#i might have polished this a little too hard but in my defense i was very tired

[hawberries]

not friends, not enemies, but a secret third thing (narrative foils)

[image is a long vertical illustration depicting Alhaitham and Kaveh in mirrored poses, such that one will be upside down while the other is upright. Alhaitham has green diamonds representing chisel-light mirrors behind him, while Kaveh has a golden circle with a faint floral pattern, its outward rays resembling a sun.]

[marthawrites]

The Arbor and the Dragon: Chapter 4, Moonlight

Aemond Targaryen x Redwyne fem reader

Word count: 6.8k+

About: Tension around the Red Keep grows. Rumors begin spreading about yours and Aemond's time spent together. Jane, your best friend and lady-in-waiting, reminds you of your favorite summer festival back home. You write Aemond a letter in secret and request his company at the beach. Emotions are high and promises are made.

Includes: Tension, some mild angst, hurt, comfort, and fluff. Reader (named Emeline) has body image issues due to a slight deformity.

Note: Hello lovely reader! I hope I haven't lost you on this story ♥ I deeply apologize for keeping you waiting for literal months for this chapter. The beach scene in this chapter has been living in my heart and mind for a solid month or even two! I've been greedy with it, and it's finally time to share it. It's inspired by a cut-scene in a video game and if you get the reference please let me know because I will fall in love! As always, I hope that you enjoy it! I plan on having chapter 5 ready to share much sooner than this one was (3 flippin mo rofl) ♥

Catch up on earlier chapters with the series masterlist

-

"Are you taking Lady Redwyne to the Sept this morning?" Alicent asked her son as he sat across the table from her. On any other occasion the Queen Mother's question could be received as harmless. A simple inquiry. Naught more than curiosity for her soon to be daughter-in-law's goodness. 

Aemond knew his mother better. His fork clinked on the silver plate as he dragged a chunk of sausage through syrup. A childhood favorite. Only his mother would indulge him in such a treat if she meant to soften him up.

Or, perhaps, she merely missed her son. They'd hardly seen each other as of late.

The curtains of her room were drawn open, as were the windows, and summer's morning breeze rolled over King's Landing from the ocean. "Yes, mother, I've already said that," Aemond answered as he ate the bite from his fork. No one else joined them for the day's breaking fast; not even a servant. Fruit, still warm bread, and bacon accompanied the spiced sausage on polished platters. The small table lent them a feeling of intimacy even their seclusion couldn't. "Would you care to join us?"

Alicent too dragged a bite of sausage through syrup; the source of Aemond's guilty pleasure. "Not this time, no," she answered around a mouthful. If she were dining with anyone else she wouldn't respond in such a way, but with her son she paid it no mind.

Aemond hummed thoughtfully beneath his breath and continued eating. Tension slowly knotted between his shoulders at the heavy silence.

"I worry about you and Lady Redwyne, Aemond.” There it was. The reason for their unspecified meeting. The softness of her lovely eyes, so unlike the rare hue of her son’s, betrayed the practiced hardness of her mouth. With a tilt of her head she regarded him a little closer in a way only a mother could. 

Truthfully, the young prince found little pleasure in eating and ate almost solely for the purpose of nourishment. Leave it to his own mother to serve him one of the few things he actually enjoyed only to bring up this topic. Again. “We are to wed in less than a week. What is there to worry about?” He asked, appetite gone.

“You know of what I speak,” she answered curtly, eyes fluttering in such a way Aemond knew she might as well have rolled them. “Now is not the time to fall behind on your duties. You two spend countless hours together. Alone, too, no doubt. On dragon back to who knows where, unchecked around the city, amidst the dragon pit. I’ve said it multiple times: you two are not to be alone together.”

“She is a respite from the daily burden of princeliness and unwavering duties,” he replied, features defensive. Alicent read the subtle shift of his neck and shoulders as if he'd turned the table over in a rush of rage.

“It is unbecoming of you and Lady Redwyne to be practicing what you’re doing. Suspicion of your activities is high. We – I – cannot allow a foreign girl to put you so under her spell that you forget about this war. Depravity doesn’t look good on you. Nor does it serve any sort of purpose.” Heat bloomed across the tops of Alicent’s ears. The grip she had on her silverware made her knuckles turn white. Her jaw jutted authoritatively.

Aemond’s jaw clenched. He loved his mother. He respected his mother. The things he wanted to say would poison both of those things. Instead, he glared across at her and a breath chuffed from his nose.

“The Sept will do you both good today. Ser Arryk will accompany you. Stay and pray as long as you and Lady Redwyne both require. I’m sure it is needed more than I know.” Her voice was even again. Stern.

The prince stood, eye never leaving his mother. “It is good to know you pay heed to my daily activities while actively disregarding Aegon’s lechery and debauchery. If the tables were turned, would you still?” In long strides he stepped to the door. Turning his head over his shoulder he saw her attention following him. “Now that I see where your priorities lie this morning–” he paused with a scoff, “–you might be lightened to know Lady Redwyne is much more than her father's fleet to me, now. You needn't worry over it any longer. Aegon will have it.” He exited, closing the door with deliberate finality.

Duty. Love. Aemond Targaryen treaded a fine line.

-

Your personal guardsman, Louis, practically vibrated out of his armor in protest of being denied accompanying you with Aemond to the Sept. Growing up with a strict father garnered you the hard learned skill of little mice feet. Subtly was one of your stronger suits, and even Louis, despite your complete trust in him and his skill as a well-trained guardsman, couldn't keep up with you at all times. And, thus, you and Aemond were able to sneak away unbothered on more than one occasion. 

And today? Well, Louis simply had to listen to your hard, and unwavering, no. Your father could punish you for it later for all you cared. Time with your soon to be husband was worth it.

Excitement rushed up and down your spine as you saw Aemond make his way to you at the agreed location. You bounced on the balls of your feet eagerly. Clasping your House's grape cluster signet at the center of your mantle accented the low neckline of your dress; perhaps the lowest cut you'd worn in the prince's company. It was sleeveless in the fashion of your home too, and the gossamer cloak offered you a shield of modesty. 

You saw a tightening of Aemond's jaw, as well as a stiffness in his back and shoulders, which immediately dampened your excitement. Had you done something wrong? Did he disapprove of your lovely summer gown? Perhaps it was the fashion of your braid – would it offend the other ladies in court with its, potentially, outdated style? Your mouth dried before you even opened it to speak. 

He stood in front of you and offered a formal bow, ending with a chaste kiss to the top of your hand. "Good morning, my Lady Redwyne. I don't believe you've officially met Ser Arryk. As per my mother's request, he will be joining us today in journey to the Sept." He spoke evenly. Practiced and courtly. The darkened pupil at the center of his eye, and the way it lingered on the opened expanse of your chest, however, spoke much more passionately.

Your gaze flickered between both men, Ser Arryk standing a few paces back for privacy, and you tried to control your breath. "He must be quite a warrior to be the one protecting you, my prince," you said smoothly before smiling at the knight. 

He simply nodded and bowed his head in a show of respect.

"Hm," Aemond hummed shortly. He hadn't loosened at all yet, and if anything he looked even more tense. His hand at the small of your back splayed wider than you'd felt it before, and his fingers curling into your waist gripped firmly.

Oh. Was this… jealousy? Something primal in the ancient part of his brain that made him need to show you as his? Most of your time spent together had been alone: now, another layer to the Targaryen prince to witness.

The carriage ride was silent. Aemond's hand, warm and wide and possessive, stayed glued to the top of your thigh the whole way.

It was only at the great doors of the Sept that Ser Arryk finally spoke. "Pray in peace, my prince. I will be standing guard here at the door. If you need me, you know where I'll be," he bowed politely and turned forward once again, eyes keen and observant on the bustle of the square ahead.

While Aemond acknowledged Arryk, he barely gave the other man more than a simple "hmm," in reply. 

"What's the matter, my prince?" Inside, your voice seemed too loud for the incense laden air. There must have been hundreds of candles lit and their smoke made the air heavier than it already was.

Beautiful high windows of stained glass dominated the walls, and geometrical patterns of the overhead framework added to the ornate sanctuary. Outside the sun shone brightly, and when the sky’s fluffy clouds moved away from in front of it, rainbows of light reflected on various swaths of floor, wall, and statue alike. While inspired by religion, you’d never been heavily religious. Here, now, however, you realized why so many people lead a holy life.

Civilians gathered in intimate groups for prayer around the varying altars, and the Sept’s holy brothers and holy sisters wandered throughout the place. One thing you noticed was how many averted their gaze from Aemond. Some even turned on their heel in the opposite direction to, seemingly, avoid getting close to him. Despite his lineage, even the holy brothers and holy sisters regarded him with little formality.

Aemond One-Eye. The cruel prince. Black hearted. Kinslayer. Here, in this holiest of places, there was hardly anything more accursed than a kinslayer. And you, the fair foreign girl from far away in the Reach, his betrothed. The smallfolk knew little of you and likely trusted you less. Being on the arm of the Targaryen Prince brought more side-eyes than respectful greetings. 

Tucked away inside the Red Keep with your wedding plans, lady’s gossip, and noble mingling sometimes made it easy to forget that a war was simmering. 

Aemond’s stiff shoulders and silence had spread to you.

What a strange turn of morning. In all your time spent together it had never been quite like this. Even your first meeting didn’t carry the same tension that hung in the air between you now. Before you knew it, you found yourself fiddling with the silken material of your dress. A nervous habit you had as long as you could remember.

Finally, while standing in front of the Father, Aemond turned to you and said, “normally I come here with mother, Aegon, and Helaena.” A long breath exhaled from his nose as he tipped the flickering flame of a candle to the wick of another, lighting it. “Mother summoned me to join her alone in breaking fast. I thought it kind, at first. Sweet even,” he chuffed, a disapproving tug pulling down one side of his mouth. “You are spoiling me with yours so I forget it’s not freely given. How silly of me.” His single lilac eye rested on your doe-brown gaze, your lovely dark pools looking up at him softly, questioningly. Attentively. 

You extended your hand out to his and held it gently. “Aemond…,” you started, peering up at him with all the gentleness you could muster. “I’m sure your mother didn’t mean to come across the way she did.” You squeezed and stepped closer into him, uncaring of how it might look to any nosey onlookers. In your experience even the most religious folks could be the most nosey. In the high morning light, with rainbows illuminating the cloud of heady smoke, the lines of your bodies meshed into one as you kissed the prince’s cheek. 

A smile graced his features and it was the first you’d seen all day. “Let us pray to the Father. May he judge those who seek him for strength and wisdom. May they be wise enough to see what their judgment clouds.”

Kneeling, then, you finally released his hand and began praying in silence. He knelt beside you, too, and you’d be lying if you said prayer had your full attention. Aemond’s lips moved silently and you wondered what he might be praying – they were so handsome, his lips, and you desperately wanted to wrap your arms around his neck and kiss him to blushing pinks right here in the middle of the Sept. Each time you peered across at him beneath the protection of your eyelashes you had to force yourself to close your eyes and focus. With his hands clasped, head bowed, and eye closed, he looked ethereal. He was ethereal. They said Targaryens were closer to Gods than men, and the more time you spent with your betrothed, as well as his siblings, the more you came to realize it. Silvery, and pale, with features not quite like anyone else, they truly were lovely and unique. Perhaps one day Aemond would give you one of your own. A tiny white haired dragon with ten tiny fingers and ten tiny toes. You smiled in mid-prayer and allowed your mind to wander. When it came time to visit the Maiden’s altar, you could ask for her forgiveness in regard to the impure thoughts that ran rampant in your mind. 

After visiting and praying at the altars for the Mother, Warrior, Smith, Maiden, Crone, and Stranger, and after many stolen touches and lingering gazes, you two finally exited the Sept with Arryk close behind. The carriage ride back was lighter than the first. You crossed a leg over the other so it pointed in Aemond’s direction, and behind the little shield of your knee his larger palm rested atop yours.

Upon returning to the Red Keep Aemond was almost immediately swept away by a list of duties and “royal chores” – whatever that meant – that he’d fallen behind on since spending more time with you in the Sept than was expected. You were beginning to read him better and better all the time. While others might not take note of it (sternness and practiced neutrality a theme for the young prince) you saw the bristle of annoyance along his edges as Otto took him away. You barely had time to say goodbye. Walking alongside his grandfather, Aemond turned his head over his shoulder one last time and offered you a small, barely there smile and tilt of his head. Your own lips pressed into a restrained grin as you offered a wave just as small. You hoped he’d at least be able to have dinner with you tonight. Until then, there were many wedding plans and gossip for you to busy yourself with. 

During the evening’s meal you were distracted and hungry. “If you could summon him by staring at the door he’d already be here, my lady,” Jane whispered to you sympathetically. “Let’s try to at least enjoy the wine, yes?" She served herself a plate and helped you with yours. "Ah… it reminds me of back home. We’d be getting ready for the dance of the moonlight jellies! It’s tomorrow night! I hate to miss it. This will be the first one I’ve ever missed.” Her expression changed from melancholy, to excitement, to pouting, and you followed right along with her. She tried to soften her pout with a little smile.

“Ah! Gods we would be, huh? Oh, I can’t believe it. This will be the first one I’ve ever missed too. Such a pity. It’s always been my favorite event of the summers.” Your gaze went distant for a moment, fingertip gently circling the rim of your goblet. So far there definitely hadn’t been any sign of Aemond. Nor Aegon or Otto for that matter. Alicent and your father were busy chatting away – assumedly about more wedding plans – and Helaena patiently ate and helped feed her children in turn. There were other noble ladies and men around the table as there were most nights. You couldn’t keep up with all the conversation around, and frankly didn’t care to, because you kept watching the main entrance dreamily as if Aemond would stroll through it at any moment. Jane always knew how to pull you out of your little daydreams. “I almost wish you hadn’t reminded me because now I’m sad,” you laughed.

“Not my intention!” She giggled despite the defensiveness of her tone. “I think it’s lovely your wedding will be so close to the dance. Perhaps they’ll allow us a bonfire in celebration too.”

“Perhaps! Though… I do admit… – ” you dropped your voice low and leaned closer to Jane so no one else might hear what you said “ – I don’t know how long after the vows I’ll be able to stay. The bedding ceremony follows soon after, yes?”

