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void-of-unparalled-chaos · 16 days

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Slap a Bow on It

"Contrary to popular belief, Danny wasn’t stupid. He could be a bit oblivious, but he always got there in the end. So when Danny woke up the next morning and realized that last night wasn’t a dream, he had an epiphany. He was being courted by the super hot and apparently undead crime lord who ran the haunt on the other side of the street."

@deadonmayn Day 1: Courting Rituals | Flickering | Dinner is interrupted by a rogue/gang fight | "Are they gone yet?"

TW: Danny is thirsty as hell, mentions/allusions to nsfw but nothing explicit

AO3 Link

Danny blinked.

He could only assume that the crime lord, illuminated purely by the light of the fridge in the otherwise dark apartment, blinked back. The helmet didn't give anything away, red plating and slanted eye whites impassive. Good for being sexy menacing. Not so good for reading emotions.

Danny blinked again, wiping the rheum from his eyes with pinched fingers. He squinted once more at Red Hood, who for some reason was in his apartment at - Danny glanced at the clock - three in the morning. He seemed perfectly content to be digging through Danny’s fridge, if a little sheepish at being caught.

He should probably be more angry that his apartment was broken into. He absolutely was when he first woke to the uncomfortable feeling of an uninvited guest in his lair, but after seeing the vigilante’s arms laden with food his metaphorical hackles relaxed. The apartment was shitty anyway.

If anything, Danny was confused as to why he was here judging his fridge’s contents and playing Tetris with tupperware. It wasn’t like they knew each other.

Danny blinked a third time just to really make sure he was seeing what he was seeing, "...Hi?"

"Hey," Red Hood unfroze, seemingly recovered from being caught, and resumed stuffing what looked like a container of tamales into his fridge.

Danny couldn’t help but feel sullen at the dismissal. He'd woken up only for the admittedly hot trespasser with thick thighs to barely glance at him. Unacceptable.

"Do you want anything to drink?" Danny must have been momentarily possessed by the ghost of Midwestern manners with how urgent the offer seemed.

"Nah," Red Hood stuffed another container into the fridge, turning to look back at Danny, "You don't have any allergies, do you?"

"Nah."

Red Hood nodded, pulling out a bag of rotten lettuce. He held it away from himself like it might try to bite him. In Danny’s experience, it very well could.

“Do you ever clean out your fridge?”

Danny shrugged, “It’s finals week. I’ve got to keep my GPA above 3.5 if I want to keep my scholarship. No chores. Only study.”

Red Hood nodded solemnly as he threw the lettuce into the trash, “No chores. Only study.”

They fell into silence. Danny watched as the crime lord sifted through his fridge, pulling out rotten food as he went. “Is this because I decked that mugger? Cause’ he deserved it.”

Red Hood very pointedly threw the expired milk carton into the trash can.

“Okay then…” Danny yawned, “Well if that's all I’m going back to bed.”

“Kay.”

Danny shrugged, turned on his heel, and left the crime lord to rifle through his kitchen.

___👻___

When Danny awoke the next day, he was greeted by a clean apartment. The absence of crumbs on the freshly swept floor felt odd on his feet, although it was certainly much more pleasant. The trash had been taken out and a new bag had already been installed. He passed by the sink on the way to make coffee, the dishes that had been filling it suspiciously absent.

Danny would deny to the ancients and back that his knees went weak when he found the coffee maker already set and filled with grounds... his sister must never know.

As he waited for the cup to brew, he opened his fridge for creamer only to come face to face with more home cooked food than he’d ever seen in his life. Danny pulled the food out plastic container by plastic container to stare at in disbelief. Tamales, chicken mole, Mexican rice, enchiladas, and carne asada… It was only a handful of containers, but still. It wasn’t as if his parents had done much in the way of cooking with all their time spent in the lab. Jazz could throw together something basic but nothing like this.

The local hot crime lord slash vigilante had broken in at three in the morning to feed him and clean his apartment. Huh.

No time to think about that. He has a final on differential equations in five hours and minimal time to cram. Danny stirs the creamer into his coffee, heats up some Mexican rice, and sits down at the untouched mess of notebooks, paper, and textbooks on his kitchen table.

He studies until he has to leave for the exam, only getting up to refill his coffee and get more food. The tamales are pretty fricken good, but they make it hard to focus on the numbers scribbled across his notebook. It’s like each bite is urging him to go back into the kitchen and cook, which is odd considering that Danny can’t cook and he already has enough food to last him through the next day or two (courtesy of the sexy crime lord).

He leaves the exam room feeling good only for his mood to immediately crumble when he remembers that he has an aerodynamics final at eight the next morning followed by gasdynamics at one. He takes a brief break to faceplant on the table, scream, refill his coffee for the umpteenth time, and eat some more food but inevitably resigns himself to pulling an all-nighter. Time becomes liquid after that. It’s all just a blur of numbers and properties and instructional videos.

At some point, he registers another presence in the apartment. Danny recognizes the ecto signature from the night before so he pays it no mind. Let Hood poke around, Danny has to read more about Newton’s Third Law. What was he going to do? Feed him again?

The answer was apparently yes.

The background noise of shuffling in the fridge and washing empty containers stops and is replaced by soft, mechanical-sounding breaths. Hood is standing next to him, plastic container in hand as he watches Danny run through the Quizlet on his laptop.

Danny’s got around eighty percent of the terms memorized. Just another twenty percent to go. He types in the answer for a new blank.

Red Hood pokes his shoulder.

Danny grumbles. His response came back wrong.

His shoulder is poked again.

Danny ignores it and moves on to the next blank.

He continues unbothered for an uncertain amount of time. The words on the screen are blurry like he is trying to read underwater. His mouth splits into an entirely too wide, jaw-cracking yawn. His uninvited guest coos at him as Danny rubs at his eyes. The next thing he knows, his laptop is shut closed and moved away. It feels like any and all visual processing is delayed. Danny stares blankly at the spot the computer used to sit.

Something slides in front of him to replace the laptop. His core chirps when he realizes it's food. Hood’s answering chirp as he guides a fork into his hand is deep and rumbly with the faint stutterings of a purr. Danny starts to purr in return as he sleepily munches on the casserole.

Before long the empty plate is taken away. Danny slumps down on the newfound table space and tries to fight off sleep.

“I think it's time for you to go to bed.”

“Noooooo! I’v gotta study fr' aero’namics.”

“You’re slurring your words there, handsome.”

Danny’s sleep-deprived brain screeched to a halt. His core chirped to attention, “Flat’ry ain’t gettin’ you nowhere.”

“It was worth a shot.”

Danny smushed his face further into the wood to hide his blush and distracted himself by blindly reaching for his coffee mug. Upon noticing, the vigilante moved it out of reach. Danny whined into the table.

“You can’t overwork yourself like this, Danny,” Red Hood carried the mug to the sink and poured it down the drain. Cruel, cruel man. “I know you’ve got exams but your scores won’t be any good if you go into them like this. You've got to take care of yourself,” He lightly squeezed Danny’s shoulder. Danny hadn’t even heard him move across the kitchen. “Can you do that, darlin’? For me?”

Danny groaned, “F’ne. But only cause’ ur hot.”

The vigilante snorted. It sounded odd through the helmet but not bad. “I’m happy to hear it! Now let's get you to bed.”

___👻___

Contrary to popular belief, Danny wasn’t stupid.

He had been helping his parents in the lab since he was four, and he was nearly a straight-A student before the accident. He was an aerospace engineering major with a hefty GPA of 3.8, and most importantly, he’s had extensive lessons on ghosts, the Infinite Realms, and their culture.

He could be a bit oblivious, but he always got there in the end.

So when Danny woke up the next morning and realized that last night wasn’t a dream, he had an epiphany. The thought kept running through his head as he stared at the food in the fridge, the clean apartment, and the prepped coffee maker.

He was being courted.

He was being courted by the super hot and apparently undead crime lord who ran the haunt on the other side of the street.

Danny had never been courted before!

Sure, occasionally there was someone who tried to shoot their shot, but it always fell flat in the end. It was an unfortunate side effect of being undead. Every human relationship he had felt… lacking. Like it was missing something.

Val had come pretty close. All the fighting and shooting felt like a mimicry of ghostly courtship behavior. It's what had drawn Danny to her in the first place, but Val wasn’t fighting him in a display of power and capability. She had genuinely wanted to end him.

There was also the incident with Kitty, but she was overshadowing Paulina and mimicking human behaviors. There was never any ghostly courtship involved, and besides, she was only dating him to make Johnny jealous.

This is Danny’s first time being properly courted!

What is he going to do about it?

He decided that the question could wait until after finals.

The next few days pass by much the same as before: a tortuous cycle of studying, caffeine, minimal sleep, screaming, and exams. Red Hood continues to stop by and deliver food. Danny has got to figure out the dude’s actual name or a nickname or something. He refuses to keep calling his potential partner Red Hood. When you take away the scary crime lord persona it just sounds like a condom brand. He could always use a pet name, but it feels wrong given that Danny hasn’t shown much reciprocation outside of allowing Hood into his lair. Instead, Danny settles on greeting him with a trill and a series of chirps.

As soon as he finishes his last final he flops face down into bed. Tomorrow he’ll get to work on reciprocating Red Hood’s efforts. His kitchen is blessedly clean of any ecto contamination. Without the food fighting back, he should be able to whip up something presentable. How hard could following a recipe be?

___👻___

Danny was wrong.

Staring at the stove which was somehow on fire, Danny couldn’t help but finally understand why Jazz had never allowed him in the kitchen. He quickly rushes to turn off the heat. Danny doesn’t have a fire extinguisher. He’s a broke college student with just enough money to live on the outskirts of Crime Alley. Why would he ever be able to afford a fire extinguisher?

Danny slams a lid over the pot to smother the flames erupting from it and wacks the stovetop with a damp towel. As the fire dies down he glares at the somehow burnt gnocchi sitting ever so innocently in boiling water. He probably could have just iced it. The ice would melt into water and put out the fire, right?

He takes another look at the ruined food as the bubbles die down and decides he’s probably just cursed. Not all hope is lost though, Danny reasons as he dumps the ruined gnocchi down the garbage disposal. So Italian cuisine was not his forte. That’s okay! He’ll just try a different recipe!

___👻___

The recipe said quick and easy.

This was neither quick nor easy.

He dumped the carbonized remains of food into the trash with a sigh. It was French toast! How could someone go so wrong with French toast? The kitchen looked like something had exploded in it for ancients’ sake!

Danny thunked his head onto the counter, uncaring of the milk and eggs coating it. An entire loaf of bread gone and not a single edible piece of toast to show for it! He groaned. Maybe he just… wasn’t cut out for this whole courting thing.

Dejectedly, he lifted his head and began to wipe down the counter with paper towels. He really liked Hood.

He was funny! While he mostly left Danny alone during his study sessions, Danny had seen the viral videos. Hood knew how to crack a good death joke, and the compilations of him ragging on Batman were something to aspire to.

He cared for people! The sponsored soup kitchens and homeless programs were an open secret in Crime Alley, and the working girls were paid well. The street kids knew they were safe in the Alley because anyone who tried to touch them would end up with their head in a duffle bag. Red Hood protected them.

And ancients was he hot! Thick thighs for days and strong arms that could probably lift Danny like a couple of grapes. Danny wouldn’t mind being thrown around by a guy like that. He would happily let him pin him to a wall and box him in and then Danny could sink his fangs into his shoulder and then-

Okay! Stop! Too far! That’s awfully ambitious for someone who can’t even cook a proper courting gift. Think, Danny, Think!

Okay… okay. So he can’t cook. That’s fine because Danny can build. He’s been building things since he was practically a toddler. He can make something easy peasy!

What about a gun? Red Hood seemed to like guns. Danny’s core purred at the idea. If he had to guess, the vigilante had a protection obsession of some sort. A gun was something that could protect Red Hood but also be used to protect others in his haunt and directly feed into his obsession. Yes! The gun idea was good.

But then again, Hood had been working with Batman more and more frequently, and with that had been using guns less and less. How often could the gun be used? No, no. This courting gift should be usable in all scenarios.

What about a knife? Yes! A knife could work! As far as Danny knew, Batman didn't have anything against knives. Surely a knife paled in comparison to Robin's katana. A knife was sneaky and quiet, good for stealth missions unlike a gun, and easier to carry for everyday use.

Danny hummed, nodding to himself. He’d do the knife first and save the gun for later. He was going to need supplies.

Danny wiped the dripping egg away from his forehead before it could get into his eyes. But first, he was going to need a shower.

___👻___

So…

It could’ve gone worse.

Despite basically being raised reverse-engineering his parents’ inventions, Danny had never tried to make a knife. He could gut a microwave from the local back alley dumpster and Macgyver it into a functioning weapon, but building a makeshift forge on short notice and hammering steel down into a smooth curve was a whole different ballpark. Luckily the local trade school had a forge, and after some good old-fashioned bribery, they allowed Danny access. That was the first problem out of the way. Unfortunately, the second problem remained. It was fine. Danny was used to thinking on his feet.

