#cannot understand anything they are saying it's just sounds

[myreia]

anxiety - for the random word generator prompt!

thanks, Sea! This took so long to finish ahhh - and it's in three parts because I'm a fool.

Castaway

CHAPTER ONE: MEDITATION

Chapter Rating: Teen Characters: Aureia Malathar (WoL), Thancred Waters, Minfilia Warde, Yda Hext, Scions of the Seventh Dawn Pairings: Aureia/Thancred (pre-relationship) Chapter Words: 1,516 Notes: A Realm Reborn, set during A Wild Rose by Any Other Name. Summary: Aureia’s inauguration into the Scions of the Seventh Dawn should be cause for celebration, yet she cannot shake her feelings of unease. These newfound friends of hers may have the best of intentions, but is she anything more than a means to an end in their hands? Chapters: part one • part two • part three Read on AO3

The low hum of chatter murmurs in her ears.

Aureia exhales a breath, her eyes closed, and folds her arms as she leans against the wall. The conversation is near enough for her to make out, but too far away for it to be intelligible. Overlapping voices, ebbing and flowing like the changing tide. She’s always found something irksome about the sound of distant voices. It gnaws at her mind, thinning her patience, provoking her to snap with each passing moment. The irritation is irrational, and yet she cannot put it aside. 

Thancred’s laugh rings across the room.

Her eyes fly open. She shakes herself, rearranging her expression into one of careful neutrality. She closed her eyes for only a moment; chances are no one noticed the difference. No one seems to notice much about her now the introductions are over and her task has been assigned. She may as well melt into the wall for all the difference her presence makes.

Thancred stands in the centre of the little group, a grin spread from ear to ear. He speaks animatedly, bright and cheerful in a way she hasn’t seen before. If she thought Ul’dah was his natural element, he has proved her wrong. He’s open and relaxed, slipping into the kind of casual comfort only found among friends. His language has shifted, using terms she has never heard before with easy confidence, contributing to topic that make her head spin. She always thought his academic side was an exaggeration, a little white lie he spun to make himself sound impressive when flirting.

Yet another thing she was wrong about.

The white-haired Miqo’te—Y’shtola, she reminds herself—chuckles and presses a hand to her lips, her eyes shining with mirth. The young woman in the visor—Yda, was it?—bounces on the balls of her feet and pipes up with excitement, earning her a withering headshake from the Lalafellin mage. Papalymo, if she remembers correctly. Even the towering Elezen, his face obscured by his hood and goggles, is warm and welcoming despite his reserved nature. Urianger, did they say his name was?

She hasn’t said a word to him. She hasn’t said a word to any of them.

These people here, these friends of Thancred’s, these Scions… The camaraderie between them is clear. From their identical tattoos to their amiability in each other’s presence, she has no doubt they have been friends for a long time. Comrades bound together, if not by shared experience, then by something just as strong. Purpose. Ambition. Duty.

It hurts more than she would like to admit.

“I am forever grateful, you know.”

Aureia looks up.

Minfilia stands a few feet away, eyes bright, smile soft, blonde hair glowing in the solar’s warm light. For the leader of a covert organization, she is not what Aureia expected. She thought she would be meeting a hardened veteran, grounded and devoid of the usual idealistic nonsense, with a keen understanding of the difference between lofty aspirations and harsh reality. The kind of person prepared to do whatever it took to see their goals realized. A spymaster or a soldier or a general.

Not a woman younger than herself who wears her heart on her sleeve.

Aureia bites her tongue. “What for?” she asks, trying to keep her tone neutral. 

Minfilia looks away, a faint blush on her cheeks. “Forgive me,” she says. “I am getting ahead of myself. A little context is necessary, perhaps. When your name was first made known to me, I thought you the same as many an Eorzean adventurer. Reckless, inspired, some seeking adventure for fame and fortune, others for the thrill of danger, others still simply for the honest work. But your deeds speak for themselves.”

She pauses and regards her quietly. Though her blue eyes are kind, there is something unsettling about their intensity. “It was never about the rewards, was it? You care about those you aid. In you there is the ability and the skill to make a difference, and so you do—for how could you not?”

Aureia blinks. “I…”

“Thancred told me much of your adventures in Ul’dah.”

“He… did?” Somehow he never thought to mention you.

Minfilia’s smile brightens. “Every time without fail he returned to the Waking Sands, he had one tale or another to tell of his adventurer friend in the city. Yda, Papalymo, and Y’shtola certainly did not have quite as much to say about their own connections. I admit, I was perhaps a little uncertain at first—we both know his tendency to be a relentless flirt—but having met you… I daresay I see now why he can wax poetic about you when given the chance—” She cuts off abruptly, suddenly serious, and places a hand on her arm. “Please do not tell him I said as much, I will never hear the end of it.”

Aureia blinks again, uncertain what to make of any of this. Minfilia speaks to her less like a venerated leader and her new employer and more like they are close friends. Stalling for time, she risks a quick glance across the solar to the little group. Thancred is laughing again. Countering something Urianger said, he takes up his customary lean against the wall and crosses his arms. As he sweeps his hair out of his eyes, he looks away and his eyes connect with hers.

She frowns.

He raises an eyebrow.

Her frown deepens. “Don’t worry,” she says absently. “I’ll keep it to myself.”

Minfilia lets out a relieved breath and removes her hand. “Thank you. I suppose… I apologize for my awkwardness, but when I said that I am forever grateful, I did indeed mean it. I know I expressed as much earlier in an official capacity, but I would like to thank you again on more personal terms, as a newfound friend and ally. It should come as no surprise to you that our work presents many dangers and comes at a high cost. Trust is imperative. We must have faith and trust one another to do what must be done. It is the best chance we have to forge a brighter tomorrow.”

Aureia nods, still distracted. A glint catches her eye—the shattered remains of a mage’s staff, mounted and displayed on the wall behind the antecedent’s desk. She noticed it when she first entered the solar, but she didn’t truly take stock of it until now. Though it is broken, she can sense the remnants of powerful aether emanating from it, murmuring in deep slumber.

“I see in you a kind soul,” Minfilia continues. “A good soul. Someone of your skill and talent could have gone anywhere, but you chose to come to us. We will do well with someone like you among us, I am certain of that.”

She blinks again, forcing her sluggish mind to focus on Minfilia’s words. Despite the kindness extended to her, she can’t shake the anxiety growing in the pit of her stomach. As far as first impressions go, this perception of her could not be more wrong.

“…thank you,” she murmurs, stumbling on her own words. Her throat is uncomfortably dry.

“I am so very glad you are here. Perhaps we are kindred spirits of a kind.”

“I…”—don’t know about that—“…maybe. Perhaps.” The affirmation slips out unintended, and she curses internally.

“The Echo is a heavy gift,” Minfilia continues. “A blessing, to be sure, but not one borne easily.”

Aureia freezes, a chill running down her spine.

“As advantageous as it is, it comes with its own burdens. I cannot say we fully comprehend it, even for those of us who have carried it through most of our lives.” Minfilia’s eyes meet hers. “I beg your pardon if this is improper, but I must ask—when did you first hear Her call?”

Her heart clenches. The power has always been with her, whispering at the edges of her mind, sometimes quiet, other times compelling her to action. In the same breath it has shown her things she wished she had never seen, it has also saved her life.

She can’t remember a time without it.

She wishes it was gone.

“I…” She has never discussed it with another. Such a gift was too dangerous to bring attention to in Garlemald, though her mother often suspected there was more to her capabilities than what was natural. Even in the relative safety of Eorzea, she would rather pretend she wasn’t gifted with it. “I should go. Thank you for your hospitality, Minfilia. I will look into the Amajina robbery as soon as I am able.”

The words come out fast and abrupt, any semblance of familiarity reverted to distanced professionalism. Uncertain whether to bow (a sign she’s been around too much Ul’dahn nobility recently) or to nod (the easy way out) or to shake her hand (awkward), Aureia simply turns around and walks stiffly to the door.

She can feel Thancred’s eyes on her as she slips through the threshold and into the cold hallway beyond.

#ffxiv #ff14 #final fantasy 14 #ffxiv fic #ffxiv fanfiction #wolcred #ffxiv wol #thancred waters #minfilia warde #aureia malathar #oc tag #writing tag

[gottagobackintime]

I liked that we only got to see Trent look at Colin this episode. Having him observe Colin and then deciding what to do feels like a very Trent thing to do. Yes, Colin kissing Michael where anyone could see is bad if he wants to keep it a secret. And that's a conversation that I'm not getting into now. BUT, what does Trent actually know about Colin in terms of being out or not. He knows that Colin isn't out to the public, obviously, because it would have made headlines. But he doesn't know if Colin is out to his teammates and leaders. We know he isn't but Trent doesn't. He saw Colin and Michael kiss and he heard what Colin said in the latest episode. Yes, Colin brought Michael to Sam's restaurant and introduced him as his pal, his wingman. Trent could have heard that, he was sitting close by, but did he? I mean every shot we got of him he was clearly deep into his own conversation with various people at his table. Would he have picked up what Colin said, and remembered it? I don't think so.

So he observes Colin, because now he knows something new but not enough. And I know that a lot of you feel like Trent should warn him, tell him that he saw them kissing. But honestly, Colin is an adult who knows that there are no out players. He knows that it would make headlines, he knows he's not out to the team, and he still chose to kiss his boyfriend in an alley. Sure he could have been drunk or just wanted to kiss his boyfriend, consequences be damned. But he still chose to do it. So Trent has two choices, act like Colin doesn't have a clue what it's like being gay, telling him he needs to be careful because people can see him if he's kissing his boyfriend in public (which would honestly be condescending) or he doesn't say anything, he waits and sees how Colin acts, to see if he should mention anything to him. Trent has clearly chosen the latter option for now and we'll see where this goes.

There's also the "is Trent gay or not" aspect, I say he is. And if we're going with that assumption we also have to think about, is Trent himself out? Or rather, is he out to people at work. Because coming out isn't a singular event, you'll always come out. Every time you meet someone who doesn't know who you are, you'll have to decide if you're going to come out to them or not. I'm leaning towards him, not being in the closet, but rather him keeping his private life to himself and being open with friends and family. He's not hiding it and he's not ashamed, he just doesn't tell anyone, because it's not relevant when he's at work. And I say that as someone who loves reading fanfics where he is an openly gay sports journalist.

Where am I going with this? I don't know, I never know what my point is. BUT, I do think that we'll see similar scenes of Trent just observing Colin until perhaps the Amsterdam episode. And that's where he tells Colin that he knows and/or that he's gay himself. And then we might see Colin confiding in him and Trent might help him with a statement for when he's ready to tell the world. Because I do believe that he will tell the public. I don't know if it will be because he's been outed or he's doing it of his own free will. I don't really mind, I think they'll give us something that will rip our hearts out either way. But I am a believer in "gay mentor" Trent Crimm, giving Colin someone "in the business" to confide in.

#ted lasso #ted lasso spoilers #trent crimm #colin hughes #nicole watches stuff #I just had to get this thought out because I'm so excited about this storyline #and that look from Trent was *chef's kiss* #I wonder if we'll get more comments like ''sounds a bit gay bruv'' but with Trent present #that I think would be ''nice'' #nice in a ''another gay person hears it and doesn't let it slide'' way #because colin not saying anything is understandable and been there done that got the t-shirt you know #because you don't want to open that can of worms when it's people you like #but while Trent has gotten to know these people he even seems to like at least some of them #I wonder if he would be quiet if he heard that #and then there's also the aspect of having someone else say it for you #anyway gay trent crimm is real you cannot take that from me

[rxttenfish]

merfolk tend to favor specifically complex sounds in their music, alongside sharp contrast between different sounds and fairly "extreme" versions of sounds. exceedingly high pitched as well as low pitched sounds are also both exciting to them. repeating patterns are also lovely, as well as repeating patterns with minor variations that their brains can track easier than ours, as well as overlaying rhythms.

because of this, a significant portion of merfolk music sounds like the most earwormingest versions of Textured Music possible. it all tends to sound either unearthly and like literally nothing else, or going hard as hell at full throttle with very few other options for gentler stuff to ease landfolk into.

merfolk music history progresses unusually fast and its a common hobby to "remix" or reshuffle other songs into their songs or otherwise twist and play with the music until it spawns countless new music, so they dont really have a "beethoven" or "orchestral music" like how we have to introduce someone entirely new to our music. you would have to go back so far to get relatively simple music that its just no longer relevant to them. and also maybe less in their stone age and more in their pre-society evolutionary history as well.

this also means that it is a blessing that miranda has yet to introduce liam to merfolk music yet because the sheer unfettered variety would mean that liam would never be the same again. its just TOO indie and TOO underground for his blood.