Jane squealed. “You unholy woman!”

You two broke off into fits of giggles and entirely unladylike banter. You did your very best to stay hushed, however, not wanting just anyone to hear the things you were saying about your betrothed. In fact, such talk was more suited for bedchambers and private groups – not the middle of dinner. You both got a few side eyes and raised eyebrows. Even your father gave you the look on two separate occasions. Whoops. Maybe the wine was affecting you more than you realized. Finishing the remainder of your food, you stood and walked to give your father’s cheek a goodnight kiss.

“Take some water and drink it before you fall asleep! You little wildling,” he called after you.

There was already a full pitcher of water in your bedchamber, but that didn’t stop Jane from grabbing an extra just in case.

By now you were both learning the halls of the Red Keep. The main hallways, that is. There was much more to the sprawling castle than you knew, and to say it was intimidating and overwhelming was an understatement. Thankfully – by the God's small graces – its main flow was easy enough to learn and navigate.

“When the castle was complete under King Maegor’s rule, he had all the builders executed to ensure only the Targaryen’s knew its hidden passages and secrets,” Aemond had told you during one of your earlier explorations of the castle. You hadn’t a reason to doubt him. But, even if you did, you knew in your bones he spoke the truth.

How different he was than any boy you knew from home. A true Targaryen from the blood of Old Valyria. You, naught but a sweet, delicate grape, held inside the claw of a mighty beast; how easily he could skin you whole. His steady eye observed you, studied you; the tips of his roughened fingers gingerly accepting your more forward affections so those tips might learn the utter softness of your flesh.

Inside your room you readied for sleep. "A bonfire on the beach in honor of the Arbor's celebration being prepared as we speak…," you spoke dreamily, eyes a little distant as you envisioned Aemond experiencing it for the first time.

Jane's delicate fingers loosened your day's braid before brushing any tangles out. "Surely you know the rumors of the prince…," she said, baiting you, arching a brow at you through the mirror.

"There's quite a few. You'll have to be more specific," you replied similarly.

"He doesn't dance! At all. The only dancing he's done is in the sky on his dragon. Or dancing with foes in the training yard and skirmishes." 

You knew of these rumors, of course. "I suppose he'll need some practice before the wedding then, yes?"

Your best friend and lady-in-waiting smirked and rolled her eyes. "And I suppose you think you'll be the one to teach the tall lanky prince how to dance on a whim?"

"He's not lanky!" 

You both laughed and continued the banter until you were dressed comfortably for bed. She bid you a goodnight and kiss on the forehead before leaving to retire to her own chamber. Sleep came easily that night. Sweet wine coated your palate and you dreamt of embers and jellyfish.

-

The sun barely lightened the sky when you woke. Perfect, you thought to yourself as you stretched with a wide yawn. Excitement pulled at your belly and before you knew it your bare feet padded across the chilly stone floor to your desk. You struck your candle to flame, dipped a quill into its inkpot, and began writing a letter to your soon to be husband. He'd written you many little letters since your arrival, and you'd yet to have one delivered to his room. Before losing inspiration, you wrote,

"My dearest Aemond,

Meet me down at the beach tonight. With it still being high summer the sun doesn't set until late. Please. You won't want to miss this.

Your Lady Redwyne"

Still in your nightgown with only a flimsy robe covering yourself, you cracked the door open and peered outside. Grinning, you hissed a careful whisper, "Louis! Psst, hey Lou!" 

He perked up after the second call of his name. "My Lady? What is it? Is everything okay?" His armor clinked as he strode over to you quickly, kind eyes looking over you for any sign of distress. As soon as he saw your excited glimmer, however, his shoulders softened. "You're perky this morning."

"Take this to Prince Aemond! Please. Before he leaves his chamber for the day. It's important, hurry!" You put the carefully folded letter in his hand and shooed him off. "Thank you," you added before closing and latching the door again, trying to calm the excited wave of butterfly wings in your belly.

Tonight would be magical.

You dressed, braided your hair, donned some of your favorite gold jewelry, and applied perfume to the insides of your wrists, behind each ear, and at the center of your breast. You prayed for the hours to pass quickly as you applied makeup. Accentuating your features always made you feel pretty. There was an art to it too, you realized some years ago, in balancing hues and pigments to your natural skin without looking akin to someone from the theater. Like everything, it took practice. And you were happy with how your skills had grown. With one final tuck of hair here, and twist of hair there, you departed your bedchamber with confidence in your stride.

Breakfast. Going over more wedding plans. Tea and lunch with fellow ladies of the court. A break amidst the gardens. Supper. All without Aemond. The hours flew by and yet the day itself dragged. As soon as you were finished you made a sneaky escape to your horse in the stable. Before your father, or Louis, or even Jane knew what you were up to, you were off. 

Please let Aemond make it. Please let Aemond make it. Please let Aemond make it, you said like a mantra to yourself in time with your horse’s pace. The mare wasn't easily spooked and quite prone to biting. It took you at least the first three days to gain her trust, and at least another two to make it so you could saddle and ride her without the assistance of a stable boy who’d been around her nearly his whole life. You pulled all the tricks: oats, apples, even carrots. Finally, after many suspicious huffing fits, the mean she-beasty warmed up to you. Now, she greeted you with happy whinnies and curious snufflings – she’d know if you came without a peace treaty and you weren’t about to try your luck with that yet.

The sun was perhaps two hours from setting when you made it down to the beach to begin collecting wood for a fire. The fresh salty air was warm and you were glad to have worn a thin dress with billowing accents. Waves continuously lapped at the shore and before too long you found yourself in a partial trance. Thoughts in your mind slowed and quieted, and for a moment the sand almost looked like the golden sand of which you were born to.

"My Lady Redwyne," Aemond's soft voice called from behind you. At least he had the decency to let his presence be known before merely arriving out of thin air like he usually did with you. He'd ditched his normal tunic and only wore his thin linen undershirt; its laces only partially tied to expose a tantalizing swath of his collar and chest. Leather in the summer heat could be unbearable and you were glad to see him in less clothing -- for wholly innocent and wholly impure reasons alike. "You picked a fine horse for the ride down here. I trust you have your dagger too?" He asked, eyeing you over approvingly and questioningly.

A smile curled up from your mouth and went right to your eyes. How you missed him. With his hair rippling in the wind, and his shirt giving sight to parts of himself that you'd yet to see, and the tiny pucker of his mischievous lips, a pang rang in your heart. How did you go so long without knowing him? Without being his betrothed? "Of course. I've not gone a single place without it since you gifted it to me in your secret place."

The space between you was closed by his long careful strides in the sand, and he wordlessly took the pile of driftwood from your arms. "There's my good girl. Where would you like these?"

Blushing, you pointed to the stack you'd been working on and said, "just there."

"What is it you're so excited to show me?" He asked once you both gently discarded the driftwood into the pile.

You began stacking it neatly, in the way your father taught you, to make a successful fire. "Every year, when the summers extend beyond one year, the Arbor has a celebration known as 'the dance of the moonlight jellies'," you said fondly, looking over to him with distant, happy eyes. "The final preparations would be happening now. It's always been my favorite celebration, and this is the first one I've ever missed."

Aemond listened curiously as he always did whenever you talked about things from home -- whether it be stories and myths, lore, architecture, or anything else. "Tell me about it, my Lady."

A wistful sigh escaped your lungs. "On the western part of the island, out into the Sunset Sea, there is a breed of jellyfish who migrate along our coastline. We build bonfires along the beach and out on the docks as far as we can. These jellies are special because they glow," you smiled, movements continuing on muscle memory as you struck a fire to life. "They make the water look as if a hundred thousand fires were beneath the surface. Everyone from the highest houses down to the most rugged Flowers join together for the night. We sing, and dance, and drink spiced wine." By now your own little fire was coming more and more to life. "All while they slowly drift along with the ocean's current." By the end of the explanation you were sitting and beginning to work your shoes off your feet.

All the while, Aemond listened and imagined such a thing even happening. There was nothing like that around here. He never journeyed far from home for too long either, for his princely and second son's duties kept him tied down to King's Landing -- more specifically, the court of the Red Keep -- with a short leash. The more he learned from you, the more he realized he truly knew nothing of the Arbor. "Everyone? The nobles and the bastards?"

"Yes, my prince. All is cast aside for the night. It is truly that important to the people and tradition."

Golden sun washed over the young prince as he looked out to the ocean. Pensive. A few moments of silence followed as you both quietly observed the continuous lap of waves. When he turned his attention back to you his pupil was so small from the sun that the lilac of his iris was all you could see. "I would fly you there tonight if things were different in our world, now."

Guilt rushed to your throat. "Oh, Aemond, no. That is not what I meant by any of this," you said with meaning as you found yourself straddling over his lap with his lovely sharp face between your hands. "I am sad to miss it, yes, of course. But that is why I'm here now. And that is why I wanted you to join me here and now too, so I could share this special time with you." You gently pressed your forehead to his, the tip of your nose fitting against his bridge. A soft smile pulled on your lips when his mouth brushed yours in a whispering kiss.

Lips led to tongues, and soon to teeth, and Aemond's hands traced along your hips and waist all the while. Goosebumps tickled your skin despite the warmth of the air and fire. The press of his hands, the weight of them, had you panting against his mouth. Leaning back, he grinned slyly. "Let us stop before we cannot." He gave your hip a firm squeeze before slowly, slowly, letting go of you against him.

"I want so badly to be your wife...," you whispered sincerely. "Before, though, there is one more thing I need to share with you." Heat crept into your face, yet this blush had nothing to do with the coil of arousal in your belly and all to do with the humiliation in which you were going to show your soon to be husband.

Confusion and worry instantly shifted his features. "What is it, sweetling?"

Emotion welled in your eyes and it took a great deal of strength to not let tears fall from your clumpy eyelashes. "Promise you won't change your mind about me either?"

He ran a thumb across your freckled cheek. Your sweet doe-brown eyes ripped at his heart. "I promise."

You offered a soft sad smile before carefully moving from atop his lap. Shifting, you instead sat between his legs with your own outstretched before both of you. You pulled your legs up at the knee so your feet were flat and fully exposed for both of your visions. On each foot, the second and third toe were fully fused together, and a small webbing of skin connected the base of all your toes together. Without looking over your shoulder to Aemond, you explained, "it is a bad omen." As if he wasn't connecting the dots you pointed out your deformity. "Akin to your eye it is a cloak of shame for me. In our mythos it is said it only happens to those who had a twin in the womb... but ended up killing the twin. It is said we are cursed, for we are bloodthirsty like sharks. Only the strongest survive. So we are born with these to let everyone know we are capable of kinslaying as only babes."

Aemond pushed his fingers against the side of your jaw so you were forced to look back at him. His face was somehow soft and stern alike. "Then you are my bloodthirsty little babe. Dragons do not share their egg with another dragon. If the mythos is true, then you are the strongest. And it was you who was born for a reason." He kissed you again, fiercer, this time, and the salt of your tears clung to his tongue.

The sun's golden rays disappeared beyond the curve of the ocean and a spill of reds, oranges, and pinks filled the sky instead. "Dance with me, Aemond. I don't care if you don't know how to. No one is around to see. It can be another one of our secrets," you forced a tiny laugh through the emotion which swelled your throat. You smiled, genuine, and helped him stand.

There were no drums, nor string instruments, nor anything else but the rolling roars of waves as you and Aemond danced beneath the growing moonlight with only your fire as witness.

-

The following morning you were surprised to see everyone already at the table eating. Aegon, Helaena, their children, Alicent, Otto, Aemond, and your father. Happiness filled in your chest at the idea of sharing a meal with Aemond – he’d been so busy you two hadn’t been afforded the luxury for what seemed days. You and Jane shared a little look as you strolled to the empty seat next to your betrothed. Polite greetings filled the table. It all looked and smelled wonderful. 

“Good morning, my prince. Is there an occasion I’m unaware of?” you asked as you began dishing up. Ever since you could remember you were always most hungry in the mornings.

“Good timing on everyone’s part, I’m assuming.”

Beneath the table, he bumped his leg against yours and gave you a half-sly side glance. Manners were important to him, and sharing a table with so many kin meant his bump, and his face, was likely all the flirting that would happen this morn.

It didn’t go unnoticed by you nor the King. Where you smiled coyly and shared the look with Aemond, Aegon snorted. “I forgot to ask, brother, did you and Lady Redwyne enjoy your little adventure out to your rock? I heard she had sweet little bruises all over her tender flesh that night. I don’t blame you for not wanting to wait. She’s supple as any peach,” he said brazenly, finishing the remainder of his wine in a single gulp. “More,” he said to everyone and no one alike. Holding his goblet out to be refilled, he chuckled and flashed his best smile to you. Judging by the glaze over his eyes, and the dark circles beneath them, this wasn’t the first cup of wine he’d had. 

You tensed. Aemond tensed. At your side, and beneath the table too, Jane gripped your hand tightly. Lord Redwyne glared at King Aegon but dared not say anything – at least not yet – in fear of what the drunken King might do.

“Aegon Targaryen!” Alicent hissed to her oldest son, dark eyes blazing. “King or no, that is extremely inappropriate. How dare you speak to your brother and future sister-in-law in such a way in front of everyone!”

“What? I’m only expressing my happiness to my little brother for finally getting it wet. And with a girl so pretty too. Prettier than any whore I’ve seen.”

Jane squeezed your hand hard as Aemond’s and your father’s chair toppled backwards with the ferocity in which they stood.

“Says the man who took me to a brothel when I was only three and ten–”

“King or not I will not sit here and let some boy talk about my daughter in such a manner you insolent–”

Aemond’s voice and Lord Redwyne’s voice boomed into one, their words meshing in a mess of hollars as Alicent joined in the scolding. Polished silver clattered loudly and silently alike onto the stone floor. Who had thrown it?

You were struck dumb. If this is what broke out during an otherwise ordinary meal, what happened behind closed doors? During small council meetings? Stress weighed on the entire kingdom and the family before you bore the bulk of it. Everyone’s nerves hung by a thread: a thread which could be snapped as easily as a dried twig by a stupidly careless remark. Embarrassment burned your face and hot tears threatened to spill from your welling eyes. This was nothing short of a nightmare and you wanted nothing more than to disappear.

