#and he can be a bastard but he is also ba's bastard

[pascaloverx]

BORN TO DIE

Summary: In a tense political setting, a Targaryen bastard working as a prostitute is summoned by Prince Aemond to the Red Keep. Aemond wants her to approach his dragon, Vhagar, as a test of her worth. Although he plans for her to claim another dragon in the future, her immediate challenge is to survive Prince Aemond demands while trying to stay alive.

Author’s Note: This work is set in the world created by George R.R. Martin, as depicted in his book Fire & Blood, and none of the characters belong to me. The story will follow some events from the series House of the Dragon (2022), but with changes to fit the fanfiction narrative. Therefore, it will not adhere strictly to the series' storyline. This fanfiction is a work of fiction and may contain inappropriate language, adult content, and violence. Readers be warned. I hope you enjoy the story and interact with it. I apologize if there are any errors in the High Valyrian sections; I used a translator and am unsure of its accuracy. Whoever enjoys this fanfic and wants it to continue, please engage with it. Comment and give it a like.

Warning: This chapter will contain inappropriate language and adult sexual content. Minors should not read or interact with this chapter or this fanfic.This chapter will also feature Aegon II x reader. Those who do not like it, consider yourselves warned.

FOUR

FIVE (+18)

With your hair still damp, you realize you have no idea where the dinner celebrating King Aegon II’s “great conquest” is being held. As a dutiful girl, you stand outside Prince Aemond’s chambers, waiting beside his door. You are certainly not prepared to face any of the sons of the late King Viserys, that much is certain. First and foremost, Prince Aemond likely only keeps you alive for the sake of your dragon. His opinion of you is poor, and it will not be an easy task to change that. As for King Aegon II Targaryen, he has claimed your dragon as his triumph, and it is only a matter of time before he lays claim to you as well.

After what feels like an eternity, Prince Aemond finally emerges from his chambers, his silky hair brushing past you. He walks with haste, but you could swear you glimpsed a hint of a smile on his face, amused, perhaps, by how desperately you follow him. Eventually, the two of you reach a grand room, where a large, bountiful table awaits. Seated there are several figures—among them, you can imagine Queen dowager Alicent and Queen Helaena, along with men of importance whom the King favors enough to keep near. What matters now is that you and Aemond have arrived to take your places at the table, all eyes upon you, while you remain half-hidden behind the One-eyed Prince.

"Brother, come join us. Bring the bastard whore with you; I’ve chosen a special place for the both of you." King Aegon speaks, taking long swigs of his drink, his tone almost gleeful. Prince Aemond turns back to look at you, his gaze offering some semblance of reassurance. He then walks ahead, making his way toward the two vacant seats—one directly across from the King, and the other beside it. You hesitate, uncertain of where you should sit, until Aemond takes his place across from his brother. With a sigh, still unsure of why you’ve been seated next to the King himself, you quietly take your place at Aegon II’s side. As soon as you settle, Aegon seems to revel in your presence, a sly grin playing on his lips, while Aemond’s irritation becomes palpable. Queen Helaena remains composed, though it's clear she’s discomfited by not being seated beside her husband, yet she betrays no outward sign of it. As for the Dowager Queen Alicent, her gaze upon you is filled with disdain, as though your very presence disgusts her, a look of barely concealed nausea crossing her face.

"And what have I missed whilst I was out there, risking my life so that my beloved brother might revel in yet another triumph? I trust you are basking in this small victory claimed in your name, Your Grace," Prince Aemond speaks with veiled mockery, his tone laden with provocation, clearly aiming to stir his brother. The King, however, merely chuckles in response, rising from his seat as he lifts his goblet, maintaining a steady gaze upon Aemond.

"I have a new dragon under my command, brother. Celebrate this with us and cease your sulking—no more complaints. In fact, as you bring with you two pieces of news, tell me, who is the bastard that claimed a dragon on my behalf?" King Aegon II speaks with a slurred voice, clearly intoxicated, as he takes another long swig from his cup before seating himself once more. For a fleeting moment, you feared the brothers might come to blows right before your eyes.

"She is a whore who once worked in a brothel. By chance, I learned she might be a candidate to claim a dragon in your name, Your Grace. Her name is Y/N. One might say she is here both as the rider of Cannibal and as my companion." Prince Aemond speaks with an air of possession, making it clear that you belong to him, even daring to assert this in front of his brother. The King throws his head back and laughs heartily.

"This is an outrage, Aemond. It is one thing for this bastard to be necessary for riding a dragon, but granting her liberties is quite another. She must be treated as any other servant within the Red Keep—or worse than a servant, for the nature of this woman is filthy. I trust the King will agree with this," the Dowager Queen Alicent speaks, her voice dripping with the same disdain her gaze conveyed when you entered the room. Her sons glance at her, seemingly holding back laughter or mocking expressions.

“Filthy or not, mother, this woman will be of utmost importance in ensuring our king's victory against Rhaenyra and her bastards. To treat her as a mere servant would lessen her efficiency in what truly matters, not to mention it leaves her vulnerable. If the bastard dies, we will have a wild dragon without a rider on our hands, and that is a risk we cannot afford,” Prince Aemond declares, calmly taking a bite of food as he finishes his words. Alicent appears momentarily unsettled by her son’s reasoning, her eyes shifting to Aegon, as if seeking his support.

"If my presence displeases the Dowager Queen, I shall take my leave. With your permissions, Your Graces, Your Highnesses," you finally speak, sensing the discomfort your presence has caused. Rising from your seat, you move to step away, but before you can retreat, Aegon seizes your hand with a sudden force, drawing a soft cry from your lips. The king's grip tightens, and the flash of pain seems to amuse him. His gaze locks onto yours, not just with the arrogance you'd expect but with something far more unsettling. His eyes burn with a mixture of hunger and fascination, it feels as though he sees nothing but you, the intensity of his stare sharp and invasive, as if he seeks to consume and control.

The room falls into an uneasy silence as King Aegon II holds you in his gaze, the weight of his attention making your skin prickle. You remain frozen, unsure whether to meet his eyes or look away. The tension only breaks when Aemond clears his throat, the sound harsh, cutting through the stillness. The awkwardness breaks when you hear Aemond clear his throat, the scrape loud and sharp. His expression is dark, fury simmering beneath the surface for reasons unknown.

"Gundjabo, sit down. Your king has not given you leave from the table; and as long as you remain my companion, where I go, you shall be," Prince Aemond commands, his voice calm yet laced with authority, as though he were merely stating a simple truth. Despite the firmness of his words, there’s a measured quality, as if he’s reminding you of an expectation rather than issuing a harsh order. King Aegon II shifts uncomfortably, visibly displeased that his brother spoke before him. The tension between them is palpable, but the thick scent of alcohol clinging to Aegon suggests his ability to assert himself coherently is slipping. His eyes cloud with frustration, though no sharp retort escapes his lips. The haze of drink weighs too heavily on him, making him less dangerous but no less unpredictable in his demeanor.

"Dragons are delicate creatures; to tame one, you must forsake the other. Your survival will depend on this," Queen Helaena murmurs, her hand gently gripping your arm just as you make to sit again. Her gaze is heavy with sorrow, perhaps even anguish, as though she pities you deeply. The weight of her words lingers, leaving you unsettled and confused, though you dare not disregard the queen’s cryptic warning. With a quiet nod, you gently remove her hand from your arm, your fingers brushing hers in a gesture of respect. You offer a slight bow of your head, as if signaling your understanding, though in truth, the meaning behind her words remains a mystery to you.

"My wife’s mind is clouded. She must be in need of rest," King Aegon II declares, his voice languid, as though half-expecting someone to escort the queen away. The Dowager Queen takes a sip from her goblet, her gaze cold and unreadable. With a nod of reluctant duty, she rises, helping her daughter to her feet. Together, they leave the hall. It’s clear that Alicent seized the opportunity to withdraw, no doubt irritated at having to dine in the presence of someone she deems as filthy as you. Helaena, however, seems shaken, likely still grieving the loss of her son. You cannot help but feel a twinge of empathy for her. Having lost your own mother not long ago, you understand the pain of trying to remain composed after a great loss. The weight of grief can be unbearable, and you imagine Helaena is suffering under its relentless pressure.

"We should return to our celebration," King Aegon II declares, his voice thick with drink and a trace of a grin forming on his lips. "Soon enough, we shall be feasting over the defeat of my sister, the maker of bastards." He raises his cup again, indulging in yet another long sip. You quietly take your seat, trying to maintain your composure under the weight of so many eyes. Though the room hums with voices, you can feel the unwavering gaze of Prince Aemond on you, as if his watchful eye would catch even the smallest misstep. The tension lingers, but you remain silent, unsure of what fate awaits you in this unpredictable court. The fact that you are being watched by Prince Aemond in itself is not a challenge until King Aegon II begins to run his hand under your thigh. The fabric of your dress is what separates his hand from getting dangerously close to your pussy. You bite your lip lightly as you try to hide it, as King Aegon II continues to touch you.

It is undeniably awkward, feeling the touch of the King upon you, yet a gnawing intuition suggests this was his intention from the moment he chose to seat you beside him. Stranger still, Prince Aemond seems fully aware of the King’s actions, though his silent fury is evident as he continues to eat, his movements tense with unspoken rage. Deciding to test the waters, you gently place your hand atop King Aegon II’s, running your fingers softly across his skin. His response is immediate; a faint sound of surprise escapes him, as if your touch unsettled him. However, moments later, he pulls his hand away, only to lean in closer, his breath warm against your ear. His voice, low and thick with intent, whispers, "I shall be waiting for you in my chambers." The words send a jolt through you, and you almost choke on the piece of bread in your mouth.

The remainder of the dinner passes with far less tension once King Aegon II rises to address the other guests, his attention mercifully drawn elsewhere. Seizing the opportunity, you quietly decide to slip away, hoping to escape the lingering eyes and unspoken threats. Rising from your seat, you move with practiced stealth, making your way out of the hall. A walk through the darkened corridors of the castle feels necessary—anything to clear your mind from the weight of the night's events and to gather your thoughts about what may come next. However, your solitude is cut short when, without warning, a hand grabs you and drags you into a nearby room. Another hand quickly covers your mouth, stifling your startled gasp. Panic flares briefly, but then you recognize the touch, the familiar grip.

"What business do you have with my brother?" Prince Aemond inquires, his hands firmly gripping you—one at your waist and the other covering your mouth. Despite the inappropriateness of the moment, you find yourself enjoying his evident jealousy. He impatiently waits for your response only to realize that he must remove his hand from your mouth to allow you to answer him.

"Your Highness, your brother is my sovereign. Aside from that, there exists no connection between us. Should there be any misunderstanding, permit me to clarify that I harbor no intention of causing offense to anyone." You speak with an air of feigned innocence, aware that deceiving the Prince is of utmost necessity. Otherwise, your carefully laid plans may be imperiled, and you have not endured so much only to face failure now.

"Do you presume to deceive me? Gundjabo, I trust you understand the peril of attempting to mislead me. I am well aware that he was touching you, likely suggesting a meeting later. Pray tell, what could possess His Grace to take such an interest in you?" Aemond speaks with a sadistic edge, a near diabolical laugh escaping his lips upon concluding his words. You ponder how to respond appropriately but soon realize that a different approach may prove more effective. Drawing the Prince's face closer to yours, you lean in as though to kiss him. The tension in the air is palpable, intoxicating; the scent of Aemond envelops you as you claim his lips as if they were rightfully yours. This time you are in control of the kiss, devouring Aemond's lips. His tongue is battling with yours for dominance in the kiss but when you pull his hair back a little, you see him get lost in you. His hands now dominantly holding your waist, you using your hand to massage his cock over his clothes. Even though you just relieved him a few moments ago, he already seems excited. And then you push Prince Aemond away, pushing him away abruptly.

"I trust I have alleviated your doubts, Your Highness. However, should this demonstration fail to satisfy, allow me to use words. Your brother, our beloved King, desires from me what any other might wish. Do not forget, you refer to me as gundjabo for a reason. I wish you a pleasant evening, Prince Aemond." With that, you swiftly exit the chamber. As you leave, you hear a loud noise behind you, prompting a smile to grace your lips. It is evident that you are toying with fire, yet at this moment, it is the best course of action you can take.