#all the care guide says is 'biomass' #monster prom #they also love using a lot of sounds that we cant hear or cant process #as merfolk tend to process and understand music quicker than we do #and thus its a whole Thing for them to conceptualize music in three dimensions and overlaid on top of itself #them being aquatic doesnt help either since theyre already thinking of everything as being three dimensional #its weird! extremely weird! the fish love their music! #as you might expect when it plays a much larger role in the act of communication itself #and hugely tied into their language #alongside the major social function it serves in maintaining their huge complex social groups #and its fun and just a fun thing for them to do and play with! #they got their big ol ears and their big ol vocal organs and the water can carry their voices for miles! #of course theyre gonna be singsongy bitches #you dont just dedicate that much neural space to something and then NOT do anything with it #miri has to forcibly restrain herself from singing so much #both as a royal thing (only singing for specific social functions to restrict socializing with other classes and social groups) #(and thus restricting influence) #but also because she knows the landfolk Dont Do That and can Get Annoyed and its maybe not good for her emotions #she cannot perform the social glue act with her social group. she is heartbroken.

[bogos-bint3d]

Oooooooo you wanna find me great incredible Undyne centric content that I haven't seen before and will be consumed by ooooooooooo

#i say this because you genuinely cannot understand just how insane over her i am that i have legitimately seen almost all the interesting- #-content about her #i am not fucking kidding #if its on like the first 3 pages of anywhere ive searched for her ever. i have seen it. tumblr youtube ao3 google i HAVE SEEN!!!!!!! #ok well not as much with ao3. simply because im always searching for something specific on there. so like. there probably will be some- #-really good things on there i havent seen yet #but still. i have very high standards if there is anything I don't like ill spontaneously combust #and im legitimately like 94% i know literally every single thing about her mentioned in the game. so you wont be able to surprise me with- #-anything there either. but also you never really know so #i mean yeah just feel free to talk to me about her at any time. I wont be able to start the conversation. because like i just cant #but if you mention something interesting enough in the first sentence ill probably be able to keep the conversation going for a good while #sorry i probably sound really rude and snobbish rn cause im all like ''ugh i already know everything im so smart'“ #''whatever show me will be beneath me'' BUT I SWEAR THAT IS NOT HOW IM TRYING TO COME OFF #IM REALLY REALLY SORRY I JUST GENUINELY DO NOT KNOW HOW TO GET ACROSS HOW I N E E D IT TO BE SOMETHING NEW AND SOMETHING THAT ILL REALLY- #REALLY WANT TO SEE #IM SO SO SORRY I HATE THAT I SOUND SO RUDE HERE I JUST. like guys i just really want to see something new‚ something thatll make me happy. #sigh #okokok. #all good guys #uhm. yeah. maybe if you find something maybe tell me but also idk because what if i already know about it then dont know what to say. i just #i j . i dont even know man #ok im done #undyne

[toytulini]

i do love my car it is the perfect car aside from the. imperfections and frequent problems,

#toy txt post #😔😔😔😔😔😔😔😔😔 #why is the flex pipe broken again! who is responsible. #anyway i know how this sounds but also im right. i just want a tiny little car like i have #but like for all the parts to be high quality and easy to replace. u know. but alas #after spending hours trawling past the seo listicles about 5 signs that my flex pipe is failing #looking desperately for the forums where i cannot understand anything theyre saying. it seems like #when the shop replaced the flexpipe previously they must not have used an OEM part and swapped it out for a cheaper part #and or. my engine mounts are failing? and or. exhaust hangar issue??? #and the guy at the mechanic shop was like oh its like a design flaw with the cars that have flex pipes and the front wheel drive engines #that rock back and forth instead of side to side so they just wear out faster. but also it shouldnt wear out this fast. and its bc my car is #a shitty cheap little piece of shit. but also its bc something is wrong like this happens to plenty of other cars too that arent fiats #and im sure we'll look into it and shrig and get the flex pipe replaced and ill be like okay. can we replace it with a just straight pipe #that isnt flexing? no bc thatll lead to wear and tear destorying more expensive parts? ok. what about beefier mounts or more mounts to make #the engine chill out. no probably not bc it probably needs to move a little bit or else theyd find a way to make it stop moving. well okay #what if we take the engine out and fucking rotate it so that it rocks side to side instead?since all the car guys are waxing poetic about #that? no? thats not possible? i think it probably is possibly but what you mean is its not feasible or realistic and its not worth it and i #should just keep replacing this one piece or what the fuck ever. #mostly i think im just tired of how my parents treat my car now? i get it you hate it. please just accept the fact that you are going to #hate any car i have bc im not ever being the newest release of the pedestriancrusher3000 suv tank that beeps when someone is next to me #like i joke but literally it seems like all they want is for me to get a different bigger car. i dont want or need a bigger car. #we have been having this argument since i started learning to drive. no one who taught me to drive understands that bigger car=more anxious #cos im anxious about Different Things than they are. maybe i could have slightly better Visibility but at least i can see over my fucking #hood #anyway. i do wish i could get my exact car but with like higher quality materials/construction and like. as a plug in hybrid instead #electric sounds nice in theory but i dont think its for me just yet? #ive seen new electric fiats (which they arent selling here btw) (fuck you if you want a small new car lol) #car companies be like america? oh those fuckers only want the largest tanks we can legally allow on the road. and then the 3 of us american #folk that do actually want small cars are like hey uh. how do i get a small one. i know yall make them. ive seen it #and the companies are like oh we dont sell them to you. you only like big cars

[kazz-brekker]

i genuinely do not think this was my professor’s intent but unfortunately by structuring my advanced creative writing class to be 99% quiet work time and 1% check-in where you go around and say like 1 sentence about how your writing progress is going this week they seem to have landed upon the exact combination of factors to make me feel both wildly isolated from the other writers in my class despite the fact that the main reason i wanted to take the course was to have a community of writers around me to talk to and also to make me have a semester-long imposter syndrome breakdown about how my book is awful and none of the revisions are working and no one will ever want to read or critique it

#i'm aware complaining about a class i am incredibly lucky to take makes me sound like a huge whiny brat #but also GOD at this point i would give ABSOLUTELY ANYTHING #to just hand someone a chapter from my book and be like 'here. read this. please tell me if the revisions i did made it suck more or less.' #i cannot exist in a completely isolated and self-sufficient writing environment! i need criticism! i need praise! #i need to talk about the characters from my manuscript and have someone understand what the fuck i'm talking about!!!!! #pie says stuff #my writing #my life #pie goes to college #i feel like i'm going completely insane while everyone else in my class is peacefully typing away which just makes me feel WORSE

[sirfrogsworth]

If you have seen Ted Lasso you may have noticed these unusual microphones used by the football commentators.

Despite being a microphone nerd, I had never seen anything like them before. So I decided to go into research mode and discovered these microphones are quite fascinating.

They are called "Lip-Ribbon" or "Commentator's" microphones.

They were specially designed by the BBC in the 1950s for extremely noisy environments. Soccer Football stadiums have peaked at 130 decibels so they needed something that would not get overwhelmed in that circumstance.

They use several very clever techniques to make sure only the voice is picked up and everything else is rejected.

First, they use a bidirectional polar pattern.

That means it will accept sound from two directions, but reject any sound coming in from the sides. And since the diaphragm is only exposed on one side, that helps reject sound coming from the other direction.

Next, the microphone is not very sensitive so you literally have to hold it up to your lips (hence "lip-ribbon") in order for your voice to have enough sound energy to vibrate the diaphragm.

That top part rests directly on your lip and there is a little pop filter to keep your plosives in check.

There is a built-in high pass filter so it rejects any sound below the frequencies typically used by the human voice.

But my favorite trick... a labyrinthian internal baffle system.

(I found a diagram of this when researching but then I lost the tab and I cannot find it again. So you'll just have to accept this crude photoshop I did in 30 seconds to help you understand.)

Sound is energy. And that energy is diminished the farther it travels. The inverse square law for sound states that the intensity of sound decreases by approximately 6 dB for each doubling of distance from the sound source. Sound also diminishes when it reflects off a surface.

That is a very sciency way of saying... make sounds go through a tiny maze and only sounds with the most energy will prevail.

So if you have your lip pressed up against the front of the mic, your voice's energy will make it through the labyrinth of baffles without issue. But every other sound in the stadium will have a much harder time getting through.

These mics may even be vuvuzela-proof.

And even more amazing... this microphone was designed in the 1950s and they have yet to create anything better for incredibly noisy environments.

Isn't that neat?

I think it is neat.

[a-b-riddle]

Part Four

Can't stop thinking about reader losing her cool.

"So we're closed, John." You said, trying to be cordial.

"Is that all you have to fucking say?" He practically growled before huffing. A humorless chuckle rumbling out of his chest. "I suppose not since you won't respond to any of us."

"Don't do that." You said taking a step back. Trying to create some distance between you and him. John would never physically hurt you. That much you knew.

"What?" He asked. His voice rising as he stepped closer to you. "Be angry that you pulled that shit and then left? Stopped talking to us. Changed your fucking locks. Last thing we even knew about you was that you got on a fucking plane and left. Even your friends wouldn't tell us anything besides that you were okay." "Which considering this came out of bloody nowhere, I find it highly unlikely that you are in any way 'okay'."

You took a deep breath. You wouldn't be intimidated. You wouldn't clam up. You wouldn't cry. You won't go back on your decision. You will be cordial and polite and not unleash everything you want to.

"I understand you might be upset, but it's for the best. It wasn't working out and I wanted to end on somewhat good terms. I would appreciate it if you lowered your voice and stopped speaking to me in that way." You could barely recognize your voice. It sounded so scripted. So robotic. But it was something you had been telling yourself. Excuses you had been telling yourself.

Because if you told yourself the truth. The picture you would paint would tell a different story. It wouldn't highlight the fact that John spoke to you like he was one of your men or that Johnny had the emotional capacity of a teaspoon. It wouldn't show what a flake Kyle was or that Simon was well and truly a mean-spirited person.

It would show how you weren't worth it. Four possible men. Four possibilities of happily ever after and none of them chose you. That no one ever did and no one ever would. You weren't worth it. You weren't loveable.

It wasn't right, but it was what the voices had been telling you late in the night. When you would crawl into your cold bed. The silence of the room not filled with John's steady breathing or the sound of Kyle's heartbeat as you laid you head on his chest. The absence of Johnny's occasional snoring or whatever Simon was watching playing in the background of your dreams.

In the void, all your dark thoughts came back at you.

"Upset?" He asked, his voice still louder than you would have liked. "An understatement considering the stunt you pulled."

"You think it was a stunt?"

"So Johnny thought with his dick and didn't plan things out. You should have told him instead of crying to Simon and then pulling this shit." "Christ, I knew you were still young, but I didn't take you for that immature."

"You know what?" "I'm done." "I am so fucking sick of making excuses for you all." "You want to act like I'm the immature one, John?" "You are 35-year-old man who cannot separate his work from his work like. You have continuously talked to and down to me like I am one of your men, only to turn around and always blame your shitty fucking attitude on work. I get that your job is stressful, but I did not sign up to be your verbal fucking punching bag."

"And this come and fucking go incident with Johnny. It has been a consistent issue with him coming over just to fuck. I've asked him for that last six months that 'hey, we've been seeing each other for a year and a half, I would love to meet your family' and suddenly the dates stop. He doesn't ask to see me until after 7 PM. He brings food occasionally, fucks me and leaves. Sometimes before I even wake up."

"And the only reason Kyle is the person I am the least pissed off with is because I haven't even seen him." You took a step closer, not noticing how the anger in John's eyes had softened. "I have not seen Kyle in weeks, to no fault of my own. I stopped reaching out to make dinner plans after the third time he canceled on a date night when I was either on my way or already at the restaurant."

"And Simon?" You scoffed. "Well, it doesn't really matter. After all, as he said I get mine. You all make me cum which is supposed to magically erase how shitty you've all been as partners. It's supposed to erase the nights I've cried myself to sleep debating on whether or not there was something wrong with me. How I'm not good enough to meet anyone else in your lives like some dirty fucking secret. How none of you can even bother to pencil me for a group dinner so I can tell you a publishing house picked up my book. How at some point you all stopped caring or maybe never did."

You took a breath. Blinking quickly to keep the tears at bay.

You wouldn't cry. You wouldn't cry.

"As Simon said it best, I should have known that spreading my legs wouldn’t end with one of you putting a ring on your finger.”

For once, John was silent. Unsure of what to say. An apology starting to form at the tip of his tongue before realizing 'sorry' wouldn't cut it. Not this time.

Had he really been that sharp with you? He knew that there were times he had gotten short, but he almost always apologized immediately after. If not at the very moment he took in your crest-fallen face, then definitely later. But he almost always told you he was sorry. Didn't he?

"So as I said," you swallowed down the lump in your throat. "I'm closed. We're done. Now get out." Your face held no sadness. Even though your eyes were nearly full to the brim with unshed tears, you weren't sad.

You were finally angry.

#captain john price #kyle gaz garrick #simon ghost riley #call of duty #john soap mactavish #angst #angst with a happy ending

[eelhound]

"The idea of reforming Omelas is a pleasant idea, to be sure, but it is one that Le Guin herself specifically tells us is not an option. No reform of Omelas is possible — at least, not without destroying Omelas itself:

If the child were brought up into the sunlight out of that vile place, if it were cleaned and fed and comforted, that would be a good thing, indeed; but if it were done, in that day and hour all the prosperity and beauty and delight of Omelas would wither and be destroyed. Those are the terms.