Your ears muffled as if you were under water. You weren't sure how much time had passed. Even Otto stood, his voice adding to the yelling.

“Come, Princess Emeline,” Helaena’s soothing voice whispered delicately against your ear. Her hand, beautifully pale and impossibly soft, grabbed for your own and pulled you from your chair amidst the yelling. She ushered you away. Crimson wine dripped onto the floor from where it was spilled atop the table.

“Thank you, Your Grace,” you stammered, frantically swiping tears from your cheeks. 

“I am sorry for the way my husband is acting. If I am to be honest… we received extremely troubling news about Rhaenyra and Daemon this morning. Even if no one will admit it, this war has everyone scared.”

Despite the meaning of her words, she, outwardly, seemed calm.

Not having anything intelligent to say, you squeezed her hand reassuringly. No one followed you ladies out. At a glance, it appeared guards were watching and taking note of your movements through the halls. Helaena turned here, and there, and before you knew it you were standing out by the weirwood. It loomed tall and wide. It cast a shadow of mysticism. Tranquility. For the first time since arriving in the dining hall you breathed a true lungful of air. And then another.

"You are a strong swimmer, and Aemond a strong flier. Both, and more, will be required in the coming time," Helaena spoke dreamily as she led you to an ancient camellia tree. "Two fruits of one, and one of two," she continued to muse aloud. She laid back in the vibrant petals fallen amongst the grass, and you followed along. "Have you ever noticed how red this camellia is? It hardly seems real."

Your vision turned from her to the tree. Leaves of green and flowers of red contrasted starkly against the blue morning sky. A breeze moved through the air and a petal slowly fell to land on the center of your abdomen. "I've never seen one this size before," you said in the serene quietness. Comfort seeped into your bones as you watched fluffy clouds drift across the sky.

A thin long legged spider crawled across Helaena’s outstretched hand. She watched the tiny creature as if it were the most magnificent thing. “You make my brother happy. Thank you for that, princess,” she said, not taking her attention away from the spider. “He bears much and carries more.”

Helaena’s words sent something like love fluttering in your belly as you regarded the gentle far-seeing Queen. Her white hair fanned around her head like a halo on the crimson petals; violet eyes distant and unfocused. “Thank you, Your Grace,” is all you replied, not wanting to break her other-worldly concentration. 

She continued to mutter quiet things about: from two to one, moving shadows, and cracked shells. 

Tranquil minutes passed. You became lost in the garden of your mind.

“My Lady…,” Aemond’s voice broke through your reverie. “I apologize for what happened.” He extended a hand to you, silently offering to help you up from the grass. “Allow me to take you to your chambers?”

You nodded and accepted his hand. “Yes, please,” you said as you stood and brushed any debris or wrinkles from your dress. Emotion swelled up from your diaphragm to the back of your throat and it took a steadying breath, or three, to push it down. Stress and tension simmered inside you and it threatened to boil over.

“Thank you, sweet sister, for getting her away,” Aemond said. Helaena only briefly regarded him and offered a short wave. 

Aemond held you close as you both walked the halls to your bedchamber. Beneath the scents of smoke (which clung so close to him you swore it seeped from his own pores), leather, and bathing oils, he smelled like clean sweat. It wasn’t at all unpleasant. If anything it made you want to bury your face into his neck and not come out for hours. Hurt weighed on your heart. 

You missed home. You missed the sense of normalcy you'd known your whole life. So many things were different here. You clung to Jane when you could, and even grounded yourself to Louis, and of course found comfort in your father. Thank the Seven they were all here. If they weren't, you might very well have turned around in Blackwater Bay as soon as you arrived.

Here, now, you clung to Aemond. Your prince who regarded you with compassion, curiosity, and gentleness, so unlike the way you'd seen him interact with anyone else. It only made you want to draw those tender moments out from him more.

"Aegon is vile. And an idiot," he said as soon as your chamber door was securely shut. You stood facing each other in the gentle sunbeams of your quarter; still somewhat bare and lacking your personal touch. "He is drunk but that is no excuse for him to behave in the way he did. Are you alright?" Both his hands cupped your face in reverence, his single eye peering between both of yours as if deciphering your thoughts like scrawled words on parchment.

Hesitation hung in the air before you nodded. "Yes, I'm alright, my pr-, Aemond," you caught his title before it fell from your lips, whispering his name instead.

"Your Aemond. You are correct, princess," he smiled and tipped his head down to meet your lips in a tender kiss. "No harm will come to you whether it be from my kin or enemy alike. Do you understand me? As my betrothed, and even more so once you are my wife." His gaze was only sharp, now, face stern, lacking any of its previous softness.

Searching his features and posture, you, once again, hesitated before asking in a voice that could have been lost in a space any louder than the one you currently shared, "you promise?"

"I promise."

-

Thank you for reading! If you enjoyed, please consider a follow and/or reblog and/or letting me know! It would make me vvvery happy ♥ See you in chapter 5 where there will be wedding bells!

masterlist

taglist: to be added or removed, please say something ♥ bold means I could not tag you

@melsunshine @iiamthehybrid @arcielee @nina2697 @darylandbethfanforever9 @sahvlren @targaryenbrainrot @bellaisasleep @watercolorskyy @ruby-dragon @aemonds-fire @meggiemay82 @doublesparrows @silverwinged @nikstrange @castellomargot @lost-and-founds @chompchompluke @sirenofavalon @okfashionista @girlwith-thepearlearring

you did not asked to be added but I thought you might like to know since it has been so flippin long! @borikenlove @abbyandizzysmum @disco--fairy

[jaggedhorseteeth]

Better in the Morning // Ch. 7

MASTERLIST

Here's a nice, happy, little fluffy birthday chapter. Take a break from all the sad shit. ;-;

word count: 988

CHAPTER WARNINGS: Language, social drinking, non-graphic sexy-time

In February, Richie got hold of an absolutely gorgeous acoustic-electric guitar for restoration. When we showed it to Jake, it was love at first sight. Unfortunately, we already had a buyer for it. Jake had been disappointed, but he shrugged it off, voicing that he was glad someone would take care of it. We got to work restoring it, but in March, the buyer backed out. Richie was more than willing to let me snag it for Jake and agreed to hang onto it until Jake’s birthday in April.

Earlier on in the week, they held a party for the twins. The turnout was pretty big, and everything went off without a hitch. I had a few smaller gifts for Jake, and even found a cute necklace for Josh. When their actual birthday rolled around, I enlisted Josh’s help with the main attraction.

Jake and I went to dinner in the evening, at a nice restaurant across town. While we were gone, I instructed Josh to pick up the guitar from Richie and drop it off at our shared house.

Jake was in good spirits that night; “To good drinks and even better company,” he toasted. He was having a hard time keeping his hands off me during the drive home and as we made our way inside the house. We didn’t even make it upstairs before we were tangled up in each other, a mixture of gasps and moans filling the air. Afterwards, we laid naked and sweaty on the couch, holding onto one another.

Jake nuzzled into my hair and planted a kiss on my head. “Thank you for tonight. I love you.”

“I love you, too. Birthday isn’t over yet though.”

“Oh? You got something else in mind?”

“Maybe. C’mon.” I urged him up and to follow me to the bedroom, neither one of us bothering to get dressed. Halfway up the stairs he smacked my ass, causing me to yelp in surprise and shoot him a glare.

“What?” he said defensively, grinning. “I liked the view.”

“Perv.” I playfully swatted at him and stepped to the side, letting him walk into the bedroom first. He stopped and cocked his head at the sight of the guitar case on the bed.

“What’s this?”

I shrugged. “Maybe you should open it and find out.”

He approached it hesitantly. With slow, calculated movements, as if he thought something might jump out and bite him, he unclipped the locks and opened the case. I had the biggest smile on my face when I heard the soft gasp escape his lips. I watched as he ran his fingers along the neck and the polished black mahogany. He felt along the strings and the fingerboard, eyeing the abalone styled phoenix design along the edge of one side. He gently picked it up out of its case to examine it fully, and noticed the little note I’d written, folded up and sitting at the bottom of the case. He gave me another questioning glance before grabbing the note and replacing the guitar. I moved to sit cross-legged at the head of the bed and threw the blanket over my legs while he read the note, a little smile staying plastered on his face.

“Kya, how’d you…?”

“Buyer dropped out last month, so she’s yours now.”

“It’s beautiful. I love it, I can’t believe…” He tucked the note into a little pocket on the inside of the case and shut the lid, moving it to a safe spot on the floor. Getting on his knees he crawled towards me on the bed, pulling me in for a deep kiss. “Thank you. I don’t know what I did to deserve you, but I must have done something right. You’re too good to me.”

“’Cause I love you, and you do deserve it. You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me, ya know. And don’t argue with me.” I tapped him on the tip of his nose, which he crinkled up at me. We shared another kiss, this one significantly more heated, before we ended up under the covers together.

~

When I woke up, the room was still dark. Noticing the silence, I reached over to find Jake’s side of the bed empty. I squinted at the digital clock by the bed. 3:08 AM. I threw on some panties and whichever of Jake’s shirts I found first, before venturing out to find him.

The sound of a guitar reached my ears, and I followed it to his studio. He was laid back on the lounger, eyes closed, with nothing on but a pair of shorts, lightly strumming on his new guitar. I didn’t recognize the melody and wondered if it was something new he was working on.

He didn’t hear me come in, and it gave me an opportunity to just study him. He looked so peaceful, so in his element, like nothing else mattered. It was times like this that nothing could touch him, not even the demons in his head. When I watched him like this, my heart swelled with love, and I was confident I could stand there and watch him all night. He was my special, my midnight- he was my sunlight, my moonlight, the fire and the flood. I thought about his own words from earlier. I must have done something right to deserve him. I must have done something good in a previous life to get to call him mine in this one. Through all the ups and downs, I was never letting him go. Nothing compared to him, to the happiness I felt just being his. And I’d be his as long as he’d let me, as long as he was mine, too. He made me feel loved. He made me feel safe and wanted. And he made me feel like there was nothing that could come between us.

In that moment, we were untouchable.

[oodlyenough]

aa6-1 foreign turnabout

finished off DD last week and we're straight into soj.

i know the least about soj of any of the games probably, which is kind of nice because these later games really need the element of surprise they don't have a lot else lmao.

some thoughts on the tutorial case:

the good

this is a big visual upgrade from dual destinies (although i'm still unconvinced the games needed to move to 3d assets). phoenix's model looks better in ways i found hard to articulate until someone on twt pointed out SOJ gets rid of the bulky black outlines. it's so much smoother!

aside from the models, the sprite animations for the new characters are very detailed (almost too detailed... i mean do we need ninety animations per NPC? can we get some extra ones for phoenix lmao), i like how the UI has been refreshed to match khurain, overall it just looks more polished/complete than DD.

insight is new, and subject to suck more later lmao, but so far it's the best minigame since the magatama. both perceive and mood matrix suffer from being kind of nonsensical; it never stopped being goofy to me in DD that you just had interactions like "well i found the body and i was shocked" "UM ACTUALLY my robot says you were RED EMOJI FACE, so you're lying!" insight, on the other hand, is more based on logic/reason -- spot the contradiction, think through a couple different layers of info (rayfa's words vs what's on screen and what makes sense), etc. i also like the idea that the ghost witness isn't lying, you just have to interpret the memory -- it's a bit of a refreshing change from everyone just committing perjury 30000000 times.

the defense culpability act is very funny. i can't be mad at it because it is too funny. i think i should get to kill the prosecutor if i win.

also, maya having lived here for unspecified time period, surely being aware of the lawyer stuff and still inviting her best friend, ace attorney phoenix wright, is very hilarious. i hope edgeworth, academic of foreign legal systems, had a heart attack as soon as he heard where nick's vacation was

it is also funny to see supervillain payne. winston payne was just kind of an asshole and largely incompetent. gaspen is a supervillain who longs for murder. well, okay. why not i guess

the questionable

khura'in is but the latest in a long line of exciting AA countries that will have you asking "what are the geopolitics of this world?" and "...is this racist?"

it's really funny to me that the first culprit was a white guy on an eat pray love journey but that his eat pray love journey is totally incidental to the crime, apparently. khurain is apparently very welcoming to immigrants if one can become head monk guarding their sacred treasures after a mere six months, and payne is chief prosecutor after three.

it's also very funny that with his life potentially on the line, the only person phoenix is worried about is maya. i think there is an understandable in-game explanation, which is that you have to assume every game might have a new audience and that new audience has only been told of maya so far. but returning players who know he has a teenage daughter might uh. wonder.

the bad

i can sense that the more lore i learn about khurain the more racially uncomfortable i am going to become

the names are BRUTAL i wish they'd stop. i get that ace attorney always has silly goofy pun names. but i feel they're veering further and further from the... slightly more believable names into stuff that just sounds stupid, and man, trying to apply ace attorney pun name goofiness to names that are also supposed to be in a fake fictional language .... i mean it sounds like i'm reading racist jokes from the 90s. it's uncomfortable.

i also think khura'in lore is bound to upend or retcon the superior kurain village lore, which ruled in the trilogy and did not need expanding into a kingdom. isolated little village matriarchy of witch family that are constantly committing sorocide >>> whatever's about to happen here. it's great for rayfa that she does her lil dance for enrichment 2x a day to have temporary hallucinations in a pool of water, but maya crosses her fingers and shapeshifts. checkmate.

lastly, one thing i found myself thinking as i moderately enjoyed the tutorial case was that it was honestly kind of nice having a case scaled back. i can't shake the sense that three playables is just too much for these games; apollo was dead weight narratively in DD and i think athena is about to suffer that fate in SOJ. the character writing in these new games is just not strong enough to manage this many major characters and their whole entourages. the mistake of the original trilogy was accidentally setting a precedent for "new prosecutor every game, who is also our friend by the end :)". the main cast is so huge that most of them just end up stagnating or disappearing into the void or whatever; apollo and athena cannibalized each other's screentime in DD, athena usurped trucy, SOJ is introducing a whole whack of new characters to replace THOSE newbies... it's a lot. we don't need to reinvent the wheel every new game.

anyway... i know a little about 6-2 and i expect it to exacerbate a lot of these issues lmao.

