#like culturally i understand them the most but i have trouble writing them for some reason

[the-wandering-mage]

5+1 Danny Phantom x DC universe prompt

Five times The Teen Titans thought they were fighting a new bad guy and the one time they realized they were just trying to make a friend.

Had this idea don't know if I'll ever fully write it but here it goes for anyone else to use. As is Fanon ghosts socialize by fighting. Dani is sent to a dimension (clockwork identified as the safest for her or because it has a lot of young heros for her to make friends with and not enough healthy ecto to create ecto ghosts) her safety while Danny fights the whole war with the GIW and there is some political upheaval about how Danny is handling it. Danny doesn't want his child in the middle of it. Dani is sent with an emergency communicator, Cujo, a backpack full of things to help her, and most importantly a case with healthy ecto.

Dani wares a medical device that gives her transfusions of ecto and nutrients her human body needs to keep her form stable. Idk if a belt or a arm cuff I like the idea of better. I briefly thought a crown belt combo for the aesthetic but a princess crown would be really impractical.

So, to the meat of the story. Dani tries to make friends the only way she knows how from both her instincts and time spent in the realms before being basically witsec'd, she picks fights with them. Stealing their stuff to get them to chase her ect. A lot of taunting and shit talking and generally being a pain. Maybe even stealing food from stores because she needs it and knows Danny will pay them back. The teen titans think she's a villain she thinks they are really bonding. The more she evades them the more they get frustrated and uping the ante. They get confused when she actually helps them take out an actually baddy. Then she steals Robin's cape and they are right back to being pissed with her.

Then one day during one of their "spars" Starfire or someone else gets a lucky shot on her medical device which of course they think is just villain tech or something. Or alternatively she could just be running low and needs to refill if you want to be boring. Her medical device gives a warning beep and she calls time out. Now anytime she'd ever called time out it was a respected rule in the realms. In a play fight you call break everything stops so she is completely caught off guard when her new friends don't stop. They keep going and it's not fun anymore it's scary.

She starts crying and she gets hurt and doesn't understand why and is begging them to tell her why they are being mean. The team at first is annoyed and scoffs while thinking they finally got the upper hand and she is just trying to trick them with crocodile tears. Then she starts destabilizing. Then they start to freak out and realize that it's real. She calls Cujo to fetch her medkit with her ecto. They treat her and inbetween sobs and trying to help what they now realize is a scared little girl that they get she thought they were playing. Starfire and Robin are the first to figure out it's a cultural/species difference. The whole team feels super guilty.

Then scared when Dad Danny and Tucker show up having gotten an alert her medical device has malfunctioned. Danny explains everything and apologizes about the trouble. The team apologies for their side of things. Dani ends up with friends in the end and the team takes care of her and nicknames her princess. Funny beginning heartache middle and happy ending.

#danny phantom crossover #dp x dc crossover #5+1 things #fanfiction prompts #danny phantom #teen titans #teen titans crossover fic ideas #ghosts fight to socialize #i thought we were friends #angst with a happy ending #misunderstandings #Dani with an I #friends punch friends in the face #violence is how you show you care #cultural differences #cultural misunderstandings #ghost king danny #ghost princess Dani

[twsted-kinks]

Biology Nerd (Malleus X Yuu/Reader)

>minors and ageless dni<

MC/Reader goes by Yuu and gender neutral and fat (I don't really mention that but this is self indulgent and I'm fat so reader is fat)

Something kinda fluffy for once with a bit of spice and a dash of angst

Content Warning: cultural and biological differences, Yuu not knowing about cultural differences and doing romantic and sexual things with others, Malleus letting Yuu touch him inappropriately but Yuu doesn't understand that touching him like that is very intimate and/or sexual for fae/dragons, Malleus being absolutely smitten, some slight Malleus angst about him being lonely, Grim being scared, dragon cuddles

(I'm probably gonna write more spec biology stuff with twst but idk)

Yuu will be the first to say that suddenly being ripped from your home and put into a completely different world where everything you know no longer exists or applies to reality fucking sucks. But, Yuu will also admit that they love having a whole new world to learn about. Learning the basics of a whole knew evolutionary and sociological history with multiple sapient species that are both human and non human while having access to a full college library? Sign them the FUCK up! Crowley was thankful for Yuu's enthusiasm. Simply allowing full access to the library appeased them. Grim did not have fun at first, but having a human look at him in awe helped. Yuu was so curious about his ability to speak and his connection to fire magic. They would not stop asking him so many questions!

Yuu went around learning with wide eyes like a toddler. They at least knew not to just randomly touch people and that it's inappropriate to ask in the first place, but still, they would not stop staring. Leona, Ruggie, and Jack can constantly feel Yuu's eyes on their ears and tails. Leona gets annoyed and snaps at Yuu usually while Ruggie will let Yuu touch then in exchange for either money or food. Jack doesn't comment on it while Yuu does nothing to try to touch him, and Jack is happy to keep it that way.

Floyd and Jade find Yuu's reactions to them to be greatly entertaining. During their first interaction, all of Yuu's friends immediately ran, but Yuu stayed, just staring up at the twins.

"I like y'all's teeth." And with a few simple words, the tweels were glued to Yuu. Yuu is always excited to see their mer form, but will gladly settle on hanging out with the tweels when they got legs. Yuu also enjoys being on teeth cleaning duty. They get to look at cool sharp teeth and a second jaw. They also get free food from the twins, and all they got to do is clean some teeth? Hell yeah! Azul could inform Yuu about what Floyd and Jade opening their mouths means for eel mer culture, but this little arrangement keeps the two out of trouble. Plus, Azul is afraid Yuu will go on a question asking tangent and will ask about Azul's mer form, and he does not want to deal with that.

The species and cultures Yuu knows the least about is the fae. Yuu honestly didn't even notice that fae were a thing until Ace pointed out the ppinty ears, and Yuu just went :o "Holy shit" :D "That's so cool!" Then there was Yuu's first time meeting Malleus. Should Yuu be more concerned about a stranger just wandering around outside their dorm? Yes, but he has HORNS! The first words spoken between the dragon fae and little magicless human were:

"Wow, your horns are pretty."

Malleus was taken aback by this human, just talking to him casually, complimenting his horns, and smiling at him with so much wonder. Even though Malleus never gave his name, his friendship with the human grew fast. Yuu came up with a multitude of names for Malleus, having a new one each time they met. Horton, Sir Hornington, Goth Babe, Briar Boy, Fae Bae, and more, but a few reoccurring ones Malleus adores. Malmal is the most recent iteration of his name that has stuck around the longest. But,, whenever Malleus visits Yuu upset, Yuu always calls him sweetie and tries to comfort him. It's gotten to a point that the Yuu always keeps a tub of ice cream in their freezer specifically for when Malleus is upset.

Malleus always knew Yuu had an interest in the different cultures and species of the Twisted Wonderland, but he didn't understand just how fascinated you were until the time for Halloween came and Yuu saw Malleus's tail for the first time. Malleus remembers it clearly. Yuu stopped a couple feet away from him, gasped, and then screamed "CHONKY TAIL!!!" The human immediately went behind Malleus, started admiring his tail, and asked so many questions. One of them being if they can touch it, and he let you, much to the dismay of Sebek who was trying to get Yuu to be more respectful. Lilia was the only one to pick up on the blush on Malleus's ears. Yuu did mistake Malleus's tail as a part of the costume, not realising it was actually a part of him at first, and apologized, but Malleus assured you it was alright and that the can keep touching his tail. He didn't mind at all.

Now, Malleus almost abuses the admiration Yuu has for his tail. Lilia, Sebek, and Silver absolutely notice his tendency to approach them and, if they were focusing on something that isn't him, Malleus will fwip out his tail and Yuu would become entranced. Yuu just adores Malleus's tail and, whenever given the chance, will touch it, pet it, even just hold it. Malleus finds it endearing and adorable.

And well, Yuu already has permission to touch his tail, why not ask Malleus if they can learn more about his anatomy? Yuu asks to touch Malleus's horns one day. Yuu’s already stepped over the line with touching his tail, so why not let Yuu touch his horns? Malleus has now turned into Yuu's personal lapcat much to Grim’s dismay. Malleus has gifted the human with a kit for horn cleaning and visits Ramshackle regularly so he can rest his head in Yuu’s lap and have them clean his horns. Yuu is pretty sure Malleus dirties his horns on purpose just so they wil clean them, but they don't mind.

One day though, during the weekend, Yuu invites Malleus over for a full-blown sleepover. Malleus is ecstatic and quickly informs his entourage. Sebek is fully against it while Lilia and Silver think this wil be good for Malleus, though Silver wants the three of them to tag along as well. It takes some convincing, but Lilia convinces the other to let Malleus have his alone time with the child of man. Malleus packs his essentials and teleports to Ramshackle to find the prefect and Grim gathering pillows and blankets, getting materials ready to build a pillow fort.

Malleus has an absolute blast. Such simple games and activities he’s never experienced before, Malleus enjoys it all. Everything is going smoothly, Malleus is relaxing, face cuddled into Yuu’s chest. A moving picture plays on the human’s little screen device while Grim snores as he sleeps on a pillow twice his size. Yuu is petting Malleus's hair, running their fingers through it when they pause at his bangs. They shift the hair covering his forehead and gasps.

“You got scales there?” Yuu says in astonishment as they study the black scales on Malleus's forehead.

“Hm? Have you not seen them before now?” Malleus asks.

“I guess I haven't.” Yuu runs their fingers across the scales. “They're pretty. I'm surprised you don't have more scattered around.”

“Oh, I do, but I find others are less intimidated when they're hidden. My clothing preferences hide a majority, but I also utilize magic to hide some of the more obvious ones.”

“But they're so pretty!” Yuu whines but then backpedals. “I mean- If you feel more comfortable hiding them then go ahead, but I bet they're very pretty.”

“Glamor is common among the fae. Changing my skin takes little effort and is of little consequence.”

“You mean your makeup?”

“It is similar to that, yes.”

“Huh, well it's your face.” Yuu shrugs. “You can do want you want, but I bet you look cute with your scales out.”

And with that, the fae leans up and parts of his face shift, revealing small scales around his outer eyes, below and behind his ears, and along the back and sides of his neck. Yuu stares at Malleus, making the fae worry for a moment, until, suddenly, the human’s hands are on Malleus's cheeks.

“Holy shit!” Yuu squees as they look over Malleus's face. “How the fuck did you make yourself prettier!”

The dragon fae’s eyes are wide for a moment, the tips of his ears a light pink, and then he chuckles. “You are truly unique, child of man.”

“Me?” Yuu laughs. “You're the one with scales here! Just- look at how the light refracts off of them! They look black, but then the light bounces off and parts of them look purple!”

“Oh?” Malleus has never noticed that before.

“You even got little ones here too!” One of Yuu’s hands moves to Malleus's ear, fingers tracing the shell.

Malleus freezes then gulps. Yuu’s fingers run up the edge of his ear, pauses at the top, then runs back down to his lobe. Malleus buries his face back into Yuu’s chest. The tips of Malleus's ears burn red, he hopes Yuu doesn't notice.

“Ah, shit.” Yuu pulls their hand away. “Do you have sensitive ears? I should've asked.”

“It’s alright.” Malleus pulls away slightly and murmurs. “It felt nice. I do not mind you touching my ears.”

“You sure?”

“I would like for you to continue.” Malleus says with a thump coming after when his tail hits the floor.

“What? Want me to massage your ears and tail?” Yuu asks with a chuckle. “Need me to get your back too?”

“Yes, that should be adequate.”

Yuu laughs, brings both of their hands to Malleus's ears, and begins to rub them. Malleus lets out a deep sigh as he practically melts under the human’s touch. Yuu continues rubbing the dragon falls ears and and coos "If you want me to get your back, you're gonna need to move."

"No." Malleus hums into Yuu's chest. "Ears now. Focus on my ears."

"Alright, alright." Yuu chuckles. What Yuu doesn't know is just how intimate this is for fae. Touching a fae's ears is considered a very intimate activity done between mates because their ears are a major erogenous zone. At this point, Malleus isn't sure about his relationship with Yuu, but Yuu touching his ears feels right to him. The fae's eyes dilate as his breathing becomes heavier the more Yuu touches his ears. The end of Malleus's tails lightly thumps onto the floor again and again.

"I don't get it." Yuu moves one of their hands into Malleus's hair and runs their fingers down to feel the scales on his neck. "I don't get how people can be so scared of you when you're basically an oversized puppy but reptilian."

A deep vibration grumbles from Malleus's chest and he lifts himself up, facing Yuu. The whites of his eyes have turned a glowing green and more scales have appeared encasing most of his neck and shoulders. The thin tips of a forked tongue poke out from and slip back into his mouth.

Yuu cups both of Malleus's cheeks in their hands and smiles. "Just a big adorable boy."