'Those are the terms', indeed. Le Guin’s original story is careful to cast the underlying evil of Omelas as un-addressable — not, as some have suggested, to 'cheat' or create a false dilemma, but as an intentionally insurmountable challenge to the reader. The premise of Omelas feels unfair because it is meant to be unfair. Instead of racing to find a clever solution ('Free the child! Replace it with a robot! Have everyone suffer a little bit instead of one person all at once!'), the reader is forced to consider how they might cope with moral injustice that is so foundational to their very way of life that it cannot be undone. Confronted with the choice to give up your entire way of life or allow someone else to suffer, what do you do? Do you stay and enjoy the fruits of their pain? Or do you reject this devil’s compromise at your own expense, even knowing that it may not even help? And through implication, we are then forced to consider whether we are — at this very moment! — already in exactly this situation. At what cost does our happiness come? And, even more significantly, at whose expense? And what, in fact, can be done? Can anything?

This is the essential and agonizing question that Le Guin poses, and we avoid it at our peril. It’s easy, but thoroughly besides the point, to say — as the narrator of 'The Ones Who Don’t Walk Away' does — that you would simply keep the nice things about Omelas, and work to address the bad. You might as well say that you would solve the trolley problem by putting rockets on the trolley and having it jump over the people tied to the tracks. Le Guin’s challenge is one that can only be resolved by introspection, because the challenge is one levied against the discomforting awareness of our own complicity; to 'reject the premise' is to reject this (all too real) discomfort in favor of empty wish fulfillment. A happy fairytale about the nobility of our imagined efforts against a hypothetical evil profits no one but ourselves (and I would argue that in the long run it robs us as well).

But in addition to being morally evasive, treating Omelas as a puzzle to be solved (or as a piece of straightforward didactic moralism) also flattens the depth of the original story. We are not really meant to understand Le Guin’s 'walking away' as a literal abandonment of a problem, nor as a self-satisfied 'Sounds bad, but I’m outta here', the way Vivier’s response piece or others of its ilk do; rather, it is framed as a rejection of complacency. This is why those who leave are shown not as triumphant heroes, but as harried and desperate fools; hopeless, troubled souls setting forth on a journey that may well be doomed from the start — because isn’t that the fate of most people who set out to fight the injustices they see, and that they cannot help but see once they have been made aware of it? The story is a metaphor, not a math problem, and 'walking away' might just as easily encompass any form of sincere and fully committed struggle against injustice: a lonely, often thankless journey, yet one which is no less essential for its difficulty."

- Kurt Schiller, from "Omelas, Je T'aime." Blood Knife, 8 July 2022.

#kurt schiller #ursula k. le guin #quote #quotations #the ones who walk away from omelas #trolley problem #activism #introspection #discomfort #reform #revolution #suffering #ethics #morality

[homunculus-argument]

This is one of those ideas that someone's probably already done, but I came up with another concept for a game:

A game where most of the cutscenes are flashbacks of memories the protagonist has, and the "skip cutscene" button says "repress this memory". You can play through the whole game while skipping all of the cutscenes, you don't need to watch any of them to complete the main storyline and get the main intended ending.

But watching through them doesn't just give you a more thorough - and occasionally, even completely different - understanding of the whole game, and information that makes you see certain characters in a different light, but it unocks new options in the game. You watch through the cutscene flashback of the protagonist's mother doing something fucked up, and suddenly all your conversations with her now have the dialogue option to go "hey mom remember when [the fucked up thing] happened?"

This particular conversation branch doesn't seem to lead anywhere, she'll flat-out deny that the thing ever happened, and she calls you crazy for having ever imagined that, but later on you can stumble upon something else that you clearly saw in the flashback, that you couldn't have found out any other way. It's one thing to wonder why you would remember something that never happened, but how would you have known that this passageway was here, and opens exactly the same way you remembered it?

There are passages in the game that aren't required for the completion of the main storyline, that aren't blocked off by anything visible and obvious, but have text like "you cannot go through this way, this hallway is too noisy", and it takes a completely unrelated flashback for you to recognise what that specific sound reminds you of, which opens up a whole sidequest of you figuring out why you can't stand hearing that noise. Once you've made the connections and finally remember, you can go through the hallway. There's nothing on the other side that you need for the main quest, but things that may help unlock some other mysteries.

The main game is simple and straightforward, you can just play through that one and be done with it. But that's not the whole picture, the full story. There are answers peppered thorough the whole game, answers to questions you might not even think of to ask. Explanations of why the protagonist is the way they are, and things that make you see characters you interact with - and your interactions with them - in a completely different light. Most of the relevations are grim. The only question to ask yourself is

Do you want to remember?

[aemondsbabe]

The Gods and Everyone

summary: you and aemond sorely overestimate how much time you have before a small council meeting, which leaves the two of you in quite a scandalous predicament

pairing: aemond targaryen x reader

warnings: mature/explicit, 18+ (minors dni!), no use of y/n, afab reader, cockwarming, public sex, slight breeding kink, fingering, aemond being an absolute menace, dirty talk, aegon being a little shit but what else is new, let me know if i missed anything!

word count: 5.6k

a/n: based on an anon request for cockwarming! i hope you're still with me and that you enjoy this, friend! sorry it took me so long to get to it!

creds to @bbygirl-aemond for the gif!

likes, comments, & reblogs are very appreciated but never required!

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You watch, concerned, as your husband flits around the Small Council chamber, your eyes following his lithe form as he checks and re-checks the parchment with notes he had written for himself earlier that morning – you’d awoken in the pale hour just before sunrise to see him already hunched over the small desk in your chambers, scribbling away furiously with a quill, his pale hair glowing in the dim light of the candle next to him. All of your attempts to lure him back into bed with you had fallen on deaf ears. 

“You know you needn't do all this,” you point out, perched against the Small Council table, your eyes tracking him as he paces back and forth across the space, going over his notes for the upteenth time, “Your only job is to be on time like everyone else, husband.”

“Things will improve with time,” he rushes out, fixing you with a pointed look, “Hardly two moons have passed since Viserys…” He pauses, pinching the bridge of his nose, “The least I can do is ease this transition for Aegon and mother.”

“My love, it is a transition for us all,” you soothe, striding to him and gently taking his hand. His fingers, rough from all his years of training with swords and spears, instantly wrap around your own as he lets out a tired sigh, “You included. Aegon named you Master of War, not master of everything.” 

“I know,” Aemond murmurs, eye softening as his gaze traces over you, “I find it hard to be still when there is so much chaos – Dorne has yet to be subdued and there are whispers of rebellion from the North. There is so much still to be accounted for.”

“I understand,” you reassure him, your fingers threading through his long, silvery hair, lips quirking into a smile as the gesture makes his eye flutter closed for a second. “But all this stress cannot be good for you, husband,” you sigh, gazing up at him with a mournful smile, “You need rest and calm and…and I need you.” You nearly whisper, blush creeping across your cheeks as Aemond’s eye darkens. 

“Sweetling—“ He starts with a sigh. 

“Aemond, please,” you cut him off, wrapping your arms around his trim waist as you lay your head against his chest, his heart thumping in your ear, “I cannot bear to hear another excuse, I feel as if you have been away for weeks.” 

He’s quiet for a moment, wrapping his long, lean arms tightly around you as he rests his chin on your head, your breaths the only sound in the stony chamber. “I’m sorry,” he finally whispers, smoothing a hand up and down your back, “I miss you too, my sweet girl.” 

You hum, leaning further into his embrace after going without it for so long, “You haven’t touched me in weeks.” You say quietly, his touch already igniting a spark in the pit of your stomach. 

“Perhaps tonight,” his breath is warm against the top of your head as he speaks into your hair, “I will try to cut my meeting with–”

“You’ve been saying that for weeks,” you cut him off once more with a sigh, pulling back to look up at him, “I can’t take anymore, my love, I need to feel you.” You whine, nearly petulant like a spoiled child. If it were any other time, if you were any less desperate, you’d be embarrassed at your behavior. Right now, though, you could not find it within yourself to care as you stared into your husband’s darkened eye, finally feeling the passion you had gone so many weeks without. 

Aemond chuckles as he looks down at you, conflicted between feeling pleased to see you reduced to such a state while also feeling a similar fire in his own belly. “Sweetling, the meeting–”

“Is not due to start for at least another hour!” You interrupt, determined to persuade him to this. Taking you in various parts of the Keep was not new to him, both of you had plenty of memories from your courtship and first year of marriage of rutting together in all sorts of nooks and crannies of the old castle. 

Aemond gazes at you for a long moment, an unreadable expression on his face, though his eye remains dark with desire. After a second, he nods to himself almost imperceptibly, seeming to come to some decision you weren’t privy to. Finally, finally his lips descend upon yours as he sweeps you into an all-consuming kiss, his arms tightening around your waist as he pulls you to him, groaning lowly in his throat as he licks into your mouth. You shiver in his grasp, finally tasting him properly after so long as you whimper and whine into his mouth.

“Aemond,” you gasp as you finally part from him, mewling as he immediately trails kisses down your jaw, “What–”

“Seems I can never deny you for very long, sweetling,” he huffs, halfway laughing as he guides you over to the large table, pulling you up by the waist until you’re sitting on the cool stone table, your legs bracketing his trim waist, “I’ve missed you too, my love.” He confesses, sweeping a lock of hair from your shoulder before trailing kisses up across your neck and jaw, one hand already desperately pulling up the bottom of your gown.

You huff out small moans and whimpers, relishing his warm touch. His nimble fingers finally manage to undo the knot at the front of your smallclothes and he tugs them down quickly, leaving you bare for him under your skirts as they fall to a pile on the floor just beside his chair at the table. 

“Husband,” you pant, tugging at the drawstrings at the top of his trousers, “Please, please do not make me beg today, I–” Your train of thought is cut off as a moan, louder than it should be given the location, tears itself from your throat when you feel his long fingers ghost over your center.

“Shh, darling,” Aemond grins as he feels your arousal immediately coat his fingers, a pleased hum emanating from deep in his chest as he feels it already coating the insides of your thighs as well, “I don’t have the patience to restrain myself today, sweet one,” he mutters, watching your face carefully as he spreads your folds and teases your entrance with a finger before carefully sliding it in, groaning with satisfaction at the feel of your walls already tightly clamping down on it, “Nor the time.” He adds with a slight smirk, pale hair cascading like a curtain down his shoulders as he leans his forehead against yours. 

“Oh, Gods,” you whimper, eyes fluttering shut as your hands white knuckle the dark leather of his tunic, too uncoordinated with lust to manage the ties on his pants, “M-My love, more please!” You whisper, angling your hips to try and catch another of his fingers. 

You hear him chuckle above you before he pulls his finger from you, smirking as you whine pitifully at the loss. Before you have a chance to protest, he quickly undoes his trousers, not bothering to pull them down at all and opting to merely loosen the laces at the front enough to free his cock. Your eyes widen as you watch his hand stroke over his length momentarily, taking in the way it already throbs in his grasp, the head flushed and leaking from merely having you in his hands once more.

“Ready, sweetling?” He asks, gently tilting your chin up as he captures your lips in a sweet kiss, his other hand positioning his length at your entrance. 

You part from him and nod eagerly, widening your legs and angling your hips, “I’ve been ready for you for weeks, Aemond.” 

He smiles softly, pressing one more kiss against your neck before finally pressing into you, growling as he sinks into your slick heat. “Seven,” he grunts, cradling the back of your head with one hand as his other slinks down to grab at your hip, “You feel better every time, sweetling.”

You moan hotly against his shoulder, sinking your teeth into the thick leather of the shoulder of his tunic in an attempt to quiet yourself. Your eyes squeeze shut at the feel of him sliding into you, filling you to the brim perfectly. You’ve been without him for so long that he feels enormous, your walls aching as he stretches you out, pressing in and in until he’s finally seated fully within you. 

Without another word, Aemond started thrusting into you, slow at first but quickly picking up the pace with every firm roll of his hips into you. After only a moment, he’s already grunting like a madman into your ear, holding you to him even as you cling tightly to his shoulders yourself, your legs wrapped loosely around his waist. 

You feel a fire building in your belly at a breakneck pace as he ruts into you, the hand on your hip no doubt leaving fingerprint bruises across your skin, even through the fabric of your gown. If the low groans from your husband are any indication, he isn’t doing much better. He threads his fingers through your hair, pulling you into a desperate kiss, teeth and tongues clashing together frantically as if the two of you are trying to fall into each other, to become one. 

“My love, I—,” he pants against your lips, jerking your head back by the grip he has on your locks. His eye meets yours, the light lilac almost entirely eclipsed by his pupil as he stares at you hungrily, “It’s been so long, I don’t know how long I can last.” 