[yesimwriting]

First Rule

A/n this is my first time writing for The Last of Us and for Joel Miller and i have not played the game!! i’ve only watched the show so far (might have to watch someone playing it on youtube or something to know what happens next sooner 😭) so if the characters feel a little off i’m sorry!! 

writing new characters and finding their voice/securing their vibe is a process :)) 

Summary: Literally just a drabble, i debated making it longer but bc it was so impulsive i didn’t want it to get lost in the drafts and it’s pretty late rn,, i have a clear idea for a part 2 bc it was going to be longer (part 2 is the only way the title makes sense 😭) so if you’d be interested in that let me know :)) feedback sustains me 

this is basically just reader meeting joel and it’s set after the pandemic/outbreak 

----

It’s hard to watch. The stranger did everything right enough to get by until he didn’t. Not to say that his operation was flawless, you picked up on it almost instantly, but in his defense, you know how to look. It’s as much a skill as the ability to turn a blind eye, only a lot less evolutionarily appropriate. 

Because seeing often leads to thinking (or, in your case, not thinking), which leads to doing, which usually leads to the worst result of all--involvement. 

So now you’re here, watching someone that’s likely a smuggler doing their best to act like they’re anything else while dealing with a FEDRA officer. You know better than most that FEDRA’s iron exterior is a poorly constructed allusion. Some like catching smugglers because of the promise of a bribe. Hell, you know some of them are regular customers. 

But the man you don’t know is tense, rigid in his steady stance. And the officer’s uniform is too polished, too new and ready to be stained in blood. He’s untrustworthy. 

This has nothing to do with you. The two men are in their own standoff, and you’re tucked away between two buildings, You could disappear further into the shadows, or you could just walk forward, onto the street behind them. You’re not used to being in a situation in which you really haven’t done anything wrong. Nothing to lie or feel cagey about. 

You’re untethered. 

With a low sigh, you give into the itch that you’ve been pretending doesn’t exist by reaching into your bag’s front pocket. The contraption feels small between your fingers, perfect for the type of distraction you’re going for. A dramatic person would call it an explosive; you like to think of it as a small set up of gun powder and a few other things. A glorified version of those snap things children used to throw at each other’s feet on Fourth of July. 

You twist your body, bending your knees slightly before heaving the small cylinder over your head and far to the right. You duck down before it makes contact. The bang is effective. A sharp, crackling boom that makes your body tense.

The officer snaps his head back, looking above you. You can practically feel his thoughts. Your opinion on the Fireflies are pretty set in stone, but you can’t complain about the cover they’ve provided. Every crack, pop, and boom has anyone with authority abandoning whatever they’re doing in a second. And it’s not like you’re a monster about it. You don’t take the easy way out if you think there’s any chance that it’ll hurt someone. 

After a second of weighing their options, the FEDRA officer turns sharply and runs off. You hear his footsteps disappear somewhere away from you, but you still hesitate to stand straight again. A minute passes and you decide you’re safe enough to move. You walk forward slowly, planning on running in the opposite direction of the man. 

You’re out just enough to round the corner before it happens. One second you’re walking, stepping forward like normal, and the next there’s a hard touch on your arm and the wall shifts to from beside you to against your back. You thrash instinctually, stepping on the man’s foot hard enough to bruise. He curses under his breath and pushes you a little harder. 

“What--” A voice that’s cutting in its irritated indifference. “What was that?” 

Mind running a mile a minute, you struggle to form a sentence. You didn’t think you’d have to talk to him. It was a good dead. A hushed fuck you to one of those asshole officers. 

The man pauses long enough to take you in. You imagine he doesn’t see much, because blending in and seeming harmless enough is what you know. And you’re not much--not now, cursing your recklessness and just standing there with wide eyes. His hold doesn’t exactly loosen, but his touch on your arm becomes less intense. Less demanding. 

You push your back against the wall firmly and he lets you. It’s a small shift that makes no real difference, but it’s space, it’s the illusion of independence. Your eyes flit forward, meeting his. There’s a sharp crease between his eyebrows and an unforgiving focus behind his dark eyes. His features are amplified by an ingrained tiredness, but that doesn’t take away from his attractiveness. 

Wow--okay, that last thought is enough to scare you out of your analysis. You tilt your chin downwards, snapping yourself out of whatever manipulative trance was. The man notices the subtle motion and drops his arm but makes no move to step away. It’s clear that you’re still caged in. 

“You with the Fireflies?” The shake of your head is instinctual. “So you just have bombs you like throwi--” 

“No,” It’s too defensive and you shrug within your limited space. “And that thing wasn’t a bomb. It had less gunpowder than a firework and less than a tablespoon of silver fulminate and even less ammonium nitrate.” 

The explanation feels awkward and you have no idea why. It’s a fair explanation. He takes in the information and waits a beat before replying, “Why did you have a bomb?” 

A correction bubbles in your chest--not a bomb. The distinction matters to you more than it should, but something about the gruffness in his voice feels more like an accusation than a question. 

“Y’know I did a nice thing when I saved your ass from getting busted. A reasonable person would have just accepted that and not asked any questions.” You frown, the amount of allotted kindness in your body suddenly running low. “Actually a reasonable person would offer me a cut of whatever they’re smuggling or what they’re getting for it.” 

Your statement is relatively bold. You don’t know this man, you don’t know if he’ll perceive what’s meant to be a sad attempt at a deterrent as a threat. But something in you tells you that you’re still on steady ground. That this stranger knows when there’s an actual fight. 

It works, the man’s posture straightens in what you assume is his version of a bristle. Though small, the motion creates enough space for you to narrowly slip past him. 

You’re free now. Free enough to run off, though some gut feeling tells you he’d keep at it if he had any reason to want to chase you. He won’t, though. Some gut feeling in your chest is sure of it. It’d be bold to call it trust, but it feels more stable than optimistic intuition. It’s an understanding.

One step backwards, you don’t turn around. Not yet. Assumed understanding or not, you’ve done enough without thinking today. He watches you back, equally silent. And then you end the standoff with a tilt of your chin.

You turn on your heels, walking forward with even paced steps. He’s given you no reason to run, and sudden, panicked movements might trigger a break in the uneasy peace. 

“You make them.” 

He’s not asking, but you turn just enough to shrug at him anyways. 

[practickles]

hii!! for your ask game may i request ichinene?

Of course! And despite liking these two together a lot, I shockingly have never put much thought into them and tickling, so this will be a good exercise for me. (That comes with the caveat that they might not be as in character as they would with more polishing)

And oh my gosh I am so sorry this took so long. Real shocker that I lost motivation for the thing that was supposed to help me with my lack of motivation /s

1. Who has the cutest tickle laugh?

As much as I adore Ichika, I have to give it to Nene here. It's just so squeaky and soft. Nene has a hard time being sweet or vurnerable as much as she would like (tbh they both do, Nene just has it worse), so getting to see her all giggly and carefree makes Ichika really happy.

2. Who is ticklish in unusual places and where would that be?

I don't HC Ichika to be overly ticklish, just about average in the normal spots, so I don't think she'd have many. (Ankles? Maybe? If that counts), so that goes to Nene by default. I think her arms would be decently sensitive.

3. Who gets cheer-up tickles?

Nene really hates being tickled when in a bad mood, so if she gets cheer up tickles, it has to be like an hour after being cheered up in other ways. Ichika, however, loves it. If she's anxious or overthinking, she loves how being tickled is a nice distraction and a good way to get her out of her head and back into the real world.

4. Who takes advantage of the other one getting their arms stuck while taking off their shirt?

Neither of them would I don't think? Near the start of their relationship, they'd both be too scared to either initiate it, or as they get more comfortable with each other, scared of vengeance. I will say that Ichika is the more playful one and leave it there.

5. How did they discover each other’s ticklishness?

Emu told on Nene and Nene got revenge. Ichika and Emu would be just casually talking when Saki invited both of them to lunch or after a WxS show and Emu, not thinking for a second that Nene might want this kept a secret, would just say something like "Hey, did you know your girlfriend is super duper ticklish?" and Ichika would just laugh it off, not doing anything about it for fear of making Nene uncomfortable. A little later into their relationship, they'd be up late cuddling and talking about everything under the sun when Ichika mentions Emu and asks if it's true with a playful smirk and fingers barely ghosting her belly. Nene turns bright red and gets all defensive while Ichika tickles a little more before. Having her answer, Ichika would stop, foolishly lowering her defenses for Nene to destroy her in retaliation.

(wow that one got long lmao)

6. Who can’t take tickle bites?

Nene. If Ichika already has her in a position where she can receive the bites, she is already too far gone past the point of fighting.

7. Who has to be tickle-forced out of bed in the morning?

Again, Nene. She stays up far too late playing games and is consequently very grouchy and stubborn in the morning. She pretends to hate Ichika's method of solving that problem.

8. Who gives up in a tickle fight?

Nene has both the disadvantage of being significantly more ticklish, and having significantly less endurance. She's stubborn but not enough to override her body's natural weakness to tickling.

9. Who is in danger of getting hurt when attacking the other?

Ichika. Nene is less of a squirmer, more of a fighter. Though that's only if you get her REALLY bad. She can't help it but if Ichika is scribbling at her ribs, or God forbid verbally teasing her, she will push and shove as much as she can. Ichika is immensely glad Nene lacks a whole lot of physical strength. On the rare occasion Ichika ends up falling off whatever couch/bed, Nene does feel pretty bad. The pushing is, however, easily stopped by having her waist straddled/otherwise being put at a difficult angle to push at.

10. Who always provokes the other into tickling them and how?

Nene doesn't ever really have the active desire to be tickled, it's nice when it happens of course but she doesn't usually crave it. In addition, she is incredibly easy to provoke. Ichika has mastered the art of provoking her girlfriend into tickling her without actually upsetting her. Her secret is that all she has to do is tickle Nene without making her too weak to get her back.

[wellpresseddaisy]

The Demon Prefect Rides Again

Bertram Harroway put on his evening clothes as if headed to war. In a way, he was. It would be an emotional war, he supposed. He let his valet help him into his coat and glanced down at the letter from Vera Dalrymple that kicked the whole thing off.

Darling Bertie,

That certainly wasn’t what she’d called him when he found her in a compromising position with Hector Grantham in her fifth year. And Eliza Dearborne in her sixth.

As you are possibly the only person on this planet who can make Albus Dumbledore mind you,

He thought, perhaps, one other existed, but it didn’t do to dwell on Gellert Grindelwald. He’d never liked the little wart, no matter how infatuated Albus was with him.

could you please do something about him? I popped into town last weekend and ran into him in Diagon. He looks dreadful. And his robes!

Bertram sighed. He knew precisely what Vera meant.

He’s gone old on us. I know it started creeping up on him in the aftermath of That Man followed on by That Gobby Upstart in the seventies, but something is really, terribly wrong. I suspect a whacking great load of guilt and grief, but really, Bertie, he looks like a stiff wind will carry him off. He looks more like he’s in the middle of his two-hundreds than just past his first century.

Trust Vera to look at a dark lord terrorizing the country and call him a gobby upstart. He’d seen photos of Albus recently and he agreed with Vera. Voluminous robes only his so much and Albus always had been nervy, no matter what he pretended otherwise for the magical public.

Honestly Bertie, I’m worried. He’s always worked much too hard and taken on too much responsibility, but he’s never been so frail before. He wouldn’t even go to tea with me and there is little Albus Dumbledore loves more than a cream tea and a good gossip. He doesn’t go anywhere, either. He used to love the theater and I can’t remember when he last made up part of a theater party. I think he might be punishing himself, in some bizarre way.

That was the part that spurred him into action. A quick note to the Deputy Headmistress and he secured a Saturday evening away for Albus.

He isn’t researching and he won’t meet with friends and it’s as if all he’ll allow himself is duty. It can’t go on. It simply can’t, Bertie. You remember how he got after exams? We’re headed for a crash the likes of which we’ve never seen and I’m so frightened it’ll take him from us. You’re the only one I could think of who might get through to him. Our Vally needs the Demon Prefect to come out of mothballs.

He'd see what he could do. Vally Dumbledore (nicknamed for the way he’d valiantly come to the defense of anyone he thought wronged) was the most infuriatingly stubborn young man he’d ever met.

We’ll plan a little reunion for all of us this summer. Dahlia wants everyone to see her gardens, in any case. She’s doing some interesting things with roses these days. Or perhaps, if you can persuade Vally to take care of himself, we could make up a theater party. I hear the latest from that Carruthers girl is splendid fun.

With love and thanks,

Vera

PS It probably isn’t my place to say so, but I’m going to anyway. He always had. G.P. for you and you ought to have swept him off his feet, all Oxford-polished, before That Man had a chance to get his hooks in. You helped create this problem by being as obtuse as a box turtle, so you can fix it.

Bertie sighed and went down to the Floo room. He knew he bore some responsibility in never acknowledging his own feelings. He simply hadn’t thought it appropriate since he was a perfect and then Head Boy. He could easily have picked up their acquaintance once Albus left Hogwarts. Although…there came a point where Albus pushed everyone away after his mother died, when all those lovely plans he’d made fell through so he could care for his sister. He never really let any of them back in after.

He wondered if he could have made a difference there, kept Albus from ending up so cut off from the academia he loved that he clung to the only person able to keep up with him. They would never know, he supposed.

He checked his pocket watch and collected coat and hat from his hovering valet.

“Thank you, Deverell. Don’t feel the need to wait up if I’m late returning.”

“Of course, sir.” If he didn’t know better, he’d think his valet quietly judging him.

Most likely the man judged his early departure. If he knew Vally as well as he once did, it would take quite a bit of persuasion to rout him out of his office and make him dress properly, especially if Vera was right and he was somehow punishing himself for his failures, perceived or otherwise.

Vera, irksomely, was usually right.

As he stepped to the Floo and gave the direction, he wondered if he should bring his old slipper. It always made an impact on a  recalcitrant Vally.

-----------

Hogwarts hadn’t changed in the decades since his leaving. Like Oxford, she endured, only she housed grubby schoolchildren instead of grubby undergrads. Professor McGonagall sending him through the internal Floo system came as a surprise. He’d never really thought about the professors needing to get somewhere quickly before.

He stepped out into the Headmaster’s office and brushed the slight traces of soot from his clothes.