As you regain your composure, you begin to traverse the corridors behind the chambers of King Aegon II. The castle is vast, yet your determination drives you forward. His goal is to gain some sort of influence over King Aegon II, if screwing him is what he has to do, it will be done. It wouldn't be the first time you've given yourself to him anyway.

"Are you looking for me?" The King speaks as he leans against the door of what you assume to be his chambers. Your gaze towards him is like that of a predator seeing its prey. As if the fire within you was ignited by your previous encounter with Prince Aemond, you don't take long to attack King Aegon II's lips, kissing him. His lips are like pure alcohol, you feel like you're losing your breath but not in a sexual way. He awkwardly tries to put his arms around you, but you quickly hold him against the door to his chambers. He doesn't know where to put his hands, he needs you to have dominance.

"Your Grace, we are too exposed. Queen Helaena might be nearby, which would be an inconvenience. Don't you think it would be more prudent to keep our distance?" You speak with feigned innocence, almost bordering on naivety. You even gently place your hands on Aegon's face, like he used to love you doing the times he went to the brothel.

"I am the King. I will not keep my distance from anyone I do not want. And right now, I want you in my chambers." Aegon speaks with a certain firmness, but the goofy way he says it almost makes you laugh. You decide to pretend to take him seriously.

"I am nothing more than your servant, Your Grace. If King Aegon II wants me, I must be his." Those words leave a bitter taste in his mouth but he seems to believe you. He gives you an awkward kiss and then pushes you into his chambers. As he suddenly opened the door to his quarters, you ended up falling on top of him who was leaning against the door. He laughed out loud, while you were already getting less horny. Then his firm hand pulls your face close to his, forcing a kiss on you. The kiss is hard, he doesn't know whether to use his tongue or bite your mouth. His hands are playing with the detail of your dress, which is holding the back of it together. In the middle of the messy kiss while you're under him, he unties the detail of your dress. This causes your dress to almost fall down and reveal your naked body.

"Be mine, you bastard whore. I promise you that if you give me your wet little pussy, I will give you as many bastards as you want." King Aegon II has a habit of talking nonsense after getting drunk. You're already adapted, you were the prostitute he fucked for a few years. You kiss him to shut him up, trying to show him how to kiss in a more attractive way. You suck his tongue, slowly; while your eyes are closed. You'd be lying if you didn't say that with your eyes closed, you can imagine yourself kissing Prince Aemond. Aemond may be a greater risk to your safety but he knows how to turn someone on like no one else.

"Your Grace, I want to try to do something. I assure you that you will like it." You say, practically sitting on top of Aegon's dick. Either your kiss is really good or the drink has already taken over him, because all he does is mumble something that sounds like an authorization. Either way, you rip the hem of your dress, taking the torn piece of fabric and using it to blindfold King Aegon II.

"What are you up to, whore?" King Aegon II says as he runs his hands all over your body. You tear the dress from your body, and any other clothing you were wearing. Taking advantage from the King's vulnerable moment, you remove the pieces of King Aegon II's clothing. In reality you only remove the essentials so he can fuck you.

"I just want you to feel good, Your Majesty," you reply, almost whispering against the King's ear. You giggle lightly as you feel him drag his nails down your thigh. Before riding his cock, you kiss him. In the middle of the kiss, his hands go to your face and hold you firmly. Then you position his dick at the entrance of your pussy, going down and up his dick. He smiles, even blindfolded; for a moment you imagine what it must be like to ride Prince Aemond. Him with his eye patch, would it be like this? If you could now, you would leave Aegon only partially blindfolded to get a better idea of what it would be like. The hands of King Aegon II, hold your breasts, massaging them while it seems that he wants to be connected to you in any way possible. You still going up and down on his cock, kissing his neck while moaning his name. You start to increase the friction between your pussy and his cock when you feel he is about to cum. For a moment between the moans of both of you, you throw your head back continuing to ride the King's cock, but imagining what it would be like if you could taste his brother's cock. Your reveries are only interrupted when King Aegon II aggressively touches your nipples, trying to stimulate them. The feeling is nice so you end up moaning even more, maybe even a little too loudly. It is then that King Aegon II, groping you, pulls you closer to him and kisses you aggressively. He bites your lip, with such force that it cuts your lip, causing some blood to come out. The taste of your blood is in his mouth, which seems to excite him as he moves his waist more as if he wants to give stronger thrusts while he forces his lips against yours even with your blood being all he will taste.

"Your taste is so delicious that it should be reserved just for me . Your mother was right, you are special. You seem to have been made to be eaten by Targaryens. It's even in your blood." He speaks against your mouth while you were still kissing. Shortly after he cums inside you, while his hands are pressed against your back. You could stop fucking King Aegon II, but you were too eager to feel something. So you continued to move up and down on his cock, grinding a little. King Aegon II didn't seem to mind, especially when you stood over him, kissing his chest, then slowly moving your kisses up to his neck, biting him lightly but you wanted to bite him until you ripped off his skin. As your hands were passing close to his neck, you imagined yourself pressing your hands tightly against his throat. But you kept kissing him, from his neck to his lips. While fucking yourself using his cock, at least that's what it looked like. Finally as you kiss him, you cum under him. He also apparently managed to cum a second time.

"I must leave your chambers, Your Grace. Know that I am grateful that you have welcomed me into your chambers," you say as you climb off of King Aegon II, removing the piece of cloth from his eyes. Then you start to dress again while the King, sits on the floor, half naked; watching you.

"There's no need to be so urgent about leaving. Helaena isn't sharing quarters with me. To be honest, I haven't fucked her since Jaehaerys died." Aegon opens up to you as you finish getting yourself decently dressed. Strangely enough, he seems genuinely sad, you just don't know if it's because of his son's death or because he can't fuck with his wife.

"I am certain that, in time, Queen Helaena will return to your chambers, even if only with the purpose of granting you an heir to the throne," you say softly, seating yourself upon the floor near the King. He approaches, his touch light as his fingers graze your face.

"I do not have the luxury of waiting for Helaena to grant me another son," King Aegon declares, his tone unguarded, as though he is not concealing the gravity of his words. "We are in the midst of war. My son was my legacy, and with his death, it is only a matter of time before my claim to the throne weakens. I need a legitimate male heir to pass the crown to when the time comes." His words are spoken as if ridding himself of his wife were a mere formality, nothing more.

"Your Grace will surely find the best course to resolve this dilemma, just as you shall win this war. By the grace of the Seven, you will prevail. With your leave, I must attend to the obligations of your brother’s company." You rise to leave, but King Aegon II seizes your hand.

"Outside these chambers, you may be a dragonrider, Aemond's companion, or whatever else proves convenient, but within my quarters, you are mine. My whore. Have I made myself clear?" His words send a chill through you, the bluntness unnerving. In response, you take his hand, kneel before him, and press your lips to his in a kiss, one that you strive to make seem spontaneous and tender, masking your dread with feigned affection.

"Indeed, Your Majesty. I bid you a good night." You murmur as your lips part from King Aegon II's, maintaining an air of composure despite the tumult within. With deliberate grace, you rise and depart from his chambers, your gown partially torn, the weight of what you have set into motion pressing heavily upon you. The realization that you are treading into the dragon’s den, fully aware that you may emerge burnt or broken, settles like a shadow over your resolve. Yet, no act of vengeance is without its cost. You understand this well. You shall endure, for the memory of your mother demands retribution—even if it should be your last undertaking.

"My mother was right about you. You truly are a filthy whore. If you've finished entertaining my brother, gundjabo, I believe your dragon would greatly appreciate your company tonight." Prince Aemond's voice takes on a deeper, more menacing tone, clearly seething with irritation. He had been standing near Aegon’s chambers, likely waiting. You offer no retort, silently accepting his words as you watch him stride away, his silver hair swaying with his steps, his presence intimidating and cold. All that remains is your hope that Cannibal will be in a forgiving mood, willing to offer you refuge for the night.

  GLOSSARY

Gundjabo - Prostitute

[blackwldcw]

"Whoa, whoa, whoa. Slow down, babe. Words. Clearly. In plain neo-cybex. Go."

The Eukarian huffs as they continue to rifle through their tool chest with trembling fingers. "I've had a breakthrough. The missing piece of the formula. It was staring me dead in the eye this entire time. Instead of utilising finite resources for the propagation of energy with a sufficient enough magnitude, we use our knowledge of quantum mechanics and generate a self-sustaining vortex-- an electrical field created from something similar to a black hole. But contained in here."

The other scientist holds a knuckle to his lips as he thinks on it. True, such an energy source had come up in their theoretical discussions, but all experiments had proven futile. Even quantum engines are finite. Their current goal, last he had heard, was to utilise natural phenomena such as geo-thermal and solar energy to create the device.

Of course, that begs the question. What if, billions of years in the future, the planet evolves in a way that the storms cease? What if a certain sea dries up or relocates? What if the sun dies, as all suns must eventually, and their race is forced to move elsewhere?

"That would propel our work ahead of schedule, but-- you're not telling me you've mastered that equation overnight."

Blackarachnia shoots him a small smile, and for a moment, just a moment, Zircon sees the youngling he used to argue with under Shockwave's charge. Not the battle-hardened and jaded being they had become. "I guess you could say it came to me in a dream. Now, are you going to be useful and hand me that actuator over there or are you just going to stand there?"

"I don't know," he hums, and then laughs, narrowly dodging a thrown wrench. "Alright, alright. Whatever you say, boss."

[gikairan]

I brought some Nice paper, but theres not a huge amount of it and that gives me some kind of paralysis to use it....

So I cut a sheet up into trading card sized pieces and theoretically i can turn 1 sheet of a4 into 9 whole arts!! In reality, I got 4 pieces of art out of it and 1 piece i still havent actually drawn on....

[nthspecialll]

The fandom glorifies Arthur Morgan

Now I am not talking about about low honor, I play high honor and got it as the top at the end of every damn playthrough but my Arthur, as it is the cannon Arthur, is not a good guy. I am not going to talk about all of the murder, robbing and stuff he does, because we are majorly aware of it, I am talking his sexism, casual ignorance and disrespecfulness.

I quite often see people say that Arthur Morgan is a woman lover, and he definitely is, he is better than a lot of men from that time (which isn't hard), but he would not hold up in modern times, because he is not from modern times.

Generally speaking, Arthur Morgan is a man who believes in gender roles, he believes in the idea of "a man being a man" and "a woman being a woman." He has opinions about what a woman should do and what a man should do.

I think the biggest hint at this is his relationship with Sadie, because while he accepts her running with the boys he doesn't seem entirely happy about it. "You got a pair of pants and all of a sudden you think you're Landon Ricketts?" "You want to ruuuunnnn with the men?" and also "can Ms Grimshaw spare you?" when the girls asks if they can come to Valentine with him.

Talking of that quest, when he runs off to get Jimmy Brooks he puts Uncle, a lazy old bastard, in charge of getting the girls home even though they are more than capable of doing it themselves as they are healthy young women who knows how to handle horses.

In several antagonize lines against women performers (which are just as cannon as his greet lines) he shouts things like "That isn't very ladylike!" or "Go back to the kitchen" and "go make someone supper."

People keep saying Arthur would "treat them right" and he would, to an extent, he would care for you, he would be nice to you, but he would force those gender roles. He does have a belief women are somehow "softer" and that he as a person with a provider gene should do more of the harsh work.

So now we covered that, lets talk about the racism, or as I probably should rather call it, ignorance, because it is very commonly know Arthur does not judge by the color of skin.

The first one is that Arthur uses the whites-only saloon in Rhodes. Tilly mentions it to Arthur that they don't allow people of color into it, and yet he still supports it, it isn't a big thing but it is something of notice.

Secondly, when he talks to Eagle Flies where he "sets him in his place" Arthur, honey, you are so wrong here. Eagle Flies is being chased by the government for the mere fact that he exists with a different culture, you are being chased because you murdered so many folks, you can run across the sea and live a good life, they are fucked regardless.