His breath is warm as it fans over your lips and you nod dazedly, zings of pleasure radiating up your spine from Aemond’s grip in your hair only adding to the warmth quickly threatening to overtake you. “It’s okay,” you swallow thickly, eyes already rolling back with pleasure, “I can’t either.” 

Nodding in return, he picks up the pace, the head of his cock rutting against the most sensitive spot within you hard enough to make you see stars. He hasn’t even needed to tease your pearl and you’re already nearly unraveling as Aemond mumbles nearly incoherent praises, the hand on your hip traveling lower, nearly cupping your ass. 

Just as you’re about to warn him of your inevitable release, muffled voices sound from behind the thick wooden doors that lead into the Small Council chambers. Aemond slows within you as both of your heads swivel to the doors — just in time to hear the guards stationed outside begin to tug them open. 

You freeze, eyes widening as the doors open, seemingly in slow motion. Thankfully, your husband moves quickly enough for the both of you, nimbly scooping you into his arms before hastily dropping down into his chair, hurriedly scooching it forward until both of your laps are hidden under the stone surface of the table, before kicking your smallclothes under the table at the last second. 

Your head whips around to face Aemond and you give him a panicked, wide-eyed look just as people start filing into the room, unaware that you’re still being split open by your husband’s length. One hand, still on your hip, tightens, silently commanding you to be still as his lilac eye pleads the same; his other hand is already poised on the table, relaxed against the cool surface as if he doesn’t have a care in the world. 

“Yes, yes, we must certainly ask him once he’s back in King’s Landing,” Lord Tyland’s voice fills the chamber as he walks in, engaged in a conversation about something or other with Lord Corlys, the two sharing a laugh before finally taking notice of you and Aemond, “Prince, princess.” Tyland bows his head at the two of you with Corlys following soon after. 

You sit frozen atop your husband, gazing blankly at the two men without a word. Thankfully, Aemond has the presence of mind to bow his head politely, though he stays quiet. As they walk further into the room, you can only see Tyland and Corlys from the corner of your eye but you don’t miss the odd look they share, silently asking each other why you were present and certainly why you were sitting on Aemond’s lap. Blood rushes to your head so quickly you feel lightheaded, your cheeks stinging as a harsh blush quickly appears on your face from their attention. 

Maester Orwyle files through the doorway next, doing a double take at you and Aemond before bowing his head, a gesture that you thankfully remember to return this time as you stiffly nod your head. Thankfully, the older man simply takes a seat at his place at the table without any comment, though you can hear the two other men speaking quietly in the corner of the room, throwing glances your way as they do. 

Your walls tighten around Aemond’s length as the rest of you tenses up when Larys creeps in, leaning against his cane as he moves; Aemond thighs tense underneath you as you hear him suck in a breath, only slightly more hasty than normal — the hand in your hip tightens, warning you to keep it together. 

“Prince Aemond, princess,” Larys nods as he approaches the table, “To what do we owe the pleasure of such… intriguing company?” He questions, tilting his head as he narrows his eyes ever so slightly, his eyes bouncing between you and Aemond. 

Your head spins as you stare straight ahead, willing yourself to respond, to say anything, to appear somehow normal. Yet, nothing comes out as your center throbs uselessly around Aemond, your head cloudy with need as your eyes stare ahead blankly, though registering just enough to pick up on the small smirk playing at the corners of Larys’s lips. 

“My wife appears to have taken ill this morning,” Aemond drawls from over your shoulder while affectionately petting your waist, a gesture entirely for show, a lie to placate the men in the room, but it comforts you nonetheless. He clears his throat before continuing, the only tell thus far that your warmth around him is affecting him at all, “My presence brings her great comfort, I see no reason why she should be without it.” 

“I see,” Larys hums in response, his dark eyes sweeping over your form, sparkling ominously as if he knows the truth, “What shame, let us hope the Gods grant you reprieve from this…illness soon, princess.” 

“Yes!” You finally squeak, snapping back to attention as Aemond just barely squeezes your side, “Yes, let’s hope so. Thank you, Lord Larys.” You breathe, managing a smile small. 

You shift on your husband’s lap and immediately you know you’ve made a mistake as the head of his cock prods directly into that overly sensitive patch within you, nearly making you topple over on the spot as a small groan escapes you. Blessedly, you have enough presence of mind to cover it up with a cough, sparks jolting down your back as Aemond presses a soft kiss to your cheek, one of his hands coming up to rub soothing circles against the back of your shoulder. 

“There, there, sweetling,” he says softly, again, entirely for show as you put on your best performance, “Once the meeting is over, we will have the servants make some tea for you, that will help with that cough.” Even if it was for show, you couldn’t help but shiver at Aemond’s low voice, at how he’s being so soft and caring with you. That, combined with the incessant prodding to your sweet spot, has you throbbing around him, your heart hammering in your chest. You can hear Aemond suck in another barely there gasp behind you, a groan low enough to remain silent rumbling against your back while at the same time his hand almost imperceptibly twitches on the table; his composure makes you feel all the more lightheaded, blushing somehow deeper at the fact that he’s taking you apart this easily without so much as moving a muscle. Your thighs trembled atop his lap, the insides already sticky with your arousal as you struggled to stay still, silently thanking the Gods that at least your laps were hidden. 

“I’m sorry,” Corlys began, striding over from his spot in the corner with a sheepish look, “I really feel I must speak up, this is really most unusual.” He finishes through an awkward laugh, Tyland following closely behind him as they saddle up to the table. 

“What is most unusual?” Alicent asks, entering the Small Council chambers with Otto, followed closely after by Aegon and Ser Criston. Her eyes sweep over the room, pausing when she sees you, though she quickly corrects herself with a soft smile. “Ah, my dear,” she nods hello to the various men in the room before sitting at the table, “May I ask why your wife joins us, Aemond?” She peers at him curiously, throwing a nervous glance at Aegon who is smirking far too much for her liking as he slinks up to the table. 

“It seems the princess has fallen ill, your grace,” Larys answers quickly, slyly smiling as he turns to face the dowager queen, “Prince Aemond insisted she stay so that she may be…comforted.” You quickly look away from him as his eyes meet yours once again, piercing through you as though he can see directly through your gown. 

“Yes, which is most odd,” Tyland butted in, throwing glances between you, Aemond, Alicent, and Aegon, “She is not a member of the council, she should not be present. Surely there is some way the princess could be comforted that does not involve being privy to government matters.”

Aemond stays silent behind you, glaring daggers at Aegon over your shoulder, watching carefully as he traipses over to the table and stands at its head, his eyes never straying from his brother’s as they stare one another down. The other members, some reluctantly, take their places at the table as well, each of them standing so long as Aegon does, though you and Aemond remain seated; your eyes never stray from the marbled surface of the table.

“Aemond, please,” Otto sighs from his place next to you, “The least you and the princess could do is stand for–”

“I see him everyday,” Aegon interjects, breaking eye contact with your husband as he rolls his eyes, “I don’t give a shit if the fool stands.”

Your eyes dart up at that, shocked that Aegon isn’t taking the chance to thoroughly humiliate Aemond by putting him on the spot. The king’s violet eyes meet yours, sparkling with a mischief that makes your center flutter around your husband’s length – Aegon’s smirk grows as if he knows exactly what just happened. A thin sheen of sweat makes you feel clammy as Aemond’s cock twitches inside of you, pushing him against your sweet spot all the more. 

“Very well,” Alicent swiftly cuts in, determined to keep the peace, “Shall we get st–”

“Are we really going to allow for the presence of–” Corlys starts, only to be viciously cut off.

“She stays,” Aegon says flatly, shooting a bored look at the man, “If anyone has an issue with the princess’s presence they may take their leave.” His violet eyes pass over the room, almost daring anyone to move. Everyone remains still, though you can feel Tyland and Corlys glaring at the side of your head, and after a moment, Aegon takes his seat followed by everyone else; blessedly, the meeting finally begins. 

The Small Council meeting drones on and on, with various conversations of coin and ships, concerns abroad in Essos, and other diplomatic matters that mean nothing to you. In the back of your mind, you know it’s hardly been any time at all but it feels like an eternity has passed with Aemond’s hard length still piercing into you, twitching against your pulsing walls every so often. A part of you wonders if he does it on purpose, gives you just enough stimulation to cruelly tease you before going stock still once more. 

The small, unnoticeable to everyone but you, hitches of his breath tell you otherwise and deep down, you know he’s just as affected as you, no doubt steadily leaking into you, though you dare not consider the thought for very long. 

“Aemond,” your breath catches in your throat as Otto directs his attention to your husband, everyone else's gaze quickly following, “Any further communications from Dorne?”

Behind you, your husband clears his throat and you feel him shift beneath you, sitting up slightly straighter in his seat, both hands now clasping your waist to keep you steady on top of him. “Negotiations with the Dornish remain stagnant,” he begins as you practically wilt on his lap, the added attention from the council members making the knot in your belly tighten in a way you shudder to consider, “We received a raven from Prince Qoren some days ago rejecting any dealings with the crown, no matter the amount of coin we have to offer.” He finishes, pointedly looking at Tyland, who proceeds to butt in.

As soon as the attention shifts off of the two of you, it’s like the air around Aemond changes, becoming charged all of a sudden as you feel his chest heave against your back. At the other end of the table, Tyland begins to raise his voice, debating hotly with Corlys and Otto, drawing the attention of everyone else to them. 

“Do you think you can be still?” Aemond whispers, his breath hot against your ear although his voice is barely audible even to you. He must sense you freeze on his lap as the hand on your hip begins to move slowly, dragging your skirts up your legs until his hand can slip underneath them, making you tremble as he grips the soft skin of your thigh, “Tighten around my cock if you can be still.”

Against your better judgment, you do as he says, tensing as you clench your walls around him; his only reply is a low growl against your back. He stays still for a moment, trying with all of his might to appear as if he’s taking great interest in the ongoing argument taking place. 

Finally, once he’s positive everyone is too preoccupied arguing over coin to pay attention to either of you, his deft fingers slip through your folds before finally twirling against your aching pearl. 

You have to bite harshly at the inside of your cheek to keep quiet, trying to keep your breathing steady as you focus on not moving even though you so badly want to rut your hips against his fingers as they rub against you. 

Aemond swallows thickly behind you as he slowly circles his fingers, careful to keep his pace light and steady to not stir up any slick sounds from your wet cunt, though he longs to hear them. 

Your elbows rest against the top of the table, your hands clasped tightly in front of you. The conversation around you seems to shift as Otto begins prattling on about some Tyrell woman finally being with child. Aemond’s fingers suddenly pinch at your sensitive bud and a gasp tumbles past your lips before you can stop it, drawing everyone’s attention. 

“Is everything alright, princess?” Alicent questions from across the table, her dark eyes narrowed with concern. 

You nod quickly, coughing to conceal a moan as you open your mouth to answer her, “Y-Yes, I’m sorry,” you apologize with a weak smile, “I’m just so pleased for the Tyrells, what a j-joyous time this must be for them.” You say quickly, stumbling over the words as your core clenches tightly around your husband’s cock, his small touches driving you steadily to your peak despite the circumstances. 

Alicent gives you a curious look before quickly collecting herself, “Yes, I’m sure the family is quite thankful, children are always such a blessing,” she smiles politely before turning back to her father, “Please, continue.” 

Otto’s voice hardly reaches your ears as he picks up where he left off, though you don’t miss the horribly put out looks you garner from Tyland and Corlys. 

Aemond’s fingers just barely speed up as they swirl over your bud, though the small change is enough to drive you wild and you can feel the way his chest heaves against your back as your walls twitch around his length, threatening to milk his cock dry without him having to move an inch. 

The heat that has slowly been building within you finally begins to bubble over and your husband’s fingers show no signs of stopping as he pushes you closer and closer to your breaking point. The hand of his that has been resting idly on the table top comes over to casually rest against your clenched hands and rubs soothingly up and down your forearm, Aemond’s silent way of telling you he knows you’re close. 

Your eyes flick around the room as you feel your peak threatening to spill over you, frantically checking for any onlookers at the last possible second. You nearly jump out of your skin as your eyes finally land on Aegon, only to find him already staring at you, an amused smirk plastered across his face as he studies you. 

Aemond chooses that exact second to pinch at your pearl again and the small touch is your undoing. Your teeth bite down firmly on your tongue as your walls pulse rhythmically around your husband’s leaking cock, your eyes still locked on Aegon’s violet ones, now darkened with lust. 

Your muscles tense up as you peak helplessly, waves of pleasure lighting up every nerve ending within you. Somehow, you find it within yourself to remain quiet and still on Aemond’s lap as your eyes finally flick away from his older brother’s and you gaze, apparently absentmindedly, at some point on the wall on the opposite side of the room as your high subsides. 

Thankfully, Aemond takes pity on you and slips his hand away, his wet fingers resting gently in your bare thigh, still underneath your gown. 

You slowly come down from your high as the Small Council winds down, Aegon and Otto quickly discussing a few final points before the king formally adjourns the meeting. Tyland and Corlys practically bolt from their chairs, quickly bowing before they exit as they mumble between themselves, no doubt about the displeasure of your presence. 