After many YouTube videos and failed attempts Danny had a somewhat presentable blade. With a saw edge on the top and a sharp curve similar to a khukuri on the bottom, it certainly didn’t look like a beginner's design.

He probably shouldn’t have skipped straight to a more advanced shape. Danny hadn’t managed to fix the slight warp of the blade, and maybe the practice beforehand would have done him some good. Regardless, it was too late to fix it after the ecto wash, and he didn’t think the warp would affect the performance too negatively. Besides, with the ectoplasm infused into it the knife should cut through ghosts with no problem.

Danny had spent entirely too long trying to find the perfect shade of red leather for the handle, but in the end, he accurately matched it to Red Hood’s helmet. He had wanted to incorporate some protective runes into the leather, but he had no idea how to make a lasting pattern that wouldn’t affect the user’s comfort. Eventually, he decided it was an idea to be saved for another project.

With his courting gift complete, all that was left to do was break into Red Hood’s lair and give it to him…

That sounded wrong. Give the knife to him. It’s not an innuendo! Great. Now he’s thinking about those thick thighs again. Stop! Bad Danny!

He shook himself to dispel the train of thought. Danny had a different, more pressing problem to deal with: How could he present a knife to a vigilante without it coming across as a threat? He didn’t have a box for it, and the knife didn’t have a sheath yet. He could always make himself the box and store it in his chest, but watching someone pull random items out of their body was apparently gross and disturbing, or so he’d been told. What if he just-

Danny yanked open the kitchen junk drawer and began to root around. After a few seconds of sifting, he pulled out his prize and ever so gently stuck it to the knife. The green gift bow was squished on one end but remained comically large on the blade. He bounced up and down on his toes. It was so stupid that it just might work.

Feeling the cool rush of invisibility, Danny phased through the wall of his apartment to greet the early morning light beginning to peak over the buildings. Floating in the air for a minute, he absently fiddled with the bow on his courting gift. With the city starting to wake, Hood should be returning to his lair.

It didn’t take long for him to fly past the unseen territory lines and into Crime Alley. Danny had crossed through Hood’s haunt before. It had never felt aggressive like some in the Ghost Zone. Red Hood's haunt was more curious, probing with a warning to behave himself. The haunt felt different this time around. Now it felt welcoming rather than wary, warm. If Danny closed his eyes, he could almost imagine being held in a protective embrace. His core hummed in response, seeking out the other’s resonance.

Danny had never been to Hood’s lair. He hadn’t even been given directions, but he didn’t need them. He'd simply follow Hood’s ecto signature to where the haunt’s energy was most concentrated. Like the dead equivalent of a bloodhound.

Danny took his time meandering toward the heart of the haunt. He’d never been this far into Crime Alley before, and he didn’t want to get turned around. That was a lie. Danny was nervous and stalling. Doubts flew unbridled through his head.

What if the knife wasn’t good enough? What if the bow didn’t work? What if Red Hood thought he was threatening him? What if Danny blew his shot? Danny had already screwed up so many other things in his life, he didn’t want to screw this up too!

There was only so long he could stall. Jittery with nerves, Danny floated outside a decrepit apartment building. The entire structure was practically drenched in Red Hood’s ecto signature, but it radiated in waves from a unit on the top floor. Danny took a breath to steady his racing heart and struggled to quiet his core. It was now or never.

He cautiously phased halfway through the wall, chirping in greeting. The apartment was clean and orderly. The fireplace and full bookshelves gave it a homey feel that sharply contrasted with the worn and weathered bricks on the outer wall. The lack of weapons was a surprise. Even if he couldn't see them Danny figured they were still there, well hidden in the otherwise normal apartment.

A surprised sound draws his attention to the man on the couch. He’s built like a quarterback, lounging on one side as he struggles to stitch a laceration across his ribcage with a needle in one hand and a handheld mirror in the other. It's hard not to get distracted by the autopsy scar running cleanly across his collarbone and down to his pelvis. Danny wants to lick it.

Piercing blue eyes search the apartment, arm lowering the mirror. Danny is thankful that he's still invisible. With the heat flooding to his ears, he’s sure he’s as red as a tomato. Danny’s practically drooling at tousled black and white hair and the long scar reaching up from under his jaw to his hairline like a flower stretching for the sun. His crooked nose, clearly broken and healed many times over, only adds to his beauty. Red Hood is truly a modern-day Adonis.

Hood’s wounded side finally registers in Danny’s brain, rearranging his priorities and catapulting his obsession to the front. Immediately he lets his invisibility drop, absently shoving the knife into his chest for safekeeping. Hood makes a distressed sound as he does so which urges Danny forward. His hands hover worriedly over the man as he pushes as much help/comfort/safety/concern into his aura as possible.

He reaches to take the threaded needle from Red Hood’s hand only to be nudged away.

“It’s fine. I can do it myself.”

"Hood, let me help."

"Jason,” he licks his lips, “My name is Jason."

"Jason," Danny gently cups Jason’s face in his hands, "Please let me help, Jason."

Blue eyes gaze into his own. The ever-so-faint hints of green within them are captivating, swirling in a hypnotic dance that leaves Danny in a daze. Finally, Jason looks away and nods, breaking the trance between them and passing the needle over.

Danny allows himself to revert to the mindset of his vigilante days. He stitches the wound with a single-minded focus, practiced hands falling back into a familiar rhythm. Jason watches the entire time, staring intently at his face as he works. Danny struggles to keep his core quiet and pretends not to notice, taping a bandage over the cut. His fingers graze over Jason's body, checking it over for any other injuries. Jason allows it to happen with a distinct feeling of affection/amusement.

“Are you hurt anywhere else?”

“Nah. The kevlar usually prevents stuff like this. I was just unlucky.”

“Good.”

Danny runs his fingers through the white tuft in Jason’s hair, pushing the strands out of his face. His core kickstarts like an engine with a vengeance, humming and searching for Jason’s core song in anticipation. Danny squeaks, stumbling backward. He smothers the sound and quiets his core, but with the look on Jason’s face, he hadn’t been quick enough.

“Sorry!” Danny stutters out, flushing.

Jason’s expression shifts to confusion, “Why are you apologizing?”

“I’m being way too forward,” Danny drags his hands down his face in embarrassment, “We haven’t had a spar yet and fuck! I haven’t even given you your courting gift yet, but here I am! Invading your space and trying to harmonize! I’m so sorry.”

“Lucky for you I like forward,” Jason gently grasped his hands, lowering them away from his face. His palms felt warm against Danny’s skin, “Is that what you shoved into your chest earlier? A courting gift?” Jason punctuated the sentence with a gentle kiss to Danny's slow pulse.

Danny nodded, stunned. Tearing his gaze away from Jason’s lips, he reached into his chest and pulled out the knife. Jason chuckles, his eyes crinkling in mirth, “You put a bow on it?”

Danny grinned, his fangs on full display, “Well I had to make it presentable, didn’t I?”

He gets down on one knee, head bowed and knife held upwards in offering as if he were a knight presenting a sword to a king. Jason gingerly lifts it out of his hands, cradling it like a precious gem. Danny watches as his fingers trace the edge.

“It feels like you,” Jason looks to Danny for answers, eyes wide with wonder and a beautiful flush on his face.

“I wanted to make sure it was effective against ghosts, but it's hard to find enough clean ectoplasm around here. I sorta just… used my own?” Danny rubs the back of his neck with a wince, “Do you like it?”

He waits in anxious anticipation as Jason stands from the couch. Jason sets the blade gently down on the coffee table behind Danny before tugging him into his arms, “I love it, baby,” his words vibrate over a purr that Danny can feel in his bones, “Just don’t go hurting yourself for courting gifts anymore.”

Danny groaned, tucking his face under Jason’s chin. “You have no idea how much that narrows my options down.”

Jason laughs.

Danny pulls away to look up at him, lightly batting at Jason’s peck “I’m serious, Jason! I can’t cook for shit! You’re gonna need to wait a long ass time until I can get my hands on more ecto. I hope you’re ready to wait because it’s going to take me months to build that gun now!”

“You wanted to make me a gun?”

“Yeah? I was going to have one ready in the next few weeks but-”

Jason’s smile is dazzling as he leans down to press his lips to Danny’s. Danny forgets to breathe as he melts into the kiss. He’s tugged forward until they are chest-to-chest on the couch, cores close together. Danny’s not sure whose core starts to hum first, but the sound is unmistakable as they waver between pitches. Danny bites at Jason’s lips, making a pleased sound when they part for him.

It’s weird to be doing this before a spar. It’s backward, unconventional. Danny can’t find it in himself to care.

It’s a wondrous thing when their cores synchronize. Something finally clicks, like a lock snapping into place, and suddenly Danny can feel so much. The humming harmony of their cores permeates every single one of Danny’s nerves. The rush of giddy happiness is unlike anything he’s felt before. He can feel Jason, too. The rampant emotions fling between them until it's hard to tell whose is whose. In Jason’s arms with a core bond in place, Danny has never felt so secure in his life.

This. This is what he's been missing.

Danny breaks away from their kiss to nip at Jason’s jawline, paying special attention to the scar. Jason makes a pleased sound, tugging lightly at his hair.

“Your teeth are sharp as fuck.”

“Aren’t yours?”

Jason nuzzles under Danny’s shirt collar and into his shoulder. Danny shudders as he feels canines dig into his skin. They’re sharp, but not as sharp as his.

Danny giggles, pressing a kiss to Jason’s hair. “I want to see how skilled you actually are with those teeth. Once you’ve healed we can have a proper spar.”

“I’ll show you a proper spar,” Jason grumbles.

Suddenly Danny is pinned, lying on the couch with Jason’s weight on top of him. Jason kisses his cheek, tucking his head back into the crook of his neck with a contented sigh. It's like the world's best weighted blanket, Danny thinks as his eyes droop shut in relaxation.

They remain like that in silence, basking in the positive emotions and comfort of their new bond. It’s about ten minutes later that Danny finally breaks it.

“Why me?”

“Hmm?”

“Just… why court me? I know I pass through your haunt now and then but we’ve only actually seen each other like… once. What could I have possibly done to catch your attention?”

“You punched a mugger.”

“Yeah… so?”

“You knocked the fucker out in one blow before I could even lift a finger.”

“And?”

Jason lifted his head to give him a pointed look.

Danny stared back.

Oh…

Oh!

“Do you have a competency kink!?”

Jason flushed, ducking his head back down with a groan.

#Danny: You have a competence kink!#Jason: I do not have a competency kink.#Jason a few weeks later after watching Danny shoot a man with a Macgyver-ed microwave: Fuck... do I have a competency kink?#I'm not actually sure if this leans more toward a T rating or an M rating and I would appreciate input #Slap a Bow on It #deadonmayn24 #my writing #dpxdc #dead on main #dom24d1

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zhukzucraft · 20 days

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>Pearl: See what got the man so pumped

You gather round to reveal that Skizz has found...

...an even deeper hole?

Skizz: What are you standing around for, Pearlypop?

Pearl: Excuse me?

Skizz: You too, Gemstone, Scarface! Come on down!

Scar: Whatcha got there, Skizz?

Skizz: Oh you should be asking what I'm about to have here!

Mumbo: Ah!! I'm ok! I'm alive!

Mumbo: ...and, er, what's going on here?

Gem: Skizz is planning to do something weird so we should go and make sure he doesn't die.

Skizz: I can hear you guys!

Pearl: Yeaaaaah.

Scar: To the rescue!

Tango: Ohhhh no thank you

Tango: I'm gonna leave this one to you all

Tango: Don't wanna try my luck so early, you know?

Tango: Plus, I've already got all the redstone I need.

Scar: What's the redstone for?

Tango: Oh just a little something~

Scar: Well what's the something-

Gem: Are you guys coming or not??

>Pearl & Co: Make sure Skizz doesn't die

More discord news: i've finally figured out how to operate a server! Somewhat! x'D Here's a new link that hopefully shouldn't expire: LINK

(btw a certain timed event is coming up tomorrow, so keep an eye out~)

#quadruple life #i mean #quad life #life smp fan session #pearlescentmoon #tangotek #skizzleman #geminitay #goodtimeswithscar #mumbo jumbo #sorry about the asks i'll answer them tomorrow too

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sordidmusings · 8 months

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Tender Love and Care - Hair Care (Buggy x Reader)

Art by Capitanpoops (link keeps expiring QnQ)

A/N: Ah yes, another 'taking care of Buggy's head' fic to take up space on the internet. Just gotta indulge in giving this man some tlc. Did I write four thousand words of simping for the cringefail pirate clown's hair? Yes. And I'd do it again >:p

Word Count: ~4 k

Warnings: feminine leaning afab!reader (no pronouns or gendered titles), Lots of Feelings, yearning, possibly angst?, probably hurt/comfort?, waxing very poetic, Buggy being a prickly bitch who doesn't know how to receive affection, Buggy also being a delusional bitch who immediately latches on to that affection

amab!Version

Next ->

~ ~ ~ ••• ✦✦✦ ••• ~ ~ ~

“Touch the makeup and I’ll bite your fingers off!”