When we first arrive in Lemoyne Lenny and Arthur talks about the Lemoyne Raiders about racism and Arthur says "These boys got a manner about them but I haven't particularly noticed," Arthur of course you wouldn't, you are a tall, muscular, white man with sun kissed hair and blue eyes, you are the poster boy for eugenics.

Lastly, which will also bring me to the third point, the casual disrespect:

Arthur causally calling Javier a slur on the boat for no reason, did you really need that one-liner so badly? That goes for a lot of times in the game such as: "are you secretly normal" "what a lunatic" "we should find a better story for that scar" "But you continue to irritate me, I will kill you and make my appologies to the lady" "stick around and you might die for her as well" "oh I didn't know I was talking to a lady." All those were a slight bit disrespectful, enough to be able to annoy the majority of us if he said it to us, and they were also unnecessary.

He is also canonically chronically late, most notably we can hear Sean saying "that man will be late to his own funeral," and when you go around antagonizing characters in camp they are not surprised at all, rather they go "back at it again huh?"

All of this is just to sum up, Arthur is a pretty bad man (also counting in all the illegal stuff) and we tend to glorify him and forget some of these things, partly is also because Rockstar are amazing at hiding them, at making them seem natural, and they are because this is a historically accurate game! It is set in 1899 and this is a man from 1899 he is going to be casually sexist and disrespectful, and again, considering that he is from 1899 he is a decent guy because the majority of folk would be like Micah, not Arthur.

I definitely love Arthur, and I love Arthur exactly because the point of his character is him not being a saint but a human. His redemption is choosing to do good where he can, but even so, this is a man in 1899 and he is going to have a 1899 mindset. If you want to play a game that is set in the past but don't have that type of accuracy it is not Red Dead you want to play.

Also here is an Arthur pic as a thank you for reading all of that. I love him.

[vessel-token]

— sugar, i’ve got a taste for you now.

Sleep Token Vessel x F!Reader x III.

Tags ; Explicit Sexual Content. Dom/Sub Undertones. Implied Polyamorous Relationship. Implied Established Relationship. Fingering. Cunnilingus. Threesome. Hints of Exhibitionism & Voyeurism. Minor Breathplay. Aftercare. Fluff (at the end).

AN ; did you see what i did there with the title. smirks. do you like that. lmao man idk why i’ve been writing so much with the reader getting eaten out, it’s just lowkey fun to write and i don’t think there’s ever enough of it ykwim?? so enjoy this nasty idea that came to me while listening to sugar and remembering that time when vessel straddled iii on stage. they’re highkey gay for each other in this, hence why i went ahead and tagged it as poly, but they’re also down bad for reader so??? also, before anyone asks, i do plan to write a part 2 and maybe 3… as always, this is NSFW, so MDNI. ⚠️

Divider ; @benkeibear-deactivated20240529

How you got here, splayed overtop Vessel’s lap, largely remains a mystery to you. What you had been doing, why you had been doing it, all of that has essentially left you. All that registers in your clouded mind — all that is important enough to register — is the sensation of Vessel’s hands groping at your naked body and the sight of III kneeling between your parted legs.

Your back is flush to Vessel’s chest and his thighs are hooked beneath your own, ensuring that they stay open nice and wide for III. It puts you on a downright lewd display, worsened only when Vessel decides to tease III further by reaching his hand down and spreading your slick folds apart. Almost instinctively, you clench around nothing, terribly aware of the invitation Vessel is making out of your evident arousal. You can’t help but squirm against him, equal amounts shame and desire painting your face with a red flush. It crawls down your neck and reaches the tips of your ears, but there is little you can do about your current predicament.

Vessel’s arm remains a firm barrier around your middle, keeping you trapped against him. It’s not that he’s holding you there against your will, but rather to keep you from thrashing in the midst of whatever he has planned for you. You’ve already got a pretty good guess, seeing the blatant hunger that burns in III’s eyes as he drinks in the near-pornographic view Vessel is presenting him with. You’re unsure which of you he aims to torment more, yourself or III. It’s likely both of you, if you’re thinking realistically.

Vessel isn’t exactly a sadist, quite the opposite in your opinion, but he is most definitely a tease in almost all that he does. Whether it be his performances, his rituals, or his general appearance, all of him seemed to be designed to leave one wanting more. Perhaps that was why he’d snagged the attention of Sleep, having been enough to entice even an ancient deity.

“Look at you,” Vessel murmurs, his voice a low rumble in your ear. “So eager for us.”

You make a noise that ends up sounding like some pathetic amalgamation of a whine and a moan, agreeing but begrudgingly. You hear III laugh between your legs, but the clear strain in his voice doesn’t go unnoticed by you. You shoot him a pointed glare, hoping to convey your feelings of faux betrayal. He holds your gaze steady and unwavering, his mask pulled up just enough to reveal smug grin.

Bastard.

“Go ahead. Taste her,” Vessel instructs, nodding to III. He rests his chin on your shoulder, making sure to give himself an unobstructed view of the other man as he retracts his hand. He places it instead on III’s cheek, stroking the revealed skin beneath as he guides him closer to you.

Whether III’s quick response time is due to him receiving permission or because it’s a command from Vessel, you don’t know. You sure as hell don’t care either, not as you watch III delve between your thighs. You feel his tongue before you see it, swiping across your neglected cunt in broad strokes. All at once, your head falls back against Vessel’s chest, a punched-out moan ripping free from your throat. Hearing it only spurs III on, no longer simply teasing but instead devouring you.

Much like Vessel had appeared to predict, you begin to squirm in his lap, trying in vain to grind yourself against III’s face. Both men take notice, with Vessel groping at your tits and III giving an acknowledging hum against you. The sounds the latter makes are nothing short of perverse, sucking and licking at you like you’re a delicacy and he’s been fasting. His nose bumps against your clit a few times, but you can tell he’s purposely avoiding it, something which nearly makes you cry out in misery.

“Please,” you beg, too caught up to give a damn about your pride. “Please, I’ve been good. I’ve been patient.”

Vessel’s lips graze your ear. You can’t see him, but you can tell he’s smirking. “This isn’t about punishment, my love.”

Just when you’re about to protest because that’s exactly what this feels like, you catch sight of Vessel’s free hand sneaking down, blackened fingertips dancing over your skin. He’s almost graceful as he does it, like this is some kind of intimate ritual he has to be mindful to perfect. You watch with heaving breaths as he seeks out your swollen clit, rubbing at it while III groans into your cunt. You can’t stop your hips from bucking this time, a broken cry fleeing your lips as both of them work at you. This time, Vessel mercifully doesn’t stop you from moving.

Not one to be outdone, III adds his own fingers, pushing two inside you. He curls and flexes them, seeking out the same bundle of nerves that Vessel is currently targeting on the outside. The dual stimulation has all kinds of sounds leaving your mouth, your eyes squeezing shut and your brows furrowing. The arm that once wrapped around your torso finally departs, Vessel’s hold relinquishing in favor of migrating further up your body. You feel all five points of contact from his warm palm as it closes around your throat, squeezing just enough to make breathing difficult.

All at once, your orgasm hits you with blinding force.

Both men release gutteral groans as they feel you cum, fingers and tongue insistently working you through it. Vessel abandons your clit in favor of pressing down on the back of III’s head, practically smothering the other against you. III doesn’t seem to mind in the slightest, if the way his hips jerk against nothing is anything to go by. For a brief moment, you swear you see stars behind your eyelids, your moans trailing into whimpers once overstimulation begins to set in.

“Too much,” you choke out, floating on the border between pain and pleasure. It mixes together to create a heady sensation, giving you a high like no other as Vessel and III finally begin to ease back.

III presses a featherlight kiss to your lower lips before resting his head against your inner thigh, panting just as heavily as you. Vessel soothes you both, loosening his grip on your throat and massaging it instead. He mirrors the action on III’s cheek with his other hand, murmuring soft praises to you both. He’s often like this with the two of you, ignoring his own needs in favor of tending to you both.

That isn’t to say he can’t be selfish when he wants to, the man can be one hell of a brat, but he’s nothing if not devoted. You can still feel his hardness pressing against your ass, silently pleading for some attention. You can clearly see III’s in the same predicament, but neither of them make any moves without your permission or request.

As your senses gradually return to you, you release your death grip on the couch cushions beneath you, flexing your aching fingers. You shift on Vessel’s lap, angling your head back to place a kiss on his jaw. You can feel III’s gaze on you and before he can dare pout or complain, you reach down to take him by the chin, gently urging him up to meet you. You can still taste yourself on him, but it’s a very small price to pay to kiss him. Vessel hums from over your shoulder, basking in the mutual affection as he kisses your cheek and then moves to III once you’re done.

Their lip-lock, you notice, is much more heated than yours had been. You watch as Vessel tongue swipes across III’s lips, undoubtedly enjoying the combined taste of him and you. As III moans into Vessel’s mouth, you find yourself reminded that this night has yet to be over.

Taglist ; @that-unfortunate-crow @moni-cah @avagraceiossi @miss-multi45 @adenobabe @swissy23 @justarheaslut

(Let me know if you’d like to be added to future fics!)

[fakescenariosbeforesleepblog]

By fire and heart.

Pt.3

Daemma Targaryen. Second daughter of King Viserys and queen Aemma, you're the living portrait of your mother with the character of a true dragon, as a second daughter you don't have right to the throne but certainly, you will protect your sister's succession by heart. (You are one year younger than Rhaenyra.)

Warning: Credits of this images goes to whoever they belong to! Grammatical and spelling errors, maybe this won't be good enough but In my head the story was a good one.

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters nor do I claim to own them. I do not own any of the images used nor do I claim to own them.

Pt.4 here

It's curious how a war can make you change, years have passed and you're not a little young lady in those ridiculous dresses, you're not a girl running through the castle halls anymore, you remember the day you arrived at the step stones and the smell of dirt, ashes, blood and sea salt, was something that you would remember perfectly.

Daemon was furious, he almost dragged you back to your dragon to send you back home.

- WAR IS NOT A GAME, DAEMMA! THIS IS NOT A PLAYGROUND AND IT'S NOT A PLACE FOR A LADY.

- I'M NOT HERE BECAUSE OF THAT, I'M HERE TO HELP. YOU TOLD ME TO GET STRONGER TO SUPPORT MY FAMILY, YOU ARE MY FAMILY AND I'M HERE TO SUPPORT YOU.

His anger lasted for days, but eventually he understood why you were there, it wasn't only to help, it was because you wanted to be near him, after all, he was more like a father for you than your own dad, you also as a second child understood pretty early that you would have to build your own path.

He was a proud uncle, you were fierce and strong all those hours training and practicing helped you, you're not a scared deer, you're a dragon, pure fire runs inside you, a true Targaryen warrior.

«Careful! The dragons!!!»

All the mercenaries were screaming and running to escape from the flames of Caraxes and Whitefyre.

- WHERE ARE YOU DRAHAR, COME HERE AND CONFRONT ME!

- Don't be a coward, leave the Shadows you bastard!

Fire, death and destruction surrounded you and your uncle, meanwhile your father was living his best life with his new child.

You and Rhaenyra communicate frequently, you made her a promise and even if you are so far from home you still keep that promise, you would fly home if she called you.

Your little half baby brother, Aegon, catches all your father's attention. Your sister feels lonely, but tries to keep strong, a Targaryen never shows the sorrow that grows inside.

The news of the war arrives at your father's door frequently too, but he doesn't care, he refuses to talk about the crab feeder and refuses to send ships or any kind of help, the influence of the Hightower doesn't help much either.

«they started this war by themselves, they'll have to win it by themselves»

Rhaenyra is not in her best time, she constantly argues with your father, every letter is pretty much the same.

«Our father reminded me again about my responsibilities, as if I were an idiot, lucky you that escaped from here... My apologies Daemma, I know the circumstances for you are not any better than mine, keep yourself safe, sister, i still need you at my side.»

The rest of the letter was about what she heard about the war, how she put those old fat ladies in their place, her encounter with that wild boar, about what she saw in the forest... the white stag, and the worse comes when your sister mentions you about how you and her are now in age to marital arrangements, you couldn't contain your laugh when you read that part about the Lannister man and his proposal.