Otto and Maester Orwyle take their leave soon after, each bowing politely. Aegon busies himself at the head of the table, leaning back in his chair as he lazily sips from his wine cup, the gleam in his eyes making you shiver. 

Across the room, Alicent and Larys whisper between themselves. Strangely, your mother-in-law blushes, shaking her head suddenly and mumbling a quiet, “Not here,” before glancing around the room.

Larys merely shrugs, turning to you as he shuffles from the room, “Do get better soon, princess.” He says with a feeble bow, although the look on his face makes you blush heavily. 

At that, Alicent turns to Aegon, “Would you care to come see the children with me?”

“Go on,” he dismisses her before nodding toward you and Aemond, “I wish to have a word with my brother.” He catches your eye with a quick wink. 

“Of course,” Alicent mutters, glancing curiously between the three of you, “I’ll ask the maids to bring some tea to your chambers this evening, princess. They make a wonderful lemon one that always seems to lift my spirits.” She says with a kind smile, coming around to place a comforting hand on your shoulder before she too heads to the door. 

“Thank you!” You breathily call after her, voice squeaking at the end as Aemond shuffles impatiently beneath you, his cock still prodding against your sensitive walls. 

Aegon chuckles darkly as soon as the doors close once more, standing from his chair with a wide smirk. “I must say, I’m impressed,” he taunts, eyes glinting as he looks between you and his brother, “I didn’t think either of you had that much gaul in you.” 

“What exactly are you tittering about now?” Aemond asks lowly behind you, his voice rough and choppy as his patience clearly wears thin. 

Sniggering, Aegon saunters around to stand beside you, violet eyes scanning over your laps still concealed under the table, “You’ve had your cock in her the whole time, have you not?” He teases, laughing harder still as Aemond merely hums in response, “Come brother, you should be proud of yourself,” he clasps a hand over your husband's shoulder, “She was nearly falling apart when she peaked.” He comments with a final wink as he ambles to the door, stopping to throw one last amused look over his shoulder, “You might want to do something about that bite mark on your shoulder.” He says casually before slamming the doors closed behind him. 

At his comment, you whirl around and your eyes grow wide as you spy a clear impression of your teeth marks in the leather of Aemond’s tunic, on his shoulder where you’d bitten down earlier. Your cheeks heat up at the thought of it being there throughout the entire meeting. 

You don’t have long to dwell on the thought though as your husband roughly pushes you from his lap until you’re bent over the table, cheek pressed to the cool stone surface. “Seven!” You sequel as he unceremoniously shoves his cock back inside you, his hips pumping wildly as his hands grasp at your waist harshly, no doubt leaving bruises. 

“Fucking finally,” he grunts, eyeing the way his cock disappears into your slick heat as he bunches your gown up over your ass, “‘M not gonna last.” He warns lowly, already panting with the speed of his thrusts. 

Your head spins once again as his cock moves within you, his pace nearly bruising. Your teeth sink into the skin of your forearm as you desperately try to keep quiet, another peak already welling up within you. 

Aemond growls and quickly threads the fingers of one hand through your hair, making you whine loudly as he pulls your head back until his chest is once again pressed against you, his other hand coming to rub against your abused pearl once more. 

“Aemond!” You moan, shaking your head in his grasp, one hand braced against the table as the other grabs at his forearm, feeling his muscles twitch as his fingers swirl against your center, “P-Please, I cannot keep myself quiet, I know I can’t—“ You start babbling. 

“Let them fucking hear,” he growls, eye squeezing shut as he feels his stones tightening up, “The whole keep can listen for all I fucking care, I won’t be stopping this time.” 

Your eyes roll back in your head at his words, never having heard him sound this possessed and overcome with pleasure before. After only a few more thrusts, you feel your walls twitch once more, a loud gasp rattling through your chest, “H-Husband, I’m—!”

“That’s it,” Aemond groans, redoubling his efforts against your pearl as he continues to rut into you at a nearly inhuman pace. “Peak, sweetling,” he commands, his voice low and raspy in your ear, “Peak while I breed your precious cunt.” 

His words nearly take your breath away and you whine loudly as another high washes over you, your walls milking your husband’s cock as they clench and pulse against it. 

Behind you, Aemond groans lowly, grunting as his cock twitches strongly inside you, his thick seed flooding into your heat as he finally, finally peaks, the pleasure of it making him dizzy as he leans against your back, forehead pressed between your shoulder blades. 

The two of you are quiet for a moment, your tired pants the only sounds in the chambers. Finally, Aemond untangles his fingers from your hair, both of his hands coming to rest against the cool table as he finally pulls his cock from your center, soothing you with soft shushes when you whine, the emptiness in your core such a foreign feeling after being filled for so long. 

He sinks into his chair once more and pulls you with him, wrapping a protective arm around your waist as you rest your head on his shoulder. Once your breathing is steady, you pick your head up, a displeased groan tumbling from your throat as you see your bite mark more clearly up close, a finger coming up to trace over the intents in the black leather. 

“I’ll need to send this to the seamstress for repairs,” you whisper with an apologetic sigh, “I believe this is beyond my ability to fix.” 

Aemond chuckles beneath you, lilac eye gleaming with pride as he clasps a hand over yours as it still rests on his shoulder, “Don’t trouble yourself with it, my love.” 

“What?” You question, smiling despite the way you tilt your head in confusion, “Aemond, I cannot fix it myself and I’m afraid the mark will not simply go away—,” 

“You misunderstand me, sweetling,” he says, smiling as he looks down at you, “I intend to keep it as a mark of great pride. I shall wear it as a trophy for all to see.” He explains with a teasing laugh. 

You playfully smack a hand against his chest, which only makes him laugh harder, “You can’t be serious!” You admonish with a wide smile.

“Why? I simply wish to remember this day,” he chuckles, “The day I made my sweet wife peak in front of the Gods and everyone.” 

“Aemond!” You cannot help the surprised laugh that leaves you, “You’re as disgusting as your brother!”

tagged lovelies: @helloworldiamnotarobot @drakonflames @marysucks-blog @watercolorskyy @valeskafics @iamaegontargaryenwife0 @aemshaircare @1997babyyyy @lovellies @little-moonbeam-666 @blackswxnn @demirunner @eponaartemisa @trshngyn

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#aemond targaryen #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen x you #aemond targaryen fanfic #aemond targaryen smut #aemond x reader #aemond x you #aemond fanfiction #aemond fanfic #aemond smut #aemond one eye #aemond kinslayer #house of the dragon #hotd #house of the dragon fanfiction #house of the dragon fanfic #house of the dragon smut #hotd fanfiction #hotd fanfic #hotd smut #fanfiction #fanfic #smut #my writing #request

[anantaru]

— you ask him "can i sit on your lap?"

including heizou, lyney, wriothesley, alhaitham x gn! reader

꒰ genre ꒱ — fluff, established relationship, a tiny bit suggestive towards the end (wriothesley's part, basically the last paragraph hints at something suggestive)

— heizou

the door to heizou's office was closed behind you two, leaving the rest of the world outside as you laid on a couch while he was practically glued to his office-desk— his countenance focused, absorbed in the current case he was working on.

to some, it might appear as boring when you both spend time like that, but to you it was the exact opposite— not only were you able to work on your own stuff in his office, in fact, you're not getting distracted by anything there, but heizou will always spend the night at your place after he was done with work.

although sometimes, you catch yourself become bored once you've finished up everything you had to do yourself, and immediately decide to walk towards his desk, your eyes holding a secret glow only he was able to understand.

"how far are you?" you ask, "already cracked the case?" tilting your head to the sight before lazily leaning against his desk.

heizou smirks before brushing one hand through his tousled hair, "almost done, heh, i'm almost there,"

you know— you know, you shouldn't bother him while he was busy with solving this case, but watching him actually do it was very much attractive. it's constant in his behavior, your boyfriend was just effortlessly handsome when he skimmed over a case, never seeing the glass as half full— he see it brimming to the top, filled with all his brilliance. 

to add on to that, the both of you couldn't be apart from each other for a long time anyways, it was like watching two magnets, pushing and pulling until they finally clicked back into place.

"can i sit on your lap?" you say in a whispered utterance that was setting his heart ablaze, "i want to watch you solve it," and the way you spoke to him in that sound, heizou's facial features instantly turn softly into kindness, a carefree laugh attached to him.

"you don't have to ask, come here."

heizou instantly makes space for you before guiding you towards his lap, and an immediate rush of warm air rises when he wraps his arms around you, the tension roiling and manifesting into heart-shaped clouds.

now, as a result of being so close to your boyfriend, his slightly sweet fragrance overruns your senses when you rest your head against his shoulder, sighing out through your mouth.

"you wanna help me solve this case, hm?" the man snickers as his palm smoothes along your thigh, "i will do whatever you want if you solve it before me,"

"i can try," you claim confidently and shift on his lap.

a gleeful light falls into his deep, black pupils when you agree, his lips curved up into a smile, "but don't get mad if i beat you!"

— lyney

"see? that's how you hide a card and make it appear again,"

lyney moves his fingers around the pack of cards with such frightening precision that you could evidently witness with fierce clarity that, well, you cannot possibly memorize this magic trick with the confused blur in your eyes— despite the fact that he has shown you the exact same trick three times in a row now.

you sigh out in defeat, your eyes skimming over his hands as you're both sitting on the couch next to each other, "I still don't get it," your words were breathless but liquid with embarrassment, even though there was nothing to be embarrassed about— because you see, lyney would never reveal a trick to anybody, not even to his significant other.

after all, it's a magicians greatest strength to keep their cunning mischiefs hidden away.

in fact, he only offered to show you because he really liked that befuddled look on your face, he finds it so cute, pretty and sweet.

a somewhat devious, but calm smile hovers on his face as he watches you in awe, one hand now lingering on your arm, a silent plea for you to stay.

"hm, you know what? let me look at it from a different view," you grin before tenderly kissing his cheek, "it's difficult watching from the side like that, you know?" then place a small peck on his jaw before working yourself towards his soft lips at last.

"can i sit on your lap?" you say and lyney almost whines at your request, a pretty sparkle on your eyes worsening his condition, your voice barely above a whisper.

on a surface level, you were dating lyney for quite a while now and were utterly aware that he was probably trying to confuse you with his magic tricks, and although you do not welcome it, you also did not mind because letting him confuse you wasn't necessarily a bad thing— since lyney would always become so confident and loving, not to mention excited to show and tell you more about his passion.

he blushes a little, an emotion such as this one was probably one of the only ones a magician of his caliber was unable to disguise.

"of course," lyney takes a deep breath before straightening his posture out, parting his arms so you could easily settle on his lap.

once you're on his lap, he kisses your shoulder before resting his head in the nook of your neck, "i'll start over now, you ready?"

"i am!" you retort back, "i will get it this time," as a lazy smirk spreads across your face before you begin to melt into his embrace.

— wriothesley

for you to be able to see each other as often as possible, you tend to visit wriothesley at work every now and then— sometimes you feel quite lonely since your boyfriend was always occupied with his job, so when you open the door to his office at last, he holds a benevolent presence on his demeanor, mirth possessing his eyes at the pure look of you walking into the room.

and to make this situation even sweeter, wriothesley shows you a tight-lipped, tender smile on his attractive face, delving into the soothing energy you always brought forth in him.

time seemed to stand still as your eyes met, and wriothesley immediately rises from his seat, cheeks flushing brightly, "you're finally here," his voice jovial-alike, so jovial that it set your entire tone for the day, "i was waiting for you, love,"

his walk was quick as he could barely wait to hug you— in fact, you honestly applaud him for how impossibly fast he has reached you as two muscular arms wrap around your body in no time, a silent language of shared passion being spoken.

"i'm sorry that i have kept you waiting, i'm a bit late, aren't i?" with a meaningful smile, you cup his cheeks before stroking the skin with your thumb.

lost in your eyes, wriothesley watches you through a soft look of through his thick lashes, "—oh, yeah? you did? i couldn't tell."

"but now that you're mentioning it, hm, how brave of you to keep me waiting like that," wriothesley utters in a fooling timbre, "—knowing that I've missed you all day," he continues to tease you before guiding you towards his desk by your hand.

on a normal day, the duke would offer you to sit on his office chair just because he finds it cute and somewhat hilarious— in fact, your cuteness in general was off the charts, it practically had its own gravitational pull.

you do not sit down and instead wrap your arms around his neck, "looks like someone's not quite perfect after all," wriothesley jokes in a tone that was warm and inviting, eliciting an immediate laugh from you.

you pout at him, "hey! if that's the case i'm taking my apology back right now,"

half jokingly, you avert your gaze as to tease him for once, although his overconfidence was like a blazing torch, nothing was capable to rush through it.

wriothesley keeps a prolonged eye contact with you so he could intensify the triumph over this situation, watching how you're crumbling first and losing the game, a playful wink adding a touch of humor to his jest.