“I’m quaking.”

“...I’ll spit in your face.” His eyes narrowed while you blanched. “I’ve got damn good aim too so you better watch those big ol’ eyes.” Almost a compliment? Progress.

“To save us both from catastrophe, I’ll let you keep your grease-face,” you promised. After a few more seconds of giving you the stink eye (really, you should be taking notes because his form is exemplary), Buggy finally settled back into your hold. His stubble scratched lightly at your palms and you allowed your thumbs a scant few passes from his cheek bones to the back of his jaw. That was easy enough to play off as mindless movements while you examined him for the coming wash. Hopefully. You were at least putting in the effort to keep the affection in your chest from blooming into a wide smile on your face, lest he begin spitting like a wet cat again.

After placing him down on your clothes chest, you began gathering together the things you’d need to clean him up. You had already prepared a large basin of steaming water before you had grabbed Buggy from Zoro for your night shift with him. If he had truly protested against you then you’d just have extra water to pamper yourself with for your nightly routine. What a loss. While you flitted around grabbing a cup, a pile of towels, and care products, Buggy took to commenting about whatever his eyes fell on around your room. Your half-assed replies did nothing to discourage his gentle roast of your safe space. He only shut up when you picked him back up and brought him over to the basin.

You were taken by surprise when you took off his bandana. You had guessed that his hair was thick from the pieces that framed his face, but you hadn’t expected long locks to be wrapped up in there. They slipped and fell down like silk despite being in clear need of a wash, and you started to become a bit excited to see how they would come to shine under your care.

“What’s wrong with you? Never seen hair before?” There was a bit more bite to him all of a sudden and it hit you that he may be self-conscious from your staring.

“Never seen yours before, duh,” you teased. “You should wear your hair out as a power move against all the scrangly ass men in these waters.”

Buggy took a blank-faced moment to process your words. Probably weighing your sincerity against the backlog of insults he’s heard in his life. Unfortunately, one joking compliment never stood a chance.

“Whatever, just do your job.” His bitter tone made you keep your mouth shut and drop the topic. For now.

Seeing how he had a lot more hair than anticipated, you got up again to grab yet another towel so that you could use it as a cushion. Finally settled, you grabbed Buggy in one hand, the cup in the other, and got to work. You had laid a small board across the basin so you could rest Buggy on it instead of having to hold him up the whole time. You may have gotten strong in this life, but you were not masochistic enough to try holding him up throughout this process. You made sure to be extra gentle when you put him to rest on the back of his head, mindful that the hard plank wasn’t the most comfortable.

Wetting his hairline was taking longer than you thought. The soft noises from the pouring water hitting his scalp and trickling through his hair into the basin below felt loud in the stillness of the room. Everything had a languid air like you could breathe freely without thought or time to measure the passing of each exhale. Wanting to check in, you looked down from your task and into Buggy’s face. Despite all his past showboating, Buggy was having difficulty keeping his gaze anywhere near your face. You decided to take pity on him in his discomfort but not too much. “So how’d you get your damn good aim?”

Silence.

You’re beginning to think that him looking at you like you’re stupid is his comfort zone.

“You know, that ‘damn good aim’ that makes my ‘big ol’ eyes’ easy targets?” you supplied. At first, you thought he would roll his eyes and make more digs at you, but he finally caught you off guard.

“It’s a trade secret,” he said with a growing smile and a glint in his eyes. His face grew even more pleased when you smiled mischievously back at him.

“Clown trade?”

He hummed out an affirmative. You saturated the last of his hair at the front and sides and now needed to dunk the rest in the basin. The sheer amount of long blue locks that this pretty, pretty man had may cause it to overflow, but you supposed that’s just a workplace hazard when becoming a glamor clown’s hairdresser. You paused in lowering him to look around quite dramatically (squinty eyes, pursed lips, and all) before leaning slightly closer to stage whisper, “You can tell me; I ain’t no snitch.”

You barely caught the laugh that he choked short in order to keep up his serious facade. He let his eyes wander the room to double check your surveying and pretended to be in thought. He let out a heaving sigh and said, “Okay, okay, but you have to lean in close. Can’t have this getting out.”

Ever obliging, you turned your head and leaned until you felt his warm breath on your skin and the roundness of his nose tickling to top of your ear. You were thankful he couldn’t see the little shiver down your spine or the goosebumps spreading down your neck. He was thankful you couldn’t see him close his eyes to savor the scent of your perfume. All was still for a few breaths too long.

“The secret?” you prompted, thinking he was waiting for your urging or that he was just trying to make you squirm. You didn’t see his eyes flutter open while he forced thoughts other than your closeness back into that head of his. Okay, he really needed to do something to reel himself back in and get some control of the situation. Easier said than done when he’s only a head.

You felt as much as you heard him take a deliberate inhale… only for a loud raspberry to be blown right next to your ear.

Nearly dropping him in shock, you quickly pulled your head back and held him at arm’s length like a misbehaved puppy. Through his canting cackles, Buggy met your wide eyes with a proud grin. It didn’t even need the help of his makeup to split his face. Damn, you could stare at that forever. He had just the prettiest eyes you think you’d ever seen. The way they shifted color under the low lights and sparkled with his smile had you feeling entranced. It had the same commanding presence and addicting warmth as flames with their own swirling colors and sparking embers. You thought your poetic idioms for him would always center around the sea, especially for his blue-green eyes, but here we are.

The corner of his smile started to twitch downward under your stare until wild and cheerful giggles burst from your lips. They were the kind to shake your shoulders and scrunch your cheeks up into your eyes and he’s now certain that he has fucked right up. Buggy felt alarms blaring in his mind as he took in your joy and was certain he would make an absolute fool of himself in any and all ways possible to keep getting hits of it. Between your settling laughter, you managed to say, “Don’t worry, I’ll bring that wisdom with me to my grave.”

Readjusting your grip, you moved forward and dunked the back of Buggy’s head fully into the water. He sighed out at the sensation, but he fully melted when one of your hands went to support the back of his skull and the other flowed through his tresses to make sure all of them were wet. You let yourself take your time, both to make sure you were thorough and to indulge yourself in the comfort of the moment. A tenderness spread through you when you saw that this was also indulging Buggy. His breath was slow and steady, and his eyes were resting closed to better focus on the sensations coming to him. You truly were a people pleaser at heart and seeing someone so bedraggled and affection-starved accept your care made your heart and head feel fuzzy.

You slowly leaned him more upright and used your other hand to wipe out some of the excess water. Buggy felt you shuffling around, and his eyes opened to see what you were up to. After you moved him to rest on the flat bottom of his neck on top of the softest towel that he’s felt in ages, he realized that you went through the trouble to try to make even that wooden board comfortable for his sake. He was starting to feel even more uncertain and out of his element.

Careful fingers carded through and spread out his hair behind him while an equally careful gaze watched over their work. After lathering your hands with a shampoo bar scented by vanilla and spices, you set to work giving him the scalp massage of a lifetime.

While focusing on doing the best job possible and maybe also the beautiful color of his hair was keeping you from thinking about anything else, Buggy had no such luxury. He had nothing to direct his nervous energy at - didn’t even have fingers to fidget with! - so he closed his eyes and tried to keep his face neutral. Everyone enjoys a good scalp massage or at least some kind of pampering so it wouldn’t have been weird for him to visibly enjoy it, but something watery and vulnerable was pressing at his throat under your tender care. His mind and body (well… head) were at odds. While his train of thought spun every which way only to be tethered back to the word ‘why’, his muscles melted until they were soft and pleasantly limp. Has his brow ever been so smooth? His jaw so loose? His lips so softly set? Oh God, you must have noticed the stubborn stiffness in his neck because your fingers abandoned his hair to firmly rub from the base of his skull to where he met the towel and that was truly his undoing.

With a rumbly hum, Buggy finally gave in to temptation and tied his mind to your movements. He let himself imagine affection there - imagine that this was special and just for him. You’ve never tended to anyone else like this. You offered because you simply had to know what his hair felt like. You just wanted to touch him. You wanted it much more than you ever wanted to touch anyone else. If he opened his eyes and looked up at yours, he would see them pouring with love, just like your hands were, and you would look sweetly down at him with your pretty eyes and pretty smile and say lovely things and you’d love him-

You’d love him.

Fuck.

You noticed Buggy suddenly flinch under your hands and you tensed up.

“Are you okay? Did I snag your hair?” You hadn’t felt anything tug but you supposed you could’ve missed it.

Buggy cleared his throat before stiffly responding, “No. Keep going.”

Something thick in his tone caught your attention and you looked to see his expression was tense instead of the blissed out one you had admired not too long ago. That won’t do. You went back to the tried and true pressure points on the scalp that you knew from experience eased anyone up. Checking his face again, you noticed it was more relaxed but still too guarded for your tastes. Deciding he must be getting antsy, you switched to working the shampoo down his hair after getting a touch more product on your hands. The time it took to get it properly sudsed and rinsed was calm, despite the fact that there was some undercurrent to the air that felt charged. Maybe it was just from seeing the talkative and bratty clown be so subdued. As you began spreading conditioner through his hair, you decided that it was time to engage him again.

“This bar is my favorite; nothing makes my hair softer,” you said. Already, his hair was relaxing to glide even more smoothly between your fingers. You weren’t ready to give the feeling up, so you spent the entire time that the conditioner was setting to run your fingers through his hair.

Buggy couldn’t do anything at the moment to judge your claim, but the smell alone made him understand why it was your favorite. It matched that of the shampoo bar, but the richer ingredients in the conditioner highlighted the comforting tones of the vanilla and the sensuality of warm spices and wood. He relished in it on every inhale, hoping to unravel and memorize its every undertone. Was that a touch of orchid in there? A little pink peppercorn? Maybe some incense and amber at the base? Buggy suddenly felt ridiculous. He was never one to give much thought to fancy perfumes, yet here he was trying to dissect your scent like a sommelier tasting a new wine.

You made quick work of rinsing his hair this final time and gently pushing and squeezing any excess water out. You set Buggy back on a towel, this time one that was spread on the floor. It was the one that you had just been sitting on. Buggy was embarrassed that he noticed and enjoyed the fact that he could still feel your body heat on it.

“How many of those things do you have?” Buggy scoffed as you pulled yet another towel over to dry his hair. You bopped his forehead with a finger in warning against further sass.

“You can never have too many. It’s something that you use daily and they come in handy during emergencies,” you explained.

“Oh yeah like what?”

“Well, I was thinking of situations like having to soak up a spill or blood, but the state of your hair definitely qualifies.”

The outburst was immediate.

“I KNEW YOU WERE MAKING FUN OF ME YOU DAMN LIAR! HOW DA-”

Good thing you were prepared for this and stuffed some of yet another towel into his screaming mouth. He bit down on it harshly and glared at you with all his might. Snarls and grumbles still made their way through the cloth, letting you know just how displeased he was. You were a little shocked to find that despite being gagged and despite just being a head that his glare still actually intimidated you. The time spent with the crew treating him like a harmless little pest had helped you forget that, when push came to shove, he could back up his talk with violence.

The brief glimpse of fear in your eyes gave him a twinge of satisfaction but mostly felt a lot more hollow than he’d expected. Wasn’t this what he wanted?

When you reached back out to continue drying his hair, you were more tentative than he had ever seen you and his mood dropped even further. Even with your caution, the way that you moved the towel over his hair and gently squeezed more water out of it was filled with care. The whole thing felt very foreign to him. Buggy usually rubbed his towel through his hair chaotically like the more forceful he was the sooner he could get done with the bothersome task. You were working over him like any undue force would be an insult. Like he was something precious. That watery feeling started pressing on him again.

“I didn’t mean it like that,” you started quietly. “I just meant to poke fun, not make you actually feel insulted.” After a few more soft pats with the towel, you slowly removed his makeshift gag. He took a moment to wiggle around his jaw and get the dry feeling out of his mouth.

“Yeah, well good job, dumbass,” he bit. You winced at the hurt in his tone. “Just finish up.”

You took a moment to recenter yourself while you grabbed your comb and brush. This was not how you wanted this to go. One wrong comment had sent this whole interaction spiraling and it made you sad. Sensitivity like that was usually built up from years of feeling the same hurts over and over again, and you didn’t ever want to be someone to aggravate an already festering wound, especially not on someone who you genuinely enjoyed. Not on someone who you were increasingly craving affection from. This needed to be fixed. Steeling yourself for the resistance you were about to meet, you began combing the ends of his hair and spoke, “The blue color is so pretty.”

He ignored you. As expected.

“It was one of the first things I noticed about you.” He still wouldn’t even glance up at you. “Also how it brings out the color of your eyes.”

He snorted dismissively in a way that very clearly told you he wasn’t believing a word you said. Also expected. You’re just going to have to soldier on until this eventually worked… maybe worked… hopefully worked?

