my midnight rain, haven’t you, little one?” Daemon whispered. “You were born into this world when I returned from the Stepstones, a ray of light when my world was shrouded in darkness. Whenever my life has succumbed to the pitch black of night, you were always there to illuminate the way.”

Your hands rested on his as they traversed deep into the valley of your pelvis, hovering over the position of your most sensitive place concealed only by the structure of your dress.

“Uncle, please…,” you muttered in a form of weak protest that came out as an encouragement, unable to scramble through your mind for a reason why you should reject his advances. He had lost Laena, you were unwed, there were no marital connections to stop you. Your beloved uncle, who more or less raised you in the absence of your father, had been the deepest love in your heart all your life. Whether or not that had been a romantic love or not, you could not deny the way your body responded to his touch as if you had yearned for this moment ever since you first read of love. Holding him this close felt as natural as breathing.

“Hush now, little starling,” he cooed as his lips blazed a trail up to your earlobe and nibbled gently, all while pressing his palm into your skirt so his fingers could make contact with your mound beneath, making featherlight strokes into the fabric and causing your hips to buck into his hand. “Tepagon aōla naejot nyke.” Give yourself to me.

The darkness enveloped the daylight as you nodded in agreement, and in the blink of an eye Daemon gripped your hips, spun you to face him and captured your lips with his. At first tentative, he pulled back to scan your face for a response, only to growl hungrily as he watched your gaze journey to his lips eagerly awaiting their next contact, consuming your mouth with his before you could mutter a protest. Your hands instinctively reached to lace around his neck, drawing him closer and dipping into the kiss as if your hunger could not be sated, craving as much contact as physically possible.

Without you knowing, Daemon had steered your clinch across the room toward the nearest desk, lifting you to rest on the wood and swiftly hitching your skirt up around your hips in the process. His lips refused to part from yours, nudging his nose into your cheek and humming contentedly against your mouth. With one hand cupping your cheek, the other ghosted a featherlight trail from your knee to your inner thigh, blazing toward your smallclothes between your legs, grazing the sodden fabric as it clung to your core.

“You already want the darkness, don’t you niece?” He pressed, groaning greedily and venturing both hands to rip the weak cotton apart at the seams. With his last obstacle laid to waste and clinging to your hips, his fingers grazed your pulsing folds and collected the waiting droplets of your anticipation. “I have waited so many years to feel your heat, ñuha vēzos.” My sun.

Your vision swirled like a hurricane, conflicting emotions and thoughts blurring the image of the silver-haired prince gazing down at you through lust-blown pupils as he watched his fingers daring to breach your folds before you gave him permission.

“Kepus, not yet,” you pleaded against your own better judgement, a whimper escaping him as you planted both palms on his chest to keep him an arm’s distance away. “We are not yet married, I don’t think this is right.”

Daemon chuckled to himself before grasping both your wrists in one hand and raising them above your head, his free hand pressing your chest to lay you flat on the desk. Pinning your wrists above you and leaning down to hover over you, two fingers rediscovered your folds and slipped inside in one smooth motion.

“Then don’t think, sweetling,” he whispered as he buried his fingers inside you to the knuckle, fingertips eagerly curling into your spongy walls and stroking slowly. Your hips tentatively reared into his touch, a palpable trepidation leaving you worrying about your maidenhead, the pain of coupling that literature failed to address yet had always remained on the lips of every birthing woman within the Keep. Daemon noticed your hesitation and thrust his fingers deeper, eliciting a strangled gasp from the depths of your lungs and revelling in your back arching into his motions. “It’s alright starling, the darkness has you now.”

You swallowed harshly, eyes roving to the ceiling as the full sensation in your cunt overwhelmed you. With a disapproving click of his tongue, Daemon tightened his grip on your wrists and slammed them against the hard wood, making you hiss gently.

“Don’t take your eyes off me, niece,” he commanded until your gaze met his again, ramping up the pace of his pumps as you buckled beneath him. “You need not be ashamed of letting go. Let your kepus take control.”

Daemon’s thumb journeyed to settle on your clit, tracing lazy circles around your bundle of nerves while his fingers drove fervently in a race to reach the furthest points inside you, the wet slaps of his motions echoing through the library. Watching closely as your back arched against his restraint, your eyes fluttering to close as if your climax were nearing, the edge of your pleasure cliff was cruelly snatched from you as his fingers withdrew from your soaking folds with a lewd pop. In a determined hurry and a rustle of fabric, Daemon fumbled with his breeches and freed himself before quickly replacing his digits with a smooth thrust of his length into your cunt. Your determined lubrication enabled his swift entry to sheath himself inside you, but not without discomfort as you winced to handle the stretch of your walls around his girth.

“Easy now, vēzos,” he soothed, pressing a palm into the valley of your hips to feel his tip grazing your innermost core and sending a shallow shiver throughout your body. “Soon the pain will become comfortable, I promise.”

You swallowed deeply, nodding in compliance and dutifully wrapping your legs around his waist to allow him easier access within you. Daemon grunted, making his next thrust deep and punishing to the point you yelped out, filling the library with the echoes of your cries.

“That’s it, little one,” he hummed contentedly, working your cunt with his bucking hips like a man possessed, his free hand gripping your hip to impale you further. He leaned further over you to hover his lips over yours, his towering stature blocking out the dim candlelight of the room and enveloping you in pitch black night. “Give yourself to me, let the darkness take you.”

With every merciless thrust deep into your cunt, your helpless mewls grew louder which only encouraged Daemon’s animalistic plunges within you. Gathering what little strength you could muster, you weakly pulled your wrists against his restraint.

“Please… need to… touch you,” you stuttered, fingers clamouring into mid-air for contact. Daemon’s sadistic grin faded as he acquiesced, your hands firing to curl around his neck and pulled him in for a searing kiss so you could silence your screams into his mouth, his relentless force pummelling you into the hard wood of the desk beneath which was sure to leave flayed grazes on your spine the next day.

“My little sunshine, you feel like heaven around me,” he cooed against your lips, curling his thrusts to bottom out inside you so hard your blurred vision of him would glitter with stars. “Does this not feel like heaven to you?”

You whimpered an unintelligible response, unable to compose any coherent thought as his cock filled you to the hilt. The searing heat swelling inside you brought the vision of your cliff edge back into sharp focus, begging you to drive your hips up to meet his in a desperate race for your release. Daemon recognised your eagerness and met it with a newfound brutal pace, pounding into you so fast the lewd skin slapping that echoed through the chamber became staccato and relentless.

“When you are carrying my child, your father will wed you to me,” he leaned to whisper in your ear, anchoring himself by wrapping his hand around your throat, his fingers and thumb pressing eagerly into each side to stem your blood flow rushing to your head, leaving you breathless and helpless. “And I will return inside your pretty little cunt every single night for the rest of our lives.”

His thrusts became jagged, betraying his own approach to the precipice.

“You see, every night the darkness consumes the light.”

With one last devastating thrust, your high flooded through you like a tidal wave and crashed against Daemon’s incoming climax, flooding your walls with his release and blending with your own, his gaze travelling to watch the space between you as his glistening cock hammered into your depths and stuttered as he poured inside you. The once-deafening lewd sounds of your coupling now replaced with ragged breaths, gasps for air and Daemon’s contented grunts as he rode out his orgasm within you, you threw your head back against the wood in sheer realisation of your own weakness.

Not yet married, but most likely to carry your kepus’ child before long.

You threw your hands to your belly, clutching at the flatness between your pelvis. Pulling out from you and admiring the soaking mess between your folds, Daemon’s hands rested upon yours as you looked up to find him gazing lovingly at the same space which terrified you to the core.

“Byka vēzos,” he hummed. Little sun. “If you do not conceive this time, we have the rest of our lives together to ensure you will.”

~~She looked like a bride, I was making my own name~~

Some flowers bloom only when the sun sets.

You blossomed for Daemon in a way he could never have anticipated. His bravery in the battlefield garnered him the courage to risk it all for a chance to make you his wife, but he found so very little resistance in your kind reception that his claim over you simply fell into his lap. The thrill of the chase evaded him, as you caved so effortlessly to his will.

Each time he requested your presence in his chambers, you parted your thighs and accepted him willingly. Yet each time you requested his presence in turn, he refused, ensuring he kept you wanting more and more, the suspense crafting a new height of pleasure each time you were called to his chambers, bent over his bed and pounded within an inch of consciousness.

Daemon Targaryen had laid his claim to your body and mind, yet all that remained was his possession of your soul.

Unbeknownst to you, Daemon had long pleaded with your father to wed you to him. Informally at first, often disguised as a joke to strengthen the Targaryen bloodline by betrothing two dragons to each other to fight for all eternity. But since the night in the library, his requests increased in volume and tenacity, resulting in a physical confrontation in the throne room between dragon brothers. Dismissing Daemon’s demand as nothing more than a vicious clamour for the Iron Throne, your father sought to banish his brother from King’s Landing to Dragonstone, where he would live out his days out of earshot of the Red Keep, where he would never again hear the pathetic whimpers of a man desperate to bed his youngest daughter for power.

To you, that night came as any other, as Daemon’s maid requested your presence in his chambers at the dead of night and you dutifully obliged, pacing the Keep corridors in eager anticipation of meeting him once more. As you crept through his door, a heavy fabric flew towards you and you grabbed it in mid-air. A dark cloak.

“Kepus, what—?”

“We need to leave. Tonight.” Daemon’s voice was short, snappy, panicked as his face came into view in the darkness. His brows knitted together, his lips skewed with fear.

“Wh… why? Did my father refuse our betrothal?”

“Of course he fucking did,” Daemon snapped through gritted teeth, grabbing the cloak still laying in your shaking hands and throwing it over your shoulders for you. “We need to leave for Dragonstone now, there’s a boat waiting for us in the harbour.”

“I don’t… why do we… what happened?” You were frozen to the spot, confusion washing over you in waves. Daemon’s hands balled into fists as he adjusted the hood over your head.

“Will you stop asking so many fucking questions? Just get down to the harbour, I’ll meet you there soon.”

“Kepus… I’m scared,” you stuttered, hands held out in front of you as if still holding the heavy cloak. “Will I ever see my parents again?”

Daemon smoothed the fabric over your shoulders and tucked the hood over your eyes. Pressing a quick dismissive kiss to the fabric laying over your forehead, he clasped your face and pulled it upwards.

“Whatever happens, little starling, we are each other’s family from this moment on.”

Suddenly, the tense silence between you shattered to the sound of deafening bangs on the door to his chambers. Immediately hunching his back defensively, he ushered you across the chamber toward a dark passage where a rogue guard waited to take you onward. “Place your trust in Ser Baleon, I will meet you at the shore.”

The crashes against the wooden portal intensified as you fled, the distinct swoop of metal from the chamber behind you suggesting Daemon had armed himself against the ambush. Searing hot tears blazed volcanic streams down your cheeks as you fought to focus on your steps down the dark spiral staircase to safety, wondering if you would ever see Daemon alive again.

~~Chasing that fame, she stayed the same~~

“Your father is a cunt,” Daemon hissed, storming into your Dragonstone chambers and crossing the room in three great strides to tower over you.

“Surely not, kepus,” you attempted to calm his temper with a reassuring palm pressed to his chest. “What has he said to irk you so?”

“He’s sent a raven to enquire after you,” he seethed, his jaw clenched tightly as if it might snap at any moment. “He claims that I kidnapped you in the dead of night and will not return you to your birthright in the Red Keep.”

“But I came to Dragonstone of my own free—,” you were cut off by Daemon’s hand firing to grasp your throat, your fingers racing to claw at his grip and prize yourself free.

“Well why don’t you speak those precious words to your beloved father instead?” He half-growled, sneering down at you as if you were his prey. “He seems to be the one that needs persuading of your own free will, Princess.”

“If you… if you let me, I will,” you stuttered against his restrictive clutch, weakly attempting an escape to breathe properly.

“You would love that, wouldn’t you?” He snarled, using one hand to spin you by your waist while retaining his grip on your throat, pressing his chest flush to your back and steering you to the bed. “You could run back to the Red Keep and your books and your perfect little boring life.”

“Kepus, please,” you protested weakly, reaching a hand ahead of you to cushion your fall as he dropped you face-first into the sheets. “Please, don’t…”

“Please don’t what, starling?” He chuckled, bunching your skirt over your behind and battling with his own breeches. “Don’t fight for my family, or don’t take my wife whenever I so wish?”

You scrunched your eyes closed, willing to block out whatever was coming next. This was not the careful husband you knew, this was not the devoted uncle who raised you in place of your father, this was certainly not the man who you fell in love with under a stormcloud amongst ancient tomes. This midnight rain will pass, no matter how much love it unravels in the eye of the storm.

Delivering a swift nudge to your thighs, your legs were parted and Daemon crawled between them, grasping your hips and drawing you up to impale yourself on his hardened cock. With no preparation, you yelped at the intrusion and hissed gently.

“The pain will soon become comfortable,” he declared as he ruthlessly bottomed out inside you. “I promise.”

Tears welled in your eyes, threatening to burst their banks as the agony coursed through you in waves, slowly replaced by bolts of pleasure as his tip grazed your innermost walls.

“Please… take me easily, my Prince,” you wheezed out between merciless thrusts stealing your breath from your lungs. “I am… I am with…”

“You would do well not to give orders when I can ensure you lose consciousness in a moment, little one,” Daemon hissed, pounding into you with an inhuman pace, sending your eyes roving to the ceiling as his nails dug crescent dips into the flesh of your hips. “You want to stay awake while I fill you up, don’t you? Maybe this time you will bear me a child.”

“Daemon, please be gentle…,” you fought to finish your declaration while balling your fists into the sheets, your elbows caving beneath you. “I am with child.”

With your last syllable, Daemon’s thrusts ceased instantly, leaving you whimpering at the immediate loss of friction. He stilled completely, not so much as a laboured breath escaping him behind you, his length still nestled halfway inside you.

“My Prince, I… I’m sorry,” you reassured, venturing a hand back towards him as if willing him to hold it. “I should have spoken sooner.”

You breathed into the deafening silence, wondering if he did not wish you to deliver the news in such a manner. Suddenly, a cool splash of water hit your scalding spine. A tear. Daemon’s tear.

“I have failed you, starling,” he sighed, completely shattering his blind rage into a self-deprecating reflection. Allowing his length to slip out from your folds, he released your hips and collapsed onto the sheets beside you. “After all this time, I could have destroyed our child with my recklessness.”