"ouch, my love, you heart my heart crack right now?" the duke knits his eyebrows together as he kisses your forehead, his voice light with a hint of playfulness.

you roll your eyes, "hmpf, that's what you get."

the air was charged with a gentle, bubbly energy as wriothesley slightly pushes his office chair towards your direction to make you sit down— he believed you must be tired from today, in fact, the night was slowly approaching and he could tell by how often you'd yawn out.

you look at the chair before searching for your boyfriends eyes again, "is it okay if i sit on your lap instead?" you ask shyly, "i want to watch you work," certainly, that look on your face told him all he needed to know,

"—and cuddle," especially with that twinkle in your eyes.

"you sure? i might be unable to sit still," he grins, leaning closer to your ear before pulling you on to his lap, "make sure to keep your eyes wide open for me, no sleeping," wriothesley kisses your cheek, his voice a soft murmur that boiled the blood in your veins.

"working with me can be quite the handful, you know," he claims confidently, yet you weren't new to your boyfriend's manner of speaking— because you see, in secret he was hinting at something way different than you simply sitting on his lap.

— alhaitham

eyes fluttering shut, you lean against alhaitham's shoulder while your knee would nudge against his own ever so often, swaying from left to right.

it's this particular hour of the day again, where your boyfriend would read to you in the park, it's a simple date yet the both of you preferred it above everything else— it's the vibrancy of various petals decorating the nature that was boldly unique to you, surrounding your bodies so delicately and pure that you couldn't help yourself but feel weary due to the dainty scenery.

for some reason, you cannot keep your eyes open this time but proceeded to give your utmost best to keep your fatigue hidden from the scribe's eyes— granting the fact that he had figured it out the second he saw you.

it was utterly unfair, that's what it was, because there was nothing you cherished more then spending time with your boyfriend like that, in midst the sounds of cooing pigeons in the garden as  sun washes the garden with a golden glow.

alhaitham liked it to, especially reading his favorite books to you was something he thought was beneficial to the both of you. most importantly, he noticed how he was igniting an inner smile in your soul, that kind that burns warm and long, he loves that smile, he couldn't possibly become satiated by it ever.

in a fleeting moment, he places his warm palm against your knee, "hey, you're falling asleep," he claims, a little stoic, "we should head home so you can rest,"

no, please no, you yell inwardly before rubbing your eyes— every ounce of your remaining strength was dedicated to maintaining your eyes open and stay within this scenery a little longer.

"it's okay, i am fine, i promise," you panic, then yawn, yikes, what a way for your body to go behind your back.

hand in hand with your weary state of mind, you move your body before standing up to reclaim your energy, "you can keep reading to me, please, it was getting interesting,"

you're attempting to salvage just an ounce of this date, your eyebrows knitting together in displeasure as you yawn out again.

"i love listening to you."

"there's no point in that if you're falling asleep,"

alhaitham takes your hand, delicately pulling your body towards his own as to inspect your fatigued expression, "we can postpone this, the book isn't running anywhere and neither am i," he smiles gently, silently running his thumb along your knuckles so you'd calm yourself down a little, his homely trace sending a shiver down your spine.

without dissembling anything, it wasn't the book you feared to miss out on— in fact, it was about alhaitham himself. as the scribe of the akademiya he had always been busy and it could become very difficult to plan dates in advance.

to note that even after he might finish up his duties for the day a little earlier, he preferred to stay within the warm confines of his home which you did not mind either.

"alhaitham?" you heave out, something unspoken yet profound being exchanged as your body tests the waters by moving forward, "can i sit on your lap? that way i will surely stay awake, i promise."

alhaitham cocks a curious brow at you, "oh, you will?" he inquires as you nod your head, "in that case, please be my guest,"

the scribe shuffles in his seat as he spreads his legs a little, waiting for you to sit on his lap as one of his hands guide you down while the other held on to the beige-colored book.

the scribe looks at you through thick eyelashes, his face wholly relaxed as you loop one arm around his shoulders to steady yourself, your  lips contorting into a deep, happy smile.

"are you comfortable enough?" he asks as you shift your weight from one leg to another, "very much, thank you."

alhaitham holds you by your waist, strong enough that you could leisurely lean back without fearing of actually dropping on the ground. after figuring out a comfortable setting for the both of you, he flips his book open with one hand as your body subconsciously heats up at his tender palm rubbing circles on your waist.

a cool breeze swirls around you both when he resumes to the book like nothing has changed at all, his choice in tone dignified and unwavering as he reads the first paragraph to you, smiling at your sweet face when he notices how you were drifting into a much deeper sleep.

©2024 anantaru do not repost, copy, translate, modify, claim as your own

#genshin x reader #genshin impact x reader #heizou x reader #wriothesley x reader #alhaitham x reader #lyney x reader #genshin x you #genshin impact x you #genshin fluff #genshin impact fluff #genshin impact drabbles #genshin drabbles #lyney x you #wriothesley x you #alhaitham x you #heizou x you #wriothesley fluff #alhaitham fluff #al haitham x reader #lyney fluff

[luveline]

𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐟𝐢𝐬𝐡 𝐦𝐨𝐭𝐢𝐯𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 | 𝐦𝐢𝐠𝐮𝐞𝐥 𝐨’𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚

miguel can’t control himself when you get hurt in the field —a ficlet featuring an irritated (lovesick) miguel and a flirty, distracted spider-girl. pre across the spider-verse but contains spoilers. requested he re, fem!reader, 2.5k

tw. fighting, injury, blood

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

Miguel watches the screen in front of him unhappily. 

"Spider-Girl," he says. Two people answer him. He sighs. "Y/N," he amends, "you're being reckless." 

The little droid camera that follows you around circles your head as you swing from one place to another. "I'm being good," you deny. 

Miguel would never tell you this, but he loves how you speak. Sure, almost every word you say annoys him, but the cadence of your voice is melodic and addictive at once. And Miguel knows you're nice to everyone, but it's him alone that has you speaking so softly. 

You do it to torture him, he's sure. 

"You're doing well, but you'd be better if you didn't free fall for so long. Mechanical failure can happen at any minute," Miguel says. 

"Then one of the others will catch me." 

"And if there's no team member close by? I'm supposed to come and scrape you off of the sidewalk?" 

"Miguel," you say gently. He can tell what mood you're in today. "They have people for that." 

"Could you just do as I asked you to?" 

"Ah, but you haven't asked me anything." 

"Please," he says, "focus on the task at hand, and use your webs cautiously." 

You make a chirping sound that feels more laughter than affirmation, but you do as he requests, reducing the length of time between each web shot. You're in New York, Earth-1844, attempting to send home an unhappy Doc Ock variant whose mechanical arms are immensely technologically advanced, even when compared to Nueva York's futurism.

Miguel had sent you along with a rather large team, one. because a big team was necessary for the task, two. because you'd asked and he has trouble saying no to you, and three. because if you'd spent another hour in his office today he actually might have given into temptation, which wouldn't be good for anybody.

Miguel is used to doing what needs to be done rather than what he'd like, these days. So while he wants to indulge you and your fanciful suggestions —I'm not heavy, handsome, please, you won't even notice I'm in your lap, your thighs are so wide— he can't. He has things to do. Things that cannot endure distraction. 

"Woo!" you cheer through laughter, letting your shoes skim the floor in an especially dangerous manoeuvre. The adrenaline turns you giddy. "Holy crap." 

Oh, right, that's why he resists temptation —he hates you. (He doesn't hate you.) He hates you and your disregard for your own safety, he hates your rejection of his authority, and he hates the stupid sweet sound you make when you're excited. 

"Do you listen to me and then forget what I've said, or do you not understand the English language?" he asks. 

You land on a rooftop overlooking the centre of Future Doc Ock's destruction. "Well, I've been learning Spanish. We could always try that," you suggest. 

"Why have you been learning Spanish?" he asks. 

"Coquetear contigo," you say, your pronunciation all over the place. To flirt with you. 

"Qué maravilla," he mutters. 

"I don't know that one, handsome, so I'm going to assume it was a love confession or something similar." You sound so overly fond he has to tense his jaw. "Gwen, where are you?" 

"I'm over here?" 

Gwen is wrapped up tightly in a metal tentacle. It shakes her around fanatically. Miguel swears and zooms in on her location, watching in apprehension as she attempts to free herself while the arm creaks, tightening, tightening. 

"Woah," you say, taking a running jump off of the rooftop. "Can you believe it? I'm not the first one who needs rescuing." 

Hobie Brown reaches Gwen before you can, and he makes an impressive rescue. You divert your path, shooting a web at the glass dome covering Future Doc Ock's head. Miguel crosses his arms across his chest. Wannabe Mysterio loser, he thinks, and then, when you've smashed a hole into the dome with a generously momentous kick, Nice. 

He doesn't suppose Doc Ock was expecting a kick to the jaw today. 

You hiss as you propel yourself away from him, another web shot at a nearby lamppost. It does something funny to his chest when he hears you whine in pain, but he's too distracted to ask what's wrong —he scours your droid's view for an answer, finds it red and saturating the fabric of your suit. 

"Why are you bleeding, Spider-Girl?" he asks, gaze drawn to the main screen where Dock Ock shouts belligerent threats at an approaching Spider-Man. 

"No biggie," you say, hissing again, "I think I cut my leg on the glass. I need a better suit." 

"Can you walk?" 

"I'm fine," you say with a sniffle. From the amount of blood, the cut is deep. "Is it me, or is it dusty in here?" 

It definitely hurts if it's making you cry, though maybe you're unprepared. This was a bad idea, you aren't as seasoned as the others, and he knows you don't know what you're doing yet. You need more time, more practice. You've hurt yourself in the field on your very first mission, and you don't have the pain threshold or the super-healing necessary to cope.

It's his fault for letting you go. 

"Prepare for extraction," he says.

"No! No way, are you kidding? I'm fine, I– I can do this."

"Y/N," he warns. 

You fling yourself from the lamppost with impressive grace considering your injury and join the fight once again. Miguel can't keep an eye on you like he wants to, as the alarm that indicates an anomaly begins to sound. He's forced to rush together a second team while the elite strike force are preoccupied, yanking members of Spider-Society from their goings abouts, Lyla in his ear recommending effective combinations and fighting styles. From that point on, he has to supervise two different missions, his head pounding with effort. 

His hands itch. He should be out there. Miguel is the cream of the crop and he isn't shy to admit that. He's a good fighter, but he can't be everywhere at once, and most of the anomalies they face require multiple sets of hands to fix. So he forces himself to stay put and guide the teams through each fight, sick to his stomach with every bloody footprint you leave behind. 

He's following Hobie Brown and offering rejected instruction when he sees you go down. He toggles your voice channel and catches the end of a high-pitched, "Oof," the air-knocked from your lungs forcibly as you hit the ground. The tentacle that propelled you veers up for a finishing blow, and three different webs catch it and pull it backward. 

It's a blur. One minute Miguel's in the control room at Spider-Society headquarters, the next he's breathing in the smoggy air of New York, Earth-1844, concrete and asphalt torn up under his hands. Lyla speaks in his ear and he's deaf to her, his focus pointed with only one thing in mind. 

The restraint it takes not to wipe Doc Ock from the face of the dimension is incalculable. Miguel can't quite believe his own moderation as he orchestrates the return of the anomaly, your body on the ground in the corner of his eye. 

The second the situation is under control, he runs to you. His gloves hit the ground with a thud by your hip, as do his knees. Spider-Man, a Peter Parker from Earth-751263, has already set nanobots over your prone figure, tiny spider-like creatures that leave webbing bandages in their wake, closing the sluggish wound on your calf. But nanotech won't fix a broken spine, not in the field. Miguel needs a stretcher. He needs to get you home. 

"Miguel," you say, drawing his gaze from your slow-rising chest, "I can't breathe.

He slides his thumb as gently as he can into the seam of your mask and eases it off. "You're winded." 

You cough. The sound is disturbingly wet, but your lips remain unsullied. Miguel can't look at you in this much pain, and he won't: he stands, and he takes control. 

—

You're not in nearly as much pain as you should be, because Doctor Spider-Man gave you the good stuff. "Your healing isn't nearly as expedited as most of us," he'd said. 

"Is this medical discrimination?" you'd asked, faking a serious concern. "Do I need to talk to Spider-Lawyer?" 

You found it funny. He maybe didn't, but he gave you an extra dose and told you to rest up before leaving. Resting at the Society medbay isn't easy because Spider People are constantly filtering in and out of the ward for check-ups, medication, and corrections. 

It's also not easy because most Spider People are incredibly lonely in their home dimensions, and incredibly friendly here. When Miguel finally comes to visit you, you have a Spider-Girl from a few dimensions over who has the same biological mother as you but a different father sitting to your left —she's trippy and adorable, if you do say so yourself— two Peter Parkers to your right, and a melting pot of currency lost in the white linen sheets over your legs.  

They get one good look at Miguel and put down their playing cards. 

The Peter Parkers slink off together promising to come and see you again sometime, and your variant stops just shy of Miguel's position to look him up and down affectionately. 

"Go away," he says. 

She beams at him. "Okay." 