Just as in the rest of the process, you were slow and thorough when combing his hair. You murmured compliments to him about how soft it is; how thick and how beautiful. By the time that you had switched to using your brush, he was showing signs of being worn down by your flattery. His face was more relaxed and he let himself look around instead of trying to burn a hole through the floor. All you could focus on, though, was how downcast and tired his eyes looked.

“Alright, I’m all finished up,” you told him. “I’m going to put you in the hammock for a minute while I get ready for bed.”

After placing him in the middle of your bedding, you disappeared behind a dressing screen. The routine of bathing yourself with a washcloth and bowl of soapy water eased you. Since you had taken so much time tending to Buggy, the last bowl of fresh water had become lukewarm. Despite this, the final wipe down had you feeling refreshed and ready to jump into bed. It was no soak in the tub, but still left you feeling much better after a long day of helping work around the ship.

You had set about your routine briskly so that you didn’t leave Buggy waiting too long. Little did you know, he didn’t mind the time of having nothing to do besides enjoy the soft blankets you curled up in every night. He was trying to soak it in before you inevitably put him back down on the floor. If the night had taught him anything, you’d at least put him on one of those fluffy towels instead of throwing him back in the bag like the others did.

You came over to him on the hammock and he admired how you looked, now clean and fresh in a modest slip. When you picked him back up, your face and body language were as placid as he had ever seen them and he was surprised at how content that made him feel. He readied himself to be moved away, left cold and forgotten, but he was astonished when you plopped yourself in your bedding instead with him still in your hands. The shock must have shown on his face because you giggled at him and gave him a bright smile. Even with the bumpy road that the night had been, your smile made him soft and content. He was realizing with more and more resignation that your smile and laugh would let you get away with anything when it came to him.

“So no floor? Trying to bribe me with favors?” His voice was mostly back to that sarcastic lilt you’ve come to adore.

Content that he was feeling better, you answered, “Nah, just using you so I can have a teddy bear. Haven’t had a good one in ages.”

Making good on that promise, you made sure that he was securely nestled into your neck and shoulder. You used both of your arms to cradle him there and both hands to continue your worship of his hair. It was just barely damp and the coolness felt nice on your hands, especially in contrast to the cozy heat emanating from his head. His long eyelashes tickled at your neck every time he blinked, just like the light scruff on his jaw teased at your chest. His big nose felt cozy rested on your clavicle, and you had to resist the urge to reach down and trail your fingers on it. A giddy and victorious feeling flushed through you when you felt him close his eyes a final time and sink into your embrace.

Buggy should have known that he was doomed from the start. He was having a hell of a time trying not to moan at your fingers scratching and massaging his scalp, both during the hair care and now, when he was held in your arms. He couldn’t stop his little movements to nestle into you and get just that much more of your warmth and touch. If he thought that he loved the smell of you before, he was absolutely intoxicated now that he knew what it was like when it floated over the two of you while wrapped in body-warmed sheets.

He wanted to ask you why you were doing all of this, but he didn’t want to know the answer. Not right now. Right now he was going to let himself go back into that place in his head where you lo- cared about him. A place where each night he would crawl into bed with you and, no matter how the day went, you would be there to empty his mind of anything but the two of you. You’d greet him with a kiss or a laugh or an embrace and you would shine with so much joy because he’s next to you again. He’d know what your love felt like, how your body felt under his hands, how your skin felt under his lips. All these daydreams swirling in his head started to make him sick with want, and he needed to know at least one of them. He couldn’t handle all of them staying forever in his mind.

The tiniest increase of pressure from his lips brought your attention to where they rested below your collarbone. The almost kiss was so heartbreakingly shaky and hesitant that you felt your eyes burn with the threat of tears. To reassure him, you dragged your cheek across his temple before turning to leave a deliberate kiss there. Buggy relished the contact, the satisfied sigh you let out afterward, and the gentle weight of your cheek as you snuggled back into him. Your reward came in the form of a grinning cheek pushing into you.

All his humor and posturing certainly caught your attention in the best way and even his explosive temper was something you couldn’t say turned you away. This gentleness, though, this uncertain and wounded place, had you bursting with affection and you were hoping to keep experiencing it. You’d meet it each time with steady affection until it turned into something he embodied with the same surety that he had in his beloved spotlight.

Both of you slipped more sweetly into dreams, curled up together as you were, and with more peace and ease than the years before had allowed. Neither of you would let the years to come be absent of this sweet treasure, either.

Next->

#buggy x reader #opla buggy x reader #buggy x you #buggy x y/n #buggy the clown #one piece #buggy fluff #opla #opla buggy #one piece x reader #one piece live action #my writing #gn reader #afab reader #x reader

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thebibliosphere · 2 years

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This is more of a problem on Facebook and Twitter, but there are some fellow authors who get a tad... upset when you talk about money and royalty earnings.

Needless to say, my frankness about how royalties work and just how little many of us are earning from our labor has drawn the ire of a few people, even here on Tumblr.hell.

I'm not particularly bothered by this. In my view, they're the same people who won't discuss wages in the workplace because they don't want anyone else to earn what they do. They know the system is unfairly rigged, but they like it that way because they're scared if more people are educated about how things work, they'll lose whatever competitive edge they think they have, thus enforcing the status quo.

Needless to say, I don't care for this view.

I'm very much a "holy shit, two cakes" kind of creator. I also very firmly believe in pulling people up behind me and spreading the wealth of information that was shared freely with me by other like-minded individuals who also believe that the mysteries around publishing are gatekeeping bullshit and everyone deserves the chance to earn money from their creative endeavors, not just the people who can afford to.

Anyway, David Gaughran's 'Let's Get Digital: How To Self-Publish And Why You Should' is an invaluable resource for indie authors and provides great insight into how publishing and distribution work. It is available for free through the retailers listed on his website.

If you don't want to publish exclusively through Amazon, draft2digital.com does global ebook and also paperback distribution. (I've only used it for ebooks, but I'll be trying out their paperback options for my next book.) You can pair it up with a books2read account to create easy-to-post buy links. Draft2Digital also allows for distribution through library lending services like Overdrive. So that's neat. (NB: if you use d2d, you can't use Kindle Unlimited, so be aware of what links you have active and where if you decide to enroll in KU. You can always opt for wide distribution again once your KU time expires.)

D2D also recently partnered with FindawayVoices.com for audiobook distribution. You can find voice actors there, or you can upload your own files if you already have them. You can submit to Audible through them, too, but you'll earn a pittance more if you upload directly through Audible. Findaway also allows for library lending distribution through Libby and several other global equivalents.

If you need ISBNs, you can buy them cheaper in bulk from Bowker at myidentifiers.com

Individual storefront options like Payhip.com and Gumroad.com are also great ways to allow people to buy directly from you, though I soured on Gumroad after the whole NFT thing and their CEO harassing people on Twitter over it. Payhip is now my preferred storefront, and as an added bonus, they calculate VAT in European countries as well, so that's one less thing for me as an indie author to work out. As an added bonus, Payhip can be directly integrated into your author website if you have one. It's a feature I'll be implementing soon.

itch.io also allows for the sale and distribution of ebook files, though I haven't used it yet.

If you don't have the means to hire a cover designer or the means to do it yourself in photoshop, Canva.com has some decent-ish ebook templates. Just make sure the images and fonts you're using have the right licenses for commercial use.

Editing and formatting are also extremely important, though I know not everyone can afford them. If you can, I highly suggest doing so and shelling out extra to have them format your work across mediums. Ebook formatting is different from paperback formatting, and it can look very strange if you just try to format an ebook into a pdf. It is a skill you can teach yourself (plenty of youtube videos) if you really want to, but I prefer to throw money at my editors, who provide formatting as an additional service. Whatever you can afford to do to streamline the process is money well spent.

Also, do not be shy about using affiliate links to sell your work. Authors lose a solid chunk of money to places like Amazon, Barnes & Noble, Apple, etc., in distribution fees. Whatever pennies you can scrape back through affiliate links for directing traffic to those sites is hard-earned--and it is literal pennies sometimes. You can also integrate any affiliate links you do have into draft2digital, so they auto-generate, which is handy.

When it comes to paperbacks, BookShop.org offers the best affiliate earnings, and a percentage of the sale goes toward supporting indie bookstores. They do not take that percentage from your earnings, they pay it themselves. Libro.FM is the audiobook equivalent of BookShop.org, and they also give a percentage of sales to supporting indie book stores.

Anyway, I hope that helps someone. Good luck out there.

Also, if you're the person who sent me the irate email about "giving away trade secrets," feel free to die mad about it. 😘

#long post #indie publishing #indie author #author resources #I've posted all this before #but I figure it never hurts to post it again #also lol at that email #what a sad and bitter view

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llyfrenfys · 6 months

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"Fascism and Welsh Nationalism", or "Stop Fawning over the FWA you cont"

This is inspired by things I've been noticing around Aberystwyth lately while out and about.

Some mfer is putting up Free Welsh Army (FWA) stickers and I have to keep on pulling them down. Why? You ask.

Fascism.

Because of the not so subtle links between the FWA and fascist movements (of which those links are quite frankly underdiscussed) this post is necessary.

So, starting with the stickers:

This is just one of three identical stickers I've pulled down this last week in Aberystwyth. They appear more to be car stickers than anything else and must have cost a pretty penny to print and/or purchase. They appear to have been bought directly from a website using FWA imagery and slogans - yet does not claim to be the FWA (that I can see, at least). I'm not going to link to it because they don't need any more web traffic. But we will get onto why this is significant in a bit.

Anyway, returning to the stickers - I pulled down the first one off of an electric box on North Road, opposite Vaynor St in late November. I pulled down the second (pictured) also in late November on Penglais Road off the bus stop near the hospital. And in early December I pulled down the third one off of a wall near the Spar at the end of Vaynor Street. Right off the bat we can assume the guy who wasted a lot of money on these stickers lives local to where the stickers I've found so far were. So they're lazy, for one - not venturing much further than their own front door by the looks of it.

Iconography:

I've written about the iconography of the FWA before here but it bears repeating that if fascists approve of your iconography, then that's a sign your movement is already overrun with fascists.

This is the sticker design which I've been noticing about town. Top to bottom we have "Cymru Rydd/Free Wales" which on its own is fine. No qualms with that. But between the Welsh and English text is a symbol. This one:

Now, this was the symbol of the Free Wales Army. Note that I say *was* because the FWA doesn't exist any more. Yet various actors have tried to resurrect its very unsuccessful corpse over the years. These stickers seem to belong to a new organisation which is the latest to try and capitalise on the ghost of the FWA. Now, if you're like me, you'll have already noticed this design is, for lack of a better word, a bit dogwhistley. The angled, blocky, swastika-like stylisation of what is supposedly an eagle, the black and white void of any other features and the very fact it *is* an eagle depicted all seem a bit *too* similar to the iconography of the Third Reich, don't you think?

Their design choice is no accident. It is a design which appeals to fascists while also has enough Welsh cultural reference for apologists to hide behind with a plausibly deniable reason for why their eagle Looks Like That. The white eagle is a reference to the 13th C. poem Mab Darogan, in which Myrddin prophesises that "a king shall come with heroism from among the Welsh people" and that "generous men shall be reborn of the lineage of the eagles of Snowdonia". The eagle could have literally been drawn in any way. But it rather specifically was drawn like this. That choice is not accidental.

Now this new organisation which is trying to reanimate the corpse of the FWA (we'll call them EW) has incorporated the FWA symbol into their sticker. An endorsement of the failed so-called 'paramilitary' organisation on their part, to be sure. EW also have included a different style of white eagle on their sticker as well - which is blatantly stolen from Wikipedia (the copyright is expired, but 0/10 artistic effort on their part even so). Also not to nitpick but the eagle on the sticker is grey not white so that's also a fail.

Artistic criticisms aside, the sticker is loaded with dogwhistley iconography all round. The Celtic knot border isn't necessarily problematic, however, fascists and/or neo-nazis love to slap Celtic knots onto things because they associate Celticity with whiteness. The colour scheme may also be a coincidence, but it does remind me of the fascist symbol which is the 'Flag of Kekistan" which uses the same colour scheme.

Why does this matter and who were the FWA?:

The FWA were a Welsh nationalist (supposedly 'paramilitary') outfit which formed in Lampeter in 1963 and disbanded in 1969 (just 6 years of activity). They took a lot of their cues from the IRA and were effectively fanboys of them. The group was never really considered a threat and mostly consisted of middle-aged men playing paramilitary dress-up. They did claim to be funded by the IRA and that they had dogs trained to carry explosives. Their claims remain unproven.

HOWEVER - and here's where things get sticky. A lot of the issues the FWA were publicly concerned with were and are actually valid issues (e.g. the drowning of Capel Celyn, the Aberfan Disaster etc.). The problem is that fascists or fanboys of fascists love to get their foot in the door by addressing genuine issues. But what happens is that invariably a minoritised group is blamed for the existence of said issue and naturally that leads to discrimination and violence.