“You have never failed me, kepus, our babe is safe inside me,” you purred, reaching to brush another tear from his cheek. “If he’s anything like his father, he can withstand any amount of force.”

Daemon’s saddened gaze turned to you, still on all fours beside him. He ventured a hand to brush your cheek.

“I do not deserve you, vēzos jehikagon.” Sunshine.

In the blink of an eye, you threw a leg over his own to capture him between your thighs. Hovering your waiting folds over his length, still hardened and bobbing between your bodies as you awaited a signal to proceed.

“Let me please you, my King,” you pleaded, one hand venturing between your legs to stroke his cock and line his tip with your aching entrance.

Daemon’s gaze met yours, his wounded pride hooding his eyelids in contrast with your wide-eyed anticipation. You smiled at your silver-haired captor so warmly, he could not resist your brilliant sunshine blinding him to walk into the light. Gently bucking his hips to meet you in the middle, you lowered onto his length and shared a gratuitous moan as he filled you slowly and completely.

“You are truly carrying my babe?” His hands journeyed to your belly, swelling softly beneath his palms as you rocked gently into him.

“As true as the sun shines above us, ñuha jorrāelagon.” My love. “The Maester says it is early, so I should rest as much as possible.”

Daemon stilled, concerned. “Then you should cease at once, allow me to…”

“And deprive me of this moment with my beloved? Never,” you asserted, sinking down carefully and bucking your hips to graze his tip against your walls, dropping so far you could swear you felt his cock deep in your stomach. “Besides, I may not be able to ride my dragon for much longer so I will take any chance I can get.”

“When you grow too weary to ride your dragon,” Daemon’s fingers splayed out across your belly as you bobbed above him, his eyes journeying to the ceiling momentarily as the sensation of your walls tightening around him stole his breath. “Rest assured that your dragon will take good care of you, little one.”

The mere implication of his words sent you careering to your precipice, clenching tightly around his cock as your walls rippled and pulsed with the approach of your orgasm. Noticing the sensitivity of your walls to his every motion inside you, jolting and surging around him to bring his rhythmic rutting up into you to a jagged pattern, signalling the arrival of his own climax.

“Let go for me,” he commanded through a whisper, keeping his palms pressed to your abdomen and revelling in the strangled gasps you could no longer hold back, grinding your hips to ride through your high as he deftly painted your walls in staccato thrusts.

Filling the chamber with your mixed groans and deep pants as you slowed your motions above him, you couldn’t bear to move from atop Daemon for fear of losing the moment you shared. Instead, he gripped your hips and turned you onto the sheets, keeping his length buried within you as you lay beside each other.

“Gevie muña,” Daemon muttered under his breath as he reached to brush your silver hair from your face.

Beautiful mother.

~~All of me changed like midnight~~

It had taken you the best part of half an hour to muster the strength enough to heave yourself from the birthing chair. Propping yourself up on the fruit table stacked high with pomegranates, you gazed out from your Dragonstone chamber to the harbour beyond. The day was bright, gleaming, the waters mirroring the same blissful turquoise sky beneath which you used to read your books, drift off into fantastical realms and dismiss your own captivity as the Princess Regent with no responsibility and no freedom.

The Maester said your third birth would be easier than the initial two, but so far he had been proven catastrophically wrong. When sickness could not claim you, tiredness and weakness took hold. Days blended into each other, weeks dragged for months, your belly swelled overnight as you lay helpless in the birthing chair simply waiting for an end to the monotony of childbirth. After delivering Daemon two sons, you assumed your duty as a birthing mother had been fulfilled, yet another child swelled no sooner than the second had left your womb.

A pair of hands snaked around your hips to cradle your blossoming belly, fingers spread out over the span of the bump to feel every sensation beneath your skin. A chin rested in the crook of your neck and peppered lazy, haphazard kisses over your ear.

“Good morning, ñuha byka vēzos,” he cooed softly, his breaths warming your neck. My little sun. “You are not usually out of the chair so early, are you not well? Is our Prince keeping you from rest, little starling?”

You sighed as you dipped your head against his, placing your hands atop his as they surveyed your belly.

“I am quite well, husband,” you comforted him, tracing idle patterns over his hands, still as delicate as the day he first held you as a babe. “I’m always well when I am with you.”

Gazing out beyond the Dragonstone harbour, you could make out the faint outlines of the Red Keep from the safety of Daemon’s arms. Word from court suggested your father’s physical strength was at its last. Your mother sent a parchment requesting your presence but your husband intercepted it before it reached your hand, dismissing your concerns and reassuring that a raven would arrive at once if the King was indeed on his deathbed.

King’s Landing lay just beyond the dock, a symbol of the life you gave away for the sake of love. When you once believed you could never attain the love as told in literature, you failed to notice you had already fallen into such an affair. Persephone and Hades, the blinding sunshine tempted into the all-consuming darkness.

Such a pretty little songbird.

In such a pretty little cage.

#daemon targaryen #daemon targaryen x reader #daemon targaryen smut #daemon targaryen angst #daemon targaryen yn #daemon targaryen fanfiction #daemon targaryen imagines #daemon x reader #matt smith #matt smith fanfiction #matt smith imagines #house of the dragon #house of the dragon fanfiction #hotd fanfiction #hotd smut #hotd angst #daemon fanfiction #daemon imagines #house of the dragon matt smith

3K notes · View notes

aurorawritestoescape · 1 month

Text

LOVERS ON THE RUN || 2,5k

Pt 3 of Kiss Kiss Bang Bang series

Tw: 18+ mdni, smut, angst, rough Joel/soft Joel cos I want it all, m!oral, injury(not reader), blood, cum eating, ball sucking, pussy grinding

Summary: it gets risky… and hot

A/n: hugs and kisses to @milla-frenchy for beta-ing and @iamasaddie for the gif <3<3

Series masterlist || Masterlist

*****

The sirens and gunshots are still ringing loudly in your ears as Tommy is driving Joel and you to a safe place. Yet you can only hope it’ll be safe.

You are sitting in the back of the car with Joel, still clutching the gun in your trembling hand, the other gripping Joel’s jean clad thigh as if grounding yourself to him. The bags with money are at your feet but you forgot all about them. Your widened eyes are fixed on the road. You don’t seem to be followed now but Joel taught you to expect the worst.

“Fuck! That was close!" you exclaim with a tint of hysteria in your loud voice, attempting to shout over the roaring engine of the car and your heart pounding in your ears. You're so high on adrenaline, fear and thrill that you feel invincible, almost immortal.

Tommy's nervous chuckle shows that he's on it too - the only drug that gets you off the best - escaping death with an armful of cash.

Just mere minutes ago you were standing on the brink of the precipice, one wrong move and you’d fall meeting your death. But destiny spared you once again.

“You two are fuckin’ lucky… I had that feeling.. couldn’t relax for shit. Came back and …fucking cops.”

“Thank you, Tommy.” You reach to him and pat his shoulder as he gives you a warm smile in the rear view mirror.

You glance at Joel and say with adoration and almost piety in your voice.

“And thanks to Joel’s number one rule.”

You and Tommy chant it together parodying his drawl, “Always have an escape plan!”

Joel smiles with a corner of his mouth. Your nerves alight, one glance at the man and you wish you two were alone so you could pierce yourself with his cock and ride him until your legs give out. Or suck him off, choking on his length and getting a new fix of adrenaline when you almost suffocate on his member.

But it’s not the place nor the time and Joel isn’t even looking at you.

His head turned to the window, his thoughtful gaze is sliding over the trees and streetlights you’re passing.

Finally the cloud of the high dissipates and you look at him. Really look at him. His forehead is glistening with sweat. He’s chewing on his lower lip and clenching and unclenching his right fist. He’s nervous.

Well he must be, you think, after what happened. Wishing to comfort him you scoot closer, bracing your hand on his chest and lean in to give him a kiss…

“Fuck!, “ Joel winces startling you by a sudden jerk of his whole body and in the next moment you feel the claws of something terrifying grip your heart.

“Where?” You ask with a shaky voice as your eyes are frantically searching all over his body.

He nods down and to the side and you notice his dark shirt stretched over his broad shoulder is glistening. His right arm, the furthest from you, is pressed tightly to his torso.

Your fingers dart to his shoulder but you stop and look at him, eyes screaming ‘What the fuck do I do, Joel?’ You’re frozen, trembling hands raised. You’d never raise them for the police like that but you’re doing it now, staring into the face of your biggest fear - losing him.

“ ‘s gonna be ok baby, don’t worry,” He says through clenched teeth.

The stupor you’ve been in disappears and your head whips to Tommy.

“Joel’s been shot! Floor it!”

*****

The next few minutes flew like a whirlwind of actions and feelings and at the same time dragged on like hours. When you finally arrived at some old abandoned garage you’d already done everything you could in the moving car.

Joel popped a couple of Oxys and now he’s sitting on a stool, shirt ripped off his shoulder exposing a bullet wound. You’re stitching him up, having sent Tommy outside to watch out.

Joel’s every muscle is taught, teeth clenched and he growls with every push of the needle through his skin. The sounds he's making don't let you concentrate. You feel sad for him but can't forget that he growls like that only buried deep in your tight wet heat.

“Can you stop?” you mumble under your breath.

“What?”

“Your growling?”

“Why?” He asks and growls again when you make another stitch.

You shrug and feel him staring at your face, reading you.

It doesn’t take him long, never does, and you hear a soft chuckle coming from the pits of his chest. You glance at him, meeting his narrowed eyes and a shit eating smirk.

“Dirty girl, soakin’ your panties while your man is sufferin’, huh?”

“I’m the one who’s suffering here,” You reply earning another chuckle from him. “And I’m not soaking anything”.

“Should I check, baby?” He smirks tilting his head to the side.

“Jesus, Joel,” you whisper trying to hide that he’s right.

“Don’t call for him yet. I ain’t dead”.

You freeze with a bloody needle hovering over his skin. You can’t see it anymore, your vision gets blurry with tears. You try to hide your face from Joel leaning closer to the wound. But he notices.

“Hey,” he cups your face with the hand he can use, pulling you closer to his face and wipes your tears away with a calloused thumb.

“I’ll be ok, baby.”

“You don’t know it”.

“I do. It’s just a graze”

“No, it’s not. The fucking bullet went through you! You were bleeding so much and.. and …”, you cut yourself off suffocated by the fear.

“Hey,” Joel says and grabs your shoulder, “You stopped it. You did good, ya hear me?”

“Yeah,” you mumble, glistening eyes downcast.

“Look at me,” he asks gently, his gaze is warm and comforting, “Thank you, baby”.

You jerk your head in a nod and a tear falls down on his hand.

“I’m almost done.”

You continue your work in silence.

When it’s done and his arm is secured in a makeshift sling, you take some water from the car to clean yourself off the dark crimson blood. Joel’s blood. Then you start carefully wiping away the red off his big hands and can't help but imagine the world where these hands can’t hold you anymore, can’t wipe away your tears, can’t make you come, can’t be kissed by your loving lips. The wave of panic covers you whole again and you burst into tears.

Immediately embracing you with his healthy arm, no matter the pain he must be in, Joel holds you close kissing wherever he can reach, your hair, eyes, nose, cheeks. No one would believe that this big brutal man could be so gentle and soft.

“I’m s-sorry”, you hiccup after a few minutes of crying on Joel’s healthy shoulder. Your body is still trembling against his and you hate yourself for letting your fear get the best of you.

“Shh.. it’s ok, sweetheart. I’m here. We’re safe,” Joel whispers, pressing you closer to his naked chest peeking from his ripped shirt.

“We aren’t safe, Joel. Not after today.”

“Always have an escape plan, right, baby?”

“You think it’s time? Did we save up enough?”

“Yeah, baby. Enough for us and for Tommy. Can’t wait to see you in that micro bikini you promised me,” he groans in your ear and you quietly giggle. You press your cheek to his broad chest and furrow your brows in thought. You love this life, always have, but you can’t deny that your luck has run out. Going on will be like driving your car towards the edge of the cliff at full speed. With a pang in your heart you realize that it’s time to take another road while you still have each other.

You straighten up, check Joel’s shoulder and arm again and then look deep into his eyes. He notices myriads of thoughts swirling in your mind, wraps his heavy hand around the back of your neck and lightly squeezes.

“If you need somethin’ to calm down…?”

“I can’t smoke now… need clear mind.”

“I ain’t talking about weed, baby”.

“What then?”

“Oh, think, sweetheart. What always helps, huh?” He moves his hand to your face and his thumb brushes your lower lip.

You look confused, head tilted to the side, until he pushes his thick finger into your mouth. Your eyes sparkle with excitement while you’re sucking on his thumb.

“Good girl. C’mon now. Get on your knees.”

He pulls the finger out and you lower yourself kneeling between his legs.

“Sure I won’t hurt you?”

“I’ll be fine. Take what you need, sweetheart,” he replies, spreading his thighs wider for you.

Your heart sings and pussy tingles as you slowly open his jeans, tug them down to the middle of his hips and pull out his soft heavy package.

You press your cheek to his warm crotch and feel his cock twitch. You don’t do anything for a few moments, just breathe in his musk and purr into his soft lightly trimmed hair. Joel’s petting your head and you sink into a trance, as he holds you close.

When you’re ready for more, you start leaving open mouth kisses to his inner thighs, balls, shaft, tip. With every touch of your lips, you feel him grow bigger, stiffer, harder and you can’t help but whine feeling yourself gush. So you start grinding your clothed pussy against your booted heel, desperate for any pressure.

You look up at Joel with your doe eyes, full of devotion and love and he groans, scooting closer to the edge of the seat.

“Go ahead, baby. Suck on it. It’ll calm ya right up.”

You know it will. So you take his already hard cock in your hand and latch on the fat tip. Your eyes flutter shut as soon as precome hits your tongue. You hum as you lick it off him and then take his length deeper into your hot mouth. In a few moments you’re already drooling around him, soaking his cock with your saliva while your warm palms gently caress his heavy balls.

“Fuck… yeah, baby,” Joel groans making your pussy ache with need.

When his cock is nice and wet you pull your mouth away replacing it with your hand and bend lower to suck on the velvet skin of his sack. You trace its seam with the tip of your tongue and take a ball in your mouth. You roll it with your tongue and then suck. Joel’s huge fist clutches your hair, not too hard but enough to signal you to keep going. You suck one into your mouth, slurp and lick around it and then part from it with a pop.

“Hnggg…That’s my girl,” Joel praises you through growls when you start working on the other ball. Your hands aren’t resting, one clasped around his long cock, sliding up and down from the girthy base to the throbbing head, as the other caresses the other ball.

