#AND they would never be seen as people!! in history books they were those who tried to end the world. nothing more. to their parents they

[iwantabatlleaxe]

"We were never seen as people to our Gods, were we?

You were a tyrant who shared his power;

And I, a bhaalspawn who couldn't kill."

Bro???? I was writing about Gortash and Durge never being truly seen, but I either write two lines like I just did or a whole essay so Ill just. stop now

[nyrasvoid]

In the Heat of Battle ⚔︎

♡︎ Gwayne Hightower x Fem!Reader

𖤓 Summary: Lady Caswell defies her family to become a healer in the war of the Stepstones. Amid the violence, she forms a bond with Ser Gwayne Hightower.

⚝ Warnings: violence, sexual assault attempt (nothing happens), includes themes of war and injury and explicit sexual content

♜ Things you should know: reader is from a minor house of the Reach (House Caswell), when the news of war are spread the ladies are given the choice to serve as healers. Reader prefers to serve as a healer in the battle camps than becoming a septa or marrying.

⚝ A/N: this is a bit like the relationship between Robb stark and his wife in GOT, just a reminder that my requests are open 😊

- Word count: 6k words (ik I went a bit crazy this time)

The hall of your family’s keep is quieter than usual, though tension hangs in the air.

You sit at the long table, your hands resting om your lap, trying to keep calm as your mother and father exchange worried glances from across the room. The fireplace is the only sound that fills the room. Your sisters sit nearby, their faces show their concern, while your two brothers stand at the back of the room.

You know why you’re all gathered here. It’s a conversation that’s been pending for weeks, ever since news of the war of the Stepstones reached your lands. You and the rest of the ladies were given a choice, but it’s clear that your family doesn’t see it as one.

Your father clears his throat, breaking the silence. "My daughter, you are the youngest of House Caswell. You must understand the choices before you. There are...expectations. It is time to think of your future."

Your mother nods. "We’ve spoken of this before. You could marry, my dearest. There are lords who would gladly take a girl like you. Or, if marriage isn’t your path, the septas will gladly take you in."

You’ve heard this all before. Marriage or the Faith. Those are the only options anyone sees for you. But they don’t understand. You don’t want to spend your life praying in a sept or playing the dutiful wife. You want something else.

“I don’t want to be a septa,” you say firmly. “And I have no interest in marriage, not right now. The war… they need healers. I can help.”

Your father’s brows furrow. He sits back in his chair, eyeing you with a mix of disbelief and frustration. "The battlefield is no place for a woman, especially not a daughter of mine."

“I agree,” your sister, Melissa, interrupts from across the table. She’s always been the dutiful one, her nose always buried in the books of history. “The gods have plans for us. You could do good in the Faith, sister. Don’t let the horrors of war tempt you from a safer path.”

“Safe?” You scoff. “The Faith doesn’t call to me, Melissa. I’m not like you. I do not hear the call of the Seven like you do.” You look at your sister. “I want to do something that matters, to help people. People who are suffering because of this war.”

“Being a septa helps people,” she tries to convince you, “you’d bring the Light of the Seven to those in need.”

“But that is not what I wish for,” you insist, “I want to help with my hands. Healing those who are wounded. Saving lives.”

Your older brother, Ser Arthur, steps forward, his voice firm. “Do you know what you’re asking for, sister? You’ve never seen war. It’s not some grand adventure. It’s blood and death, and it will haunt you long after the fighting is over.” He pauses briefly. “If you think healing will spare you from that, you’re wrong.”

Your younger brother, Theo, who’s barely old enough to hold a sword, speaks up, his voice shaky. “He’s right. I’ve heard the stories from the soldiers who’ve returned. The screams, the smells. The battlefield is no place for a lady.”

You turn to them. “I am not asking for a knight’s life. I know what war is. I’m not foolish.” You glance between your siblings and your parents. “But I will not stand by while men die if I can do something about it, let me help. It is my choice.”

Your father slams his hand down on the table, startling everyone. “And what of your duties to this house? You think you can just abandon them, throw yourself into the mud and blood of battle?”

Your mother’s eyes fill up with unshed tears, and she whispers, “You’re our daughter, sweetling. We just want you safe.”

You swallow hard, trying to fight back the tears that threaten to spill from your eyes. “I know you want what’s best for me. But I need to do this. Not because I want to run away from my duties, but because I want to make a difference. If I can save even one life out there, then that’s worth it to me.”

Melissa stands up, coming closer to you and resting her hand on your shoulder. “Please, sister. You’re smarter than this. You don’t have to go looking for death. The gods have other plans for you, if you’ll just listen.”

You turn to her, “I love you, Melissa. But I can’t live my life praying every single day, locked up in a sept.”

Everyone turns quiet, you could only hear your mother’s sobs and the fireplace.

Finally, it is your father who breaks the silence, his voice rough. “If this is truly what you want…” He shakes his head, sighing. “Then go. Serve as a healer. But do not say I didn’t warn you.”

You meet his gaze, nodding. “Thank you.”

Melissa looks like she wants to keep trying to convince you, but she just sighs in defeat. “May the gods protect you, sister.”

Arthur steps forward, resting a hand on your shoulder. “I hope you know what you’re doing”

“So do I,” you murmur, though you know this is the path you must follow, you still have some doubts in your mind.

As you rise from your seat and begin to make your way out of the hall, you feel the guilt of not listening to them, but you’ve made your choice. The battlefield may not be a place for most women, but you are not most women.

You will go, and you will help. No matter what anyone else says.

The morning you leave for the war, the sky is heavy with clouds, as if the gods were trying to tell you it was the wrong path. Your family stands around you, silent in disappointment.

Your mother is the first to approach you. She takes your hand, into hers. Her eyes are still red from the tears she shed last night. "Please, my dearest, be careful," she whispers, her voice cracking. "I know you think this is the right choice, but I can’t bear to lose you. You’re still my little girl."

You feel a bit of guilt but gently squeezed her hand in return. "I’ll be careful, mother. I promise. I’ll write whenever I can."

Your father stands a few feet away, his arms crossed over his chest. He hasn’t spoken to you since you made your choice.

"My daughter," he says, "If you find that this is too much, if you wish to come home, there will always be a place for you here."

You nod. "Thank you, Father. But I won’t be coming home until I’ve fulfilled my duty."

Your sister Melissa approaches next, she’s spent the entire night in prayer. "I will pray for you every day," she says softly. "May the gods guide you and keep you safe."

You smile at her, grateful for her words even if you no longer share her faith in the Seven. "Thank you, sister. But I will be relying on my own hands to keep me safe."

Arthur steps forward as he pulls you into a firm embrace. He doesn’t speak, but the hug says enough. "You’re braver than I thought," he says. "I just hope you know what you’re getting into."

"I do," you reply, meeting his gaze. "and I will come back, brother. Do not worry."

Your younger brother Theo, looks up at you with sadness in his eyes. "If I were old enough," he murmurs, "I would be going with you."

You ruffle his hair, "Well, I am glad you’re not. Stay here, and keep the family safe for me, all right?"

His smile turns into a pout, but he nods, "Fine," he mumbles. "But you better come back in one piece so we can play like we do."

You give him a small smile, although you want to do this, you do not like the idea of leaving your family behind. “I will come back in one piece, I promise.”

With one last glance at your family, you get on the back the carriage. You know this journey will change you. There’s no denying that. But you also know you’ve made the right choice.

As you ride away, the gates of your family’s keep slowly close behind you, and the view of your home begins to fade.

Your journey to the Stepstones begins, it is a long trip, longer than you expected, and after just a few hours on the ship, you’ve already had enough of the sea.

It’s uncomfortable, and filled with rough men, mercenaries, and knights—making their way to the battle in the Stepstones. Among them, you are one of the very few women, and the looks you get remind you of it.

But you are not alone. On the second day of the journey, you meet Lysa, a fellow healer, although her skills lean more towards battlefield survival and self-defense. She is very brave and before long, the two of you find yourselves sticking together, watching each other’s backs.

One evening, you and Lysa sit on the deck, talking about your families and why you both chose to leave them behind for war.

“So,” Lysa says, “you chose to be a healer instead of a septa. I have to say, I would have done the same, given the choice.”

You smile at her. “I couldn’t bear the idea of spending my life in a sept. Too quiet, too… restricting.”

Lysa laughs. “I get it. I couldn’t stand being tied down either. I’d rather be out here, risking my life, than sitting at home waiting for a husband.”

As you share stories, the bond between you strengthens. You find that you trust her in a way you’ve trusted few people in your life. It’s comforting to have a friend, especially on a ship full of strange and dangerous men.

But not everyone aboard the ship is as decent as Lysa.

That same night, as you make your way to your shared quarters, a man blocks your way. He’s an older knight, his face scarred, his breath stinking of ale.

“Now what’s a pretty thing like you doing in a place like this?” he slurs, leaning in too close.

You step back in disgust. “I am a healer, here to tend to the wounded. Nothing more.”

The man chuckles, his eyes roaming over your body. “Oh, I’m sure you’ll be doing plenty more. A pretty girl like you… I’m sure the men will find other uses for you.”

You feel sick to your stomach at his words. “I’d rather be eaten by sharks than entertain men like you.”

The man’s smile fades, “You ought to watch your tongue, girl. Do not forget your place.”

“Trust me,” you say loud enough for the surrounding men to hear, “I know my place. It is not in your bed, and certainly not besides a man who reeks like a wet dog.”

You can hear the laughter from the other men around, and the knight’s face flushes with embarrassment. You ignore his presence and go inside your shared quarters.

Lysa claps you on the shoulder when you reach her, smiling widely. “That was brilliant,” she says. “You put that dog in his place.”

You shrug, “I just hope he takes the hint.”

Unfortunately, the old knight doesn’t. Later that night, while you’re asleep, you hear footsteps in the darkness. Before you can react, a rough hand covers your mouth. Your heart pounds in your chest as you struggle to break free, kicking around as hard as you could.

But before the man can do anything more, he’s pulled away from you, and you hear a familiar voice. “Get your filthy hands off her, or I will slice your throat myself.”

The man growls, but Lysa doesn’t back down, she presses the knife to his neck and slightly cuts it.

“You’ve got some nerve,” Lysa whispers, standing over him. “Try something like that again, and I’ll throw you overboard.”

The knight, humiliated and angry, mutters something under his breath before retreating back into the shadows.

“Are you all right?” she asks, turning to you.

You nod shakily, your heart still racing. “Thanks to you.”

She sits down beside you, her expression softening. “Us women have to stick together out here. There aren’t many people you can trust on a ship like this.”

You take her hand, squeezing it. “I won’t forget it.”

The rest of the journey passes with fewer incidents, though the tension never quite leaves. You and Lysa keep a careful eye on each other, making sure that no one else tries anything again. When the ship finally reaches the Stepstones, you’re relieved to set foot on solid ground.

When you arrive at the healers’ tent, you’re greeted not by the woman you were expecting but by an old maester. He introduces himself as Maester Aegred, and though he is kind, you could see the surprise in his eyes the moment he saw you.

“You’re the healer?” he asks, raising his brow slightly.

“I am,” you reply, straightening your back, “Lady Caswell, sent by my family to serve here.”

Maester Aegred nods slowly, though he seems uncertain. “You’re one of the only women in this camp, I’m afraid. It will not be easy for you.”

“I’m not here because I thought it would be easy,” you say firmly. “I’m here because I want to help.”

The maester gives you a small approving nod. “Very well. Welcome to the Stepstones, Lady Caswell.”

He gives hands you a basket filled with herbs and bandages. “You’ll be starting with the fevered men,” he says, “Boil these herbs for teas, and keep their wounds clean. Watch for signs of infection.”

You get to work without hesitation, the first man you attend looks barely conscious, his face wet with sweat. You dip a cloth into cool water, before placing it gently on his forehead.

“There now,” you whisper, “Rest easy. I’m here to help.”

You prepare the herbal tea as the maester instructed, bringing the it to his lips. He barely sips it, but you’re persistent, bringing him to drink more. His skin is hot to the touch, and you pray the fever will break soon.

As you continue tending to the soldiers, the hours pass by. There’s little time for anything else besides cleaning wounds, applying creams, and offering them tea.

Days pass like this—hard work from dawn until dusk. You grow more accustomed to the sight of blood. Your hands become more skilled.

One afternoon, after days of dealing with nothing but fever and infection, you’re called to tend to a knight who’s been brought in from the front lines. His armor is dented, and his face is pale beneath a layer of blood. His men carry him into the maester’s tent.

“Bring water!” the maestro yells at one of the younger healers before turning to you. “Caswell, I need you over here!”

You rush to his side and assess the knight’s condition. His leg is badly wounded, a deep cut through the muscle. Blood keeps coming through the wrapped bandage.

“I’ll need to clean this and stitch it closed,” you say. The sight of such a severe injury would have once made your stomach turn, but now, you see only the work that needs to be done.

The knight’s eyes flutter open as you begin to work, and he lets out a low groan of pain.

“You’re… the healer?” he rasps, his voice rough from pain and exhaustion.

“Yes,” you reply, your voice calm as you clean the wound. “Stay still, and I’ll cure this soon.”

He’s in pain but does his best to remain still. “Not what I expected,” he murmurs, a hint of amusement in his tone despite the situation.

“And what were you expecting?” you ask, keeping your focus on his leg.

“An ugly old maester with cold hands,” he says gritting his teeth. “Not… someone like you.”

“Sorry to disappoint.” you say in amusement.

He lets out a weak laugh before groaning in pain. “I’m not disappointed… just surprised.”

“You’re lucky to still be alive,” you say as you finish cleaning the wound. “The cut was deep. If you hadn’t been brought in when you were…”

The knight nods weakly. “Thank you… for saving my life.”

“I haven’t saved it yet,” you reply, threading your needle. “This will hurt, but it needs to be done.”

He grits his teeth and nods again, preparing himself for the pain. You work as quickly as you can, stitching the wound closed. Despite his discomfort, the knight bears, only grunting occasionally.

Once you finish, you sit back, wiping the sweat off your face. “There you go. It should heal well if you keep off it and give it time.”

The knight exhales, “Thank you… Lady—?”

“Caswell,” you say simply, not offering your full name. There’s no need for it here.

His brow lifts as if trying to place your family name, and you see the moment he realizes that your house is one of little significance. “Ah,” he says simply, “a Reach girl, then. Far from home.”

“I go where I’m needed,” you reply “as do most of us who serve.” You pause before you realize that you still don’t know his name. “And you are?”

“Ser Gwayne Hightower,” he says, giving you a small smile. “Of Oldtown.”

You pause at the name. You’ve heard of him before, of course—who hasn’t? The eldest son of Otto Hightower, the hand of the King.

You nod, standing up to gather your supplies. “Rest, Ser Gwayne. You’ll need your strength.”

As you turn to leave, he calls after you. “Lady Caswell?”

You pause, turning around. “Yes?”

“Will I… see you again?”

You can’t help but slightly smile at the question. “Only if you’re foolish enough to get yourself injured again.”

With that, you leave the tent, though his words linger in your mind.

The days pass on, and Ser Gwayne Hightower stays in the maester’s tent, recovering from his wounds. Despite the chaos and demands of the camp, you find yourself drawn to him more often than you’d expected. Every time you pass his bed to check on other patients, his eyes follow you. Sometimes, he even offers a tired smile.

You tell yourself it’s nothing. Just another soldier in need of care. But there’s something about him that keeps him in your mind.

One morning, as you tend to another patient, you hear his familiar voice call out from across the tent. "Lady Caswell!"

You sigh, trying to focus on the soldier’s arm, but Ser Gwayne does not give up.

“Lady Caswell,” he says again, this time louder, "I am dying of boredom over here. Come and put me out of my misery."

You finish your task, shaking your head, but you can’t help but smile. This has become routine, Ser Gwayne calling for you whenever you pass by, always with some comment or complaint. You try not to encourage him, but the man is relentless.

As you approach his bed, you find him sitting up on the bed, looking far better than he did when he first arrived. The color has returned to his face, and his leg, still bandaged, seems to be healing well.

“Shouldn’t you be resting?” you ask, crossing your arms as you look down at him.

He shrugs. “Resting is boring. I’ve been staring at the ceiling for days now. I think I’m going mad.”

“And what would you have me do about it?” you ask, raising an eyebrow.

“Talk to me,” he replies, as though it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “You’re the only one in this place with anything interesting to say.”

You roll your eyes, but the truth is, you like speaking with him. “And what exactly do you think is so interesting about me?”

He leans back against his pillow, a playful smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “For one, you’re the only woman I’ve met who’d rather patch up wounds than sit in some lord’s castle or pray to the gods.”

You tilt your head slightly, furrowing your eyebrows. “Is that your way of saying I’m strange?”

His smile widens. “Strange? No. Unusual, perhaps. A good kind of unusual.”

You suppress a laugh. Despite his status, he doesn’t seem to carry the same arrogance as some of the other knights you’ve tended. Still, you remind yourself why you’re here. You’re a healer, not some maiden looking for a knight’s attention.

“Well,” you say, “I’m here to heal wounds, not provide entertainment. If you’re well enough to chat, perhaps you should be focusing on getting better so you can leave the tent.”

“Leave?” Gwayne looks offended. “And abandon the finest healer in all the Seven Kingdoms? Never.”

You smirk. “Flattery will get you nowhere, Ser Gwayne.”

He chuckles but falls silent as you reach for the bandages around his leg. Carefully, you peel the cloth to examine the stitches. The wound looks clean—no signs of infection, and the stitches are holding well.

“You’ve been keeping your leg high, I hope?” you ask, meeting his gaze.

Gwayne nods, “Mostly.”

“Mostly?” you repeat, raising an eyebrow.

He shrugs, “A man can’t lie around forever. I’ve been getting up—only for a short walk around the tent, of course.”

You sigh, “You’ll undo all my hard work if you push yourself too soon.”

“Aye, but how else am I to win your favor?” he teases.

You shake your head, standing up. “You’d better focus on getting well before you concern yourself with winning anything.”

As you turn to leave, he calls after you again, this time more serious. “My lady.”

You pause but don’t turn around. “Yes?”

His voice is softer this time. “Thank you. Truly.”

You nod once before continuing on your way, trying to push the thought of him from your mind. You don’t have time for distractions, not with so many lives depending on you.

Over the next few days, Ser Gwayne’s persistence doesn’t fade. Every time you pass his bed, he finds some excuse to speak with you, to ask you how your day is. You try to remain professional, to keep your distance, but it becomes harder and harder to ignore the way his presence makes your heart skip a beat, even if only for a moment.

One evening, you find yourself alone for the first time in what feels like weeks. You’re sitting outside the maester’s tent, the cool breeze making you feel relieved at least for a moment. For a second, you allow yourself to close your eyes and breathe.

But, as if summoned by your thoughts, Gwayne appears, limping slightly as he approaches. “Lady Caswell,” he greets you.

You open your eyes and look up at him, surprised to see him outside of the tent. “You shouldn’t be walking,” you say.

He lowers himself onto the ground beside you, groaning as he does. “I needed some air,” he says quietly. “And I think you could use some company.”

You sit beside Ser Gwayne in the quiet of the night.

“You know,” Gwayne begins, his voice soft, “this is the longest conversation I’ve had in a while that didn’t revolve around injuries or strategy.”

You chuckle lightly. “I can imagine. It’s not easy finding moments of peace in a place like this.”

Gwayne nods. “I’ve been thinking about what you said before. About how you came here to make a difference.”

“Yeah?” you reply, looking at him.

Gwayne meets your eyes, “You’re doing more than most of us, you know. You’re saving lives, giving hope.”

You blush slightly, “It’s not always easy. Sometimes I wonder if I’m making any real difference.”

“You are,” he insists, reaching out to gently touch your hand. “I see it. I’ve seen the way you care for everyone, how you give everything you have.”

You feel a shiver at his touch, the warmth of his hand against yours.

Gwayne leans closer, his eyes searching yours. “I know this isn’t the place for… this,” he says softly, “but I needed to tell you how much I admire what you’re doing. And how much I appreciate you.”

Before you can say more, he gently closes the distance between you, pressing his lips to yours. You respond, feeling the passion and longing in the moment.

But as the kiss deepens, a wave of realization hits you. This isn’t the time, and it’s certainly not the place for such feelings to complicate matters. You pull back gently, your breath quick.

“I’m sorry,” you say softly, standing up. “We shouldn’t… We’re both here for important reasons, and this—” you gesture between you, “—isn’t right.”

Gwayne looks at you with understanding, his expression a mix of regret and affection. “I understand,” he says quietly. “It was a mistake.”

“No,” you correct him, “not a mistake. Just not the right time. We both have too much to focus on right now.”

He nods, his eyes filled with warmth and a touch of sadness. “Goodnight, Lady Caswell.”

“Goodnight, Ser Gwayne,” you reply, offering him a soft smile before turning away.

As you walk back to your tent, your mind is a whirl of emotions. The kiss was a moment of connection, but the reality of your situation settles in. You need to stay focused on your duties and not let personal feelings distract you from the important work ahead.

The next morning you found Lysa outside the tent, sitting on a barrel.

“You know,” she said as you sat down besides her, “I’ve seen the way that knight looks at you.”

You sigh, not in the mood for this conversation. “He’s recovering, Lysa. His mind is clouded with fever and pain. He probably doesn’t even know what he’s saying.”

Lysa chuckled, shaking her head. “No, his fever broke days ago. Trust me, that man knows exactly what he’s saying.”

You glance at her. “It’s nothing.”

“Is it?” she asked, raising an eyebrow. “I see the way you talk to him. You like him.”

You roll your eyes, “Lysa, I didn’t come here for this.”

“Maybe not,” she said, leaning back, her gaze shifting to the distant horizon, “but sometimes life gives you things you didn’t expect.”

You and Lysa were still talking near the tent when the distant thud of footsteps reached your ears. The sound wasn’t normal. It was too loud, too fast. Then, the shouting started.

“Attack!” someone yelled from the other side of the camp.

Soldiers were rushing to grab their weapons as a group of enemy soldiers burst through the camp, moving with terrifying speed.

You turned to Lysa. “We need to get the wounded out of here, now!”

Together, you rushed into the tent where the injured men lay, Ser Gwayne among them. He was awake but clearly in no condition to fight.

“What’s happening?” Ser Gwayne asked, struggling to sit up.

“The camp is under attack,” you replied quickly, moving to help another soldier out of his bed. “We need to move everyone before the raiders get here.”

Ser Gwayne tried to get up, but his leg gave out, and he collapsed back onto the bed. You hurried over to him, “You’re coming with us. No fighting.”

He frowned but didn’t argue.

More healthy soldiers rushed into the tent, and together, you began lifting the wounded onto a cart that had been brought to the entrance. You worked quickly, heart pounding, as the sounds of the attack grew closer.

One of the soldiers, helped you carry Ser Gwayne onto the back of the cart. “Let’s get them out of here!” he shouted.

The man climbed onto the driver’s seat, grabbing the reins of the horses. You and Lysa jumped up on the cart sitting with the wounded.

The horses raced forward, pulling the cart through the camp. You could see the flames now, the camp had been set on fire.

The wounded moaned and shifted with every bump, but there was no time to stop.

“We’re almost there,” the man muttered, his eyes scanning the horizon. You could see the cliffs that bordered the camp, and just beneath them, the mouth of the cave you had mentioned earlier.

The cave was deep enough to hide in, and for now, it was your only chance of getting everyone to safety.

As you neared the entrance, one of the soldiers riding beside the cart let out a sharp scream. You turned to see him clutching his side, an arrow protruding from between his ribs. He fell off his horse, but you couldn’t stop.

“No!” Lysa screamed in disbelief.

“We need to hurry!” you yelled, gripping the edge of the cart.

With a final burst of speed, the cart entered the cave’s mouth.

“We made it,” Lysa breathed, her voice trembling with relief.

You jumped down from the cart to help unload the wounded. The soldiers who had made it into the cave with you began pulling the injured men off the cart, laying them down on the cool stone floor. Ser Gwayne was the last one off, his face pale.

“Thank you,” he said quietly as you helped him to his feet.

“You can thank me when we’re safe,” you replied. Outside, you could hear the distant sounds of fighting in the camp, but for now, the cave was safe.

“We need to stay quiet,” Lysa whispered, moving to stand beside you. “If they find us here…”

“They won’t,” you said. You turned to Ser Gwayne, who was leaning against the cave wall. “How’s your leg?”

“I’ll manage,” he replied through gritted teeth. “But what now?”

You looked around the cave, your mind racing.

“We wait,” you said after a moment. “Just long enough for the fighting to stop. Then we move again.” See Gwayne nodded, although you could tell he wasn’t convinced.

The wounded soldiers groaned softly as they tried to make themselves comfortable on the rocky floor. Lysa sat beside one of them, her face tight with worry as she tended to their wounds.

The night dragged on, and the once distant sounds of battle now sounded closer every moment. You and Ser Gwayne sat at the back of the cave, listening to the clashing steel and the cries of men in the distance.

You stared up through the small opening at the top of the cave’s ceiling, where you could perfectly see the moon high in the sky. You glanced at Gwayne, who was leaning against the wall, his face pale and tense as he listened to the battle. His leg was stretched out in front of him, still causing him pain despite the bandages. Every now and then, you saw his hand twitch toward his sword, as though he were ready to fight again despite his injuries.

"They're not going to stop," you said softly, breaking the silence.

Gwayne looked at you, "No, they won't."

The battle was drawing closer. You had been hiding for hours, and the hope that the fighting would stop had vanished. Even if you went back, the camp would likely be destroyed, the supplies either burned or taken. There would be no help, no rescue.

"We might not make it through the night," you whispered.

Gwayne's gaze softened. He reached out and took your hand, squeezing it gently. "We might not," he agreed, his voice quiet.

“You ever think about how strange it all is?” Gwayne whispered after a moment. “One minute you’re fighting for your life, the next you’re here… staring at the moon.”