The police started to get a bit antsy with the investiture of then-prince Charles as prince of Wales and the possibility of the FWA doing some terrorism. So some of the FWA's leaders were arrested just prior to this. The group officially ended in 1969.

The nationalism advocated for by the FWA was of the 'blood-and-soil' type. Not just your common or garden nationalism (which still has issues but given context is perfectly able to exist in a non-fashy way). And that's why the idolisation of the FWA in years since is sus. It appeals to romanticised nationalist notions of brave men in uniforms helping free Wales - when in reality they did little terrorism and little to actually further the Welsh nationalist cause. In fact, the leadership of the FWA fell apart after they started to disagree on whether their actions were damaging the cause rather than helping it.

Julian Cayo-Evans founded the FWA and ran it with Dennis Coslett and Gethin ap Gruffydd. Gruffydd went on to found other youth nationalist organisations after he left the FWA due to disagreements with its direction - e.g. he founded the Patriotic Front in 1964 which was later outlawed by Plaid Cymru in 1966. It goes without saying names like 'Patriotic Front' are deliberate nods to other, similarly named fascist organisations like National Front.

Legacy and The Present:

FWA's only legacy is the sycophantic fanclub which ressurects the corpse of the FWA every few years to parade it around and relive the 'glory days' of paramilitary cosplay. But aside from functionally being useless, their iconography and politics are still very much under the fash umbrella and that must be resisted at every opportunity (hence why I'm tearing down their stickers - I don't want fascists to feel welcome here). Part of why people may turn a blind eye to the FWA/sympathise is that they may not be aware of the history of the FWA or see the dogwhistles laden in their work and symbols. Some may even just assume without any other context that they're just another Welsh-language preservation group and may even support them without realising the deeper nature of the organisation beyond just preserving the Welsh language.

Which brings me back to EW. I'm going to put the rest of this under a cut, I do encourage reading the rest though and reblogging to get the word out that

It is always morally okay to tear down fascist propaganda

If you see some in your town, don't hesitate to let fash know they aren't welcome here.

EW:

So, onto the latest in a long line of paramilitary wannabes who idolise a long-dead organisation from the 60s.

The EW website seems... sketch. Lots of banners and sections asking to 'donate now' and 'take action' (with money). So right off the bat this looks like a cash-grab.

Secondly, from their own 'About' section they claim that the Welsh Independence movement has "become inundated with authoritarian Marxist entryists who regard Welsh independence as merely a vehicle for furthering their own political agendas". Which is pretty bold stuff coming from an organisation trying to do The Exact Same. There's also a LOT of emphasis on youth involvement and youth nationalism.

There's also a lot of ahistorical claims in the About section too. E.g. on the prophecy of Myrddin "From this legend derives the very name of Cymru’s greatest mountains, with ‘Eryri’ meaning the ‘Seat of the Eagles’ in Cymraeg." - this is contested as there is no one agreed upon etymology of Eryri. To claim that this is The Etymology suggests that they picked this one just because it conveniently fits the version of the mythology they're presenting. They also claim that "Owain ap Gruffydd, would adopt three such eagles as his royal coat of arms" - this is blatantly incorrect as Owain ap Gruffydd lived before the Age of Heraldry and the three eagles are actually later attributed arms.

In EW's FAQ there's a section on supporting their organisation - with one paragraph saying that you can buy stickers instead "If you aren’t eligible or willing to commit to becoming an activist". Lol at 'if you aren't willing to fully commit to our FWA fanboy club you can put up some stickers instead'. Also the button to buy stickers suggests you pay via paypal "We’ll accept quick payments using PayPal and will have them shipped to you First Class" - which *totally* sounds legit (what do you bet they ask people to pay via 'friends and family instead of through business means?).

And... that's it. There's very little else on their website. It *looks* like they're trying to be a movement, but appear to lack substance (and money, judging from how many different Donate Now buttons are plastered all over the site). A hollow organisation blatantly bending history and mythology to fit their narrative, proudly using symbols designed to appeal to fascists while asking people to trust them with the future of Wales?

Dim diolch.

For further reading on why we should guard against fascism in Welsh language revival and independence, see my other post here.

Reblogs welcome for an antifascist independent Wales.

#cymraeg #cymru #free wales army #fwa #eryri #eryr wen #antifascist #annibyniaeth #welsh independence #welsh #fascism cw #neo nazism cw #white nationalism cw #long post

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irlcats-bracket · 1 year

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CATS

we all love to have them in our lives!

and to show them to people to. and see them. here is your chance! make your cat (or not) compete with others and look at other people's cats

CATS THAT ARE ACCEPTED:

- your cat

-your mum's cat

- anyone's cat really

- meme cats if they are real

- actor cats

- any other cat that have lived at any point of time

CATS THAT ARE NOT ACCEPTED

-fictional. there is a bracket for them already

EDIT: - imaginary cats. sorry guys not real enough

the final number of cats depends on the number of submissions. you can submit a cat several times but seeing as this bracket will have many cats with just one sub from their owner I decided to choose them based only on me liking them. don't worry I like a lot of cats.

CATS THAT ARE AUTOMATICALLY INCLUDED because I am biased

- miette

- a stray I befriended (once I manage to choose just one of them)

submit your cat here!

EDIT 3: PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE don't use instagram links or link sharing services. they either don't open for me at all or will all expire by the time this form closes. either use a different link or straight up dm the pics to me. except imgur imgur is fine. just in general check if it's long-term

forms will be open until 7th of April 16:00 (4 pm) UTC

EDIT 2 gogdammit I am forgetful: multiple submissions are allowed. you can also submit your cats as a duo/trio/etc if they truly are a duo/trio/etc or For A Bit but only if it's a really funny one

I am not banning cheating because honestly cheating over a silly cat bracket made to see more kitties is insanely funny

BUT. don't harass other people. this is unacceptable behavior. we are all here to have fun and be silly

and remember! every cat is a good cat :)

tagging for exposure and also because they inspired me: @best-fictional-cat (!!) @aroaceswagcompetition @artificialkids-2k23-official @orangecharactersmackdown @macbeth-murder-match @heterochromiasmackdown @bunnyrabbitbracket @divine-swag-summit @homoeroticbetrayal (!!) @blorbopoll (miette is here sweeping guys)

#tumblr bracket #tournament #bracket #tumblr polls #polls #orcatnisation

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the-feral-gremlin · 3 months

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Kosa is a horrible bill and needs to be stopped. Please sign petitions. It could clear senate. It’s got enough support to. Contact your senators. Also, your representatives. It doesn’t have much support there and it’s important that it never does.

This link provides scripts for democratic reps and republican reps. It also provides a representative finder. it gives many options of who to call, but you only need to call your district’s US representative, as far as I know.

Also if you don’t know about this bill here’s a link to an eff article talking about the harm it could do, better than I can.

The change dot org one only needs 5,000 more signatures (at least, the last time I checked.) I’m not sure when the deadline/expiration date is exactly or if it already passed by but it couldn’t hurt to try.

#i’m rambling #stop kosa #kosa

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scotianostra · 3 months

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On March 3rd 1883 three hundred inhabitants of the remote Shetland island of Foula were on the point of starvation as the first supply boat of the year reached the stormbound community.

Foula, often described as the "Edge Of The World" is our most remote inhabited island. It is situated in the Atlantic Ocean approximately 20 miles to the west of the Shetland mainland. It is an island of crofting townships, breath-taking sheer cliff drops, and a wealth of wild flowers and wildlife.

Over a century ago, in 1881, Foula had a population of 267, mostly employed in fishing...at the last census in 2001 that figure had dropped to just 38.

On March 3rd 1883 the Shetland Times published this;

The Weather and Mails – Foula

Nine weeks have now expired since our last mail was landed, and all our resources are almost exhausted. Sugar and tobacco have been all done for more than a fortnight, and tea, coffee, etc, are now done also. Those who had a little meal to spare have helped those who had none, a thing often done in Foula, but if the weather does not moderate we will soon be all alike. The boat has been in readiness now for some time to go to Walls for supplies, and as the weather has become a little more moderate today they are going to make a start, so we hope that they may get safe through, and a chance to return again soon. But we doubt if the mail boat will be able to cross today yet, as the wind still inclines to the westward.

There isn’t much more than this about their plight, but it seems that same day they breathed a sigh of relief as a boat must have made it to Mainland and back successfully.

Today crofting as well as fishing are the main activities, half the population living at Hametoun in the south east and the remainder to be found at Ham near Ham Voe on the east coast. The island is not connected to any mainland electricity grid system. In 1987 a community electricity scheme was constructed, comprising a 3.3kV island grid which linked diesel generators, a wind turbine and a hydroelectricity scheme to the island’s properties. This scheme gradually fell into disrepair and has undergone a major refurbishment, funded primarily through grants.

Before refurbishment, the entire island's power was supplied by one of the two diesel generators which operated between approximately 7.20am and 00.30am. That’s not to say they were without power for the, just under 7 hours the generator is off, a battery/inverter system was installed between 2006 and January 2007, a solar charging array helps top up the batteries as well . The system was fully commissioned at the beginning of March 2007 and already the islanders not only have continuous power ( instead of the previous 17 hours per day) but are noticing considerable savings in diesel fuel use. Since diesel has to be shipped in by ferry (and often the weather is too bad for the ferry to run for up to 3 weeks on end) this of huge value.

An interesting feature of the island's people is that they still observe the old Julian calendar, replaced in 1752 in Britain by the present Gregorian system which deleted 11 days from the year. Remote areas of the country kept to the old calendar, adding an extra day in 1800, which was a leap year, and some parts of Shetland continued to observe festivals 12 days after the dates in the new calendar. The most remote areas kept to the old calendar longest, and the people of Foula still celebrate Christmas on 6 January and New Year's Day on 13 January

Travel to the island is by sea or air and is completely dependent on suitable weather conditions.

A wee bit more, and a short video can be found at the link below.

#scotland #scottish #history #shetland

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t4t4tclethian · 4 months

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The moment Joel realizes he has a crush on xB is, objectively, quite a funny one. He’d almost certainly be laughing about it if it had been anyone else. As it is, though, he’s hopping mad, extremely indignant, and deeply embarrassed about the whole thing. Who ever heard of a hitman falling for their mark? (Well, a lot of people have- it’s a whole romance cliche for a reason. But it wasn’t supposed to actually happen!)

(ao3 link)

————————————————

It had all started a few days earlier, when Joel had been hanging out with the other Magical Mountaineers in the breakroom. Gem and Impulse were poring over some papers together, Skizz was on a phone call in the corner, Mumbo was politely watching as Scar fumbled through some magic tricks, and Grian was sitting on the couch with Joel, listening to him rant about his failures at killing xB (he’d drawn the short straw). Everything was normal.

And then, when Joel paused his tirade to take a breath, Grian said those fatal words. “From the way you talk about this guy, Joel, it’s almost like you’ve got a crush on the mark!”

Which was ridiculous, of course! He does blummin’ not, thank you! His relationship with xB was a perfectly platonic contract killing, and Joel is a professional! He knows better than to fall for his target, and he indignantly tells Grian as much.

But, of course, Grian is Grian, and the second he senses he’s touched a nerve he doubles down. And so he did.

“Contract killing? Give me a break, Joel! Your contract on this guy expired ages ago, and you’re not the type to work for free.” Grian’s eyes twinkled with mischief as he continued to needle at Joel. “Admit it, there’s something else going on here, isn’t there?”

Joel spluttered, and took a deep breath as he glanced around the room. Fuck. Everyone had stopped what they were doing to listen in on him and Grian now. He had to say something to throw them off or he would never be able to live this conversation down.

“My contract might be done, but unlike some people I finish the things I start, thank you very much!”

Grian squawked in indignation, and as he did so the others chuckled and turned back to their own conversations, unfounded accusations of romance forgotten. Grian’s tendency to leave things unfinished was well-known, and something that every assassin at Magic Mountain had teased him over many times.

But that thought refused to leave his brain. It had wiggled its way in like a worm. Did he have a crush on xB? Is that why he kept coming back when any sane person would’ve just given it up already? And the answer, of course, is no. All of Joel’s actions here have perfectly reasonable and professional explanations.

————————————————————

Joel waits patiently on the rooftop across from Horse Head Farmer’s Market (which, despite the name, is actually a grocery store/money laundering scheme, not a farmer’s market), rifle at the ready, just as he has been for the past three and a half hours. You can’t rush a good sniping, after all, and xB’s schedule varies enough that Joel’s never quite sure when he’ll head out for lunch. (He’s pretty sure xB has done this specifically to spite Joel- the guy’s obsessed with him.)

Yes! Finally! xB steps out of the store, starts walking down the street, and- turns to look at Joel’s rooftop, makes direct eye contact with him, and gives him a friendly little wave, the infuriatingly sincere kind that makes Joel want to kill him even more. Dammit. He’s been caught. Also, wow, even from here Joel is a little wowed by how blue xB’s eyes are. Or maybe he’s just remembering how they look, because there’s no way Joel can actually see his eyes from here. They are definitely a very nice blue, though, and oh, huh, Joel realizes that Lizzie has blue eyes, too. Maybe he’s got a thing for blue-eyed people, and- OH SHIT RIGHT HE’S KILLING THIS GUY.