You’re burning up with arousal and not being able to contain yourself, you grind, grind, grind your aching pussy against your heel.

Joel lightly tugs at your hair to get your hazy half lidded eyes to look at him and chuckles when you do,

“Shit, look at ya. Already gone just from suckin’ on my sack.”

You let go of his ball with a pop and his cock twitches in your hand. A clear drop beads on the slit and you lick it off, not tearing your eyes from the man.

“Yeah, now onto the main course, sweetheart,” he groans with a smirk.

You smile back, licking your lips as your hand returns to his sack.

“Don’t hold back, Joel. Please.”

You don’t think it’s possible but his gaze turns even darker, completely obsidian with lust, his cock is throbbing as you’re holding it at the base.

“Ya got it, baby”.

His hand, soft and gentle just a second ago, grabs your hair tight and pulls you closer. You gasp as your lips smash into his warm head but you don’t hesitate to open them and take more and more of his cock, until your nose touches his dark pubic hair. Your throat is trying to accommodate his length, eyes are welling up with tears, fingers gripping his thighs. He fills you so well that all the fears are quickly pushed out of your head by him. You nearly suffocate on his thick cock, squirming between his thighs but he’s holding you tight.

“Keep it in, baby, ya doing so good…”

Your throat contracts around him and he pulls you off with a curse. You cough, swallowing air, drooling all over yourself while he’s holding you by your hair like a dog on a leash.

“Gonna make me come too fast… lemme enjoy this mouth of yours.”

Your mind has already shut down, all your actions, senses, emotions are focused on pleasuring him.

Your mouth is on his cock again, tongue pushing on the underside as you slide up his length and swirl it around his fat head. You’re drunk on Joel, his taste, sounds, scent, his essence is inside you, around you, everywhere. He’s your whole world and they almost took him from you. Angry tears roll out of your eyes while you hollow your cheeks and bob your head up and down, in control of his pleasure but completely under his power. You feel his cock stiffen and then it starts pulsating in your mouth. You take him deeper and drink his cum as Joel is spurting it generously right into your throat. With another roll of your hips against your boot you come, moaning around his length in your mouth, seeing stars behind your eyelids. When he discards of the last drop of his seed, he coos over you,

“Oh, baby, did your little pussy come already?”

Not waiting for the answer, Joel roughly tugs on your hair again, dull pain making you whine, lifts your head off his softening cock and finally sees your face, stained with fresh tears.

“Fuck, baby, c’mere,” he pulls you up on your feet wincing at the pain in his shoulder. You immediately push your face into the crease of his neck, trying not to hurt him, breathing him in. He turns to you and his lips find yours. You kiss each other, desperately and feverishly, like it’s the last time before your old life ends and you meet a new beginning together.

Joel holds you tight one second and in the next his arm falls and his whole weight slumps on you. With his name on your trembling lips, you see his eyes roll back and then close.

*****

Thank you for reading! 🌸

Comments and reblogs make me very happy and help to spread my work!💖

Series Masterlist

Tag list: @milla-frenchy @harriedandharassed @missannwinchester @iamasaddie @nervousmumbling @bbyanarchist @stevie75 @puduvallee @auteurdelabre @mountainsandmayhem @senoratess @flamingochick55

Series tag list: @survivingandenduring @casa-boiardi @pascalpvnk @lilipads @mountainsandmayhem @anavatazes @kirsteng42 @drewharrisonwriter @iluvurfather @lostsoldieronahill

If you want to be tagged, let me know!💕

378 notes · View notes

silkscream · 4 months

Text

CHAPTER 1: I'LL BE YOUR PLASTIC TOY

ੈ✩ gojo satoru x reader, geto suguru x reader

Satoru Gojo was a lot of things, but he would never be yours. Sleeping with him in his bed as a child didn’t grant you that kind of closeness anymore. Within these halls, you walk past each other like strangers.

ੈ✩ chapter cw/tags: angst, suggestiveness, making out, light bullying

ੈ✩ wc: 5.5k

ੈ✩ a/n: i am here to ruin everyone's lives. apologies in advance

playlist ✸ read on ao3 ✸ series masterlist

March, 2008

“Hey, Twigs. Wanna see something cool?”

His honeyed voice chills your spine, his breath warm right by your ear. You roll your eyes as you turn to face Satoru, grinning with all his teeth as he tugs at your wrist.

“What is it, Satoru?” you sigh.

“You have to follow meee,” he sings, pulling you away from the table you’re setting and towards the side of the porch. It’s secluded. Private. “Bring the spoon.”

With furrowed brows, you oblige. It isn’t like you have a choice. You had followed him around like a puppy ever since you’d met him as a child. You continue to, regardless of your determination to separate yourself from him.

His favorite shadow. His little pet.

The two of you aren’t as close as you were when you were children, but it’s still impossible to refuse him when he has a request. You blame it on your mother and her professionalism. You figure you had inherited it from her. That hyper-politeness. You find that you blame the ocean blue of his eyes more often. Always sparkling.

He walks a few feet away from you, still grinning. You blink at his tall figure. He's currently dressed in a baby blue dress shirt (sleeves rolled up, of course) and black slacks. His Sunday best for the fancy brunch at the Gojo Estate. Every April, your mother summons you to help set up, then rewards you with a plate and time to play with the other kids. She would continue her work, serving the family and their guests. You would pretend that you weren’t part of the staff.

There hadn’t been a point in you staying for the afternoon in years. Only if Satoru begged you to, and even then, he hadn’t bothered to do so since junior high.

“You’re going to get me in trouble,” you huff, crossing your arms. You wipe your sweaty hands on your smock.

“I’d never let you get in trouble, you know that,” he smirks. “Now, throw the spoon at me.”

“What?”

“Just do it.”

“I want to throw way more than a spoon at you right now.”

“Relax, Twigs. Do this for me. Please?” he pouts. You can see his bright blue eyes peeking out of his black sunglasses, framed by snow-white lashes. It was unfair how pretty he was. How easily he could persuade you.

Sighing, you throw the spoon in his direction. It stops right in front of his face as if there’s an invisible wall. He laughs in victory when he sees your confused expression.

“What was that?”

“My Infinity. I’ve perfected it so that it’s automatic. Took me a lot of willpower before but now it’s as easy as breathing.”

“Congratulations,” you reply dryly.

It was typical of Satoru to be invincible. Untouchable. It had been a quality of his since birth, now manifested into a literal power to aid him against threats. You’d been on the outskirts of such threats when you were younger, but Satoru would always spare you the details.

Watching him grow in his adolescence had been like watching a sprout bloom. It shot toward the sky exponentially until it became a tree in record time. You, meanwhile, were still a sprout. A window, they’d called it. Able to see the horrors produced by human nature but unable to do anything about it.

Your head snaps up, alert when you hear your mother yelling your name from the porch. She points a hard gaze at you, then softens it when she sees Satoru.

“Satoru-kun, do you mind if I steal her for a minute? I need some extra hands for the tamagoyaki.”

Satoru nods, expressing his courtesy to your mother in his usual charming poise. It used to work on you before, but it often irks you now. The way he dazzles people to get what he wants. You would rather die than admit it was a characteristic of his that you envied.

He tugs at your braid before you walk away.

“See you later, Twigs,” he calls after you. A playful lilt to his voice.

“You won’t.”

Satoru has you memorized. Since the two of you were five years old, he considered you his mirror image, though you never believed him.

Often, when he sees you now, his heart leaps the tiniest bit in his chest the same way it did when he was thirteen. He’s gotten better at ignoring it. He’s perfected the art of ignoring you ever since high school started.

He likes to indulge during times when you’re not looking. At the moment, you’re concentrated on a flower arrangement, a blush painted on your cheeks from the heat. He’d watch you do this when you were kids, too. Your face would be in a concentrated frown, tongue peeking out. Nimble fingers perfecting an ikebana arrangement.

Sometimes he missed it. He decided long ago that it would be better if he didn’t.

You two had been inseparable since the day the Gojos' hired your mother as a maid. He remembered you hiding behind your mother’s legs, chewing on the end of one of your braids. You would stay in the guest house of the Gojo estate with your mother, and you would become Satoru’s best companion.

Both of your mothers would arrange playdates. Satoru’s mother wanted him out of her hair. Your mother wanted to work without your constant interruptions. You were needy, an only child, but Satoru would always please you with his company. It was why you adored him.

He’d show you all his toys and teach you all the games that his extended family would show him to make you feel included. He’d have you sleep in his bed, which would go under the radar until the two of you were fourteen. It would be innocent and wholesome. Satoru would show you the stars he’d learned about and you would look at him as if he’d hung them in the sky himself.

Satoru often reminisces about the shape of your body to this day. Sometimes, he misses it when he’s alone in his king-sized bed in the winter. Even with the heat on, there’s still something missing, and then he thinks of you.

When you were kids, you’d sleep together, legs and arms intertwined. Drool on the same pillow. Wake up to an abundance of pancakes from your mother.

You had been half a friend, half a plaything. Satoru’s counterpart. Feet kicking each other under the breakfast table.

At age five, you’d seen the same curse together. A harmless thing, chameleon-like, with eight legs on each side. It had a nasty face, one that you had recognized from your nightmares. It had been exciting at first, knowing that you shared the same ability as your best friend. You believed that you would grow with him and become as talented as him.

But that was an exaggeration. Satoru's parents knew how isolating it would be for their son to be the strongest. Your technique never came.

Satoru acted as your protector, then. Expelled the small, vicious curses in the corners of your room like they were bugs. You’d watch him train, his body overgrowing with knobby knees as you sat on the sidelines. And while you grew up with him, you only got smaller in his periphery. Always lesser. Always weaker.

It’s the reason you’d grown apart. At least that’s what he tells himself.

Satoru had grown into a tall, arrogant child. He treated school as a hobby and still made the highest marks, which angered you to no end. It didn’t matter to him, anyway, knowing that he’d become a company's CEO or the best jujutsu sorcerer in the world. He had his future in the palm of his hands. You were not a part of that. You weren’t even sure of a future of your own.

Sometimes he would have nightmares of you dying in his arms at the hands of a curse too big for him to control. During adolescence, he experienced many threats to his safety. He knew he couldn't live with himself. He couldn’t bear to see you endure the same.

So, without explanation, Satoru Gojo pretended you didn’t exist. He exchanged the necessary niceties in school and when you'd come over with your mother, though he'd never ask you to stay the same way he had when you were kids. He was often occupied with new friends, anyway. Often busy working on his technique. Nothing that was your business, of course.

You resented him for it.

Now, you’re enduring your last year of high school with him, and you are trying so badly to be good. You should aim to make good enough marks to attend a decent university on a decent scholarship. God knows you aren’t fit for the world of jujutsu sorcery.

In a way, you’re okay with the mundanity of your life. Satoru’s absence in your heart convinced you of that.

Satoru’s attendance at school is only an illusion of normalcy for his parents. His mother insists on it. Barely a sorcerer herself, she had wanted to give her son the option of living a normal life. With his grades and wit, she knew that he could easily be successful as a businessman or a doctor.

Despite this, Satoru knew he would enroll in Tokyo’s Jujutsu Technical College with Suguru. He had met Suguru when he was fifteen, trying to exorcise a curse that only got snatched by a dark-haired thief, one who would end up as his best friend.

Satoru saw Suguru as his only equal. He had no one else to relate to about jujutsu sorcery.

Certainly not you.

But still, he was closing another year of high school, his last. Then he could be free from his parents’ restraints. It was easy for him to be the best and make the most friends. It was a shame that he’d have to leave them all behind.

You’re a ghost in Satoru’s wake. Always near, never faltering yet never consuming too much space. As the school year progresses, he ignores you like a mosquito bite. Harmless but still itching his skin. Always reminded of your presence even when you do nothing to draw attention to yourself.

And then there are times that you do.

“I’m sorry, sensei,” you mumble, stunned in the doorway of the classroom.

It’s a nondescript weekday in May, one that’s wet with rain, which explains your damp hair and clothes. Your appearance conjures a succession of snickers. The sound of low laughter taunting you and whispers gossiping about you.

You’re too tired for it. You don’t want to be here at all.

“I’m disappointed,” your teacher relays. “You’re usually never tardy.”

“It won’t happen again,” you muster.

You hear more whispers. It hangs on your shoulders as you sit in your seat, still and heavy as you attempt to take notes.

Should’ve worn something more sheer, than she’d get the attention she wants, huh?

Nah, not like her tits are even good enough to be seen like that.

Bet she’s hiding something from all of us. Maybe we can get her to strip in the girls’ locker room and give us a show later.

“Shut the fuck up,” a voice growls. You hear it, turning your head, and your eyes fall on Satoru’s fiery blues.

You wonder if the feeling of his gaze searing into the back of your head is worth mentioning. It makes your face hotter, the flush of humiliation warming your neck as your peers snicker at you.

You manage to get through class without crying. Haru, a boy you were closer with in previous years, offers his sweatshirt to you as you collect your things.

“She’s good,” Satoru interrupts as you strip off your damp sweater. Within seconds, he has you under his arm. He ushers you out the classroom door. His oversized jacket drapes over your shoulders.

“Gojo,” you hiss. “He was just being nice.”

“Or he wanted to see you in a wet t-shirt. I don’t think white was the best move for today, by the way.”

Your face heats up when you look down. You realize the extent of skin that’s visible from the sheerness of your damp white shirt. It mortifies you more when you realize that Satoru had caught it first.

“Right. Thanks,” you mumble, hiking up your bookbag tighter on your shoulder.

“So helpless sometimes,” Satoru sighs. He shoots you a devilish smile that combats your scowling frown. “Why don’t you call me by my first name here?”

“Because we’re in school and it’s polite.”

"Twigs, are you scared of being associated with me?"

He blocks the door of your locker, leaning against it and towering over you. Satoru had always taken up as much space as possible without a care in the world. You were the opposite -– always compartmentalizing yourself to be smaller. Malleable. Amicable.

He’s too close for comfort, nearly breathing down your neck. He only moves when you kick him pathetically in the shin.

Satoru’s smile only grows bigger as you ignore him. He wonders if he could get your fuse to blow in front of him right now. This place is usually where you’re composed, regal, and expedient. One of the school’s top students.

He knew you had an edge to you, wild as you were when he had known you as a child. But you had only grown to be responsible and sensible. He thinks that his mother would be relieved if he acted more like you.

“Coming home with me or what?” Satoru quips. The way he says it makes your stomach stir. It's an almost salacious suggestion despite its innocence. Satoru always made everything sound more exciting than it was.