"You can't help it, can you?" he asks after she's gone, picking a rogue playing card up from the end of your bed. He twiddles it between his index and middle finger, the card shushing with each turn.

You sit up in bed and try to straighten out the sheets, hoping to entice him. You don't bother answering his question. It barely sounded like one. 

"I'm hurt, you know?" you ask. 

"I know. I told you to retreat." 

"No, I'm hurt it took you so long to visit me," you say. You're putting on airs. Truthfully, you genuinely are a little hurt, but your voice is soft and dreamy as always. "I thought we were friends." 

"Ah, because you need more of those." 

You sink down into your pillows, your knees hiked. "I really can't help it if people like me. And you'd know." 

Miguel surprises you by sitting down. He faces away from you, his thigh just shy of your feet below the sheets, and it's only then you realise he's tense. He's in civvies for a change, a t-shirt stretched tight across his broad shoulders and chest and regular black sweatpants. He's wearing converse. 

You look at him through a squint. "Did you hit your head, too?" 

"I'm off-duty."

"I just never pictured you in sneakers." 

"How do you picture me?" he asks, neck craned to look at you, his chin touching his shoulder. He has dark circles under his eyes and his brows are ruffled on one side. 

You let your knees fall to one side and pull your legs to your chest, hoping to entice him closer. "You're not sleeping well?" 

Miguel doesn't answer your inquiry. In fact, he falls silent. His eyes are on your hands where they're bunched at your chest, his dark flush of lashes twitching as his gaze tracks along the column of your throat, your jaw, and finally, your face. 

"If you were anyone else," he says eventually, "you'd be benched." 

"I'm not benched?" you ask. 

"You disobeyed a direct order," he says, "and your actions affected the people around you. Someone else could've been hurt protecting you. You have to listen to what I'm telling you to do, or this is never going to work." 

You look at the hospital bed railing rather than face his disappointment. 

"But it's my fault." 

"What?" you ask, startled. 

"It's my fault you got hurt. I knew you couldn't handle it, and I let you go anyway. I'm… I'm weak." 

"What are you talking about?" you ask. "Weak? You're the strongest person here, with or without Rapture." 

He flinches at the drug's name.

You lay there, paralysed by your own mistake, your big mouth ruining everything for the thousandth time. If there's one thing you know about Miguel, it's that you never mention his weaknesses. His drug. His last attempt at a full life. You might be light-hearted, a free spirit, but you're far from stupid usually. Your emotional intelligence must've got lost somewhere on Earth-1844. 

"Sorry," you murmur, looking at him from under your lashes. "I didn't mean…" 

Slowly, so slowly, he puts his hand on your leg. It doesn't hurt, you've been medicated and stitched and his touch is far from cruel, but you're so startled that your breath gets caught in your throat. Miguel doesn't touch you unless he's giving you a vague reprimand, moving your hand from a button you shouldn't touch or a door you're not allowed to open. 

"I let you go on that mission, knowing you weren't ready, because you asked me to let you. I put selfish motivations over your safety. It won't happen again." 

You're not as brave as you think you are. You try to hold his hand but it looks so big, and you've never had him this close to you of his own accord. You're a moment away from nervous goosebumps. 

He looks up at your touch, your pinky finger wrapped over his, smaller and shorter but with the same pattern of calluses, skin abraded by tight gloves and rough surfaces. 

"Selfish motivations," you repeat in a murmur. 

"I don't– like saying no. To you." He couldn't sound more unhappy to admit it. 

"You say no to me all the time," you say. You don't mean to, but suddenly you're folding your fingers over his, forcing him to hold your hand. He doesn't stop you. He doesn't let go. "Like, ten times a day." 

"It's difficult." Your complaint is a blessing for him —the atmosphere around you shifts to something less vulnerable, and his permanently chagrined personality rears its head once again. He raises his eyebrows. "You make my life extremely difficult," he says flatly. 

"You make my life difficult, too," you say. 

You can't help but give him your fondest smile, your lashes kissing in the corners of your eyes.  

He visibly softens. His thumb rubs the back of your hand, just once. 

"Fantastic," he says, looking firmly away from you. "Great." 

"Isn't it?" you ask happily. 

He squeezes your fingers gently. It's almost imperceptible. "Yeah, it is," he says. 

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed! also, im sorry if you already speak spanish i realised after that that detail was subjective to the reader, sorry!

#miguel o’hara x reader #miguel o’hara x you #miguel o’hara x y/n #miguel o’hara x fem!reader #miguel o’hara #miguel o’hara fanfiction #miguel o’hara fanfic #miguel o’hara fic #miguel o’hara drabble #miguel o’hara scenario #miguel o’hara blurb #miguel o’hara oneshot #spider-man: across the spider-verse #spider-man: across the spider-verse spoilers #spider-man: across the spider-verse fanfiction #across the spider-verse spoilers #across the spider verse spoilers #across the spiderverse spoilers #spiderman across the spider-verse spoilers #miguel ohara x reader #miguel ohara x you #miguel ohara x y/n #miguel ohara x fem!reader #miguel ohara #miguel ohara fanfiction #miguel ohara fanfic #miguel ohara fic #miguel ohara drabble #miguel ohara blurb #miguel and spidergirl reader

[cloudcountry]

SUMMARY: A handful of TWST characters that I headcanon have not had their first kiss yet and you kissing them for the first time.

WARNINGS: None!!

COMMENTS: riddle and idia and azul are obvious but i feel like i need to explain jade and floyd. they're clearly emotionally detached from most people and probably scared off anyone that might remotely be interest in (even though if they can be scared off, the twins would probably find them boring anyway) so they haven't kissed anyone yet in my silly little head. thats all!!

i was listening to cherry wine by hozier while writing floyd's part so if its softer than usual that's why OOPS

the asexual in me loves writing about hesitant physical intimacy leave me alone :C

Riddle Rosehearts feels his hands shaking as you stare, eyes so calm and hopeful that makes his heart lurch. He doesn’t know how to give you what you want without curling in on himself and becoming flustered. It’s unbecoming of him to cower like this, but he can’t help it. your hand against his cheek, the other one resting on his shoulder, your faces so close together. He feels like he might die if he doesn’t kiss you, but he doesn’t know how and he doesn’t want to mess this up because he’s supposed to just know.

“You don’t have to know,” you whisper, and you sound so certain that his heart flutters like a caged bird, “Every person is different. Everyone has a different feel to their kiss, and I’m glad I get to help you discover yours.”

He can’t breathe.

“Will you allow me?” you murmur, tilting your head the slightest bit and oh, he knows what's coming and he doesn’t want to stop it.

“Please.” he breathes, slamming his eyes shut, “Kiss me.”

Azul’s shaking hands find their way to your hips as if they were always meant to be there, pressed against your pants and brushing against the hem of your shirt. He sucks in a breath as your arms are draped around his neck, like a blanket of love coating him in warmth. His body does feel impossibly hot, and he wonders for a moment if you truly are magical.

His mouth feels dry so he wets his lips, and when your eyes flicker towards them at the movement he almost dies.

“Azul, it’s okay. We don’t have to do this if you don’t want to.” you murmur, softly and with so much understanding. It’s frustrating, how Azul wants every part of you and you’re willing to wait for him. You’re too good for him.

“I want to.” he whispers, pleading in a way that only someone as powerful as him can, “I want to kiss you, so please—”

Azul talks too much. You’re painfully aware of this fact and so is he. Maybe that’s why you shut him up and replaced his greedy pleas with the sound of soft kissing, but then again, Azul doesn’t need to know what other reasons you had for kissing him. The only reason he needs is your love.

Jade does not understand why it’s such a shock to you that he has yet to be kissed. You have seen him in his merform, you have fought him in his merform, and yet your brain cannot wrap around the concept that people find him terrifying. Really, you are an amusing one.

“The merpeople my age were scared of me, pearl.” he chuckles politely as you gape at him from across the Mostro Lounge table he seated you at hours before, “I had yet to be in a romantic relationship until you.”

“But you’re so handsome.” you huff, and it looks like you’re pouting, “Your peers have no taste.”

“Ah, or mayhaps your taste is an acquired one, my dear.” he smiles his closed-eyed smile, and revels in the amused snort his response elicits.

“We should kiss then.” you blurt, and Jade’s eyes fly open in surprise. You’re leaning across the table with shimmering eyes and a huge smile like you can’t wait to kiss him.

How peculiar.

“Do you want to be kissed?” he says, feigning surprise.

“By you? More than anything.” you say breathlessly, and Jade finds himself leaning into you to really take your breath away.

Floyd stares intently at your lips, brow furrowed and eyes narrowed. He looks like a predator about to pounce on its prey, and despite how cliche that comparison is for someone like him you can’t help but squirm.

“Floyd.” you say softly, and he snaps out of it when he meets your gaze, “What’s wrong?”

“Shrimpy. Wanna try something new.” he leans closer, his shadow falling over you as if to remind you how scary he can really be, “I want to kiss you.”

Oh.

“Well, that’s doable.” you feel your face grow warm at his insistence as your hands find their way to his lapels.

Floyd’s features soften as he leans into you, his bristling energy soothed by your hands on him, pulling him closer to give him what he wants. Your mouths connect and for a moment you find yourself wincing as his teeth bump against yours, but he pulls back just the slightest bit and presses into your mouth with his mouth, and you lean back and back and back until the only support you have is his arm holding you close.

“Love you Shrimpy.” he grins as he stops kissing you, giggling against your lips. His breath is warm and you feel like a sweet ice cream cone in summer with the way you melt against him.

“Again.” you huff quietly, and Floyd is all too happy to oblige.

Idia was not expecting to be thrown into a super hard boss level right off the bat. Seriously, what is this? Why did you always have to play with such gimmick stats that made no sense and never follow any specific trope?! It wasn’t good for his heart!

It wasn’t that he didn’t want you to kiss him, it was just so hard not to think about everything that could go wrong. Like what if he bit you by accident? What if he yawned or sneezed in your mouth? What was the last thing he ate? Where did he put his hands and how is he supposed to move his lips?!

“Idia, it’s okay. We can wait a little while longer. This isn’t something you can rush.” you rub your thumb over his cheek, always so gentle and tender and sweet and everything he never thought he would find.

“No, I want to. I just...don’t look at me like that!” he squeaks, ducking his head in his hoodie as the tips of his hair flare pink and red.

“Sorry!” you turn away and let him breathe, trying so desperately to calm down.

“Just...can it be a quick one?” he asks shyly, tentatively, and he hears you hum in satisfaction because he’s communicating and he knows you like it when he tells you what he wants.

“It can be anything you want.” you answer softly, and Idia slams his eyes shut and leans into you.

How you manage to make such normie things seem so nice is a mystery to him, but he doesn’t think he can ever get enough of your lips gliding across his like they were never meant to do anything but kiss him.

#auburn's fics <3 #twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland x reader #twst x reader #disney twisted wonderland #twst #disney twst x reader #disney twst #riddle rosehearts x reader #azul ashengrotto x reader #jade leech x reader #floyd leech x reader #idia shroud x reader #riddle rosehearts fluff #azul ashengrotto fluff #jade leech fluff #floyd leech fluff #idia shroud fluff

[flowercrowngods]

Steve startles awake, disoriented and filled with a slight bout of panic — as always when he takes a nap that turns into five hours of deep sleep and catapults him right into the next dimension for a while there.

Heart racing, he blinks his dark bedroom into existence, and it takes him a while to realise where he is and what woke him up.

And then the landline phone on his nightstand rings again, and he exhales deeply before reaching for it with clumsy, sluggish movements.

“‘Ello?”

“Steve,” comes Eddie’s sing-song voice from the other end, washing over Steve in a soothing way that leaves him falling back into the pillows. He clutches the phone to his ear as he closes his eyes, the smile already forming at how happy Eddie sounds. He rarely sings Steve’s name like that. He should do it more often.

“Hi there.” His voice sounds like shit. Like he just took a — Jesus Christ, has it really been four hours? Well. He sounds exactly like someone who took a four-hour nap after a shit day at work would sound like.

There’s fumbling on the other end, but it stops suddenly. “Did I wake you? Shit man, I thought it was past nap time.”

“I don’t have nap time,” Steve grumbles, actually pouting at Eddie’s words and realising only a second too late how ridiculous he sounds.

“Sure, man, whatever you say. We all know you’re actually just a life-sized toddler.”

Steve sputters, sitting up against his headboard as he gradually wakes up. “Hey! Also, I don’t think you actually understand what life-sized means.”

“Yes, I do.”

Steve shakes his head at this ridiculous, ridiculous man. “What exactly do you think a non-life-sized toddler looks like, Eduardissimo?”

“Like Dustin.”

The answer is so quick and deadpan, Steve cannot contain the laugh that bursts out of him, waking him up quicker and gentler than anything else in the world could have, and he revels in the sound of Eddie joining him. He must look so smug right now, and so damn proud of himself. Steve wants to see him. Wants to kiss that smile right from his lips and replace it with something a lot more genuine.