Joel fires, because even if he’s been discovered a vantage point is still a vantage point. Of course, xB somehow manages to not be in the bullet’s path, just like he always does, and then he gives Joel a disapproving look, like he’s actually disappointed Joel didn’t do a better job at trying to kill him.

God, he’s so cute, Joel’s brain has the audacity to think, like it’s trying to add insult to insult to injury. To Joel’s horror, he realizes in this moment that he’s had dozens, maybe even hundreds of thoughts like this, that just slipped through the cracks and went unnoticed.

Then, xB smiles at him again before heading on his way, and Joel falls off of the rooftop. He has time to think, Oh, I’m gonna kill Grian, as he plummets towards the ground. And then, everything goes dark, and he dies.

#hitman xbeans au #gumy writes! it’s a miracle!#this isn’t the end btw it’s just a good pausing point #hermitshipping #oh also btw in this au joel and lizzie are in an open relationship #bc i couldn’t write her out for the sake of yaoi. i just couldn’t.#so instead she has a thing with cleo and joel has a thing with xb and both of them know #but lizzie doesn’t wanna hear shit abt joel’s hitman activities

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bluecryptic · 2 months

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After (finally) figuring out how to make a link thst won't expire, I want to try to convince folks to join the Radioapple Park discord server using memes.

So part of the reason why I created the Radioapple Park discord server was because I was tired of seeing the occasional annoying twat complaining about shipping Alastor with anyone because "he's aroace and we need to respect the sexual identity of a fictional character" and I figured why not make a discord server where people like that aren't welcome? Just you know, have this server where fellow fans of Radioapple can talk about these two old men being gay and in love because we like it and think it's neat.

Also

Radioapple may be the center stage, but that doesn't mean other ships aren't allowed or can't be talked about. We're open to talking about other ships, too. Be it a canon ship like Chaggie to minor fanon ships like Applerot, nobody here is kinkshaming. Hell, it's also okay if you ship Alastor or Lucifer with other characters, too.

We're open to all sorts of shipping content.

(Seriously, from cats and dogs to ferrets and shrimp, they're all adorable)

To wrap things up,

I could give a whole lot of reasons as to why one should join the Radioapple Park discord server, especially if you ship radioapple, but I feel like it's also best to let the incredible people I've met on the server speak for themselves (you know who you are), plenty of folks have already joined and I think they're all wonderful and I just want to bring in more people on the fun we have.

(Will now be adding the invite link)

https://discord.com/invite/Xp5yXna2AE

And just one more meme to convince you to join^^

#radioapple #alastor x lucifer #discord invite #discord server #memes #hazbin hotel #meme dump #duckiedeer

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wardenparker · 1 year

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The Viper’s Bride - ch 2

Oberyn Martell x female reader x Ellaria Sand x OC Co-written with @absurdthirst

The second Prince of Dorne has lived under the illusion that he would not be forced to wed for his entire life. He has enough lovers and illegitimate children to make him a legend across Westeros, and the love of his soulmate Ellaria Sand to content him. But a contract between his brother and a lord from the north will catapult him into a match that may prove to be as complicated as it is intriguing. Especially when he learns that you already have a soulmate of your own.

Rating: E for Explicit! 18+ Word Count: 8.1k Warnings: *Blanket warnings for this series: terrible parents, age gap 10+ years, arranged marriage, classicism, cursing, food and alcohol* References to general Joffrey fuckery, internalized guilt, fingering, hand job, vaginal sex, unprotected sex. Summary: A walk with the future queen, a moment with Raeden, and a clandestine meeting all make your first day in King’s Landing a memorable time indeed. Notes: We are creeping closer to that fateful first meeting!

Ch 1

The invitation that is delivered to your chambers several hours later is a note from Lady Margaery, addressed explicitly to you and asking you to meet her in the gardens an hour hence, that you might walk together. It is incredibly polite and deceptively friendly, but when you nod to the serving girl who delivers it you can't seem to muster any enthusiasm beyond good manners. Lit with the orange sun of the afternoon, you appear at the mouth of the gardens freshly bathed and in a clean gown, still not having eaten a morsel for days. You doubt very much that you will be able to stomach more than a few bites at dinner but since you will also be dining with the future queen, you have to at least try.

“Isn’t the evening beautiful?” Margaery asks, appearing beside you as her lady in waiting falls back so that it is just the two of you.

"It's very...warm." That isn't quite the reply she was hoping for, you know what, but nothing at all in the world seems beautiful right now. And King's Landing is significantly warmer than where you grew up in the Vale, so at least you're being honest.

Her laugh is light, tinkling out and capturing the attention of anyone nearby. Her arm is linked with yours and she tugs you forward to propel you into the gardens. “It is warm. Although the breeze along the sea wall is quite refreshing.”

"The sea is always refreshing." Your windows in your family's estate faced the cliffside, overlooking the Narrow Sea at the very tip of the Vale's Fingers. The sound of the crashing waves has long been your favorite lullaby. "Thank you for the invitation." Remembering your manners, and the fact that this woman will be queen in two days, you do manage to offer her a smile. "You must know that I have not been to King's Landing since my presentation at court, so I truly know very few in the capital."

“You are not missing much.” Margaery leans in and whispers, although it is loud enough that the lady in waiting that is walking three steps behind the two of you giggles softly. “As a future queen and princess, we must stick together, you and I.” She knocks your shoulder softly, friendliness in the gesture. “Otherwise we might expire of boredom.”

"I cannot imagine you are very bored here." Margaery Tyrell seems very fixated on the fact of who you are supposed to marry, and it makes you shudder. Surely she has better things to do than be focused on your own arrangement?

“You would be surprised.” Margaery is terrified here, afraid of misstepping but her grandmother assures her that you would be a strong ally to make. “There is not much I am in charge of…yet.” She decides to switch topics. “Have you already started planning your own wedding? Will it be in Dorne? I have never visited, however, I’ve always wished to.”

You swallow, barely keeping from biting your lip as she steers you through the lush garden. "I have not even met him yet," you admit quietly.

“Oh.” Her eyes widen in surprise, her hand tightening ever so slightly in comfort and she nods. “I see.” She hums, lowering her voice slightly. “He is quite handsome and despite what his reputation portrays, my grandmother says he is an honorable man.” She informs you, seeking to comfort you some. “He does not have rumors swirling as some do.” Her own husband-to-be, for example.

"Our family has a good relationship with Dorne. They are...quite positive that it will be beneficial to both families." There has been no regard for your happiness whatsoever, no reassurance of anything besides the fact that the Prince of Dorne will no doubt give you children as quickly as he desires. "I think, perhaps, that you know far more about the man my father promised me to than I do myself."

“I have met him.” It was long ago, when she was far younger and unconcerned with the dealing of adults and kingdoms. He had come to see if the Tyrells could be persuaded to send money and men across the sea to find the Targaryen prince and princess that were rumored to be alive. Her grandmother had declined but she had privately commended him for his efforts.

"Then you know much more than I do." When it came down to it, your father did not even have a portrait of the man to show you. All anyone can seem to say is that he is handsome, which is not at all helpful if he is a monster in some other way.

“He brought his small daughter with him.” She confides. “My father was furious because she was a Sand, but Oberyn ignored him. He had just taken the girl from her mother.” She bites her lip and leans closer. “The mother was a whore. And he was only a lad himself. Yet he did not employ a nurse for her. She went where he did.”

"I understand he has...several children?" The figure your mother had hissed at you was eight but surely that cannot be true. He would either have to be quite a lot older than you or incredibly promiscuous for that to be the case.

“From my recollection he now has eight daughters.” Margaery confirms with a small laugh. “You will be carrying your own child quickly, no doubt.”

"A fact which everyone has seen fit to assure me of." For the first time, when you turn to look at her, she seems much less a beautiful noble daughter and simply a girl. She may have met her groom already, but her situation is just as arranged as yours is and even more influential. "Forgive me if I seem less than excited," you admit, tucking your hands into the sleeves of your gown. "The arrangement is still so new to me."

“I understand.” The fact that she had been married to Renley Baratheon before his untimely death is not mentioned. Her grandmother had gone to great lengths to have that swept under the rug. She isn’t excited about marrying Joffrey. She’s dreading it, but she can’t show that. There are too many eyes and ears here in the keep. “At least his rumored skills shall bring you pleasure. There are worse things.” She shudders delicately, thinking of the time her betrothed had tortured one of the chambermaids.

"There are also more important things." For all his supposed prowess, you have yet to hear anyone claim that Prince Oberyn is a kind man or an intelligent one. "At least you know the man you are meant to marry. For all I know, I have been sold to a man who will infuriate or despise me." Love does not even cross your lips, knowing that it will be impossible. There is simply no chance that you will ever love this man. Not when your heart already belongs to Raeden.

“Prince Oberyn…admires beauty in all forms.” Margaery murmurs delicately, aware of her brother’s own interest in the man. “He loathes the Lannisters, yet Myrcella Baratheon is fostered in Dorne.” She reveals. “Where the girl is quite happy and not one hair on her golden head is molested. Plays with his younger daughters.”

"Why is Princess Myrcella in Dorne if he despises Lannisters so?" This is more information than you have ever been able to get about the man at once before and from a person that you cannot let know that you do not want to marry him. Curiosity is a virtue that you can afford to have – simply gathering information without ever expressing your own opinion on the matter.

“Peace treaty.” Margaery’s brow raises and she wonders how much you know about the history between Dorne and King’s Landings. “It was promised years ago.”

"I see." Apparently being in the Vale has left you out of a great many things as far as the ways of the world go. But then, you have never been one to enjoy politics and your father afforded you the freedom to avoid such conversations. "So it is his brother who affords her safety, then? The elder Prince of Dorne, I mean." The intricacies between brothers, at least, you understand perfectly.

“No.” The queen-to-be shakes her head, her hair swinging softly behind her. “He does not blame the child for things that happened before her birth. Or for who her parents are.”

“I see.” This time you nod when you say the words, chewing on the information you have been given. It does not make you like the man necessarily, but it is oddly comforting to hear that he is not outwardly cruel, as some men in power can be. “Well…” A stolen glance is met with Lady Margaery’s wide eyes staring back at you, as if she is trying to pull information from deep in your soul. “Mercy is a virtue,” you offer, not quite knowing what else to say.

You are not giving her much, practically nothing, and she wonders if you are in love with someone else. Margaery smiles and nods. “Yes it is.” She agrees, looking out over the gardens again, pleased that several other guests have seen the two of you together. “We shall have to visit more during your time here.” She decides. “If you are not too taken with your betrothed.” Her smirk is small and sly, slightly envious of the fact that you will be sharing the Prince’s bed.

“From what I have been told, there is no reason I should not be.” And yet? You know better. You know that every minute spent with the Prince will be one less minute with Raeden and you want to scream about the injustice of it all.

Your turn around the garden leads you straight back to the entrance and Margaery comes to a stop. “There are still several hours before dinner.” She murmurs. “Most of the staff are taking their own meals now so there are not many in the corridors.” Her eyes watch you for a moment before she tilts her head. “I believe I will go to the library and choose a book myself.”

“You have a library?” There is no reason it should surprise you, but the idea of sitting amongst books is delightful and calming, and you can easily picture bringing a borrowed book of poems back to your room to share with Raeden tonight. This is truly the first good news you’ve had all day. “Would it be presumptuous to ask to accompany you?”

Her smile is slow and sincere. "It is not presumptuous," she promises, winding her arm back through yours and starts walking again. "The library of the keep has been studiously stocked by the maesters." She tells you. "Although the Citadel has a more extensive collection."

“I think reading is better than almost anything in the world.” It is truly the most excited she has heard you about anything so far, and the first time you feel like you have truly smiled in at least a week. “But I read all of the books I brought on the journey here. Something new would be wonderful.”

"There is many to choose from." She laughs. "I will have to select a few of my favorites for you to take back to your chambers."

“How very kind of you.” She has clearly found your weakness – or at least one of them – and you cannot help but be relieved at it. So many women at court care only for gossip and fashion. To find someone else with an active mind is an unlooked for blessing. “My father has the greatest library in the Vale, and I will miss it desperately.”

“I have no doubt you will curate the greatest library in Dorne.” It’s on the tip of her tongue to inform you that Oberyn writes poetry, at least according to her grandmother, but she doesn’t want you to feel as if she is pushing the man on you.

“It would be a great pleasure.” Sitting for hours in a stack of books with Raeden and endless pots of tea is perhaps one of your greatest fantasies, but that kind of freedom has simply never existed for you. The ability to fulfill that has never been within your grasp. Still you find yourself clinging to the thought and inadvertently clinging to your companion’s arm. “Have you ever read a book that simply made you feel transformed? It is the greatest magic in the world.”