“Why would I?” you raise a brow.

“My mother would like to see you. She told me she had some hand-me-downs for you to try on." You know I’d love nothing more than to see you parade around my house dressed like my mother in the 70s.” He grins in amusement.

“Okay, sure, whatever.”

“Yo, Satoru!”

His head whips around to see one of his buddies, crowded around other jocks. Satoru is quick to leave you without so much as a goodbye.

July, 2008

After your semester, you end up second to Satoru. It’s no surprise to you despite how much it infuriates you. You are never anything more or less.

"Congratulations, Twigs," Satoru murmurs to you. He startles you from your thoughts. You slam your locker closed.

“Why are you still calling me that?”

“Because you’re my Twigs,” he pouts.

Yours. It’s a funny lie. Satoru Gojo was a lot of things, but he would never be yours. Sleeping with him in his bed as a child didn’t grant you that kind of closeness anymore. Within these halls, you walk past each other like strangers.

He pouts childishly like he always does. There’s a devilish spark in his blue eyes underneath his sunglasses, though you can barely make out his irises from his height. Satoru’s growth spurt had him at over six feet tall by the time he was sixteen. It was obvious that he’d only grow taller.

You scoff, rolling your eyes at the nickname. If you were in middle school again, the notion would warm your heart. It had been a stupid nickname he’d tease you with ever since you were both ten. You had been angry at him for reasons that escaped you, climbing up the tree in the backyard of his estate as high as you could until he begged you to come down.

You wouldn’t, of course. You were always stubborn like that, and Satoru loved it.

You were also much clumsier when you were ten, slipping your foot as you attempted to climb a different branch and falling into Satoru’s arms. It had been a miracle you didn’t break any bones, but thanks to Satoru’s freakish strength, you were unharmed. Only disheveled with leaves and twigs stuck in your frizzy hair. He had called you Twigs ever since.

“I’m not your anything. Even if my mother is still your fucking maid.”

“Aren’t you my maid, too? My little servant?” he teases.

You wonder if he knows how cruel it is, even if it’s a little joke.

“I’m nothing to you,” you mumble. You attempt to hold a faster stride on your walk home. Maybe you’d advance enough to leave him in the dust. You could be the best runner on the track team if you managed that.

But you wouldn’t. You wouldn’t leave him, couldn’t. Not a chance.

“What was that?” Satoru calls after you.

“Nothing!”

“Slow down,” he whines, running fast enough to follow your stride, much to your annoyance. Him and his stupid, long legs. His taunting smile. “Don’t you wanna come over?”

“Why would I?”

“Your mom’s probably there. And we can celebrate the end of exams.”

“I have… stuff to do,” you stammer.

“No, you don’t,” Satoru chuckles. “The semester’s over. Summer’s here, baby.”

“Don’t call me that!”

He laughs again, the sound twinkling in your ears like a beloved song. It makes your cheeks warm. You don’t want him to see it.

Yet, he wraps his arms around you, chin nestled to your collarbone as if you were joined together. In a blink, the two of you are in his kitchen, with whiplash only an after-effect. You still hadn’t gotten used to his ability to warp.

“I hate when you do that.”

“You like it, I know you do,” Satoru taunts. “It excites you. I can tell because your cheeks get all flushed.”

“They do not!”

“Sure, they don’t, Twigs.”

“You’re annoying,” you huff, dropping your school bag on a chair.

Satoru greets your mother with a kiss on the cheek as you follow behind him. She has tea prepared in the sitting room for you and him, along with dorayaki and matcha Swiss rolls.

“Your mom’s the fucking best,” he muses as he gobbles down a third roll. You watch him in feigned disgust. Sipping your tea, you mumble something unintelligible in agreement.

“What, you aren’t hungry?”

“No.”

“Try this.”

“I have. She’s my mom.”

“C’mon, Twigs, open up.”

Satoru leans over the table with a Swiss roll between his fingers, waving it in front of your face. There’s no point in protesting -– he’d probably knock something over from his eagerness to annoy you. You part your lips to take a bite, and at the same time, he shoves it into your mouth.

“Satoru!” you groan.

“Stay still.”

You swallow your bite and he wipes his fingertips on the corner of your mouth. He’s close enough to feel your breath on his face, licking up the frosting on his thumb nonchalantly. He chuckles at the flustered look painting your face into a scowl.

“I’m done. I’m going to do the dishes.”

You excuse yourself to retreat to the kitchen before you can so much as make eye contact with Satoru again. He has to be teasing you with his small touches. It’s something he would’ve done when you were twelve, yet the notion now would be different.

The two of you were in completely different social spheres. He had separated himself from you years prior. It would be a rare sight for him to be so touchy with you in public, acting as if you were like him.

Someone who had a big kitchen. Someone who didn’t have to think about expenses.

It’s a miracle that he leaves you alone as you clean the kitchen, washing dishes to keep your mind occupied. After you’re done, you decide to cut up a bowl of strawberries. You knew they were Satoru’s favorite. Knowing him, he’d still crave something sweet after demolishing all the desserts.

You nick yourself. A careless act — you aren’t paying attention, mistaking the sharp side of the knife for the dull one. It slices the inside of your thumb. Cursing under your breath, you hover your hand over the wound. You heal it within milliseconds without so much as a second thought.

This is when Satoru kicks at something. The wall or a potted plant, you don’t know. But it’s a plea for attention and it brings your focus to him, your head snapping up to meet his gaze and his childish pout.

“I saw that,” he says, lowly.

You freeze under his scrutiny. You don’t say anything.

“So you’ve been lying to me.” It’s a seething accusation instead of a question.

He gets so close to you without you even noticing. He towers over you again, swallowed by the whole of his shadow, and his betrayed frown is petulant like a child’s.

“Satoru—”

“You said you didn’t have a cursed technique.”

“I—I didn’t. Not until later—”

“When?”

Your eyes are wide as you look up at him, hands trembling. He takes a step forward, taking up more space. It reminds you of your worth. The mere fact of him belittles you in that way.

“When I was thirteen. My kitten, Aki. The stray. You remember him, don’t you?”

“I do.”

“He got hit by a car one day, and I couldn’t stop sobbing. And I was holding him in my hands all bloody. And then, I brought him back to life. It just happened.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

You search Satoru’s face. There’s a bit of betrayal in it, mostly surprise. It boils your blood in the slightest bit — because why is it so shocking that you ended up with a cursed technique? You may have hidden it from him for a few years, but was it something so unimagined for you?

You assumed that you would always be a plaything in Satoru’s eyes. Something so easy, so useless.

“It wasn’t enough,” you exasperate.

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

“It doesn’t matter. None of it does, Satoru. It’s so—”

Insignificant. Small compared to you.

He waits, swallowing the lump in his throat. Eyes flaring like comets.

“It doesn’t matter,” you repeat. “I don’t even want to be a sorcerer, and even if I wanted to be, I could never keep up with you. I don’t see the point in pursuing this if I’m better off just studying at a normal university—”

“Are you fucking kidding me? Your technique is amazing. It’s like Shoko’s! You could’ve —”

“Satoru,” you emphasize. Your tone shuts him up, your hardened gaze, the lightning in your eyes bright and sharp. Menacing, even. You can sense the sound of him swallowing, a lump lodged in his throat loud enough for you to hear.

White lashes flutter. A frown is still displayed on his face. It’s now that he notices the slight bags under your eyes. Evidence of burden, of nights spent awake under the unforgiving moonlight.

You look at him in a way that feels damning — like you’re coaxing something from him. He knows better — knows that his anger is misplaced, that you’re right.

You having a healing technique is nothing compared to him. Even then, he knows that you probably aren’t interested in combat or the world of jujutsu sorcery in general. It doesn’t affect him so negatively. So what is he so angry about?

The question is in your eyes, pleading. He already knows the answer despite not admitting it to himself. He knows that the prospect of you having a cursed technique doesn’t mean you’re stronger than him. He assumes you wouldn’t surpass him, and wouldn’t think you to be someone who would even think about it.

Satoru knows he’s angry because he feels very close to you. He had at least thought he was close enough with you to know about your cursed technique. It was finding out that you were hiding it from him that made him angry. Learning that you had it manifest in front of you and didn’t bother to fucking tell him about it.

He can’t voice any of these frustrations. He knows you’d yell at him, and criticize him for thinking he’s entitled to you. It’s inappropriate and unfair, but in his younger years, he often felt that he was entitled to you. He’d known you since you were so very little, so vulnerable. He had protected you from all those curses, hadn’t he? He held you in his arms in his bed for years. That had to have meant something to you. It certainly meant something to him.

“Sorry. I just wish you told me earlier,” he says softly.

You apologize. Meek beneath him, eyes avoiding him.

“I know,” you sigh. “I have to go. I’ll see you later, Satoru.”

You don’t see him for a week and a half. It should be typical to you. It’s not like him to reach out or go out of his way to see you. He’d always been like that, giving you no expectations. And yet, his radio silence had crawled under your skin.

It’s stupid to expect him, anyway. There’s no reason for him to show up at yours, much more of a reason for you to show up at his, but you don’t need to. Your mother does that for her job and it has nothing to do with you.

There’s a Tuesday that’s so quiet, so plain that even the rain falters after two hours to only grant the town wet pavement. You’re curled up with a book in your living room when you hear a succession of knocks on your door. An erratic rhythm, the same as the special knock you would use with Satoru.

It’s him, of course. He smirks at you, an oversized t-shirt loose off of his lanky figure. You try not to fixate on the sweat of his exposed collarbone. You look him straight in the eyes through his pitch-black sunglasses.

He has a large bouquet in his hands. He grins at you. For the first time in a little while, you feel brave.

“Confessing your love to me this afternoon, are you?” you pester, a brow raised.

Something like that, Satoru thinks.

“You wish.”

He walks past you, brushing your shoulders much to your annoyance. He sets the bouquet on your kitchen table in its little jar, peonies drooping despite how hard he tries to fix them.

“It’s from my mom to yours. As a thank you and a birthday wish and stuff.”

“Thanks,” you murmur. “That’s very sweet of her.”

He hums in agreement, rocking his heels back and forth as his eyes roam your house. It isn’t his first time here, but he acts the part, hands buried in his pockets as he observes you like a wild animal.

“Will that be all?”

“Dunno,” Satoru shrugs. “What were you up to before I showed up?”

You shrug, too, attempting to mirror his nonchalance. You had long ago buried your paperback in a drawer, promising to return to it by the time Satoru left. But still, he lingers, in front of you, taking up unnecessary space in your childhood home. Too tall and too pretty.

“Just cleaning my room,” you lie.

“Can I see it?”

“Why?”

“Been a while,” he shrugs. “I’m just curious.”

“Well, it’s a mess right now. I didn’t get very far.”

“Like I care,” Satoru chuckles.

He stares at you for a bit, heartbeats passing the time in your head. Fuck, he’s serious. He’s already leaning towards the staircase.

“Okay.”

You’re hyper-aware of him behind you, eyes exploring the length of your body. If you had known that he would show up unannounced, you would’ve changed into one of your long dresses or a pair of jeans. At the moment, you feel too bare in your tank top and corduroy shorts. You feel like a child outgrown.

Satoru takes up as much space as usual, long limbs splayed over your tiny twin bed. You don’t permit him to sit on your bed, but he does it anyway. He looks at the pictures on your wall, takes in the sweet smell of your sheets. It’s similar to your clothes, your flesh. Your hair. He’d live in it if he could.

“How cute.” He gestures to a cat plushie by the head of your bed.

“Don’t make fun of me.”

“I’m not!” Satoru laughs. “It is cute. It’s so you.”

A certain fervor blossoms in your gut at that. The image of him stretched out on your little bed. Despite your closeness with him when you were younger, he had never spent much time at your house. It took you a few years to understand why.

“You should invite me over more often.”

“I don’t invite you over ever.”

“Well, you could start.”

“Why?” You stand by the wall, shifting your weight towards it as you lean backward. You cross your arms in defense, even though he hasn’t said anything to provoke you yet.

“It’s comfy here. I like it.”

“Thanks?”

He sings your name, beckoning you to him. You take three steps at most, holding your breath. Standing in front of his knees.

“Come sit, Twigs.”

“Told you not to call me that,” you breathe.

“Don’t care,” he grins.

He reaches out to you, pulling you between his knees with a hand on your waist. He smirks at the sound of your gasp as he tugs at your wrist.

“In my lap. C’mere.”

It’s difficult to refuse Satoru Gojo. His eyes drink you in, ocean blues glimmering and reflecting the afternoon sunlight. You’re still between his thighs. He tugs you without much effort, making you stumble into him. Your hands hold onto his shoulders as you settle into his lap. He holds the small of your back as you straddle him.

“Wanna try something.”

You say nothing. Your eyes flutter closed when you feel his fingertips grazing your jaw.

There’s a softness against your mouth. You don’t dare open your eyes.

You sense a sharp inhale behind the lips that kiss you, but they stay. Wetting between your mouth with the slight of a tongue. Tasting sweet like honeysuckle.

You whine, opening your mouth a bit more. You swallow down divinity. It's misguided affection that you had wished for when you were so much smaller. It might mean something bigger to you now if you thought about it for longer. You don’t want to. You refuse to.

But Satoru kisses you hard, excited and eager. His tongue peeks into your mouth and you taste strawberries. Lips soft and supple and melting against yours.

He groans, fisting your hair in his hand as he deepens the kiss, falling more and more into you. He smiles against your mouth as he coaxes a small sound out of you. It crawls out of your throat for him to taste with satisfaction. He’s always dreamed of you in his lap, but he could never tell you that.

You’re breathless, weak, and melting into him as he wraps his arms around you. Caging you in so that you can’t escape. So fucking warm in his embrace.

It takes a second for you to notice the hardness growing underneath you. It prods your center as you mindlessly grind into Satoru’s lap. When you realize, you squeak in embarrassment, and he clutches you harder.

You sigh into each other, eating the other up. Heat surges through you, from your forehead down to your core, to your weak, sensitive legs. Hot from the feeling of him in your mouth. Hot from the proximity of your core to his.

You pull away, exhaling unevenly as you try to catch your breath. You’re shy under his gaze, unwrapping yourself and covering your body as if you’re naked.

“What is it?”

“Nothing.”

“You’re so cute,” he chuckles. “Acting like that was your first kiss.”

“What if it was?”

He raises a brow as you look away with flushed cheeks. You’re still on his lap and he takes the opportunity to remind you of this, shifting you in his lap and causing friction. Your eyes are wide as you quickly attempt to untangle your limbs with his.