The sound of ripping fabric startles Yuu for a moment as black wings begin to tear their way from the back of Malleus's night shirt and spread open. Yuu looks at them, eyes wide, as they reach out and touch the leathery skin.

"You are truly extraordinary, child of man."

"Says the man who just sprouted wings in front of me."

"But you do not look at me with fear. You do not look at me with an otherworldly reverence. When you look at me you..." Malleus rests his hand over the one against his cheek.

"Malmal." Yuu's face shifts to a look of worry. "You okay? You can talk to me if you want."

Malleus gazes at Yuu. There' so much he wants to say, but he hesitates.

"But-" Yuu adds. "If you don't feel like talking now, we can just keep cuddling, or do you want me to massage your tail? Or maybe your wings?"

Malleus smiles. "I would enjoy that."

~~Meanwhile~~

"Hornton is gonna kill my henchman!" Grim runs on all four into the Diasomnia dorm, screaming at the top of his lungs. He quickly gains the attention of some dorm members including Sebek and Lilia (who drags a sleeping Silver behind him).

"How dare you use such a name for the Young Master!" Sebek is screaming back. Silver finally wakes up from all of the screaming, so him and Lilia get Grim and Sebek to stop screaming and have Grim finally explain why he's there.

"I heard a ripping sound and woke up to see big wings and a pair of glowing eyes on top of my henchman. That prince of yours is going to eat them!"

"Oh?" Lilia coos with a smirk. "I don't think that will be happening, at least not the type you're thinking. Still, I have not had the talk yet with that boy, so maybe we should drop by before we're stuck with a political crisis."

With a quick teleportation spell, all four are just outside the Ramshackle Dorm. The door is slammed open to reveal a dragon (that is way too big to be in the common area) curled up, sleeping like a cat, with a little human laying across his snout and forehead, passed out with a smile on their face.

#twst writings #twst x reader #twst malleus #malleus x reader #malleus x yuu

[sneepseverus]

Snape as a Student Headcanons

We all know Snape is highly intelligent and incredibly well-spoken. I think he excelled in all subjects when he was a student and that most came very easily to him. Before Hogwarts, I imagine he was a math whiz and science geek, the dictionary definition of a nerd. You could find his nose in a book when he had free time or if the subject being taught was boring/something he already knew. I think history would have been his least favorite subject.

Outside of the classroom, you could find him at the library reading all sorts of genres. I think he enjoyed fiction the most, though. As a young kid, he was highly imaginative and creative.

Severus absolutely despised working with others and never cared to raise his hand, even when he knew the answer. He consistently received comments like, “Severus is an independent, self-motivated student. He easily grasps new concepts and generates neat and careful work. However, he often has trouble paying attention and working in small groups. He could benefit from participating more and learning to work with others.” Despite these comments, he wouldn’t have changed his behaviors. School is about learning, not impressing teachers and classmates.

Severus never recognized that he was significantly smarter than average, though. If someone couldn’t grasp a concept that came easily to him, he wouldn’t understand their lack of understanding. “Just read the textbook! All the information is there!” he would think. His teachers would probably force him to tutor other students, leading him to resent them even more (or maybe he’d fall in love with them. Who knows?)

I don’t know if art ever came naturally to him, though. I think writing would have been one of his strong suits, but what about drawing, painting, or music? I can see those areas being the few things that he was horrible at, but I can understand if some people think otherwise. I also imagine he would have be good at learning languages, but I don’t know if he would have taken the time to learning a second language, most likely because he couldn’t imagine himself ever leaving the UK.

I do wonder how the bullying and his home life would have affected his academics. On one hand, I could see him using school as a distraction, so he would continue to succeed, and his teachers would have no reason to worry. On the other hand, the trauma may have affected him in all aspects of his life, causing him to lose motivation. If he started to slip, I doubt his teachers would have stepped in, though. I don’t think he would have had a strong relationship with any of them, and they might have just attributed his poor marks to being influenced by the wrong crowd or becoming lazy.

Despite being smart, I don’t know if Severus would have cared that much about his marks and exam results. We know that as a professor, he only allowed students who received an O to take his NEWT-level potions class, but that could have just been because he wanted to teach as few students as possible. As a student himself, I think he would have received high results without really trying too hard, so he hardly ever stressed out.

I’m curious to know what you all think, too (especially if you’re from the UK/know more about the school system and culture there, particularly during Snape’s time).

#snape #snape headcanons #snape love #snape fandom #snapedom #pro snape #severus snape #severus snape headcanons #pro severus snape

[houseofhyde]

ii. another man’s comfort.

pairing. aemond targaryen x fem!reader

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

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

word count. 15.8k (oops.)

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

taglist. @schniiipsel @b00kdiary @promisiary @yyiebbg

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

read on ao3.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

until he let himself be enchanted by the blackwood daughter.

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

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

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

only, he hasn’t.

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

a chair scrapes the ground.

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

“i’m retiring to my chambers.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

helaena speaks up before the one-eyed prince can.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

aegon makes no attempt to awaken and bid you goodbye.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

the queen and the prince.

lady stark and aemond targaryen.

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

the history books have told greater lies, after all.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

you collapse onto the bed with a heavy heart.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

not even to open the door to your own quarters.

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

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

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

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

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

your eyes reopen hours later.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

you swallow back a million questions and obey.

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

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

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

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

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

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

if only you could pull yourself away from his gaze.

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

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

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

you sleep with only your embarrassment to keep you warm.

routine is easily found within the one-eyed prince.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

your heart falls in your chest.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

finally, you’re able to hear his laughter.

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

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

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

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

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

then comes the thinking.

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

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

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

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

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

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

the door opens with an offensive creak.

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

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

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

upon the bed lays the slumbering dragon.

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

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

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

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

the unscathed eye opens.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

that, too, is a lie.

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

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

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

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

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

the shift in position only serves to stroke the fire.

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

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

“and how do you propose i do that?”

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

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

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

so, you keep talking.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

this is a greater torture than any prisoner of war.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

you both hear and feel the prince laugh.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

your head turns left.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

instead, you opt for reminding him of earlier words.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

you don’t ask.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“this is how a woman claims a man.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

watching you is making him dizzy.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

a hand clamps down on his shoulder, halting him.

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

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

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

the truth has a funny way of revealing itself.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

never has your good-mother looked so confused.

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

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

i should like to dance with my wife.

dance with my wife.

my wife.

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

[yanderes-galore]

May I ask for headcanons for Yan Peridot (Steven Universe) with Gem reader? Perhaps they arrived on earth after the events of the series finale (before Future) with other gems, if that helps.

Yeah I can try! This is assuming the main Peridot. I took awhile to write this as I had trouble writing Peridot's character for some reason? I apologize if she's too OOC.

Yandere! Peridot with Gem! Darling

(After series, before movie/future)

Pairing: Romantic/Platonic

Possible Trigger Warnings: Gender-Neutral Darling, Jealousy, Clingy behavior, Stalking, Thoughts of violence, Manipulation, Poofing of Gems mentioned, Peridot actually does want help for her emotions, Dubious partnership

You and Peridot would parallel a lot with each other.

You're a Homeworld Gem that came to learn about Earth after Steven began to save the corrupted Gems.

You weren't corrupted but did want a change of pace from the strict rules of Homeworld, even if they were easing up.

You heard on Earth you aren't judged by your Gem type... so that's new.

When you arrive you're greeted by all sorts of people.

You get acquainted with other Gems and even try to speak with humans.

Despite your attempts at understanding Earth culture you still struggle with it.

That's when Steven thinks it'll be a good idea to have you meet Lapis and Peridot.

He has his hands full after the finale and asks the two Gems for help.

After all, they went through a similar situation.

It took those two some time to understand Earth but they grew to love it!

Peridot is probably the most excited to be given this job.

Earth has taught her to be an entirely different Gem!

She used to be so cold and calculating, valuing work for the Diamonds above all else.

Now she's her own Gem! She's passionate and fun-loving and loves the change.

A bit too excited even... which requires Lapis to warn you about the smaller Gem.

Peridot is friendly towards you when you first meet.

How the friendship between you and Peridot forms is her showing you how Earth works.

She shows you water, plants, the people... and even the Meep Morps she created.

Peridot becomes your guide to Earth.

Lapis helps out too but the water Gem notices how upset Peri gets when Lapis spends time with you without her.

Which seems odd to you both but you don't expect anything.

Peridot could feel platonic feelings or romantic feelings towards you in this scenario.

Honestly, Peridot is just excited to make another friend and introduce them to the planet that changed her.

Anything after that could develop later.

Peridot isn't even aware of her own obsession until the longer she hangs out with you.

Okay, sure, the jealousy is a bit strange...

But it has to be normal in small amounts, right?

Then her jealousy grows....

It starts with just Lapis.

Peridot feels Lapis is trying to take all of your attention....

It upsets the Gem... she liked it when she acted as your guide to Earth.

It was originally supposed to be a shared job.

Yet Peridot is convinced she can do it alone!

Peridot follows her Gem! Darling around Beach City.

She doesn't think of it as stalking....

Just... hanging out with you at a distance.

You don't entirely see Peridot's clingy behavior as a bad thing.

You just think Earthlings are like that and Peridot picked it up due to her time on Earth-

It's a bit strange, you don't deny that....

Peridot loves to cling to her darling.

Even more so if you're a larger Gem type.

She loves to give hugs but that's about as far as she goes.

This could be due to her seeing you as a friend or not understanding romantic displays of affection still.

Also the idea of accidentally fusing is a slight fear she gets over with time.

Peridot thinks something is strange when she starts wanting to be violent towards other Gems or humans over you.

She thought she was over her phase of violence....

However, Peridot can't help but throw a fit when she sees you getting so much attention on Earth.

Lapis may notice this and tell Steven about it.

The idea is to get Peridot help with her jealousy before she hurts anyone.

Talking with her obsession also helps.

If Peridot didn't get help for her obsession one way or another then she can get worse.

Peridot may try to manipulate you away from others, claiming you two are meant to be partners one way or another.

Everyone else is a clod....

It's sad because Peridot essentially replaces Lapis with you.

Peridot may actually get violent, too.

Which causes fights and tension.

You were originally thinking of living with them, then saw the fights and decided against it.

With her new personality it would take awhile but she considered poofing others a few times before....

The idea comes to mind more than once for her.

She's even thought of keeping your Gem to herself... but fights that thought.

There's a good chance Peridot will ask for help before things get to that point.

But if she doesn't...

She promises to keep your Gem in a good place and will just tell the others you went back to Homeworld with a teary frown to hide her true feelings.

#yandere steven universe #yandere peridot

[gliphyartfan]

Happy New Years folks! Another year ended and another year begins!

@yanderelinkeduniverse @ice-cream-writes-stuff @linked-heroes @screaming-until-god-hears-me @imprisioned-in-the-hole @crestfallenmermaidan @eternadreeblissa

Gosh, so much done, so much left to do! I hope what I produced left you guys happy!

I can go on and on about how I appreciate you guys for sticking with this little old blog. But I'll settle with a New Years one-shot that I knew you'll enjoy!

For those who played TOTK you'll know what location I'm mentioning (not that subtle), for those who haven't played, i kept it very vague for everything else.

I'm using the 'Wild was yanked back to his era for his second journey and time shenanigans meant it was only several months for the chain and (y/n) and maybe a year or two for him.' Idea for this cause why not?

Happy New Year folks! And Thanks for spending another year on this blog with me! I hope to impress you guys this new year! 🥰

---

--

-

"What was it like in your world?" The winds were a gentle noise around them. strong yet peaceful.

The recent portal had taken them back to Wild's era. Though in one of the recent Sky Islands that popped up in his Hyrule.

The one they were one, the Great Sky Island, wore it's named proudly, the sight of the sun just below the horizon from so high up, it's lingering hue a faint echo of the brightness that was known by all, the stars quietly claiming their place on the earth's darken sky.

(y/n) could never grow tired of the sea of stars above, and to be closer to them than she had ever been in her life was incredible.

Something she definitely wasn't capable of seeing back home unless she left the city.

So sitting by the waters of the largest 'lake' on the island (and questions on how water was even produced there sprung in her head.) looking up at the beautiful starry sky, she had been understandably distracted and hadn't realize Hyrule had settled next to her until his shoulder brushed against hers and he spoke up.

"Hm?"

"Well, the new year." He said, his voice soft.

(y/n) hummed in reply, ah yes, they had been discussing that before they entered the portal, "Well...it's very different for everyone." (Y/n) chuckled under her breath, "No culture is the same but the general public celebrates pretty much the same way in big cities."

She shrugged one shoulder and smiled, "It can be a pretty crazy thing at times."

Hyrule let out an amused huff of laughter, "You have a good point there, I've never experienced a culture quite like yours so hearing you talk about it is always fascinating. It's hard to believe you've lived there all your life." Hyrule tilted his head, "And how do you celebrate?"

His eyes flickered up to the starry heavens above before looking back at the woman beside him.