“Good evening, Vally.” He began.

Albus looked up sharply from a thick book propped on his desk.

“Bertram Harroway? What are…how…”

He ended by staring as if he couldn’t quite believe his eyes. Thankfully, he looked a good bit better than Vera described. Still too thin, of course, but he’d always forgotten meals or spent an hour just moving his dinner about his plate when in the grip of An Idea (or nerves). He looked as if he'd let go of some of the guilt and grief weighing him down. His hair, which had turned white practically overnight, had regained its more youthful ginger hue. The deep lines carved into his face by decades of worry seemed to have filled in. He looked more like he ought to look, like a non-magical of fifty or sixty instead of a man nearing the end of his life.

“Vera sent me, Vally. She said you’re getting old and could do with a bit of livening up. I thought you might like a night out. I have a box at the Savoy. They’re doing Pinafore at the moment and I know how you feel about well done G and S.” He moved into Albus’ office, helping himself to a chair when Albus continued to stare.

“Vera Dalrymple said she’d rather be boiled in Frederica Morningside’s failed potions projects than ever communicate with you again via any medium.” Albus finally spoke.

“I had just gated her for the rest of term. You can’t blame her for being distraught.”

“I couldn’t possibly go out on such short notice. This whole idea is patently ridiculous.” Albus nodded firmly, as if he’d made up his mind.

“You can go and get dressed right now is what you can do.” Bertram insisted. “The show starts at eight and I booked a table for supper after, at the Palace.”

“India Palace?” He at least looked interested at that. “It’s been quite some time since I’ve been there.”

The wistful note in his voice belied his firm refusal.

“It was the day you got Greta Saatchi’s autograph after standing in pouring rain for two hours and we spent a further two getting you properly warm again when you returned.” He chuckled at the memory.

How had they been that carefree?

Well, he hadn’t. He’d had to play the heavy when the miscreants tried to slip back into the castle with the Hogsmeade crowd, as if they hadn’t slipped off to London for a matinee and a curry. Albus shifted slightly, as if remembering Bertram’s method for warming him up.

“We were thrilled when you finally left to terrorize Oxford, did you know?”

“I’m sure you were. I’ve returned just to terrorize you, Vally, you know?”

“Oh how lucky am I.” Albus replied acidly. “I’m not going anywhere. I’ve decided.”

How well he remembered that rather sulky tone. He certainly heard it often enough.

“I suppose I could go and fetch my slipper if you need convincing? I don’t care to see Vera so distressed, you know.”

It wasn’t often that anyone shocked Albus Dumbledore into complete silence.

“You still have that…that thing?” It always entertained Bertram to see shades of their youth in his friends.

“Of course I do. It’s an exceedingly motivating piece of footwear. Now, be a good chap and go get dressed. Theater waits for no man and Professor McGonagall assured me you were overdue for a night out. Something about you working all hours?” He put a bit of the old Demon Prefect in that one, the same tone he’d used countless times when locating an Albus who quite forgot about such mundanities as curfews.

Albus was out of his chair and halfway to the door to his quarters when he stopped.

“What do you mean Professor McGonagall assured you?” he asked waspishly.

“Of course I wrote her first to ensure you could have a nice evening with an old friend. It’s no use organizing a surprise one can’t pull off in the end.”

Albus gaped at him. “You cannot just go about organizing the world as you please.”

“It’s worked for me thus far.” Bertram answered mildly. “Do go and get dressed, Vally.”

“I can go as I am.” Albus insisted.

“Oh no you are not. I know you own perfectly nice evening clothes. Go and put them on.” He cared very much for Albus, but he’d rather chew his own arm off than attend a public event with Albus wearing golden yellow robes patterned with swirling suns. “We aren’t leaving until you are attired to my satisfaction.”

Albus stared at him for a moment before turning, very clearly not stomping to the door, and entering his quarters. He shut the door just shy of a bang.

Bertram settled down, quite pleased with his evening’s work. They’d make the theater in a timely manner now, and he could treat Albus to a lovely meal after. He’d have to suggest Dahlia and Hitty invite a little party for dinner one evening. And perhaps Albus would join him for the theater more frequently now. Albus, now more than ever, needed the people who cared for him to pull together.

The feelings he once thought faded raised their heads again, like a parched garden in the rain.

[risu5waffles]

i Miss DoTENBori

i really do. i know it's gotten cleaned up a lot from when i first got to Osaka in 2004, it's grimy charm brushed and burnished off, but it still had that undertone of scuzziness that said it could all come back if the city took the day off upkeep.

Also, i needed a TEN for the title. Sue me.

We talked about this one the Friday before last, and i still like it for it's frenetic crufting. Maybe not the most polished version of the theme that i've played, but it's got a lot of heart to it.

The precursor to Rescuing the Monster's Child that we reviewed last month. It's mostly a gallery to showcase that bigass monster, but at least some work got put in that department, which is more than you can say for most galleries. The monster itself is, well, i mean, it doesn't do much; i think at this point in LBP, folx were still working out how to get large contraptions to reliably stand up and manage limited movement. It's still impressive, and cute in its own way, and i could appreciate it. i'm pretty sure there was an intended flow to this level that i completely fucked up by going further back in layer than what would have been possible in LBP1. Ope.

This is an earlier level by the kid who did Hello Autumn! a few entries up, and it's definitely the weaker of the two in my books. It's got swimming, and it's quite rare that i find LBP swimming to be all that enjoyable as a traversal mechanic. The cameras tend to be overly pulled back, and it just feels slow moving all-around. Like Hello Autumn, it's overburdened wiv prizes, so that was going to make it a hard sell wiv me as well. It still has that charm of a level the creator really enjoyed making, tho'; and i can enjoy it on that level at least. Some creators can really bring that feeling to the front in their work.

It will always feel a little wild to me to think LBP generates its own intracommunity drama. i mean, on one level, any group of people larger than two members is going to pick up some drama over its lifespan, but it's still, like... it's LittleBigPlanet. But there was a contest, and our own wonderful chronos453 won it, and some folx got really cheesed off. chronos showed me a few of the comments from the time (i was blissfully ignorant of it, as i usually am until years after the fact), and this level here got put forward by a number of them as the level that really should have won. So, thought i, let's have a look. It's not bad. Like, i love the look of it. Well executed sticker panel visual presentation can be very slick looking. Usually when, as we see here, it's the exclusive or at least primary element in play (another great example is in chrono's Demo series, or the menus in his Tower Defense level. Gods and fish, those menus are actual fire). The problems creep in in the game itself. It's exceptionally ok. Like, i think it'd work really well as an early mobile game (that is not a dig, mobile games got shittier and shittier the more companies realized they could be turned into money engines that looked like games, as opposed to games that might happen to generate money, if you ask me). You've got a keep ship moving until you take enough damage and die gameplay loop that is, at least, easy to get into. i found it a little too simple to engage my interest more than a few tries, and it really wasn't something i would find myself going back to wivout need. And it's a shame, because you can tell a lot of work went into putting it together. i have no doubt that Gilinator was quite serious about the project, and put in the hours; but this is a good level, not a winning level.

Here's the winning level. Honestly, despite one significant flaw, it's one of the best, if not the best survival challenges i've played in 15years of LittleBigPlanet. Elegant, stylish presentation. Gameplay that requires the player to be active and paying attention throughout. Quick to get into, and quick to restart when you've messed up (a point crhonos mentioned being a particular focus in his design of the level). Like, people complained that that was too much of an homage, and not original enough; and i would invite them to go back to the survival challenge in the Metal Gear dlc pack and tell me if this is not an improvement on that in every department. You could argue, and fairly, if this should have been first place; there's always room for that kind of conversation. You cannot argue in good faith that this isn't a top-notch level. However, i did mention a significant flaw. It is not in anything that the level does wrong, or a failing on the part of chronos as a creator. It's the simple fact that, maybe not for everyone but at least for me, using the Paintinator really starts to hurt after a while. i wonder about the susceptibility of people to RSIs. Like, it can't be a 100% thing, or else they'd be more well designed for. There are millions of folx working cash registers that i imagine come home fine after work, but when i was a kid my friend up the block's mum wound up needing multiple surgeries to try and fix up her fucked up wrist after a couple years of "help make the ends meet" work at JC Penny's. i bring it up because, like, Mm must have playtested the Paintinator. Even if it was a dlc and not, like, the main game, they would have had a team working on it. And then QA after. Did no one say "hey, ummm... my wrist kinda felt like it was on fire after the Metal Gear Rex fight"? And maybe they didn't, or maybe it was just one or two folx who complained, and that was deemed an acceptable risk by legal. Maybe i'm just one of the lucky ones i kind of hate that.

This level was... it was definitely a lot. Not, necessarily a bad a lot, just a lot. i really enjoyed the extremely "this is not a real place, but we'll treat it like a real place" cartoon environment vibe; like it manages to pull that off pretty well. i like that there were a couple of spots where you've got mechanical movement and interactions mixed in wiv behind-the-scenes logic, i'll always have a soft spot for those. The end feels like it could have used a little bit more wrap up, and i will almost always prefer a scoreboard to an adventure board, but that was all ok. But... for all that is good and holy, why did the creator put that arm-y enemy where it was, and why was it set up how it was? Like, that bit just kills any momentum the level has. It's such a pain in the arse to get over the arm, because it's kinda-sorta tracking you, and then the bounce pad puts you onto a wall jump that, if you're not careful, will throw you right back into the spikes on the arm. i was not a fan of that bit, i can tell you what.

Once again i have gotten to my Halloween content well after Halloween. It one of the dangers of doing things in advance. You'll record a bunch, and then only later when you're actually setting up the editing and uploads do you realize you've already set for videos all the way up to, like, a week after some upcoming event. This one was a fun little one. Great presentation, very charming, smooth gameplay. i don't know if it's strong enough to make me want to come back to, but definitely glad i ran into it this year.

Talked about this a little bit back, but it's still really good.

What do you even say about Ramp? The first. The best. Picked up Level of the Day yesterday (i am half convinced because i, in a roundabout way, reminded StevenI that it existed). Ramp is an honest hoot, and i found myself just laughing in delight. Thought, how haven't i archived this one yet? Why wasn't it the first LBsA episode? i mean, i know the reason it wasn't the first is i'd wanted that slot to go to chronos, but Ramp should have been number two by all rights.

i think First was EightWonder-'s first published in the actual release? 'cause Ramp was first-first. Still, this one's a great example of early-early LBP1 platforming, and i had a real good time wiv it. It's a little confusing in its pathing at times, and it's definitely super-kludgy, but it has such a "having a good time" vibe to it that it's hard not to love it. i appreciate it when folx get all srs biz in their creations (i don't necessarily mean that the tone is serious, just that they've clearly taken creation seriously), but i do love it when you see these levels that are, like, let's just have fun and throw everything at the wall and see what we end up wiv. As long as the result is sufficiently level as to be playable, it's always at least a little bit of a good time.

----------------------------------------------------------------

So that's the that for this set. Pretty good spread all in all, no real clunkers. i'm sorry for being late, again, but thing's have been life-shaped. Dealing wiv a lot of little health stuff. Mostly headaches and a lot of exhaustion. Nothing that has me, like, "maybe i should go to a clinic" kind of thing, but it's really got me worn down.

A quick reminder that @soupum is running a LBP stream for Palestine at twitch.tv/soupum . Drop on by and give him some love!

[pinkapparition]

Thank you for answering my question!!

First of all I would like to thank you for taking your time writing requests, it's really nice of you. Um, I also have never requested something for writing or anything really, so bare with me.

So, about the writing request. Could you write about the Plaid Princes? Maybe something related to Frederick's past (but Blaine and Lance is included)? (His trauma and stuffs)

Um, this is a little specific but I headcanon that Frederick has claustrophobia because of his past. So maybe something triggered his trauma and his brothers comfort him? This might be a little ooc for them but I just really wanna see them have a brotherly moment (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*.✧

- Familiar

- Hurt/comfort

Again, thank you for taking your time!!

Frederick never slept well anymore. At the academy, there was always the looming threat of his bullies banging at his door or throwing stones at his window to scare him. He’d jolt awake with a gasp and listen to the other boys’ laughter fade down the hallway. 

But at least he knew what was going on. He knew that they couldn’t reach him until daylight.

He thought so.

This time, he woke up not to a bang but to a crush. His lungs burned for air while familiar faces grinned down at him, the lid of a chest in their grip.

“Do you know how long it takes for a sunflower to wilt in the dark?”

And just like before, Frederick couldn’t move. His throat closed and his pulse pounded in his temples and it was happening again-

Until it wasn’t. Frederick screwed his eyes shut and suddenly he could breathe again, opened them and he was in his bed in his room. In the Plaid palace. He was sobbing between gasps, eyes darting around to search the dark corners of the room, but he was safe.

Summer break lasted another week, so he was untouchable until then. He tried to soothe himself with the thought, but the tears kept coming. He needed to check, just to be safe.

And so he found himself nudging open Lance’s bedroom door, hoping the sight of his older brother would reassure him that this was reality. He wasn’t expecting Lance to be awake, polishing fencing blades by lamplight while eating from a bowl of chips. His mind stalled when Lance looked up at him. How was he going to explain this?

Turned out, he didn’t need to. Lance took one look at Frederick’s tear tracks, his face twisting in concern, and then he stood up and opened his arms. “You good, little bro?”

Frederick thought that was a stupid question to ask, and he opened his mouth to say so - his only defense was sarcasm, after all - but when Lance advanced and hugged him, the only sound Frederick could make came from a fresh round of sobs. One of Lance’s hands pressed the back of Frederick’s head to his shoulder, while the other patted his back a little too hard for comfort. But he wouldn’t change a thing.

Lance guided Frederick down to sit on the floor, leaning against the side of his bed. “Be right back,” he promised quietly, footsteps already fading. The solitude didn’t last long as a blanket was thrown over Frederick’s shoulders. He peeked at it, noticing that it was his favorite crocheted one, a gift from the brothers’ grandma several years ago. Frederick was so glad he’d forgotten to pack it when he first arrived at the academy. His eyes widened a fraction of an inch when weight settled against him on both sides.