“That was your first kiss?”

“Yeah.”

You roll your eyes at the sight of his leering smile. God, you knew this would happen. Satoru would never let you live it down.

“I’m going to kick you out—”

“No.”

He grasps your wrist in his hand. It’s small compared to his palm, engulfing you. His other hand grips your hip firmly but softly. He only moves it to cup your cheek, his thumb stroking your skin.

“How was it? Tell me.”

“Good,” you breathe. “Felt good.”

For the first time in a long time, he looks at you like you have invented something new. There’s a bit of astonishment. Wonder and admiration. Maybe you were getting ahead of yourself. You were easily deluding yourself with the expression of his sapphire blue eyes.

“Felt good for me, too.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Why did you do that?” you ask, giggling nervously.

“Just wanted to.”

“I want you to kiss me again,” you whisper.

“I want to do more than that,” Satoru mumbles. But he knows better. It’s the best decision for him to get you off his lap right now before he loses composure.

You both hear the sound of your front door opening as if it’s timed -- your mother.

“I’ll kiss you later, okay?” Satoru murmurs.

“You will?”

“My parents will be gone this weekend. To Okinawa. You should come over on Saturday.”

“Okay. I will.”

#gojo smut #gojo x reader #gojo satoru x reader #juijutsu kaisen x reader #jjk x reader #jjk smut #geto x reader #geto suguru x reader #gojo satoru x you #jujutsu kaisen x you #jjk x you

279 notes · View notes

superiorsturgeon · 4 months

Text

Are You Sure About Her?

Pyrrha: *meeting Arc family for the first time, happily chatting away*

Mama Arc: Jaune, dear, can you come help me with something please?

Jaune: Hm? Sure, mom!

Jaune: *follows his mother to the kitchen* What do you need?

Mama Arc: …

Mama Arc: …Jaune, dear, are you really sure about this girl?

Jaune: …what? Of course I am! Pyrrha’s awesome! Why would you even ask?

Mama Arc: She seems nice, but…well…she’s a celebrity.

Jaune: Uh…yeah? Basically everyone but me already knew her when we started at school.

Mama Arc: *folds her arms* You don’t understand, sweetie. A few years back, a star athlete and a boy at her school hooked up, and because of her celebrity status they kept their relationship secret to protect him.

Mama Arc: Things went on like that until she unexpectedly got pregnant. They kept the child secret too, again, to protect them.

Mama Arc: But as time went on and the press celebrated her return to sports, she spent less and less time visiting that boy and her child. She was always out drinking, competing, and socializing, and eventually, things completely fell apart. That poor boy gave up his dreams for someone who left when she got tired of him.

Mama Arc: …And I don’t want to see that happen to my son!

Jaune: …

Jaune: …mom, I’m sorry you’re worried, but you’re wrong about Pyrrha.

Mama Arc: But how can you be sure? You’re both so young!

Jaune: Well…For one thing, everyone already knows that me and Pyrrha are dating! When she came to Beacon she told me she wanted to make real friends, and now we’ve both got lots of awesome people who know us both. We even go on double dates with our teammates!

Jaune: And…I guess the most important thing is that it’s Pyrrha, and I trust her.

Mama Arc: 🤨

Jaune: *quailing under the “Mom Stare.”* I-I mean it! When I first went to Beacon, nobody believed in me! Even you and dad talked like you expected me to fail and come back home any day and become a farmer!

Jaune: But not Pyrrha!

Jaune: *awkwardly rubs the back of his neck, trying to form the words* She…she came and pulled my sorry butt out of a tree during the initiation, when she could’ve left me behind and done the actual test! A-and then when trained fighters were teaming up all around us, she came and picked ME to be her partner!

Mama Arc: Well, that’s-

Jaune: *interrupting, Defend Partner™️ mode engaged* And after I made it through by the skin of my teeth and started acting like a cringy tough-guy jerk, she stuck by me! And once I realized what an idiot I was being, she offered to train me.

Jaune: Do you understand? Pyrrha Nikos, Mistral’s invincible gladiator, after everything I did wrong and how crappy I acted, believed I could be better! She believed in me when nobody else did!

Jaune: Pyrrha’s an absolute angel, mom. She’s the strongest and smartest person in the whole school! I watched her take on an entire team by herself and win without breaking a sweat!

Jaune: She could’ve done anything she wanted. She still CAN do anything she wants! And she-she believes in ME!

Jaune: And I believe in her! She’s the most caring, kind, and wonderful person I’ve ever met, mom. I know she would NEVER hurt me, and I trust her with my whole heart!

Mama Arc: …

Jaune: *leans against the counter, panting a bit*

Mama Arc: …it sounds like you really love this girl, Jaune.

Jaune: *drained from his passionate speech* I think so, mom. I know it sounds kinda dumb, but everything I do is more awesome when she’s around!

Mama Arc:

Mama Arc: *smiles and ruffles Jaune’s hair* My little boy has sure grown up a lot since he ran off to become a hero.

Jaune: *squirms* I guess, but it’s all because of the friends I made…but mostly Pyrrha!

Mama Arc: *smiles over Jaune’s shoulder*

Jaune: …what? *turns around*

Pyrrha: *standing in the doorway, sniffling and covering her mouth* 🥹

Arc Family: *crowded in behind Pyrrha* 😁

Jaune: …

Jaune: …how long-?

Youngest Arc Sister: Since the first word you big sappy dork!

#this is the closest you’ll ever get to real angsty writing from me #rwby #jaune arc #pyrrha nikos #arkos #jaune x pyrrha #jaune arc x pyrrha nikos #mama arc #papa arc #arc sisters

285 notes · View notes

delulu-sushi · 3 months

Text

Future Y/N and Mikey visiting their childhood!!! Canon to Always By My Side. :D

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~Enjoy!~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Remember this place?" Mikey's words trigger your memories as he offers his hand to help you off the back of his motorcycle

Just like he did that day

He entwines his fingers into yours, as deep as one possibly could, as the two of you walk down Musashi Shrine.

You glimpse at him.

Now 25, Manjiro Sano was still as charming as ever. He left his playful appearance, his hairstyle now mimicking his older brother's and his clothes being less casual and more flaunting, but he was still you're Manjiro.

As you walked down Musashi Shrine, you noticed how just the aura of the place brought back his Toman demeanor, just as he would walk down all those years ago... ...the hundreds of heads bowing down as he walked past them, his cape endlessly flowing back as you watched him with a proud feeling that never went away. Watching the invincible Mikey, no, your invincible Mikey walk so confidently, and see so many people respect him...

Manjiro stood where his young self once stood, and you swear you saw the ghosts of the past. He turned to you as his smile grew bigger, and slowly walked towards you, who was leaning on a pole. His one hand reached for your face as he brought his forehead closer to yours, planting a soft kiss on your lips, before whispering his daily mantra, "I love you".

"You know you can't whisper those words without taking things farther" you tease him in between his soft kisses.

"Heh," he chuckles as he takes his hands in yours leading you down the shrine and on a path in the forest, "Don't worry dorayaki, I know what to keep private" he says with a snobbish wink as you roll your eyes at him, the two of you erupting in a series of giggles with your flirtatious talks.

"Are we going to that tree?" You ask Manjiro as you notice the surroundings around you. "Honestly, I didn't think you would remember, seeing how you forget your own birthday"

Mikey gives you a raised eyebrow as he starts giving a very irrelavant and made up list of all the things you forgot, which you give an eye roll and eventually erupt into giggles

He loves making you laugh

"Never stop laughing, m'kay?" He doesn't stare you straight in the eye, but moves his arm over your shoulder as you hug his side

"For you, I never will." You answer back as the two of you eventually stop at the tree.

Manjiro rolls his sleeves down and reaches his hand into a tree hole untouched for 15 years. He pulls out a rusty box, once golden and embroidered, now dusty. Still, Manjiro takes out a handkerchief and wipes the box, which, to your astonishment, is still as beautifully embroidered as it was all those years ago.

Jiro clears his voice and stands up tall, very evidently trying to hold back a childish smile as he begins a speech.

"MS. L/N, F/N, 15 YEARS AGO I FELL IN LOVE WITH YOU. 15 YEARS AGO I ASKED YOU TO PUT SOMETHING IN THIS BOX THAT REMINDED YOU OF ME. 15 YEARS AGO, I did the same" His voice calms down as he smiles lovingly. He can't stop. Manjiro opens the box and motions you to take out his letter, as he takes out the picture you drew.

"Dear dorayaki, " you start to read the letter and sneak a glance at Mikey, who freezes with a tomato-red face, suddenly remembering how much of an embarrassing love-struck 10 year old he was, "Jeez Jiro, I can't believe you made up that nickname when you were ten" you tease him.

"One day, you came to my grandpa's dojo, and I thought you were just another girl. Then we played together. You, me, Baji, and Sanzu, and all I wanted to do was make sure no one tagged you but me. Now I am ten and Shinichiro is always talking about the girls he gets rejected by. And sometimes, I get scared that you too, will reject me."

You pause to take a breath. Never in your life did you imagine that the 5th grade boy who acted so cool and chill in front of everyone was head over heels about you, going so far to write a whole letter.

"I think I'm in love with you. And if this is true, then I'll tell you. I'll look at your pretty E/C eyes all day long and we'll drink milkshakes together, and I'll even let you finish mine. But most importantly, if this is true, then I'll bring you back here and", you turn over the paper, anticipating what comes next... but its empty. Confused, you look back at Manjiro, whos

On his knees.

His hands on a small square case which you hope has what you think is inside.

He's staring at you, with love, because he knows what you're answer is going to be

"Marry me?"

No words come out of your mouth as you nod your head while tears slowly drop down your face as he takes your precious hand and slides a golden ring with the engraving Sano.

"Then I'll bring you back here and I'll make you a Sano" he finishes the last sentence of his letter and kisses your hand, while your still in shock about what happened.

"We're, WE'RE MARRIED NOW! We're married now? Oh my gosh, we are married Manji" Manjiro never thought you would be freaking out more then him. He looked straight in your eyes, picked you up, and twirled you around, "YEAH! You're a Sano now!" You've never seen him this happy before.

He then picks up the drawing you put in the time capsule,

A wedding reception. The Sano family, and all your friends surrounding the side. And in the middle?

You and Manjiro as bride and groom

#manjiro sano #manjiro sano x reader #mikey x reader #sano manjiro #tokyo revengers #tokyo revengers x reader #tokyo rev x you #tokyo revengers fluff #time capsule #sano mikey manjiro #mikey kun #sano manjiro x reader #manjiro x reader #manjiro x y/n #manjiro x you #proposal

230 notes · View notes

paradoxlemonade · 2 months

Text

Nature of Curiousity

Fandom: Hermitcraft

Characters: Joe & Cleo

words: 1024

Warnings: very mild body horror (Cleo is embroidering on Joe, but he's made of fabric and does not feel pain)

Ao3: Here!

Summary: Joe Hills the puppet wants to make friends with humans. The humans do not want to be made friends with. Cleo puts him back together afterwards. [Abecedarian Prose Poem]

@mcyt-valentines gift for @therizino-ao3! Hope you enjoy :]

...

A sunrise the color of a bitter lemon tea beckons in the fresh morning scent of grass and dreams, soft around the edges and losing their remaining sharpness as sleep turns to wakefulness. Beneath an old willow tree, a corpse as fresh as the day it died rests in the dewy grass and embroiders artful designs into her best friend’s shoulder.

Cleo huffs at him, “You know, it would’ve been nice if you had waited until at least breakfast to go galavanting around and get yourself shot by a humanfolk.”

Dauntlessly undeterred as per usual, Joe merely smiles serenely and says, “But I must watch them, as the rain must fall and snow must melt; it is in my nature, sewn into my skin.”

Even-spaced threads holding his innards on the right side of the felt are the only thing decorating his skin, by Cleo’s own observation.

“Fine as that may be, your ‘nature’ does not make you invincible to arrows.” Generally speaking, being made of cloth made Joe invincible to very little, save for perhaps pain and common sense. He would grow tired of his game eventually, and then he would stop attempting to consort with the humanfolk (at least, Cleo hoped he would tire of it).

“If I am endlessly repairable no matter my condition, is that not a form of invincibility?”

“Joe, you can only be repaired if I have the pieces to put you back together; if the humanfolk decide it would be more fun to capture you instead of running you off, you would be in more pieces than magic thread could possibly hold together.”

“Killjoys—that being people who deny my innermost whimsy, that being you—” he gestured at her with the arm not being worked on, “should not judge how one chooses to express themself, especially when they are themselves of humanfolk blood.”

Less ever said about one Joe Hills’ innermost whimsy, the more sane one would be, as neither consistency nor thoughts of sound minds are facets of his being.

Minutes flow around them like a gentle brook as Cleo continues her stitchwork and pointedly does not give his comments the dignity of a direct response, at least until she thinks of one worth saying.

“No humanfolk,” she began slowly, “Would consider me possible by their understanding of the world, let alone ‘of their blood’; I have not been theirs for a very long time.” One day was all it took to lose everything that she’d built over the course of her entire life, as one day was all it took for the sickness that ravaged her village like a pack of wolves descending on a flock of sheep to bury her in an early grave that she didn’t stay put in.

“Perhaps that much is fair and you have no love left for them, but I have never been theirs; the humanfolk ways are unlike our own, and I find myself pulled in again and again despite all attempts to the contrary.”

Quickly fleeting curiosity would be too much to ask, she supposed, as temporary passion was also as antithetical to Joe’s nature as he claimed sedation to be.

“Really, you can’t be all too mad at me for this, because if you were as upset as you pretend to be, you wouldn’t have offered to sew me back up, and you certainly wouldn’t have added these nice yellow flowers without me needing to ask.”

She glances down to her hands as if seeing them for the first time that morning, the hands that gently wove the thread in and out of his fabric skin with a practiced ease and the comfort of a close friend. This conversation—despite its distances—has still grown much too close to an uncomfortable shard of glass nestled deep into her chest, digging and poking into the soft tissue beneath her heart that she could not excise no matter how strong her will.

“Unfortunately, we still live in a world where I need to sew you back up for reasons other than your own foolishness, and it’s not like I could simply let someone I’ve worked on walk around looking like I did the job carelessly.”

Vexed enough by her candid response, Joe allows the conversation to wander along to more familiar territory by changing the topic with all the subtlety he could muster—that is, not a whole lot.

“What type of flowers are these meant to be, anyway?” Joe asks, stretching to see Cleo’s handiwork.