You smiled. “It is strange. But I suppose that’s life. Never quite what you expect.”

He laughed softly at that. “You’re far too calm about all of this. Most people would be panicking out of their minds.”

“Trust me, I’m frightened,” you admitted, meeting his gaze. “I just hide it well.”

He reached out, his hand brushing against yours, the touch sent a shiver down your spine, and you found yourself shifting closer to him.

“You’re something else,” he said softly, his voice low. There was an edge to his tone, something raw and unguarded.

You felt your pulse quicken. “Is that a compliment, Ser Gwayne?”

“It might be,” he replied, a teasing glint

You looked down at your joined hands. "I never thought it would end like this," you murmured, "In a cave, with nothing left but a few wounded men and no chance to save them."

Gwayne’s grip tightened. "It's not the end yet," he said, "But if it is…"

You took a deep breath, "If this is it… if this is the last night…" You said with a shaky voice, but you forced yourself to meet his eyes. "I don't want to spend it in fear."

Gwayne looked at you, he gave you a small chuckle. "You know… I've thought about that too. If we're going to die, why waste the time we have left in misery?"

You look at him, your gaze fixated on his lips "Then let's not."

Gwayne's eyes searched yours, and then, without another word, he pulled you toward him.

His lips met yours in a kiss that was both desperate and tender, filled with a need that went beyond mere desire.

He pulled you closer with his good hand. The kiss deepened, growing more desperate. You pressed yourself against him, your heart racing as his lips moved down pressing soft kisses against your neck.

He looked back up to you, “My leg’s no good for much, but I’m not about to let that stop us,” he whispered.

You smiled, “Then let me take over.”

Gently, you guided him down to the ground on his back, careful of his injured leg. He watched you with desperate eyes as you sat on top him, adjusting yourself carefully so as not to cause him pain. His hands instinctively slid to your hips, his touch firm but gentle.

Your hands rested on his chest, you could feel his heartbeat racing, matching the wild rhythm of your own. You leaned in close, pressing your lips to his with a tenderness that contrasted with the fierce urgency you both felt.

You broke the kiss for just a moment, sitting up to pull your shirt over your head. His eyes roamed over you with raw hunger, his hands sliding up to cup your breasts, thumbs brushing across your sensitive nipples.

“Beautiful,” he whispered, leaning up to press his lips against your collarbone, kissing his way down.

You gasped softly as his lips found a tender spot on your neck. Your hands moved to undo the ties at your waist, slipping out of your pants, leaving you completely bare before him.

With his help, you shifted slightly to tug his trousers down. He was already hard, his length pressing eagerly against your thigh as you settled back atop him. The tension between you both was almost unbearable as you pulled yourself up, the tip of him brushing against your wet entrance.

He groaned softly as you lowered your body and began to roll your hips against him. His hands gripped your waist tighter, helping to guide you as you moved.

“Does it hurt?” you whispered breathlessly.

He shook his head as he looked up at you. “No… it feels good. Don’t stop.”

“You’re perfect,” he breathed, his voice filled

with pleasure. He tilted his head up, capturing your lips in a kiss. Your bodies moved in sync, the sound of your panting breaths and the sounds of your bodies clashing filled the cave.

Your hands tangled in his hair, tugging gently as you kissed him harder, your hips rolling harder. You could feel yourself nearing your climax.

“Gwayne…” you gasped his name, breaking the kiss.

He groaned again, his eyes locked on yours as he thrust up into you with what strength he had,“I’m right here,” he whispered, his voice low.

That was all it took for you to come. Your body trembled as you reached your peak, your head falling back. You felt Gwayne follow moments later, his grip on you tightening as he came too, his body trembling beneath yours as he filled you.

For a long moment, neither of you moved, your breaths in uneven gasps. You collapsed against his chest, your bodies still connected.

His hands moved lazily up and down your back, a gentle, reassuring touch. You lifted your head, pressing a soft kiss to his jawline.

“That… was worth it,” Gwayne murmured, his lips quirking into a tired but satisfied smile.

You chuckled softly, brushing a strand of hair away from your face. “I think so too.”

“I think I can die at peace now.” Gwayne sighed gazing at the moon.

“I think so too.” you nodded smiling at him.

Pt.2???

[infiniteglitterfall]

I do realize this is a real niche post but I cannot tell you how many damn times over the past 10 months I've seen gentiles tell Jews some version of, "Your own holy book SAYS God doesn't want you to have a country yet!"

And it's such an incredibly blatant and weirdly specific tell that they're not part of something that grew from progressive grassroots, but something based on right-wing astroturfing.

1. Staying in your own lane is a pretty huge progressive principle.

Telling people in another group that their deity said they couldn't do X is, I think, as far as you can get from your own lane.

2. It's also very clearly Not In Your Own Lane because I've never seen anyone actually be able to EITHER quote the passage they're thinking of, OR cite where it is.

It's purely, "I saw somebody else say this, and it seemed like it would make me win the debate I wasn't invited to."

3. It betrays a complete ignorance of Jewish culture and history.

Seriously? You don't know what you're referencing, its context, or even what it specifically says, but you're... coming to a community that reads and often discusses the entire Torah together each year, at weekly services... who have massive books holding generations of debate about it that it takes 7 years to read, at one page per day....

And saying, "YOUR book told you not to!"

I've been to services where we discussed just one word from the reading the whole time. The etymology. The connotations. The use of it in this passage versus in other passages.

And then there is the famous saying, "Ask two Jews, get three opinions." There is a culture of questioning and discussion and debate throughout Judaism.

You think maybe, in the decades and decades of public discussion about whether to buy land in Eretz Yisrael and move back there; whether it should keep being an individual thing, or keep shifting to intentional community projects; what the risks were; whether it should really be in Argentina or Canada or someplace instead; how this would be received by the Jews and gentiles already there, how to respect their boundaries, how to work with them before and during; and whether ending up with a fuckton of Jews in one place might not be exactly as dangerous for them as it had always been everywhere else....

You think NOBODY brought up anything scriptural? Nobody looked through the Torah, the Nevi'im, the Ketuvim, or the Talmud for any thoughts about any of this?? It took 200 years and some rando in the comments to blow everyone's minds???

4. It relies on an unspoken assumption that people can and should take very literal readings of religious texts and use them to control others.

And a sense of ownership and power over those texts, even without any accompanying knowledge about what they say.

It's kind of a supercessionist know-it-all vibe. It reads like, "I know what you should be doing. Because even if I'm not personally part of a fundamentalist branch of a related religion, the culture I'm rooted in is."

Bonus version I found when I was looking for an example. NOBODY should do this:

There are a lot of people who pull weird historical claims like "It SAYS Abraham came from Chaldea! That's Iraq!"

Like, first of all, a group is indigenous to a land if it arose as a people and culture there, before (not because of) colonization.

People aren't spontaneously spawning in groups, like "Boom! A new indigenous people just spawned!!"

People come from places. They go places. Sometimes, they gel as a new community and culture. Sometimes, they bop around for a while and eventually assimilate into another group.

Second: THE TORAH IS NOT A HISTORY TEXTBOOK OMFG.

It's an oral history, largely written centuries after the fact.

There is a TON of historical and archaeological research on when and where the Jewish culture originated, how it developed over time, etc. It's extremely well-established.

Nobody has to try to pull what they remember from Sunday school for this argument.

[beggars-opera]

Ok, so I live in one of the more liberal areas of the country. Our governor is a lesbian and I literally did not even know until after she got elected, because it was that much of a nonissue.

Lately, I'm seeing more and more local institutions doing things for Pride. Institutions that don't necessarily have to, or do so awkwardly, but they're trying to be good allies. And, even here, I see people foaming at the mouth. This thing is ruined. Unprofessional. Political. Sexual. Boycotting, disgusted, bye.

And a part of me is like, "Why would a random store, a museum, a restaurant, do this?" Part of my mind has been so corrupted by the idea of rainbow capitalism that the thought of someone just...trying to be an imperfect ally is a cash grab.

It's not. Every bit counts, and especially as we see pushback, and see some of those corporations beginning to rethink their rainbow capitalism, the places that continue to speak up are so, so important.

I'm reminded of a rant by Illustrious Old White Man Historian Gordon Wood a few years back where he lamented how fragmented modern history is. Why do we need ANOTHER book about women, about enslaved people, about the poor? Why are we focusing on these people instead of George Mount Rushmore Washington?

And it was an interesting framing, because he insinuated that these micro histories were bad not because they existed, but because they didn't give the whole story, which in Gordon's mind was a story in which they were the side characters instead of the mains. To that end a biography of G Wash that features the bare shadow of Billy Lee in the far distance is a complete history, all that needs to be said, because one of those figures is a God Amongst Men and the other does not deserve to be fully fleshed out as a full, autonomous human being with a family and a profession and a beating heart. And a biography of William Lee, war aid, professional valet, and person closest to the first president of the United States, with the shadow of George in the background, would consequently be Bad History, because no one is saying that this man didn't exist, but his story isn't the whole story. It's backwards; he should be a footnote, and if he's not, that's bias.

But for me, as a historian, I know that the reason these microhistories exist, and are so important, is that they didn't exist before. Before someone can be truly, purposefully, tactfully inserted into the historical narrative, you need to know who they are. Not just as a name, not just as an archetype. You have to get to the point where there are so many books flooding the market about women and children and immigrants that it's no longer controversial to be talking about them, where learning about them instead of someone else is normal.

THEN you can feel good about rewriting the more general narrative. THEN you can actually have the information you need in order to put things into their proper context, to rethink the most important figure in each story, to assess what the full milieu of the time is.

And that's where we're at with Pride. We are still very much living in a time where queer people are shadow characters in the background. They are people that many will admit exist, but for god's sake, don't make them important, don't make them real, don't make them normal. And until we can shove rainbows down everyone's throats to the point where being queer is no longer seen as a thing that is Other, until we convince people that we're not going away, we will never be able to fully assimilate queerness into society.

We can't just be normal about Pride, because normal isn't loud enough to not get drowned out.

[cutielando]

family | r.c.

synopsis: in which you give Rafe everything he has wished for

my masterlist

Ever since he was young, Rafe had always dreamed of having a family. His wife, his children that he would raise whatever way he saw fit with his partner by his side. He wanted it all.

Growing up, he came to the conclusion that he would never have that. Who would want to love someone as damaged as him? Not even his family loved him, he couldn’t expect a stranger to do so. It would be completely unfair.

Meeting you had been Rafe’s lifeline from the very beginning. He couldn’t explain it, but he knew, from the moment you had first spoken to each other, that he would end up marrying you.

To some people, it might seem rash, or completely unrealistic. How could you think that you would be spending the rest of your life with someone you had known for such a short amount of time? Some even called Rafe delusional.

But he had been right in the end.

You saw Rafe for so much more than his family was making him believe about himself. He had so much potential to become such a great human being, a great CEO for his family’s business, an amazing partner and a reliable friend. He had all the qualities to be amazing, he was just being let down by his own family who didn’t believe he was worth any trouble. A fact which completely broke your heart.

You had vowed to yourself that you wouldn’t let his family dictate his life any longer, that you would not let them bring him down and make him think less of himself. You would show him just how much life had to offer and how much better off he would be without their control over him.

Rafe knew he had to get out. He would never have got better if he were to remain to live under the same roof as them or even be in the same place as them.

Which was partially the reason why the two of you moved in together on the mainland, not even 6 months after your relationship had officially started. Many of your friends thought it was too soon, that you hadn’t thought things through and were just acting up. Typical things coming from entitled teenagers.

Nothing about your relationship was ordinary. The circumstances in which the two of you had met, the very beginning of your relationship with each other, your interactions with his family and especially his father, your mutual decision to help Rafe escape from the toxic environment he had grown accustomed to. Unique circumstances, as your boyfriend had liked putting it.

Those exact circumstances were the reason why Rafe proposed to you on your 1 year anniversary dinner. He hadn’t told anyone he would be doing it, making sure you didn’t suspect anything that would ruin his surprise.

The wedding ceremony had been the one to go down in history books. You’d decided to go all out, inviting every last one of your friends, both of your families, a lot of people from the island, new friends you had made since the two of you moved, wanting the people you loved close to you on that special day.

Rafe had been skeptical of inviting his family at first, very familiar with the way his father made it his life’s mission to make his son’s life a living hell with any occasion.

Luckily, thanks to Rose, that hadn’t been the case at all. You didn’t even know he was there, that’s how quiet and invisible he had made himself out to be.

Being married to Rafe was amazing. You both had stable jobs, but you still made time for each other every single day. He would always bring you something when he would come home, either a bouquet of your favorite flowers, or some kind of jewelry that he had seen on the way home and made him think of you.

Everything was perfect.

But there was just something missing. Something both of you had been thinking about but didn’t have the courage to bring it up until one night.

A child.

“Baby?” Rafe had called out to you one night while you were doing your night routine.

“Yes?” you called out from the bathroom.

“Can we talk about something once you’re done?” his words made you a little bit nervous, figuring it had to be something important.

“Of course” you called back, now suddenly in a hurry to finish your skincare.

Nerves were gnawing at your chest, making all kinds of thoughts run through your head. Deep down, you knew you had no reason to be scared or anything like that. At the end of the day, it was Rafe you were talking about. Your sweet, sweet husband.

You walked back into your shared bedroom, noticing Rafe sitting in the middle of the bed under the covers, playing with his hands which rested on his lap.

Getting in next to him and cuddling with the mountain of blankets you slept with, you smiled at him, which he reciprocated but his smile didn’t meet his eyes.

“What did you want to talk about?” you asked, taking his hand in yours once you realized just how nervous he was.

He cleared his throat, turning around so he was completely facing you.

“I’ve been thinking lately, we’ve got a very stable lifestyle, you know? We both have good jobs, we really have a lot of money, we have a nice and big house, we have friends who support us, we’re doing really well, wouldn’t you agree?” he asked, making you nod. “I was thinking about it, and you can totally say no and I would completely understand if you think it would be too soon. But what do you thinking about starting to try for a baby?” by the time he had asked the question, his hands were shaking even more so than they were before.

You were shocked, to say the least. You had been toying around with the idea in your head as well, but you were skeptical of bringing it up because you had just got married, you didn’t want to pressure Rafe into having a kid just yet.

As it turned out, he had been doing the exact same thing.

“I think it’s time we started trying for a baby” you whispered, biting your lip once you saw how his eyes lit up.

“You do? You’re not just saying that for my sake?” he whispered, wanting to make sure you were truly on the same page about this.

You shook your head, smiling at him fondly.

“Truth to be told, I’ve been thinking about bringing up having children ever since our honeymoon ended, but I didn’t want to make you feel pressured to have a kid right away. Turns out I’ve been worrying in vain all this time” you chuckled, taking a hold of one of his hands.

Rafe chuckled alongside you and let out a big breath, feeling relief slowly taking over his body.

Silence fell over the room, you and your husband communicating through your eyes. There was an unspoken agreement between the two of you, an agreement that it was time for your family to get bigger, that you were more than ready to take this step together.

That you were ready to embark on yet another adventure.

Said adventure proved to come much quicker than the both of you were expecting.

After not even a month since you’d had that discussion and agreed that you would start trying for a baby, the blue stick that you had purchased at the pharmacy had shown a + sign, marking the beginning of your journey towards parenthood.

Telling Rafe had been your favorite part. You had gone out to the store and bought a little onesie and baby socks, deciding to put them in a small gift box along with the positive test you had taken.

When Rafe came home and discovered the gift, he burst out crying, sinking down to his knees and pressing kisses on your stomach, repeatedly thanking you for giving him such a huge blessing to love and care for.

For giving him a family.

comments and re-blogs help us grow!

much appreciated!!

REQUEST HERE

[nothingbutsweetwords]

ɴᴏʙᴏᴅʏ'ꜱ ꜱᴏɴ, ɴᴏʙᴏᴅʏ'ꜱ ᴅᴀᴜɢʜᴛᴇʀ

ᴀᴇᴍᴏɴᴅ x ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ!ɴɪᴇᴄᴇ

"ɪ ᴅɪᴅɴ'ᴛ ᴋɴᴏᴡ ɪꜰ ʏᴏᴜ'ᴅ ᴄᴀʀᴇ ɪꜰ ɪ ᴄᴀᴍᴇ ʙᴀᴄᴋ…"

Word count: 6,800.

Fandom: House of the Dragon.

Pairing: Aemond x Reader!Velaryon!Niece.

DISTANCE — 9. Her.

At first, her days had been monotonous and boring. She rarely left her room, and even less so the castle. Immersed in a life that contrasted drastically with the ceaseless hustle and bustle of the former.

There, far from King's Landing, she found herself yearning for the life she had left behind. Closed off to life in Dragonstone, which was simpler, slower, and she could not find solace in it. She missed the Red Keep, which, although no longer felt like home, was at least familiar. The constant hum of activity and the presence of people she once took for granted seemed like a distant dream.

But most of all, she missed him. The void left by his absence was palpable, a constant ache that never quite went away. His absence haunted her thoughts, making the already stark contrast between her past and present even more pronounced. The memory of him was a specter that lingered at the edges of her mind, making the solitude of Dragonstone feel even more isolating.

She found refuge only in the company of her mother, her lady-in-waiting, and her brothers. Joffrey, still too young to ride his dragon, provided a source of innocent joy. Luke and Jace, when they weren’t engrossed in training or flying, shared special moments with her that briefly alleviated her loneliness.

She couldn't help but feel envious of how easily her brothers seemed to have adapted. She acknowledged that her difficulty was purely her own fault; she couldn't completely let go of her previous life. She deeply longed for her past, melancholic.

Her memories were vivid with the bustle of the city and the castle coming to life, the constant coming and going of servants and guards, the plush softness of her mattress, the warmness of his chest, the distant chimes of the Grand Sept’s bells, the depth of his gaze, and the calm sea, always present, gently caressing the bay and framing the view from her window, a soothing backdrop to her daily life.

Despite the dangers and politics that filled every corner, for her, King's Landing was synonymous with belonging and security; it was all she knew.

The transition to Dragonstone was jarring, an abrupt shift that left her reeling. The moment she set foot on the island, she was struck by its untamed beauty and raw, almost menacing energy. The rugged cliffs, the relentless waves crashing against the shore, and the brooding sky all seemed to echo a wildness she found unsettling and violent.

She allowed herself to explore, tentatively at first, then with growing curiosity. She marveled at the sea, how it changed hues under the shifting light—cleaner, deeper, more vibrant than the waters of Blackwater Bay. The night sky, free from the haze of city lights, seemed brighter. The nights, though lonelier, were filled with peace and reflection.

The energies of her ancestors seemed to throb in the draconic sculpted walls, as if the stones themselves narrated the history of her forebears. Every dark corridor, every imposing tower, every silent room vibrated with the presence of those who had walked there before her. In the library, filled with knowledge and more books than she had ever seen, words were inscribed on ancient scrolls and tomes, preserving tales of bygone eras. The cliffs that bordered the island and the smoking Dragonmont were full of arcane mysteries, revealing forgotten feats and silent tragedies. The caves, home to legendary dragons, were sanctuaries of life, brimming with a raw and primordial energy. The entire  castle emanated a glorious force and the island seemed to hum with a magnificent power, a testament to the grandeur and might of her ancestry.

The connection she felt with the place deepened, and as she accepted this, a newfound peace washed over her. King's Landing would always hold a piece of her heart, but Dragonstone had claimed her spirit, her soul, and her unwavering loyalty.

She began to understand that it wasn't merely a place of exile or a temporary stop, but her true home. It was a living bond with her real identity, and each time she thought of her previous life, the memory faded, becoming less significant.

Her initial apprehension transformed into a resounding devotion, turning Dragonstone into the most cherished landscape she had ever known.

Soon, Daemon's visits became more frequent, and no one was surprised when they witnessed the Valyrian wedding. The ceremony was nothing short of magnificent, with dragon banners fluttering in the wind and ancient rites performed under the watchful eyes of the gods. 

When both families united, it only brought more joy and harmony. She already loved her family deeply, but the female presence of Baela and Rhaena was something she profoundly thanked.

However, there was another emotion that had slowly evolved within her, refusing to fully resolve. While she may have stopped yearning for King's Landing, there remained someone there she could not forget. This lingering longing was a shadow in her heart, an echo of the past that refused to fade completely, keeping a part of her spirit tethered to the city she had left behind.

At first, she was engulfed in confusion, questioning if, that fateful night, perhaps, she had overstepped boundaries—if she had misinterpreted his silent signals and misunderstood his whispered words.

Then came a deep, shadowy sadness. The day she departed, she had not only lost her father and the place where she grew up, but also her closest and dearest friend. It felt as if she had left behind a piece of her soul along with her childhood.

In the wake of this sorrow, an all-consuming anger took hold. She had sacrificed so much, standing steadfastly by his side through his darkest hours, and yet, a simple visit in the wake of her father’s death felt like the least acknowledgment she deserved in return. The injustice of it all ignited a flame within her.

Every fiber of her being ached for a reunion with him, even as she dreaded the prospect of facing him again. Her dreams were haunted by visions of him riding Vhagar, soaring through the skies in search of her. She imagined letters arriving, responses to her heartfelt missives, yet such never came, and those dreams remained unfulfilled.

With the impending journey, as the anniversary of the King's coronation and his nameday approached, the inevitable reunion loomed on the horizon. It promised a family gathering that, though eagerly anticipated, also filled her with profound fear.

Since moving to the island, her mother had constantly spoken of one particular thing. "She's restless," she would remark with a knowing glance, "because of you."

The islanders had told her mother: “She hasn’t been like this in years, not since she lost her rider.” At first, she paid little attention, not wanting to get her hopes up, attributing the rumors to local superstitions. But soon, she began to notice the signs.

Every morning upon waking, she would see her flying near her window, watching her with inquisitive eyes, as if trying to understand who this new inhabitant of the island was, attempting to discern the nature of her presence.

During her training sessions on the beach, she often felt a sudden, cool shadow sweep across her, and when she looked up, there she was, her powerful wings creating gusts that made her hair dance. Often accompanied by Vermithor, who kept watch from above but never descended.

At first, the proximity unnerved her, but over time, it became comforting, even familiar. There was something in those ancient eyes that awakened a sense of recognition, something she couldn’t explain.

One afternoon, after an intense training session with her brothers and and with her and Jace's seventeenth nameday celebration on the horizon, she found herself on the coast, basking in the splendor of the landscape.

The sky was painted in shades of orange and pink as the sun dipped below the horizon, bathing the island in a warm, golden glow, a sharp difference to the usual gloomy days. 

That day, something within her roared with the same power that emanated from the creature. She felt an unspoken connection, a deep, primal awareness that the dragon was near, resonating through her very core.

As she stood by, her senses were suddenly alive with anticipation. She appeared, skimming so close to the water that the sea’s mist kissed her face, as though conveying a message from fate itself.

Her heart raced as she watched her turn in the air and come back, her wings slicing through the clouds. The dragon turned her head towards her, letting out a soft roar, almost like an invitation.

Without a second thought, she began to follow, feeling her steps guided by a higher force.

The dragon flew at a deliberate pace, allowing her to keep up before tucking its wings and disappearing into a cavern. She climbed the slopes of Dragonmont. The path was treacherous, with loose stones and narrow ledges. Fortunately, she wasn’t wearing a dress, making her ascent easier.

Anticipation and nervousness filled her. The tales resonated in her mind, and although she wasn’t sure how to proceed, an inner voice urged her to keep moving forward.

Reaching the mouth of the cave, she paused for a moment, catching her breath and taking in the view behind her. The island lay sprawled out beneath her, the setting sun casting long shadows and turning the sea into a shimmering expanse of molten gold. She turned back to the cave, the entrance dark and foreboding, yet filled with an irresistible allure.

Gathering her courage, she stepped into the dimness. The air was cool and damp, carrying the scent of earth and the faint, sulfurous hint of the volcano.

It was vaguely illuminated by the sunlight filtering through cracks in the ceiling, casting a beautiful dance of shadows on the walls.

Suddenly, she saw her. Lying on a bed of rocks and moss, silver scales glimmered like scattered stardust. A majestic being of contained strength. Her eyes, a deep blue, resembling two flawless sapphires, locked onto her with intense scrutiny. Upon sensing her presence, she greeted her arrival with a low rumble.

It was a truly imposing and beautiful sight. Her neck was long, and her size colossal. With caution and respect, she approached, mesmerized. 

She kept her hands visible, her movements slow, and her breaths gentle, hoping that she could sense the sincerity of her heart and the absence of fear. The dragon lifted her head, observing her with a calm yet watchful curiosity.

The moment felt eternal, a breath of time where they studied each other. She continued to close the distance and slowly extended her arm. “Māzīs” she whispered softly, the word carrying her hopes and intentions.

Silverwing approached, her movements both graceful and powerful, took a step forward, and after a few seconds, lowered her enormous head, aligning it with the extended hand. She raised it further, and when she finally touched her, she felt a connection, an invisible bond that seemed to pull her heart towards the being. Silverwing created a magical aura around both.

She knew, with firm certainty, that this was her destiny.

A warm glow enveloped them, and Silverwing emitted a low, guttural sound, a harmonious mix of purring and roaring. A shiver of recognition and wonder coursed through her as she realized that this moment was far greater than her own.

As her hands traced her warm body, she began to whisper: “Nyke kivio naejot rigle ao.” The dragon closed her eyes, enjoying her touch and voice. A bond of trust and understanding began to form and she felt a wave of emotions, primarily a sense of belonging.

With a huge smile on her face, she walked slowly around her, maintaining the contact, caressing her sides with gratitude and reverence. The scales gleamed, reflecting the filtered sunlight. At that moment, she felt that not even the moon could rival the dragon’s ethereal beauty.

Silverwing lowered herself, pressing her chest against the cavern floor, creating a natural platform for her to mount. With a sense of mutual trust and understanding, she accepted the silent invitation. Using the aid of the extended wing, she carefully climbed onto her back, feeling the powerful muscles beneath her and the unwavering strength of her new companion.