-We still can win this war by ourselves! We don't need the king's help.

- Oh trust me, Princess, we need help, soon enough we will not be capable of fighting, we're less and less.

- We do not need the king, Lord Vaemond. We'll find another way.

- If you don't ask for it, I will.

- if you do it, I personally will cut your throat.

- Enough, Daemma.

A hand squeezes your shoulder and makes you step back. Your uncle appears just in time before you and Vaemond started to yell at each other as you usually do, you're brave and smart but still you don't understand many things about war, you're learning, your refusal to ask your father's help is a clear proof of it, Daemon refuses to receive help because he already knows how to win, but, for unknown reason he still doesn't decide to give the final hit.

Meanwhile Vaemond Velaryon ran like a scared little mouse and asked for help, your father after years ignoring the pleas, finally accepted and sent a letter and a float.

Early in the morning, dragons fly over the stones and the beach, smoke and ashes, you, Laenor, Corlys, Vaemond and some other men are counting and planning what to do, there's no food or resources enough, you have to find a solution.

- We're weak and that triarchy knows it! Continue sending the dragons.

Corlys looks exhausted and anxious and exasperated, observing the map over and over, he feels hopeless.

- It is useless.

You're tired of flying around without reason, it is useless, Laenor knows it too.

- Indeed, father, the archer defend the skies while the rest protect their position, when the dragons attack they hide in those caves.

- We have to make them leave the caves...

- But they don't have reasons to leave the caves.

Vaemond complains and once again Laenor talks, he has a good plan, better than continuing flying and not obtaining nothing.

- Then let's find a reason. Someone needs to risk.

- Who? Who will be crazy enough to risk is own life?

«A dragon returns!»

- Daemon.

- Daemon is the reason why we're in this position.

- At least he's doing something, he's fighting while you only complain, Lord Vaemond.

Suddenly Corlys is in the middle of you and Vaemond.

- Enough. Listen Vaemond, I will not allow a revolt.

Daemon joins the small group, he's quiet, looks the opposite of all of you, he looks relaxed, annoyed but still with a calm mind, he's observing all the men around when a new group appears at the view, a messenger.

You instantly looked at Vaemond, you were ready to stab him over and over, you know what the message brings and obviously you know what your uncle will say.

Your uncle takes the piece of paper and reads it calmly, he's pissed, truly pissed. Just when you thought he would not react negatively, he takes his helmet and starts to hit the poor messenger over and over, Laenor and you contain him.

Moments later, your uncle takes a boat and goes to the beach, the plan would be executed. He would pretend to give up, distracting everybody so the rest of you will take advantage.

He walks through the beach with a fake white flag, the crab feeder finally leaves his cave, there's no dragons in the view, mercenaries approach your uncle, while archers point at him.

Suddenly, you appear behind him, fighting side to side, mercenaries appearing out of nowhere, rain of arrows falling over you, your legs are burning, your lungs need more air, but the adrenaline increases, Daemon falls in the sand, arrows hit him and mercenaries are on the way, it's just you and him, call it whatever you want, but the bond between you and your uncle is reason enough to make Daemon stands up, he will not let those men touch you, he knows you can defend yourself but at some point you will not have strength enough, that's why he stands up, he forgets about the pain and runs to protect your back.

Drahar thinks he already won, but once all the mercenaries are out, a wave of your soldiers are running to them, a river of flames puts you and Daemon safe, your dragon, whitefyre, lands and you quickly jump on it, all the arrows are on you, nobody has seen Laenor and his dragon until it's too late, you and Laenor eliminate the archers, while the rest is fighting at the beach.

You lost your uncle, you can't see him anymore, the anxiety is taking the best of you, where's he? What if...?

Coming out of the cave, Daemon appears there's blood covering him, he is dragging a head and a half body with him. Drahar's body, it's done, it's over.

[nyoomfruits]

i somehow lost the ask but this was written for the ‘wanna practice’ kiss prompt with lestappen :)

The door of the dorm room swings open rather dramatically, banging against the opposing wall as Charles comes barging through, beeling for this bed and flopping down on it face first. 

“Do I just suck?” He asks, voice muffled by his pillow. 

“Yes,” Max says, not looking up from where he is working on his econ homework on his own side of the dorm room. 

“You don’t even have any context,” Charles says, unburrying his face. Max glances at him. He’s pouting.

“Hm,” Max says, pretends to consider it. “No, my answer stands.”

Charles makes a dramatic strangled warbling noise and falls back into the pillows. Not for the first time, Max regrets becoming his friend. It was easier, back in high school, when they were sworn enemies. Lot less exaggerated sighing as Charles waits for him to ask him what’s wrong. 

After the fifth sigh, a deep one that must be coming from the depths of Charles toes, Max finally relents. “Fine,” he says. “What happened?”

Charles looks up with entirely too much glee, happy to be indulged, as he says, “I think I’m like, unloveable.”

Max suppresses his snort as he thinks of all the people that would line up to get their shot with Charles Leclerc. “Sure,” he settles on. “Why?”

“I was making out with this girl last night and then she made this very obvious excuse and just left. And there was this guy, a week ago, we’d just been making out for like, maybe a minute and then he went ‘nope’ and left.” Charles has flopped onto his back now, staring miserably at the ceiling. 

“Maybe you’re just bad at kissing,” Max says, frowning down at his econ homework.

“What? No I’m not,” Charles says, indignant. There’s a pause, during which Max scribbles some things down in his notes. Then, very quietly, “Oh my god, maybe I am.”

Max makes a ‘well, there you go’ motion, and hopes this means he can finally go back to finishing this assignment. It isn’t due for another two days, but there’s that paper coming up and he has time now, so-

“Kiss me,” Charles says. Max hadn’t even heard him move, but he’s here now, leaning into Max’s space like some kind of siren out of a Greek myth trying to lure him into the depths of seduction. 

Or something. If anything, Max’s brain isn’t really working right. Charles is right there, in his space, hands leaning on the sides of Max’s desk chair, looking ridiculously… giddy, almost. Max had this dream once. But Charles had looked a lot more sultry and his eyes had been closed and he’d been sitting in Max’s lap instead of leaning over him and-

“Why,” Max says. In his haste to stop that insane train of thought, he forgets to phrase it as a question. 

Charles pouts at him. His nose is inches away from Max’s. “So you can tell me if I’m a bad kisser.”

“Who says I’d be a good judge of that,” Max says, instead of outright ‘no’, because he’s a self sabotaging idiot. “Maybe I’m a horrible kisser.”

Charles tssk’s. “You and Daniel dated for like two years. If you’d been bad at kissing he’d dumped you much sooner.”

“Thanks,” Max says, frowning. “I think.”

“Come on,” Charles weedles. “Just see it as like, practice. For you. For when the next Daniel comes along.”

Max snorts derisively. The next Daniel is currently trying to convince him to kiss, so. Whatever. “Fine,” Max eventually says, because Charles is a stubborn little bastard and maybe if they kiss he will finally leave Max to his assignment. 

Also Charles is still there, in his space, with his big green eyes and his stupid pouty mouth and Max is only a man, so. 

“Yay!” Charles says, and then abruptly lunges forward to smash his lips against Max’s. 

Their teeth clunk together and Max winces as his nose bumps against Charles’s, and he lets out a strangled little noise as he gently pushes Charles back. 

He��s starting to see there might be some truth to the whole ‘Charles is bad at kissing’ thing. 

“Wow, okay, let’s just,” he gently pushes a confused Charles further back and gets up out of his chair, so they’re face to face. “Maybe do it a little more gently, yeah? Like this,” He puts one hand on Charles chin, tilts his fac up a little, softly brushing their lips together before pressing a little harder, letting their lips slide against each other. 

And oh, it’s much better like this, Charles following Max’s lead, his hands coming to rest on Max’s waist as Max’s hands slip into Charles’s hair, and he’s a little enthusiastic with his tongue at first, but he’s a quick learner, and for a moment there Max forgets all concept of time. 

“Ah,” Charles says when he pulls away. There’s a frown on his face, like he's deep in thought. “Yes. I might have been doing that wrong.”

Max merely hums, still reeling a little bit from the experience, still feeling the faint touch of Charles’s lips on his own, not trusting himself to speak. 

“Well!” Charles suddenly says, seemingly shaking himself out of whatever thought process he’d gotten tangled up in. “Thanks for that! I shall put it into practice now.” 

It takes Max a while to understand what he means, but then Charles is putting on his jacket and grabbing his keys and oh. 

He means with other people. 

“Right,” Max says, trying really hard not to look disappointed. “Right, well, good luck.”

“Thanks!” Charles yells over his shoulder, before moving through the door, taking Max’s entire heart with him. 

Max is left standing in the middle of the room, staring forlornly at his econ homework. It suddenly lost all of its earlier appeal. Especially when he can still feel the ghost of Charles’s finger tips on his waist. 

[zvtara-was-never-canon]

you once said that the ZK do not allow the canonical Zuko to show real, sometimes ugly signs of trauma. can you write more about this? because that's what I always felt when I came across their terrible takes, but I couldn't express it.

Gladly! But first, I need to mention the sign of trauma that Zuko usually lacks - and that, for some reason, the fandom insists defines his character:

Fear

Don't get wrong, I'm not saying Zuko never experienced fear. We all saw that poor boy on his knees, crying, begging his father not to hurt him.

But in "Zuko Alone" we also see 10-year-old Zuko get bitter that only his younger sister was expected to show off her firebending skills, and deciding that he would go against his father and demonstrate his own skills to the Fire Lord - that despite the fact that he knew Azula was better at it than he was. Even when it goes wrong, he is upset, but doesn't look afraid of the consequences.

That same episode shows Azula mocking him for playing with knives despite not even being good at it, and even though the fandom insists she was his worst fear ever since he was a child, Zuko responds with a "Put an apple on your head and we'll see how good I am." That little guy has exactly zero chill.

Let's not forget why he was banished either: Despite being considered too young to be in that war meeting, Zuko demanded to be there, eventually got his way, and despite having been told not to say anything, the second he hears a general suggest using their own men as "fresh meat" to lure the enemy, Zuko speaks out against it. And at the start of the Agni Kai, he looked 100% ready to fight a grown ass man with battle experience - until he saw it was his father/Fire Lord.

Let's not forget his Agni Kai with Zhao, which was his idea and that he actually won - and before that, he openly calls Ozai a fool, to which Zhao points out that banishment clearly not teach Zuko to watch his mouth. Or the time he openly challenged Azula in Ba Sing Se and they only didn't fight then and there because Azula knew she'd have the advantage by using the Dai Li. Hell, at the start of that very season, after she tried to lure him to a trap, Zuko's first reaction is to charge at her, fire-daggers in hand. That boy is the definition of "Fuck around and find out."

He has also done things like choosing to save his uncle from earthbenders instead of chasing Aang, crossing a blockade and going into actual Fire Nation territory even though he legally is no longer allowed to do that, and helped rescue Aang from Zhao as the Blue Spirit. It shows us that Zuko doesn't have an issue with temporarely deviating from his mission because of something HE deems important even though his father doesn't, openly disregarding Ozai's orders, and even basically saying "My father will have the Avatar as a prisoner only if I'm the one to capture him"

And, of course, on the day of the eclipse, Zuko grabs his swords and directly threatens Ozai, telling that bastard to sit the fuck down, shut up, and listen to his list of reasons why he sucks as a parent, ruler and person.

Zuko is brave. Unbelievably so. He is fierce, proud, and impulsive to the point of getting himself in situations that he should have known would not go his way (like fighting a waterbender in the snow, in the full moon) because he is very much a "act first, think later" kind of guy. So the fandom's insistence that he is constantly paralyzed by fear is a gross over-simplification of how his trauma affects him.

We only see him genuinely afraid of Ozai twice. During the Agni Kai itself, and then again when he WANTS to speak out against his father's plan to burn the Earth Kingdom to the ground, but can't bring himself to because he remembers what happened last time he spoke out against that kind of horrible thing during a war meeting, at that very room. It took something THAT triggering to make him cower before a challenge.