She grinned, "There's a big party normally. Sometimes we sing songs, some times we dance, we definitely eat a lot. And of course, most of the time the adults get drunk until they pass out."

"Sounds fun." Hyrule said happily.

"I guess my personal favorites were when things didn't go to plan."

"What didn't go to plan?" (y/n) and Hyrule turned to Four walking over to them.

"Also Time said to stay away from the edge."

"Oh, that's the eighth time he said that, I got it already! and we just talking about how the New Year was celebrated back home." She answered as he settled down on her opposite side. "My personal favorites were when things didn't go to plan."

"So you liked new year plans going wrong?" He asked, eyebrow raised in question.

"I liked it when people found a workaround when something went wrong." She clarified.

"There was always something about watching what could have been a tragedy turn into a memory that everyone involved talked about years later."

(Y/n)'s smile as she thought of some special occasions was contagious and Four smiled back warmly. "I like to imagine what kind of trouble you caused back home, because I know there must have been a lot." Four teased.

"That is false! I was an innocent bystander during those times!" She cried, mock offended by his accusation. Four couldn't help but laugh at how silly she looked. (Y/n) rolled her eyes.

"Food's ready!" (y/n) let herself fall on her back, looking over to the others behind her.

Wild was tapping a wooden spoon on his cooking pot, catching everyone's attention.

"Get it while it's hot!" He declared cheerfully.

Everyone gathered around to get their share. It wasn't long before everyone sat around eating, chatting casually about anything they could think of.

"You'll be able to get us down from here tomorrow right Cook?" Legend asked between bites.

"Yeah yeah, I have a few rides that can easily get us all down." was the cheerful answer.

"Can't you use your...uh...pad?"

"You can call it a slate, it's the same either way, and probably! I like my method better though."

"Doesn't make me feel confident." was the answer to that.

"Well Excuse-"

(y/n) happily ignored them as she hummed in happiness with each bite she took. Wild's rice and curry was always a delicious treat. Especially when he added a side of delicious chicken. She was eating it and still craved another bowl! Then again, all his meals were amazing, so it was expected.

"So (y/n), you never said what was your favorite new year's mishap." Four spoke up during the tail end of the meal. Everyone had their seconds (and some had thirds) and plates were stacked to be cleaned.

"What's this now?" Warriors spoke up, everyone's attention turning to Four.

"(y/n) was talking about how she celebrated the new year back home." Hyrule responded.

"Was she?" Warriors raised a brow at her.

"Then it turned into what her favorite memories were and she answered that it was when celebration turned differently than expected." A nod from (y/n) confirmed Four's statement.

"So what was it?" Legend asked her, "your favorite mishap?"

"Oh loads of times." She answered, "When one year, a sudden snowstorm disrupted our outdoor New Year's Eve plans. Instead of feeling disappointed, we embraced the unexpected and had an impromptu indoor celebration with close friends, turning it into a cozy and memorable night."

"That sounds rather nice." Sky commented.

"On another occasion, transportation issues prevented me and some friends from attending the new year's party at my house. We decided to explore the local area looking for help, but stumbled upon a charming small gathering, and ended up forming new connections that made the night surprisingly delightful." She continued, "They even helped us get home and we merged our groups into one big gathering!"

"That does sound like a lovely way to spend a New Year's Eve." Wild said, elbows on his knees.

"Yeah, mom still calls them up and sends them care packages." She replied, smiling softly, "But my favorite new year's mishap...hmm.." She tapped her chin in thought.

"Oh yeah! When I was little, final two hours before we counted down to bring in the new year, the lights around the whole area went out unexpectedly, leaving us in complete darkness."

"Really? Everyone must have panicked." Wind commented, looking curious.

"Yeah, a bit! It would have been scary, but not even half an hour later, people were lighting candles, turning on any available lights that had a separate power source, lighting up glow sticks, which are like luminescent stones but have several colors and only last a short while, and people started playing music."

(Y/n) continued, grinning at her fond memories. "What was more fun was when people started lighting fireworks in the middle of the streets, which is illegal mind you! It was so fun watching the fireworks going off and than people hiding the evidence when the police, uh our version of knights? came around to check on what was going on."

"It must have felt like a wonderful night indeed." Wind commented in awe.

(y/n) laughed at his remark.

"It was cold to the point my ears and face was aching, I still remember my nose being runny as hell, I was shivering like everyone else!" (y/n) sighed happily, "and I remember how there was so much laughter and excitement. us kids running around with handheld lights, we were like oversized laughing fireflies with the way we zoomed back and forth through the street."

The young girl continued reminiscing, smiling brightly, thinking about her family and friends, happy memories of the past celebrations she'd spent with them.

She missed them all dearly.

"It all sounds so nice." Four said, his eyes shining brightly, "People back home would spend more time worrying if the power went out rather than trying to make the situation better."

"I'm pretty sure that's the general sentiment with most of our eras."

"Every family for themselves if such a situation happened." Hyrule piped in with a shrug, never really celebrating much in his era.

"You guys never lived in a city where the lights are on 24/7." (y/n) smirked as she reminded them.

"Even in the middle of the night, the city is always awake in some way. So when the power goes out, there's a level of excitement that comes with it." She laughed and shrugged, "I mean it sucked cause ya know, no power, but we always made it work in some way."

She looked up at the night sky.

"I still remember how my mom and dad gathered us up and sat us on the roof of their car, horseless carriage that moved with electricity and oil." She smiled as the mouths that opened to ask what a car was closed shut.

"Watching the fireworks light up the sky, hearing people laugh and play music. Having the food vendor pass by and set up shop at both ends of the street and us getting to eat delicious food while bundled up as much as our parents could..." a sniffle was heard from her, she quickly shook her head and blinked her teary away with a chuckle, "I..It was everything I never realized I wanted to experience! ...And..." her smile dimmed.

"It's one of those moments that'll never truly be replicated again. no matter what."

She sighed again, still happy but with some bittersweet sadness. "Moments like that are one of a kind you know."

"Wish we could have experienced it with you."

"I wish you guys could have been there too." She said, smile a bit bigger, though still sad.

Wild, having taken a seat next to her during the meal, reached over and rubbed circles on her shoulder.

"At least we know it would have been nice to have seen the festival, and it certainly seemed like it was spectacular." Wild pointed out, "but it seems like you had a great time, and that's what matters to me."

(y/n) smiled at the blond boy's gesture.

"Thanks," She replied, placing a hand on top of his and leaning against him slightly.

"I bet the fireworks were amazing." Wind sighed wistfully, "wish we could have seen it."

"I know." She groaned, shaking her head sadly, "that was always the best part! People would either go watch the fireworks and set them off themselves!"

"Maybe next time, if we're lucky enough, we get to see some." Legend added quietly as he gave her a sympathetic look, "Though I doubt it'll be as amazing as the ones back home."

(y/n) smiled appreciatively and nodded. "It's the memories made that make them amazing. So I'll love every moment if there's fireworks.

Everyone chatted amongst themselves, talking about some of the ways they all celebrated the new year.

Each equally unaware of the things happening below on the Surface.

They weren't witness to the chaos happening around the Skyview Towers.

How smoke filled each of the bases, keeping anyone near from approaching.

At Lookout Landing, people were scrambling, trying to find the answer, some suspecting that it was ready to explode.

In a way, they were right.

...

"What the hell??"

Back on the Great Sky Island, everyone looked at Wind as he stood up and looked towards the distance.

Everyone followed his gaze, all equally confused as they saw several bright flames shooting high into the air.

"The fuck?!" Legend exclaimed, shooting up to his feet.

"Wait, did we miss something?! Cook! I thought you said most monsters don't come up here?!" Warriors snapped at him, already reaching for his sword.

"No, no, no! They don't!" Wild waved his hands in front of him frantically.

They all watched as the bright flames shot up into the night sky, each person was wondering what exactly happened.

Gasps erupted as each ball of flames bursts into an eruption of bright colors.

Fireworks, as large as buildings and as numerous as a crowd of children celebrating the New Year together.

"Holy shit!" Wind yelled in shock, standing in bewilderment with Legend and Hyrule beside him,

"Who set off those fucking fireworks?!"

(y/n) stood up and slowly turned in a full circle, noticing how the fiery displays seemed to surround Sky Island.

Wild pulled Wind close to him and whispered something quickly before he tapped at his slate and after a blue circle appeared at his feet, vanished into tendrils of glowing blue.

Wind pulled out his Pirate's Charm and held it at the ready, in another moment, Wild's voice was heard.

"It's coming from the Skyview Towers! They're all shooting these things into the sky!"

"Isn't that a bad thing?!?" Twilight asked frantically, standing a bit closer to an awestruck (y/n).

"N-No? I don't think so? It's just...shooting fireworks?"

"Well someone decided to go big or go home." Hyrule said under his breath as he stared at the constantly changing lights bursting in the sky.

(y/n) stared open mouthed at the brilliant fireworks exploding around the outskirts of the Sky Island, staring at the spectacle above them, seemingly enthralled by the display.

"Purah is probably going ballistic right now." Wild said as soon as he arrived back where the blue circle was, "Those towers are for shooting people in the air, not fireworks."

"I'm sorry, it shoots what?"

"Damned cannons." Twilight muttered, a grimace clear on his face, "(y/n) we should...(y/n)?"

(y/n)'s attention taken hostage by the lights in the sky, simply turning slowly in place in order to take in as much as she could.

"It's beautiful..." (y/n) breathed, eyes sparkling as she looked at the beautiful spectacle surrounding them.

Everyone soon settled down, not sensing any danger despite the sudden excitement.

She, and slowly everyone else, was mesmerized by its beautiful display.

It's bright colors turning night into day. A constant stream of color, lighting up the world in a dazzling display of light and beauty.

It was a sight they could never forget, nor could they ever hope to replace.

(y/n) sighed softly, a content smile on her lips as she looked up at the fireworks.

"I hope you guys back home are doing alright." She whispered under her breath, a hand resting over her heart.

A small, yet sad smile graced her features as her eyes began to fill with tears.

"I miss you, Mom, Dad, everyone...I miss you guys so so much..."

She took a deep breath, "But I'm doing alright. I'm not letting things keep me down."

(y/n) could just imagine her mom and dad fretting over her, her friends sarcastically teasing her while looking her over to see if she was ok. Her sister threatening to lock her in her room if she ever worried her again.

She could practically see it in front of her, how it made her heart hurt.

She missed them, missed spending time with them.

But she knew she wasn't the only one feeling like that too. They probably were worried sick over her.

She sighed, closing her eyes for a moment, just focusing on the noise around her.

And if she strained her hearing just a bit, she could faintly hear the chatter, the laughter, and the sounds of celebration from a memory that was already many years old.

She missed her loved ones dearly.

But...

She opened her eyes again and gazed out at the night sky with so many lights that reminded her of home.

She'll be ok.

She smiled as she watched the others point of the fireworks that caught their eye, Wild snapping picture after picture as quickly as he could.

"Another year, another set of memories." Soft quiet laughter escaping her.

And she stood there, enjoying the beautiful view surrounding her.

---

---

In the distant behind them, a pumpkin headed figure sat on the edge of the floating island above them. Slowly kicking their legs as they watched the group below them.

Shoulders shaking in silent mirth as each kick seemed to set off another firework.

An echoy giggle sounded from within the pumpkin.

'Happy Happy Home/Friend/Warmth! Happy Happy Sillies!! Which means Happy Happy me!'

With another giggle, the figure hopped off the ledge, vanishing with the next breeze appearing.

#happy new year folks! #yandere linked universe #linked universe #linkeduniverse #lu #loz #lu wind #lu twilight #lu legend #lu wild #lu warriors #(y/n) #not!(y/n)

[olderthannetfic]

I hate "own voices" stuff so much. As a reader, I don't care about the author's sexual orientation, medical history, ethnicity, etc. I care if they wrote an interesting or realistic or sympathetic character. Anyone is capable of writing good [insert identity here] representation, as long as they do their research.

And as an author myself, like hell am I telling you what's in my pants. I've been on the internet for far too long to just blithely go telling everyone I'm transexual. If my writing is good, then my writing is good and people should enjoy it on its own merits. If I screwed up and bungled a touchy cultural topic, I hope someone will politely let me know. Whether or not I have a dick has absolutely nothing to do with my ability as an author, and I know from decades of experience that saying one way or the other will only ever invite trolls into my inbox.

--

The trouble is that it keeps getting generalized to everything.

I don't think anyone should be restricted from writing anything in particular, but if I were looking for that type of just-shy-of-autobiographical general fiction about The Immigrant Experience or something, I'd be most likely to opt for one by someone from the group they're depicting.

If I'm buying a mystery novel, even one about social issues, I do not give a fuck.