“Xyris flowers, of some kind; they’re all over around here and you seem to like them well enough that I didn’t think you would mind if I put some on your arm.”

Yellow petals of soft thread cascade from the top of his shoulder down midway to his elbow, just shy of of meeting up with the dusky green vines—those were almost ready to come out, but the new stitches would have to stay for a few weeks so the fabric could knit itself back together. Zero weeks have gone in recent memory that did not end with one of Cleo’s friends needing stitches (usually Joe, and usually for silly and-or humanfolk reasons), but she never stopped pulling out her needle and thread before they could even apologize for bothering her.

And as Joe thanks her for the help and the flowers, she leads him back to her house for an early breakfast to cap off an odd morning, all the while dreaming of a world where the humanfolk and the otherfolk didn’t have to live on opposite sides of the veil, and Joe could make strangers into friends.

Better worlds and broken hearts are playing cards of the same set, but a card for resilience is also shuffled into that same deck. Crisp toast and peppery fried eggs aren’t quite miracle workers, but they’re enough to bring Cleo back up to normal when combined with good company. Dreams weren’t going to come true on their own, but maybe Joe was onto something with his adventures.

Everything considered, it took him an hour longer than last time to get run off.

#hermitcraft #mcyt #joe hills #zombiecleo #hermitcraft fic #idea writes #fanfic #idea original post

118 notes · View notes

yearningaces · 3 months

Note

I just wanna be held by a giant. Big, burly, rough and tumble giant that would hold me over their heart like one would hold a cat. Just me looking up at them and them looking down at me with that uneven perfect smile.

Is it too much to ask?!

This was the ask that had me losing my mind enough that I actually wrote a story for the first time in a while

And then they added this to my inbox:

"Imagine feeling and hearing the reverberations of the giant's pleased growl as you smother them in soft kisses and place one over their heart. How they would melt into your tiny hands, while their own enormous, seemingly invincible palms hold you so safe. How soundly you'd be lulled into sleep by raise and fall of their chest as lay on them."

So of course I had to give it my best and let the wholesome giant consume my thoughts

'It's dark, and it's thundering.' Your first thoughts upon waking in the middle of the night, having slept so deeply that you seemingly forgot your placement in this world.

Only after you tried wiggling around did you realize that your sleeping spot isn't warm because of you, it's warming you. And it's not so dark, you're simply covered under a gentle and relaxed hand. It's not storming outside, the thunderous drum underneath where you lay is where the noise is coming from. A massive heartbeat, one beating faster now as if its charge had just woken.

You take a moment to rub the sleep from your eyes, letting out a noise when the giants fingers gently curl under your laying form, raising you up just high enough he can look up at you easily from his spot in the massive bed.

Ofius is the picture of enamored. The scruffy giant gazing up so smitten with your tiny self. "Y'r awake?" His voice is as soft as the low and baritone rumble can be this late into the night, sounding pleased at the chance of late night closeness. He does sound half asleep and without any filter; meaning he can simply hold you and look at you. Appreciating the sight of you so sleepy this late into the night, a sight that only he is allowed. "Why awake, bad dream? I gotta break someone in half?" His low voice turns into a slight growl at the idea of something upsetting you. "... 'll do it. Stomp on anyone stupid enough to-"

"Ofius, honey, I'm alright." Your voice soothed the giants sudden protectiveness, easing his concern into a soft care once more as he watches you with a sleepy, crooked smile.

"I don't know why I'm up though," You call out to him, relaxed in his grip, held directly over his charmed gaze, having learned over the years that Ofius would never let you fall. "-Just woke up I suppose."

The giant shifts slightly, leaning more upright against the headboard he'd carved out by hand. After situating himself, he lowers you closer, pressing you to the soft, warm skin of his cheek with an affectionate rumble. Ofius' eyes fall closed as he so carefully holds you close, cautious and affectionate in his nuzzling against you. "Good. Then you spend time with me before sleep returns." Ofius' voice is a heavy rumbled accent you can never place- often pared with the language only the giants speak. "Want to enjoy you."

You can feel his crooked nose bump against your side lightly as his affectionate sounds and actions continue. And what can you do other than lean into the affection, the indention where the side of his nose ends and his cheek begins has always been a perfect spot to lay against. And it provides you the perfect opportunity to press many little kisses against his face, much to the giants delight.

"Little love is wanting affection?" His tone could almost be called a soft coo if Ofius wasn't so burly and bearish in nature and tone. His dark hair almost always wild, his darker eyes capable of containing such malevolence, yet only ever looking to you with nothing short of reverence. The sturdy giant would have been quite a powerhouse to be wary of even if he was your size.

But as he stands, he's as tall as the trees, and being as he is- he has so much more love to give.

After a moment of pondering, you finally respond to his remark, "I always want your affection." You can only relax and grin, feeling his fingers tense and untense repeatedly, the clear sign he's wanting to squeeze you close and adore you, but doesn't risk harming you. Instead- one hand so carefully presses against your back, fingers gently stroking along your spine as the other hand clutches onto the pillow beside him, needing to squeeze something close. Ofius breath is just ragged enough for you to recognize him as spiralling into his adorations for you.

"My little love-" it takes no effort for him to easily pluck you into his palm and shift so he's laying on his stomach with you held in his hands, under his looming face. "-My little human. I hold you in my hands, yet I want you closer. I sew pockets over my heart on all of my shirts for you to rest safely, but it is not close enough." He leans down carefully, so very carefully, pressing a giant kiss to your entire toreso with a deep resounding rumble from his chest before pulling back just slightly. "I wonder, are you tiny enough to fit in my own heart? I would happily build a way to ensure your comfort."

Meanwhile you can only be seen as the cat who caught the canary because here this massive giant is, big, and burly, and powerful, and so adoring, he's practically obsessed. And there you lay in his hands, not even trying. "I don't know if you want me in your heart, Ofius. You wouldn't get any more kisses if I was there instead of right here.

Ofius for all of his prowess seems to hesitate as if such a fate is a horrible thought indeed. "... Then stay in my grasp and kiss me." His eyes are unwavering as he watches you before showing some hesitation and remembering his manners. "...Please?"

With a tilt of your head you consider your giant partner, turning slightly to press a kiss to his finger too that's supporting your shoulder.

You feel your giant tremble at the gesture, his face lowering to be closer to yours.

It's easy to lean up and press another kiss against his nose, his cheeks, under his eyes, against his forehead, against the corners of his mouth.

Ofius closes his eyes, leaning closer and closer to you, his hands tensing and untensing under you before he lifts you quickly once again, dropping onto his back in the soft bed and pressing you over his heart on his soft, warm chest. Back to where you first woke.

You can feel his heart hammering and out of an overwhelming affection, press a kiss to the skin just over the thunderous beating before curling up against that spot once more.

Ofius heart stutters in its beating before racing once more- something that has you smiling.

Eventually, the racing heart slows into a deep relaxed and content rhythm. Ofius is home in bed and safe to rest. His most beloved is within his grasp, protected and kept safe to rest as well. He could never ask for more than this moment right now. A giant finger gingerly stroking your back, looking down at you with such adoration, watching you rise and fall with his deep breaths from where you lay on his chest, knowing the action will lull you to sleep as it always does. "My little love. 'm glad you're happy here. 'm glad I was the one to find you that day. 'm glad you've not worried of your past home. You're gonna be safe here, always."

Ofius hand settles over you, keeping you warm amidst the frozen mountain sky just outside of the hand built cabin. Ofius will see to your comfort and happiness. He has since he first found you stranded in these lands. And he will continue to do so until his very heart gives out, maybe even longer.

He will.

#letters of yearning #x reader #giant x reader #giant x tiny #g/t #monster boyfriend #gender neutral reader #Ofius #monster x reader #monster romance #babes this was soooo cozy to write #if you see any typos no you dont #Ofius the giant

117 notes · View notes

kitheking · 9 months

Text

toxic traits i think redacted audio characters have/used to have: listener edition!

angel - pessimistic + perfectionism, especially when it comes to the pack. They feel slightly inferior because they’re human, so when it comes to planning events like the Solstice, they want everything to be perfect but they can’t help but imagine the absolute worst. I think they also begin to spiral a little when it comes to David + the pack and them working specific events, this is bc of the Inversion.

baabe - a massive people pleaser. similarly to angel, they feel inferior to the pack because they’re human, so when asher first introduced them to the pack, baabe altered basically everything about themselves from their interests to their humor in attempt to fit in. they’re like this with other humans too. They’re a lot better now that they’ve got roots in the pack, though.

sweetheart - major workaholic + defensive. the department obviously demands a lot from its employees, so sweetheart is definitely running on a few hours of sleep and caffeine, but instead of taking breaks they can sit at a desk and do paperwork all day. they often fail to realize how damaging it is and they get snappy when people try to help them. they usually apologize afterwards cause they’re cool like that.

smartass - inflexible + slightly aggressive. they are sooo stubborn and they don’t like trying new things at ALL. They also tend to get pretty feisty when somebody challenges them on anything and they’re quick to dish out insults. and i mean they go for the JUGULAR. they’ll insult your appearance, your grammar, they’ll find your whole family tree on facebook and bring up your family issues if it means they’ll win an argument.

lovely - they’re a little too confident and they overestimate themself. lovely is tough, don’t get me wrong BUT they tend to automatically assume they can do anything. the type of person to watch ultimate ninja warrior or some shit and be like “i could do that” but they most definitely could not. i still can’t get over how vincent warned them on that mountain or whatever and they decided not to listen and immediately got their shit rocked.

bright eyes - they used to be very impulsive. they get the urge to do something? they ARE going to do it. zero forethought. after the Quinn incident, they try to think before acting more often.

honey - they used to be very dismissive. they did not prioritize closeness, affection, or intimacy in their relationships because they didn’t know how to channel those emotions. ever since being with Guy, he’s helped them a lot.

darlin/tank - oh boyyy. they’ve definitely picked up on some extreme negativity in their life, but i think one of their worst traits was their recklessness. we know darlin has a habit at throwing themself into danger head on like they’re invincible, which results in them severely injured and needing somebody to take care of them. Part of me also thinks that they struggle with empathy. in the “Confronted by Your Pack Alpha” video, darlin seemed to have a hard time understanding how David + the pack felt about them running off to go vampire hunting and they were fully convinced that they were doing the right thing by trying to “protect” everyone.

i purposely left out some listeners, like lasko’s, antons, and james’ because i have no clue what theirs would be. I also left out Cutie because we all know what their toxic trait is… oh boy.

#i wasn’t expecting a post about toxic traits to get positive feedback jahdjwbs #but thank you!#i also want to put the same reminder on this post as i did the last one #everyone has a little toxicity #you are still a good person #DO NOT feel bad if you do any of these!#it’s ok <3 #redacted audio #redacted angel #redacted babe #redacted sweetheart #redacted smartass #redacted lovely #redacted bright eyes #redacted honey #redacted darlin #redacted tank #woah that’s a lot of tags

275 notes · View notes

mist-see · 1 year

Text

You don’t deserve mercy.

quaritch vs na’vi reader

After months of grieving your loved one, Neteyam, you hear gun shots. You found out spider saved his father. You make sure that he’s dead this time.

I love violence.

I have no beef for spider, he’s a good kid.

⚠️Warning ⚠️

Graphic descriptions of death, cursing, blood, the anger of losing someone, murder, and normalize women being pissed angry, violent angry. I felt like I could’ve gotten way more graphic, but for the sake of not wanting to get in trouble, I mellowed it down.

“I will bite your ear off and feed it to my ikran!” You bared your teeth, your four canines sharp and long, blood covering them as one of the ski people busted your lip before hand. Quaritch just laughs in your face.

Your anger amused him. Mostly because he knew he was going to die. It was a laughter of disappointment and rage, he was going to die, and he only got to kill one of the sullies. How pathetic of himself.

“Don’t bother having conversation with me, either kill me or get killed, we got this island surrounded with avat-ar!” Your red eyes widen, 3 sharp nails digging their way into the skin of the old man’s neck, breaking the skin.

You were strong, stronger than the na’vis they fought. You were a freak of nature, a hybrid as your mother was from the clan of ashes, father from the Omatikaya clan.

He’s read about your kind, your mother, a leader before she married outside her clan. Your anatomy was different from the rest, made you tough, but not invincible .

At this moment you were thousands of feet in the air, above the deep water it took months for you to learn. Your ikran was stable and your arrow deep inside the gut of the person who killed your Neteyam. “Do not hesitate Y/N, kill him before he kills someone else!”

Jake watches from afar, feet planted on his skimwing and emptied gun gripped in his hand.

You’re growled at this, causing another choked laugh to leave the avatars mouth. “Don’t bother.”

“Uh!-“ you gasped. The sound was brutal, the noise of the knife digging into your gut. You breath hitched, suddenly being able to taste, and smell your blood so clearly.

Tears prickling your eyes as you felt the army knife shift in your stomach. He didn’t take the arrow to his stomach lightly you suppose. Your ikran screeched, the connection between the two of you strong. She starts losing her balance, the knife you took causing her to feel it. The knife only went deeper from the movement.

How could you be so stupid? So naive to think it would be an easy job. “Weak. Just like that poor son of a bitch that came from that tree monkey down in the ocean.”

“Y/N!” Jake screamed through your ear piece as he watched your legs buckle, but never completely giving.

You would never kneel below this colonizing creature.

Quaritch heard it Crystal clear, having stole Neytiris ear piece awile ago.

“I will not die here. I will not die by the hands… of some foul demon who wants to live like us. To breathe- our air. I won’t!” You clinched your teeth, knees weak as you gripped the knife that pierced your large intestines. With a scowl, the man watched as you slowly remove the knife.

It wasn’t the size as a normal knife, no, it was bigger, meant to fit the hands of an army veteran that changed species.

Disgust on his face, he hissed, but your hand was still tight on his neck, never wavering, only getting tighter. His neck bled from the holes you made.

You stared deep into his eyes, his face close to yours, he could feel your chess grumble with a growl as the knife left you. “You can’t be that stupid kid. You’ll bleed out before you could do anything.”

“Don’t underestimate a true na’vi, demon. I am not weak. And neither was Neteyam.” Before he could even struggle to get out of your grip, you slammed him against your Ikrans back, this made her screech in complaint, her wings loosing control from the connection of your queue. she could feel everything you felt.

“If I die, Eywa will reunite me with my Neteyam. You, will go to hell, burning like the demon you are.” You hissed in his face, large blue foot pushing the arrow into his stomach more, causing him to scream.