However, fear wasn't the only reason why didn't speak out during that moment, and that takes us to the first "ugly" sign of trauma that the fandom as a whole likes to pretend Zuko wasn't repeatedly shown to experience:

"My father is right about me, actually"

Zuko doesn't think Ozai was wrong to disfigure and banish him. How could he? Nobody in that entire room stood up to at least try to support him, not even his uncle - who also once said "Why would your father have banished you if he didn't care about you?" because, surprise surprise, nobody in that family knows how to help someone through trauma because they're all dealing with their own shit. Even his crew, who WAS sympathetic to him after finding out how he got that scar, were still 100% willing to not only support Ozai, but risk their lives for him.

Zuko isn't just trying to heal from abuse, he is trying to heal from victim-blaming, and to go against YEARS of indoctrination that say the Fire Lord can do no wrong. That's part of why it was so difficult for Iroh and others to help him: Zuko didn't believe that he needed or deserved help.

And that is also one of his three major unhealthy coping mechanisms. Claiming that HE needs to prove himself to Ozai, that HE needs to make up for HIS mistakes, not the other way around.

It might seem strange that this could be a way to cope, but look at it this way: If it WAS his fault instead of Ozai's, then that means his dad is not an unfair, abusive piece of shit that is unbelievably cruel and impossible to please. Zuko just needs to accomplish this mission of capturing the Avatar and everything will be fine, they'll be a normal family again, and he won't have to be afraid of someone he thought he could trust.

It was like Iroh said: Things are never going to be the same ever agin, but the Avatar gives Zuko HOPE. And that hope that his abuser will one day have a change of heart and be a loving father to him again is both what allows Zuko not to give into despair - and what keeps him trapped in that awful situation.

Misplaced Anger

Another "unpleasant" sign of trauma that Zuko has is how he clearly has an anger problem. Sure, he's a moody teenager with a short fuse, but we see over and over again that he tends to blow things way out of proportion, and that when faced a fact or opinion he doesn't like, he is quick to lash out at someone with VERY cruel words (see him calling Iroh a lazy, shallow, jealous old man in "Avatar State", or calling him crazy and saying if he wasn't in prison, he'd be sleeping in a gutter in "The Headband").

Through the entire show, many people faced Zuko's wrath - Iroh, Aang and friends, his crew, Azula, innocent people of the Earth Kingdom, Mai, Ty Lee, that one rando that talked to Mai, and even Zuko himself.

The one person that usually escapes said wrath is, ironically, Ozai. In "Zuko Alone" he refuses to believe his father would ever be capable of harming him, in "Avatar State" he snaps at Iroh for doubting that Ozai really changed his mind about the whole banishment thing.

He is mad at Aang for being too difficult to capture, and at Zhao for stealing his one chance to come home. He never stops to question if it's fair that his father had him chase someone that was presumed dead, aka an impossible task, as the condition to bring him home. He also never addresses how he feels about the reason WHY said banishment happened until the Day Of Black Sun.

He is mad at Azula for lying to him and trying to take him home as a prisoner. He never gets mad at his father for not only wanting to lock him away forever because ZHAO screwed up at the North Pole, nor how messed up it was that he put Azula in charge of said mission.

For fuck's sake, in the day of the eclipse, we find out that Zuko legit believed his mother was DEAD - and the entire circumstance was shady as hell and put Ozai in a very bad light. Yet Zuko still wanted his love, still wanted to be a "worthy" son.

He HAS to direct his anger at other people, otherwise he'll realize that no, his father, the adult that was meant to care for him, is a complete monster.

Everytime Zuko lashes out at other people before confronting Ozai, he's basically acting like someone who is drowning and, in a panic, is trying to pull the nearest person under so he can try to breathe. It is one of the most accurate and honest representations of trauma and abuse, and it makes me SO mad when people erase it in their fics because "poor, innocent, helpless turtleduck that can do no wrong" makes Zuko look like less of a dick - and also completely strips him of his agency.

And that isn't even the thing that fans ignore the most. That "honor" goes to the simple fact that Zuko, as expected of a child raised to believe the Fire Lord can do no wrong, decided that Azula had the right idea and that the best way to avoid being a victim again was...

Copying His Abuser

Zuko has REPEATEDLY let his "inner Ozai" out through the show.

He is all manipulative by not letting the pirates know he was chasing the Avatar who was worth A LOT more than the scrowl they'd get as a reward for helping him, and by using Katara's necklace as a way to try and get her to say where Aang was.

He repeatedly steals stuff from innocent people (including some who helped him, like Song) because, in his own words "These people should just be giving stuff to us" - aka he's very much an entitled prince.

He betrays his uncle by joining Azula in Ba Sing Se, leading to Iroh being thrown in prison. He also doesn't give a shit when Katara says "I thought you had changed!" and he sends a freaking assassin after the Gaang. Even him refusing to tell Azula that there was a chance Aang could still be alive works both as a "Zuko doesn't trust Azula to not use that against him, and for good reason" and "Zuko did not even stop to think that, since Azula was the one who killed Aang, him coming back also puts HER in danger, because he's too focused on his own problems to notice anybody else's."

More importantly, he rejected a chance of a ceasefire with the Gaang three times (The Blue Spirit, The Chase, Crossroads of Destiny), much like Ozai refused his shot at ending the war in the finale before his battle with Aang, and not only did he challenge Zhao to an Agni Kai and seriously consider burning him, he also threatened one of his crewmen by saying he'd "teach him respect" - which we found out later that episode was what Ozai right before disfiguring poor Zuko.

For fuck's sake, Ozai was literally designed to look like an older Zuko. One without a scar, one that was never banished, one that never had to see first-hand all the death and suffering war brings and reflect on the role he plays in it.

Finally, we have the war meetings in "Nightmares And Daydreams", in which Zuko doesn't speak out against his father's completely inhumane plans to deal with the Earth Kingdom. When talking about it with Mai, he says "I was the perfect prince, the son my father wanted. But I wasn't me."

That is the turning point for Zuko for a reason. It's him finally being forced to acknowledge that, to become Ozai's ideal son, to earn his (conditional) love, to not be his victim he has to be just as bad as he is, just as cruel, just as unfair - and we see in Azula's breakdown how Zuko likely would have ended up if he accepted that path.

But he didn't, and that was not easy because even though it was the morally correct choice, it'd require him to sacrifice everything - his title as a prince, his right to be in the Fire Nation, his relationship with Mai, his (extremelly complicated, sometimes good, often awful) bond with Azula, the "easy" way to get literally anything he wanted at everyone else's expense, and, of course, accept that his father was never going to love him, was never going to change, and was never going to feel sorry for abusing him.

Erasing such a central conflict of his character for the sake of denying he ever did anything wrong is, ironically, removing one of Zuko's most noble character traits: his inability to just live with himself after doing something horrible. There's a reason he is in deep conflict even after getting everything he wanted after the fall of Ba Sing Se - he knows he doesn't deserve it after what he's done.

If you ignore his mistakes and the horrible consequences it had for other people, you also ignore Zuko's growth. This puts him more in the position of a good guy being held hostage by the evil villain, not of a troubled child that redeems himself as he matures.

No flaws, no mistakes, no growth, no arc.

Trauma Doesn't Just Go Away

This one is, by far, the bad trope regarding Zuko's trauma that Zutarians are the most guilt of: assuming that if he just gets enough comforting hugs (mainly from Katara), all of his inner turmoil will suddenly be healed. No more sadness, no more fear, no more of the ugly traits they never acknowledge in the first place. Just a happy, fully recovered Zuko.

But that's just not how these things work. Having the support of a loved one helps victims feel better, but it won't magically make everything okay. Trauma is a really difficult thing to handle. There's good days, bad days, relapses, bad habits that are difficult to move past from. And not only are there cases in which people take YEARS to recover, there are also cases in which they never fully heal, and instead just learn to live with that burden that is still very much present.

I understand the desire to show in fics and headcanons that Zuko will eventually be fully healed and happy, but the way Zutarians make Katara act as not just his girlfriend, but as basically his therapist that needs to find miracle solutions for every single one of his problems, comfort him whenever any minor inconvenience happens until he's gotten enough hugs to be magically okay doesn't just reveal how hypocritical they are, since they insist Kataang is about Katara being Aang's girlfriend/mom/baby-sitter, but also that they legit do not understand a damn thing about trauma and how it works.

Which takes me to:

How Mai Actually Did Right By Zuko

Poor, poor Mai. She gets blamed for "bring out the worst in Zuko", for not being "supportive", for being too cold and unemotional, for not "seeing the real him" - yet she's one of the characters that CONSISTENLY help put Zuko back on his track.

She offers him emotional support and lots of signs of affection over and over again - telling him not worry when they're arriving at the Fire Nation, pointing out she doesn't hate him when she says she's beautiful when she hates the world, explicitly saying she cares about him in The Beach, being incredibly sweet and loving to him during all of Nightmares and Daydreams, and then again in the finale by helping him get dressed up and acting all cute as they get back together.

But she also holds him accountable when he screws up. She doesn't let him use his difficult life as an excuse to be a jerk and calls him out when he's being unreasonable, or when she feels mistreated/like he's making a mistake (see The Beach and Boiling Rock Part 2).

But since the fandom loves to completely erase Zuko's mistakes AND to not let go of a stupid ship war, this completely changes the context, making Mai out to be this awful, bitchy girlfriend, when in reality, she did a great job handling Zuko - sometimes even better than the fan favorite and mentor figure Zuko had through most of his arc.

Uncle Iroh Fucked Up

Before all of you try to kill me, let me make one thing clear here: I love Uncle Iroh. He is one of the most awesome characters in the show, and I fully believe he was trying his best to help Zuko.

But he is still a human being that makes mistakes, and he was raised in the same dysfunctional family Zuko was, meaning he often had NO IDEA how to handle his deeply traumatized teenage nephew/son.

Him spending all of book 1 trying to help Zuko capture Aang so he could go back to living with the guy that disfigured him is already bad enough, but we also have the episode "Avatar State" in which Iroh asks "Why would your father banish you if he didn't care about you?"

Obviously he only did these things because he didn't want Zuko give into despair and depression - but he is still, at best, ignoring the issue, and at worst actively making excuses for Ozai's abuse of his own son. This backfires on him spectacularly, as Zuko sides with Azula over him both in the first and last episode of the season specifically because he believes that appeasing Ozai is the right thing to do, as he was only banished "for his own good."

But THE biggest mistake Iroh made when it came to helping Zuko was his refusal to accept that no, Zuko was never going to be happy by living a quiet, simple life in Ba Sing Se - even after Zuko explicitly said as much to his face.

Obviously, to some extent, Iroh HAS to make Zuko accept that he won't ever be able to come back home after Ozai literally ordered Azula to capture him, but he could have tried to find some kind of middle ground with Zuko, since being a waiter clearly wasn't making him happy.

"Oh, but what about how Zuko started acting after his metamorphosis? He was so happy about working on the tea-shop with his uncle, and that was supposed to reveal his true self!"

Yes, it was supposed to do that. But we saw how Zuko acted after actually dealing with his trauma and redeeming himself. He was obviously in a much healthier place, both mentally and spiritually, but he was still moody, still sarcastic, still as proud as ever, and even Iroh recognized that he was meant to be Fire Lord.

Zuko's arc has a lot to do with identity, with how he sees himself. At that point, the only thing he still had in life was his uncle - so he was acting like him, because there seemed to be no other role model, no other path. Seeing that weird, cheery, relaxed, always-seeing-the-good-side-of-things version of Zuko was honestly unnerving.

And Iroh thought that Zuko basically giving himself the Lake Laogai treatment was okay because he following in his footsteps, doing what helped IROH heal and change - he didn't realize it was never gonna be able to do the same for Zuko.

The very second Azula shows up, even when she's being hostile, Zuko drops the facade, because she's a reminder of both his old life and what he thought his future would be. And when she offers him "redemption" Iroh tried to advice Zuko against joining her by saying "The redemption she offers is not for you" (as in not for someone who is doing better and doesn't need to return to the Fire Nation) and "It's time for you to choose. It's time for you to choose good." How is it a choice if Iroh is explicitly saying which option Zuko cannot pick, essentially making the decision for him?