It was a bit challenging, as there was no saddle after so many years without a rider. With her legs spread on either side of her body, she stroked her back and grasped the horns that adorned her neck, securing her position.

“Sōvēs, Gēliotīkun” she said, the words carrying a blend of awe and command

The dragon responded with a soft grunt of assent, her wings slowly unfolding like enormous sails ready to catch the wind. They were a marvel in themselves, of impressive span, extending beyond what her eyes could grasp, with silver membranes shimmering with blue flecks at the slightest movement.

The cavern filled with the sound of wings beating and a powerful creaking beneath them, resonating like a gentle thunder. She held on tightly, feeling a tingle of anticipation.

With a sublime thrust, Silverwing flew out of the entrance and soared into the open sky.

The wind whipped against her face, but rather than being bothersome, it felt like a liberating caress. The horizon stretched before them in endless splendor. She let the adrenaline and exhilaration flood her veins.

From the heights, Dragonstone looked even more magnificent, all merging into a visual symphony that took her breath away. She felt part of something much larger than herself, and as they flew, every fear and doubt seemed to evaporate.

They left everything far behind. She leaned forward, feeling the cool breeze caress her face and play with her hair, undoing her braids and freeing her curls while she held tightly.

“Aderī!” she shouted.

They climbed even higher and faster, passing through the clouds. And there, at the boundary between land and sky, the dragon roared with a joy and power that reverberated in the heavens like an echo of her own cries of happiness. 

It was a sound of triumph and unity, an announcement to the world that they were now an unstoppable force.

As she adjusted to the rhythm of flight, she allowed the tension in her hands to relax, letting the moment envelop her completely.

The feeling of freedom was indescribable, as if she had been released from the chains of the earthly world to explore the celestial realms. 

Silverwing soared with the regal grace of a sovereign over her domain, her wings beating with a powerful and confident rhythm that spoke of absolute mastery and majesty.

She descended gently towards the coast, giving her time to steady herself. Then she flew so close to the water that she could feel the mist on her face and fill her lungs with fresh, salty air. The waves crashed against the rocks, sending bright splashes in all directions, just as they had whenever she had seen them before.

They circled around the castle, their shadows casting over the walls and towers. The guards and residents of the castle looked up in awe, gazing at the magnificent figure of the dragon and her new rider, a sight not seen since the times of the good queen.

The dragon ascended once more, spiraling up into the sky before diving into a thrilling descent as she cried out with excitement.

“Ninkiot!” her voice carried by the wind.

With a gentle landing, Silverwing descended onto the shore, her powerful legs sinking into the sand as the waves gently lapped around her.

Carefully, she dismounted, her legs trembling slightly from the excitement of the flight and her heart pounding, almost wanting to escape her chest. She stroked the dragon’s neck, whispering “Kirimvose” as she walked across the wet sand. 

As she reached her front, the solemn creature lowered her head, large eyes watching her attentively again, strengthening the bond between them beyond mere duty or tradition. With that gesture, she allowed her to lean against her forehead again, a clear sign of acceptance, an indication that she had chosen her as her rider. 

She closed her eyes, letting tears of joy flow freely. She tried to embrace the sturdy neck, and though she could not wrap around it, she felt the powerful breath vibrating under her arms.

On the beach, they remained still, enjoying the tranquility that followed the journey. The rhythmic lullaby of the waves and the warm glow of the setting sun created an atmosphere of serenity. Her life had taken a definitive turn, finding in the silver dragon not only a rider-dragon relationship but a faithful and powerful ally, and a sacred bond between two souls, a reflection of her own spirit.

As the sun slowly slid below the horizon, painting the sky with fiery reds and purple hues, they watched together the vast ocean stretching before them.

Thus, enveloped by the twilight that wrapped the world in a soft dusk, they sealed their bond with a silent promise, a tacit oath of eternal loyalty and companionship.

As the sun bid farewell with its last glimmer of light, she prepared to return to the castle, but not before giving the dragon one last affectionate stroke. As she turned, she noticed a figure at the entrance between the rocks: it was Jace, his eyes wide with amazement at what he had just witnessed. Seeing him, her smile widened even more, and she ran towards him.

“You did it!” he exclaimed, unable to contain his excitement. She nodded with a joyful laugh, and he greeted her with open arms, lifting her and spinning her in the air.

“This is... it's truly amazing!” When he set her down, he planted a kiss on her forehead and hugged her tightly. “We must celebrate” he declared enthusiastically.

“I do not wish to make Rhaena feel left out” she replied, still a bit concerned about her sister.

“Are you serious? You have just claimed a dragon, and you want it to go unnoticed?” Jace looked at her incredulously. “This is monumental.” She laughed, and taking his hand, she dragged him towards the castle.

“We shall celebrate our nameday on the morrow, and, quietly, this as well” she said, their voices echoing between the stone walls on the way to the castle.

“Would you carry me? I feel as my legs might give out any moment” she asked, and Jace chuckled softly, bending down so she could climb

With a small leap, she rested on his back, feeling the security and strength of her twin. “We need to have a saddle made. Although, I must admit, seeing you fly without one was impressive.”

She leaned forward, whispering near his ear: “I felt free, like it was the most natural thing.”

“It will be even better with a proper saddle” he said, nodding to himself. She laughed. She had enjoyed it that way, but she knew they would feel more at ease knowing she had something to hold on to.

Both Daemon and Baela were at Driftmark, so it was just the two of them, their mother, Joffrey, Luke, and Rhaena.

Their arrival did not go unnoticed. When the doors of the hall where they used to have supper swung wide open, and Jace set her down on the floor, she was greeted by a wave of emotions and smiling faces.

Rhaenyra was the first to approach, her eyes filled with pride and joy. “I’m so happy for you, my love” she said with a radiant smile, hugging her tightly. “I knew she was meant for you.”

Her siblings, with admiration in their eyes, surrounded her, congratulating her.

However, among them all, one stood out. Despite being the only one without a dragon, her face reflected genuine happiness for her achievement. Rhaena approached with a warm smile, her eyes shining.

“I knew you’d make it someday” Rhaena said, hugging her tightly.

She felt a deep sense of gratitude and love. Gently stroking Rhaena’s back, she responded with empathy: “Your time will come as well, I am certain of it. You’re strong and brave, and your dragon is waiting for you, just as mine did for me.”

Rhaena nodded, her eyes filled with determination. “I know” she said, with unwavering faith.

She felt a wave of pride for the younger sister, whose resilience and hope were admirable. “And when that moment comes,” she added with a smile, “I will be the first to celebrate it with you.”

She had been fraught with anxiety, and the soothing sensation of flying alongside her cherished dragon was her only respite. The thought of possibly withdrawing from the impending journey loomed over her, yet deep down, she knew she couldn’t evade it forever. Before the moon could wane, she found herself walking toward the main courtyard, where the dragons and their riders were busily preparing for the upcoming journey.

The festivities were still some time away, but her mother had decided to travel ahead of time, as news of the king’s declining health had reached, and she wanted to spend more time by his side.

In the bustling courtyard, Daemon, commanding the attention of all around him, stood beside Caraxes. His authoritative voice cut through the air as he directed those who would remain behind at the castle. The earlier departure of the other servants had ensured that every detail in King’s Landing was meticulously prepared for their arrival, leaving nothing to chance.

Jace and Luke were checking the straps and harnesses of Vermax and Arrax, while Baela and Rhaena were already mounted on Moondancer, as was her mother on Syrax.

Her youngest brother was especially excited, bouncing from side to side, eager for his first flight. It had taken considerable coaxing from both him and her to convince Rhaenyra to grant permission for them to travel together on dragonback.

“Silverwing looks magnificent!” Joffrey exclaimed. “I can’t wait to fly with her.” She smiled at his joy.

A few days before, she had introduced them. She knew her dragon was known for her gentleness, but she still needed to make sure she felt comfortable.

Silverwing had a new saddle, all black with the Targaryen heraldry in silver, as well as other details, in her honor. 

She mounted first to secure everything. The dragon braced herself well against the ground to assist in the little one’s mounting, who, with the agility of youth, had no trouble getting on. He settled in front of her, his face full of awe.

“Are you ready?” she asked with a smile, observing the excitement on his face, before adjusting both their harnesses.

“Yes!” He exclaimed, his eyes sparkling with anticipation.

Once everyone was ready, Silverwing led the flight.

The journey was an incredible experience. Both Joffrey and she were delighted with everything they saw. He, marveling at the views for the first time, and she, still awestruck by the beauty of flying over the vast expanse of the realm.

The trip took less time than she had expected, and not enough to fully accept what was to come. Seeing King’s Landing after so long was strange. Though she didn’t wish to return, her heart was melancholic. It was pleasant to see it again after such a long time, and from a different angle.

From afar, she spotted the enormous shape of Vhagar, who, too large to enter the Dragonpit, was sleeping on the meadow. Once close, she stirred, curious about the visit, and when Silverwing landed, they exchanged friendly roars.

The dragon keepers, those who had been there the longest, had informed her of Silverwing’s fondness for freedom, and she intended to respect it. Unlike the others, she would allow her to rest freely on the green of Rhaenys’s hill.

Joffrey’s mouth was open, amazed by the imposing dragon, as he had never seen her before. She couldn’t help but let out a small laugh at this.

“Do you think Tyraxes will grow that big?” He asked, his eyes filled with dreams and hope.

“I think Tyraxes will grow even bigger, my dear” she replied with a smile.

Once they were on the ground, she took her little brother's hand, and after thanking Silverwing for a good flight and wishing her rest, they began to walk toward where their family and the carriages were waiting, ready to travel to the Red Keep.

Joffrey, as curious as ever, kept asking her about Vhagar, and she happily responded, delighted that he shared her interests.

“Vhagar is the oldest and largest” she explained as they walked. “She has seen many battles and served many brave riders.”

“Who is her rider now?” he asked, his tone full of wonder.

“Prince Aemond, our uncle” she replied, gently squeezing his hand. It had been a long time since she had spoken his name out loud.

When they reunited with their family, her mother hugged them as if they hadn’t seen each other in months, ensuring that they were well and ready for the next stage of the journey. Then they split up, with Rhaenyra, Jace, Joffrey, and her on one side, and Daemon, Baela, Rhaena, and Luke on the other.

Rhaenyra took her hand in the carriage, aware of the significance it held for her. “Everything will be alright, my love” she murmured gently.

Her siblings, peering out the windows with a mixture of curiosity and wonder, marveled at the sights they hadn't had the chance to explore.

“I know, mother” she replied, her voice tinged with both gratitude and a hint of nervous anticipation.

When they passed through the gates and were formally presented at the castle entrance, the door opened. It was their mother who went out first, followed by everyone else. Her fears and desires came true simultaneously, as he was conspicuously absent, leaving a hollow space where his presence should have been.

The king stood there, a shadow of his former self—his features more weary and his steps slower, but his eyes sparkled with a radiant joy. He had a beaming smile and nearly dropped his cane in his eagerness to embrace his daughter.

“It’s been so long” he said, his voice trembling with emotion.

They stayed embraced while the others, except for Daemon, offered a courtesy to the queen. She merely greeted from the stairs, her smile a mere flicker that failed to reach her eyes.

The greeting between Alicent and Rhaenyra was tense, unlike the warm embrace everyone else received from the king, who then continued chatting with his brother.

They then headed to their usual floor and dispersed to their respective rooms.

When she arrived, Lyra was already starting to prepare a hot bath. Seeing each other, they smiled, and she walked over to hug her.

“Thank the gods I was already preparing the bath” Lyra said with a smile.

She chuckled at the comment. Perhaps it was for the best that she hadn't seen him, given the state she was in.

Inside, she wrestled with conflicting desires: a part of her wished to never see him again, while another longed to see him immediately, to finally unburden herself from the weight she carried.

As she wandered around the room, her gaze lingered on the familiar surroundings. Once grand and spacious, it now felt confined compared to her quarters on Dragonstone. The room seemed to stand still in time, every piece of furniture and every detail evoking a rush of memories that tangled with her turbulent emotions. Despite her efforts to appear composed, inside, she felt a storm of nostalgia and unease.

“It’s so weird” she murmured as she took in the unchanged space.

“Yes,” the lady agreed, her tone light and soothing, “I think you took all its warmth with you.” Lyra gestured toward the now steaming bath, indicating that it was ready.

She began to undress. As she sank into the bathtub, allowing the warmth to dissipate the accumulated nerves, she relaxed her tense body. Each drop of water seemed to carry away a piece of her anxiety. She let out a sigh of relief.

The soothing scent of rose oil provided a brief respite from the day’s intense emotions, although her mind continued to spin.

Lyra, with the familiarity that only close friendship could offer, and understanding the emotional rollercoaster she was going through, placed the garments on a chair near the tub and approached with a warm smile.

“How are you feeling?” Lyra asked, her voice full of concern and empathy, helping her wash her hair.

She sighed, contemplating how to respond. “I feel as though I am caught between two worlds” she replied softly, gazing at the steam rising from the water. She began to surrender to the soothing sensation of hands working through her head as she closed her eyes.

“It is quite natural to experience such feelings. You have endured a great deal, and returning to a place so full of memories can indeed be quite challenging.”

She nodded thoughtfully. “Yes, I suppose you’re right. I merely wish to rest before facing everything.”

When she finished, she stood up and stepped out of the bath, taking the hand the lady extended. Lyra wrapped her in soft towels to dry her off and guided her to the mirror next to the window.

From there, they could see the sea, choppy, as if it too was aware of the return of its lost inhabitant and the reunion that would soon follow.

“Do you want to attend supper, or would you prefer to remain here?” Lyra asked gently.

“I believe I will stay here,” she replied, “I’m too fatigued.”

“Would you like to be left alone, or might you appreciate some company?”

“I’d love your company” she said. “If it’s not too much trouble, I’d appreciate something simple to eat.”

Lyra nodded. “You know,” she said while helping her into the silk gown, “the first days are always the hardest. However, with time, matters tend to settle.”

“I hope so” she replied, her voice tinged with uncertainty. “It’s strange to be back here. I am pleased, yet at the same time…” She sighed, at a loss for words.

“I understand” Lyra said, giving her a small smile.

She nodded, grateful for the support. Lyra left the room to fulfill her request, and in the meantime, she sat in a chair near the window, watching the twilight darken the sky over King’s Landing. The view gave her a mix of sadness and anger, reminding her of what had been.

Soon, Lyra returned with a carefully prepared tray, laden with simple delicacies, and placed it on a small table near the window. She then lit some candles, creating a cozy and calm atmosphere.

“Is there anything you’d particularly like?” Lyra asked as she settled in.

“Everything appears perfect” she said, serving herself some bread and cheese. Although the exhaustion was evident in her eyes and the tension didn’t fully dissipate, she felt a bit more at peace with each bite and every exchanged word.

Finally, she looked at Lyra, trying to mark her nervousness. “Have you seen him around in recent days?”

Lyra frowned slightly, thinking about her recent observations. “Yes, I have encountered him a few times. He seemed quite tense, always immersed in his training.” She looked down at her food.

“People change, just as circumstances do” Lyra said, offering her a sympathetic glance. After a thoughtful pause, she added: “Perhaps there’s a chance to clear the air, understand where things stand.”

“I’m not sure I wish to speak to someone who has seemingly disregarded my existence for years” she admitted with a sigh, her voice heavy with hurt. She set her fork aside, the weight of her emotions apparent. “The very thought of it makes me ache.”

Lyra nodded. “I know” she said. Then she asked, “Perhaps discussing what you intend to wear tomorrow might serve as a distraction.”

A faint smile touched her lips as she considered her wardrobe. The conversation drifted to fashion choices and the trivialities of attire, Lyra’s questions drawing her into a more relaxed state.

“Thank you for listening, Lyra” she said. They had always been close, but with each passing year, they seemed to grow closer. The trust had deepened, and they could talk about other things. Now, Lyra was more than just a lady-in-waiting; she had been a witness to the highs and lows of her life, a confidante who understood more than words could express.

“I shall always be here for you” Lyra said sincerely. “Now, try to unwind. Tomorrow will be a new day and, with any fortune, it may provide greater clarity regarding how to proceed.” She nodded. The journey, though short, had been tiring.

As Lyra took the tray to remove it, she went to her bed to lie down. She tried to filter out the noise of the city and focus on the murmur of the sea. She closed her eyes and let herself be carried away by the comforting familiarity of those sounds, trying to find an anchor amid the uncertainty surrounding her.

Her thoughts continued to revolve around what tomorrow would bring. The encounter with him after so long was inevitable, and although she had tried to prepare for the moment, she couldn’t avoid feeling a mix of emotions that kept her awake. Her mind replayed the possible words and gestures they would exchange.

Hours passed in a whisper of thoughts and sighs until she finally found sleep.

In Dragonstone, it was an uncommon event for the sun to shine in its full splendor, with no clouds to soften its rays. So, as soon as she felt the warmth of the first light of dawn filtering through her window, she began to blink awake, adjusting to the light. Lyra was already there, moving with the efficiency and grace of someone who knew every corner, preparing the outfit they had planned the day before. When she saw her stirring in bed, she smiled and handed her a cup.

"Good morrow" Lyra greeted softly, her voice as serene as the morning breeze. "I brought you some water."

She took the cup with a grateful nod, savoring the coolness of the water as it invigorated her senses and prepared her for the day ahead. Once finished, she got up, stretching her sleepy body and trying to focus on mundane tasks to avoid thinking about him.

Upon arriving at Dragonstone, she had clung to her old routines with a meticulousness born of habit, one that had only changed on the night of his nameday, many years ago. Every day, she had adhered to a strict regimen—her hair tied neatly, every curl perfectly in place, and light blue garments worn in honor of her late father, setting herself apart from her family. 

It might have been her attempt to hold on to his memory, a tribute, or a desperate effort to maintain an identity she felt slipping away.

But the wildness of her new home had weaved its magic around her. Over time, she rediscovered her joy and sense of self. She was a Targaryen, proud and strong. The light blue was replaced, no longer confined to the past, she had embraced the rich hues of black, red and silver. Her hair, once restrained, now flowed freely, a declaration of her freedom.

Lyra helped her into the black dress they had chosen. It was elegant but not too striking, fitting for the occasion. As she adjusted the final details, Lyra's approving gaze and kind words made her smile. "You look astonishing."

"Thank you, Lyra" she said, feeling a wave of confidence wash over her. 

"Ready?" Lyra asked, her voice soft yet filled with encouragement as she approached the door. Taking a deep breath, she nodded in response.

As they left the room, arms linked, the atmosphere in the castle was bustling, as always.

She and Lyra walked through the hallways, heading towards the hall. The path seemed both eternal and fleeting, each step bringing her closer to the crucial moment she had imagined so many times.

As they approached, the echo of conversations grew louder, mingled with the buzz of anticipation filling the air.

"It's exciting, is it not?" Lyra commented, her eyes scanning the lively scene around them.

"Yes, it is" she replied, "and a little overwhelming."

"You will be just fine" Lyra assured, gently squeezing her arm in support before taking her leave.

As the doors opened for her, she looked up, instinctively searching for him, but he was not yet present, so she entered with a bit more relaxation, her steps steadier.

She walked with a composed grace toward the family table, where conversation and laughter were already in full swing. She paused to greet each person in turn, exchanging smiles and brief words. 

Two vacant seats awaited between Daemon and Baela. They began speaking softly, sharing updates and laughter. 

Soon, her other two siblings arrived hand in hand. Joffrey, with his contagious cheer, gave her a warm hug before heading to his place, and Jace took the empty seat next to her.

“Thank you for abandoning me at supper last night” he teased, a mock annoyance coloring his tone.

“My apologies” she said, placing a quick kiss on his cheek that made him roll his eyes in exaggerated irritation. “But Luke was there.”

“Just look at him” Jace said, nodding towards Luke, who was engrossed in animated conversation with Rhaena. The sight made her smile, reassured by how Rhaena seemed just as engaged and entertained as Luke.

A few minutes passed, and at the king’s signal, breakfast began to be served. At that moment, the remaining people arrived, and the murmur in the room paused for a moment.

Everyone immediately rose to greet the queen as she entered, flanked by three of her children. Her heart raced, and her legs felt as though they were encased in lead.

Aemond followed closely behind the queen, impossible to ignore. His towering height and commanding demeanor made him stand out. As their eyes met across the room, the world seemed to blur, leaving only the two of them in focus.

She couldn't tear her gaze away from him. Each breath felt heavy with the weight of years and memories. Aemond's eyes locked onto hers as he approached, but upon reaching the table, he turned his gaze away with studied coldness.

Alicent was the only one to greet aloud, while the others simply took their places on the opposite side of the table, and everyone proceeded to sit down again. Her mother leaned back slightly in her chair to see her better. When she felt her eyes on her, she gave a reassuring smile, a gesture of gratitude for her unspoken support.

The servants resumed their duties, continuing to bring breakfast.

Despite the attempt to focus on the meal, her eyes kept drifting back to Aemond. It was as if some magnetic force drew her to him—part of her yearned to seek solace and fall into his embrace, weep uncontrollably on his chest, letting her tears speak for her, while another part wanted to unleash her frustration, confront him with all the anger she'd accumulated over the years. In either case, she would have asked him why.

His face betrayed nothing; there was a mask of stoicism that revealed no emotion, impenetrable. The round-cheeked boy she once knew had gone, replaced by a tall, slender man with chiseled, sharp features and an almost intimidating, forbidding aura.

His left eye, still covered by a patch, did little to diminish his striking beauty, which had grown darker and more enigmatic over time, and that drew her inexorably.

The turmoil within her was intense, stirred by his very presence, leaving her feeling both drawn to him and pushed away. It was bothering her that he always managed to evoke such deep and contradictory emotions.

The breakfast continued in a strained blend of courtesy and underlying tension, but her mind kept circling around him. She could barely manage a few bites, her stomach churning with unsettled nerves.

“And how do you find life in Dragonstone?” Her grandfather, ever the gracious host, broke the silence with a kind tone. “You know you will always have a place here.”

“We find it most agreeable” Jace responded with genuine enthusiasm. “And the dragons do as well. They seem to thrive there, growing faster and stronger.” She smiled at her twin's comment, appreciating the truth in his words about the unique charm of Dragonstone.

“I heard the princess has officially become a dragonrider” the king remarked with evident admiration.

“Indeed, my king. And to be truthful, Silverwing has claimed me more than I have claimed her” she said, her smile widening at the fond memory.

“The mount of the Good Queen Alysanne” he said with a note of respect. “It suits you well.” Although she knew she would never be a queen, his words touched her deeply. Jace gave her hand a reassuring squeeze.

As breakfast concluded, the group began to rise, and the servants appeared to clear the table, signaling the end of the meal and the beginning of the day's activities.

Sorry for the little to nothing of Aemond! And I know nothing of High Valyrian, sorry for any mistakes!

Māzīs: Come.

Nyke kivio naejot rigle ao: I promise to honor you.

Sōvēs, Gēliotīkun: Fly, Silverwing.

Aderī: Quickly.

Ninkiot: Land.

Kirimvose: Thank you.

@helaenaluvr @purplegardenwhispers @callsignwidow @scarletbedlam @fics-i-love-and-recommend @oh-you-mean-me @squidscottjeans @fossface

[lycheedr3ams]

Hi! I was wondering if you could write about a mean!ghost x reader? Either angst or with a breeding kink🫶

it is a bit unholy how much this ask excited me. i should not be attracted to mean fictional men, but here we are at this point in history

thanks for this ask! I hope y'all enjoy

fem!reader x mean!ghost

MDNI

Warnings: ghost is really mean to reader in the beginning, canon-typical violence, CMNF, humiliation, slight breeding kink, angst, crying, brief mention of female masturbation, fingering, hair-pulling, predator/prey dynamics, pussy slapping, hate sex, orgasm denial, harddom!ghost, dub-con, slight making up at end

Reader is a sniper and your callsign is Reaper

not proofread

you did your best as team 141's new sniper. Gaz, Soap, and Price all warmed up to you rather quickly. you were deadly on the field and friendly when everything was said and done. really, there was no one who didn't like you. you were just too nice, your smile too pure, for anyone to have any problem with you.

Ghost was the only exception. the prickly lieutenant wasn't too fond of having another sniper on the team to compete with, especially since you were, on the books, a better sniper than him. his orders to you were always barked with much more bite than the orders he gave to others. his gaze towards you was always draped with a slight scowl. when you'd get the perfect shot, or save the mission from failing, you never got any praise. all he would respond with was a silent stare that ripped your heart into shreds, or a grunt that sounded more like disapproval.

and you had enough of it.

you asked Ghost if you could speak with him one night while you all were on base, waiting for your next assignment. he couldn't mask the slight surprise in his eyes, before he nodded curtly.

when the time came for you to speak with him, you couldn't help how your heart almost escaped your chest. not only was he your superior, he was Ghost, the one soldier whom everyone feared, like a cryptid in some military folklore. and here you were, about to walk right into his lair, right into his sharp teeth. asking the wolf why he preyed on the lamb.

but there was another problem. Ghost, for all of his horror and renown on the field, was so fucking hot. how he stood tall with his arm crossed in all his masculine glory. how deep and raspy he sounded when he grunted, or how gravelly his voice was in the coms in your ear when he clipped orders at you. how his ass looked in those tactical pants, how you've spent many nights thinking about him as you stuffed your cunt with your fingers. you hated how his voice, his oh so mean voice reserved only for you, soaked your panties almost every time.

you knocked on the door to his office, trying to ignore your pumping heart and throbbing core as you stood and waited.

"come in," his deep voice sounded through the door. you slowly opened it and entered without looking at him as you shut the door. you took a deep breath and faced him, but you kept your back against the door.

"sir," you said dutifully. a formality that you cursed. "i wanted to speak to you about something." your voice shook slightly. despite all the things you've seen, all the people you've killed, this one man has the power to make you weak in the knees and in the head.