“You’re an asshole,” he says instead, pulling his blanket further around him as he lifts his knees to sit more comfortably.

Eddie hums, still teasing somehow with just that noise, and Steve just can’t stop smiling. “You like me so much, Harrington.”

“Hmm,” he mirrors Eddie’s hum, but even he can hear the smile on his face. “Jury’s still out on that one, actually.”

“Any tendencies yet on the verdict?”

“Nope, they can’t decide.”

Eddie snorts at that, and Steve has no idea how that can sound so sweet. But it does. He buries his smile in his knees for a bit, the blanket hot around his burning cheeks. He’s hopeless.

“Well, let me know as soon as they do, yeah?”

“Will do,” he laughs, ruining all his attempts to sound solemn. “So what’s up? Why’d you call?”

“Oh!” And suddenly it’s like a switch has been flipped and Eddie doesn’t sound teasing and smug anymore, but instead just fucking giddy! “I have a bed now!”

Steve smiles at it. At that voice, that tone, that infectious emotion. “Oh yeah?”

“Yeah!” More fumbling on the other end, and Steve can only imagine that Eddie is rolling around in his newly acquired bed.

Who’s the life-sized toddler now, hm?

“No more sleeping on the floor for this Munson boy, nuh-uh, my good sir! We are in possession of a bed now. A wooden bed, no fancy headboard or anything, just…”

“Just a bed,” Steve says, feeling like he’s about to burst into a million little particles of fondness and affection and the never-ending need to kiss Eddie. To hold him. To touch him in any way he can. “That’s great, Edsie.”

“It is, Stevesie.”

“Man, I hate you so much,” Steve squints at the ceiling and laughs, actually kicking his feet, the minute breeze providing a little relief for the heat in his face.

And Eddie has no business to sound so smug when he says, “Yeah, you do.”

A pause then, and it feels loaded even through the phone. Steve clutches it closer to his face, hoping stupidly that Eddie can feel it.

“You should come hate me in my new bed.”

Steve’s breath hitches, and his brain shuts off for a hot second there. Before he can overthink this, he decides to just… play along. And listen to what his heart has been telling him for months now.

“Oh yeah?” he asks, breathless still, but his whole body tingles with just these two words. With the possibility they bring. The offer that they are. The question. The everything that’s stored in them.

“Yeah,” Eddie says, and he sounds just as breathless. “I mean, if— If you want to?”

“I do.” Steve swallows. “Right, uh— Right now?”

“Whenever.” And it sounds more like an As soon as possible.

“Okay,” Steve breathes, scrambling out of bed as quickly as possible, pulling off his shirt with the phone still pressed to his ear, letting out an embarrassing noise as it gets tangled in a mess of cord and fabric. He scrambles to free it, almost dropping it in the process. “I’ll be there in thirty.”

“To come look at my new bed?”

“Sure.”

On the other end, Eddie laughs again, but he still sounds just as breathless as Steve does. Just as excited. As fragile. Just as many fucking things.

“Alright,” Eddie murmurs, though Steve can still hear the smile. “I’ll see you then.”

And then he hangs up before either of them can get lost in their own heads about this sudden certainty of change. Steve is grateful for the steady noise of the dial tone reminding him that this is happening. But that nothing has to happen.

It’s a nice bed, he finds hours later, fingers combing through Eddie’s hair who’s cuddling him half asleep. It’s the best fucking bed he’s ever seen, if only because it led to this.

🤍 permanent tag list gang: @skiddit @inklessletter @aringofsalt @hellion-child @stobin-cryptid @hotluncheddie @gutterflower77 @auroraplume @steddieonbigboy @n0-1-important @stevesjockstrap @brainvines @puppy-steve @izzy2210 @itsall-taken @mangoinacan13 @madigoround @pukner @i-amthepizzaman @swimmingbirdrunningrock @hammity-hammer @stevesbipanic @bitchysunflower @estrellami-1 (lmk if you want on or off)

#listen i have a bed now. assembled it yesterday (actually my brother did i just stood there and looked cute) #and i’m so happy and schmoopy (@myself for myself with myself by myself) about it #steddie fic #steddie #steve x eddie #dio’s steddie ramblings #look yet more fluff from me like wow who dis??? #dio words #i feel so anxious about the permanent tag list like do yall even wanna see silly little things like this 😭😭🙏

[sunsguilt]

SMASH OR PASS WITHOUT THE SMASH !┊ft: all nrc characters!

warnings: none! contains: gn reader

notes: this is essentially a dateability ranking in terms of pure survival and living your best life. i love all the characters dearly, and this is just for fun!

HEARTSLABYUL

riddle rosehearts: don’t get me started on him. hypothetically, let’s say he has a single romantical bone in his body. he would probably (definitely) want to date someone his mother would approve of, so someone who’s super studious and thinking about becoming a lawyer type of thing. even then, his mother would be the overbearing MIL stereotype, and riddle would just bend to her every whim, so it wouldn’t work. would probably divorce you if his mom said to. 

overall rating: 2/10, could be a nice cushy life if he took his penchant for memorizing rules into a lawyer profession and became a rich husband, but still the MIL…. you would end up on r/relationshipadvice within weeks, i’m afraid. 

ace trappola: he’s like a frat boy to me, honestly. I think you could be friends with him within reason, but if you actually date him… he’s the kind of guy who would pursue you and then get bored once u start dating. whoops, he had a consensual workplace relationship. he canonically ghosted his ex, guys. 

overall rating: 3/10, you would be dating a frat boy. you don’t want that for yourself, trust me, speaking from second-hand experience here. 

deuce spade: deuce is actually normal. like he’s no rich boy, but his family is respectful and his mother would adore you if he brought you home. he’s a little slow, but he’s got the spirit, y’know? 

overall rating: 6/10, very nice in-laws, very cool husband. you may end up being the primary breadwinner. 

cater diamond: with cater, it’s probably a bromance that turns into a real romance. mostly because he didn’t want to confess and ruin the whole thing you had going on together. likely a guy who needs a lot of validation from his partner. like he’ll say he hates pickles if you don’t like pickles. will not let a pickle pass his lips. will try his very hardest to convince you to do silly couple challenges.

overall rating: 8/10, he’s sooooo cute but he’s got unresolved mental instability like you wouldn’t believe. personally, i love that in a man. call me fix-it felix.

trey clover: trey is. trey. average guy whose family runs a bakery. he’s cute though!

overall rating: 5/10, he’s probably a freak in terms of intimate relations! teehee! no further comment.

SAVANACLAW

leona kingscholar: leona is a nice guy, respectful etc. but after a while, he’s not putting the same energy into the relationship as you are. the added layer of dating a literal prince…. no matter how disregarded he is by his family, he is second in line for the throne. the pressure from that sounds crazy, i won’t lie. you might be able to ignore the pressure of him bringing you home to straight up royalty ! overall rating: 5/10, he’s so dreamy and gorjus but he wears uncle sandals. jack howl: oh he’s so bf material, like you don’t understand. him being really firm on the fact that beastmen choose a life partner? wanting to fall in love and be committed to someone until his dying day? this is Romance. he's probs a good guy to bring to the gym for support if you’re just starting to work out regularly! might accidentally push you past your limits bc he’s thinking beastmen standards and not human. overall rating: 7/10, he’s so cute and i love him, but he’s a gym bro and does daily early morning jogs and such. cannot accept it. ruggie bucchi: he’s actually another really normal guy to date! he’s shown to do anything to provide for his loved ones (bringing food home from school to provide for his friends and family). very much an acts of service guy! 

overall rating: 4/10, the chances are high that he’ll do that thing that broke dudes do when they get all touchy and hug their partner when the partner pulls out their card to pay for something. 

OCTAVINELLE

azul ashengrotto: he would be nice to you ONLY if he had something to gain. would actually play the long game in order to sweet-talk you into signing some contract that totally screws you over forever. he is a capitalist at heart, i fear. he’s gonna get you in some get-rich-quick scheme. also, he can’t kiss and it would be weird and a lot more drool than necessary.  overall rating: 6/10, i love octopus.

jade leech: oh god. he’s like visually appealing but the longer he's talking, the worse it gets. his hobby would literally be getting your heart rate up. you’d be lucky if you don’t get high blood pressure from his desire to see your face twist in an ugly expression. he has a penchant for learning, so he’ll want to research the topic of his interest to the fullest to get the desired results.  overall rating: 3/10, the moment he’s tired of you, he’ll never speak to you again outside of a professional setting. floyd leech: he wants to have fun every day he can. which is fine, nothing wrong with that. the problem lies when he wants to rope you into it. and his idea of fun is….. questionable. he would call you up in the middle of the night and ask if you wanna go for a joyride that takes you over state lines. and you would only get like three minutes notice. he would also invite himself into your dorm and sleep in your bed. no, he’s not making the bed either, the guy canonically has to be forced into ironing his own shirt.  overall rating: 3/10, he looks like he bites unironically. would you get rabies if a humanized eel bit you?

SCARABIA

kalim al-asim: oh he’s so sweet, but the only problem is literally the fact that he’s rich. he frequently talks about multiple attempts on his life in his youth up until the present day. if people outside of your circle found out you were with him, word would surely spread to unwanted ears, and your life would be at risk because of that immediate association.  overall rating: 6/10, a total sweetheart, but i don’t think i’d be able to eat breakfast with him without wondering if something’s in our food. jamil viper: he has too many underlying issues that include but are not limited to: an inferiority complex that exists due to his forced proximity to kalim. as much as i’d love to say i could fix him, jamil almost killed kalim. Plus, jamil is literally kalim’s servant. association with kalim = will probably die. overall rating: 5/10, he’s got issues, but he’s so cute and probably just needs that reassurance or whatever. my silly guy!

POMEFIORE

vil schoenheit: vil is like my fav so i’d love to say that because he’s so nice and rich and pretty that he would be a perfect ten. WRONG. he’s famous. bad! what if he has crazy stans who go after you bc you’re dating him? for your own safety, you would never be able to go public with your relationship, that is if the tabloids don't get to you.  overall rating: 7/10, you’ll have to listen to him go on tangents about neige. 

rook hunt: if you’re thinking “yeah no he’s probably a safe bet, he’s rich and i could be his trophy wife/husband”, you like french people and you’re lying to yourself !!!!! ive never met a normal rich person in my life, and rook is no exception. he would know your shoe size before you even know his last name. 

overall rating: 0/10, he’s weird AND french.

epel felmier: he lives in a small town where everyone tends to know each other and their business. there’s no hiding your relationship from them. downside is, he would have a crazy inferior complex if you were taller than him. He needs to be a Man’s man, yknow??? overall rating: 6/10, he’s a good cook, an incredible one, even. if you can’t cook and you can deal with a man who desperately wants to show you how cool he is, then this is the one for you. 

IGNIHYDE

idia shroud: he wouldn’t date, like he’s a NEET guys, i don’t see it at all. He would marry someone if it was for tax reasons, or just to tell people he isn’t bitchless. you'd just go to a courthouse real quick and pop by an ihop after.  

overall rating: 6/10, he would be an incredible overwatch carry. would bully you for sucking super hard in any type of pvp game. 

ortho shroud: he’s like a child, so he is not included! 

overall rating: 0/10, in terms of dateability, he’s silly tho

DIASOMNIA

malleus draconia: you would be perfectly safe with him. yeah, he’s not fully clear on the norms of human society, but he treats you well! problem is, he'd be a little too obssessed and its going to very quickly turn into "he's going to keep u in this tower bc hes scared abt u dying"

overall rating: 7/10, wouldn’t you love a loser man who is obsessed with gargoyles?!  silver: objectively, the world’s most perfect man. he’s super cute and can cook! everything you would want in a man. he's also got his wacky little sitcom type family like step brothers who are Not human and a dad who is Not human but like they care for him he cares for them! 

overall rating: 9/10, no real drama and they'd probably be elated if he brought someone home.  sebek zigvolt: he would choose malleus over you every time, i’m so sorry. like “sorry babe malleus needs help shining his sword or whatever, you can start the movie without me.” realistically the only time sebek could be in a relationship is if he finds someone whos as obsessed with malleus as he is so they can be hyperfixated on him together or something. like how kpop stans marry each other, but with malleus the dragon prince. 

overall rating: 2/10, he would use you has a human dishrag to clean shoes for malleus.  lilia vanrouge: everyone loves a fictional old man, but this particular old man comes with trauma and emotional baggage spanning centuries. You can only fix-it felix your way out of so many things. he’s cute, though. 

overall rating: 4/10, canonically picks his nose, i fear.

— ☆

#twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland x reader #twst x reader #twst hcs #riddle rosehearts x reader #ace trappola x reader #deuce spade x reader #cater diamond x reader #trey x reader #leona kingsholar x reader #jack howl x reader #ruggie bucci x reader #azul ashengrotto x reader #jade leech x reader #floyd leech x reader #kalim x reader #jamil x reader #vil x reader #rook hunt x reader #epel x reader #idia x reader #malleus x reader #silver x reader #sebek x reader #lilia x reader