I think it also matters which type of identity we're talking about. Are we saying a person isn't [ethnicity] enough because they're only half or are we saying they didn't grow up with the culture they're depicting? Are we saying someone wasn't part of the particular queer community in a particular place and time they're presenting themself as an expert on, or are we saying that people are supposed to only write about queer identities that precisely match their own? Are we saying that a disabled person doesn't understand the social side of disability and how people are treated just because they have a slightly different disability than their character?

It's fine when it's a positive label that gives some works an extra selling point in addition to their blurb and all the other reasons you'd buy them.

But people have come to use it like it's mandatory, like it's the main selling point, and like it's relevant even to writing fantasy novels with an at-best tenuous relationship to the real world.

It's turning into yet another vector for "Am I appropriating if I appreciate other cultures???" garbage.

[seagull-michael]

‼️BORROWERS‼️

Thats right, I still post stuff about G/T!!!! Just a little less often. So here's my take on borrowers

They're very rodent like, legs of a rat, rodent tails, mouse ears, wiskers, they can hiss and make chittering sounds

They can walk on two legs and walk on all fours, walking up right being more efficient but all fours being faster

They sleep curled up

They have night vision and amazing hearing

Outside borrowers and Inside borrowers have very few physical differences but many cultural differences

Outside borrowers have clawed hands and are herbivores, Inside borrowers only have claws on their feet and are omnivores

Inside borrowers do not live in colonies as it increases their chance of being found while Outside borrowers have to live in colonies to decrease the chance of being killed by predators

Technically, all borrowers can climb up most surfaces with little assistance but inside borrowers have more trouble due to only having claws on their feet so they prefere to use a grapple

Most Inside borrowers can speak human languages due to growing up around them but Outside borrowers usually cannot

Extension of that, most Inside borrowers do communicate to eachother with human languages because if a human did hear it, they usually just blame naibours, their own mind or some sort of paranormal creature

Outside borrowers, however, communicate with their own chittery language as they have no reason to use or understand human words

Inside borrowers are usually much smaller than Outside borrowers.

I believe thats all, I can't think of anything else

(If anyone would be interested in a fnaf borrower fic, movie or games, I might be interested in writing one 👁👁 [sfw of course])

#g/t #giant/tiny #sfw g/t #borrowers #the borrowers

[creature-wizard]

Some ways New Age and Christianity are similar

So first off, I'm not claiming that any of these characteristics are essentially unique to Christianity. However, they are common in many politically-significant forms of Christianity, and are not necessarily shared by other spiritual traditions.

Secondly, I'm not writing this to condemn all of Christianity or anything, but rather to demonstrate where New Age is influenced by Christianity and Christian culture. And remember, even if a specific element is found in another tradition, the fact remains that New Age was developed by people who'd been brought up in Christian cultures, and therefore internalized Christian ideas of what spirituality should look like and entail. New Agers who went out searching for spiritual truths in other religions were biased toward the elements that appeared to agree with Christianity - just as the medieval Christian perennialists before them did.

So here's a list of some elements these two strains of belief have in common:

Belief that true spirituality is about reuiniting with a transcendent divine. This one is such a prevalent belief (and not just in Christianity!) that a lot of people just don't really realize that it's not true for each and every spiritual tradition. (And I want to emphasize that there's nothing wrong with spiritualities that emphasize this. However, New Age primarily got this from Christianity.)

Belief that Jesus is an important figure. Most New Agers believe that Jesus was delivering an important message from God (or Source) regarding the truth of our place and purpose in the universe. You'll find them often citing passages from the New Testament in support of their beliefs.

Belief that a new world is about to arrive. Both Christianity and New Age are big on the idea that our present troubles and turmoils are leading to the arrival of a new world where all our troubles will pass away and everything will be wonderful. (In fact, it's the core belief of New Age.) New Agers even cite passages from the New Testament in support of their beliefs.

Belief that we will progress to a superior form of bodily existence. Many Christians believe that they will be resurrected in immortal bodies during the Second Coming. New Agers believe their DNA will be upgraded or unlocked, giving them perfect health and longer life, if not actual immortality.

Searching through holy texts and traditions for prophecies about the future. They don't only search through Christian stuff when they do this, but the practice itself is pretty damn Christian.

Belief in good and evil as actual spiritual/metaphysical forces. Many people understand good and evil as abstract concepts, or social constructs. However, Christians believe that evil is an actual metaphysical force that alienates one from God, the metaphysical wellspring of good. Meanwhile, New Agers believe pretty much the same thing, albeit phrasing it in terms of "low vibrations" and "high vibrations." Doing acts and thinking thoughts regarded as "low vibrational" will "lower your vibrations," thus distancing you from God/Source. And just as Christians believe in demonic entities that will try to separate you from God, New Agers believe in low vibrational entities that will try to alienate you from Source.

Belief in spiritual thoughtcrimes. Christians believe that merely thinking about sinful acts is itself a sin, while New Agers believe that thinking low vibrational thoughts will lower your personal vibrational frequency.

Belief that emotions have intrinsic metaphysical and moral properties. Christians associate things like joy and gratitude with being closer to God, and generally perceive feelings like anger and resentment as sinful feelings that distance one from God. New Agers do the same thing, albeit using the terms "high vibrational" and "low vibrational" instead.

Massive emphasis on love and cultivating love. Christians often proclaim that God is love, and emphasize the importance of brotherly love and performing acts of Godly love. New Agers believe that "love energy" is of the highest vibrational frequency, and that cultivating it is an important part of the ascension process.

Belief in angels. New Age is pretty big on angels right now, particularly the Archangels, especially Archangel Michael. Like Christians, New Agers believe that angels are here to help carry out God's divine plan.

Belief in other angel-like figures. The benevolent aliens in New Age belief are distinguished from angels, but the role they play is pretty much the same. They're supposedly here to inspire us to do better, and protect our world from hostile entities.

Belief in malevolent, sabotaging entities. Much as many Christians believe that demons are trying to prevent people from gaining salvation, New Agers believe that "low vibrational entities" are trying to prevent humanity from ascending.

Belief that humanity has a higher purpose. Just as many Christians believe that humanity exists to be saved and reunite with God, New Agers believe that the purpose of humanity is to spiritually evolve into higher and higher forms.

Again, while many of these things aren't unique to Christianity, to say that they have absolutely nothing to do with Christianity would be to ignore New Age's culturally Christian background.

#new age #christianity #cultural christianity #new age spirituality #new age beliefs #spirituality #religion #new age is repackaged christianity

[teenagemutantninjatrauma]

*sigh* 2003 turtles should’ve made a radio station

Did anyone see that one video of Raph and Mikey doing a podcast and answering questions? How neat would it be if they just… had a radio station??

Imagine, right, Mikey reads scary stories and he and Donnie are writing an episodic murder mystery story. Leo does mini-lessons in Japanese language and culture. Raph blasts absolutely banger music and gives updates on any new happenings New Yorkers should watch out for - ongoing gang wars, aliens on the loose, but also charity events outside of Oroku Saki’s work because. Fuck Oroku Saki lol

Whenever they get into trouble and can’t get to their radio station or are too busy fighting something, the few New Yorkers that listen to them worry, and as they worry, they talk, and so ironically anytime the station goes quiet, the awareness of it spreads. The turtles keep coming back to new listeners, and they make more stories, more little lessons, they share little censored bits of their life. Mikey does in-depth analysis of superhero comics and shows like Star Trek, and very often reminds his listeners to Be Fuckin Weird!!! Be you be fun be interesting, your interests and hobbies are so cool I promise you, your outfit is banger and your hair is stylish and you deserve to feel confident in yourselves!!

Donatello shares hacks to make putting together machines easier for yourself, especially encouraging women to not feel intimidated or ridiculed by men for never being taught stuff like car mechanics — once you know where to start and what things look like, it’s easy enough! He researches reliable resources both online and offline, and occasionally rambles about new breakthroughs and what they mean in the bigger scope of all things science.

Leo has little episodes about exploring the soul - learning to understand yourself, meditating on who you are and want to be, but also how to cope with dangerous or traumatizing situations (shoutout to the Ancient One). Lots of queer folk lightheartedly agree that they would come out to him without hesitance because he “would be so so nice about it I bet.”

Raph starts setting up interviews, at first with the humans he knows - the kind Mrs. Morrison, talking about the horribly unfair housing policies making her life harder, the Professor, to humanize the homeless, but then he gets a little braver and starts interviewing nonhumans that live in the city — Leatherhead first, and then Sydney and the other people from the Underground City. A stray Utrom that settled down here and opted to stay when their peers left for home. Professor Honeycutt, when he visits - that interview sort of cements that he’s not making these people up, because, well. Everyone had seen and heard the fugitoid during the invasion. He interviews superheroes, both those that work during the day, and those that work during the night (and yes, he does interview the Turtle Titan). He invites the Battle Nexus Daimyo for a visit. But the interview most beloved by the listeners… is one Raphael conducts with his dad.

They never mention they’re mutants, but I wonder how many people feel something click in their minds when Raph starts the interview by going “so. Just you and four kids, practically homeless, hiding in the shadows. How did you manage, those first few years when we were really little?” And they talk about being a single dad who was “barely an adult” (read: still learning himself how to be a mutant) and all the folks out there who maybe had to deal with having kids too early or at a time where they couldn’t properly take care of them as much as they wanted to, they all lean in, because this man sounds like he’s about sixty now - surely he’ll have some wise words of advice? And he does, Splinter talks about having to learn what kids are even like, never having had interacted with that many people in general before, he often had to guess at what was a serious ailment and what was simply a byproduct of childhood and later puberty, he talks about how visiting his few friends (the Ancient One, and the Daimyo) helped him remember that he’s not all alone to do this, he talks about how what worked for one of his sons didn’t work for the other three and how a parent should always remain flexible and open minded and accepting of change, as change is natural to life and inevitable especially during the early years. And they talk and talk and I bet a bunch of New Yorkers go “wait a minute.. four guys that live on the streets with a dad they occasionally call a ‘master,’ one of them constantly talks about machinery, they all speak fluent Japanese… could these possibly be the fucked up little guys that saved my ass that one time? Could this be the guy I punched that one time cuz I freaked out?’

Like. Just consider it okay. A turtle radio station.

#chatter #my ideas #tmnt 2k3 #tmnt 2003 #teenage mutant ninja turtles #this was originally a shitpost but then I overthought it lol #2k3 donnie #2k3 leo #2k3 raph #2k3 mikey #ninja turtle radio #revolution radio au

[be-the-glenn-to-my-maggie]

If i have time once i dfinish w my tests, ill try turning this into a fic--

An actual, legal custody battle between the Sullys and Quaritch, who would win?

The Sullys have a history with Child neglect. A good lawyer could make a case for verbal and emotional abuse from Neytiri, as well as physical, if the cut from the ship comes into play (also p sure she tries to attack him multiple times in the comics). You could argue that they can't provide a safe environment for him, and they could use his lack of schooling against them.

Quaritch definitely engaged in some physical abuse, with the whole 'pointing a gun at him, kidnapping him, bringing him to be tortured' thing. However, a very good lawyer could argue that it was his right, as Spiders bio dad, to bring him home, as the Sullys nor anyone else went through the legal human (or na'vi) trouble of adopting him.

And on top of that, if they reviewed the actual torture video of Spider (p sure they got security cams) it would look like Quaritch never actively partook in the torture, and was even the one who stopped it when it became clear that Spider was at risk of serious injury (nose bleeding in a mind tearing machine means bad news, methinks) (I'd think he'd start having some kind of stroke?) Then theres the whole "provide better schooling, housing etc etc".

The Sullies lawyer could argue that Quaritch is the reason he was tortured, and that he held him hostage for months. Could argue that he was putting him in danger by bringing him on that ship (Jake "brings his kids to the battlefield" Jake has no rral leg to stand on) (i mean, cmon, Lo'ak is 14!!! Make him help the wounded or smth)

I think a proper custody battle fic would be cool, so I'm really mad that I have to write it

>:(((

This is the third legal battle on Pandora ask I've gotten. Don't take my response personally and please do what you wish, these are just my opinions and thoughts, as I've really been stewing on it. You know I'm all about the implications of things, again this is not at all at you or the other anon you just got me thinking.

I gotta be honest, this premise does not do it for me at all. I don't vibe with the legal system applying to the Na'vi, first of all. They are not US citizens, they are not even on Earth. Applying a legal system to them that they have no knowledge of and have no reason to follow is another aspect of colonization and genocide that is a huge issue still today. Applying our standards and morals to other communities is wrong. The legal system in the US and Canada has a huge problem of taking indigenous children from the indigenous community and placing them with white families today. Eradicating future cultural generations is a genocidal tactic. This is not the same as the situation with Spider, but a legal battle with the Na'vi over a child has those echos to me. There are only the laws of Eywa on Pandora, why should they be judged on arbitrary rules that apply on Earth? I don't understand it; it has such a colonialist mindset. There is no way to even enforce a ruling, the Na'vi don't have courts and therefore the jury would be human and heavily biased, and there isn't a judge and they would also be biased if there was. Even Spider does not know or follow the laws of Earth, he is not a US citizen. The Na'vi have not been following proper hunting ordinances, if US law applies the game wardens are gonna have to do a lot of ticketing and fining of the Na'vi's no money to fix that. At the very least it's wrong, at the most it's a slippery slope into US law applying to the Na'vi on Pandora which is a MAJOR colonizing step. We cannot even say that Lo'ak and Neteyam should not be on a battlefield, in Na'vi culture Neteyam is fully an adult member of the clan and we are told Na'vi mature faster than humans. Judging that as putting kids in danger is looking at things from a distinctly western and human perspective, when the Na'vi would likely see Jake as overprotective.