"yeah, figured that much," he said shortly. "spit it out."

you gulped, and you stepped forward a little. you would face him confidently, not cowering against the door like a student called into the principle's office. you summoned yourself here willingly, and there was no backing out.

"sir, i've been on the team for a while, and i would like to think that i've been a great asset. but i'm wonderiong if i've done anything to offend you?" you stated.

silence. you could've heard a pin drop in his office as he stared at you with his arm crossed, leaning back against his desk. his cold stare could've frozen your heart.

he wanted you to crack under his gaze. to spit out something stupid that would give him an excuse to dismiss you from the team. but you knew better. you met his deadly gaze head-on. if you were to die here, like this, at least you would do so standing up for yourself.

he slowly blinked, and you felt your heart drop when he finally spoke. "offended me?" he scoffed. "don't flatter yourself."

you slightly furrowed your brows.

"and what makes you think you've offended me?" he asked mockingly. your blood was boiling. you gulped. fuck it. if he was going to be so direct and curt, so were you.

"sir, you treat me differently than the others."

ghost stood up a bit straighter as he squared his shoulders, his arms still crossed on his chest.

"oh yeah?" he goaded. "how so?"

he knew the answer already. he wanted to make you crack, to hear you say it.

"sir, you're a lot... harder on me," you said slowly as you chose your words carefully. "it's the tone in your voice, and the way you look at me."

he inspected you for a moment. "the way i look at you, huh?" he said quietly.

"yes, sir," you said as confidently at you could.

ghost began to walk towards you, slowly, as if he were a beast stalking prey from the shadows. he made a beeline towards you.

"and how is it you think i look at you differently?" he was now within arm's reach as he looked down at you.

you almost lost your train of thought as you looked up at him. this close, he smelled like cigarettes and a tinge of whiskey, and gunpowder. you hated how hot, how attractive, it was. how his eyes stared into your own.

"sir, you..." you thought for a moment. the tension could've been cut with a knife. "you look at me very...disapprovingly."

ghost blinked. "oh, so you want my approval, is that it?" he quipped.

your eyes went wide for a moment before you shook your head. "no, sir. i just want to be treated like an equal member of this team."

your answer must've surprised him, because he leaned back ever so slightly as his eyes widened. but he quickly caught himself and resumed his dangerously indifferent stance.

"and what would it take to make you feel like an equal part of this team?" he asked.

you hadn't expected that. you cleared your throat before you spoke. "i'd just like you to talk to me the way you do to the other members, sir."

"you want me to talk to you like you're a man?" he knew that wasn't the answer.

"not exactly, sir. i just want to be treated like i'm an equal. i can't help but feel like you don't like me."

now he really hadn't expected you to say that. you could see his adam's apple bob as he swallowed.

"you come into my office and accuse me of not liking you?" he said coldly.

you looked him in the eyes. "sir, i didn't accuse you. i'm stating my observations and asking you to confirm or deny them."

he observed you for another moment before he started to slowly walk around you, until he was at your back. the hairs stood on the back of your neck as he leaned down to your ear.

"what about the way you look at me?" he whispered.

you instantly blushed, and your heart raced.

"i've seen the way you stare at me, how your eyes wander," he rasped. "how you stare at my arms and my cock."

"sir! i -" you squeaked. but you were cut off when one of his gloved hands came to rest over your mouth, and the other around your stomach, holding you against him. his hardening bulge was pressed against your ass.

"shh, don't want anyone else to hear this, do you?" he cooed in your ear. you breathed hard as you looked up at him, his gloved hand still covering your mouth.

"don't hide it, Reaper, i know you want me," he whispered in your ear. your eyes fluttered shut as you slightly relaxed against him. he smirked.

"that's what i thought." he let you go, and you quickly turned around to face him.

"you don't even know mean," he challenged as he looked at you with bedroom eyes through his skull mask. "i'll show you just how mean I can be."

you gulped again as you looked up at him.

"strip. before i rip those clothes off of you," he commanded.

you looked at him with wide eyes. you stopped breathing.

"that was an order, soldier," he said shorter this time. "don't test my patience."

you slightly nodded at him before you took off your shirt slowly. once it was off, you held it in front of you, over your stomach. but the warning in his eyes told you all you needed to know. you let your shirt drop to the floor with a quiet thud before you went to untie your shoes to remove them and your pants. most of your clothes were now in a heap on the floor next to you, your bra and panties still on.

"all of it. off." he snapped.

you blushed as you removed your undergarments, and wrapped your arms around your stomach as you stood bare before him. he breathed in deeply as he raked every inch of your body with his hungry eyes.

he jerked his head towards his desk. "bend over on the desk. now."

you slowly turned your back to him, walking towards his desk. it felt as if you were turning your back on a predator as you did so. you bent over on his desk until your elbows hit the smooth metal. your nipples perked up from the cold, and you looked behind you as you saw ghost approaching your naked body. the thud of his steps sounded like an earthquake to you as you waited with baited breath.

"look forward," he commanded once he made eye contact with you. you obeyed instantly. his presence could be felt right behind you now, and you gasped as a gloved finger slid over your wet pussy. ghost groaned.

"you can't hate me that much, to be this fucking wet for me," he growled as he all too gently rubbed your folds. "this pussy's just been achin' for me, hasn't it?"

"s...sir..." you said through labored breaths, your eyes screwed shut. but they flew open when he slapped your wet pussy. he huffed out his version of a laugh.

"that's what i thought." he pushed his index finger right against your clit, and you lifted yourself up on your tiptoes as he gently stroked it. "such a brave girl, coming into my office like this. you just wanted my cock so bad."

you shook your head. "no, no that's not why I came. oh!" he pressed harder against your clit, and your body shivered.

"pretendin' to be mad at me. it's got me worked up, i'll give ya that," he said as he splayed one hand over your back, pressing you down.

"i am mad - fuck!" you gasped as he inserted two gloved fingers into your pussy and began to stroke. you couldn't help the moans that flew from your mouth as he hit that spot that made you see stars.

"nothin' but a moanin' bitch for me now that i've got my fingers in you."

you grit your teeth and bit your tongue so that you wouldn't moan. he withdrew his fingers from your pussy but still held your back down. you looked back at him angrily.

"oh, that upset her," he teased. he leaned forward, and his voice took a much deeper and serious tone. "you're going to have to beg for it."

"fuck you," you said on instinct. but your eyes went wide as you realized what you had just said to your superior.

and ghost laughed. "i could dismiss you just for that, you know?" he said as he began to tease your entrance again. your eyes fluttered shut. "but i'm willing to forgive you if you beg for my fingers."

you grit your teeth. the feeling of his gloved fingers against your wet slit was perfect, but not enough. his fingers had filled you up so well, so much better than your own.

"please," you whispered.

"hm? didn't hear you," ghost said as he gently teased your entrance with his fingertips. you gasped.

"p...please," you said a bit louder.

"please what?" his fingertips slid in and out of your pussy.

you whimpered. "please, please i need your fingers."

"atta girl," he cooed as he pressed two fingers inside of you again. you gasped louder this time as he stroked them perfectly on your g-spot. "you sure you want to be treated equally?" he egged you on. "i don't treat any other task force members like this."

you moaned as he continued to stroke you, but suddenly the hand that was on your back came up to your hair and pulled your head back towards him. his fingers began to fuck you at a brutal pace and you screwed your eyes shut.

"i asked you a question, Reaper," ghost spat.

you tried to remember his question as his fingers fucked you. he shook his head. "already forgot? dumb bitch. i asked if you wanted to still be treated like an equal."

you moaned as his fingers curved at the end with each thrust. "n...no!!"

ghost released your hair and held you down again as his fingers continued to fuck you brutally. the sounds of your wet pussy filled his office.

"that's what i thought."

your body began to shake as your climax neared. ghost was just way too good at this, with the way his fingers curled precisely where they needed him to and the pressure of his hand against your back.

"ghost....i'm!"

right as you were about to climax, the second you were about to come, ghost withdrew his fingers from you. you looked back at him wildly, your face red. "what...what the fuck..." you nearly sobbed.

ghost slapped your pussy, and you jumped. "you really think i'd let you come that easily?"

you heard the metal of his belt clinking and the soft sound of a zipper being opened. you tried to turn to see his cock, but one of his hands flew to the back of your head and held your head down on the table.

"you stay still," he growled. you had no other choice but to comply, and you did so willingly. he eased the tip of his cock inside your weeping slit, and you gasped. you thought the process was going to be slow, given how slowly he put his tip inside you, but he suddenly thrusted his entire length into you. his gloved hand closed over your mouth before you could scream.

"stay quiet," he rasped in your ear. you could feel his cock twitching in your warm walls. he groaned when you clenched around him. "gonna use this pussy now."

ghost set a brutal pace immediately, his balls hanging down and slapping your wet clit with each thrust. he stayed leaned over you, holding one hand behind your back by your wrist, with his other hand around your mouth. he grunted quietly with each thrust.

"I know you've been wantin' this."

you clenched around him, and he laughed.

"you like it when I'm mean to you," he stated. but you were too far gone to respond. "you like it when I yell at you, when I put you in your place."

you moaned loudly under his hand as your eyes screwed shut.

"can't let a pretty little face like yours make me go soft," he mumbled against the back of your head.

his words faded, and the tip of his cock reached all the way to your cervix as you moaned against his hand. your toes began to lift from the floor as he fucked up into you harder. you gripped the metal desk as hard as you could before you suddenly came hard on his cock. ghost couldn't hold back the strangled moan that escaped him.

"you like comin' around this cock?" he whispered. you nodded vigorously. "gonna cum in this tight pussy."

he thrusted hard into you, the slaps of skin so lewd, a few more times before he came inside you with a groan. he stood above you, panting, as you both came to your senses. he pulled out and immediately pressed two gloved fingers against your slit to prevent his cum from leaking out. you looked back at him, your hair frizzy and face red.

"still think I'm mean to you?"

[liveontelevision]

MY FAVE POOKIE.... BY ANY CHANCE CAN.. CAN YOU WRITE FOR A VAMPIRE LUCI?? <3 I FEEL LIKE YOU'D CAPTURE HIM PERFECTLY

YOU'RE ONTO SOMETHING HERE BBG

(You're drawing of vamp Luci is literal eye candy and I'M IN A SUGAR COMAAA) I got way into the lore here I literally did nothing but write and edit this today - THAT BEING SAID this may need a 2nd part but lmk what y'all think

CW: He's a vamp, so.. blood in suggestive situations obvi

♡♡♡

Bite Me | Vamp Lucifer x Reader

"Isn't it just amazing?" You hold a book, opened to a certain illustration, far too close to your friend's eyes. They push the book back a bit just to get a peak, considering their nose was essentially in the pages. The paper reeked of dust and mildew. They subsided a sound of disgust to inspect the illustration you were so eager to show off.

"Oh! This is that weird mansion on the other side of town, but.. it looks..." 

"Stunning? This was what it looked like when it was first built and look-" You excitedly point out a certain tower, it was so thin and far back, that not even the pencil of the original artist could capture its true detail.

"Wait,  that's not there anymore, is it? Weird." Your friend shrugged it off, clearly not as invested as you. You scoff, pulling the book to your chest.

"Well.. not in the daytime, at least." You muttered. This was your hometown's rumor that's been spread for centuries. On the highest hill, past the overcrowded forest, sits the darkest and most foreboding manor anyone has seen. Even the oldest living relatives of those who have seen it, never recall what it looked like in its glory days. No one's quite sure when it was first built. It's as if it had always been there.

No one would really talk, only the seniors and the more.. eccentric.. People would even mention it. A tower that exceeded the height of the full moon, which was the only time it was visible to the naked eye. You've seen it yourself. But you were too inspired, too invested, to be satisfied with a little rumor and a single sighting.

You did your research. You scowered the forest, only to get lost for hours. You managed to find the manor, but in its close proximity, there was no sign of that tower. You found a book, shoved away under some shelf in your public library, depicting poorly written journal entries and illustrations. From what you could decipher, it was older than the town.. it must belong to its original tenants.

The handwriting was almost entirely illegible, which was disappointing, but the pictures inside.. they were crafted beautifully. Scenic drawings of the forest, animals, and a few of a stunning woman were scattered throughout. Every historian you tried to contact left your messages unopened. Any townspeople you'd show the pictures to, to see if they’d recognize the woman at least, looked at you like you were crazy.

Well.. crazy or not, there's only one real way to settle this.

You mark your calendar, circling every full moon for the rest of the year. And it nearly took that long to finally spot the tower, again. After all this time, restless nights where you'd fall asleep with the book in hand, strained sessions of trying to decipher the wording, yet it all got you nowhere. You'd lost friends because of this. You've skipped dates. All because of this damned tower. 

But finally, here it is! Ready to throw yourself from your bedroom window, you take the bag that had been packed for months in case of this very instant, but decide it best to leave through the front door.

You had memorized the path to the manor at this point. What could possibly be drawing you in so deeply? What history could this place possibly hold? Who was the woman drawn in this book.. and who was the artist? You stood in awe, finally seeing the tower up close. The manor itself seemed to be made of an entirely different stone. You jot down your notes and the differences you're seeing in a small book.

You nearly squeal at the sound of the creaking double doors, as you step inside. It wasn't your first time here, you reach into your bag to obtain the little map you had drawn out a few weeks back. Were you going insane? Who's to say? You traced your finger across a path you had drawn, then with determination, went towards the corridor that should lead you to whatever you were looking for.

You stopped and took pictures on occasion, observing things you have seen countless times over the past few months. It still managed to take your breath away. You turned around, stepping backward, to observe the intricate detailing of the high ceilings, letting out little ooh's and aah's you'd assume no one would hear. But you couldn't be sure.

You nearly stumble, turning to face the corridor head-on. A crumbling noise had sent a shock of fear and curiosity into your heart. Was this place ready to cave in? Did something else cause the destruction?

As you continue on, you decide it best to place headphones over your ears. With one ear still slightly free, you do your best to distract your fears and keep exploring. As you hum along, occasionally breaking out into song, your eyes are drawn to a small doorway that definitely was not there during your previous visits. It's made of a different wood than the other doors. It looks.. newer. The handle seems used as If the oils of a hand had worn down its clean coating. This has to be it. Your hand is shaking as you reach for the door, and your heart drops for a moment. It’s warm underneath your touch. With a final breath, you open the door.

It’s.. not exactly what you were expecting. The door led to an impossibly long spiral staircase, you weren't sure if you could make it to the top before daylight. It's too late to go back now, though. You dredge on. As you start your climb, the music from your headset turns to static. And what you expected to be a mile-long staircase ended in mere seconds. Confused by the distortion of the building, you pull out your little journal to document your new discovery as you continue on. 

The steps lead into the tower, you were sure of it. The bricks of the walls and the wood of the doors, it was all different than the manor below. It opened into a short hallway, with a few doors on either side. Opposite to you was a window. It wasn’t shattered or cracked, or even dusty. You press your hands against it and lean forward to see the view of your town. In a stereotypical, I can see my house from here! moment, you pull out your phone to take yet another picture, but.. it's dead. After being fully charged before your arrival. Of course. It's a magical tower that only appears on a full moon and has disappearing staircases, you weren't too shocked by sorcery after what you've exposed yourself to.

As you take in the terrifying height of the structure from the window, something happens that officially startles you for the first time tonight. You hear a gruesome cackling from behind a nearby doorway.

You quickly find its source, pressing your ear to the wooden door. You couldn't make out any specific words, but there was a voice. It was a man's voice. He seemed to laughing, then groaning and complaining about something, then talking some more.. quite a blabbermouth for someone who seems to be alone, you don't hear any other voices.

You have a weapon in your bag. It's nothing fancy, just a little switchblade, but you assumed it'd be enough to ward off at least a single person. Just in case. You decide to go in.

"Oh, who am I kidding, this sucks!" An exacerbated groan, and the sound of something crashing, can be heard as you crack the door open a bit. You peek inside.

A pacing man is surrounded by trinkets, books and tools in some kind of workshop. He looks human.. almost. You notice his skin is nearly paper white. It has a beautiful glow to it, that contrasts against his mostly black wardrobe. You clock his clothes as almost Victorian, a puffed blouse that cinches in at his waist with the assistance of a red-laced vest. His heels seem a bit tall for the time period, but even then, he's actually rather.. short. Despite that, his hair was slicked back but seemed to be coming undone. You watch him pace around for a while longer, finally capturing his arms running through his hair. They're tapered black, as if his hands were dipped in soot. How odd. You want a picture. You want to talk to him, to ask him questions.

You're too engrossed in the view you were spying on to notice he had stopped his jabbering and was now frozen in place at the sight of you. An awkward amount of time passes before either of you make a decision on what to do next.

You decide it best to just forget about this random encounter. This was obviously just another dream. It wasn't, but this wouldn't even be the strangest one you've had. You finally break eye contact, pulling the door shut behind you.

You lean your entire body against it, desperate to keep him contained until you can get your thoughts straightened out. Maybe he's nice! Maybe he's not an insane, inhuman, tinkerer who talks to himself. Before you can think a moment longer, the door opens and thoroughly knocks you to the floor. You scuff your knees and palms against the stone floor, hissing at the wounds before turning on your back to face your attacker.

Okay, it wasn't an attack, exactly. He just opened the door you were standing in front of. You were a little shocked, considering you were putting your full weight on it and he swung it open like nothing was there at all.

your widened eyes were met with his yet again. They seemed different than before. His irises were suddenly glowing a crimson red, staring down at you with a look of disgust. Your heart rate quickens as you finally catch more of his features. The glow of his eyes and the moonlight from the window show off a set of demonic horns, twisting and turning from his temples, and pointed ears. Then finally, you spot his frown- then his fangs.

You slowly crawl backward, making as much distance as you can before your back hits the cold stone of the wall. Your breathing rapidly as he kneels down, continuing to observe your tense body language from such a close distance.

"What is this- how did you get in? I made a whole fancy labyrinth for you little humans and you still manage to pester me." He seems curious now, still annoyed by the interruption, but curious. He catches the sight of your blade, taking it from underneath your hand.

"And you thought this could kill me?" He scoffs, tossing it to the side. "I thought the ones smart enough to get in would put more effort into their weapon of choice." He finally stands, crossing his arms over his chest and looking down at you. His piercing red irises had you staring for an inappropriately long time. He looks around, then behind him, in disbelief that you'd be this lost in his eyes. He clears his throat to get your attention.

"N-no! I don't want to kill you, I swear! I just.. I wanted to..." Why were you here again? To find what's inside the haunted tower? To explore a rumor and find the truth? You'd hate to consider it.. but could you have been wasting all this time after finally being faced with the anticlimactic answer? Your silence doesn't seem to amuse the stranger.

"What, you just stumbled upon my hidden tower? That doesn't sound right. Well, I'll tell you now, I'm not some genie or wizard- I won't grant you wishes or anything stupid like that." He starts to head back to his office. "I have nothing to offer you, so just pretend this is a nightmare or something and go home." You see a little flame puff from his lips as he speaks, clearly irritated by your presence. 

"Wait- wait! I forgot!" You stumble to your feet, wincing at the pain in your scraped knees, but still going on to fumble through your bag. You find your tattered book. The relic that started this all.

"Is this yours?" He takes the book from your hand, skimming through the pages then glaring back up to meet your eyes. 

"Did you steal this?" You shake your head with haste, watching him continue to examine the book. "Then.. yes. This is mine. I'm surprised it's still in one piece." He stops at one of the drawings of the woman. He brushes his hand across the illustration with a dreamy sigh.

"She's beautiful." Your voice breaks his concentration and you see his pale skin turn ever so slightly pink. 

"She is, isn't she?" With a warm smile, you almost forget his threatening nature.

"Who was she?" He looks away from you, letting the book shut.

"It's not important. You need to leave." He leads you to the door. You try to keep up with his strides, only to fumble, your knees weak and bruised from the previous fall. He spots the bleeding scuffs and groans.

"Good lord, you humans are so fragile." You hear him grumble before he's turned on his heels and is dragging you back towards that workshop you intruded on. He grabs you by your arms and guides you to sit down at a little table he had set up. You examined the room after he had walked away. You saw his workbench. It held numerous little springs and gears, paints, and brushes. Looking to the side, you see a shattered figurine, probably what he had thrown during his little tantrum you spied on.

Seeing him standing above you stops your wandering eyes. He kneels down, already wrapping your wounded knees in gauze. You watched him silently. You were surprised at how comfortable the space seemed, considering a man with a demonic presence was currently tending to you like a nurse.

"So.. what are you exactly?" You finally blurted out. You had so many questions, but this was a good place to start.

"Oh. Um.. I think I hear humans referring to me as a vampire." Your blood runs cold and you squeeze the edge of your seat on either side. You feel his hand tremor for a moment, letting his eyes linger on your legs before finishing up one knee with a neat tie. He moves on to the next.

"So you're immortal and drink blood and all that?" He scoffs at your questioning shaking his head. You sound like a curious child.

"That’s.. Mostly correct. Actually, your human literature seemed to accurately portray a lot of my abilities. I'm almost impressed."

"Should I be scared?" You ask with an almost teasing tone, as if that weren't possible.

"Why? Do you think I'm scary?" He looks up for a moment, meeting your eyes. Its subtle, but you see them glowing just slightly. And it almost makes you nervous. Enraptured in an emotion you have to assume is fear, you watch his hands trail around and calf to bring your leg a bit closer. He sticks out his tongue. It's similar to a serpents’. Your eyes follow his tongue to your knee, where he licks the entirety of the wound.

In a state of shock, all you do is tense in your seat, wincing from his action. His tongue reels back, stained with the blood from your own wound. He lets out a breathy hum, before realizing his place.

"E-excuse me, I uh.. have healing properties..?" You cock your head to the side, the confusion in your mind quickly replaced with curiosity.

"Woah, really?" He finishes off your other knee.

".. No. Okay, all patched up. You have to leave." He said hurriedly before the realization could set in. He was embarrassed by his actions sure, but the sunrise softly lighting the room seemed to make him anxious.

"Wait- no! I have so many questions! Why do I have to go? How does this place just vanish in the daytime? Why are you here all alone?" You start to ramble as he manages to move you with ease. "A-at least tell me your name!" You say quickly, breaking from his grasp just before he can shove you out the door. He stops and lets out a sigh.

"Fine. Here." He reaches into his shirt and pulls out a small golden crystal attached to a necklace. Forcing your eyes down to his dipped neckline made you a bit red in the cheeks. With a quick motion, he swings it over your neck.

"This is an Asmodean crystal. You'll be able to see and enter my tower on any night now. You.. you're welcome to return when you see fit." You stare at the small gem in amazement.

"And.. you're just trusting me with this?"

He shrugs, smiling at you for the first time tonight. "You haven't given me a reason not to. You're definitely not a threat." You hum in response, despite his obvious condescending nature. giving the gem one last examination, you tuck it away into your own shirt.

".. And it's Lucifer."

You can't help but grin. “Okay! Time to go! The sun’s almost up!” He rushes you.

"Hm! I'll be back, then, I promise! I'll see you, Lucifer!" You excitedly wave and head back down the stairs. Lucifer.. Your mind was running with possibilities as you left. You turned to the door before leaving, but by the time you looked back, it was simply.. bricked over. You felt almost disappointed. But feeling for the necklace and twirling it between your fingers reminds you that this was all real. He's real.

Lucifer said you could visit. And so you did. While you passed out almost immediately once you returned home, you waited eagerly for the sun to set the next night. You check your window, again. With the crystal squeezed tightly in your fist, you see the familiar tower yet again, despite the full moon being nowhere in sight.

Unfortunately, you are human. You do have a life to live. It took you a few days before you could visit, again, but eventually you did. And it was perfect. Looking down upon in your hometown, it was refreshing to have a new friend. You told him about your own life, giving him some brief history lessons on things he might not know, and bringing him the stereotypical vampire merchandise from current media. He deemed it offensive.

You got him to talk about his past after some pushing. He was one of many brothers, all of them were bloodsuckers of their own accord.

"Wow.. so you came from a whole family of vampires? I mean.. if you don't mind me asking, why aren't you there? What brings you to my glamorous little town?" You say your last question with an eye roll. You were seated at a little bench, a comfortable nook that was set at the window in his workshop, as you watched him working on some sort of mechanical toy. You notice a slight frown tugging at his lips in response to your question.

"Hm. My brothers aren't exactly a fan of me. And you speak sarcastically, but it is actually quite nice here. The air is clearer, and there's much less fire." You look out the window as he's talking.

"Wait.. less fire than where?" He slipped up. You've noticed over these past few visits that he's not too keen on disclosing certain parts of his past. You see him stop what he's doing and curse under his breath.

"I.. I'm from a different realm, of sorts. It's dingy and dark and everyone there cares for nothing but bloodlust." He explains carefully.

"Damn, that sounds like Hell." You pull your knees to your chest, just attempting to sympathize with him by your words.

"You have no idea." He chuckles in response, seeming disarmed enough to continue his tinkering.

"Do you ever go back there? You have to see your family sometimes, right?" He's groaning quietly at your questions.

"Well, yes and no. I'm always here in my tower. And I put a lot of work into making it my own. I'd keep it here forever if I could, but it takes quite a bit of energy from me to keep it in good shape in this realm, so when the sun is out-"

"You return to your own realm! Wow.." you wished you had your book on you to write all this down. But it seemed unnecessary to bring a survival kit here. You felt so safe. 

"How about that lady? In your book? Is she someone from that realm? A family member, maybe?" You bombard him with questions yet again. You do that a lot. He looked over at you with an unenthused glare. You laugh nervously and wave your hands. "N-Nevermind, sorry."

He's made it clear that he doesn't appreciate all these questions. But when he does open up, you can't help but appreciate his fantastical stories.

Looking for a change in topic, you approach his bench, looking over whatever he was working on. With one final screw being turned in, he looks up to you and shows you the small trinket silently. You take it, a bit nervous of its delicacy, and examine it.