“I will cause you to suffer.” You growled through your teeth, bloodied hands tying your rope from the end of the arrow, then forcing him to turn to his side. You grunted in pain. “Fat fuck, heavy- like the chains that will be dragging your down to your fate.” You clinched your teeth, ignoring the screams from the weak man below you as you pushed the arrow through him, until it exited his back.

“AHH- you- bITCH!” He yelled in a foreign language, assuming it was English, you scoffed. “You see us as the villain. I will kill you as such. Right in front of your traitor son who left you alive!” This caused his smaller eyes to widen, but you already tied the rope at the start of the arrow.

“Y/N- where are you- are you okay?!” Lo’ak spoke through his ear piece, out of breath. “Lo’ak! Where are you?!” Jake was quick to respond back, gun now in the ocean as he road his skimwing as fast as he could to the shore. “With mom-“

“Take her to Ronal and quickly get to y/n, she’s been stabbed!” “What?!” They yelled in your ear, but you were only focused on one thing. Revenge.

“She-ri!” You gripped onto your ikran, sending her to go above the beach, the same one you and the sullies arrived on.

You will drop him, the rope held tight in your ikrans jaws. You will rip him to shreds, the arrow more than strong enough to hold his weight, to almost rip him in half, before ending his demise.

“Just-just kill me- don’t have to- to scare the boy like that- please!” He begged, grunting from the uneven flight path She-ri flew. Poor girl was in pain, she didn’t deserve to suffer when you did.

It would be over soon.

Grabbing the old man by his braid, making his seize up in pain.

You grit your teeth, blood leaking down your stomach, soaking your loincloth as you lifted him up.

“See him demon? How confused he is, looking for his so called family, looking for you.” You whispered in his ear, red eyes glaring down at the human as he looked around the beach, not knowing where to go, what to do.

“Don’t-do this.” His voice cracked, but you didn’t care, anger, rage and pain going through you.

“You cannot protect him now. This is for the sullys. For- my love.” Tears went down your cheeks as you remembered the last breath he took, the last time his heart beat.

He was gone. And now his killer is as well.

The knife that was covered in your blood, tight in your hold. “You don’t deserve mercy.”

“Guys?! Guys?!” Spider looks around frantically, ear piece smashed yet he still tried to get some kind of connection.

Thump!

Woosh Woosh Woosh…

The human flinched from the sound, head whipping back, only to see something he wished he didn’t. Spider looks up, eyes following the loud noise of the ikran wings. The one who dropped the vet off. But it was already gone in the distance, with no one on its back as it looked for its next victim.

“Sir?…” He called out, but he knew there wasn’t any use, there wasn’t any point in calling out to the man that didn’t raise him. He could see the arrow was ripped throughout his back, the rope bloodied. But he was still his father.

“Hey… Sir!” He yelled out, naked feet hitting the hot sand as he ran to the man.

Spider grunts as he turns the sky person over, only to see a knife through his head.

Part 2>>>>>>

#avatar quaritch #quaritch x reader #neteyam #neteyam x reader #avatar angst #avatar the way of water #avatar spoilers #spider sully #jake sully #jake sully x y/n

429 notes · View notes

aphroditesmoon · 1 year

Text

lady of the house of wolves

jacaerys velaryon x reader

(one bed trope, stark!reader)

summary: after a sudden siege in house stark killing your brother Cregan Stark, his sister and succesor is left to ally herself with the visiting prince Jacaerys to defend themselves and escape the greens.

warnings: angst, gore, violence, death of a side character, grief.

°°°

This had to be a nightmare. Blood of the guards spilled everywhere and fire of beastly dragons burn through your roofs of your household. Where was Cregan? You heard his voice and clash of swords moments ago, but the moment the air turned to flame, the smoke filled room blurred your vision and your lungs.

An unrecognized man in armour lunged at you as you trip and fall back at the sudden attack. Blood splattered and the view of his head rolling off his body threw you off before you could close your eyes to accept the sweet fate of death.

His hands pulled you up in an instant to his chest as he holds your arm tight. "My lady, where is your brother?" Jace blurts out coughing through the ashes.

your eyes fill as you shook your head, "I don't- I don't know, I can't find him" the thought of losing your brother frightens you, a part of you believe it impossible, He was a force to be reckoned with, his will and soul as strong as the wolves, but gods knew he wasn't invincible.

Jace looks at you with an uncertain look in his eye before he nods and pulls you with him to escape as he clashes through half wounded swordsmen, ending their life at ease.

Leaving the burning building, he rushes you into the woods placing you behind a large tree practically shoving you there. "Stay here my lady, I need to go find Cregan" He let's out hoarsely, out of breath from the running.

you nod as your clasp on his hands tighten, "please, find him" you sobbed desperately. "I will, I promise" He squeezes your fingers in rush before running off back inside.

You watch him drag himself back inside the fiery place you've once called home. Your heart broke at the sight, just a few minutes ago, hope of peace had blossomed through your heart and now that hope had gone with the wind alongside any sight of your family or wolves. You felt absolutely weak and impatient of the wait for the sight of your brother to come out alive with the prince.

But as weak as you felt, a failure is what'll become of you if you doing try to fight for him.

Your legs pull yourself up as you gather your breath, ripping off the ripped pieces of your dress as you ran inside.

Pulling off a sword from a dead knight, you turn your eyes away from the sight of his eyes bulging out as his head bleeds, running deeper inside you push through every dead man's body to search for a resemblance of your sibling.

Trying to turn a fallen man's head to you to identify his face, you feel yourself being dragged behind by your hair.

You let out a screech as he slams you on the wall with his hand around your neck. The green knight spits at your face as he drags you further up the wall. "dog bitch" he gritted out through his bleeding mouth. "You will die in my hands just as your pathetic whimpering of a brother did."

His words snapped something in you. you scream through your lungs in rage despite his strangle of you. Your hands stopped trying to pull him off as you resort to dragging his face nearer by his hair and your fingers clasped through his eyes, digging inside his sockets pulling out his eyeball with all your might.

His howls a wretched scream immediately letting you fall as you rip his eyesight off of him, the eye rolling to the floor, your hand bloodied.

He falls to the floor and you took the opportunity to kick him in the face and taking your sword back, pushing the edge of it to his neck. "Where the fuck is my brother" you but all screamed in his face.

He let out a strangled scream and you punch him in the face and dragged his face higher s the swords pushes deeper into his veins. "answer me you fucking cunt" you seethed into his face.

he coughed out blood, mixing with the bloodied tears running down his empty eye socket. "u-up-up-fucking-stairs, furthest room" he forces himself to spill. Satisfied with the straightforward you needed, you lunged the sword through and kept your eyes open as his veins popped and blood splatters all over your face.

You pushed him back down and basically leapt up with all the might of your shaking legs and fingers.

"Cregan" You shout for him as you push the door of the chambers room. The fire in the specific room had been watered down, the lessening of the smoke clearing up the horrifying vision of your brother with a sword through his abdomen, eyes wide open, in the middle of the room.

The familiar face of Jacaerys Velaryon with his palms at the side of you brother's face was the trigger for you.

Your knees buckled, and all the strength you had a moment ago disappeared. You let out a howl so wretched as your bloodied hands grasped your chest, as if losing a part of your heart with your brother.

Tears fell down Jace's cheeks as he crawled from your brother to you, pulling you into him. your screams muffled by his chest. Your visions blurring and you breath felt like it'd cease to exist any second now.

The wolf of house Stark was gone.

°°°

You awoke with a scream, Eyes flying open, you feel a hands around your shoulders shaking you awake.

"[name] it's over, it's over, look at me- calm down and look at me" The face over yours was unregistered at first, but as his hands move to cup your cheeks, your heart fills with sudden warmth of the familiarity.

followed by the dread and reminder of all that's just happened.

Your hands placed over his as you feel yourself about to break again and he pulls you in his arms letting you silently weep, trying to process everything.

"Where is my brother Jacaerys?" you whispered hopeful. And you feel his hold tightens around you, an answer he's not strong enough to give. You burry your head at the crook of his neck and you feel his lips placed at your head, a small fethered kiss he could not help.

"I'm so sorry [name]" he speaks slowly. All formality long gone. You don't have the energy to reaffirm him in anyway, silently laying your head on his chest as he carries you up through the woods. It was dark at night, you've no idea where you are or going to.

where is his dragon? surely escaping through dragon back would be faster?

you raise your had slowly to look at him, your whole body ache even during the small movement. He glances back at you, detecting your newly found alertness and questions.

"They've got Vermax" he answers you silent question. "I can only hope he manages to break free, but till' then we'll try to find the closest safest shelter, for the night, then figure out a way to sail to dragonstone." He explains his intentions.

Of course, you're no longer safe here, all that you've had is gone, your home, your family, your wolves. All that's left is the company of a familiar stranger, an alliance you hope is strong enough for the sake of what's left of your house and honor.

You give him a small nod and lay back to his chest letting him carry you through the night, too drained to be embarassed, pride could wait for tomorrow.

°°°

A small abandoned cottage was found behind large lumps of snow by the edge of the forest. He lets you down as you assured him you're well enough to stand now. Walking in front of you as if shielding you from potential danger, he slowly pushes the door open. breathing out a sigh of relief if it's emptiness. he holds your hand and leads you in.

"This should be good for tonight, I think" He states gently examining the surrounding. You stayed silent, eyes blank as he walks forward towards a small room that had no door. "someone must've broken it down" you offered, after hours of nothing. His eyes glance over you suprised by your voice. seemingly satisfied by it's hoarse whisper of an effort. "yeah, someone must've"

there was a small messed up bed and no blankets, the windows were covered by fog and molds, no curtains either. He pulls a broken closet open successfully finding a long wool blanket enough for 2 person.

"I'll take the floor, you-" "we should share the bed" you cut him off.

He seemed so nervous you wanted to bite his head off. It sounded harsh and you felt guilty for resentment towards his emotions, but you've no time for silly feelings and humility. And despite the cold act you have, a comforting embrace to get you through the night would be a bit useful for your own nerves.

"The cold can kill you in nights like this prince, with not enough warmth we should take what we can get, you've not experienced the Winterfell's bitter cold like I have." You explained and he seems to understand and relaxed a bit.

A sudden wave of guilt passed through you as you sat by the edge of the bed. Jace has been playing saviour all along your weakest moment tonight.

After surviving such horrors you had and losing his friend who was your brother and his dragon being taken from him, he was coping and hiding his own grief and hopelessness far better than you. You are grateful for that.

He sits by you and you feel the urge to wrap his hands in yours. Acting on it, he looks to you with suprise, which then turned into a certain softness you can't quite explain. Pity, perhaps.

"I thank you, for everything you've done so far, Jacaerys. It's been unspeakable for us both. I owe you my life, for I can't imagine how'd my fate would be without you at my side." Your words made him raise your hands to his lips as he kisses them and grips them tigher.

"You've no need to thank me [name], I wish there was more I could've done, more I could've done for you, I-" his voice broke.

You dared raise your eyes to look at him and tears filled your eyes as well. It was as if this moment of vulnerability you allowed yourself to him had broke his own curse of self control he'd been forcing himself to keep up for you this whole time. You pull yourself upwards and wrapped yourself in his arms as he returned the gesture.

Your cheeks by his your tears melt with eachothers and as you hold one palm to his face and kiss the corners of his eyes, his forehead touches yours and and his sobs start.

Both of you were nothing more than children. no more than 8 and 10 of age.

Playing knights and adults. and now the war is realer than the fairytales and prophecy's you were fed as children, the pressure bare and heavy as the titles you're both born and forced to carry.

He rolled back on the bed and pulled you with him, lifting the blanket open to cover you both as you hide yourself in the crook of his neck, he holds you like his only path to salvation, like his last string of hope in this world so devoid of it already.

Neither of you know what would await you tomorrow, but by the power of the gods and the strength of the heart of the prince of dragons and lady of the house of wolves, you'd walk through fire if you needed to, side by side.

#jacaerys velaryon #jace targaryen x reader #jace velaryon x reader #jacaerys velaryon x reader #jacaerys targaryen #hotd x reader #house of the dragon x reader #house of the dragon #game of thrones

831 notes · View notes

sandytree1 · 6 months

Text

Criticism of Blue Eyed Samurai

Well, I just watched Blue Eyed Samurai. Been spotting several positive clickbait thumbnails of it, so even though I didn't have high expectations based on the trailer, I gave it a go. And well, it was what I feared it was. I still enjoyed it though! And it's an engaging story, just not what I wish it was. Anyways, I wrote a comment on Reddit about it, which I thought I'd repost here.

Edit: I ended up going in and reordering some paragraphs under headings, as people on Reddit replied to by comment. Noticing people are nitpicking the historical accuracy of my commentary, which wasn't really what I was concerned about. It's more that certain cues in these stories make me expect certain things.

The main point of much of this text is to look into what makes Blue Eyed Samurai a noticeably American story, by comparing it to other jidaigeki stories with a similar setting made for and by Asian people, and stories set in Asia made by Americans (for Americans).

🚧 NB! I'm still working on the text. Text marked in cursive are just notes, so please ignore them for now! 🚧

Overall verdict

I did also think of Ghost of Tsushima while watching, but in the sense that Blue Eyed Samurai lacks what I liked about it. Ghost of Tsushima did a great job with its Japanese localization, and referenced actual bushido conduct, although a little bit off still. Blue Eyed Samurai throws around words like samurai and honor, but doesn't appear to actually understand what these words entails, and only focuses on the superficial badassery of it (...)

But overall, great choreography and compositing, engaging story and characters ... Blue Eyed Samurai is good, but does veer into the uncanny valley for me, which I know was an issue Asians had with ATLA. Guess I felt it a little bit more with Blue Eyed Samurai due how much (unrealistic) violence and (meaningless) sex is glorified, and made me question what exactly the overall moral message of the story was supposed to be beyond simply "revenge plots are cool but also destructive." As somebody else said, it's giving "guts and tits for the people."

Glorification of the badassery of revenge

So, somebody replied that they thought we should be careful about romanticizing bushido, and provided examples of samurai being deceitful. This is my reply.

You missed my point. I did not want Blue Eyed Samurai to romanticize bushido, I wanted it to discuss and explore it, exactly because it throws around words like honor and samurai. A first step towards this is to acknowledge that Mizu is not a samurai.

What is Mizu?