Looking to the left, he saw Lance gazing down at him and reaching a hand out to comb through his hair like he’d done when they were small. Back when Frederick had hidden in his room and cried every time Lance and Blaine left for the school year. Lance would always come find him and pet his head until he stopped crying, promising to send him letters and trinkets from the city.

On the right, Frederick was surprised to see Blaine. His eldest brother had never taken much interest in him, preferring to bask in praise from authority figures and his many admirers. Now there was a worried crease between his eyes and a book in his hands. “The Littlest Prince.” Frederick briefly wondered how Blaine had known his favorite book, but he was too tired to dwell on it. Blaine opened the book and began to read aloud.

At the end of the week, Frederick would pack his bags and go back to the academy. But tonight, his brothers were protecting him and sleep was coming easy.

[unknownjpegs]

waffle house

The girl behind the formica counter — which seems to Maran almost stereotypical in that it could have been yanked out of some nuclear-era movie set — likes him. He can tell. Finds him cute the way girls who think they might want to fuck him but aren’t quite sure yet find him cute. She twirls her hair as she hands him two menus.

“Just that’s good.” He hands one back, hooks a thumb over his shoulder to the man that she has so far completely ignored. “We’ll end up sharin’ anyway.” 

Her nose scrunches in distaste, eyes falling to Ben’s muddy combat boots and up, up to stringy rain-wet hair. When she seats them, she gives him another one of those looks. Ben switches his toothpick to the other side of his mouth and then leans out of the booth to shake his hair all over her uniform.

“Well now I’ve got to tip her twenty-five, Ben, thanks so much.” Maran mumbles.

“Or you could tip n-nothing.” He retorts, but Maran knows it’s for show. Despite the looming stress of his upcoming defense, he’s in particularly high spirits. They’ve had a good day — date day, every other Thursday because Ben’s got a particular study schedule. One of them picks and plans. For the last few weeks, they’ve spent the night ordering in and melting into Ben’s bed. Sometimes innocently, more often not. 

Final location of today’s date hadn’t been Maran’s idea, surprisingly. He tended to go for the corn-syrup related choices in all aspects of life, whereas Ben was a little more mature about sugar intake. 

“She’s going to spit in our food if you continue to be a prick.”

Ben offers him raised eyebrows, a filthy swipe of a tongue over his teeth. Maran rolls his eyes. He pretends to be engrossed in the menu when Benny gets up to glide around the table, move from across to right against Maran. He could resist the arm slung over his shoulders, tucking him closer into Ben’s side. He could. Really.

“I g-got a coupon code from Lark before we left.” Benny purrs in his ear, hand sliding to cup the back of his neck and squeeze. Talks as if he’s sharing the world’s most effective seduction line. And still, despite the ridiculousness, Maran shivers.

“You probably need the app.”

The nasty, suggestive expression on his boyfriend’s face turns immediately to disgust. 

“I don’t w-want to download an app.”

“It’s not like you could,” Maran snorts. “Didn’t you leave your phone in Noms’ purse?”

“One of them.” Benny intones solemnly before crossing himself (Maran is pretty sure it’s the wrong way) and sighing. “Rest in fucking p-peace. I’ll never find that thing now.”

Maran flips the page of the menu. “Too bad. This morning, when you were in the shower? I sent you this picture—“

“Text Nomi and ask her to l-look for it.”

He laughs, fighting the whiny pleading and pawing hands that follow. He pretends, once again, that the menu’s taken up all his attention; dramatically, highly deliberative even though he knows from Xavier’s advice: the only true first judge of a breakfast place is the chocolate chip pancake.

*

Ben’s final piece of bacon disappears around the second plate of pancakes Maran orders. 

“Swear,” he says, slumping back into the seat and Benny’s chest, “I could polish a whole other plate of those little fuckers.”

“You’re going to c-crash so hard later.” Ben says. It’s nearly all tease, but the note of genuine worry always weaves beneath. Maran turns his head and presses a kiss just beneath his collarbone in gratitude.

“Until then I think all that sugar unlocked like thirty percent more of my brain.” 

He tilts his face up, briefly making eye contact with the waitress — and the cook beyond the counter, and another patron across the diner, and someone standing outside smoking— before Ben leans over him. Hair falls into his face, tickles his nose, and suddenly he’s overtaken by that wintery blue. 

“I’m putting you in s-sugar rehab.”

“Our version of Candyland didn’t have that part of the map.” Maran jokes. “Must be an American thing? That and the big overcrowded prison of gingerbread people.” 

Ben squeezes his cheek and holds his head still for a kiss. It’s neither slow nor chaste enough to be given in public, but Maran doesn’t pull away until it’s done. His face is hot from the attention, his fingers twisting the fabric of Ben’s awful printed shirt at his waist. 

“You are so f-fucking hot for that.” Ben smacks a loud, obnoxious one to his forehead. “Benji laid the g-g-groundwork. Bless that loser.”

Maran scoots away. The attention is overwhelming — he doesn’t mind it. Loves it, really. Ben is sometimes just too — he’s so him, right there in Maran’s face. Unapologetic and nasty, even if he keeps his voice down. Possessive, even if he hides those little touches behind or beneath something. And if anyone saw — 

What? Maran imagines him saying. If anyone saw, what? They’d know? Know that I touch you like that and worse when we’re alone? Know you like it? That you beg for it, sometimes?

Maran blinks rapidly: first at the pattern on Ben’s shirt, the cuffed sleeve that reveals the inky tapestry of his forearm, then at his syrupy plate, his sweating glass of water. 

“Okay I — I’m going to. I’m going to go to the bathroom, yeah? And then when I come back, uh.” He pats Benny’s knee, nudging patiently then incessantly when he makes no effort to move.

“Uh?”

“We can practice your defense intro, yeah? That’s the part I heard you doin’ earlier.”

Ben’s turn to look at him with that far-off, misty sort of stare. The arm around his shoulders drops suddenly to his waist, and Maran has to fight not to be dragged into his lap. 

“Fuck off,” Maran snorts, trying to contain his laughter so the poor employees and other diners don’t get more of an annoying show than they already have. Except Benny’s on the outside of the booth. Yanking ath him, genuinely trying to wrestle him into place, and Maran only narrowly escapes. He scoots across his lap, legs hooked into the aisle between their spot and the bar. Maran rocks his hips back, spine arching (diversion positioning himself better to escape, of course).

Ben grunts and his hands drop their hold briefly. No doubt with the intention of putting them somewhere else Maran will barely be able to withstand. 

Instead, he takes the opportunity to push away, wrench himself free.

“You’re nasty.” Maran accuses, once standing outside the booth. He’s a little out of breath from the wrestling. He points his finger down at Ben, who darts forward to swipe his tongue around it. Maran makes a noise and then snatches his hand away, clutching his own wrist. “Nasty.”

“Hurry back.” Ben says. “So I can p-pull out my flash cards to show you.” 

When he gestures obscenely between his legs, one ankle folded over his knee, Maran groans in disappointment. And also maybe like, a tiny bit of anticipation.

*

Waffle House bathrooms, as it turns out, are not the pinnacle standard of cleanliness. Maran stands in front of the big cracked mirror, debates a moment, then uses the corner of his hoodie to turn the faucet off. 

“Changed my mind.”

“Fuckin’ —“ Maran sucks in a breath, hand over his heart when he spots Ben’s head peeking in the door. “Did you…Ben, I wasn’t gone two minutes!”

“I m-missed you.” Ben mopes. He slinks around the corner. If there’s a lock on the door, Maran doesn’t hear it get turned. “And I was sitting there thinking: oh fuck. Maran w-will lose out on the most important part of a Waffle House visit if I don’t commit to making it happen for him.”

Maran narrows his eyes suspiciously, but the slowly growing grin can do nothing but remain firmly in place. 

“Fight?”

“Close.”

“Kitchen burns down?”

“C-Colder.”

Maran huffs. He lets arms wind around his waist from behind, settles his own hands on Ben’s wrists. “I give up.”

“That was two fucking guesses, Mar.” Ben laughs against the nape of his neck. The warm puff of breath makes Maran shiver once again, his nails digging briefly into tattooed skin. “Oh, nasty. Are you getting hot for it right now? H-Here? In fucking Waffle House?”

Maran glares at him in the mirror. “What’s the experience.”

Ben’s eyes darken. Swallow up a bit of that pretty color, become lidded and shark-like over his shoulder. One of his hands slips up Maran’s stomach (absolutely maddening) to touch his cheek. They both watch his hand trace that path, watch Maran’s double go slack jawed for a gasp when it settles around his reflection’s neck.  

“Making out in the bathroom.”

He throws his hands up in the air, exasperated. “Seems like that might be a you thing. How many times —“

“None,” Benny says in a falsetto. “You’d be my first, tee-hee.”

Maran rolls his eyes again, squirming in his grasp so he’s held a little tighter. When Ben’s thick arm locks around his waist, his other flexing over Maran’s throat, he has to fight a whine. There’s a shiver of sensation under the skin, up his arms. Goosebumps follow it, then heat. He’s always hated when someone pulled or yanked on him to get him to slow down, stop, go somewhere else. Felt a bit like he was the punchline of a joke he didn’t have the privilege of being in on. Look at Maran, head off somewhere, better lead him around.

With Ben, with Nomi and her fucking trunks full of tantalizing stuff, Maran doesn’t feel any of that. With Ben restraining him, a hand that could turn mean or nice with every breath, he just feels…held. 

He should put up more of a fight about it. The bathroom is nasty; when he tips his head back, loose because he’s been dizzily hypnotized already, he spots a strange mold spot in the top corner of the ceiling. 

“Gross.”

Ben drags a hand down his chest, fingers rubbing little circles the closer they press towards his hipbones. “You would fuckin’ hate New York. It’s this times a thousand.”

“I’d like it,” Maran says thoughtfully, dreamily. He rubs his cheek on Ben’s shoulder, catches his gaze in the mirror from the corner of his eye. “You like it, right? So can’t be all bad.”

The world shifts in the pause that follows his worse. Maran finds himself suddenly facing Ben instead, his hands clutching the sink’s edge as he’s lifted. 

“Real fucking unsanitary.” Maran says breathily, chest heaving. With ankles locked behind Ben’s back, he finds balance on the porcelain. 

“I-I would gargle a gallon of that toilet water if it meant I got to go anywhere n-near your cock.” 

Maran’s entire face scrunches in disbelief. “Holy shit. Now that’s the worst of the lot you’ve come up with so far. Nah, like, ever. Not with toilet water mouth you won’t.”

Ben leans forward, jerks Maran tighter up against his body until the press of their chests is inevitable. He makes filthy, loud smacking noises. Purses his lips and tries to go for Maran’s cheek, his mouth, his neck. He kicks and squirms until that hand lifts back up to his neck.

“Hold still.” Ben says, eyes locked to his lips. “Open your mouth.”

Maran’s lips curl “Well, which is it? Hold still or open, ‘cuz I’d be breakin’ one of the rules, then and—“

The fingers on his neck pinch in just slightly. Maran cuts off in a gasp, his hips jerking against Benny’s stomach. He doesn’t share the demand (command, Maran’s steam-cooked brain offers) again, but somehow there authority of that absence is enough to make Maran’s mouth drop open. 

He stretches his tongue out too, sort of out of expectation, but judging from Ben’s ragged groan he hadn’t expected it. He puts their mouths together for a kiss the same way he always does; hovering just slightly before that first press, waiting. He likes when Maran leans in for the last bit of distance, and Maran likes taking it up.

They kiss and kiss, standing in that mirror. Messy and vulgar until Maran’s lips and chin feel wet, his cheeks burning. They kiss until he figures normal people would get tired of kissing, but he feels like that’s impossible with Ben. Every time he thinks he knows what to do, what to anticipate, he’s surprised. Like now: Ben urges him to tilt his head back with nosing kisses up the center of his throat. His hand returns. Pauses — Maran touches two fingers to the center of his chest and grins. Benny groans…then squeezes a little and devours Maran’s mouth. His vision shakes gently at the edges, that edging black before he’s released and all the color jolts back in. 

Maran moans, hands to get between their bodies and press over where he twitches in his pants. But if Ben keeps moving against him, thigh wedged between and fingers lovingly petting over the slope fo his shoulder, Maran won’t have a choice but to leave the bathroom hard.

Or— or Benny is going to make him— 

Maran gulps, his brows pinching together. Ben must recognize something about the sound because they kiss again with plenty words of encouragement.

“Fuck. Were the chocolate chip waffles that good?” Ben teases, his pleasant, looping accent right to Maran’s ear.

“I’m going to…Ben, if you do that again, I might—“ 

“I know.” Benny says triumphantly. His fingers curl around Maran’s throat for a split second before falling away entirely. His hand flattens down Maran’s chest, fingers tucked into the waistline of his jeans.

“But I’m thinking of this one p-position and we kind of need the car if we’re going to get your legs—“

Maran yelps and twists away, slipping from between his arms to slap a hand over Ben’s swollen mouth. His facial hair is pleasantly rough beneath his fingertips, and Maran has his curse strike thrice— he shivers. Violently.

“You were just moaning like you were dying, and you think someone’s going to hear me say that?” Ben’s question is muffled beneath his hand.

“Shut up.” Maran hisses. He glances back at the door then at Ben. Sheepishly. Because he still wants. “I wasn’t being that loud. I wasn’t. I was just…”

“Begging for it. You taste like chocolate right now, Maran. I don’t know why but it kind of makes me want to fuck your mouth?”

“Okay!” Maran yells, his voice echoing off the tile walls. He rights his shirt and then Benny’s, who stands surprisingly still while all of him is fixed. Maran fusses and fusses, no doubt distracting himself so that the blush will fade before they leave. He isn’t, unlike Benny, around the obvious red mark under his left ear. Undeniably mouth-shaped. 

“Actually I’m feeling kind of sleepy after all those carbs, yeah? Let’s skip the, uh, studying. Practice. We can just go right to the car, right? And go back to yours so fast? Like, so fast?”

On their way out, Maran doesn’t mention the total on the receipt. Ben’s math is never wrong, but the number on the tip line reads something closer to thirty percent.