"It's fine, it won't break." He rolls his eyes at your nerves. "Like this." He places a hand below yours to steady your grasp and lifts the top of the little round structure to reveal a little sculpted scene. It’s of a pond, with some fish and ducks visible on the pond. It looked so real, despite its size. He smirks at your enthralled expression, reaching for a small key on the back and turning it. It releases a gentle tune, the ducks suddenly spinning and dancing across the pond.

"A music box..?" You question. You look towards him and notice his reaction. He looks almost nervous like he was expecting some harsh critique.

"It's beautiful, Lucifer! Did you use magic or something? This is so cool!" Your outburst leaves him slightly surprised, and just a bit blushed.

"Y-Yes, it is pretty, isn't it?" He says softly, looking away with a smile. By the time he's looking back to you, still enjoying the little trinket, the sun is just peaking from the hills. He should rush to get you out of there. Humans don't belong in his realm, definitely not this one.. but he doesn't want this to end. He wants to show you more, while he listens to you rant about something useless. He shakes his head to reality. He can't have these feelings. Not again.

"It's morning. I'm afraid you have to go, dear." You look just as disappointed as he does, but follow him to the exit either way.

"Wait, here-" You hold the intricate music box back out to him, but he closes his hands around yours, encasing it in your grasp.

"Keep it." His hands are cold. You notice that his skin is always cold, no matter the weather. You wonder if he thinks about the warmth of your hands just as much. Your hands are held together for a bit too long, but the sight of your face in the golden light of the sunrise has him frozen in place.

"What happens if I stay?" Your hasty question snaps him away, quickly tucking his hands behind his back.

"Absolutely not." He says sternly, reaching around and opening his door. "Sorry.. I just.. It’s not safe. You’ll be back though, right?." He smiles, and it always disarms you. Briefly disappointed, you nod and give him a quick wave. You head back to your regular vampire-free life for the time being.

You find yourself back in his workshop, a few months later. The visits were becoming more frequent and neither of you seemed to complain about it.

Since then, the room has been decorated with pillows or blankets you've brought. On occasion, you'd go to see him just to sleep uncomfortably on the small cushioned nook near the window. He never seemed to mind. He'd wake you up carefully before the sun rose.

Other times, you'd bring him tools or gifts from your hometown that he might like, and occasionally you'd get him to eat actual food.

One night you set out one of your blankets on the ground and forced him to sit with you, after seeing him get flustered with whatever he was working on.

"Can you actually eat? Does it do anything for you?" He shrugs in response to your question, popping a little chocolate confection into his mouth.

"Not really. It's more for enjoyment than anything. And these are definitely enjoyable." As he hums at the sweets, he moves to lie down across the blanket, resting his head in your lap. "Where are they from?"

You look down at the little heart-shaped box you've both been taking the treats from and cringe.

"A.. uh.. person. It was a gift. Someone tried to take me out for Valentine's Day, but I wasn't interested." You say quietly.

"Right.. it’s Valentine’s Day… Well, what was wrong with them? Were they rude to you? Ugly?" He asks between bites. You laugh and take a chocolate for yourself.

"No, nothing like that.. they just..." They weren't you. "N-not my type is all." You stammer, quickly shoving the chocolate into your mouth. What are you thinking? He's laughing at you now.

"So you'd rather spend your Valentine's Day with an old crone?" He was joking, but he was right.

"Yeah.. I think I would, actually. I love visiting you." You said calmly, trying your best to keep the compliments.. platonic. Peeking down at him for a second, you notice his tense posture and pink cheeks.

"I-I just- it's not that big a deal, I mean, I've never really celebrated Valentine's Day anyway, so.." You start to fidget with your crystal necklace, picking at the thread and running your thumb along its smooth surface.

"Well..! Then... I'm glad you're enjoying my company, I suppose." He tries to de-escalate the brief tension. You change the subject matter.

"Well, if we're getting on my social life, then I have a question." You finally say. He seems nervous for a moment but is playing it cool to the best of his ability.

"Shoot."

"So, you stay in your tower all day, don't see your family, I don't even hear you talk about that woman from your drawings.. Have you just been alone this whole time?"

He freezes for a moment, before putting a chocolate back into the box and clearing his throat.

"No.. not the whole time." He sighs, standing and going to fetch something. He returns to sit across from you and you’re a little disappointed he didn’t return his head to rest in your lap. It was a journal, it had a similar binding to the one you had found over a year ago.

"Her name is Lillith." He starts, flipping the pages and stopping at one of her drawings. "She's from my realm, and.. we fell in love." For some reason, your heart ached at his words. "I decided to show her this place many years ago, and she wanted to see a nearby village, so.. we went down there together. It was disgusting. People were treating each other so foul, it was loud and dirty, and there was no sign of intelligence." His voice goes dark for a moment, allowing you to flip through the book. "But Lillith loved them. She saw their potential and.. wanted to stay with them. So we made a deal. She'd explore the village when the full moon was out and then return to me the rest of the time."

You look up from the book, seeing that her drawings had stopped about halfway through. The rest of the book was empty.

"So is she.." you mutter, letting the book drop to see his pained expression.

"I haven't seen her in years. Might be decades at this point, but.. it's hard to keep track. I have no idea where she could be, but if she ever returns then-"

"You're waiting for her?" You interrupt, your voice has a hint of irritation to it.

"Hm. I guess I am. I've given up trying to find her, but I still keep this place standing. Just in case." His face reads dejected as he speaks.

"Do you still love her?" You ask. Of course, he does. He's a romantic, waiting for his long-lost love to return. But he looks at you, with a worried expression. Like he wanted to reassure you that wasn't the case.

"I..I do." He says softly. You feel your chest aching still, and you clench the blanket in your fists on either side of you. "I think so? I-I'm not sure." He groans, running his hands through his hair. "Is that terrible of me?" 

You think for a moment. You have to tread lightly. If he truly loves her, it might be best for you to keep your distance to avoid any.. confusion. You let out a defeated sigh, placing your hand on his shoulder to bring his panicked attention back to you.

"Not at all. It's.. nice. That you can love someone that much, especially after all this time." He smiles in return, placing a hand over top of yours.

"How long has it been, do you think?"

"Hmm.. From what I remember.. when were hot air balloons invented?" He genuinely questioned.

"Good lord."

(The answer is over 300 years ago)

You stopped visiting him for a while. After that night, you needed to step away and consider what you were really doing. He's not just an immortal vampire, he's an immortal vampire still holding out hope for a woman he hasn't seen in centuries. And you're just a human. That kind of relationship only works in movies. The sleep schedule you've created has nearly destroyed your social life and you barely have energy in the daytime anymore. Maybe it was for the best to keep your distance. But you have to tell him that. You can't just disappear, he doesn't deserve to feel that pain, again.

You enter his tower as usual, bringing an empty bag to escort some of your belongings back home. To your apartment, your awful tiny apartment. You avoid comparing it to the elegant manor, it's only making you want to back out. You go through the hall, swinging his workshop door open.

"Luciferrr! Sorry to be away for so long, but I think we should talk." You look around to realize you are speaking to an empty room. You look back to the hall. You've never been through any of the other rooms, but he had to be somewhere. And he wasn't responding to your calls.

You open each door carefully, seeing mostly empty storage and cobwebs. One of the rooms was filled to the brim with clothing from all decades. You make a mental note to tease him for playing dress up, later.

You knock at each door, finally opening one that greets you with the warmth of a bedroom. And by warmth, you mean it. You take any coat you were wearing off, finally spotting Lucifer lying in the elegant bed in the center of the room.

"Huh.. I thought you said vampires don't need sleep." You call out, letting your eyes scan the room as you approach the bedside. He's curled up and unresponsive. His sudden panting briefly eased your nerves, at least he’s breathing.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to just barge in, but.. Lucifer? Are you okay?" You reach out and place your hand to his shoulder. He's hot to the touch. You move his body so that he's lying on his back, and he seems even more distressed.

"L-Lucifer..? Lucifer!" You try to speak quietly, but his actions are making you nervous. He finally shoots upward, gripping his bare chest in an attempt to calm his rapid breathing. He does a double take, not believing that you were at his side. Not to mention your scared expression, which is only causing him more concern.

"I-I'm alright! I'm okay.." He lets out a sigh, brushing his hair back. He scans the room, peering out the window. "Ah, nighttime already? I'm sorry, darling, I didn't mean to worry you." He turns back to you, seeing your still-shaken expression. "I slept in! It's okay!" He reassures, patting the side of his bed. You hesitate, but sit down either way.

"I thought.. You didn’t need sleep." You say softly, looking to calm yourself.

"I don't, but it is relaxing sometimes."

"That didn't look relaxing at all."

"Well.. I did say only sometimes." You let out a quiet chuckle and it brings a smile to his face.

"I rest when I'm feeling a bit weak, usually a quick nap helps. But.. sometimes I get nightmares and they're-" You interrupt him.

"Weak? Why are you feeling weak? Did something happen?" You lean in, still feeling uneasy.

"... Just a bit. Don't get me wrong, I am quite powerful-” He loves to gloat about his abilities, your usual reactions of amazement never got old. “-but.. this tower takes its toll on me sometimes. It takes a lot of energy to set up illusions and tricks to keep humans out. I just needed a quick pick me up, that's all." That seemed to calm you a bit, but it did bring up another concern.

"Lucifer.. why do you keep coming back here? Is it worth the trouble? Is.. she worth the trouble?" You ask timidly. His eyes are soft, looking in your direction. It turns you a bit red, you hope you can blame it on the heat of the room if he asks.

"I don’t know.. I’ve been thinking. I-If Lillith has any plans on returning, I'd think she would've done so by now." You feel hopeful, but you attempt to not let it show. "But, I've been here for centuries and I've grown rather fond of... the atmosphere." He tries to reason. He pulls your chin forward, greeting you with a sweet smile. "I'm alright, I promise."

You can't help but return the smile, but you miss his touch once he pulls away. At this point, you're finally taking in his appearance. He's covered in sweat, the bags under his eyes are tremendous and his lips are trembling a bit to keep up a smile.

"Are you sure? You still seem.." You reach your hand out, as if you were about to touch his face, but you see him reel back.

"Clearly, I didn't get a good night's rest.. maybe you should head home, dear, I'm not much fun to be around when I'm like this.." He sulks, making it a point to avoid looking at you. With just the sight of you, he might as you to stay.

"No!" His wide-eyed expression shows that you've clearly just embarrassed yourself. "No, I mean- I don't want to leave. Can I help? Can you.. drink my blood or something? Would that do anything?" He's immediately blushing at your suggestion, right to the tips of his ears. He quickly declines.

"No. Nonono.. That is not happening." He crosses his arms over his still bare chest, which neither of you has mentioned yet. That’s not to say you haven't been staring.

"Would it help?" You ask. He sighs and nods. "Would it kill me?" He shakes his head. "Not if I'm careful.."

"Will it turn me into a vampire or something?" He shakes his head, again.

"Then do it. I want to help you! It's the least I can do since you’ve been so sweet to me." You say sternly, beginning to move the strap of your shirt, revealing a bare shoulder.

"Woah woah, okay. Fine.. I’ll just take a little. Since you're so insistent." He moves your strap back up your shoulder carefully. "And there's no need for that, dear, don't get too excited." He teases. He looks like he’s on the brink of death, yet he still manages to make fun of you.

"I-I'm not excited! Shut up.." you stammer, as you feel him pull your hand towards him, keeping a grip just below your wrist.

"Whatever you say." His smirk has you blushing, again." you ready?" You nod your head, attempting to keep a straight face despite the reality of the situation.

He leans forward to face you, and you move closer to be more comfortable. With his clawed hands still holding your arm delicately, he brings your palm to his lips. You feel his hot breath against your skin and instinctively flex your hand. He stops abruptly and looks at you.

"I-I'm fine, just do it already!" He rolls his eyes and positions his fangs right at the pulse point on your wrist. With a deep breath from both of you, he sinks his teeth into your flesh. The skin is thin there, so it wasn't as painful as you thought it would be.

It's awkward for a moment, you don't feel any different at first. But looking towards Lucifer, you see his eyes turning that glowing crimson red that had startled you when you first met. Sure, it still startled you now, but it was Lucifer. He's not as scary as he looks, you tell yourself. You feel a breath of hot air from his nostrils, realizing he had been holding his breath this whole time. His eyes fluttered shut, and that's when you felt it.

It felt like getting your blood drawn, but his fangs were less painful than the needles somehow. You'd only notice your hand start to fall asleep after a while. But his expression stopped you from saying anything. His heavy breaths against your skin, as he occasionally pulled away to lick the wound clean, only to sink his teeth back in the same spot. You placed your free hand over your mouth to prevent any noises from escaping your lips. He pulled off for a moment, then sunk his teeth in another spot, feverishly placing multiple bite marks across the entirety of your wrist. You attempt to speak up through your hand.

"L-Lucifer.. I-I'm..!" He stops almost immediately, sitting up straight and blinking his eyes back to their usual hue. He looks down to your wrist, a mess of bite marks, all still leaking your crimson blood. Your hand had fallen slack.

"Sorry! Sorry-" He runs his tongue across the wounds, it seemed to stop the blood for now. "How do you feel?" Your eyes are dazed a bit, and when you go to prop yourself up on your previously ravished wrist you fall forward. He catches you by your arms, before you can fall away from the bed. You shake your head, finally looking at him through half-lidded eyes.

"I'm okay.." you say weakly. He's nervously trying to keep your head up, and brushing hair away from your face. He moves to the other side of the bed, and brings you along to lie down beside him. He sits on his knees to examine you, keeping a hand cupping your cheek. It's cool to the touch again, a relief for you. You shakily place your hand on top of his, then look towards him. "You look amazing, Lucifer~" You say with a dizzy smile. Despite the wording, you were right. His skin had brightened up, and he instantly lost the bags from his eyes.

"I might've done too much.." He mumbled, tracing his free hand across your wrist. "You're starting to sound crazy."

"No..! I mean it, you're just.. beautiful.. quite a sight." You're delirious. He starts to worry, suppressing his excitement for the oncoming compliments. He'll have to let you rest, no matter how disappointed that made him. He'd missed your company these past few days.

"Whatever you say, darling. Go ahead and rest, I'll get you some water." And he does just that.

You had left some water bottles and snacks here a few months ago, so he hastily took those and brought them back to you. He set everything on the nightstand and went over to open the glass doors to the balcony of his room, bringing in a fresh night breeze. He put an actual shirt on, finally, on the way to look over you from the side of the bed. 

You were just sitting up, leaning against the headboard as you took a very needed gulp of water.

"So? How did I taste?" You tease, stretching your hand now that you’re regaining feeling.

"Delicious." He sounds flirtatious but almost serious. It has you blushing.

Lucifer had gone off to work on something after you insisted you'd be fine and just needed a few more minutes of rest. That didn't go how you expected. You came here to set some boundaries and here you are in his bed, covered in bite marks. The implications alone made you groan from embarrassment.  And slightly in disbelief. You huff and attempt to stand, it’s not too bad, then move to the balcony and lean against the railing. The breeze ran through your hair and across your heated face, you let out a sigh of relief.

"Feeling better, dear?" His voice has you turning your head a bit, and you greet him with a smile. You nod your head before returning your eyes to the town below.

“I’m glad. Thank you, for.. Letting me do that.” He says, sounding a bit shy. He joins you, leaning against the railing by your side. You both stand in silence for a moment.

"I think I'm in love with you, Lucifer." Maybe it was the blood loss or the sheer exhaustion, but something just forced those words from you. You keep your eyes away from him. If this could be the last time you see him, bringing this dream to an end, then you might as well let it out.

"O-Oh..! Hm! Well, that's uh.." He hoots, and you see his hands flexing against the railing. He can't even form a real response.

"It's stupid, I know. I'm a human, and you're this crazy immortal being. Plus, you just drank my blood. Maybe I'm still delirious.." You continue to toy with your gifted necklace, still keeping your eyes low. You don't know how you would react if you could see his expression right now.

"So.. you would... you want to be with me?" That's what he asks? That's his response?

"I-I mean.. yeah. You're my best friend, you're handsome and smart, and you're inventive and... I just love being around you. I want to.. I want to make you happy, but I just don't know if that's something I can do." Your gaze is finally brought to his when his claws gently guide your chin towards him. His expression is that of pure infatuation. You'd never expect to see him look like this, not when looking at you.

"You make me plenty happy, darling." Your eyes go wide.

"You're bright and fun, and you're adorably curious- I just worry as well. I'll outlive you. I've been locked up here for so long, I don't know how much I can offer you.. but it's definitely less than you deserve." His words send a pain to your chest. You both know, based on fact alone, it just wouldn't work.

"I only want you to be happy as well, love." His words force a nervous sigh from you. This seems like a night for bold decisions, so you decide to make another. You turn to face him, bring him in by his collar, and press your lips against his in one fell swoop. Giving him no time to comprehend the situation, he lets out a muffled exclamation into your lips. It felt like hours before you feel his hands on your waist, and his lips desperately ravishing yours. He pulls you closer to him, his hands now reaching your hips and gripping you tighter. You pull his lower lip down with your thumb, keeping a hand on his jaw as you do so, and begin to explore his mouth with your tongue feverishly. A small yelp at the boldness comes from Lucifer before his forked tongue is dancing with yours. You can still taste your own blood on his lips.

He turns the both of you, having your back pressed against the railing of the balcony, giving him the chance to corner you into being as close as possible. He leans his chest into yours, moving in even more. You're leaning over the railing just slightly, but one of his hands is firmly planted against your back, giving you a sense of security. The other is still gripping at your hips, occasionally slipping upwards to brush the bare skin beneath your top, his cool touch acting as a reminder that this is really happening. He props his knee between your legs, having to force them apart gently to do so.

You pull away with a deep exhale after realizing you've been anxiously holding your breath this whole time. Even leaning away from him, your mind was running rapidly with thoughts of his body. You trace your thumb over his lips, parting them just slightly to examine his fangs. He's turning red with the close inspection.

"W-What are you doing..?" You understand what he's trying to say, but his words are still muffled by your hold on him. He sees your eyes ponder for a moment before you look back to him.

"Bite me." You say sternly. Your hand slips away from his mouth and you start speckling small kisses across his forehead and cheeks, lifting his head slightly with a kiss to his jaw.

"Excuse me?? You want-" You hush his stammering by pulling back, to look into his eyes one more time.

"I want you to bite me.. my neck, I mean." You clearly weren't budging. He still seems hesitant but proceeds to move any hair away from your shoulder

"What, does someone enjoy being bitten?” He asks in a teasing tone, looking at you with a smirk. With a deadpan expression, your eyes brimming with lust, you take a hold of his collar again and pull him into a messy kiss. When you pull back, you see a dazed Lucifer, struggling to keep eye contact.

“Yes.”

He huffs, completely enthralled in your enthusiasm, but still seeming nervous. He pulls the strap to your shirt to the side, examining your collarbone and neck. You hear him gulp, as he runs his hand upward until it’s cradling the back of your head.

“I tend to lose myself a little. You saw what happened before, are you sure-"

"I'm sure. I'll tell you if you have to stop." Still very adamant about it, Lucifer pulls your head to one side as you keep your grip on his shirt, balling the fabric in your fists with anticipation.

He places a small kiss first, the action causing you to flinch slightly. You feel him smile on your neck, clearly enjoying your reaction. He kisses every inch of you, each one becoming sloppier than the last.

After thoroughly leaving you in a dazed state of affection, he traces his face to the softest part of your neck, just above your collarbone, and quickly snaps through the skin. With a startled yelp, you glide your hand upward until you've taken a tight grip onto his hair. You barely have time to appreciate how soft it is before you feel the sensation of his fangs piercing a different spot of flesh.

He doesn't seem to be taking much blood.. Definitely not as much as before and not as quickly. It's leaving your head slightly fuzzy, making any sensations, any marks he's leaving on your body, blur into an overall bliss. You're thoughtlessly letting out little moans and gasps at each bite, only encouraging him to keep it up. You feel the vibrations of his groaning against your skin as he moves to hold you tightly around your waist. After a few moments, you start to feel a bit woozy, your body completely melting into his touch. You tap his shoulder quickly,

"Ah.. Lucifer-" Just as before, he made sure to clean any wounds that were still dripping with blood, but he went on to embellish each one with a kiss before pulling away. He looks at you with concern, cupping your cheek and bracing the weight of your lulling head. You smile and hum into his palm.

"How are you doing, darling?" He actively inspects your entirety before meeting your eyes again.

"Lovely~" You say with a drunken chuckle. He pulls you in for another kiss, before easily scooping you up.

"Alright, then.. let's get you to bed, you little perv.” You hit his chest to the best of your ability in your weakened state. His laughter is music to your ears. You’re too tired to worry about how this will affect your relationship. Or your physical health for that matter. But for now, nothing has felt more comforting than his arms wrapped around your body, the cold soothing the heated moment, and your dizzy mind.

♡♡♡

!Taglist!

( @vififofum / @thornwolfy235 / @tinywolfiegirl / @chipper-chip / @bat-boness / @misfitgirlwrites / @nayomi247 / @lonelynmisunderstood / @escapistoftherealworld / @b4ts1e / @hamthepan / @kyo-kyo1 / @looking1016 / @polytheatrix / @littledolly2345 / @lillianastuff / @yourlocalcryptidbee /@0strawberrysorbet0 / @themageofblood / @jayyyayaysblog / @floralsightings / @azmosposts / @8har0ley8 / @actuallyspiderwoman / @sirenetheblogger / @christineblood / @kaytemchugh / @cimadreamer / @simpdevil66 / @azmosposts / @m3ow1 / @acrazyartist / @redfoxwritesstuff / @4k1to / @meesachan / @corvusskid / @alientee /@xx-spooky-little-vampire-xx / @alon3lylov3r /@sapphireravensworld / @mjmdragons / @catticora / @the-maladaptivedaydreamer / @carrie0-1 / @shamblezzz / @cassandras-nest )

[evanpeterswhoresblog]

Behind the Crime

Warren Lipka x f!reader

warnings: smut, unprotected p in v, oral male receiving, dominate warren, underage drinking, underage smoking, use of marijuana, rough sex, hint of choking, talk of robbery, um yeah i think that’s it

summary: from the moment you were brought into the heist, you knew working with warren was going to be hard…

word count: 3.4k

a/n: sorry for not posting guys i have not been on the grind lately. i watched this movie and omfg evan was so attractive i just needed to write. if you’re the real warren lipka just scroll this is about evan…

~~~

You sit back in your chair, the crew members adjusting your mic. You’re starting to regret doing this interview, but it’s too late to back out now. Everything’s already set up, the camera is about to be rolling. The interviewer is sitting a few feet away from you, notes in his hand. He waits for you to give him the signal that you’re ready. You nod, he begins.

“So, y/n, how did you become involved with the group?” He asks.

“I was first approached by Spencer when I was eating lunch outside one day...”

~~~

You were sitting alone, the cool fall breeze almost too cold to be comforting. You didn’t pay much mind to it though, you were more focussed on your studying. You were flipping through the pages of another history article when suddenly there was a presence beside you. Looking up at them as soon as you noticed, you recognized the boy as someone from your class.

“Can I help you?” You asked, your tone polite.

He looked nervous as if he were about to ask you out. “Hi, uh, I don’t know if you remember my name, I’m Spencer we have Art History together.”

“Oh, yeah, I’ve seen you,” you replied. “Do you need help with the homework or something?”

“No, I actually wanted to talk to you about something else, if you’re not busy or anything,” he said, his voice quiet.

You look away for a second before replying. “Sure, sit down if you want I’m not busy.”

He smiled at you before quickly sitting at the spot across from you. He put his bag on the table, you could see him take a deep breath. Was he really going to ask you out? You thought he was cute, but definitely not your type. You started to pray he wouldn’t say anything along those lines.

“I started to ask around a week or two ago about people who are good with computers and stuff, a lot of people told me you were the best person to go to,” he started. He lacked confidence in his voice, you felt bad for the poor guy but paid close attention to his words. “I need some... help with cameras.”

“What kind of cameras?” You asked, intrigued.

What he was saying was true, you were decently good with computers. You mostly would hack into places and disable things you didn’t like, like the cameras on the public library computers. It wasn’t anything illegal, at least you didn’t think it was illegal. It probably was, but you didn’t care.

“Just you know cameras in... semipublic places...”

You raised an eyebrow. “Like what kind though? Phone, laptop, desktop, security?”

“Security,” he answered quietly. “But before you say no listen, how does a couple hundred thousand dollars' worth of payment sound?

“What?”

“I won’t tell you the details till I know you’re on board but let's just say something is going down and we need help with the cameras. The pay would be huge and all you’d have to do is just mess with some cameras for like twenty minutes.”

You only stared at him; your mouth slightly hung open. Was he being serious? Was he really asking you to join him in a potential robbery that would pay hundreds of thousands of dollars? You never would’ve expected to be asked such a question on a cloudy Thursday at lunch. You shut your book completely and look around to make sure nobody is close.

“This money, it’s guaranteed?”

He nods. “As long as we get the job done, you’ll have it.”

You knew it was crazy, you knew whatever was going to happen would either result in you going to prison or having to run off into hiding. But the thought of being able to pay all your student loans off and have extra money to live off of was more appealing. Hacking into cameras wasn’t that hard, and it wasn’t going to hurt anyone. Unless it was.

“If you’re trying to get me to make sure a murder or rape isn’t on camera I’ll snitch,” you warned him.

“Oh no, nothing like that is happening at all. It’s just you know a robbery,” he replied, his expression genuine.

You nodded your head, convinced whatever he was asking couldn’t be that bad. “Okay, yeah, I’ll do it.”

~~~

“What was your first impression of the guys?

You smile. “They were really cool, funny, just overall really fun people to hang out with.”

“Do you remember the first time you met all of them?”

“Of course, like it was yesterday...”