We could argue that she is a ronin, but then she'd technically must've been serving a lord as a samurai in the past, and should be at least be a tiny bit concerned with chivalry (at least enough to discuss or talk about it), which we know isn't the case. Mizu is closer to being a shinobi/ninja, since her goal is to assassinate her 4 maybe fathers. Another thing Mizu shares with shinobi is that both are often criticised by samurai because of their penchant for ambushes and lack of concern for bushido / warriors code. Yet she breaks the mold of being a shinobi, since she doesn't really sneak around in (civilian) disguise and will openly brawl her way through a dojo and into a fort.

Mizu has a lot in common with the titular protagonis of the manga Azumi. Both are female assassins with foreign blood (bluish eyes) fighting during the Sakoku policy. While Mizu's motivation is simply revenge for the injustice she and her mother suffered at the hands of the gaijin faction, in Azumi the motivation is to prune the country like a bonsai tree off individuals which may threathen a new age of peace, and prevent the country from slipping back into the Sengoku period of civil war.

But where characters in Blue Eyed Samurai is heavily protected by plot armor, allowing Mizu to be an almost invincible pin cushion, no one is safe in Azumi and injured characters requires months to recover and heal from cuts.

While writing this, I recalled that in episode 5, they interjected a story about a samurai marrying and fathering a child with a woman who descended from an enemy clan. He kills both her and their son, which turns her into a onryō. Mizu being an Onryō works, but I am left questioning how this fits into the story beyond its symbolism, as there's been no explicit supernatural elements in the story. Mizu is bullied for being the (devil) spawn of a quote "white devil" in childhood, I think it would be more interesting if they called her a "white ghost," since onryos (which could represent Mizu) are a type of vengeful female ghost. Furthermore, Taigen often compares Mizu to a dog, esp. when she does not live up to the samurai standards he holds her to. Not sure where that fits in either..

Orientalism

So the statement about samurai criticising shinobi was called out as orientalist. This was my reply:

As for orientalism, I guess Blue Eye Samurai is being orientalist then, which I was kinda feeling while watching but didn't really put into words. It's pretty stereotypical to connect Japanese with honor and samurai after all, contributing to why I felt the show was very American.

In the sense of samurai simply meaning warrior, then we can consider Mizu a samurai. But Taigen (and Akemi) connects being a samurai with honor and complains about fair play. By making this connection, he invokes bushido/chivalry and excludes people who ambush others like assassins from the definition of being a samurai, and by extension criticises assassins like ninjas for not shying away from "dishonorable" ambushes. To restore his honor, Taigen wants to arrange a formal duel and even writes up a challenge letter (hatashijou), which makes sense in terms of the dojo trope. But well, the series does contradict itself a lot in favor of cool one liners, and what it means to be a samurai or knight has changed throughout history.

"Glory" in Azumi

As I said, the manga Azumi is what I was hoping Blue Eyed Samurai would be. Azumi is a gritty look into (among other things) both shinobi and samurai that does not romanticize either, and has won an award for its exploration of these concepts in relation to buddhism. In fact, everyone in Azumi suffers. The only one who is perhaps glorified is Azumi, who many critics compare to a boddhisattva.

Throughout the story, Azumi works to not become too attached to earthly comforts, but still suffers because of her attachment to her companions. As Azumi completes her pruning missions for her boss (the Buddhist monk Tenkai), she accumulates a lot of bad karma in the form of endless waves of people pursuing her for either revenge, the bounty on her head, the thrill of defeating a master swordswoman, etc. Because of it, 90% of her closest companions SPOILER die, and many of her friends are raped or permanently maimed, and has to deal with the trauma and practical inconveniences of it. Often because they are caught in the crossfire between Azumi's targets or those who pursue her.

By the end of the story, Azumi still ends up making new companions like usual and her boss continues wanting to send her on pruning missions. But she decides to leave them all behind, so that those she cares about will not be affected by her bad karma again. She knows she will have to stay on the road indefinitely and will never really be able to enjoy the comforts of settling down, because of her pursuers. The series makes the buddhist argument that earthly attachment in general causes suffering, and Azumi is enlightened by abandoning those attachments and by facing her karma, although that does not mean she will not end up with a violent death. The story ends openly with Azumi wandering off into obscurity.

Time period

Some people began nitpicking the historical accuracy of my commentary, which wasn't really what I was concerned about. I am open to artistic liberty. However, with BES it was a little bit harder, since they made so many historical references and leaned into the jidaigeki genre, but then broke it in ways that came off as uncanny to me. Looking back, I guess this uncanny feeling was the orientalism letting itself be known, though I couldn't put it into words back then.

As jidaigeki is a subgenre of historical stories, certain cues does make me expect certain things. Like when I see an English-speaking gaijin as the antagonist, I would make the connection that this story is probably set sometime after the Americans forced Japan to open up for trade in the 1800s. Yet this expectation is then contradicted when I learn that no foreigners are allowed in Japan yet due to the Sakoku policy, which makes me wonder what this Irishman is doing here all alone centuries too early and how he even managed to climb to such a powerful position while being so isolated.

Gaijins as antagonists

Why an Irishman as the gaijin antagonist? It'd make more sense if it was a portuguese or dutch. If Blue Eyed Samurai is set in 17th century Edo Japan, it's a long time off when the Americans forced Japan to put down the sakoku policy, and even then, why Britain/London? If anything, Japan and Britain liked each other enough to form an alliance for their shared fear of Russia.

Why not other colonial powers who were actually active in Japan and Asia overall at the time (the Dutch) or the ones who caused Christianity to be banned during the sakoku (the Portuguese).

My first thought of a precedent goes to Konishi Shizune, the Christian revolutionary leader in Azumi who's also mixed race like Azumi, which is based on the historical Amakusa Shiro.

(Depictions of Gaijins: Americans during postwar Japan in Hajime no Ippo. Senator Armstrong in Metal Gear Solid)

Japanese in Europe

With Mizu heading to Europe, I came across people discussing the plot armor and how Mizu wouldn't stand a chance against the guns nor London police. It came off as kind of white supremacist, and the entire thread was locked because of unsolicited opinions from outsiders.

To be fair, Japan had guns too at the time. According to Netflix themselves, Blue Eye Samurai takes place in the 1600s. If that's the case, it means that the guns were mostly muskets, rifles and pistols which took time to load, so people did still use swords even in Europe. And only a century earlier in the 1500s, when Dreamwork's El Dorado is set, people would still use firearms and crossbows side by side, and Oda Nobunaga also used firearms in his own warfare during the sengoku period.

Also, the police didn't exist yet, since the UK police were created in the late 1700s. As for the London battalion or royal guards storming her, it'd either amount to when she was stormed by the hand claw guys. The plot armor in the first season was a lot imo even then though. But sneaking up on them depends on the terrain and context, so I can see it happening.

Furthermore, it's not unrealistic for Japanese people to travel to Europe, because there's historical precedence for this. In 1613, Hasekura Tsunenaga was sent on a diplomatic mission to negotiate with the pope and the king of Spain, and some of his men even stayed behind to form the Japon clan in Spain. The expedition took 7 years, and ironically enough, once he returned, christianity had already been banned in Japan. The people who still kept the Christian faith in spite of this came to be known as kakure kirishitan.

Debauchery means it's for adults ..

The way characters (esp. Mizu) will throw out badass oneliners as if on a treadmill, only to contradict exactly what she said as short as 5 seconds later does mess with my suspension of disbelief.

The story also goes into protitution and patriarchy, though it also felt superficial to me. If anything it feels like an excuse for fan service, similar to Game of Thrones in a sense. Like they know that sex sells, and that's what "the audience really wants." That said, again I enjoyed both GOT and Blue Eye Samurai, even though some may laconically break the former down to "dragons and tits" and the latter to "guts and tits".

Token representation

Mizu's apprentice was born without hands, which could have brought about an interesting exploration of disability. But instead, he's relegated to being a quirky sidekick and comedic relief..

BES is an American story

Blue Eyed Samurai has all the visual motifs of a Japanese samurai story (jidaigeki), but the tropes and logic is extremely American. It does get the artifacts and set dressing of a jidaigeki story right (surprisingly accurate at some points), which is why it triggered the uncanny valley for me sometimes. When certain artifacts and set ups appeared, I expected it to follow certain tropes I'm used to from jidaigeki, but it didn't really do that.

Kung Fu Panda

In contrast, Kung Fu Panda is also in the same boat. It has the artefacts of a Chinese wuxia story, but it is ultimately based on Chinatown (a theme park-esque idea of China designed by and to cater to white people, as a Chinese American defense mechanism). However, where Kung Fu Panda is an American love letter to Chinese kung fu films, Blue Eye Samurai isn't really a love letter to jidaigeki, and caters rather to white people's idea of the stereotypical samurai.

My understanding is that Kung Fu Panda is pretty popular in China.

Yes, Kung Fu Panda is popular in China. I also enjoyed Kung Fu Panda, which is why I used it to compare what I felt was lacking in Blue Eyed Samurai. If I had to choose one to rewatch, I would rather watch Kung Fu Panda.

That said, Accented Cinema points out that although Kung Fu Panda is often used as an argument of successful orientalism, it's rather about China's own failure in representing themselves. In my opinion, Kung Fu Panda's perhaps saving grace was that it didn't take itself too seriously, yet still delivered on the serious bits when it needed to.

Patriarchy and gender roles

While I understand and appreciate your critique, I don't think the narrative is grounded in realism. It's more like expressing the need that women do have to see themselves in the shoes of a physically invincible protagonist. Also the motivation isn't simply revenge - what has happened to Mizu has convinced that her very existence is suffering. She's internalized the hate to an extent that it no longer matters whether she lives or dies. She will slowly change as a person and her motivations will also change, which I hope we get to see . All the characters are somewhere trying to rebel against their gender roles, and that I feel is the 'message'. Also as far as the right antagonist to show goes, Fowler seems an indictment of British colonialism a few centuries too soon, but his attitudes aren't unfamiliar. At all.

Blue Eyed Samurai doesn't explore the concepts it references or markets itself with, but seems to throw them around because samurai and honor sounds cool and is a stereotypically Japanese/Sinosphere thing. Instead it'd rather explore gender roles and patriarchy. And the character Blue Eyed Samurai primarily uses to explore these themes with isn't the titular protagonist, but rather Princess Akemi.

But Akemi's struggles with patriarchy, also comes off as more a Western suffragette story than a Sinosphere one.

The Princess as a Caged Bird

Other stories about gender roles and patriarchy in ancient Japan to which we can compare this to is probably Isao Takahata's Princess Kaguya, though this one is probably set long before BES in the Heian period.

Like in Kaguya, the ohaguro set is presented as a symbol of oppression for Akemi. However, instead of being explicitly oppressed by outside forces like Akemi, Kaguya is instead pressured by societies and her father's idea of what a princess should be to become happy. Throughout the film, Kaguya questions what it is all for and even counters against her governess that "a princess is not a human then!"

Princess Kaguya as a roadside flower. To be plucked in a moment of fancy, and neglected once savored and bored. Merely a trophy to be won and stowed away in a display cabinet.

The film explores what makes life worth living, by exploring the difference between humanity and moon people.

Filial piety. Fulfilling your own dreams through your offspring. Showing off achievements to relatives (accumulating merit).

Geisha and maiko in contrast to the Oiran of the red light district. Streetwalkers. Prostitution - the world's oldest profession.

Oda Nobunaga's younger sister in Nobunaga Concerto and Azumi.

Hypergamy. Tradition of men being adopted into the wife's household. The Fujiwara clan of the Heian period, who continuously married their women into the imperial family for generations. Attitudes around cheating and monogamy (Genji Monogatari).

The Fallacy of the Stereotypical Asian woman

Oshin - Resilience and endurance.

Asian women as firecrackers. There's a reason why the stereotype of Tiger Mom even came to be, because Asian women and people in general are not weak and strictly submissive, although they are often mistaken as doormats.

Honne and tatemae

Yamato Nadeshiko

While writing about this, I ended up going on a tangent about Asian women, which you can read here: The Fallacy of the Stereotypical Asian Woman.

Gender roles in Genderbender

Kaze Hikaru

Ryou

Torikaebaya Monogatari, where a brother and sister in the Heian period is gender mixed at birth, to fulfil gender roles they're more "suited" for according to societal expectations. Another Heian period text about a guy who crossdresses as a woman to get close to a woman he has a crush on.

Gender fluidity has been the norm throughout most of history.

A wolf in sheep's clothing

I guess the show is more concerned about gender roles and patriarchy. I'm actually not all that concerned with historical accuracy, but I couldn't help but be thrown off by how it felt like vastly different time periods (and thus different expectations in terms of jidaigeki tropes) were meshed together. I still stand by that the show is a very (overseas Asian/) (Asian) American narrative, which made it uncanny how accurate it still was in terms of getting the artefacts etc. of a jidaigeki right. Sort of like a "wolf in sheeps clothing," though that doesn't make it a bad thing. For example, Akemi feels more like a Western suffragette, rather than an Asian feminist. Yet the ohaguro set etc. may be a reference to Isao Takahata's Princess Kaguya, which is about feminism.

The story came off as stereotypical to me. Yet it does get the artifacts and set dressing of a jidaigeki story right (surprisingly accurate at some points). I did cringe at some points or feel the uncanny valley, but again overall the show was engaging and enjoyable.

I've enjoyed other orientalist stories before, such as Kung Fu Panda and Avatar the Last Airbender. I've also enjoyed occidentalist stories like mohuan and isekai. Yet something with Blue Eye Samurai made me cringe sometimes. Comparing it to the others I've mentioned, perhaps it's because it's set in a more non-fantastical setting as opposed to a jianghu of sorts idk. Blue Eye Samurai is still entertaining though, and may be the start of a new genre.

It's hard to explain what it feels like for people who don't have the same cultural references, so here's an example of occidentalism. I noticed that when Genshin Impact (a Chinese game) released the new Fontaine region where they decided to mix Britain, Italy, France etc., which people claimed is just plain weird haha. But Fontaine has still been well received regardless it seems. On the other hand, I still cringe every time I see Senator Armstrong in Metal Gear Solid.

Historical references

Random, but here's a list of different artifacts and set dressings that appeared in the show. The little theatre play about the ronin and his wife uses kurogo (black clad actors) to manipulate the dolls, which was novel to see. Previously I've mostly watched kurogo being used to manipulate perspective such as in this Matrix Ping Pong skit and the Tokyo 2020 pictogram opening ceremony. Traditionally, Kurogo is used in Kabuki to create special effects and are supposed to be invisible to the audience.

Mizu's husband uses a naginata, which is basically a spear. Although also used by warriors in general, it was often used by women.

86 notes · View notes