[dritapower]

Jupiter hell developer

You could say that the perk trees are organised in three tiers – basic, advanced and master perks. For example, while Hellrunner (improved dodge and faster movement) is available to both the marine and the scout, the scout is likely to employ that perk in many more builds, because dodging is his primary defensive measure. There are some perks that are shared among the classes, for example all three gain access to Whizkid, which improves equipment modding, but the potential for using those perks differs significantly among them. So like I said, a bit all over the place. His perks, on the other hand, let you hack bots from a distance (or even summon them), become the toxic avenger, improve the passive skills, entrench with automatics or heavily specialise into pistols. Apart from that, the technician uses inventory items (such as grenades or medkits) faster and can dismantle modified gear to extract modpacks from it. His class resource is power, which lets him activate a smokescreen around himself for a quick getaway, and it’s replenished by collecting power orbs from destroyed mechanical enemies. The technician’s theme is hard to define, and his abilities are a bit all over the place. The scout’s perk tree includes all manner of abilities that leave you safe from harm – increased dodge chance, shooting on the move or long-range sniping – but also utility talents that mark places of interest on your minimap upon entering a level. Stealth is on a cooldown and requires energy to activate, which you replenish by opening supply crates. His special ability is stealth, which makes him invisible for a short while and turns all attacks into critical hits – though attacking will typically break stealth. The scout focuses on avoiding getting hit. Other than that, the marine’s perk tree focuses mostly on taking a beating and not dying – through damage reduction, increased health, better healing and so on. But perks can unlock more uses for fury, such as a short burst of speed. By default, consuming fury will heal you a bit and remove all pain (more on that later). His special ability is ‘fury’, which is a resource accumulated as you kill stuff. The marine favours brawn over everything else. All three differ very significantly in terms of gameplay due to their exclusive special abilities and perk trees. The classes are marine, scout and technician. First you choose one of the five difficulties, from easy to nightmare, then one of the three available character classes, and you’re good to go. Starting the game doesn’t offer too many headaches. Now grab your minigun, there are demons here to smite. You are a lone marine blasting through an otherworldly invasion on the moons of Jupiter, while your ultimate objective is to go to hell and kill Satan. To offer a brief introduction into the game at large, you can just assume that everything in Jupiter Hell is a variation on Doom. Note that, as I said above, DoomRL is my only real experience with roguelikes, so I can’t tell you how Jupiter Hell fits in the genre at large, and most of the comparisons I’ll be making here will be with reference to its predecessor. Now the time has come to subject it to a critical examination. This was very much to my liking, because frankly speaking, DoomRL might be the only roguelike that I ever really enjoyed, so having more of it in some new fashion was a very welcome perspective.Īfter spending some time stewing in early access, it was finally released for real in 2021. Its development followed a successful Kickstarter campaign in 2016, which was started because the Polish fellow who made the original, freeware game, decided he would like to finally earn some potato from it.Īnyhow, everything seemed to point that Jupiter Hell would be little more than DoomRL with a new paint job. Jupiter Hell is the successor to the acclaimed Doom, the Roguelike (or, depending on whom you ask, DoomRL D**m, the Roguelike or DRL – trademark infringement is a hanging offence these days). Warhammer 40,000: Rogue Trader Dev Diary #1.George Ziets on RPG Design and the State of Digimancy at GameBanshee.Dungeons of the Amber Griffin is a dungeon crawler about Ancient Pomeranians.Retro RPG Nox Archaist getting Lord of Storms expansion pack next March.Swords and Sorcery: Sovereign resurfaces, tentatively releasing in Q4.Underrail: Infusion Dev Log #5: Character Model Customization.Colony Ship Early Access Update: New Location - ECLSS.THQ Nordic Showcase 2022: Gothic Remake and Jagged Alliance 3.Broken Roads now being published by Versus Evil, coming in 2023.Mount & Blade II: Bannerlord releasing on October 25th.Pentiment releasing on November 15th, now available for preorder.Pathfinder: Wrath of the Righteous - The Treasure of the Midnight Isles DLC Released.Lost Eidolons releasing on October 13th.

[lale-txt]

Okay but like, Smoker, Law, Rayleigh, and Katakuri (you can add your fave DILFs) reacting to their s/o talking about "mass murder" and "self defense" in their sleep?? Pls they'd probably just yeet me out the window thinking I'm a demon

god they definitely would. i would too. but i have some more thoughts on this so here we gooo! two of my favorite dilfs were already included so i'll go with those.

💭 Smoker, Law, Rayleigh & Katakuri reacting to their chaotic sleeptalking s/o

Smoker

this man would be absolutely terrified

his sunshine, his little angel, the apple of his eye— probably possessed by some demon

slowly slides off the bed without blinking to grab some sea stone handcuffs, his jitte and maybe a taser

he would watch you from a safe distance, but will get closer once he realizes that you're just talking and also mumbling his name in between

he's probably praying that you're not dreaming about fighting him because he is confident in his abilities but not 100% sure that he could win against you after what he just heard

on a second thought he thinks it kind of cute, the thought alone that you're dreaming about him (blending out the other stuff, like "arson" or "self defense", he will deal with that later)

once you stop mumbling and after stress chain smoking half a pack of cigars at once, he will crawl back to bed with you, waiting a bit longer to make sure you're not starting to talk again, then he will fall asleep again too

still, the hand cuffs stay on the nightstand. just in case.

Law

pre timeskip Law would be either just ROOM you out of the Polar Tang into the ocean or rub his tattooed hands together, plotting the next big crime and chaos with you

"okay babe, you've got some great ideas, now here are mine. the best way is to just shamble out their hearts and crush it"

post timeskip Law would more be like... 👁️👄👁️

this poor man only gets approximately 2,5 hours sleep per night and you've robbed him of those too. are you proud of yourself?

he might ponder of the idea on suffocating you with a pillow

"mass murder this, mass murder that. how about one murder?"

he still loves you though so he'll practice sleeping with his eyes open and a knife in his hands

which leads to a lot of confusion at times you wake up to go pee

"what weird kink now, doctor?"

"before i explain myself, maybe you should first, y/n-ya. first: what the actual fuck"

he genuinely tried his best to hide his worries about you and your sleeping behaviour, not wanting to scare you or make you feel bad about them (he knew too well how hard finding a good sleep is), but the growing dark circles under his eyes spoke a different language

in the end he would just adapt to you, channeling his inner pre timeskip Law, making it two of you who talked about destruction and mass murder in their sleep

needless to say Bepo and the rest will barricade your bed room door and pray for their lives

Rayleigh

Rayleigh would be very entertained

at this age, nothing can shook this man anymore. he has seen it all.

listening to you talking in your sleep would be a lot like listening to true crime podcasts for him (most of the crimes he committed himself)

he would probably take notes so he can present you an even more polished plan for when you wake up

because you remembered nothing the next morning, he would give you a detailed update over coffee and waffles on what happend in your dreams last night, not sparing any detail

"so what's this plan for mass murder"

"babe, are you sure just aiming for their necks is the best way"

"you know i can be your mentor in those kind of things, right? yes, we can still fuck."

he would not be scared away and would pull you closer at night, gently patting your head as you mumbled the darkest fantasies against his broad chest

maybe it would even be a bit of a turn on for him

you, his little doll, the one that melted under his touch every time, was ready to commit crimes just like he did in his young days

so yeah, maybe after all he will become your mentor in those kind of things, preparing to unleash a beast into the world

a beast that would still want cuddles and kisses and some light choking every now and then because even arsonists have needs

Katakuri

stressing out this man is a hard task but you do it with ease with your sleep talk

at first he wouldn't believe his ears, wondering if those words were coming from somewhere else, but no, it's you, the light of his life, the one he would protect with all his heart

he would find himself wondering were you hid all those violent thoughts from him when you're awake, you were a little ball of sunshine after all whenever you were together

find him in front of the fridge, stress eating after midnight whenever you start mumbling about "self defense" and "making it look like an accident"

overall he is not worried about his life. granted, he could just eat you up with one big gulp, but he was worried about you

which demons were you fighting in your sleep? were you the demon after all?

because that was an enemy he could never fight

during another heavy sleep talking night (something about "mass murder" again), he would gently shake you until you wake up, hunched over you with worried eyes

"is everything alright, my love? you seemed a bit... active in your sleep."

"what do you mean, you tall mochi man? i just had the best dream, let me go back" you would mumble, still sleep drunk, and turn around with your back facing him, crawling back into sleep

you're wondering why he had those dark circles under his eyes as you both sat at the breakfast table, because obviously you remembered nothing

rip his poor soul

in the end things got better when you found out that those sleep talks only happened on days he ate the last donut, leaving you with crumbs only. you're getting an extra donut now every time, making those hungry demons inside of you stay away

[magalidragon]

priceless | a fic tease | 🤿 🏝 🌺 🔱🐉

As a “hey I’m sorry I’ve been gone and all that stuff”, here is a little tease to something I have been working on for the @snowxstormworld Jonerys Summer Event! I hope it will at least have one chapter done by then! And I actually posted the moodboard exactly one year ago 😂 It’s here

Jon gasped, eyes springing open, the water gone, the image of the girl he'd been swimming towards gone, and the person looking down at him happened to not be a person exactly, but the face of a scowling girl, with pinched silver brows and a wrinkled button nose. Her lips were in a tight line and if he was seeing correctly-- he might not have been as he blinked away sleep-- her eyes were a shade of violet he'd only ever seen in books or movies.

He flailed, gathering his bearings, and recognized the water around him wasn't water, but the salty morning air off the Narrow Sea, and he was asleep on a bench, with his backpack under his head for a pillow and the little wolf puppy he'd found abandoned in a tree stump near the Riverlands sitting atop his chest, licking his chin and waiting for breakfast scraps. He glared up at the girl, who had unceremoniously awoken him from his rather nice dream. "What the seven hells? Who are you?"

"Who are you?" she retorted. She snorted, crossing her arms over her chest, leaning back on her leg. It was a pose meant for an angry mother, not a little girl, and she snapped at him, "You're asleep on a bench outside my house. I get to ask the questions."

Who was this girl? He sat up carefully, holding the pup he'd named Ghost to his chest to keep from falling off, but the little traitor was scratching his chest, straining his neck towards this girl. She tried not to smile at the pup, keeping her face on him, pretending to be fierce. "I'm no one," he muttered. That's what they told him all the time in Winterfell.

She cocked her head, her face softening, lips pursing into concern rather than disdain. "How old are you?"

"What's it matter?" he demanded, immediately defensive. "You gonna' turn me in?"

"No. I've always wanted to meet a runaway." She held her hand out. "Dany."

"That's a boy's name."

"It's my name. Daenerys, if you prefer." She smirked, arms going across her chest again. "But something tells me that might be too hard for a Northern boy to say."

He glared, his gray eyes flashing silver in annoyance. "I can say it."

"So say it."

"Daenerys," he retorted, putting emphasis on each syllable, mocking her. She chuckled, shrugging as if to say 'well played.' He set Ghost on the ground and the pup scampered to her feet, licking her toes. She was barefoot on the pier's hot wooden planks. In fact, she was dressed only in a purple one-piece bathing suit and a pair of cutoff jean shorts, her hair-- indeed, silver-- knotted in braids behind her head. There were purple sunglasses holding the braids back from her face, perched atop her head. Another glance down at Ghost licking her feet and he noted purple was also the color of her nail polish.

Daenerys-- Dany-- cocked her head. "You shouldn't be sleeping on a bench," she chasisted. Her arms fell to her sides. "Come on."

"You're not turning me in?" He couldn't believe he hadn't been cuaght by security. Part of why he'd stowed away on the ferry from King's Landing to Dragonstone was because he wanted to get on a ship out to Essos, but on Dragonstone, well...he was as far away from the North as he could be and he knew no Northerner would dare set foot on an island purported to be inhabited by dragons. They were a superstitious untrustworthy lot. Not even Ned would come this far in looking for him, if he even gave a shit.

She waved her hand, snorting. "Naw, I don't care. But you're asleep in front of my house and I want you gone before my brother finds you. He might call you in."

"What if I'm a murderer?"

"You're not a murderer."

"How do you know?"

"You're like my age," she laughed. She picked up the puppy, cuddling him under her chin, squealing. "And you have this cute little thing! No way a murderer has a dog this cute."

He rolled his eyes; girls. "How old are you anyway?" he wondered, getting up and stretching out the kinks in his back from the bench. It was more comfortable than the ground, that was for sure, but not by much. He didn't fancy getting swept out to sea which was why he'd avoided the beach.

"Fifteen. You?"

"Sixteen."

A perverse shot of pleasure twisted his smile when she wrinkled her nose, obviously annoyed he had her beat. She pursed her lips. “What are you doing here?”

“None of your business.”

“Kinda is because I could report you for trespassing.”

“Dock is public.”

“Not this dock.” She pointed to a sign posted above the bench beside his. He read it, scowling.

BALERION PROPERTIES, LLC

NO TRESPASSING AFTER DARK

“Balerion?” he read. “That’s a dragon.”

Her ego, if possible, swelled. “The biggest dragon known to man. Aegon the Conqueror was his rider.” He knew all that, but still didn’t really answer his question. The girl stretched her arms around herself, jerking her head to the big building behind them. “Come on, let’s go inside.”

He stiffened, voice soft. “You aren’t turning me in?”

She snorted. “No, not if you come with me.” She set off, marching towards a large stone building beside the dock, which as he approached behind her, was older than it initially appeared, with moss and water stains creeping through the uneven black brick.

He cocked his head, noting that there was an odd shimmer to the stone. The girl, Dany, puffed up again. “Dragon glass. It’s all over the island.”

“Cool.” He was fascinated by old things, especially ones that you had to dig out of the ground. At the top of the steps to the main entrance, he lightly touched the stone. It was cold. “Wow,” he murmured.

“Come on!”

Seven hells she was annoying. Jon ground his teeth and followed the little queen, lest she burn him alive or something.

[kingsansa]

prompt request : lemon cake - pumpkin eater

Sweet tooth

word count: 1005

tags: pumpkin eater compliant, high school au, established relationship, sick fic (kinda), could be read as a stand-alone

“I don’t want you to go.” Sansa mumbles against his skin.

She’s got her face buried in his neck and her leg draped over his waist—well pushing beyond pushing the envelope with her door cracked open—so she cant see his face. But she can hear the incredulity that colors his tone.

“I just got here.”