Iroh didn't just get the way to help Zuko wrong - he didn't realize his nephew didn't believe he needed help. They were not on the same page at all, and that contribuited to Zuko betraying him.

Though, thankfully, it ended up being for the best, as Zuko found his own way to redemption by himself.

Conclusion

This fandom as a whole tends to not understand Zuko at all and just eat up a bunch of fanon while pretending to be so intellectual, which I very much resent it for.

[drpoisonoaky]

This is what I think it would happen if Katara and Azula were telling people they’re dating:

.

.

.

—————————[Aang]—————————

Aang:

Azula: I think we broke him.

Aang:

Azula: I mean I killed him once but two times seems excessive.

Katara: I don’t think he needs that reminder right-

Aang: MONKEY FEATHERS WHAT WHY WHY HER OMG KATARA WHAT’S WRONG WITH YOU SHE KILLED ME YOU WERE THERE AND-

Azula: I think I’m going to make some tea while he’s letting it out.

Katara: Bring some cookies.

Azula: Sure.

————————— [Sokka] —————————

Sokka [stepping closer to azula’s face]: Mmm.

Azula: What?

Sokka: What are your intentions with my sister?

Katara: Sokka please.

Sokka: Shh, I’m not asking you.

Azula: Sure.

Azula: She helps me to be a better person every day. She taught me how to love and how to love right even though I fuck it up on a regular basis. I want to be with her for as long as she wants me there. She’s strong, smart, caring and beautiful among other things. I just love her.

Katara [on the verge of tears]: ‘Zula

Sokka [crying]: That was…

Azula: Or maybe I’m a psycho and I want to destroy your tribe from the inside pretending I’m in love with the chief’s daughter.

Sokka: And there she goes.

Katara: She’s working on it.

————————— [Suki] —————————

Suki: She put me in prison.

Katara: I know.

Suki: She made our life a living hell.

Katara: She has changed.

Suki: People don’t change.

Katara: She was a traumatized, unstable and unloved child at that time. Believed me she changed.

Azula: Auch.

Katara: Sorry sweetheart.

Suki: …well I guess it’s your call after all.

Katara: Thank you.

Suki: Just one little thing… [looks at Azula] before you put me in that prison did you try to flirt with me?

Azula:

Katara: Azula?

Azula:

Suki: OMG how did you get Katara like that was so bad you had 0 skills

Katara: AZULA

————————— [Ty lee] —————————

Ty lee: Wait wait wait

Azula: For what?

Ty lee: Nonono wait wait wait

Azula: Are you having a stroke?

Katara: Maybe she is homophobic.

Azula: She’s a kyoshi warrior.

Ty lee: No but wait wait wait.

Azula: Agni

Katara:

Ty lee: YOU LIKE GIRLS THAT WAS AN OPTION AND YOU NEVER SAID SOMETHING FUCKING BASTARD YOU KNOW THE MASSIVE CRUSH I HAD ON YOU GROWING UP I TH-[and she kept screaming for a while]

Azula: We make the soft ones yell at us it must be some kind of achievement.

Katara: My turn to make the tea.

————————— [Toph] —————————

Toph: Congrats.

Katara: And that’s it?

Toph: What do you want me to say?

Katara: We don’t usually get a positive reaction at first.

Toph: I’m better than most people but I must say it’s kinda weird that you’re fucking a purple platypus bear.

Katara: What the hell are you talki-

Azula: And that’s why she’s the only one of your friends I respect.

Katara: You’re both so freaking weird.

Toph: Don’t be ableist.

Katara: I AM NOT-

————————— [Zuko] —————————

Zuko: Katara I get why Azula is messing with me but you teaming up with her? c’mon

Katara: It is not a prank.

Azula: Why wouldn’t she team up with me? I make great plans, I conquered Ba Sing Se and I had made legendary pranks.

Zuko: Katara it’s not funny.

Katara: Zuko we’re not joking.

Azula: Do you remember the time I made you think you were a big turtle duck?

Zuko: Katara please.

Katara: Zuko.

Azula: Oh oh or that other time when I pretended I couldn’t see you so I made you think you were invisible and you went into the kitchen naked to steal sweets.

Katara: Wait he did that?

Azula: What can I say? I’m good at pranks, babe.

Zuko: STOP ALL OF THAT.

————————— [Mai] —————————

Mai: You told Zuko?

Azula: Yes.

Mai: And he thought you were joking?

Katara: Yup.

Mai: Ty lee?

Azula: Also yes.

Mai: So between them who is the one who keeps screaming? My bet is on Ty, but Zuko can really get that high pitch.

Katara: Zuko is still in denial and saying that it’s a prank.

Azula: And Ty lee is the one who keeps screaming how much I love woman and why nobody tell her sooner.

Mai: She was unbearable about her crush on you until she join the kyoshi warriors. Now I think she’s dating one of them but I guess she needs to let it out the repressed years somehow.

Azula: I don’t blame her I know i’m gorgeous.

Katara: And very humble.

Azula: You didn’t deny it.

Mai: If you keep flirting here I want to say that I have a new knife I want to test.

—————— [Zuko (Second try)] ——————

Zuko: ‘Zula drop it already. Someone was screaming for a while and my head hurts.

Azula: Zuzu I’m not fucking joking.

Zuko: Yes, you are.

Azula: And they said I’m the stubborn one.

Katara: You know what fuck it.

[Katara takes azula by the collar of her shirt and kisses her hard]

Katara: DO YOU BELIEVE US NOW?!

Zuko: I know Azula would go far for a prank but I didn’t think you would roll with it. Still, I don’t believe you.

Katara: For Agni’s sake.

Azula [looking at Katara]: so… what are your thoughts of public sex to prove a point?

Katara: Azula remind me why I love you cause I’m about to kill you and your brother.

[olympeline]

Please somebody spare a crumb of kindness and ask me about my scotfruk omegaverse thoughts. I have so many Feelings about the potential dynamics between these three. They are some of my favourite guys to put in situations together. So I’m reworking one of my old posts with a new a/b/o twist:

Gimme a historical human AU where Alasdair, the alpha king of Scotland, was wed to the French prince Francis Bonnefoy to strengthen their nations’ alliance against the English. Everyone assumed Francis - graceful, pretty child he was - would present omega. He might even have been a borderline case who had a “false heat” or two after he hit puberty. So the two royal families were all: “Jackpot!” and married him to Alasdair as soon as they were both of age. Then, disaster! Turns out they’d jumped the gun in the worst way. Against all odds, Francis presented beta. Meaning there could be no children born of his and Alasdair’s union. Disaster for France, much worse disaster for Scotland, opposite of disaster and cause for much laughter, celebrating, and schadenfreude in England. Many jokes made and toasts drunk to royal couple “Alas, no heir” and Francis “Barrenfoy” in the lands Anglo.

Everyone tells Alasdair to set his “useless” husband aside. Annul their marriage and try again. But Alasdair has come to truly love Francis and he refuses. Their wooing was rough at first (ba-dum-tsh!) but opposites attract and they fell for each other in the end. Just in time for all hope to die that Francis could be an omega. Alasdair wouldn’t throw Francis away, though. Fiery, fiercely loving, stubborn man Alasdair is, even Francis himself couldn’t change his mind. Though Francis’s protests are, admittedly, halfhearted as hell. He’s come to love Alasdair just as much. He doesn’t want to lose him or the new life he’s built for himself in Scotland. The guillt still gnaws away at Francis, though. All kings needs progeny as a matter of urgency. If only he hadn’t presented beta. Then everything would be all right.

Meanwhile the English, once they got over their hangovers, decided to take advantage of their neighbour’s political woes and attack the Scottish borderlands. Their forces lead by one Arthur Bloody Kirkland: beta English prince, ready to kick some tartan on his father’s orders. The English aim to seize the lowlands but, unfortunately for them, Alasdair and Francis aren’t so distracted that they’ve forgetten how to fight. It turns into a Battle of Bannockburn style Scottish victory and not only is the English army sent fleeing, but Arthur himself is captured. Though he at least manages to hide his identity and pretend to be an ordinary knight. Swapping armour with a dead comrade just before capture and letting the jubilant Scots believe they’d killed their enemy’s crown prince. The last thing Arthur wants is to be executed or used as a hostage so England is bankrupted getting him back. They’ve lost enough as is with his humiliating defeat. Arthur is taken back to Alasdair’s castle and made into a gift for Francis. Even after such a big victory, Alasdair can see his husband is still depressed and hopes having a sassenach slave to torment will cheer him up. Arthur gave Alasdair plenty of lip while being questioned and afterwards Alasdair decided a life spent on his knees (ahem) as a servant would be just what the doctor ordered for the proud, haughty Englishman.

Francis and Arthur are Francis and Arthur no matter what the universe and sparks fly right from the get-go. Francis does enjoy tormenting Arthur but Arthur gives as good as he gets and Francis…likes it? They both do, actually. Just staring across the room in a: “Grrr, I hate you so much but I want you inside me so badly you bastard fuck you!” way. More guilt for Francis because now he’s attracted to two men on top of everything else and only one of them is his spouse. Alasdair notices and is pissed as hell but then he also can’t help imagining that blonde on blonde Action and ffffuuuuck. He should just get rid of Arthur, who’s a terrible servant anyway, but ffffuuuuck. Seeing him on his knees is…ffffuuuuck. Also, much more importantly, having Arthur around to fight with has rallied Francis’s low spirits at last. So throwing their prisoner in the nearest loch is a big no-no. You played yourself, Alasdair. For Arthur’s part, he knows he should be trying to escape and not thinking so much about Auld Alliance double dickings but it’s like he’s losing his mind around them. Seriously, what is wrong with him? Why is he feeling this way for these sexy husbands he’s meant to hate and also it’s winter so why the fuck is he suddenly so hot all the time?! Scotland is meant to be cold but Arthur is stumbling around flushed and unsteady with a brain full of cotton as if he were drunk. This must be how omegas feel when their heats are close. But that’s not relevant to Arthur, who’s confident he’s 100% a beta and always has been. Which is fortunate because an omega can’t be king in England. Absolutely, totally against the law down there. So it’s a good thing that’s not what Arthur is. That he definitely isn’t one of the 0.01% of omegas who present late for Reasons no one understands yet because it’s the past and advanced medicine still involves covering people in leeches and yelling at stars. No, Arthur is just coming down with something. He definitely isn’t a late bloomer. Definitely. Definitely, definitely. Otherwise his already bad situation would be even worse! And even Arthur Bloody Kirkland isn’t that unlucky. Hahahaha haha…haha…ha

So that’s our pitch, folks! We have Alasdair: the alpha king trying to balance complex political realities with adoration for his spouse. Alongside Francis: the beta king consort torn apart by the guilt of being one of his beloved Alasdair’s Biggest Problems in a way he can’t fix. And finally Arthur: the captured beta (…) secret prince trying to find a way to escape back to his kingdom before anyone discovers his true identity. Oh the drama, oh the angst, oh the romance, oh the everything. Good God, please let me ramble on about these fictional men. I am Like This thinking about them:

[fickle-tiction]

You’re Dead.

“Clark, I swear to God--hngh.” Bruce slammed his own face down into the mattress to hide his smile, despite Clark’s earlier teasing about having x-ray vision.

Bruce was stretched out on his stomach in nothing but a pair of black boxer briefs, having just gotten out of the shower. Clark was sitting (more like hovering) on Bruce’s thighs, and he was supposed to be giving Bruce a back massage, but a few minutes ago he started tracing some of the scars on Bruce’s back with his lips. Bruce swore up and down that he only squeaked because Clark caught him off guard, but that didn’t explain every subsequent embarrassing noise he’s made.

“Something wrong?” Clark really had that innocent act down to a science. He actually sounded concerned, the bastard. 

“You’re-” Bruce huffs when Clark drags his lips over an old bullet wound on his left shoulder blade. “-not doing it-” He clamps down on a shriek as Clark licks a delicate line across his lower back and around his side, thanking every God he can think of that the mattress prevents Clark from following it all the way around to his stomach. “-hard enough.” It comes out breathy, as though they’re doing more than goofing around like a couple of love-sick idiots. 