Second of all, I do find the concept of treating Quaritch as an actual viable parent as ludicrous. He is, again, a war criminal who has committed genocide. A great many of his war crimes were committed against Spider?? Arguing that anything Quaritch did was his legal right to bring Spider home is crazy, and also saying Spider wasn't adopted by the Sully's makes neglect not even something they can talk about in court as they weren't his guardians ever. Also saying Quaritch saved Spider from torture is laughable. He put Spider there, everything that happens to Spider in the RDA is entirely Quaritch's fault and responsibility. Taking a civilian war prisoner is a war crime. A child? Double war crimes. If this was a court, which again, I really don't like the idea of the American legal system applying to the Na'vi, Quaritch has a lot more problems them custody arguments. Man is in jail for the rest of his life, he's not getting custody.

#again i'm very sorry to be so harsh it is just my thoughts on the concept #pls do not take it at u my lovely friend of the blog #not everyone english majors all things #and please never stop sending me fic ideas please undercoverpan i love u please #miles spider socorro #spider socorro #spider sully #miles quaritch #jake sully #neytiri sully #avatar #avatar the way of water #james cameron avatar #melissa's asks #melissa on avatar (cameron) #melissa is an english major #melissa had an exam at 9am this morning about american literature pre 1860 #lotttt of indigenous sovereignty talk it got me fired up fam

[creekfiend]

Just wanted to say thanks for "people from culturally Christian backgrounds" because that seems like a good way to phrase it, and I'm going to try to remember to use it when I'm talking about this sort of thing. (I try to not be a dick to people, when possible, and trauma's messy and complicated.) I'm sorry that some people are being horrible in this whole discussion, and I hope you are doing okay.

I'm doing fine! I really sympathize with most of the people involved in this tbh (except the outright antisemites of course lol) bc like I HAVE seen a lot of reactive and reductive and unkind blanket statements about this by some jumblr people in which they are condescendingly explaining other people's realities to them. Which is my LEAST favorite thing. Jumblr can also be really... umm, dog pile-y in a way that I find frustrating and unproductive. However. I think it's also fairly obvious that most of these reactions are trauma responses, and while that isn't an excuse it is an explanation and provides additional context that I do not feel is irrelevant. For jews we have constantly been told 'well simply stop being jewish' like all the time by everybody, often at gunpoint. So like, when I see nonjewish atheists assert that stuff jews are TELLING you they have gone through "literally never happens" that ALSO REALLY SUCKS. like so so bad. Cannot overstate how much that sucks. Cannot overstate how much it sucks to see ppl I sympathize with deeply wrt their mistrust and hatred of like, organized religious authority, align themselves with people who refer to jewish atheists as "religious nationalists" for refusing to divorce themselves from their ethnic backgrounds/culture/community/traditions. That rhetoric is Just antisemitism in a form that has been used to cause real and violent harm to us in living memory.

Also really alienated by the idea that one must be This Vitriolically Angry About Religion to "count" as an atheist. Like what? That is bonkers. I do not understand why the people making seemingly reasonable posts about "actually here's some interesting writings by people from Islamic cultures or majority Hindu cultures or orthodox jewish cultures outlining the ways that the authorities in these societies have used religion to cause harm on a systemic level" (objectively true) seem to be aligning themselves with people who are doing the SAME THING TO JEWS that they resent being done to them -- e.g. condescendingly explaining to us that our negative experiences with a certain type of atheists Don't Exist or Don't Count or cannot possibly be rooted in antisemitism.

I find the whole thing depressing and troubling. I don't tend to follow jumblr because of the aforementioned issues I have w it but this backlash seems to me to be disproportionate and really hateful in a way that... combines poorly with the increased antisemitic sentiments being lobbed at jews from all ideological sides recently. I wish we could all be more congizent of 1. the role trauma is playing here for everyone and 2. the inherent lack of productive discussion that can be had when two parties are simply Trauma Responsing at each other back and forth endlessly.

Then there's the people who just get super aggressive about people "believing fake things" but I'm not sure there's any help for them. Sure wish that the nonjewish atheists who are not like that would disavow them though! I certainly am more than happy to say "acknowledging a cultural/societal dynamic that privileges one religion and culture as default and that existing in thay culture might cause people to have unexamined assumptions about other religions and cultures" should not be weaponized against individual people in order to bully them by insisting they are a thing that they manifestly are not (atheists aren't Christians. The fact that atheists from Jewish backgrounds will have Jewishness shackled to them regardless of their degree of identification with Being A Jew is actually bad and a function of antisemitism; it is not an aspirational dynamic we should be applying to other people simply because their cultural background is privileged over our own in our society.)

Like can we stop talking past each other and try to understand where people are coming from

People are expressing a lot of hurt and anger about atrocities and systems of oppression that I ultimately feel are totally interconnected. Because of this hurt and anger most people are not being precise in their language or prioritizing connecting or actual dialogue about this and instead focusing on dogpiling and gotchas. It's discouraging.

I'm a secular humanist jew with complex feelings towards both jewishness and atheism as concepts and movements. I want to understand and connect with people based on our common ground.

This is I guess all me being a big baby who is unsuited to internet fights but this one specifically feels really hurtful to me because I feel like my reality is being ignored and denied. I suspect a lot of people are also feeling that way. Which might be a good place to START the discussion to be honest.

#jewish #u ever just write a whole essay #anyway try loving people more and maybe youll calm down

[stoplookingup]

I just finished rewatching Star Trek Enterprise S3, aka the Xindi arc, and realized something I'd missed before. Don't know if it's been discussed elsewhere, but anyway....

The S3 story of a horrific attack on Earth by distant aliens who see humans as their worst enemy, and the Enterprise going after them to prevent Earth's annihilation, was explicitly inspired by 9/11. The showrunners said as much. Like most Enterprise fans, I've always appreciated the gradual development of the arc from a story about angry, grieving humans thirsty for revenge to one of diplomacy, mutual understanding, and cooperation.

But...cooperation against whom? Turns out there's a shadowy cabal behind the whole ugly mess. Literally shadowy. They're beings from a transdimensional realm who are transforming the fabric of space to be hospitable to their kind and uninhabitable by anyone else. They know that in the future, Earth will play a key part in defeating them, so they operate secretly and deceitfully to change the time line, manipulate the Xindi into destroying Earth, and prevent that future from coming to pass.

So...conspirators, puppet masters pulling the strings, a hidden enemy who's been there all along, controlling everything, with only their own interests at heart, causing suffering, death and destruction for their own benefit. In a story about 9/11. That's...troubling.

Almost immediately after 9/11, conspiracy theories began to circulate about who was "behind" the attack. A common one:

"The New World Order (NWO) is a conspiracy theory in which adherents believe that a cabal of powerful elites is secretly implementing a dystopian international governing structure that will grant them complete control over the global populace....Many modern-day conspiracy theories – including the NWO theory – have anti-Semitic origins....Within these narratives, Jewish people are frequently framed as the orchestrators of global events and accused of creating a supranational governing structure for nefarious purposes. These dangerous narratives are still widely promoted today....The NWO’s application within American discourse can be seen through the reaction to major events, such as the 9/11 terrorist attacks. As millions mourned, questions naturally arose as to culpable parties and their potential motives....Conspiracy theorists took advantage of the emotional turmoil to further sow their conspiratorial beliefs. NWO adherents were no exception and stood as major players in this conspiratorial competition."

-- Middlebury Institute of International Studies

No, I am not saying Star Trek writers were intentionally promoting antisemitism on Enterprise, any more than they were when they created the greedy Ferengi or the Illyrians-as-conversos. Star Trek is chock-a-block with cringy, unintentionally racist alien stereotypes, doubtless due mostly to lazy, thoughtless writing. What I am saying is that a lot of stuff floating around in the zeitgeist -- stereotypes, myths, conspiracy theories, etc -- makes its way into popular culture and implants an attitude that predisposes people to at least find it plausible that this is how things work, this is a thing that happens, this has some basis in reality. As story-telling creatures, humans are really good at finding the hidden messages and lessons. These story elements prime the pump. When people then encounter conspiracy theories steeped in bias, at least some will be disposed to think, "Yeah, sounds reasonable, an international conspiracy of Jews (or whoever) explains a lot," or at least, they'll buy into the vague notion that Jews (and Others) are disloyal, untrustworthy, etc.

So, hey, Star Trek writers, and all writers: Do better. Please.

NB: I still think Enterprise is kick-ass Star Trek. What would my life be without problematic faves?

#star trek #enterprise #antisemitism #sphere builders #xindi #unintentional racism

[voyaging-too]

There’s a subplot in Gentlemen Jole and the Red Queen about Mikos ghem Soren, the bumbling  young cultural attaché at the Cetagandan Embassy on Sergyar. He has trouble adjusting both to Barrayaran social norms and Sergyaran wildlife. His attempts to act like a proper serious Cetagandan ghem come off as both snobbery and blatant overcompensation. In the course of his attempts to get a date with young servicewoman Kaya Vorinnis, and later to set up a Cetagandan cultural outreach project, he is prone to comical mishaps. He optimistically sets up a Cetagandan art booth at a major fair, which eventually gets attacked by drunken xenophobes, (and that possibly contributes to the accidental firestorm that levels the rest of the fair.) In the aftermath, he is so scared of getting blamed for the chaos, reprimanded, fired and sent home (to his family of plumbers – some ghem have fallen on hard times), that he asks Cordelia for asylum on Sergyar. Cordelia grants it, provided he’s willing to work as a plumber.

I know that the point of this character (and also of the ambassador’s beanpole of a teenage son) is to show a bumbling, harmless Cetagandan, in order to underline that peace has arrived. While some hostile feeling remains, and the power of Cetaganda will always pose a threat, peace has arrived, and will stay for some time. There’s a running joke about people suspecting that ghem Soren has malicious intent, and his actions turning out to be harmless, if silly. His letter isn’t a threat, it’s an invitation to a date. He’s not dating Kaya to spy on the military base, he really just wants to hang out. His art project, although it involves complex chemical scents and tastes, is not a bioweapon, just an art project. Barrayarans are understandably paranoid, but every time, Mikos turns out to be harmless and silly.

Which is why I’m like 95% sure this B-plot is about an incredibly competent spy successfully embedding himself into Sergyaran society, and possibly into the Vicereine’s life. His orders were to make an ass of himself then defect, so he did.

I’m not going to write it, but I would gladly read a fic about him ten years down the line. He’s gone native, or seems to have: Barrayarans mistrusted him at first, but then he started talking about his Barrayaran grandmother, and seemed so eager to learn all about Barrayaran ways, people slowly warmed to him. He’s working as a plumber, or better yet, being a stay-at-home dad to Major Kaya Vorinnis’s kids. He’s a capable handyman and a good friend to most military families in Gridgrad, he's up-to-date on all the newest rumours, well aware of who is patrolling what wormhole and how often, who is building a new military installation and where. He regularly reports home still. And then something happens to test his loyalty – maybe some Sergyaran scientists happen to find a creepy venomous space fish that would let them catch up to Cetaganda in the bioweapons arms race. Will he report, and risk re-escalating the war, or will he keep quiet?

#vorkosigan saga #gentleman jole and the red queen #vorkosigan

[elijahlittle]

I have been scouring this fucking app for Julian fics, never really occurred to I can just request some lol.

So yeah, if you're up for it I've got a little plot/trope set up that'd id love to see. Outsider(fem)reader/julian.