~~~

The house you sat in front of didn’t look like a typical criminal's house. It looked like an average American’s family house actually. You were parked out on the road outside the house Spencer told you to go to, you were meeting the rest of the people involved with the robbery. It had been about ten minutes of you sitting out there debating whether or not to go in before you got a text from Spencer asking where you were. You sighed, praying to God this decision was the right one before getting out of your car.

You knocked on the front door with a shaky fist. You started to regret your decision, you thought about turning around and leaving, but the door was opened before you could act on it. An older woman stood in front of you, she looked to be in her 50s.

“Oh, you’re very pretty,” she said, making your cheeks turn red. “You’re here to see Warren, right?”

You had no idea who Warren was, but you nodded. The lady's smile grew, and she opened the door for you and ushered you inside. She directed you to the basement entrance, asking you a million questions you had no answers to. After those few but excruciating painful minutes though, you walked down the basement stairs and finally caught sight of Spencer.

There were three other guys in the room and all of their eyes were on you. Two, along with Spencer, were sitting on a couch. One of them was skinny with glasses, the other muscular with no glasses. They didn’t grasp your attention though. The last guy who was standing did. He had long dark curly hair, and eyes to match. His eyes met yours before you watched them slowly move up and down your body. You didn’t know how to react.

“Guys, this is y/n,” Spencer said, breaking you out of your thoughts.

“Hello, I’m Eric,” the guy with glasses introduced himself.

“Chas,” the muscular guy spoke, not paying much attention to you. “Are you sure this was a good idea, Spence? How much do we really know about this chick? No offense.”

“Shut up, we agreed,” Spencer hissed. He waved you over and you complied, walking to the couch and sitting on the end beside him.

The standing guy took a step forward and held out his hand to you. You looked up at him before accepting his handshake. His hand was rough, you liked the feeling of it in yours. “I’m Warren and you are our cameraman or woman I guess.”

You laughed. “I guess.”

“How much has Spencer told you?” Warren asked after letting go of your hand and stepping back. It was then you noticed the maps on the wall with drawings all over them, the layout looked familiar.

“Just that I need to hack some cameras and that it’ll pay me a lot,” you answered. “I don’t even know what you guys are stealing.”

“Well y/n, I’m sure you’ve been to your own school's library right?”

You nodded.

“Have you ever taken a tour of the library’s rare book collection?”

You nodded again.

Warren smirked. “Then you know exactly what we’re stealing.”

Your face fell and you immediately looked at Spencer and the rest of the guys. “Are you serious? You guys want to steal historic books?”

“I told you this was a bad idea,” Chas mumbled from his chair.

“Shut up Chas,” Warren quickly snapped. He looked back at you, his dark eyes engulfing yours completely. “We’ve been planning this out for months, and you are the last piece to our puzzle y/n. Think about how much you’ll be earning.”

You didn’t say anything. Maybe it was a bad idea.

~~~

“Chas eventually stopped being cold to me, I actually think in the end he became my closest friend in the group,” you say, finishing your story.

The interviewer gives you a look. “Well, besides Warren right?”

“I don’t know what you mean,” you reply, a confused look on your face.

“I have to ask if the stories are true, you know about you and him. The other guys say something changed between the two of you after a party you all attended. I mean, didn’t the police even question if your involvement had a deeper meaning than simply the money?”

You shake your head, giving your best performance. “Me and Warren were only ever best friends, there was never a deeper meaning behind anything.”

~~~

Music was pumping through your body, from the tips of your toes to the top of your head you could feel it. It had been a few weeks since you met the guys, and they all wanted to do something fun before the heist. So, a frat party was naturally the easiest option. That’s where you were now, already two shots and half a joint in. You didn’t know where Spencer, Nick, and Warren were, but Chas was dancing with you.

Though the two of you got off on the wrong foot, you and Chas quickly learned how well you get along. He was a good friend, all of the guys were. You liked how easily they could make you laugh and brighten your mood. They were all good people who you enjoyed being around.

Warren was the only one that you felt different for. You didn’t know why, but from the first day you met you knew your feelings for him would be different than the other three. The way he looked at you alone was completely different than the others. There was always something darker in his eyes, something you knew wasn’t supposed to be there for simply a friend. Every time the two of you looked at each other, your stomach filled with butterflies. You wanted it too. But in those first few weeks, nothing had happened. No matter how much either of you wanted it.

After some minutes of you and Chas dancing, Warren and Spencer appeared. They asked if the two of you wanted to go out and smoke, you both agreed and followed them outside the back. Not too many people were in the backyard, but there were enough for there to be a bonfire going. The four of you found an empty spot near the fire and sat down. Warren took out a joint and lit it before passing it around.

“Where’s Nick?” You asked after taking a hit.

Spencer shrugged. “Probably with the weird kids doing weird stuff.”

“He’s not that weird,” Chas replied. “He’s just awkward.”

You watched as Warren took another long hit of the joint. Because of the weed and alcohol, you found yourself even more attracted to him than when you were sober. You wanted so desperately to run your fingers through his hair, you wanted to hear his voice as you touched him. He suddenly met your gaze, his lips curled up into a mesmerizing smile. You wanted to kiss him. It was too much for you to handle.

You swallowed and stood up, brushing the dirt off your shorts. “I need to um use the bathroom.”

You didn’t wait for any of their replies. Instead, you rushed back into the house straight to the kitchen. You poured yourself a shot, downing it before giving it a second thought. You needed these feelings to go away. How were you supposed to work with Warren if you couldn’t even look at him without thinking about having sex with him? It made you feel awful. A hookup couldn’t be the reason the robbery went bad, you refused to let that happen.

After another shot, you started to forget about your feelings. In fact, you started to forget about Warren completely. All you felt was the burning sensation of the alcohol in your stomach and chest, it felt good. You stumbled out of the kitchen and into the hallway, grabbing the railings of the staircase for support. Suddenly, you felt a presence next to you, their hand on your back.

“Y/N, are you good?” It was Warren.

You turned your head and looked at him, God how could he look even better? “No- I’m not okay.”

“You’re wasted, you need some water,” he said. He moved his hand around your waist and pulled you up straight. You felt like you were on fire. “Come on, back to the kitchen.”

“Why are you here? I just- I just wanna forget about you,” you mumbled.

He started helping you walk back to the kitchen. “What? Why would you want to forget about me?”

“Because... I want you but I can’t have you. I thought you- felt the same that’s why it’s been so hard to resist,” you spoke, stumbling over your words. “I can’t look at you without thinking about you fucking me.”

Even in your drunken state, you could still see the cockiness on Warren’s face. He lifted you up onto the kitchen counter effortlessly before turning and getting you a cup of water. You leaned your head back against one of the cabinets, your head was spinning. You couldn’t think straight.

“Drink,” Warren’s voice filled your ears.

You lifted your head and grabbed the solo cup from his hand, downing the water faster than ever. When you finished, you threw the cup to the floor, your eyes meeting Warren’s once again. He was standing close enough that if you reached, you could touch him.

Perhaps it was because of the alcohol, or perhaps it was because of how long you’d felt the tension between you two, that gave you the courage to gently place your hand on the top of his head. His hair was soft, just like you’d expected it to be. You smiled and played with his curls. He didn’t object, you were glad. You needed this.

“Do you want me?” You asked, your voice barely audible against the loud music.

“What do you think?”

You shrugged. “I thought so, but I could always be wrong.”

“Maybe I should make it clearer,” he said. He grabbed your wrist and pulled your hand off his head before stepping closer to you. “If this house wasn’t crowded, I’d fuck you right here, right now.”

Your heart was racing, your cheeks bright red. You couldn’t believe this was happening. Warren was still holding your wrist, it sent electric shocks throughout your body. His eyes began to shift from your eyes to your lips and so on. You swallowed; a lump had formed in your throat.

“There’s probably an empty room somewhere,” you mentioned. “You could take me to one of them and show me you mean what you say.”

Warren raised an eyebrow. “I don’t know, you’re pretty drunk.”

“I’m not- I swear. I consent, I’ll remember all of this in the morning,” you replied quickly.

“All right.”

Before you could say anything else, Warren scooped you into his arms and began to carry you through the house. You didn’t know whether to pretend you were drunk so it wouldn’t look suspicious or stay awake to also not make it look suspicious. You chose to stay awake and within minutes you and Warren were alone in a bedroom, your lips connected.

The kiss was fast and rough, everything you expected from him. His arms were wrapped around your waist, he towered over you. You wasted no time, immediately kicking off your shoes and pushing Warren back until he fell onto the bed. He pulled you on top of him, guiding your hips in slow motions over his clothed erection. You felt like you were on fire, you needed more.

You broke this kiss and leaned back so you were straddling him. You pulled off your shirt and bra, Warren followed your actions. Once your eyes fell upon his toned abdomen, you audibly moaned. You quickly leaned down again and kissed his chest, beginning a trail down his body. Each breath that left his mouth made your pussy drip even more. And when you reached his navel, his breaths turned into soft whispers.

“Keep going.”

“Please.”

“I’ll do anything.”

When you no longer had any skin left to kiss you looked back up at him, his eyes were already on you. He got your signal and instantly pulled his shorts and boxers off, leaving him completely naked. You weren’t surprised at his size; you had a feeling he’d be big. You started off by slowly stroking him with your hand, the expressions on his face already enough to make you cum.

After a minute or so of that, you bent down and pressed a small kiss to his tip. You loved the way his leg twitched. It made you proud. So, you took him into your mouth. He gasped, one of his hands finding its way to the back of your head. He didn’t push you; he only twirled your hair back into a ponytail-like style and gripped it tight. You moved your head up and down, taking as much of him in your mouth as you could. You were never a fan of giving head to guys, but with Warren, it was a different story.

Not much time passed before Warren pushed you gently, telling you he wasn’t going to last much longer. You didn’t care, you wanted him to finish in your mouth. But he told you he wanted to have sex, so you stopped. You peeled off your shorts and underwear before you climbed back onto him. His naked body against yours felt unreal, you were almost convinced this was all part of your drunken imagination.

However, when Warren pulled your head down and began to kiss your lips again, you knew it had to be real. His hands gripped your ass, kneading and playing with your skin. You positioned his tip at your entrance, you were so wet you didn’t need any lube. You broke the kiss and looked into his eyes, you wanted to know it was okay. He gave you a nod and so you began to push yourself down on him.

He filled you well, just the perfect amount. You had thrown your head back, a moan escaping your lips. You hadn’t had sex in months, and this was the perfect way to break that streak. You started to move your body forward and backward while simultaneously going up and down. Warren’s grip on your ass tightened with each movement you made.

“Fuck baby,” he moaned. “You do it so well.”

Your confidence was boosted; you began to move faster. This only lasted a few minutes though, much to your dismay. You weren’t too athletic; you didn’t have good stamina. Warren noticed this, and without saying anything he flipped your bodies. Once on top of you, he began violent thrusts. You almost screamed from the pleasure; you’d never felt anything remotely close to it in your life. He hit your cervix each time, it made your back arch off the mattress and your nails dig into his back.

“Warren,” you whimpered. “Oh, fuck Warren.”

One of his hands wrapped around your neck. He didn’t squeeze, he just rested it there. You felt the knot in your stomach form at this. It felt so good to be dominated by him. It had been your dream for weeks, and it had finally come true. You closed your eyes and let the feeling of Warren fucking you fill your senses.