“You want me to do it harder?” Clark’s tone set off all sorts of warning bells in Bruce’s head, but before he could protest Clark added his fingers into the mix. “I can do it harder.” Bruce wanted to protest, both at the tickling and at the double entendre, but Clark wasted no time in dragging blunt nails over the delicate web of scars on Bruce’s back.

Bruce tried to hold out. He really did. He made it about 30 seconds before the laughter exploded out of him as he tried to army crawl his way out from under Clark. “NO!” He collapsed on the bed when Clark seized the opportunity to dance his fingers up to Bruce’s exposed armpits, gently massaging the muscle just under them.

“I’m just doing what you asked, B.” Clark’s fingers were trapped in Bruce’s armpits and wiggling like mad. 

“Get out, Get out, Get out.” Bruce laughed, trying his hardest to raise his arms so Clark would stop. Naturally, every time he tried Clark would tickle faster and cause him to cackle and snap his arms back down.

“Is there another spot you would prefer?” Clark asked, slowing his fingers down so Bruce could at least try to answer.

“Ohohoh my God, Just go ba-hahah-ack to the kissing!” Bruce practically melted into the bed when Clark took pity on him and pulled his hands out of his armpits. 

Clark started spidering his fingers over Bruce’s shoulder blades, and the reaction was almost instant. Frantic giggles started pouring out of The Gotham Bat and Clark audibly gasped, shocked to his very core. 

“Holy. Shit.” Clark whispered, gently dragging the tips of his nails over the expanse of Bruce’s back, chasing the emerging goosebumps with glee.

“Cla-hahaha-ark ple-hehehehe-please!” Bruce pleaded, squealing when Clark tickled just beneath his shoulder blades. He buried his face into the mattress again as more giggles spilled out, heat creeping up his neck when he heard Clark coo.

Clark finally took pity on him when Bruce stopped babbling and gave himself over to the laughter. He planted one final kiss at the small of Bruce’s back, satisfied when Bruce jolted with a stuttering laugh. As soon as he got off Bruce’s legs Bruce rolled over so he could level a glare at Clark. His face was flushed pink, he had crinkles around his eyes from all that laughter, and his hair was starting to curl at the ends because he didn’t have a chance to style it after his shower. He was, in a word, adorable. He would also murder Clark if he ever said that out-loud. 

“You.” Clark leaned forward and planted a kiss on Bruce’s cheek, despite the death glare. “Are.” Kiss on the other cheek. “Perfect.” Kiss on the forehead.

“You.” Bruce shoved at Clark’s chest, and Clark allowed himself to be pushed back onto the bed. “Are.” Bruce swung a leg over Clark’s waist to straddle him. “Dead.” 

[literaila]

a scone 

tasm!peter x fem!reader 

part one 

summary: 

“are you going to tell me to try turning it off and then back on?” 

“did you already try that?” 

“i--no. i didn’t.” 

warnings: fluff, the bastards 

a/n: i’m not sure where the attitude came from but... enjoy it. 

*

"are you serious?" 

you say this aloud, not as an actual question, but more as a demand to any listening ears. 

are you serious? definitely. 

because as you sit in a coffee shop, a week back into school, attempting to study for the fourth time that day--your computer freezes. it sticks its tongue out at you and blows raspberries. 

you have to wipe some spit from your face. 

"no," you say, still aloud, and unfortunately unaware of your surroundings. "no, no, no. seriously?" 

you click every possible button. you plead with the temperamental object, promising to never ever throw it across the room again. 

a price to pay for absolutely no response, of course, because the computer is just there.

the curser is not blinking, merely mocking you in its stagnation. 

"you stupid, brainless, fu--" 

"you alright?" 

you look up, face indignant, eyes glaring before you can stop them. 

there is a boy. he is frowning down at the computer. eavesdropping on your conversation, and invading your personal space. 

he smells like coffee, by the way. 

"it's--" you stop. take a deep breath in. remind yourself to quit being rude to strangers. "it's fine. i'm fine." 

"there was just a lot of cursing..." the boy drawls. he looks at you, eyes more amused than they should be. "and some yelling." 

"my computer froze. i'm trying to study." 

"froze?" 

"as in, hates me and won't work." 

the boy tsks. "common, but annoying." 

you open your mouth, not sure if you should just agree with this stranger, or get up and go home and climb into bed because you didn't want to study in the first place, didn't want to speak to anyone but the barista making your day, and did not, in no type of way, want to fight with your computer. 

instead, you close your mouth. blink. "yeah," you agree. "so." 

it is an invitation to leave. 

"do you want some help?" the boy asks, sliding into the booth across from you. 

you might have to mail that invitation. 

"what?" 

"i'm good with computers." 

you frown. "are you going to tell me to turn it off and then back on?" 

the boy's lip twitches. "did you already try that?" 

"i--" you stare at him, considering. "no. i didn't." 

"then yeah. but i can also save whatever you were working on." 

"free of charge?" you ask, brows furrowing. 

maybe you've been in a bitter mood these last couple of weeks. maybe you have a hard time trusting strangers. 

but right after winter break, when it's cold outside, you like to sit very comfortably in your blanket of resentment. 

and you're not very good with strangers. 

"you just have to stop hitting it," the boy says because he's cheeky, and then he takes the laptop from right in front of you and immediately starts clicking buttons. 

unlike you, of course, he seems to care about the well-being of the stupid machine. 

you take a sip of your cold coffee. you swear to the world that it hasn't gotten you yet. 

and that you don't have enough money to buy a new computer right now and it would be really nice if this boy wasn't a liar, and could actually fix it. 

all the usual things. 

"do you fix a lot of computers?" 

the boy glances at you, and he's got a smile on his face. "what?" 

"it's a college campus. i can't be the only person you've seen that's yelling at their computer, and crying at their desk." 

his eyes do a quick up and down your face like they're checking something. "no," he says. "i think you're the only one." 

"how?" 

"most people don't have... 80 tabs open." 

"there's five." 

"there's at least twenty. i'm looking at them right now." 

"i have a system." 

he laughs, a bit under his breath, and then looks back down to the computer. you watch him with closed-off eyes. 

as in, there is a mask on your face, hiding any sense of gratitude you may or may not have. 

"actually, i do this a lot," the boy says, sitting back a little as he types something else. 

"you do?" 

"yeah. i work for the IT department on the weekends." 

"so you're not deleting everything on my computer right now?" 

"not intentionally." 

you stare at him. 

he's got messy brown hair, circles under his eyes, and creases in his forehead like he's very concerned. but also smile lines, so that must mean something. 

he's wearing a sweatshirt that definitely hasn't been washed in a week and jeans that are torn at the bottom. converse that are unrecognizable, unless, like you, you're looking at a near distance. 

all in all, he's a very normal college student. average, even. 

and then again, he looks at you. he doesn't seem to mind the staring. 

brown eyes, three feet across from you. he smiles at you. 

your brow furrows, still looking even when he looks away. 

"okay," he says. "now we just have to wait a minute for it to restart." 

"and it's fine?" 

you stare very attentively, listen to his voice. wait for some suspicion to drop. 

"should be alright. as long as you didn't spill any coffee on it." 

"that's a waste of six dollars." 

he laughs, scratching his jaw. 

a tiny pin-prick of hope startles your heart. you look away from him, preferring to watch as two people run into each other, spill their coffee on clothes they bought secondhand, and strike up a conversation. 

you look back. he is still there. he is still just as handsome--no, wait. college-y. 

perfectly ordinary for a guy who can code. who randomly helps girls in coffee shops because what else does he have to do? 

"sorry if i ruined any plans you had," you say. 

the boy offers you a half-smile. "i wasn't doing anything important," he says. "i just wanted a scone." 

you look down at his hands. 

"i'll get one once it's fixed." 

you frown. you want to say something--something like, do you like footloose?--but you don't. 

the boy clears his throat. "what were you working on?" 

"oh, um. just a presentation for my econ class." 

the boy raises a brow. 

"and checking facebook, of course." 

"for economical purposes." 

"exactly." 

he looks down, clicking another button. 

"did it work?" 

he shakes his head. "still rebooting." 

"does it get annoying," you ask, "always having to help people with their computers?" 

"there's a lot of 'where did my favorite youtube video go?' phone calls." 

"but really, where did it go?" 

he laughs. "i'll have to check with youtube on that. it's usually an easy fix. or sometimes panicked students trying to bribe me into helping them with a project or a paper." 

your lip twitches. "what if their computer just broke?" 

"most people don't offer me a twenty dollar tip for just scheduling them an appointment." 

"you could just be very helpful," you suggest, sipping on your coffee again. perhaps it will get rid of this dumb idea. 

"i've been told that my customer service could use some work." 

you immediately start coughing. 

this boy stares at you for the thirty seconds it takes to regain your breath, looking incredibly concerned. 

"is it up yet?" you say, in between gasps of air. you clear your throat until it's sore enough that you won't ever get to talk again. 

it'll probably be better for the two of you. 

especially when you're just on the verge of asking this man if his name is peter and if he enjoys terrible forms of media, and why the hell he hasn't called you again. 

instead, you just watch. 

he nods, hesitantly. "yeah, it's up. are you--are you okay?" 

"peachy," you say. "it's not broken?" 

"just incredibly irritated." 

you mock laugh, sliding it back over to you. "that makes two of us." 

you put the password, not even looking at him--except for the occasional glance because he's still sitting there and he's got... 

well, a nice voice. but you already knew that. 

he's also got a very nice smile, and eyes that might be burning right into your brain at the current moment. 

"okay," you say. "i think it's good." 

"yeah? no mocking laughter?" 

"not that i can hear," you frown and listen closer. 

but the only thing you can hear is your own heart, telling you to stop being such a coward. alerting to the whole world that you are absolutely insane. 

you look back to him, no interest in that, thank you very much. 

"okay," he says, still smiling. 

"thank you for your help," you say, softly. you smile back, unsure if you're doing it right. "i appreciate it." 

"it's no trouble," he pushes his chair back, leaning against the table to stand up. 

"will you--" you interrupt, wide eyes. 

he looks back down, pursed lips. "hmm?" 

"do you like the show friends?" you blurt out, frowning even as you say it. 

he laughs. "yes?" 

"that's not--" you groan, looking up to the ceiling to accuse some universe of taking away your sensibility. "i'm sorry. you're busy. thank you, again." 

you rub your eyes, blinking away any hastily drawn conclusions. 

and when you open them, he's still standing there. 

his head is tilted like he's observing even closer. 

he's tall. he's got dimples. and he hasn't said a thing. 

"i'm, um," you start talking, just for an excuse. "you work for the overnight IT hotline?" 

he nods. 

"a couple of weeks ago i called, and, well, it wasn't the most... professional interaction i've ever had, but the person i talked to was very helpful and--" 

"--has great opinions?" 

your head jerks, eyes searching his. 

they're amused. they are warm and welcoming, and this boy is staring at you like you're crazy, like he doesn't really mind if you are. 

"i'm peter, by the way," he whispers. 

you breathe in, lip curling. "y/n." 

peter smiles--there's a hint of adoration on his face, a feeling you can't explain--and he reaches his hand out so that you'll shake it. 

you do, feeling a bit ridiculous. 

"okay, y/n," peter says, closing your laptop for you. "wanna buy me a scone?" 

*

my masterlist here.

tags:@moonlarking-blog @v1ci0us @preciousbabypeter @alexxavicry @directioner5life @inthegetawaycarwithtaylah @localrockstargf  @thestudiouswanderer @take-my-hand-time-boy @thoughtsofagodlovingsunflower @nyomjoon  @moo-b1tch @raindropstearsandtea @rqmanoff @hollandweather @wetcoldnoodle @urlocalavenderhazestan @valvlry @imthatcoolmom​

[phoenix-king-ozai]

If Iroh can come back from laying siege to Ba Sing Sei they'd have to let Azula into the fold by this logic.