Something along the lines of a reader moving into the park from the southern us, new to Canada and parks in general. As an outsider, Julian expected you to be trouble or judgemental, so he acts like a dick to you at first. Later on, he starts to see instead how kind you are to everyone, understanding and totally up for doing ppl favors even when there's nothing for you in the end. This makes him feel real guilty for bein an ass to you, and also makes him start to feel other things towards u.. Take the fic in whatever direction you'd I wanna see u work ur magic

( + no pressure 2 write it ofc!!)

pairing: julian/fem!reader fandom: trailer park boys tags: smut (cis man/cis woman), fluff, a bit of angst, idk this is one of my more normal ones, heavy plot some porn (i kind of felt more plot focused with this one), julian is kind of hung (he gives me big dick energy)  author's note: i'm much more of a ricky kinda guy myself but when i got this request, i got really fucking excited. i loved the idea. i will say, this fic isn't structured traditionally. it's very dialogue heavy and kind of leaves some things up to the imagination. i wanted to establish relationships between the reader and other people in the park as well as share some of julian's private conversations about her. i'm really proud of the way this has turned out, though i'm sorry if it's not the interpretation you might have been hoping for (i'm a little insecure about the way i interpret storylines). i hope you like it, though. i worked hard on it and i'm pretty sure it's the longest julian/reader fic currently on the internet so i'm going to take that fucking win rn. also, i actually live in the southern united states. (fun fact: i'm looking to move because i'm a trans man and life here is kind of ass if you're trans), so i gave the reader a backstory that's kind of unique to what a woman in 1999-2000 would have gone through. i'm not satisfied with the ending though, i'm sorry if this fic is a little lackluster, but we can only go up from here i guess. text blocking this shit was a fucking BITCH. word count: 6,442

everything i've ever let go of has claw marks on it.

The cultural climate of Sunnyvale Trailer Park wasn't exactly the most inviting. There were people who lived in the park and then there was everyone else. For the most part, newcomers never lasted more than a few weeks. The bottle kids drove away the weakest among them, but if those kids weren't effective usually Ricky's antics drove away the remaining lot. Sure, there were a few people here and there who moved in quietly, but those were usually the kind of people that minded their own business because lot rent was low enough for them to just ignore Lahey.

But in general, new people were not welcome. Especially know-it-all hipsters trying to live the simple life by casting away their possessions in an expensive storage unit and downsizing to a more humble trailer. Those were the kinds of guys that gave up quickly. Plus, new people threatened the balance of park politics. For the most part, Julian was well-liked and well-respected among the others due to his caring nature and dedication to his loved ones. He protected his own. And if there was one thing Julian didn't like, it was newcomers coming into the park without already knowing someone in it.

"Barb, I really think you should reconsider letting this girl in. I mean, you don't even know who she is." 

"Julian, this is a business, not a family estate. Her credit was just below decent, she has an okay-paying job, and paid three months of rent in advance. From a business perspective, she seems like she'll be a reliable tenant. It's a good thing you've grown close with your community, but you have to remember at the end of the day, this trailer park is here to make money. Whatever fit of paranoia you're suffering through, deal with it on your own time. Next time you come here with a complaint, make sure it's a business one." 

And just like that, Barb had shooed Julian off. What more could he say to that? Well, he had a lot more to say to that but she didn't want to listen. Every time he opened his mouth to speak, she only guided him further to the door. If Julian thought he was the one who ran this trailer park, he had another thing coming for him that's what. This dump needed more reliable tenants - normal folks who didn't like to get into trouble. Barb was trying to turn the park's image around.

"Julian, I just don't understand why you're so against this lady stayin' here. You know I'm no fan of newcomers myself, but she's been mindin' her own. She actually keeps her yard clean, which is pretty fuckin' nice if you ask me. It's nice to pass a yard that doesn't have a million fuckin' pieces of trash thrown all over the front. She even has one of those pink fuckin' yard flamingos in her yard. It's so bright and colorful. There ain't nothin' wrong with a little bit of color, Julian. Ain't nothin' wrong with a little bit of change." 

"Are you even listening to yourself talk Bubbles? Can you hear what you're saying? You're saying change for this park is good. Who knows what she believes in. She might hate dope growers, she may be workin' with Lahey, she could get nosy and bust us for dope and you know Ricky and I are growin' a lot of dope -" 

"- I know, I've seen that big fuckin' setup you got in that fuckin' trailer in that shitty little lot -" 

"- so then Bubbles you should know that new people aren't good. We can't trust new people, especially not now. Especially not when we're so close to selling them to those prison guards and retiring. A stranger could compromise the whole thing. Remember those bible scammers that came through here? I've learned my lesson since then and I'm not tryna repeat old mistakes." 

"Jesus Murphy Julian, you need to calm down. Those fuckin' assholes were obviously scammers, it's not like this lady is goin' door to door scammin' people." 

"Sure maybe she's not taking advanced orders on bibles Bubbles, but she is goin' in and out of everyone's house doin' favors for them. Why does she need to see the inside of everyone's house? Do you think she's lookin' for something?" 

"Have you ever stopped to think that maybe she's just a nice person doin' a nice thing? Nice people exist. You've been dealin' with dope and crime and jail so much that it's like you forgot how to trust someone. All you think about is dope and how you're going to protect it from everyone else." 

"You're only defendin' her because she brings you boxes of canned cat foods for your cats. She's buyin' you off and you don't even know it." 

"So what if she's helpin' me take care of my kitties? My kitties are the most important things to me and unlike you, she fuckin' knows that. If someone's offering to help take care of my precious little kitties, who the fuck am I to say no?" 

"Bubbles, look -" 

"No, no, nevermind." Bubbles tucks a gray cat further into his arms, his posture becoming more rigid. It's clear that he's done with the conversation, no longer interested in trying to hammer commonsense into Julian's brain. He couldn't see past his own paranoia and it was infuriating. In Julian's mind, everyone in the world was out to get him - even the nice lady across the street who helped his friend support his kitties. "You just don't get it, Julian. I'm goin' back home, come talk to me when you get it." 

Julian was still convinced he was right about this girl. If the bottle kids didn't run you out, he'd just take matters into his own hands. He didn't care whether or not Bubbles helped. Julian was a man of many connections, and even if he couldn't find someone else to get the job done he had no qualms with taking care of the situation himself.

"I mean, if you think that lady's dangerous then you know I'm gonna follow you Julian 'cause you got the brains and stuff behind the projector, but I just gotta let you know I'm still workin' on my grade ten so whatever idea you have you got to make sure it's not illegal 'cause I can't go back to jail, not right before Trinity's birthday. That means we can't do any property damage or breaking and entering or any shit like that." 

"I promise you Ricky we're not gonna go back to jail, we're just gonna annoy the shit out of her until she leaves. I was thinkin' maybe you and Cory and Trevor could host like a really loud party across the street tomorrow night, you know - something to keep her awake. If we get a noise complaint, we'll just shut it down, but then once the cops leave we'll start it back up again. We'll do this for a few nights until she finally decides to move out." 

"That's a pretty fucking good idea, that's smart. Plus, since it's a party we can get drunk and high."

It's 2 a.m. and that fucking party is still going. There were several times you considered calling in a noise complaint but you decided that it was a better idea to just wait it out. It had to end at some point and overall, it was never a good idea to get involved with parties like that because sometimes they got out of a hand, and you were too smart to be in the wrong place at the wrong time.

Though when you stepped outside to 'check your mailbox' - spy on the party still going on into the early hours of the morning - you find yourself tripping over something. You stumble onto your hands and knees and it's only when you pull yourself up do you really get a good look at the man passed out by your mailbox. It's Ricky, and he's mumbling things almost incoherently. He mutters something about dope, bitches, Trinity, more bitches, Lucy, and good booze. It's a pathetic way to be, but you can't help but feel bad for you.

You use the toe of your shoe to rock his face awake. Ricky sputters before waking up in a drunk panic. He's angry and yelling incoherently, but your promise of a hot shower and a hot sandwich satiates his anger. He struggles his way through a shower, though almost slips a few times. He eats hand to mouth, chewing loudly, and drunk conversation ensues. He shares a lot with you - stuff he probably wouldn't have shared sober. He eventually passes out, not remembering much in the morning. That morning you share breakfast and a little bit about each other. He tried to hate you, he really did, but you were charismatic in a friendly way. There weren't any ulterior motives, you just enjoyed conversation.

"I don't know Julian, she seems fine to me. I mean, she's not all that bad. Her yard is pretty clean and you know, she has that pink little flamingo in her yard and honestly it's pretty fuckin' cute. I mean yeah she's kinda annoying and I hate that fuckin' southern fuckin' cowboy accent she fucking has but whatever. I think you're gettin' worked up over nothin'. You've been so busy tryna push out this lady who hasn't done nothin' wrong to you while I'm over here slavin' away watchin' after these fuckin' dope plants and tryin' to study for my grade ten all while play peepin' tom spy guy on some poor fuckin' lady." 

"You're just saying that 'cause she let you spend the night and made you breakfast."

"You know what I sure as fuck I am! She made me breakfast and kept me from sleepin' on the fuckin' ground drunk as piss and let me use her shower and shit and I didn't even have to put out! It's not like I trust her or anything like that - I didn't talk about dope or nothin' like that at all." That was the truth. "It's just at this point anything is better than fucking Cory and Trevor. I'm not sayin' you gotta like her or trust her, but she's not all that bad Julian. Maybe if you actually got to fuckin' know her like I have you'd see that you're just being a paranoid dickbag." 

"You know what Ricky, you don't anything about her. You're just seeing what she wants you to see. But I'm smart, so I see right through it -" 

"Come on Julian don't be like that -" 

"- and since nobody is going to take care of this fucking situation then I guess I'll have to." 

Julian felt like everyone around him was failing him. Nobody else seemed to feel the same way he did about your existence in the trailer park. As each day passed, Julian grew more overtly snide. When approaching Ricky and Bubbles, Julian never took the time to acknowledge you. It was obvious that he was just being an ass, so you opted to ignore it, preferring not to fight. Silence was Julian's strongest weapon. But as the days ticked by, the tension between you and Julian only seemed to mount itself higher.

It's not like you inherently disliked Julian. In fact, you liked to believe that there was good in everyone and you prided yourself in your ability to be able to pull even the toughest people out of their shell. However, Julian was no easy project. Every time you tried to approach him, he simply brushed you off. You weren't even sure that the two of you had even exchanged any greetings. He hadn't even said hello. So when trying to talk to him didn't work, you simply tried to stay out of his way. This was frustrating for Julian because what he wanted you to do was to blow up and make it a big ordeal. But you didn't. You simply kept to yourself and resumed helping others around the park without complaints. 

There were times where Julian thought about approaching you in the way Julian thinks about approaching any pretty thing in a summer dress that talks to him. But he remains strong in the face of adversity. Gone were the days of chasing anything in a dress. He had a dope business to worry about.

But sometimes the thought would creep up onto Julian ever so slowly. Sometimes, he'd get this kind of fantasy in his head - especially on the Sunday afternoons you'd spend gently pushing yourself back and forth in your rocking chair, enjoying the summer sunlight. He could think of a million ways you two could enjoy the afternoon together, but he often pushed the thought out of his head. He had a park to protect. Friends to protect.

"You know, you have some real nerve comin' up here in this trailer park and putting on a show like you're doing." 

You look up from the rocking chair you were gently pushing yourself back and forth in and offer Julian a small smile.

"So you're Julian?"

Julian can't help but be a bit enamored with your slight southern drawl. It sounds like you're somewhere from the deep southern United States - one of those more rural provinces like Texas or Alabama. He can't quite pinpoint the accent, but he secretly finds it endearing.

"And how do you know that?" 

"I mean, with how much you do for the people here it's kind of hard not to know who you are. Plus, Ricky and Lucy both never seem to shut up about you. You know, if I didn't know any better I'd say they're both in love with you or something. Also, yesterday you came to pick up Ricky and he pointed right at you and said well, there's Julian, see ya later. I just put two and two together." 

"I'm not here to make small talk, (name)." 

"Then what are you here to do, Julian?" 

There's silence. What is he here to do. There wasn't anything that he could reasonably do and he wasn't the terrorizing type if he didn't have to be. Fuck, he had even promised that his greasy trouble-causing days were over. But here he was, standing at the edge of the patio stairs, contemplating whether or not he should threaten a woman.

"I'm just here to ask you about your intentions with Ricky, that's all." 

You can't help but laugh out loud at the comment. "Oh, please. There's nothing going on between us." 

Julian knows that because if there was something going on between you and Ricky, Ricky wouldn't shut up about it and the whole park would know. But he's trying to be covert about his intent to interrogate you.

"Yeah, well . . . there better not be . . . Ricky's a good guy and I'd really hate to see him get hurt . . ." 

"Why are you really here, Julian?" 

Julian stands in silence, thoughtfully cradling his glass in his hand as he tries to come up with a clever lie - but it's hard to think when he catches a glimpse of your thighs pressed together underneath your thin summer dress. He squints and then looks away briefly.

"I just wanted to stop by and tell you more about the culture of Sunnyvale. You know, we're really tight-knit. Like family."

"I know." 

"And you know, family protects family." 

"I know." 

"And you know, I'd do anything for my family." 

"I know." 

"Anything." 

"What are you getting at?" 

"I'm not getting at anything, (name). I'm just givin' you a little more info about our park, just trying to get acquainted with you." 

"Oh, you're trying to get acquainted with me? This is the first time I've spoken to you in the month I've been living here." 

"Well, you know, I was busy with the business I'm running -" 

"- that lawn mowing business you and Ricky got?" 