When you came, you practically screamed his name. You swore you could see stars. You’d never experienced an orgasm so hard in your life. Warren came a few seconds after you, you felt his dick pulsing inside you. He collapsed on you. You didn’t care about how his weight crushed you, you still held him as the two of you began to come down from your highs.

~~~

As the crew packs up, you remain in your chair, staring blankly out one of your windows. The interviewer is still across from you, but you don’t notice until he speaks.

“Just tell me one thing, off the record,” he says, grabbing your attention. “Did you love him?”

A small smile grows on your lips. “With all my heart.”

[david-talks-sw]

"The idea of it..."

This is obviously a reference to the ol' argument:

"The Jedi weren't bad but the Jedi Order as an institution needed to go."

So as a quick reminder I thought I'd point out:

1) George Lucas describes the Jedi's eradication as a sad thing, not something sad-but-necessary:

"[The] Jedi getting killed through the Order 66 of the clones is just done as one of those kind of inevitable pay offs in terms of getting rid of everybody, the Emperor is getting rid of all his enemies, but there’s a certain inevitability of it all and a sadness to it.  - Revenge of the Sith, Director’s Commentary, 2005

2) Out of 770 George Lucas quotes, I've never seen him refer to the Jedi Order as "an institution" once.

He does refer to the Republic itself as an institution.

"[In The Phantom Menace one of the many storylines is] the story of a young queen who's faced with the total annihilation of a people, and how she can get a sluggish political institution to pay attention to what's going on." - Premiere, 1999

He might be referring to the Senate instead of the Republic as a whole, but the point stands: he's not talking about the Jedi.

Which tracks with what Lucas defined as Dooku's reason for leaving the Order: his disenchantment with the Republic/Senate, not the Jedi themselves.

But let's go slightly further:

The Jedi Temple was designed as a place of worship that would contrast with the corporate coldness of the Senate.

Also, the Jedi were originally designed as a more organized police force. As the script evolved, they were turned into peacekeepers, diplomats.

Mace's room was redesigned so as to not convey that the Jedi were mired in bureaucracy and protocol.

And when describing the political situation of the Prequels, Lucas doesn't blame the Jedi, but rather the corporations and Senate:

"But as often happens when wealth and power grow beyond all reasonable proportion, an evil fueled by greed arose. The massive organs of commerce mushroomed in power, the Senate became corrupt, and an ambitious named Palpatine was voted Supreme Chancellor." - Shatterpoint, Prologue, 2004

Wow, it's looking like not only is the "Jedi Order as an institution needed to go" narrative not a thing per Lucas, but

3) Lucas went out of his way to make it clear that the Jedi aren't the issue, here, the Republic/Senate is.

So how did we get this narrative?

Well, it comes from a generation of fans and Star Wars creators who were not the target audience.

You know the type. It's the kind who, when asked if they like the Prequel Trilogy, will respond that they liked...

... but not the execution.

AKA they disliked the Prequels, but then EU books and The Clone Wars came out and provided them with enough material to form a headcanon justifying why they didn't like the Jedi, despite wanting to: it's because the Jedi are meant to be disliked! Totally!

The Jedi failed as an institution is an idea that comes from authors who wanted to engage with the material (it IS Star Wars, after all) but not the narrative that George Lucas had crafted, whose work then influenced older fans who preferred the author's retconned version of the story to the original one.

The rest is history.

As Prequels producer Rick McCallum put it:

"The myth begins on paper. During preproduction, filming, and postproduction, the myth becomes visible through the work of hundreds of dedicated people. Following the film's release, the myth becomes public and the public makes it its own." - Rick McCallum, Mythmaking: Behind the Scenes of Attack of the Clones, 2002

[unhonestlymirror]

I am horrified by how often I see people writing, "Well, we shouldn't take Holocaust into account when talking about Israel-Palestine war." Of course we SHOULD, and that's why:

"October 7 is getting rewritten and certain social media users are an active of the campaign to erase the atrocities.

I was barely awake on October 7th when news of the atrocities that were committed by Hamas began to trinkle in, horror by horror. With sleep still in my eyes, I had hoped it was a nightmare I could erase by burying my face in pillows and returning to slumber, but alas, reality was insistent. Hamas had butchered over 1,200 people, amongst them infants, pregnant women, the handicapped, and the elderly. Even dogs were not spared.

But Hamas didn’t just murder them in cold blood, they had tortured, raped, desecrated their bodies, and took hostages. Their depravity was limitless. And they were so proud of their crimes that they used GoPro cameras to record them, later releasing the sickening spectacles to the public as a form of psychological terror. Add to that the live streams, cell phone recordings, and CCTV camera footage, and you’ll probably have the most documented massacre in history—with a reported 60,000 video clips collected.

I’ve seen some of these videos, including those not circulating quite so widely in public. They will haunt me for the rest of my life—and that falls far short than the 47 minute “film” shown to select journalists and diplomats worldwide, a number of whom broke down and/or fell ill during the screening.

But as shocking as all of this deranged butchery was — which was entirely the intention — what stunned me in the aftermath is the world’s reaction.

Putting aside disputes of land and politics, it was jarring to hear such a blatant reframing of narrative. It started with calling Hamas the “resistance” and justifying the unjustifiable. A number of BLM chapters had put out “heroic” images of Hamas terrorists descending on parachutes. I half-expected them to release action figures of Hamas fighters too. Maybe they did?

And then came the "BUTs." Sure, some folks condemned Hamas, but it was always followed by a "BUT," justifying the unjustifiable. I've been asked, ad nauseam, "What would you do in their situation?" Well, my response remains steadfast: not commit random acts of murder, torture, and kidnapping. Call me old-fashioned. (For the record I’ve called many colorful words for my stance, but oddly that was never one of them).

It was a wake-up call for many, especially those of us in the global Jewish community. Overnight, the illusion of safety shattered, much like the dreams of anyone who's binge-watched a horror series alone at night. But now we were all collectively trapped in that nightmare, and couldn’t wake up no matter how hard with pitched.

The history of the Holocaust is taught in many schools around the world. “Never forget” and “never again” are sentiments that are echoed within that curriculum. Yet, while some might scoff at the persistent advocacy for Holocaust education, insisting that it’s hitting them over the head, a nationwide survey in 2020 reveals that the under-40 crowd seems to have missed the memo. Shockingly, one in ten respondents haven’t even heard of the word “Holocaust,” let alone being aware that as many as 6 million Jews perished in it.

Further, nearly a quarter of those questioned said they believed the Holocaust was a myth, had been exaggerated or that they weren’t sure. Meanwhile in Canada, one in five young people (under 34) either hasn't heard of the Holocaust or isn't sure what it is. And in Britain, one in twenty adults flat-out deny that it ever took place. Ah, the privilege of blissful ignorance.

Most who underestimate the number of Jews killed in Holocaust have neutral or warm feelings toward Jews.

But it's not just ignorance; there's an entire industry that has been propped up and dedicated to Holocaust denial, complete with books, “movies,” and groups. To make matters worse, alarmingly, fewer Holocaust survivors are around to share their firsthand accounts and counteract the flames of denialism.

Nearly half of the 1000 people surveyed had stated that they��ve seen Holocaust denial or distortion posts on social media or elsewhere online.

I’ve always thought that denials of genocide—such as the Holocaust —were something that happened over time, with history slipping away and being re-written.

However, I never expected to be observing this in real time.

While initially the so-called “resistance” was celebrated by a subset of society, this soon turned into full-fledged denials of Hamas’ actions on Oct 7. Despite overwhelming evidence in the form of videos captured and shared by Hamas themselves and shared on Telegram channels and elsewhere, I would read and hear people claiming that they had only targeted Israeli military. Absurd claims emerged using supposedly ‘leaked’ footage where an Israeli helicopter shoots at Nova music festival goers. That video was viewed over 30 million times on X alone. The video, which was actually originally shared by the IDF on Oct 9, was showing their attacks on specific Gazan targets—certainly NOT indiscriminate bombings of music festival attendees in Israel. (Here’s a great thread that details how this piece of disinformation spread and geolocation information that further confirms that the claim is fake).

I’ve heard countless denials of the rapes of women (and men), despite overwhelming evidence in the form of physical evidence, forensics, and a number of witness testimonies. Women’s rights groups, meanwhile, remained silent—thus offering a vacuum for denialists to fill. Proponents of “me too” also stayed silent. Worse, the University of Alberta Sexual Assault Centre’s director signed an open letter calling Hamas perpetrating “sexual violence” an “unverified accusation.” It took UN Women nearly two months to issue a lukewarm condemnation of the brutal attacks. “We are alarmed by the numerous accounts of gender-based atrocities and sexual violence during those attacks,” they wrote, following a letter writing campaign urging them to speak up. Better late than never though, right?

The roughly 40 dead babies claim was debunked as a lie. At least that’s what people on social media now declare as fact, citing a Haaretz investigation.

“Haaretz investigation EXPOSES all the ISRAELI LIES from October 7th just like I predicated (sic),” reads the post of one particularly large disinformation account.

These claims persisted despite Haaretz directly addressing that post and calling it “blatant lies” and insisting that it “absolutely no basis in Haaretz’s reporting.”

The denials continued regardless of the fact that a group of 200 forensic pathologists from all over the world had confirmed that babies were indeed murdered and that some babies were found decapitated, though it was unclear whether this was done before or after death. First responders also corroborated that they witnessed beheaded infants. Regardless of decapitation, these were babies, murdered.

The forensic pathologists also confirmed that humans were executed, bound and burned alive. Israeli police have over 1,000 statements related to the attack.

When some of the hostages were released, Hamas supporters claimed that the hostages enjoyed being held by them, that they hardly wanted to leave. That this was like a pleasant vacation for them, that’s all. Like sipping piña coladas by the beach. In fact, they would state that they were more concerned about their safety in Israeli hands. They even concocted stories of love affairs between a hostage who was shot in the leg and a Hamas captor. A sick and twisted take on reality where up is down, cats are dogs, and denial is truth. They dismissed the reality that many of these hostages watched their loved ones get murdered in front of them, and still had relatives being held in captivity. The hostages were also administered Clonazepam by Hamas, a mood-enhancing tranquilizing drug, before handing them over to the Red Cross, so that they would appear “happy.”

Meanwhile, the Yale Daily News published a correction of an opinion column stating that the “allegations had not been substantiated.”

The denials go on and on, and I can’t help but feel like I’m watching a version of Holocaust denial, except this time it’s happening in real time—not years after the fact. And this time, it has a Wi-Fi connection and a social media account.

The conditions for this were ripe. Moral relativism is why just several weeks ago, Gen Z embraced Bin Laden's 'Letter to America.' It has been building up for years across college campuses, a breeding ground for ideologies that support violent means to achieve political gains.

The perceived power dynamics play a role here too. In the eyes of many, the Israelis are seen as a superpower whereas the Palestinians, and by extension Hamas, are seen as underdogs. In their view, the underdog is always right because it is the victim, and the “power” is the oppressor. So how can the oppressor be a victim?

Israelis, despite the majority of the population being Mizrahi Jews, as well as 20% Arabs (who were also victims on Oct 7), have been framed as “white colonizers,” vs the Palestinians who are seen as “POC” in the context of this conflict. Never mind that Jews, including Ashkenazi Jews, can be traced back to the land through DNA, archaeological evidence, and historical documents.

An overall distrust for media is another factor, which has resulted in individuals taking the word of random influencer accounts as gospel over traditional media outlets. According to Gallup polls, Americans’ trust in media is near a record low. Only 34% of US adults have a “great deal” or “fair amount” of confidence as of 2022. This is a major hindrance to our sensemaking abilities.

And then, of course, there’s cognitive dissonance. When a group identifies so closely with the perpetrator and they commit heinous acts, confronting that fact happens to be uncomfortable. So, in an attempt to reduce that discomfort, they rationalize or deny the evidence. This means that they accept only evidence that supports their existing beliefs, while placing unreasonable demands on the other side.

But none of these factors would have gained as much traction if it weren’t for something that didn’t exist during the Holocaust: social media. This is the engine that helps drives this real-time historical revisionism and denialism. According to 2021 data from Pew Research, over 70% of Americans get their news via social platforms. A Reuters Institute report from 2023 found that 30% of respondents use social media as the main way to get their news.

We have a society that consumes sound-bites of information, both truth and lies (as well as lies based on grains of truth).

Social media algorithms—combined with human nature—tend to amplify outrageous untruths, which spread widely. Corrections, never make it as far as the original lie. They are just a faint hum.

Throughout the Israeli-Gaza war, we’ve seen AI generated images and bots used to paint a specific narrative—for evocative, emotional effect. But technologically sophisticatication isn’t a prerequisite for painting false narratives. Many “influencers” have taken to using existing images or videos and attaching misleading headlines to them—including sharing content that captures events in Syria while presenting it as taking place in Gaza. These networks of influencers have large reach, and can turn even the most blatant lie into a revisionist truth.

Researchers for Freedom House, a non-profit human right advocacy group, found that generally at least 47 governments have used commentators to manipulate online discussions in their favor, either via humans or bots. They’ve also recruited influencers to help spread false and misleading content, and have created fake websites that mimic actual media publications. Then there’s always Russia’s propaganda arm RT, and various other publications like Al Jazeera and Quds who have direct ties to Hamas and/or other Islamic regimes.

All of this has contributed to narrative confusion, and the erasure of unspeakable acts of brutality, and the denial of the facts of October 7, right before our very eyes.

If we cannot even share a common reality, how can have any hope of resolving anything?

“Never again” is happening now."

[thelightsandtheroses]

seven: me and the devil, walking side by side

Your Hand In Mine | Joel Miller x female reader.

Chapter summary: an unwelcome visitor brings everything to a head Chapter warnings: Reader is a single parent to a teenager, mentions of breakups, discussions of cults/religious movements and violence within these, threat of a gun, tension, lightly implied panic attack/anxiety, 18+ blog mdni, Notes: Chapter title i

s from Me and the Devil, originally by Gil-Scott Heron but I have both this and the Soap&Skin version on my playlist for this fic. Thanks for all of your patience with this chapter. It’s a big one! Word Count: 5.4k

Previous | Series | Next

You’ve been through breakups before. It’s nothing new. Usually you like to be the one to leave before you can be left. That takes out some of the salt in the wound.

Your separation from Joel hurts though. It physically hurts.

Your chest aches, your eyes sting, you miss him. Every small detail brings Joel to you; a flannel shirt, the soap everyone in Jackson.

You’re not sure if it’s because you’ve distanced yourself from a good man - and aren’t those rare to find?- or the impending fear of The Junction. Perhaps it’s both.

On the moments that Joel is not haunting you, your past is.

Beau once asked you whether you were sure that breaking up with Joel was a good idea, if it would perhaps be better to bring him on side. That’s Beau; a survivor, pragmatic to his core.

You can’t quite find the words to voice what it would have meant to you to tell Joel. You still feel complicit somehow in everything that Ethan did, you realised too late, you didn’t stop him. There’s too much shame ingrained in your body for you to tell Joel.

The pain of the breakup feels like a suitable punishment.

“Anything?” you ask Beau as you sip your tea in the kitchen.

Beau shakes his head wearily. “No sign on anyone yet.” He pauses. “If I had to say anything though, it’s almost too …. clean. There’s no sign of anyone, sweetheart, anyone or anything.”

“They’re cleaning their tracks?”

“Probably.”

“Shit. We should leave.”

“We’re better off here than out there,” Beau replies calmly, “‘sides, we can’t just haul Gabe off in the middle of the night now. He’ll ask questions.” There’s an unspoken question - will you ever tell your son the truth?

“I hate this.”

“Me too. We’re going to get through this though.”

“Are we?”

“Of course.”

“Who were you patrolling with?” you ask, eager to change the subject.

Beau shifts uncomfortably. “Just -”

“Joel?”

He nods. ‘Did he notice the clean-up?“

“Things like that don’t get past him. He’s … aware of techniques like that.” probably for the same reasons as Beau. Their chequered histories made them survivors and in some strange kept people they love safe - Ellie for Joel, Sean and you for Beau. “We both commented on it. Joel doesn’t know about the junction though, he’ll assume it’s more like raiders. He wants to raise it in the town meeting tonight - I think he’d mention it sooner if it was more than just a theory. Maybe that can work to our advantage though.”

“How?”

“Well, if he says to Maria then she’ll probably put a stop to traders for a bit. That might protect us a little longer if Jackson’s more closed. It’ll give us time to decide on what we’re doing.” Beau smiles at you. “You and Sean, you’re not alone in this. You, Gabriel, Sean and me … we’re sticking together.”

You nod, sniffing loudly. You won’t cry, you won’t.

“There’s a trader in,” Esther says casually, smiling as you look up from your books.

It’s probably nothing, it’s probably just one of the usual traders who passes through Jackson, but that doesn’t explain why your blood is turning cold and your palms are sweaty.

“A trader? One of our usuals?”

“No, no, never seen him before.”

“Oh, really?” you ask, schooling your expression as much as you can. “What does he look like?”

“Not as good looking as Joel Miller, how you let a man like that go, I will never know.” Esther sighs and you remember that when Joel first came to town, Tommy had been trying to match the two of them. It hadn’t lasted long. You’d asked Joel about it once but he’d been polite, a southern gentleman to a tee so you knew even if there was a story, it wasn’t one you’d hear any time soon.

“Well, I’m sure he’d be heartened to hear your support on that. So, the trader?”

“I don’t know, he had dark hair and he - he had presence, a slight limp though.”

“A limp?”

“Uh huh. Shame really, and some burns but other than that …. he seemed real friendly, had a Victorian doll for trade too, might have some things for your boy. I heard a rumour about coffee.”

You walk past Esther, barely letting her complete her sentences before you’re heading out of the library.

Beau’s on the way to the hall. He’s in the stables and you can see him chatting with Ellie as you approach them.

“Hey Beau, Hi Ellie,” you say, walking in and smiling broadly. You think it’s a normal, false smile but by Beau’s expression, and Ellie’s, you’ve failed miserably. “Beau, there’s a trader at the community hall, want to go check it out?”

Beau looks at you and you hope he’s noticed how you said trader, how you all but winked and raised an eyebrow at the gesture.

“Oh, really?”

“We were talking about trading some of our old stuff soon, right? From back when?”

He definitely understands now. “Of course. Ellie, it was real nice talkin’ to you.”

Before you can leave, Ellie grabs you arm. “Wait, can you just wait a moment?”

No, you think, but it’s Ellie and you’ve already let her down so many times recently, that you nod. “Catch up in a moment, Beau?”

“Okay. I’ll be outside.” If you know, he’ll probably be working on a plan, just in case. He’ll be looking for signs of more of them. You and Sean told him about Ethan’s strategies, about his plans if that first gated community failed.

Ellie looks worried, her arms are folded around herself and it reminds you she’s still just a child, only fifteen. Younger than your own son.

“How are you doing, Ellie?”

“I’m sorry, okay?”

“You’re sorry?”

“Yeah, over the whole arm thing and the accident. I know it made you and Joel argue and then - and then you broke up. I know it’s-”

“Ellie, it was nothing to do with that,” you say vehemently, “Nothing at all about you. I promise.”

“Then why? I thought you liked him?”

“I did.” You do.

“I’ll never understand any of this,” Ellie laments, shaking her head. “Why not just - why’d you come into our lives just to do this then?”

You would have preferred it if she hit you. “I never wanted to hurt you, or Joel. I promise that. I’m - I have to go, Ellie, but I - we can talk more.”

“‘S no point. Unless, is there?” Ellie looks up hopefully.

You shake your head, digging your hands into your pockets. “Take care, Ellie.”

You have to get to the hall, you have to hope your fears are unfounded.

You can’t feel your fingers.

You know.

There are fresh flowers on each table in the hall; it’s a simple gesture, one that intimates the security, the homeliness of Jackson. It’s a place where you can do that again, it’s about living not surviving.

It clashes with the raging survival instinct in you, the fear that your home isn’t as safe as you hoped. The knowledge that everything is about to come crashing down.

What if they’ve already infiltrated? What if there’s been a Junction spy reporting back for months? They would despise you for what you did. They would demand your blood. But what if he …

You look over at the crowd around the trader and begin moving forward with Beau, each step in sync, his presence an unspoken crutch.

You hope you’re wrong about this.

He is not who you remember. That is the first thing you think when you see him. His hair is longer now with his limp, thinning dark locks tied back in a scraggly ponytail. There are more lines on his face, a vicious burn on one hand and you know underneath his clothes will be the hidden scars you left him with - you missed the first time. The second time you hit his leg though.

His eyes widen with delight when he sees you walk into the building. “You,” he exclaims, “At long last, we meet again.”

In your imagination, this scene always was more obviously like a horror film. In your nightmares, you’d be bleeding, taken, surviving once more. The scene was always in some abandoned warehouse, cabin or barn too.

You watched too many movies growing up.

However, you could have never expected this moment would happen in Jackson’s community hall. You could never have expected there would be an audience either. People are still milling around, looking at his potential wares, going about their day like the world hasn’t just ended once more. You want to scream at them, you want to call the insanity of this situation out but your feet are rooted to the floor with thick tendrils of fear holding you in place.

You notice Joel and Tommy at one table. Joel’s eyes look confused as he seems to gauge your expression.

You can see Sean standing near Maria. Sean looks so uneasy; almost grey, and you cannot imagine how your friend is feeling right now, you know he suffered in his own way at The Junction. His face is calm though, he’s planning, waiting for the right moment. You recognise the way his hands are shoved into his jeans pocket though, the way his eyes move wildly around the room when he thinks no one is looking at him.

Your legs feel shaky but you refuse to lean against Beau, to show any weakness in this situation. This situation has been a long time coming.

It’s been seventeen years. You are not who you were then. You have been shaped by him and the Junction, that is true, but you’ve become your own person again. Each tragedy, each win, each memory has sculpted who you are at this moment, has trained you for this moment.

Beau whispers your name, gives you choices on how you play this. He’s on your side, that’s clear, that’s beyond question. Part of you wants to hand the situation over to him, to let Beau deal with it while you bury your head in the sand once again.

That’s not possible though.

You wonder if it’s only the four of you who are aware of the tension at this moment. It’s a secret that your neighbours and friends can’t see, that you never wanted them to see.

And Joel -

Everyone is in danger now.

“Hi honey,” Ethan says loudly with a smile, “It’s been a while. Why don’t you come on over and say hi to your husband now?”

His words have the desired effect; everyone stops, everyone stares, heads moving in a ripple of movement throughout the hall.

Next to Sean, Maria’s smile fades and her face hardens. You hear the hushed whispers around you as they realise Ethan is looking and talking to you.

It’s Joel you want to look at though. You feel drawn to him like Orpheus, knowing you can’t look and desperate to all at once. You remember how he was unable not to turn around in those Greek myths, how you’d argued in class it was foolish and inevitable all at once.

Is this you now? Are you the damned, foolish one? Is your failure, your doom, inevit

Seeing Ethan solidifies everything; Joel is the person you love, the man who loved you and you have lost him because of your secrets and past, in a foolhardy attempt to protect Gabriel.

Gabriel. He’s nowhere to be found as you look around you and you’re grateful for that. You can protect him for just a few more minutes.

Instead of your son, instead of Ethan, you finally allow yourself to glance at Joel. Joel’s face is pulled into a frown and he looks … hurt. You’ve hurt him once again.

You can imagine his thoughts right now - he’ll be wondering why he bothered to trust you, how you hid this from him and why.

“I -” you stutter words, your mouth opening and closing without making any sense. You exhale slowly. “How’s your leg?”

Sean bursts out laughing. It’s a strange, mangled giggle borne of surprise and worry that immediately stops as people look at him.

“So how’s that how we’re playing things, huh?”

“This isn’t a game, Ethan.”

“Isn’t everything you do a game?”

“I’m sorry, but I can’t - you were married, you were married to him?” Tommy exclaims, looking at Joel and then you in the vain hope one of you will provide an answer. There’s an unspoken conversation between the two brothers, one clearly Tommy isn’t happy about. “Who is he?” Tommy says your name in a low voice, imploring you to confide in him.

“He shouldn’t be here, he needs to leave.”

“I need to leave?” Ethan asks, an unreadable expression on his face. “So you haven’t told them anything about who you really are then? They don’t know there’s a fox in the chicken coop?” He says your name, tutting with disappointment.

Whispers carry around you like leaves in the wind. You’re not sure what people are thinking right now. You’ve been too quiet, too secretive, it would be easy to wonder who you really are. In another world, maybe this is who would have been - his dutiful wife and spy.

You notice Maria saying something quietly to Tommy, how the two of them are subtly clearing the hall of bystanders. Joel is staring between you and Ethan with a blank face.

Do they think you’re a victim or the perpetrator in this scenario? You notice Beau take the smallest step forward, readying himself for something.

“I don’t think this conversation is serving our community right now,” Maria says flatly.

“Hey Joel,” you hear a familiar voice call. ”Has the trader got anything good? You better not have traded like half of everything you own for coffee again. I honestly don’t get the whole coffee thing anyway, it tastes like burnt- ” Ellie’s voice breaks off.

Your heart races as Ellie, Jesse and to your horror Sean walk into the community hall, completely oblivious to what’s happened but seemingly starting to realise that something is going on.

“Not now, Ellie,” Joel gruffly says.

“What’s uh -” Ellie breaks off.

Ethan is staring at Gabriel and your heart sinks. For sixteen years, you have convinced yourself that Gabriel doesn’t look like Ethan, that there’s no passing resemblance at all.

There is though.

You see it now and it feels like a glaring beacon, another lie come home to roost. A truth you couldn’t avoid forever. He’s yours, you know that, but together in the same room you can see the similarities.

“Mu-” Ethan begins warily, noticing the tension around the room. He looks alert, worried, ready to do whatever is necessary. That’s how it is in this world - you have drummed survival into him from an early age. It feels antithetical though, that the child you want to protect and nurture knows how to fight, how to endure this world you placed him into.

Sean immediately takes a step towards him, but Joel’s there first, a strange look in his eyes. “You need to go home, all of you. Now.”

“But -”

“No arguments, Ellie.” His tone is firm. To anyone else, they would think him a strict parent, a firm, resolute man who accepts no arguments. You can hear the worry though, the slight fear in his voice that Ellie is here. That you have endangered her. Endangered everyone.

“Ergh,” Ellie says but she holds her hands up and takes a step backwards exit with Jesse. She looks over at you and then Ethan and then Gabriel, a frown forming on her face and then she pauses.

“Well, isn’t today full of revelations,” Ethan says in a wonderstruck tone. “It’s curious. He really does look -”

“Oh fuck off.”

It’s enough though. Those few words and you realise Gabriel is putting things together. The betrayal and fury in his eyes eviscerates you.

You look at the ground, hearing the shudder of your breath. No. No.

“Holy shit,“ you hear Ellie mumble under her breath.

“Ellie!” Joel says, the desperation starting to become clearer.

How much does our -” Ethan continues.

“Ethan, shut the fuck up and just go,” Sean interrupts.

“You’ve got braver on the outside. It’s a shame you showed none of this in the Junction when -”

“Thank you for stopping by,” Maria says, her voice even and cool, “It’s time you head on out now though.”

Joel clasps Gabriel’s shoulder so he can’t pass, can’t get any closer to the chaos around you.

“Leave, huh? Well, I think that perhaps you’re mistaken. I didn’t just come here for my son after all.” Ethan sighs. “It’s been a hard winter.”

Joel tightens his grip on Gabriel’s shoulder. Beau and Tommy exchange a look.

You wish you had a weapon, had something to stop this.

You shouldn’t have missed the first time, you shouldn’t have aimed for his leg the second time either.

“So, how many settlements have you been through now?” Sean asks in a nonchalant tone. “I think after two or three, it really says more about -”

“The Junction goes where it is needed. I have heard it is needed here.”

“We don’t need the Junction here,” you say quietly. “No one needs that.”

“You’d rather be damned?”

“If the alternative is an eternity with you, with pleasure,” you say icily.

You hear a slight snort of laughter and turn to meet Joel. He’s still resting a hand on your son’s shoulder, but he’s looking at you. He nods, a subtle gesture anyone else might have missed but that fills you with relief.

You might get through this.,

“You got your fire back, I’d almost forgotten. Now, what was it you used to say when we discussed this. When we discussed what to do about reluctant participants, people who didn’t know they needed to be saved? You remember this is the nice way? It could have been very different after all, but I am here offering magnanimous absolution, even to you.”

“I don’t need your absolution. I don’t need anything from you but for you to go now. For you to leave this settlement, leave these people alone. That’s what all of them need, to be away from you.”

“You think it’s right that they’re here without the Junction’s Word, but maintain all these resources while your own-”

“Leave. While you can,” you say flatly.

“Do these people even know you?”

“You need to go, Ethan, now,” Sean says firmly. “We said we don’t need the Junction here. This can end amicably.”

“Amicably?”

“Yeah, no need for it not to, right? Democracy over depravity - that’s the Junction’s way, right? The old ways, the right ways as you used to call it.” Sean’s face twists into a tormented grimace at those words.

Beau scowls and you realise that while you’ve kept the Junction in a box for seventeen years, Sean hasn’t. He has told Beau, he has talked about it. It’s you who has been stuck.

“You dare speak of the ways when you -“

“Just go, now. Sean’s right,” you say firmly.

“Amicably, is that what he said?” Ethan asks, regarding you again with a scornful expression that turns your blood so cold, you’re amazed you’re not exhaling ice. “Amicably.”

“Ellie, all three of you, I am not playin’” you hear Joel say in a deadly tone.

The three teenagers make a move to leave, relief flooding your veins as you gratefully nod at Joel.

Gabriel is the last to leave, he hangs back until Joel nods at him firmly, but as he moves to the door - he’s almost gone, he’s almost safe - there’s a sound.

“Nope,” Ethan says coldly, “He stays.”

You look at Ethan, at the gun in his hand, pointed directly at you.

“Mum?” Gabriel asks, his voice shaky.

“I thought Eugene fucking searched the traders,” Joel yells at Tommy or Maria, or perhaps you or Beau. All you can see is the barrel.

You’ve always known how this is ends for you.

“You should leave now,” Joel says in a deadly tone. For a moment you’re not sure if he’s talking to you or Ethan. You spin around, meeting his gaze desperately.

His hand on Gabriel is firm enough to stop him from either fleeing or running towards Ethan. You notice the way his muscles are slightly tensed, not too tight, but you make out his vein snaking down his arm.

You’ve mentally prepared for a dozen reactions to what is going on around you: disgust, hatred, pity, but you didn’t expect what meets you. Joel’s face is steely, poised to fight but a flash of fear passes his eyes when you connect with them. He is afraid for you, he is worried. There is no hatred, no disgust, nothing you expected.

He is not asking for you to leave. He is trying to protect you.

It’s like a lead balloon in your stomach. Maybe, maybe you could have said something all this time ago.

“Trust me, she’s not worth it,” Ethan says conversationally. “This settlement, my son? Now those are different stories.

“Are there others here?” you ask suddenly as you piece more of the day together. You can barely recognise your flat voice, the way you’re not entirely in your own body any more. You’re existing, and now you know that because you’ve finally been living and now you know what that is, you’ll lose it all*. “Did they help you keep the gun?”* Someone could be here from the Junction and you need them gone too.

Ethan pivots, takes a couple of steps forward and turns around the room, observing the rapt, frozen crowd around you both. It transports you instantly to dusty rooms, to a younger, more vibrant man you thought wanted to do something good in the world. It takes you back to a place you wanted to belong in, to a time you believed and hung off every single word he said.

“Others?”

“Yes, are they already here?”

“Why would -”

“I know your plays, I know them all.”

“Do you?”

You stare blankly at him, raise an eyebrow slightly. “No. I thought I did, but I didn’t. I thought you were someone else.”

“I am the voice of -”

“You’re a tyrant, a hypocrite and a snake oil salesman all wrapped up. You don’t speak a word of truth and you never have.”

“I’m the vessel, and so is my -”

“If you speak about my son, I will rip you apart so violently it will make the infected look tame.”

“You didn’t have these teeth before. What a pity. It would have been useful.”

“Go.”

“We’re past that.”

You realise he’s right. He’s in Jackson now, this ends one of two ways. Tommy and Joel, they can’t let him leave like this. You can recognise the desperation in his eyes, the hunger, the plans and strategies.

“You’re my wife. I am not going without you and my son.”

“We’re staying here.”

“No. I’m not,” Gabriel says, “Not with her.”

“Gabriel, shut up,” Sean snaps uncharacteristically. “Just leave it now.”

“My son ”

“You want to talk about the Junction? Let’s talk about it then. Gabriel, did you want to grow up in a place that would kill you if you -” You zone out as Sean continues, unable to fully bear the full truth of life in the Junction being exposed to the people around you.

You remember being hungry so much, the fear of breaking a new rule or tenet that your husband came up with. You remember how the inclusive, welcoming commune it was supposed to be shifted. How it became radicalised, against any sign of difference or subversion of what Ethan thought a person should be like. You remember the sexism, the way your voice began to become quieter and quieter.

You remember that Ethan scared you, that his move to the Vessel was antithetical with everything you knew about him. How his words, his dreams became literal, how he looked like he hated you by the end. You remember the violence of the Junction, you remember the lack of excuses.

In some ways, in many ways, it was worse than Kansas.

“Did I physically harm you? Did I not lead you to salvation, to the tenets of hope?” Ethan asks, a dangerous glint in his eyes.

“The tenets? The ones that started off just close enough to normal and then suddenly you decreed that women couldn’t wear trousers because it affected the crops, or that if I spoke unless spoken to it would damn me, or that declared you the sudden voice of hope, or a - they never held hope, your rules. Not for anyone but you. You were dangerous, you are dangerous. You harmed us all without laying a finger, that was the beauty of your plan, right?”

“You never said a word to stop me from this though, did you? In fact, you -”

“I’m not finished, Ethan. You’re not a good person, Ethan, and I will never regret keeping my son from your dangerous, frankly nonsensical shit. That’s being a parent. So tell us who’s inside, who’s helping you and maybe we can figure a way out for you to leave.”

“You and I know they won’t let that happen. Do you remember the plan for then?” He laughs then. “I’m leaving and i’m leaving with my son. He’s the future of the Junction.”

“There is no way in hell that will ever happen.”

“He wants to. I can see it in his eyes.”

“No, Ethan, you know how this is going to end.”

Ethan sighs and nods. You exhale shakily and then look up as you hear the sound of the gun load. “Then I’ll take you with me to the eternal life instead.”