Also uh...if Iroh is redeemable does that mean Ozai is by this logic? Because he is probably around the same age Iroh was when Lu Ten got bodied and Iroh pretty switched up by the time we see him in S1. And if he isn't, it's not because of his actions being heinous, but because he's a stubborn bastard.

Honestly I think Iroh just got lucky, if people say the siege of Ba Sing Se like we saw Azula and Ozai's crimes I don't think Iroh would be as liked as he is now.

People love Iroh because he is a noble, caring, and wise mentor for mostly Zuko and occasionally Toph and Aang as well. Three extremely popular and beloved characters. Ozai is hated because he is the current Fire Lord who is causing the continued suffering and torment in the world as an imperialistic dictator emperor along with his vicious child abuse of melting a quarter of Zuko’s face. Azula on the other hand is hated for being Zuko’s rival and tormentor along with being the extremely cunning & intelligence Machiavellian force against the Gaang, Water Tribes, and the Earth Kingdom resistance.

People love the wounded puppy and loving caretaker scenario along with the adopted abused child victim backstory. You are kinda compelled by the narrative to pity, care for, and root for these characters by the narrative and writers. This is why Zuko and Iroh are extremely popular in the first place; due to their sympathetic situation of being the underdogs of the story. Especially when they are exiled and hunted on the run in Book 2.

The fact that we see Iroh guide and mentor Zuko and the Gaang gives the viewer the impression that Iroh truly is a good man in his heart and can't be the same horrible monster that Ozai and Azula are treated like in the narrative and by fans. This however would be different if the audience and viewers had a glimpse of a young Iroh as the Grand General of the Fire Nation Army and The Dragon of the West! The invader of Ba Sing Sei and who laid seige for 600 days!

I however think Ozai and Azula are capable of redemption if they want it personally and slowly have their imperialistic mentality and brainwashing corruption challenged with the help of their caring family members. The Legacy of Sozin’s Fire Imperialism and Azulon’s Child Abuse has left deep scars on not just the ATLA world and Fire Nation but on the Fire Nation Royal Family as well!

[turtlesocksv2]

4 Minutes Ep 2 Liveblogging

ok i'm not even going to look at my dash, i am going straight into this. I have been home for all of 10 minutes but I cannot wait.

oh somebody just got their ass beat Cain and Abel style.

So her son committed suicide because of gambling debts. We know who's running an online gambling operation. I see the dots, I am starting to connect them. also LMFAO at Tyme he does NOT know how to deal with patients it looked like it was physically painful for him while she was talking and he was trying to figure out what the fuck to say/do. and in the end, he does the least. Take these pills and tomorrow there will be another, DIFFERENT doctor who is NOT ME that you can tell this to.

Even the nurses gossip about how intimidating and cold he is. Very interested in Tyme's doctor ex-girlfriend just from that throwaway. Girl, do not drop out of your specialty over a boy!!!

Heyyyy it's my other boy Mio! I hope he gets to be unhinged here as well. And lmao at Title being an Awful Boyfriend Jet is really getting typecast as The Worst Dude. Ohohoho, sneaky sneaky with the phone recording, good job Dome!!!

god this flashback/dreamsequence/thinking about his powers scene is so visually interesting. i love it.

Title, your girlfriend is missing and people are suspecting you are involved maybe don't have a dance party in your car??? waiting for your bestie to help cover it up??? he fucking is keeping her locked up until she won't break up with him anymore oh my god. Jet really DOES play The Worst Dude every time. Great, you could stand to be a little more concerned your friend is a kidnapper here, this is why the goddess of time is telling you to experience character growth and be a doper person.

AND NOW TITLE HAS DOME IN THE TRUNK OF HIS CAR POSSIBLY DYING. THIS MAN JUST CAN'T STOP.

good on Great for kicking Title's ass and taking Dome to the hospital.

Lmao at Tyme fixing his hair and tucking in his scrub top before seeing Great as a patient. the nurse calling him out about it without saying anything is Peak Comedy. this fucking loser.

Tyme, Great is in no condition to be dealing with a Hot Doctor who is Looming like that. he has a head injury! the way Tyme just gets all up in his space...I am losing my goddamn shit at the heartbeat sound effect going on while Tyme is inspecting the wound. God this conversation is excruciating in the best way Tyme is down so bad it's hilarious.

Oooooh, JJay is a cop. Oh that's going to be delicious when we get KornTonklaWin drama from it.

Oh, is Tonkla Title's brother? that's interesting. Win has much better bedside manner/victim comforting than Tyme does. Korn's brother killing Tonkla's brother...the drama.

Oh but now we're getting a confrontation between Great and Title...hallucination? was the dead body not Title? anyway, the ticking clock effect works very well here. love these little audio touches that add so much.

Tyme here to save the day! so Title is indeed alive unless Sammon's getting Real Weird With It which I would respect. Once again, it is physically painful for Tyme to express human emotions "I was just worried" ok stalker. he's such a fucking disaster.

Nepo Baby Kitty returns!!! so fluffy, so majestic, would cuddle and feed sponsored treats.

uh-oh system crash at the illegal gambling operation is probably not great!

oof, Korn, just don't answer at all. no wonder Tonkla's gonna leave your ass for the hot cop.

the cello players are really insane, actually. This mafia uncle has flair, I like it.

I've only known Fasai for 2 minutes and I love her already. Mafia Queen!

...Is Bas going to be Ass Out every episode? Because I'm not complaining, love that for him.

Poor Tonkla, waiting desperately for his Ain't Shit boyfriend/sugar daddy/whatever to call him. But wait, what's this? Hot Cop Win is at the door? Sammon always delivers the "ACAB...except for this one Hot Cop that is only half a bastard." be grateful that Tonkla isn't breaking into your car to steal evidence and do his own investigation, Win!

[altocat]

Something that bothers me about people who trash or mock Sephiroth fans that can sympathize with him or look deeper in his story is that, well, we are already so few. In this fandom, the majority of people that like Sephiroth either just enjoy him as a villain or simp for his looks. Just watch the majority of FF7 YouTubers or streamers. I rarely find people talking about his story and character in an actually thoughtful way. It’s become a tad more common in recent years maybe, but everything about Sephiroth gets stripped down to the most basic or one-dimensional interpretation.

“Oh, Hojo is his father? No way! Not with Hojo’s looks lol!”

“Oh, Sephiroth couldn’t handle thinking he was a monster and went insane. That’s all there is to it. It’s a prideful ego thing.”

“Sephiroth was always secretly evil. Tifa said he was “cold,” remember?”

“Sephiroth is being controlled by Jenova! No wait! Sephiroth is controlling Jenova and doesn’t actually care about her!”

It’s also really frustrating when people attribute his evilness to his insanity, as if it is his madness and delusion that made him into the villain, and not the fact that his mind broke but it was his rage and hatred that drove him to form the worst and most harmful delusions about himself and others.

See, I think we need more people that sympathize and try to understand him, because these bas interpretations and misunderstandings about a broken character can even be harmful. Sephiroth isn’t a monster because he’s insane, he is a monster because he chose to violently turn against mankind, and even then, he is still just a person lashing out in malice and cruelty, reminding us all of our own potential for evil.

We can acknowledge that he needs to be stopped and die, but we can also observe how he got to the state he is in and empathize. Especially without simply being accused of ���wearing fangirl goggles because he is attractive” or “woobifying” the bastard. Some of us just like good writing.

Very well said.

My hope is that Rebirth (and to a lesser extent EC) can actually alter more public perceptions on how Sephiroth is viewed. He is an incredibly complicated and tragic villain with a lot of layers, a cautionary tale that deserves respect and empathy. I hope that someday he's better understood for what he actually is, and that fans are able to appreciate him more as a villain in examining his fall from grace.

One can only hope.

[dark-elf-writes]

Iron Bull dragged Annabeth away. He's the biggest and he remembers a similar incident a few years back on Seheron he doesn't talk about. She's screaming, and begging and it can't be. Can't be the end. She can't have lost him like this. Haven falls and her screams echo louder then ever.

(when he comes back, she drops to her knees praying to the gods. Later she grabs him and kisses him and begs him to marry her.

He's hers and she will make people know it. She can't lose him. Never again)

In the end it’s decided that Dorian and Bull will go with Percy and Annabeth to the final trebuchet. Thalia, Grover and Thalia try to argue, try o go with them, but there’s too many wounded, too many dying, and the evacuation group need as many heavy hitters can be spared. Between Nico and Thalia they have ground and air coverage (and fuck those lighting bolts and massive cracks in the ground are next level magic that makes Bull itch) and their little healer friend already looks almost dead on his feet as he runs from one cot to another, stabilizing those that need carried and tying the final bandages on those that can walk. They need to stay back. Need to help the evacuation. None of them like it.

(Percy doesn’t try to convince Annabeth to stay back. No one is brave enough to suggest it when they see that dragon bone sword of hers and the cold look in gray eyes.)

Still Percy smiles and twirls that odd sword of his. “You’re acting like this is my first siege. I got this.”

He’s scared. They’re all scared, really, but for kids they hide it better than anyone Bull has ever seen. Better than some soldiers. Better than the whimpering veteran (ex Templar it looks like. Glorified guardsmen, not meant for assaults like this) Will is shoving a potion into before herding him off to join the others.

Bull can respect it. He also hates it.

The tamassarins would love to get their hands on these kids, bas or not. Warriors born and bred. Unflinching in the face of death.

Why does the idea make him want to roar?

So only the four of them head for the trebuchet and resolve to make the Templar bastards fucking choke on Haven if they want it so bad.

Annabeth takes a hard hit from the lumbering behemoth of red lyrium that was apparently once a human. It’s only the Vint’s quick barrier that keeps her bones from clapping in impact. She still hits the snow with a shriek as Percy takes the final blow. Bull waves the kid off before he can run to her, already moving to lift her.

There’s no time, and He’s the closest to the trebuchet. It needs to be aimed, and strong as the kid is Bull will be able to move faster carrying Annabeth if they need to make a break for it.

And they do need to make a break for it. Percy gets the damn thing aimed at the mountain just in time for the dragon to come back.

A wall of blighted fire separates Bull, Dorian, Annabeth from Percy. A hulking darkspawn walks through the flames like they’re nothing, focused only on the glowing green light of the kid’s hand.

Bull can do the math. The Vint can too by the way he sucks in a breath and curses when he sees the splinters that were once his staff.

Percy does the math in his own it seems, looking at the darkspawn, at the fire and the dragon, at the horizon cold and empty showing the others were still running. Then he looks at Bull and nods. His sword is missing. He looks so damn small compared to the bastard stalking ever closer. He does not waver.

Bull wants to roar. Wants to rip that fucking darkspawn to shreds. Wants to haul the kid out with his bare hands.

But it’s three lives to one, and Annabeth has done the math too.

“No!” The girl screams, twisting with more force than Bull anticipated for her size and with her injuries. “No! Percy!”

“Bull,” The Vint gasps, drawing in the dregs of his magic without a focus and hefting the girl’s sword. He will run back in, Bull realizes. Will give his life to get the kids out. Against his will, Bull feels a flash of respect.

But he knows how this goes.

He adjusts his grip on Annabeth in one hand, snags the back of the Vint’s robes in the other, and runs.

The girl screams the whole way, beating on his arm until he will be covered in bruises and calling him every name under the sun until her voice breaks and shatters. The Vint is kind enough to cast barriers over him so she can’t do too much damage. Bull wishes he wasn’t. Wishes he could feel the full force of her blows. Wishes she had that damned sword in her hands so she could run him through with it.

They make it to the last stragglers on the path and keep running. Annabeth rights the whole time. Fights until the flare is set off and the avalanche comes down.

He will never forget the scream she let out until the day he died. Will never forget how she finally wrenched free of him and collapsed into the snow whispering prayers through her sobs. Will never forget the haunted looks on the other kids’ faces as one by one they joined her.

(He doesn’t let their little healer tend to the scratches and bruises covering his arm. The kid doesn’t push all that hard anyway instead resting glowing hands over Annabeth while she prays.)

Bull finds his boys and sags to the ground by them. Only Krem is brave enough to press a hand to his shoulder.