Her own experiences with magic have not been positive but she understands what you mean. Nodding, she smiles as she leads you inside the keep and towards the eastern wing. “I often lose myself in books of poetry.”

“Poetry is a wonder.” Feeling much more yourself at the prospect of books, you smile a true, broad smile as you pass through the halls of the keep. “I wrote love poems for my brothers when they were courting their wives. They were hopeless at it and begged me to help.”

Margaery laughs and sighs. “I wish someone would write poetry for me.” She admits softly before she presses her lips together. “However the king is more of a physical man.” She corrects quickly.

“Oh.” That was not a revelation you were expecting, but you try to school your expression away from surprise. “Well, there is…there can be no sin in that, can there? As you are to be married so soon.”

“We have not—” She shakes her head and shudders slightly. “The king has not attempted to woo me into his bed as of yet.” She assures you. “He is just not a man to whom flowery words are forthcoming.”

“Forgive me for misunderstanding.” The way she reacts to the mere suggestion, though, surprises you even more. There is almost an edge of revulsion to it that makes you unsure if you ought to be offering her comfort. “I am sure that in time love will help his tongue to find the words he surely feels in his heart.”

Margaery seriously doubts that Joffrey’s tongue will be anything but vile and vicious but she smiles and pretends nothing is wrong. “Love does temper the roughest stones, does it not?”

“I think so.” It brings a warmth through your whole body that could nearly make you sigh if that would not have given you away completely. Instead you clear your throat and affect a demure expression. “My brothers, for instance. They were quite rough once.”

“I see.” Margaery doesn’t ask about the momentarily dreamy expression on your face, needing you as an ally. The large double doors to the library stand sentinel and she stops in front of them. “Here it is.”

The Red Keep’s library is enormous, stretching far above your heads to a vaulted ceiling and far beyond your view to rooms and rooms of volumes just waiting and begging to be perused. The intricately carved banisters and shelves along with the elaborately decorated windows make it lavish and nearly forbidding, but that the familiar scent of old paper and bindings beckons you inside like an old friend. “How lovely,” you sigh out, looking around you with glee. “I swear it is bigger than my father’s library. It must be. I cannot possibly thank you enough for bringing me here.”

“It is my pleasure.” Margaery assures you. In the library, she doesn’t have to worry about her intended showing up here, not even sure if he knows the keep has a library. It was her safe space in a decidedly unsafe situation. “Look around. There is a lot to be offered.”

It is the most welcome invitation in the world, and you find yourself wandering toward the nearest shelf and inspecting every volume you can get your hands on to find just the right one. It doesn’t matter what the right one even is. You will know it when you find it.

******

Slipping inside the keep had been easy enough. Plenty of servants coming and going, and it was obvious that none of the nobles knew the people who served them. Cal keeps his eyes on you, the description given to him accurate down to the unhappy glaze to your eyes. The crumpled letter is in his pocket, unsure of what it says since he can’t read but after hovering outside the double doors to the library, he slips inside and starts to look for you among the shelves of books.

It seemed like not another soul inhabited this place other than you and Lady Margaery right until you nearly walked head on into a nervous-looking young man standing right in front of the next bookcase you had intended to inspect. “Oh! I— ex-excuse me. I didn’t see you there.” There are already three small books tucked into the crook of your arm and it’s a miracle that you don’t drop any of them. “Pardon me,” you murmur again, rocking back with the surprise of seeing another person.

Cal wasn’t expecting an apology, shoving his hand into his breeches pocket and thrusting the folded and sealed letter into your hand. “My lady.” He mumbles, turning around and rushing from the library. He had done as he was ordered. He had delivered the message.

It’s all a little too odd, and you stare after him for a moment before looking down at the carefully folded piece of paper in your hand with its bright orange wax seal. There is no mistaking that your name is scrawled beautifully on the front, so you crack the seal with careful hands and unfold the letter.

The privilege of your company is requested after supper time this evening to share wine and entertainment at the Coachman’s Tavern. We have much to discuss, Ellaria Sand

“Who…?” You breathe the question out loud but realize there is no one to answer you. Who in the world is Ellaria Sand?

******

Raeden’s boots strike the stone floors harshly as he strides towards the library. The lady-in-waiting, mistress Mariana Tyrell, had informed him that you had been shown the library but he needs to speak to you. His position as your guard would not cause too much attention, but he must warn you.

Still standing with a dumbstruck look and a letter in your hand when the library doors open again, you turn from your place in the stacks to look out into the main room. “Ser Raeden.” He is a sight for sore eyes at any time, but as you come out from amongst the stacks of books you can see Lady Margaery emerge as well. “Am I called for?” You ask him, wondering if maybe your parents wanted to know how your walk went and sent him to fetch you.

Pulling himself to a halt in front of you, he bows. “Yes, my lady.” He lies, needing to get you alone. “Your lady mother requests your presence.”

“How unfortunate.” At least your frown is not at all false, and you turn to Margaery with an apology on your tongue. “Lady Margaery Tyrell, this is my guard, Ser Raeden Stone. Come to whisk me back to my mother’s side, it seems. Thank you for your kindness, I hope this time together can be repeated before long.” After all, a walk in a garden and a visit to the keep library is a very pleasant way to pass an afternoon, and she is to be queen. You are not foolish enough to think you should not be kindness itself to her.

“Go.” Margaery nods towards your guard, her lips twisted into a small curve. “We will visit again.” She decides. “Soon.”

Striding from the library at Raeden’s side, you wait until you are well past the doors before looking up at him again. “What is it really?” You ask him as quietly as you can. “You look worried.”

“Not until we are in your room.” Raeden insists, his eyes shifting around as he guides you back towards your chambers.

The tense walk seems to take forever and you find your mind wandering to the worst possible news. Prince Oberyn has decided you will wed immediately being at the top of the list.

He opens the door to your chambers, blessedly one that you do not have to share with your mother or maid. Hustling you inside and barring the door behind him. “Your mother knows.” He rushes out without preamble.

“She only thinks she knows something.” Because you haven’t had a moment alone with him, you haven’t been able to tell him what transpired in the carriage on the way here. “She tried to frighten me into saying something but I swear I didn’t give us away, love. We’re still safe.”

“No.” Raeden shakes his head, taking your books and dropping them on the table where a floral arrangement is sitting so he can take your hands. “She– she called me to her chambers.”

“Gods above.” His fingers laced through yours immediately and you hold them tight. “What did she say?”

“She informed me that she knows that we have the same marks, and she will make sure that I am dragged back to the Vale with her, naked and tied to the wagon if I interfere with your marriage to the prince of Dorne.” He shudders, scowling at the hateful diatribe he had been subjected to.

"I am sure she said a great deal worse than that." And yet that is enough. You pull him into your arms with a deep sigh and hold him there, knowing that this is no one's fault but your own. "She has scared you because she could not scare me. I would not cower before her in the carriage when she threatened to take you back to the Vale if I misbehaved, so she struck out at you instead. I...my love, I am so sorry."

“I am not.” Raeden shakes his head. “Your mother is a vile woman, but I needed to make sure you know what I do.” He sighs, understanding why you had not been able to tell him about the carriage ride, but he wishes you had. He would not have panicked.

"I am sorry I could not tell you. It seems nearly impossible to have privacy here." That, it occurs to you, is no excuse for not finding a way. But at least it is honest.

“How do you think she found out?” He murmurs, frowning slightly. “I do not change in front of the men.”

"The only possibility is my maid." It had not occurred to you that there might be more than just the reason of her family to stay behind, or that she might have lied to you about being pregnant, but she is the only one who knew.

“It is possible your mother threatened her, my love.” He knows how repulsive your mother can act, pressing his forehead against yours.

"Whatever happened, my mother's grasping fingers have dug into our lives with certainty." You sigh, tightening your arms around his waist. "What did you say to her? When she confronted you?"

“Nothing.” He promises you. “I said that my lady was mistaken and as your guard, my duty is to protect you with my sword and life.”

"I think you must be the only truly loyal man in the world." It is a relief to know that he gave your mother no satisfaction in her prying, and you tilt your head back to slot your lips against his gratefully.

The mere act of kissing you does more to calm him than anything else could have. Groaning, he pulls you closer to him and lets his hands roam.

"My love..." Who knows who saw him come into this room with you – if your odious mother has paid off the castle servants to spy already. If some spying laundress is already running off to give her an account of a man's moan coming from inside your chamber. "Rae." It is not often that you stop him from free exploration of your body, but caution is in the air now. "There is something else I must tell you."

“What is it?” He pulls away, confusion marring his handsome face. It has been days since he had been close enough to touch you and he is aching with the need to reassure himself of your bond.

"A messenger found me in the library just before you did." Either for comfort or because you cannot resist, you kiss him once more before fishing the letter out of the pocket of your dress. "I have no idea who it is from, but it is very clearly addressed to me."

“What does it say?” He can read, but it is your letter and he would not pry unless you offered it to him.

"Someone named Ellaria Sand wants to meet me." You press the letter into his hand, wondering what he will think of it. "It is certainly an enigmatic invitation."

“Who is Ellaria Sand?” Raedon asks, taking the letter and reading it carefully. “She’s a bastard. Sand is the surname for bastards in Dorne.”

"Dorne?" Fear flits across your face in equal measure with confusion. "She may be an enemy. Or an ally. There is no way to know."

“Are you going?” He asks, looking up from the letter to you. “To see what this Ellaria Sand wants? I will be with you.”

"I was going to ask you what you thought I should do." His sense of the world is more defined than yours. More informed. There are many things that you have been shielded from in your life, and he has been one of those shields. "I trust you, love. Implicitly. Whatever you think we should do, we will do."

“I think you should see what she wants.” Raeden answers slowly. “There are many games afoot here in King’s Landing, it is best we know which one you will be involved in.”

"And you will come with me?" Going anywhere in this city entirely alone is not only foolish but dangerous. Which is precisely why you have a guard in the first place – for your protection. "Wherever this Coachman's Tavern is, I have an inkling that it is not in the most reputable part of the capital."

He nods once. “I will not leave your side. I will be with you the entire time, my lady.”

"Rae." You tilt your head at him. "We are alone. There is no need for formalities."

Biting his lip, he contemplates pulling away, leaving your chambers – but he can’t. “My love–” he murmurs softly. “Let me touch you.”

"We must be quiet." That is the only warning you give him before tossing the letter aside and moving to the door to bar it. If anyone has seen him come in, large excuses will have to be made. But as long as nothing is heard, you will be safe.

His eyes darken as he reaches for his belt to untie his sword. “My love.” He murmurs quietly. “I have missed you.”

"I despise travel," you declare, firmly but barely on a whisper as you fairly fly across the room to be back in his arms. "I despise anything that keeps us apart." Unbuttoning his great coat, he doesn’t bother to remind you that soon you will be parted. He cannot know how the prince will react to him being your soulmate.

"Too many layers." Your hands may be smaller but they are determined to shed every layer he is wearing, from his coat down to his stockings. Every button and tie offends you by being in your way. "My love..." The request is unspoken, granted as soon as you look up at him and his lips crash against yours once more.

There have been so many times he has prayed to the gods for forgiveness. He knows that he is wronging you by staining your skin with his touch, but he cannot help himself. You are his soulmate, his other half. He feels complete when he is skin to skin with you.

Nothing can make two people faster to bare themselves than the need for reassurance, and this moment is no exception. Stripped down to nothing, Raeden lifts you off your feet and lays you out on the bed like a feast to be devoured. "Love." The term is reverent even when whispered – or perhaps more so this way – and you reach for him even as you squeeze your thighs together in anticipation. "Touch me. Please."

Nights spent in your bed, quietly stifling your sounds as he learns your body, has made him an expert on how to touch you. He kisses you slowly, sliding his tongue into your mouth as his fingers delve into your folds beneath the thatch of curls covering your cunt.

He swallows your gasp, humming in contentment that you still make such perfect sounds after so many nights together, and you shamelessly roll your hips down toward his hand in a determined motion. His thick fingers are the only possible preparation for a cock as impressive as his and you relish these early moments of intimacy as much as any other time. Sometimes all you need to be satisfied is to have his fingers or his tongue and then to kiss away your essence from his lips afterward. But today you need all of him. After weeks without being able to so much as touch him, you are desperate for him.

The hard muscles from hours of training and practice bunch and coil under your fingertips as he fingers you. His cock already hard at your hip, pulsing as he continues to kiss you. Breaking away from your lips to kiss down your jaw.

Every inch of him is worth exploring, but your focus is entirely on pleasing him right now. Your hand wraps around his cock, squeezing the base and stroking slowly up and down the shaft with a subtle twist of your wrist that never fails to make him shudder. The game is simple: whichever one of you breaks first will inevitably end up begging for the other, or pushing the other onto their back to be taken with pleasure.

“I love you.” Your name is whispered after his promise, his vow to you. You are so perfect, his hips chase the feeling of your hand as his fingers curl up inside you and he kisses down your chest to take one nipple into his mouth.