You don’t shut your eyes. You don’t look down. You will not cower for him.

You wanted to live. You’ve had more years than you expected. You wish you had more. It was always going to end this way though.

He will have to look at you. You will not make this easy for him.

“No, Mum -” your son’s voice is enough to make you waver, but perhaps, perhaps everyone else can keep him safe. If Ethan kills you, maybe they’ll protect him. It’s fine.

It’s fitting.

It was always going to be this way.

You wish you were outside though. perhaps by your bench and that quiet sanctuary you found. You want to hear birdsong, feel the sun on your skin one last time. You want to breathe in the fresh air and remember that.

Maybe they can scatter your ashes on the bench.

The bench bought you so much - peace on nightmare ridden nights, Joel, the difference between surviving and living. If it wouldn’t make Ethan happy, you’d tell Gabriel that now, or Sean. It’s too much for Gabriel.

Perhaps Joel knows. You hope he does. You hope he doesn’t.

You’re sorry. So sorry these people you love have to see this, have to mourn you. You should tell Gabriel you love him one more time, but you don’t want to burden him.

There’s a sudden crash, you feel yourself hit the floor and you finally allow yourself to shut your eyes as the gun goes off.

You expect to feel pain, to feel warm or cold, or something. Instead there’s nothing.

There are hands around you, pulling you away, words - Joel? Is she hurt? Did it get her? Words fade in and out. Something’s gone wrong. This doesn’t feel like death.

You open your eyes.

Ethan is on the floor and unconscious. Joel is shaking his fist and Beau squeezes your shoulders before heading over to a shaken looking Sean. Next to him, your son stares at the floor.

“So yeah, we used to be in a cult,” Sean says, running a hand over his hair and shaking his head.

You hear an almost laugh, a polite but awkward acknowledgement, from maybe Tommy or Beau, but you’re still glued to the floor, still reeling from this day.

You feel eyes on you and look up to meet your son’s gaze. Gabriel looks at you as though he has never seen you before, through you in fact, and immediately runs out of the room.

“Wait, Gabriel.” You make a move to go after him, to explain. If you can just talk to him, then maybe it will be enough. You shouldn’t have avoided this, you should have told him this.

“It’s okay, it’s okay, I’ve got him,” Sean says, moving quickly.

“Where do we put him?” you ask flatly, staring at the unconscious form in front of you.

“The jail,” Maria says quietly. “The jail, Joel.”

“Guess we’ll finally use it,” Tommy replies.

“He can’t stay,” Joel says. “Tommy, he’ll -”

“I know, brother, I know.” Tommy looks down and then at Maria whose lips are pursed.

“He tried us,” Maria says, “We have to do what we have to do.”

“I’ll handle it,” Joel says calmly, authoritatively. He isn’t looking at you and you feel ashamed of what you have bought into his life. Blood, anger, pain. He’s bought you peace and calm and love and this is how you repay him?

“Me too,” Beau replies calmly, examining his nails in a pseudo casual pose. “It won’t be a problem at all.”

The two of them each grab one of Ethan’s unconscious arms, dragging him outside and towards the bank. Beau nods at you on his exit.

They’ve left you. Sean and Gabriel are outside somewhere, Joel and Beau are gone and while Tommy and Maria are here, they are not your people.

You feel empty and numb. You brace the edge of the table and fight back the racking, great gasps of breath as shock courses through your body. You’ve been fighting tears, fighting back the fear and emotion of the past weeks.

It wasn’t just this moment, it wasn’t just today. It was the anticipation, the fear, the secrets that have lasted seventeen years.

“You need to let Gabriel, Sean and Beau stay,” you say, “I know you won’t want me here and I’ll go. I’ll go, but please let me see them from time to time. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry because I bought them here with my secrets and I’m sorry, Maria, please, please know that -” You cough, a sob Breaking through. “Please don’t make them leave too.”

“We’re not making you leave, we still want you here,” Maria says in a gentle voice. She’s looking at you in the same way as someone would a startled deer, trapped in the headlights. “We need to understand more - if you’re right, if there’s anyone here, what we need to worry about it, what this - this group could do. You can help though. And you’re not leaving. This is your home, you didn’t do anything -”

You feel warm, soft hands around you, hear soothing sounds as you finally allow yourself a moment to feel.

Tag List

YHIM: @orcasoul@pedropascalsbbg @yoursoulsunbreakable @iamskyereads @genetics4life @everyth1ngfan @frickatives @perennialdoll247 @joelsgreys @pedrobaby @missladym1981 @noisynightmarepoetry @picketniffler @titlee78

Everything Pedro tag-list: @harriedandharassed@pedrostories@hiroikegawa @pedrosaidsheispunk @pastelnap

[h2llish]

for your event: gn!reader x idia

prompt: black calla lily + "i honestly don’t even know who you could possibly be referring to.”

sorry if it's a bit vague and let me know if i forgot anything. i like this event, though! remember to take breaks '^'

✉ ─── 200 follower event ♡ idia shroud

prompt ─── black calla lily: reincarnation ─ to live again and again, to go through the motions of wanting and needing from the very beginning, it was exhausting. but it was easier when you had them in your life every new breath. it's unfortunate you're only the one who remembers the before. + "i honestly don't even know who you could possibly be referring to."

warnings ─ angst, romantic, pining, gender neutral, lowercase intended, open ending

reincarnation has always been seen as nothing more than myth. the idea of living life after life was quite ridiculous. there are people who choose to believe, the idea of living again comforting in it's own way. but then there were those who truly thought it nothing more than a story told in books and legends. ─ and you'd agree with them, if you hadn't experienced a new breath every moment you took your last.

you no longer remember a number to put down for the centuries you've lived ─ for the many times you've been reborn to a new family. you have experiened death a thousand times and you'd experience it a thousand more. you have fought wars not in history books and witnessed the birth of people who would go on to change the lives of many. you have bled out on the roots of a thriving tree, and suffered from plagues that broke your skin. you have lived and you have died for so long that you no longer had much to experience. you have lived through it all, and you will live through it again.

you once thought it to be a blessing ─ to try again at another life and remember it all. but after so many lives, the excitement of it wore off, and you wondered if it was perhaps a curse. if you had angered the universe in one of your lives ─ perhaps your first ─ and it cursed you to have to live all over again, to remember things that often tore you apart from the inside.

many would think such an experience ─ to be born again and again ─ would be exhausting. and it was, the moment you could remember the memories from old lives in every new birth, you would find yourself with the same feeling ─ the feeling of anguish to have to live through it all again.

but although you often loathed to be born anew ─ to have to relieve moments in which you'd find yourself at the receiving end of hard feelings ─ you also had fond memories of your past lives. memories that filled you with warmth even after so many years. memories you always hoped, and intended, to relive again and again.

the universe worked in odd ways ─ and the universe did not leave you to suffer its gift (blessing or curse) alone.

you don't quite remember your first lives, you've lived too many after all, but you know you've never been alone. your dear lover has always been there, you have searched for him again and again, in every life. you have been drawn to him since the moment you took your first breath as every new person. you have loved him in every life, and in every in between.

but you've always thought the universe cursed you ─ despite gifting you the only person who has lived as many lives as you ─ it has forced you to live through the same heartbreak of knowing he will never remember you from the life before.

you don't know why it has only ever been you, you who is the only who remembers every life that has come before the one you live now. you have loved him since your first life, but every new life you can only seek him out, grasp at him and hope he falls in love with you again, as you always have been. ─ he always has, the universe was cruel you deemed, but it did not leave you to pine for your lover for too long. and you hoped it would only continue ─ to live a life where he was not beside you would be the last of your joy in continuing again.

and you can only wish again that the universe will not choose to be cruel come next life, as you grasp the hand of your aging lover, fingers intertwined and holding him close to you. ─ death did not bother you, you have died too many times, but you grieved the loss of your lover, as you have done come every end. you will find him again, you have promised that same promise every life, and you've no intention of breaking it. you will find him, again and again.

"[name]?" you blinked, snapping your head to face the confused eyes of your peer, a clover near his eye and concern on his face.

"you were zoning out again." cater said, phone in his hand and looking at you with the same concern to match the clover beside him.

"sorry." you said, repitive, as you do it much too often ─ apologize for your thoughts running off from you, and taking you away from your present company.

trey smiled at you, that awkward smile he always seemed to have, "you're always zoning out. even in class."

"yeah," cater agreed, "makes you wonder how your grades are still so good."

if only they knew, that everything the college put in front of you, was everything you knew. you lived the history they taught you, and you've mastered the spells and potions they've introduced. you knew it all and more.

you forced a chuckle, "perhaps i'm just lucky."

your new person was fortunate to end up in night raven college, a prestigious maic academy, where you were now a freshman. ─ but lucky was not a word you'd use to describe yourself ─ you didn't much believe in luck, even if you had, it wouldn't be of much help. if luck truly had an effect, you must lack any for it to do anything, unlucky was most fitting.

and unlucky you were ─ after all, you found yourself pining for the reincarnation of your lover all over again. you knew where he was, you knew who he was, and yet, you found yourself unable to grow closer than a screen to look at and the sound of his voice. he was in a new body, but you knew it was him, you'd always know ─ but he did not.

the universe was cruel ─ but you still pleaded with it silently to help you reconnect with your lover all over again. it had been only a year since your new life has brought you to night raven college, since the pull of your soul has led you back to your lover who did not remember you. but you have only found yourself with so many glimpses of him, he was a closed off individual this life. you believe it to be what this reincarnation has done to him ─ you aren't sure what, but you can see it when you catch sight of him in the rare moments he leaves his room. he was withered and hurt, something has scarred him, and you can only wish to be there for him, to compensate for all the time that you were not before.

it was not easy, loving someone ─ it was a pain you had been through for far too many lifetimes. but you made a promise to always find him, and you intended to keep that promise for as many lifetimes as the universe puts you through.

─ even when it seemed as if he wanted nothing to do with you in your current lifetime.

"hi, [name]!"

you smiled at the boy who waited for you on the other side of the mirror to ignihyde's dorm, "hello, ortho." ─ the technomatic humanoid, ortho, you had come to know as idia's brother in his new life, had become a friend. he was quite different from idia ─ other than being made of technology ─ he was a lot more energetic and extroverted. he didn't hide away in his room and avoid people like your reincarnated lover.

"my brother is in his room! come with me!"

you had been paired with idia for a project nearing freshmen year, and you had come over to start and plan. ─ you did agree with idia the day before about it in class. (but you're not all that sure he was actively listening to anything you said.)

as ortho ledyou down ignihyde's halls and towards his brother's room, you followed ─ it had been many lifetimes, yet you always felt the same feelings of nerves that came with seeing your lover again.

"wait here!" ortho said, just before he called out to his brother through the door. "idia! [name] is here!"

you could just manage to hear his muffled response of, "who?" ─ and your chest tightened.

"[name]." ortho repeated, almost pouting now.

you should be used to it, after so many lives where he has forgotten, where you are the only one who remembers your past lives where you two would reunite and love again. but it is never easier to listen to him express his confusion about who you are. much like now ─

"i honestly don't even know who you could possibly be referring to."

─ you believe you could very well hear a crack in your never-dying soul, one of many after so many lifetimes of the same response.

you don't quite remember much of ortho's response, other than reminding idia that you were his partner on the end of freshman year project.

it always hurt more; despite so many times you've been through this. it always did, the pain of being forgotten by the only person who you had by your side every life, it was always worse every new beginning. and it was more unbearable the longer you stood at his door, listening to your lover express uninterest and confusion in who you are.

"they're waiting, idia! you agreed to work with them here!"

"ortho," you said, cutting him off before he could further try to push his brother into coming out of his room. you smiled at the robotic boy, "it's alright. i should've checked in beforehand. i don't wish to make him anymore uncomfortable. you have my number, don't you?" ─ a nod from ortho, and you continued, "give it to him and we can figure out another way to work on the project on his terms."

"are you sure?" ortho pouted; you have no doubt the boy could manage to convince idia to come out of his room, or at least send out his tablet, but you weren't sure you could handle that right now after experiencing the familiar feeling of rejection from him.

"of course." you nodded.

it was never easy to reunite with him every life ─ but you always had your promise you made to him many lives ago that kept you going.

idia didn't contact you until the next morning, and you only seen it after breakfast. he told you to meet him in the library after classes, where you'll work on the project together ─ you knew it would just be the tablet he sent everywhere so he didn't have to go in person, but that did nothing to stop your heart from beating quickly. even after so many years of loving him, he still had that effect on you.

you were the first to the library once classes ended, sitting somewhere in a corner near the entrance with your head down as you pulled out the supplies you needed for the project. you eventually stood to wander the aisles of the library, looking for books you think might help the project ─ although it was mostly for idia, who did not remember the topic of the project like you did.

you expected to return to the table to find idia's tablet looking for you ─ only to be caught by surprise as that wasn't the case at all.

with books in your hands, you stopped before you could completely leave the cover of the towering shelves. your body felt heavy as you stared at the entrance of the library with wide eyes. ─ it was not his tablet that waited in the library's doorway, but rather the reincarnation of your lover himself. blue hair flickering and eyes glancing around with such obvious anxiety, you felt terrible for being the reason he stood in a public space where other students loitered about.

you swallowed thickly, pushing the books up in your grip and approached, fighting back whatever nerves you had that came with seeing your lover (or, at least, his reincarnation) so closely. as you approached, he seemed to finally notice you, tensing up in a way that made you frown.

"hello, idia." you greeted upon reaching him, and nodded your head politely. ─ because while he was your lover in many lives before, right now, he was only a reincarnation who did not know such a thing about himself. and you've no intention of ever telling him ─ there was no guarantee he would ever believe you even if you did find yourself holding him as you have done in your past lives, and neither would he remember such a conversation. ─ you'd learn your lesson long ago, there was no point.

"uh, yeah, um, hey." anxious as he was, you found yourself fighting back a fond smile; you'd hate to scare him off the first time you actually managed to exchange conversation with him.

you gestured down at the books in your arms, "i found topics i believe would help us with our project, follow me and we can get started." you turned away, and began toward the table you'd taken in a corner, only sending a glance back at him to make sure he followed you.

perhaps you were getting ahead of yourself, but you surely hoped this gave way to a start of another life where you could have him by your side. ─ but for now, you suppose you should get through this school project.

"so this our tenth reincarnation?"

you hummed, running a hand through his hair that felt smooth against your fingers as you stared up at the stars from where you lay together against an old tree, "that's correct." he shifted in your grip, and you finally turned your attention towards him, meeting his eyes that held obvious confusion. you made an attempt not to get distracted and doze off into your thoughts as you stared at him ─ you had a habit of doing that.

"why can't i remember?"

you paused, "i don't know." you sighed, "it's been this way for all our past lives, including this one. i'd hoped telling you now might do something to help you remember me when we reincarnate again."

"and if it doesn't?" he asked again, and you found yourself at another pause.

if it didn't? well, you suppose you'd just have to keep loving him.

you smiled, "even if you don't remember, i promise i'll always find you."

notes ─── first request done! hope you like it ferris, mwah mwah.

do not repost, translate, copy or run my writing through an ai

[pessimisticpigeonsworld]

The Demonizing of Change

A trend I've noticed in modern media is that many stories have the message of "protect the status quo". Whether it's a Marvel movie or a fantasy book, the fact that so often the villains are the only ones who fight to change society remains the same.

We all know the story: they were hurt by the system's flaw(s) and so they rose up to destroy that harmful system and in the process destroyed themselves. I'm not saying that this character type is wrong or bad (definitely overused imo), but the framing of the narrative and the protagonists is the issue.

The narrative typically shows the villain's first wrong doing to be the act of rebelling against the system. From the moment the person chose to reject the harmful system, they were in the wrong, or so the narrative frames it. Meanwhile, the protagonist may question and see injustice but they never fight it; it's just accepted and blindly defended. What's worse is the audience chooses to completely accept this telling and sides with the harmful regime the protagonist defends.

I find that some of the most drastic examples of these issues are Daenerys in GOT and the Darkling in the Grishaverse/SaB.

Daenerys Targaryen

One thing I want to specify before I go into this is that Dany's GOT ending is purely bad writing. It's not foreshadowed or justified in any way, so I'll be addressing how D&D tried to frame her past after S8e6 aired and how her antis interpret her.

According to D&D, we should see the beginning of Dany's "madness arc" from the very first season. Namely how she reacted to Viserys' death. While this isn't Dany rejecting a harmful system, her choosing to not defend Viserys (why would she??) is also her choosing to leave behind the cycle of abuse of her early life. It also sets the precedent of Dany killing/allowing the deaths of evil men.

Speaking of evil men, D&D also tried to paint Dany's campaign against slavery as a sign of her "megalomania and madness". This is where we get to the actual fighting against the system. Dany is leading a slave revolt and forcefully overthrowing the masters and the oppressive governments.

The way D&D tried to spin it was that Dany was wrong for using violence, and Tyrion's peaceful method was more successful. Except Dany did try peace in Meereen, it didn't work. She made concessions, she made agreements, she locked up her dragons and they weren't working. That's the whole point of her last chapter in ADWD.

However, the show chose to make it so Dany was failing because she was "too violent" and ultimately made the freedmen hate her. This choice, a clear deviation from the book, is the beginning of them trying to make Dany fall into the trope of "as bad as those you're fighting". In her fight to end slavery, she becomes as oppressive as the masters.

Which is just blatantly wrong. We see in the show that the freedmen are still free, they sit in her councils, they can come to her with their complaints and she listens. Dany is a queen, not a master. The show was already trying to gaslight its audience into believing the opposite of what they wrote. The same goes for her supposed violence. The violence she exerts is almost always towards the slavers, except when she executed Mossador for murder. That was her carrying out justice, why that was portrayed as a bad thing is beyond me.

The implications of the choices D&D made in adapting Dany's Meereen arc are very disturbing. They're basically saying that systematic and centuries old oppression should never be addressed with violence. The people who actively fight oppression are just as bad as the oppressors. If you can't magically fix a system that's been flawed for centuries immediately, you're a tyrant.

The choice to resolve the arc by having Tyrion come in with some great peaceful solution was plain stupid and sexist. We have seen in history that trying to unobtrusively phase out slavery doesn't work. By leaving the elite slave owners in peace, they are allowed to simply find ways to get around or wear down the changes. We see that in ADWD in Meereen by the way. Also the whole idea that a wise man had to come and fix the irrational woman's problem is so gross.

So basically: D&D took an arc about fighting oppression and learning that concessions only continue the cycle of violence and made it into a story about how violence is bad and you can actually just reason with slavers.

The disgusting ideas continue in season eight, where Dany torches KL for no reason and is put down like a rabid dog. Dany is the only character who wants to end oppression in this show. She's the only person to see and experience the suffering of the oppressed and chooses to do something about it. Season seven is full of her talking about leaving the world a better place and breaking the wheel. But in season eight "breaking the wheel" is turned into th deranged battle cry of her desired empire.

Let me restate that: the one character who fought to end systematic oppression is turned into the "true oppressor". Dany's desire to tear down the system that the entire show established as being unjust and awful is made into a sign of madness. Even in season seven, people were rolling their eyes at her talking about breaking the wheel.

Meanwhile, the protagonists of the show end it benefitting from the same system that tortured them the whole time. Westerosi society is shit, but the show ends glorifying the sexist, homophobic, classist, and feudalist kingdoms. They even laugh at Samwell Tarly when he suggests destroying the monarchy. All this sends the message that embracing the system is good, rebellion bad, and shut the fuck up if you're not happy.

Dany was reduced to a cautionary tale against fighting the system. I've seen people frame it as "seeking power is bad", but that doesn't make sense, as characters like Sansa actively seek power and are rewarded by the narrative. Dany's mistake was trying to change the world, rather than supporting it as it is.

The Darkling

The Darkling is a very different character from Dany; he's an actual villain. Aleksander is someone who has already reached the "become what you hate most" part of the trope, so he spends the whole story committing atrocities. The issue with his portrayal is the fact that the narrative and protagonists never address his very real reasons for fighting in the first place.

The grisha as a group are persecuted all throughout Ravka, they have been for centuries. The whole reason Aleksander begins his fight was to protect his people. By the time the series begins, the grisha are more protected, though only because they have become weapons of the state. That was only through Aleksander's mechanisations.

Aleksander became a villain in his attempts to save his people, making him a tragic character. So he has perfectly fallen into the trope, and, unfortunately, so do the protagonists. Alina and her allies all have seen and suffered under the cruelty of the Ravkan monarchy, however, they quickly dismiss just how awful it is. By the end of the story, the Darkling has become, in their eyes, the sole perpetrator of evil in Ravka.

There are no attempts made to rectify the constant damage done by the Apparat, in fact he's left to run free. Alexander Lanstov and Tatiana Grimjer are simply shipped off to a private island where they never are made to pay for the awful things they have done. There are no political reforms done to ensure the safety of grisha in the future; they're basically relying on the goodwill Zoya and Alina have bought with the people.

So basically, the minor villains who all had no reason to be completely atrocious receive basically no punishment from the narrative. Meanwhile, Aleksander, who had very valid reasons for wanting to overthrow the government, is ultimately given a fate worse than death. All his reasons for hating the Ravkan government and the power it has are ignored, even though the story set up that he's not wrong. The resolution of the story leaves the grisha just as, if not more, vulnerable to the prejudice and hatred of the world than they were before.

The narrative is communicating that Aleksander rising up for his people is worse than the centuries of corrupt Lanstovs. Aleksander is worse than the man who stirs up religious fanaticism and exploits the people through it. Yes, Aleksander did horrible things, but so did every other antagonist in the series, but he's somehow the worst because...well, he's grisha.

That's the only other difference between him and the others, aside from his motives. So either Bardugo is supporting the in-universe prejudice against grisha or she's saying rising up against an oppressive system is wrong. I don't expect her or any other author to have complex political and social commentaries in her story. However, she chose to create a world containing those elements and a main character who suffers from them. She chose to make the issues with the system have a prominent place in the story. And she chose to ignore them in the end.

Aleksander did awful things in the name of a just cause, this creates a complex moral issue that the story just never addresses. The established injustices and sanctioned atrocities by the Lanstovs are all ignored in favor of bringing down the dangerous rebel. That kind of message is pretty fucked up. Yes, Nikolai is a better man than his father, but what about his descendants? The propaganda of the Apparat and his church are extremely strong, it's only a matter of time before that propaganda once again starts turning people against grisha. The hatred of grisha is still embedded into Ravkan society.

Aleksander was the only character who was actually set on protecting and bettering the lives of the grisha. His original mission was still extremely important, no matter what he devolved to. The fact that the protagonists just blatantly dismissed just how dangerous Ravka still is for grisha is frustrating.

The treatment of both Dany and Aleksander by their writers and narratives show a hatred/mistrust of rebellion against the status quo, no matter how atrocious it is. The message of the trope is that people who fight against a system are worse than the system itself. I'm not saying that was Bardugo's intention (D&D I'm much less sure about though), but the way both the Darkling and Dany were written combined with the endings of the stories support that idea.

[farshootergotme]

Can I just say thank you thank you. 👏👏👏

I grew up with the 2004 Batman cartoon and I have thought Dick and Bruce had a parental relationship whether it be father/son or Big brother/little brother it depends on the adaption.

I have just recently got back into Batman and into comics in general and I was honestly a bit shell shocked to see so much well adopted family incest which is just wow but I’m just numb to the internet at this point so nothing surprises me anymore.

What I can’t stand is liars, I swear these people who ship dick and Bruce together are just straight up in denial in some places just accept you’re shipping something taboo. Don’t lie to me about how much they hold a place in queer history which is greatly exaggerated given how it happen based on a lie by a quack and his horrible book note the beds were separate I checked the infamous comic panel it’s just draw really badly but given how tight the deadlines for comic back in the day were I will forgive that poor artist. Also another book they source from the 2000s book written about the queer coding of Batman and Robin seems to really like to leave out the fact that Dick is a child and is written as one. No matter what gen he was written as young lad with hobbies similar to that generation and time period mostly.

Like yes at the time it was done because homophobia but don’t pretend there wasn’t another issue aka it would be the grooming of a minor like for context homosexuality was see as connected to pedophilia. Like seriously when I was looking into this topic, it honestly felt like telephone because how much the original context of the panel was lost like seriously does no one check sources anymore.

Another thing they don’t bring up is how in the 1940s adopting was very uncommon and seen as weird to many it wasn’t as accepted back then which is why ward was used because that was more acceptable back then. It’s also the reason why Jason was adopted by Bruce because it was more acceptable when he was created. Also it was such a non issue to the writers at the time that even though technically Dick wasn’t adopted by Bruce on panel he still treated as one by the writers mostly before Marv Wolfman decided it make for interesting story to have Bruce not adopted Dick and have Dick have a whole hang up on it and is confused by why Bruce didn’t at that time.

Like literally I am tired of people claiming Dick doesn’t want to be adopted by Bruce or that he never wanted him to his father to him it’s simply just not true although it is complicated. Like Dick won’t call Bruce dad but in his eyes as he got older he saw Bruce as a father figure as well as his second dad and Bruce has always seen Dick as like a son and to his actual son blood or no blood for crying out loud he bloody raised him along with Alfred for over ten years like how could Dick not develop a parental bond with him and Alfred ahh. He may not be father of the year but he still cared and look after him all those years like no wonder Dick felt hurt in the original Marv wolfmen story when he wasn’t adopted.

Now, I will say in the early adaption of Batman and Robin and even the silver age to an extent. Did betray them as brothers because well the age gap was closer in 1966 version and late 70s cartoons of them so I can see why older fans can see it that way and the silver age mostly do a big brother little brother dynamic with them. While golden age seems to flip flop and if they were father/son or Big brother/little brother and the Bronze Age they went to father/son by the end because that was probably more interesting to write. Like a son repelling against his overly critical and overprotective father figure was probably relatable to lot of teens and young adults reading Dick stories at that time. Then the rest of eras after that just settled with them being Father/son duo mostly. We don’t talk about Devin weird ass takes in their relationship I swear she is just inserting herself in some characters just to be creepy towards Richard and well she nearly destroyed Oliver character by writing him being weird about Richard when he was Robin which was just yikes.

I also just find it so gross how she took a very reserved and very ace coded character like Dick Grayson and sexualised him, like making his exotic and making him overly sexual is just huge yikes to me and making him Romani because circus is such a huge stereotype and quite harmful. I have such mix feelings about Richard being romani because of how it was done and Tom Tyler has done a poor job in my opinion as well. Like originally Dick was just pure American then his mother became european notable french in one of them which makes more sense to me. I don’t know, I will eat my socks when it’s done well which would be wonderful but right now it’s just no to me. Also, why Richard like what just because he’s sexy Devin and he is romani because circus. Like my ass is as white as snow but even I know that is a weird ass take and honestly fetishy in nature I feel.

Which leads to me being so weary of people who do use it because like yes some people do it so well take notes writers at DC. But others well… I feel just sexualise him for the sake of it and I get very suspicious of people who make draw Dick overly feminine or straight up make him the wife in the relationship. It just makes my trans man heart nervous because usually they also ship Richard with older man (Bruce with him as well probably…) which in Canon he has called creeps and acts super uncomfortable around them. Like whatever ship your taboo ships just keep a safe distance from me okay. It just sadden how Richard is written as overly sexual and slutty like that is not my boy. 😭

I think the reason it also upset me so much is Bruce in a lot of ways is like my dad when he is written as a well meaning father figure. I relate to Dick being the eldest of many siblings and also my Dad is my stepdad but he has raised since I was nearly one. I know it’s not the same but to me he is my father and nothing will change that. It’s why I can’t stop people who act like Bruce and Dick aren’t father/son because well he’s not adopted by law so it’s doesn’t count but to Bruce already is and honestly I just wish in modern adaption just get adopted as a early teen at this point. Like even modern DC doesn’t hide or exclude Dick Grayson is Bruce Wayne eldest son and I’m so happy for that. (Even though he has been adopted by law but as an adult but I digress.)

I will shot myself mentally if I see another person claim it is DC heteronormative doing their relationship like shut up. You who says this bs you clearly don’t care about queer history or adoption history in general and it’s so harmful how people try to undermine adopted families like that. Like seriously ship what you like just don’t pretend it isn’t taboo as all hell. 😤 Also, anyone who claims this don’t you dare call young queers homophobia because they’re saying how it is. You don’t see people defending pedophilia and incest in Greek mythology do ya.

(Then I think in my head how strange it always the ace coded characters that get sexualised or made the secretly horny seductress/playboy type food for thought.) 🤔

Oh apologies for the kinda rant there but this honestly this has been bothering me about the bat fandom. I will say I’m still a noob when it comes to comic book history and I haven’t read most of Dick and Bruce books but I have done my best to do my homework on them and the rest of Batman history and it members. I have honestly only read modern books like world finest and short teen titans spin off book. I’m currently pre order Mark Waid latest book Batman and Robin year one which I am so excited for truly he is saving me given me some good Father/son moments with Dick and Bruce. Also maybe the new Nightwing which I hope will be good, I read TT run online free because I’m poor :p and it was so boring, Richard just feels so bland in that book. Like I will give TT credit their some good panels and moments but that’s just it. My inner Dick Grayson fanboy is showing ha ha. 😅

Anyway, sorry my rambling but honestly this fandom baffles me sometimes.

I have nothing to add—you said it all. Loved the rant and I agree with all of it! Thanks anon!

[olderthannetfic]

https://www.tumblr.com/olderthannetfic/751445319499317248/httpsolderthannetfictumblrcompost75113540651

She did not "basically write fanfic about Unit 731", and that's exactly the weird sort of game of telephone that led to her being relentlessly harassed by people who had not even read the book (there were claims that it was set in WWII, because the 'Unit 731 fanfic' lie was spread so far that people only heard that and decided to jump on the bandwagon) and decided she deserved to be publicly eviscerated for it.

From what the author has actually said about her inspirations for the book, she started writing it years before she found out that the ghost stories she was told as a child by her grandfather (who lived through the occupation) were about a real, specific atrocity, rather than just broadly about colonization--which makes sense considering the only part that seems directly inspired by Unit 731 is revealed near the end of the book and is the major twist that ultimately carves the scales from the MCs eyes with respect to the enemy prince in question.

Also, she didn't 'whitewash' the Japanese, and that kind of claim is really galling because would it actually have been better if she'd based the Evil Empire on Japan instead? Would that really have gotten people off her back? (And in fact I can very easily understand why someone whose family lived through such a brutal occupation would want to get some distance in a story that is partially processing those feelings and experiences by not modeling the Evil Empire directly after the country that brutalized her own; especially since a significant portion of the story involves the main character having very complicated feelings for the prince of the Evil Empire.)

If you want to talk about the writing not being great or your belief that the author didn't achieve what she set out to, that's fine, although I gather from this ask that you haven't actually read the book, which is at minimum a prerequisite to talk with authority about how any given topic or plot point is or isn't handled. I, personally, think it's incredibly tone-deaf to police how someone else writes about their own cultural heritage and family history with oppression and colonization, and that is very much how so much of this criticism comes across, especially considering how much of it is from people who fully admit to not at the least reading the book to form their own opinions about it. And for some reason, this form of criticism seems to be aimed disproportionately at authors of color, who are given much less grace and freedom to be just kinda mid or handle things poorly than white authors.

(Just as an example, I've never seen anyone call Avatar: the Last Airbender 'basically CCP fanfic' even though the fantasy prison where political dissidents/troublemakers are tossed to be tortured/brainwashed into compliance in Ba Sing Se is literally named Lake Laogai, after the Chinese political prisons/labor camps.)

--

Yeah, that last part is the crux of it, isn't it? People need a little room to work on their craft. More marginalized creators, indie creators, and people working on media with smaller audiences are afforded less. White dudes making TV shows are afforded a whole lot. Seems like it would be fairer the other way around!