Is that what Ricky is calling it? "Yeah, we've had a lot of customers so I've been having to do a lot of bookwork to keep up with the business you know. But it's been busy, so I haven't had time to talk, but now I do and I want to get to know you." 

"You want to get to know me?" 

"That's what I just said isn't it?" 

"Well I'll tell you what Julian," You push the chair backwards in thought, looking up at the bright summer sky. The sun shines in your face, warming your skin. It's a nice feeling. "If you really want to get to know me, you'll come over for dinner tonight." 

Julian wasn't going to admit it but he was excited at the prospect of dinner. The last time he shared time - much less a meal - with a woman, she ended up stealing his dope plants and lying to him about being in love. In all fairness, most people would have been wary of someone saying I love you within the first week of getting to know them, but Julian (for the most part) was a hopeless romantic. He liked the idea of a life with someone else. 

Julian told himself that this was strictly business - that he was here to set the record straight. This wasn't get-to-know-you dinner, this wasn't a date. He was just here to let you know that he wasn't going to tolerate funny business. He just happened to be wearing his nicest clean black shirt and he just happened to be wearing one of his nicer pair of jeans - the ones that didn't have the holes in them. Julian knocks on your door. The two minutes he waits for you to answer feels like an eternity but when you open the door, he's glad he's waited. 

"You got a hot date you're going to after this?" 

"What, this?" You look down at the pink summer dress you're wearing, "This is casual." You had always been the more feminine type, enjoying softer clothes and pretty dresses. Plus, unlike jeans dresses were more comfortable. You usher him inside and he obliges, being careful to not spill his drink when he steps in. 

"Dinner is served." Dinner being a massive fucking bowl of macaroni and cheese with cheap ass hot dogs. "Sorry it's not exactly the best, but -"

"It's fine, don't worry about it." Julian sets his glass down. He's actually ecstatic. Macaroni and cheese and fucking hotdogs? "You know, I don't know where you're from but around here this is a five-star meal." 

You give a dry laugh. as Julian picks up his fork to eat. "You'll have to forgive me, I'm kind of new to the whole trailer park life and the whole being poor thing." 

"Oh yeah? Where are you from?" 

"Southern United States." 

"What state?" 

"Texas." 

"That's a long way from here, basically on the other side of the continent. Why'd you come up this way?" Julian tells himself that he's not trying to get to know you because he's interested in you - he's trying to get to know you to get dirt on you, to know what he's up against. 

"I needed an abortion." You answer dryly, "And even though it's been legal for some years now, no physician was wiling to perform one on me." 

"Why come to Nova Scotia? Why not just go to another state?" 

"Well, I figured things were just better here than they were there. Don't get me wrong, it's not perfect by any means but it's better than where I was from. At least here I know if I need the service again, it's a little more reliably accessible. Plus, it's not like I had anywhere or anyone I could turn to. So I just kind of . . . stayed." 

"Heavy stuff." Julian sets down his fork, "Didn't have any family to turn to?" 

"No, and even if I did they're not the kind of people I'd want to be around." 

Julian could relate to that.

"So you just came to Canada for an abortion and then decided to stay? You know, when Americans come to Canada they want to go to Quebec. Nova Scotia isn't exactly on the top of the list, let alone Dartmouth. Let alone fucking Sunnyvale Trailer Park. Nobody just moves in here. Come on, (name) . . . what's the real reason why you're staying here?" 

Your mouth runs dry as you consider answering him honestly. "Well, uh . . . you know . . ." You twiddle your thumbs a bit, "I came to Canada with my passport and got my abortion and then . . . I just uh . . ." There's a long pause as your appetite disappears completely. "I didn't have anywhere to go to so I just . . . never left . . . this place was the only place that'd rent to an illegal resident . . ." 

"Holy fuck you don't have your papers?" Julian wasn't sure what kind of story he was expecting but it wasn't that. Now he feels like an asshole. "How did you get a job? How did you even afford this place?" 

"Well, I had some savings so that was a good cushion, but when that ran out I was able to find a job working as a waitress at that little restaurant just out of town. I'm not technically on the payroll, they just don't make me report my tips, and any extra money is kind of . . . earned under the table." You respond sheepishly.

God, Julian feels like such a fucking jackass for being a raging asshole to you. 

"That's . . . hard." Julian doesn't really know what else to say.

"Yeah." 

"Well, I've shared my deepest darkest secret with you. Do you want to share anything with me?" 

You and Julian talk well into the early hours of the morning, swapping life stories, funny anecdotes, and talking about all of the small things in between. Honestly, he feels at ease with you in a way he hasn't felt at ease before. The conversation flows naturally and even the silence you occasionally fall into feels comfortable. It's nearly two in the morning when you both look at the small clock hanging on your wall and realize the time.

". . . well, it's a little late . . ." You stretch in your chair, still sitting across the table from Julian. You don't really want him to go, but you've both run out of things to talk about and you still have some errands you have to run before work tomorrow. "You know, I have some things I gotta do tomorrow . . . but if you're feeling nice, maybe you can pay me back for dinner by making some for me. I'm usually too tired to cook when I get home . . . you know, only if you want to." 

It's hard for Julian to say no to that face.

"What time do you get off work?"

. . .

Julian continues to insist that he doesn't feel some kind of way, that he's just taking the opportunity to really get to know you - you know, in case you ever pose a threat - but the nightly dinner-dates seem to differ. 

"Why is it so hard to admit that you have a hard-on for (name)? It's so fucking obvious." 

"It's not like that Ricky. You know, I have somewhere to be so why don't you just fuck off and give me some fucking space?" 

"Oh yeah I know exactly where you want to be, all up in -" 

The truth of the matter was that even though Julian fantasized about it at night, truly nothing had happened. You were sweet, kind, intelligent, patient, compassionate - a truly wonderful person. And that was the problem. Normally, Julian found himself happy to jump into a relationship, but he found himself afraid of making a fool of himself. Guys like him didn't get with girls like you. Simple as that. Besides, love just wasn't in the cards for Julian. It just never worked out like that.

Tonight was yet another night of disappointment. You had lingered on Julian's doorstep after dinner, hoping that maybe he'd make a move and at least give you a kiss goodnight - but the two of you simply stood there awkwardly until he nodded, saying he was probably going to go off to bed now. It was frustrating because you thought you were sending all of the right signals. Light touches, flirtatious giggles, risque comments - the works. But yet again, you find yourself leaving empty-handed. It wasn't that you weren't satisfied with the friendship, you really liked the dynamic the two of you had. You liked that Julian showed you ways to save money, ways to spruce up the trailer home so it felt more roomy, showed you around town a bit - but it left you feeling a bit stupid because you could have sworn the two of you had something more. You could just feel it. But he never addressed it and it drove you crazy. 

You knock on the door nervously, your hands shaking.

Julian answers the door again. "What's going on?" 

"I don't want to go home just yet. This is about the time J-Roc films his adult films. Can I just sit here for thirty more minutes? He usually finishes up around one in the morning or so." 

"Uh, yeah, sure, come on in. You can hang out here. I have to shower because, you know, I got somewhere to be in the morning -" Tomorrow was the day he was supposed to drop off the product with the prison guards, "- normally I'd wait up but I got some important stuff I gotta take care of tomorrow. I'm about to get ready for bed, so you can just leave whenever you're ready."

"Alright." 

You find yourself sitting awkwardly on the couch as Julian disappears into the bathroom. The trailer shakes a bit when he turns on the water and you can hear the pipes rush before the water falls like rain into the tub. You sit in silence and contemplate. You couldn't keep going back and forth like this, it'd get nowhere. He had hinted a few times at maybe having feelings. Sometimes his hand would linger on the small of your back too long when he was moving past you, or he'd stand too close to you - so close your shoulders would touch - whenever he got the chance. But nothing would ever come of it, and you were tired of it. You think about maybe joining him in the shower but that's too ballsy of a move, so you simply sit there and listen to the shower run until it's turned off. There's more shuffling and you can hear him go into his room. The hallway light turns off and the door clicks close. You should probably get going by now, but you can't bring yourself to just leave.

. . .

You feel like a psychopath drifting down the hallway. You only came down here to use the bathroom, but now you were standing at his bedroom door - contemplating whether or not you should knock on the door.

Knock. Knock. Knock.

"Ricky, is that you? I told you to stop picking my fucking lock -" 

"No," You answer meekly, "It's me. I uh, wanted to take that book back I lent you before I went home. I didn't see it in your living room so I figured you might be keeping it in here." 

Julian stares up at the ceiling in thought. Julian is pretty book-smart and it doesn't take a genius to know the game you're running. He's been down this road a thousand times. He wants to say yes, but there's still the lingering fear of ruining the good friendship that's already there.

Julian turns his head to look at his nightstand, the small paperback book sat there. Shit, maybe you weren't playing any games.

"Yeah, give me a moment, I'll come bring it to you." 

"You don't have to go through that trouble, I'll just come get it real quick . . . if that's alright with you." 

". . . that's alright with me." 

You gently push the door open, slipping through before gently closing the door behind you. You can only see the outline of Julian's body in the dark, a few shadows illuminated by the moonlight that drifts in through the blinds. 

"It's right over here." You see the shadow of Julian's hand reach over and grab the thick book. Infinite Jest.

"I'll come get it." You pull yourself up onto the bed, you're knees on either side of his feet. Gently, you shimmy your way up, crawling over him on your hands and knees. Julian shifts a bit. Both of your breaths are heavy and as you sit yourself comfortably on his waist, you watch his chest rise and fall with heavy breaths. Gently, you pluck the book from his hand. "Thank you." 

"You're welcome." Julian's voice is barely over a whisper.

You thumb through the thick book, landing on a page barely illuminated by the moonlight, reading the page you've thumbed to. "Everything I've ever let go of has claw marks on it." Truer words have never been spoken. Like everything in life, Julian has sunk his fingernails so deep into it he's drawn blood. He likes to pretend he can let things go, but he can't. 

Julian's hands gently grip at your hips, squeezing them softly - almost like he's afraid that if he squeezes too tight he'll hurt you. His fingers grip at your waist, gently pushing your hips backwards, guiding them in a gentle rocking motion against him. Your hips follow the movement of his hands, rocking against him with a pleased hum.

"Is that right?" Julian asks in a whisper.

"That's right." You respond gently.

"Me included?" He can't hope that you want him so bad that you'd sink your nails so deep into him that he'd never be able to leave you, even if he wanted to. And even if you wanted to leave him, he'd probably stay around and beg for you to take him back anyway.

"If you'll let me." 

If he wasn't rock hard before he's rock fucking hard now. "I want you." Julian's voice is hoarse, completely contradicting his typically firm and masculine present. He melts under you. Whether he wanted to believe it or not, Julian was a romantic and the touch of a woman he really valued meant a lot to him. His breath is labored as he guides your hips against him, "Please, I want you." 

If this were someone else in the park, it'd be a different story. Sleeping around with people in the park for Julian wasn't about emotions, it was about releasing a physical need, and when you can't keep a boyfriend sometimes you have to turn to your neighbors for some help. Everyone slept with everyone. But you're not them, this isn't just casual for Julian - he doesn't want to fuck it up. He shudders when your fingertips drag across his chest, tracing patterns and circles into his shirt as you rock against him, grinding your hips downwards to create more friction. You're a tease, you take your time, and he hates it but he loves it. Two large hands reach up to cup your breasts over your shirt gently, His hands trail downwards, over your abdomen, grabbing gently at your stomach for a short moment before finding themselves at the hem of your shirt. 

"What are you waiting for?" You ask him between small breaths, still making rhytmic riding motions. It's a softly-asked question but also a plea for action. "Please, Julian. I've wanted this since the moment I saw you." 

"God, fuck you're so fucking hot." It's like a flip switched in his head and he can't hold himself back anymore. Strong hands placed firmly on your hips flip you onto your back. Now he's on top of you, every part of him everywhere. His lips touch yours in a kiss, teeth pull at the skin of your neck, and tongue sooths the freshly bruised areas by rubbing itself on it in small circles. Like always, he can't help himself, and unlike recently, he stops wasting time.

Your shirt is the first thing to come off - Julian helps shimmy it off of you, throwing it to the side. The next thing to come off is your pajama pants, which he also tosses to the side after helping shimmy it off of you. He has half a mind to compliment the pretty color of your underwear and tell you it looks good on you, but he doesn't pay it any mind since it's about to come off anyways. His hands lift you up by the small of your back just long enough for him to unclasp your bra, letting you fall back down onto the bed. His hands hook underneath your knees, lifting them up and pushing your legs up so he can help slide your underwear easily off of your body. You're left naked under him while he remains fully clothed, lowering himself onto you before you can complain that he hasn't undressed yet.

His thumbs roll against your nipples, gently pinching and pulling at them before taking them into his mouth. Julian has never been the most gentle lover, especially when he gets excited, always eager to take matters into his own hands - but that's part of his appeal.