"I love you." When your hips roll up to meet his hand you let out a shaky breath and your other hand clutches his shoulder, holding him to your chest while his tongue swirls around your pebbled bud and flicks at it like he's trying to spark magic. Perhaps he is – if that were his goal then it is certainly magical the way he makes your legs shake with an impending climax.

It is always sweet the way that your body responds to his touch. Making him grin against your nipple as your hand covers your mouth to stifle your sounds. He knows your body so well that it may as well be his instrument, and he strums you as perfectly as any harpist does their strings. It takes biting down on your own fingers tonight to stifle the sound of ecstasy that threatens to bubble out of you, but your body greedily drags him in in every way that it can. Back arching to urge him to devour your tits, cunt clenching to keep his hand from ever leaving your body again, even your hand tensing around his length to promise him how tight you will hold that wondrous part of him inside you when he does eventually take his hand away.

Making you come apart for him is Raeden’s favorite task. If he were a lord, an idle and wealthy man, he would spend all day with you in bed. Or perhaps go about his business with your trembling body responding to his touch. In the darkest, most shameful thoughts in his mind, he thinks about that. Displaying you for others in the great hall while his fingers or cock are buried inside you and your screams of his name are echoing through the halls.

There can’t be any echo here, no cry of his name reverberating through the keep for all to hear, but you still come apart for him as sharply as if you were under command. It isn’t enough. Not tonight, at least, and you squirm under him like a needy beast already begging for more. “What do you need, my love?” He asks, pulling off your nipple with a wet pop. His eyes are onyx from need and desire, staring up at you.

“You.” The answer may be simple, but the need runs deep, and you have to swallow a moan when your muscles tighten around his fingers again and a gorgeous squelching noise comes back as a result. “Will you let me ride you, love?”

“Always.” Raeden groans, loving the sight of you on top of him. He is not exactly dominant and when you take control, he is blissed out by the time he cums. “Have you taken your tea, or do you need to pull off?”

“I have had my tea.” The recipe was taught to you by your septa years ago. The woman was no fool, teaching you to understand that men who seek to control a woman do it very often by controlling her womb. The tea, therefore, has been your constant companion even when you are too sick for anything else.

He groans, enjoying the thought of staying inside you as he finishes. “Ride me.” He begs, rolling over and dragging you on top of him.

“Shhhh.” Playfully chiding him to keep his beautiful groans quiet, you bracket his hips with your knees and rise up to set the head of his cock at your dripping slit. His hands on your back steady you, holding you in position while you sink down on him and your mouth drops open on a silent moan of pleasure to feel every inch of him inside you again.

His fingers dig into your hips and he bites his lips to stifle his moans. “Shit.”

Going two full weeks without this should be considered torture, but the feeling of coming home to him that you feel makes all of the stress and anxiety melt away. This is where you belong, coupled together with this man, and there is no more natural a feeling to be felt. Love may not always be simple or pure, but these moments together certainly are.

Holding his breath, Raeden watches as you start to move. Sex with you has been almost a religious experience for him. The rise and fall is like a dance, hips seeking out every ounce of pressure they can find and chasing every motion that makes his breath hitch. He has learned your body as well as you have learned his and every movement counts for more than just a simple bounce.

It is hard to keep his hips on the bed, grunting softly while you bounce on his cock. Drinking in the vision and knowing that for now, you are his. One hand reaches up and cups your breast, fingers rolling over your pebbled nipple just like you enjoy and he tugs on it gently.

Some nights could be spent forever in his lap like this, while others must be shorter encounters. Today there is some luxury to be had, but the need is too great. Every day that you spent apart had made you more desperate and that second climax tingling at the base of your spine is already so close.

“You are mine.” He needs to claim you, even if it is for a moment. A fleeting sensation that will be overcome by duty. Soulmates didn’t matter among the nobility unless it was an advantage and Raeden Stone was of no use to your father.

"Always." No matter if another man's ring sat on your finger, your heart will always belong to him. And in the face of the terrible reality that your decisions are not your own? At least you can promise him that.

He hasn’t met Oberyn Martell, but he is jealous of him. Jealous that you will be his spouse and bear his name. That he has a name to give you that is respectable. He closes his eyes and bites his lip.

"My love..." Bending down to him does not stop you from moving, only changes the angle, and you press your lips to his with earnest dedication. As much lust as there is in his eyes, it is mixed with a sadness that you know is your fault and your desperation veers away from your own pleasure in order to bring him as much distraction and satisfaction as you possibly can.

“Don’t.” He huffs quietly. “We know what we mean to each other.” He promises, knowing this is not your choice.

"What we will always mean to each other." Dread floods you, sickeningly thick sadness that makes your limbs heavy and washes arousal away like a cold flood. Instead of the twist of pleasure it's just agony, and you can see it painted across Raeden's face as well, so you slip off of him and burrow into his side to cling to him instead. "I will always love you," you promise him through the veil of impending tears. "Nothing will change that."

He can’t think about this, can’t dwell on it. Rolling you onto your back, he parts your thighs and settles between them before pushing back inside you, “Nothing.” He hisses.

The need for reassurance can have many essences to it, and this one rings the edges of your intimacy to make it lovemaking. His thrusts are slow and measured, pushing you steadily to the edge and toppling over it after you like his last night of life.

Raeden can’t make it hard and fast. He needs this to rip apart the very fabric of his being. Gasping your name with every slow rock of his hips, he kisses every inch of skin he can reach.

When the trembling finally subsides neither one of you will let go. If a sinkhole opened under King's Landing in this instant you would fall into it together as one, arms clinging tightly to each other and dreading it less than you dread the eventual meeting with Prince Oberyn. Tomorrow will be a horrible reality, and for all you know, the Dornish woman you meet tonight might only make it worse.

“I love you.” He murmurs quietly, meant for your ears only. “Only you. You are my soul, my entire reason for being here.”

"As I love you." Your fingers graze his cheek and for the moment a sad smile is the best that you can offer him. "To the furthest depths of the ocean and the highest peak of the sky."

“From now until the gods take me.” Raeden promises, pressing a kiss to your lips softly.

******

The Coachman's Tavern is just an ordinary building of white and gray from the outside. It signifies nothing, just stone and plaster with a painted sign that hangs over the door to tell travelers they can find shelter inside. The only thing of interest or note that you or Raeden can find as you approach is the sound of music coming from inside and stamping – perhaps meaning there is dancing to be had. The invitation had spoken of entertainment after all.

Ellaria sits at the table she had procured for this meeting, a carafe of wine and two goblets are already sitting, wine poured into the one in front of her. It’s not Dornish, so it’s not nearly as good as what she usually drinks, but a glass to settle her nerves is necessary right now.

No one seems to pay you any mind when you come into the tavern, seeing you and Raeden simply as hooded travelers seeking food or shelter like anyone else. Sneaking out of the keep had been task enough, but now you have to find a woman you have never met in a building full of strangers. As your father says – it is a search for a needle in a haystack. "Which one do you think it is?" You whisper to Raeden, looking around the tavern to find any women sitting alone. Perhaps she did not come alone just as you did not?

The small oil portrait that Oberyn had been provided was accurate, if dated. You are older, more assured than the slightly meek countenance in the portrait. Smiling, Ellaria beckons the serving wench over and points to you, instructing her to send you and the delectable man following you over to her table.

"Miss?" The girl who approaches you is significantly younger than you but arguably far more sure of herself, and she offers you a keen smile when she catches your attention. "The lady in the corner is waiting for you," she says before swanning away to the attention of a table of men near the instruments being played.

The lady in the corner.

You look to where she has pointed immediately and find a beautifully dressed goddess of a woman with a curtain of pitch black curls cascading down her back, sitting at a table that bears two goblets and a pitcher of something that you have to presume to be wine. "My word..." The breath you take is tight with nerves and you look back at Raeden. "I suppose now we will finally find out what she wants."

"And who she is." Raeden murmurs, nodding once. He will follow wherever you go, and in this moment you are already moving toward the table where Ellaria Sand is sitting.

Her eyes sharpen when you look her way, wariness and apprehension are written on your features, though you are lovely. Humming to herself, Ellaria straightens and waves you forward, smirking slightly at the protective stance of the gorgeously dark man behind you. She wants to know more about him. Instantly heated and her cunt clenching when she imagines this soldier, this protector in hers and Oberyn’s bed.

"Ellaria Sand?" If your look of concern gives you away, your voice certainly does not. It is the same voice you use with your mother when she is being particularly combative, or with your oldest brother's wife when she attempts to command you about like a child despite being five years younger than you. It is a voice full of confidence, though right now it is at least half feigned.

Her brow arches up, surprised that there is a spine underneath that robe and dress. Nodding, she motions to the free seat and glances at Raeden. “Apologies, I had assumed this would be a private meeting. Please, pull up another chair for your companion.”

"This is as private a meeting as is possible," you assure her, biting back a smile when Raeden is quick to find his own stool instead of letting you find one for him. "I travel with a guard instead of a lady's maid. Anything that would be said to me can be said in front of him."

Quiet for a moment, Ellaria’s eyes flutter back and forth between the two of you before she nods. Looking past you, she beckons the wench again and smirks. “Another cup.” She asks softly, reaching for her coin purse to offer her another coin.

A cup is procured and wine is poured, but you don't touch the cup. You have no more information now than you did hours ago when her servant sought you out, except that you now know she is exquisite. A fact which does not exactly figure into this clandestine meeting. "Can I know what you have asked me here to discuss?" You ask, trying to be polite but also make the point that you have no wish for this time to be wasted. "Your note made it sound most urgent."

“To the point.” Ellaria smirks, her goblet inches from her lips to take a small sip. “And fuckable. That is a relief. Although you are unhappy about the arrangement.”

"I beg your pardon?" There is shock in your voice and Raeden's seat scrapes against the stone floor, already not liking the way this night is turning despite the woman's self-assured countenance having given him less pause than expected when you walked in.

“You are not prudish, are you?” She tuts, clicking her tongue and shaking her head in disappointment at the idea that you would be as boring as the other ladies of the North. “Pity.” Setting her goblet down, the lazy way she unfurls her body is measured. “I am Oberyn’s…lover.” She announces. “And his soulmate.”

That is, without a doubt, the very last thing you expected to hear from this woman, and instantly your eyes widen and you turn back to look to Raeden for some kind of guidance. You feel like your jaw has been unhinged and your heart clenched in a vice, though you cannot tell if it is from dread or relief. "I was..." But whatever you were, or whatever you intended to say, it sticks in your throat.

"My lady was under the impression the prince had many lovers." Raeden recovers his voice before you do, reading your mind as only he is able. The matter of her being the man's soulmate will be next.

“Oh,” Ellaria chuckles huskily, “but he does. Sometimes just the whores we pick out, sometimes a lover that is with us for some time.” She smirks and eyes Raeden and you both with equal interest.

“If your intention was to try to make me jealous, I’m afraid you will not be satisfied.” Confused, more like. As you do not know why she keeps looking at you like a roast beast at banquet. “You must be well aware that I have not even met the prince yet.”

“I know. Just like I know your own lover sits beside you.” She murmurs, smirking slightly at the way you frown and bite at your lip.

“What is it you want?” Raeden bites out, when you do nothing to refute the woman. If word about the two of you has gotten out, it could spell ruin for both of you – putting both your reputation and his life on the line.

“To see what kind of woman my lover will be chained to.” She admits very bluntly, picking up her own wine again. “He had no desire to marry your…soulmate? Or just a lover?”

“I have no desire to marry him, either.” That, at least, you have in common and it makes you sit up a little straighter. “Do you mean to tell me that we were both strong-armed into this match?”

“The problem with nobility is that you are bound by the rules that make you better.” Ellaria shrugs slightly, unconcerned with that since she had always been a bastard. “Whereas I and your lover are not.”

“You presume to know quite a lot about us.” Something which troubles you much more than you are willing to admit. Have you truly been so blinded by love that you did not see the signs you gave to the world? “Spies in the Red Keep, I assume?”

“It is obvious.” Ellaria sends you a tight, woman-to-woman smile. “Oberyn has no issue telling the world that I am his lover, I have birthed four of his children. Though I can see why you would keep your affair a secret.” She flicks her hand in annoyance. “If you were a whore, no one would care who you fuck. But because your person was pushed from a noble woman’s cunt, your existence is monitored, judged.” Her smile turned acidic. “It is a man’s world. Unless you know how to move in it.”

"And yet the only thing I can protect her with is my sword." Raeden cannot explain the feeling, because he would normally bristle at the sort of attitude this woman is displaying, but aside from knowing that she is right, there is a surety somewhere deep in his soul that she can help. Or at least that she is not actively seeking to hurt you, which is far more than you have been afforded by your own mother.

“Protect her?” Ellaria hums and takes another sip of her wine as she contemplates the two of you. “There is no need in Dorne.” She assures him. “Unless your sword is your cock–” she chuckles. “And then I hope you will share.” Draining the rest of her cup, she stands and sets down four more gold coins. “This was much needed.” She tells you. “Now I must return to my lover’s arm.” She smirks. “Good eve to you both.”

______

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