Kisses trail down your stomach, followed by him dragging his tongue along the skin, pushing your legs apart. He takes his time adorning your inner thighs with kisses, sucking on the skin and taking it between his teeth. He likes the way he makes you whimper and moan, it's intoxicating. But eventually the teasing becomes too much even for him, he's growing impatient, so he lends his tongue to you, circling it around your clit, strong nose pressed into sensitive skin.

Your body writhes as you feel a familiar pressure build in your abdomen, thighs tightening around his head so tight he thought he might suffocate. What a way to go that would be. Your fingers curl into his short hair, gripping and pulling at his hair while your toes curl. You whimper but that only encourages him to slowly push his thick index finger into you, followed by a second after you properly adjusted. His mouth and fingers work in tandem, his fingers curling and pressing inside of you in a come hither motion while his tongue continues to stroke your clit.

"Fuck, Julian, god, fuck -" But before you can climax, he's gone - pulling away. If Julian enjoys anything, it's edging. There's just something about bringing a woman to climax and leaving them nearly in tears that turns him on. 

"You look disappointed." Julian catches a glimpse of your lopsided frown illuminated in the moonlight, "Don't worry, I'll take care of it." His shirt is pulled over his head, exposing his bare chest. When you touch the muscle, it's firm from years of consistent working-out. You trace a tattoos that look like they were done with a sewing needle and ink - probably stick and poke tattoos - but Julian frowns. He doesn't like those tattoos, he's not proud of them and he's not proud of his time spent in jail. But you only offer him an encouraging smile and place your palm over the tattoo before dragging your hand down to his belt, pulling at the buckle. Julian offers you a half-hearted smile. "Can't wait?"

Julian pushes your hand out of the way gently, taking his time to unfasten his belt and slowly pulling it through the loops. The belt is tossed to the side, along with his pants and underwear, leaving you both equals. Two hands hook themselves underneath your knees, placing your ankles on his shoulders while he uses his right hand to stroke his cock a bit, helping to harden himself up more. Sometimes the nerves just get to you.

"Holy fuck Julian you're big, you gotta be careful with that thing you're carrying a whole fucking concealed weapon -" 

Julian chuckles a bit at the comment but presses a gentle kiss to your ankles. "I'll be careful with you if that's what you're trying to say." 

The tip is pushed in slowly with great discomfort, pushing himself in. There's a stiff moment of silence as you let out a labored breath. 

"You good?" he asks.

You nod, dragging your teeth over your bottom lip. Julian takes his thumb against your bottom lip, peeling it out from underneath your teeth. His thumb drags your bottom lip down, exposing the inside of it before pushing his thumb into your mouth. Your lips wrap around his thumb, letting your tongue slide against the skin, sucking on the appendage as he pulls out just a bit, repositioning himself before he thrusts back in. Your body pushes upwards with the motion, head pressing against the headboard slightly. His thumb is still pressed in your mouth while his free hand keeps hooked underneath your knee, pushing it backwards so he can angle himself better - each thrust pushing itself deeper inside of you. Sweat coats his chest and runs down the side of his face, abdomen flexing the closer he gets to coming, but he restrains himself - wanting to ride it out for as long as he could. 

"Fuck, fuck, fuck." 

"Oh, God, Julian -" 

"Fuck, (name)." 

"Julian -" 

"(Name), (Name), (Name)." 

"I heard you did a real good job of running that girl out of the trailer park last night, Julian." 

"Hey, Barbara, why don't you fuck off?" 

#julian tpb #tpb julian #tpb ricky #trailer park boys #tpb #ricky lafeur #julian x reader #julian x reader tpb #tpb bubbles #tpb ricky and julian #ricky tpb #julian x you tpb #trailer park boys reader insert #tpb reader insert

[yukipri]

The Bad Batch Season 2 Wrap Up Thoughts

I never ended up sharing my thoughts on the Bad Batch S2 finale. Since we're hopefully getting news of S3 tomorrow, this seemed like a good time?

First, to be clear, I love so much about the show. This is not meant to be a complaint thread. But I'm also critical of certain aspects. You're warned.

This is also a compiled Twitter thread!

Spoilers through the end of Season 2!

First off, I can't understate how beautiful the show was, just as an experience. The cinematography, the visual designs, the music. The unique worlds and unique characters. There were so many shots that were breathtaking, haunting. When a scene hits, it HITS.

I love both TCW & Rebels dearly, but cumulative skills + experience as well as new technology clearly shows. TBB, TotJ (and of course TCW S7) are just so captivating to watch as works of art. These shows are, frankly, worth it for that alone. But of course that's not all.

One of TBB's strengths is the depth it gives the worlds the characters visit, as well as the side/guest characters. Perhaps due to the nature of many of the episodes being more of an exploration than straight up war like TCW, but we can see more of these places. TCW also had so many neat planets/aliens/cultures, but due to the constantly pressing war, we were only ever allowed a glimpse and I constantly wished there was more. TBB really scratched that itch. I'm thinking specifically of Kashyyyk, with its fauna and wookiee traditions.

The same with side/guest characters. They all had such great flavor, with fun designs and motives. Phee was a standout among the non-clones. I also loved how it gave us such a personal exploration of characters we knew and loved before, like Riyo.

The thing about TBB is that it's set in such a fascinating time period that we don't have too much media of, at least in new canon. The formation of the Empire is a time where we know all these other characters must be alive and working hard, but we haven't seen it before.

This leads me to the writing. Oh, the writing...

How do I say this. The writing in this show gave me whiplash. Some of the episodes were beyond brilliant, giving us deeply personal character moments, layered metaphors, and context in how it affects the greater SW universe.

Others...not so much.

I understand this is not the case for everyone, but for me personally to enjoy a story, when there are any stakes involved, I need the characters to show some awareness of them, and for these to affect their actions. There are a limited number of episodes and that time must be spent wisely. I don't mean this at all to say that I didn't enjoy the lighter fun adventure missions with the Batch, nor do I think these episodes can't be used productively.

But TBB S1 started off with Crosshair siding with the Empire.

I kept waiting for them to *show* that the others cared. It could be they were troubled, it could be they missed him, it could have been shown in so many ways. I kept expecting these brief moments in the Fun Times episodes, which would have given me some emotional continuity.

The writers are absolutely capable of it! After Plan 99, when Echo glances at the co-pilot seat—stuff like that, I was personally expecting it through all of S1 and S2. I get that the Batch feel they have to do other things and Crosshair made his own choice, but I thought the point was they care about their brother regardless.

Mind you, I'm not the biggest fan of Crosshair, but I do find him interesting. And I felt that in the two episodes most centered around him, he had such tangible growth that was depicted so well. He went from stating that the Batch are superior to regs in S1 finale, to having clear doubts after working with Cody, to shooting a natborn officer because he didn't help a "reg" he'd just met. We see Crosshair being included by the clones he disdains, we see how it compares to the Empire he thought he wanted to be a part of. The writing in Crosshair's episodes were tight, and he went far within them, few as they were.

In comparison, the rest of the Batch...with their far greater number of episodes...what were they doing??

I love character-centric eps, but even on a personal level, I wasn't sure what the charas gained. Tech is the sole exception; he was given many introspective moments, from Sorenno, to Phee, to the cave talk with Omega. Not sure how much he changed, but he expressed himself.

To also be clear, I'm also not including Echo in any of this. He has been the voice of trying to get the Batch to do things, to *change*, since S1. I felt his frustration keenly. Which is why I felt that when he left to go with Rex...I sort of left the Batch with him.

I mean this in the sense that Echo didn't *want* to leave the Batch, not necessarily. He wanted, and he *did* try to get Hunter to care about what their brothers are suffering, and he has been since S1. Echo can't stand to leave them chipped when he could do something.

He wanted the Batch to feel the same. *I* wanted the Batch to feel the same. But they didn't. I see Echo breaking with them less as him leaving, and more as they (or at least Hunter) firmly telling him that that's not their fight, and they're not going to do it.

This isn't the Batch going out of their way to help, or not knowing how. Echo and Rex have given them an open invitation. The Batch know how to help, who needs it, and why. They know their "reg" brothers don't have many if any others fighting for them. The Batch (Hunter) have these opportunities to help and know they are among the few positioned to offer it...and they still walk away.

The Batch (Hunter) sees the other clones fates as none of their business. On one hand, I get that they never fit in, were called names and weren't allowed to sit with the cool kids at lunch. On the other, "they were mean" and "therefore they should be mind-controlled slaves" is grossly disproportional. Likewise it's not as though this fight doesn't concern them. Even if they can't find it in themselves to care about "regs," it's Rex who told them to remove their chips and went out of his way to make sure they did based on info that Fives gathered, without which Wrecker would have killed Omega. Perhaps I wouldn't go as far as to say they *owe* other clones, but my opinion of them certainly continued to drop as they made explicitly clear that they're fine with this being the fate of other clones.

So okay, fine. TBB isn't a story about the Batch discovering they have more alike with other clones than they first thought (other than Crosshair, who actually does get that story). That's what I wanted, alright, I know I'm not getting that at this point.

But then, where does that leave them? What do they care about, what do they fight for?

Their brother...right?

Except...they don't really do that either??? (points at earlier in this rant) At least, until the very last episodes, where an opportunity presents itself, and most of the Batch jumps on it...except Hunter.

The way he's written just *baffles* me. I can't say anything about his personality other than "he cares about Omega," but even that, when at the expense of his other brothers, is tiring. Immediately after Tech gives his life on a mission he wanted to go on to try to save Crosshair, he suggests they all hide away on Pabu (even with the knowledge that Omega is wanted and they're being hunted). I get that he wanted to hide from the pain, but in that context?? Even then, he can't care about Cross??

And then when Omega is kidnapped, the difference in his reaction between that and what happened with Crosshair...it was, frankly, painful.

I feel like by the end of the series, Tech would have been more open to joining Echo/the clones' fight. Wrecker will just go along. Echo has already plunged headfirst into helping others, Crosshair got character growth and defected from the Empire. And Omega has always wanted to help even strangers, but only doesn't when Hunter tells her no.

I feel that Hunter's the one dragging his heels for the Batch to progress, and he's supposed to be the leader.

All of this to say, I've been trying so hard to like the Batch since S1, and they didn't really click for me (other than Echo, who I don't count since I loved him from long before, and still consistently have). But by the end of S2, I think I've concluded that I'd like the others perfectly fine if they were under different leadership that encouraged them to care, to act.

I don't want to say I *dislike* him, but man...I'm super disappointed in Hunter, and I'm not sure if/how that might change.

This leads me to my final thought, which is: I would strongly prefer if "the Clone Story" be told from a different lens than Hunter-centric TBB.

What I mean is, throughout the show, there have been multiple pivotal events that affect all clones, not just the Batch.

The fall of Kamino, the failure of the clones' rights bill are the big ones. But even without those, through the glimpses of the "regs" like Howzer, Gregor, Wilco, Cody, Slip, Cade, and Mayday, we see how the Empire is treating the rest of them as a group.

I'm deeply invested in these boys and their stories, and frankly, all of these boys instantly became my faves in their few moments of screen time. I want more of these, and it feels deeply unfair that they've done so much to tell compelling stories but have so little time.

They are an extension of the clones I love from TCW in a way that the Batch just aren't, and don't seem to be interested in becoming.

Not even that, but we know from Hunter's rejection of Echo that the Batch (Hunter) don't *care.*

Fine, they don't care. But I'm admittedly deeply concerned about how S3 will go, because even if the Batch doesn't care about the Clone Story, they (Hunter) don't seem to be doing a great job progressing their internal story either (Crosshair).

I understand Omega has some crucial background we're *finally* getting to. I want to know why she's special, why she's unaltered. I want to know what she has that Boba doesn't, or if she's just Nala Se's favorite. Maybe that's relevant to the Clone Story.

But frankly, personally, I would prefer if TBB S3 goes full in focussing on building Hunter and Wrecker up emotionally, and just going full in on what it means for them as a Batch to be there for each other. They need that, desperately, without distractions.

I would prefer if the Clone Story (frankly, the story I'm far more invested in) is told through Rex and other clones, who passionately care and are in the fight. If Echo jumps between the 2 groups and links them, great! I think the Batch would make excellent guest characters. But NOT protagonists of a story where they don't care while everyone else does.

I guess all of this to say, it's sad that I think I liked the Batch the most in TCW S7, and my impression of them as a group (which I recognize is largely due to Hunter) has only gone downhill since.

Again, to be clear, I did enjoy the show.

I LOVED eps 3, 7, 8, 12, 14, to the point I'd say they're possibly my favorite eps of any SW show. These eps are conspicuously non Batch-centric. I loved many *parts* of other episodes.

The *show* has given me so much to love. Unfortunately, none of those things are Hunter.

#YukiPri rambles #TBB #The Bad Batch #Spoilers #the Bad Batch Spoilers #TBB Spoilers #TBB S2 #The Bad Batch Season 2 #longpost #rant post