Ten minutes ago, as soon as he got off of work. He isn’t wearing his uniform and he doesn’t smell like pizza, so she can tell he showered before he came over, which made her irrationally angry, because that left them less time to spend together. But he also brought a slice of lemon cake and Tylenol for her cramps.

After polishing off her dessert, it didn’t take her long to come around.

“But you said you can only stay for a little while.” She wraps her arms around him tighter, like that will keep him from leaving.

“Because it’s late,” He says back, “and I have to go home at some point.”

His fingers stroke the back of her head, as if to soothe the burn of his perfectly reasonable logic.

Sansa doesn’t feel like being reasonable at the moment. She nuzzles into him even deeper.

“Why?”

She can hear the laugh he’s trying hard not to release. Not hard enough, clearly. She strongly considers biting him, because this isn’t a laughing matter. But that would probably make him laugh even more.

“Because I don’t live here.” He answers, patient.

Sansa adjusts so that she’s propped up on his chest, eyes meeting his so he’s exposed to the full force of her most pitiful pout.

“Say you’re sleeping over with Robb.” She folds her hands underneath her chin.

She’s half joking and half not, and she knows that he knows it from the way he snorts, but drags his fingers up and down the nape of her neck.

“Your parents would laugh in my face. And my parents might be cool but they aren’t that cool.”

His parents would be more likely to laugh in his face. Her mom would likely sputter with disbelief, and her dad would probably throw him out on his ass without another word.

And he actually likes him. So.

Sansa scowls, and lifts up his sweatshirt, pulling it over her head. He isn’t wearing a shirt underneath, and his skin is warm.

“Then I’ll stay in here and you can take me home with you.”

Her cheek is pressed against his stomach and his life vibrates the entire side of his face. She nips at his hip, and he jolts, laughing even more.

“I’m serious.” She insists, moving up so her cheek is against his collarbone.

“Fuck,” He flinches, laughter receding, “Your hands are freezing.”

“Are not.” She slips her hands underneath his back, where it’s nice and warm, wiggling her fingers.

Jon arches his back off the bed, choking on a hiss,“Dude—”

Sansa rears back, sweatshirt slipping off her head, mussing up her hair, but she doesn’t care. She glares at him, “Dude?”

“I meant—angel. Sweetheart. Darling.” He amends his statement hastily, hands finding her hips, where she’s trying to dismount from him. “Love. Petal. Baby.” Then again, because he feels her waver, “Baby.”

Sansa resumes leaning into him, body stiff, until his arms wrap around her, and she has no choice but to relax, because it’s instinctual, whenever and however he touches her.

“Petal?” She says into his chest, voice as baffled as it is muffled.

“I panicked.” He says defensively. She can feel him cringe underneath her. “It’s what my dad calls my mom when she’s mad, sometimes.”

Her heart squeezes at that. At the thought of them being like his parents one day. Hers too. Married in a big house with kids. In her parents case, way too many to spare.

The thought makes her eyes water and burn, and she turns her face so that she isn’t facing him.

She can’t wait until she’s off her freaking period.

“Where are you going?” Jon tugs at her ponytail gently, beckoning her to face him. “What are you thinking about?”

She’s thinking about the rest of her life with him. She’s 16, they’ve only been dating for four months—even though she’s known him for a lot longer than that—and she is actively thinking about spending the rest of her life with him.

And what’s crazier is that for a moment, she thinks about telling him.

His hair is falling into his eyes and he’s giving her that look, the same one he’d given her a couple days before Christmas in the backseat of his car when she told him she was sure and he knew she wasn’t. That same moment he told her that he’d love her regardless and that same moment her heart fell out of her chest, because it had been two months since they started dating and it was the first time he ever said the words aloud. And she said it back.

Because she loves him.

And no matter what college he goes to or how many months they have before he leaves, they have time.

Instead, she says: “Would you still love me if I was a worm?”

Jon’s brow creases in the middle, and his mouth parts. The hand on her hip comes up to cup the back of her head, as if he’s making sure she hadn’t somehow gotten a concussion.

“What?”

Before Sansa can reply, the cracked door widens.

It’s Robb, hair damp from basketball practice and eyes narrowed in suspicion. At the sight of them, her half sprawled on the body of his best friend, he gags, fist ti his chest.

“You guys are fucking disgusting,” Robb groans, turning on his heel to right back where he came from. He leaves the door exactly as it is: wide open. “DAAAAAAAAAD!”

Jon goes to sit up, clearly petrified, but Sansa is already leaping off of the bed, cramps and all, to shut him up, wrapping her arms around Robb’s big fat stupid neck.

[minshookie]

Pillow Fight.

Pairing |Bully!Jungkook x reader

Genre | smut, angst.

Summary | “Another day spent babysitting your bully’s little sister...you should really quit but the pay is just too good.”

!warnings! | 18+ mature language, bullying, mentioned sexual acts, mentions of past bullying, NON-CON,financial struggle, Jungkook is a really shitty big brother.

| this is not in anyway shape or form a true depiction or representation of BTS, this is a work of fiction and is not to be taken seriously. For entertainment purposes only.|

(this is my work, please don’t repost or steal)

Requested [open for request] words: 1k.

A/N: I rewrote this so many times! Lmfaoo! Buuut get ready because some of requests yall sent in are 🥵🥵.

“Orange is your best color.” Aera chirped dragging the paint drowned brush along your pinky nail. “I think you’re just saying that because it’s your favorite.” The young girl giggles continuing to color your fingertips. “Uhm are you staying all night miss y/n?” Nodding you brushed back her wild strands of hair softly with your free hand. “Soooo like a sleep over?!” She squeals closing the bottle of nail polish, her eyes glittering as she gazes into yours intent for answers. “Yeah!” You matching her energy only made her more excited, “yay! And-and can Jungkookie Oppa come?!” She bounced on her knees smiling ear to ear, fumbling over her words.

“Oh...Jungkook huh... Hmm what about no boys aloud?” You planted the idea praying she’d take the bait as you started cleaning her toy makeup, giving her a chance to think it over.

“What? Jungkook isn’t a boy, he’s my brother!” Giggling she pounced from the couch striding towards his room. At this point all you could do is laugh at her innocent lack of logic. She looks so happy who are you to burst her little bubble, for all you know Jungkook might want nothing to do with the both of you and your little mock slumber party.

Closing the toy purse you hid it back away in the large toy chest she pulled from her room, leaving it open you cleared the floor of the multicolored blocks and dolls. A whisper of a laugh escapes your lips as you overhear Aera’s begs and pleas mixed with Jungkook’s refusals....but finally the door creaks.

Please no. “Y/n, guess what?!” She drags your name out as her small foot steps pitter the floor, Jungkook’s thudding. She comes down the hall pulling Jungkook by his middle finger. “As if you weren’t undesirable enough, neon nails really helped it out.” Grumbling he throws himself on the couch you just tidied up. “Nice to see you again too Kook.”Aera bounced on her toes watching us have confrontation, unaware of the negative connotations.

Truth is you hadn’t seen Jungkook since you left for college and you hadn’t planned on seeing him ever again...that is until relationships fell apart, your roommate left and things got hard to pay for, and you were two bills away from being homeless. the job up at university paid $9.50 an hour while the busy Jeons still offered $12.00 the choice was clear. Take a little break, live with family, get back on your feet, and try again. But little did you know Jungkook decided to stay local with his schooling.All this aside the work was easy since Aera had grown a bit, but the thought of dealing with the person that made your life hell for four years made you want to quit daily.

“Can I do your nails Too?!” “No Aera, now be cute and get me something to drink.” He orders putting his feet on the coffee table eyeing you up and down,disgustingly. “No Aera I’ll get it.” You grabbed her shoulder. “No y/n! I’ll do it, I’ll do it quickly!” Setting free she bolted for the kitchen.

“So, you went to college got broke and came back sniveling to my rich parents?” You rolled your eyes, looking in the direction of the kitchen for any sign of Aera. “I thought you would’ve out grown your asshole phase, that’s very high school of you Kook.” He scoffed defensively, “and you using babysitting as your main income is high school of you, what happened your little rapper boyfriend leave you high and dry?” “You shut the fuck up.” You snapped back my reflex. He held his hands up in defense, “Suga blew up and left you in the shit show not my fault.” We argued in hushed tones as Aera ran back into sight.

“Here you go kookie!” She handed Jungkook the can of Coke, heaving for air. “Aera this is warm, cold...I want something cold, go try again.” He handed her the can, “oh okay Oppa sorry!” And off she was back down the hall. He turned back to me, “why’d he leave you...couldn’t make him bust?” you tried to hide it but his words stung, you’d been avoiding anything to do with Yoongi since he’d ghosted you weeks before you left for college. Bigger things waited for him in the world of fame, and you weren’t in the blueprint.

“Fuck you Jungkook.” “Come try it bitch.” Smirking he was satisfied with himself as you stood almost defeated. “Oh I forgot you’re scared of sex.” “Leave the high school rumors behind...ran out a material? Maybe you should get out more.” He rolled his eyes scoffing, “shut up before I make you.” “You like to pretend I’m still afraid you...make me, little boy...since you insist on being one.”

Jungkook’s come back was cut short by the thumping of Aera’s feet. “Kookie!Kookie! Ice! I got it all by myself!” She gave the cup of ice to Jungkook and then the Coke. “Good job, now pour it.” He handed them back and you took it from her small clutches much to Jungkook’s disliking. You poured him the drink, pushing his feet off the small table and placing the glass. “She’s not your little slave Jungkook.” He kept eye contact picking up the glass, “you’re right she’s not, you...go get me a coaster now or you’re fired.” His eyebrow arched cockily, his free hand waving you away. “As if! You can’t fire me Jungkook.” He got Aera sitting her on the couch beside him as she caught her breath. “Is that so? Try me, my parents might have hired you but you work for us...now work.” His gaze alone told you he wasn’t playing with you anymore.

Angered you stormed to kitchen pulling a coaster from the table before swiftly Turing on your heels, almost jumping out of you skin as you met face to face with Jungkook. “What the fuck do you want now?” “You said some shit I didn’t like.” You threw the coaster back on the marbled table, “I wish you’d grow up already.” You atempt to go past him but his muscular arm halts your plans. “I have to go do my job-” “I put on her show she’ll be good for the next hour.”

You don’t remember Jungkook being so brooding he looked down at you, his new tall posture slightly off putting yet attractive. “What now, you wanna talk it out?” You walked away siting at the island, “I’ll leave you be if you leave me to do my job Kook.” He came behind you, trapping you in his arms. Tattoos, he’d change a lot but not enough to leave you alone.

“I see you came and got the coaster, scared of me now?” What an ass, “no I need this job.” He hummed from behind you, no sign of him letting you go. “You know y/n, you’ve grown quite a bit.” You became more and more uncomfortable by the second, his breathing became deeper. “I’m aware, so have you.” Rudely he became handsy, groping your breast earning a shocked reaction. “Jungkook please-” “scared of me?” He squeezed you with a little too much force making you give a Yelp, he had you trapped, you were nothing but a game to him. “Shhh shh don’t want to startle my baby sister while she rests...that wouldn’t be very babysitter like of you now would it?”

Silent what could you even say? He had you trapped, your position less than hopeless he’d made you feel small and that’s exactly what he wanted. He’s always wanted that ever since you’d met him, and he always succeeds. He intruded under your top, skating his chilled hand over your skin leaving cold bumps in his wake he held your bra covered breast.

You griped his unexposed wrist trying at escape, knowing fully how downhill this could get. “Oh is the brave girl afraid?” “N-no your hands are cold as Ice Jungkook...please stop.” You lied continuing to push his muscular arm. “Oh? Let me warm them for you.” He removed his hand from the island almost causing you to topple over. Reaching down he found himself with his hand now between your legs fiddling with the pant button. “Jungkook! Please no!” His hand along your chest he pulled you back into his sculpted figure.

“You must not value your job as much as you say, scream again and you’ll be broke and fucked over and to think I actually liked you a bit.” He came to your ear, sniffing your hair eerily. “Little did I know how much of a bitch you were, I loved you when you were shy.” He finally got through your button, getting to your panties he gave you a two fingered massage along your core, you strained not to react to the unwanted pleasure. “Look at you pathetic and wet I bet you’re so needy I could make you cum right here.” He began to focus his nimble fingers on your aching clit. “Fucking stop it.” You could only whimper. “Why should I, we’re old enough now and you’re sopping through your panties I know you want it.”

He invaded under your bra, fondling your hardening bud. “I loved you when you were weak and innocent...I know she’s hiding deep inside of you, the little girl that would cry over me-”

“Miss y/n! I’m tired!” Her voice softly called from the living room. Saved by an angel, finally Jungkook stoped his assault backing off of you with a groan. “You’ll meet me in my room when she’s in bed, or else.” He grumbled leaving you behind to collect yourself, how could bad get so much worse?

[growup-thatbeautiful]

Clone Wars Character on TikTok

Anakin- Poor Anakin, man does not have a that many creative ideas, but his life and ideas are strange enough that he gets a lot of followers easily. He’s also almost constantly videoing things too, so he’s able to get real time. There are so so many videos showing the reactions that Obi-Wan has because of his dumbass plans.

Everyone, literally everyone, thought he was an f-boy until he made a post, super confused, saying that he has a wife?? That he loves so much? So, coincidentally, the next videos he posts are him and his wife, who doesn’t show her face but there’s a poll going on about who it is. Most people have figured it, though, because some of his videos are him just listening to Mrs. Skywalker rant about people in the Senate when she comes home to him.

He also tries to convince everyone that he’s the best husband in the world by videoing himself cooking her dinner, which he always burns. In those videos, Obi-Wan and Ahsoka, staples on Anakin’s account, are heard in the background giving him absolutely terrible advice on how to fix it. They usually end up with burnt pans and a whole bunch of frantic clips of Obi-Wan trying to turn off the oven, “My dear, your time is up.” And Anakin in the background “Force, that’s not going to kriffing work, Master. I’m coming in with the water gun.” (No one questions why there’s a water gun.) Ahsoka is just….chilling in the background. She’s just as clueless as the rest of them, but it’s funnier to watch them almost burn down Padame’s kitchen before she tries to step in and make things worse.

Ahsoka-Her feed is a more controlled chaos than Anakin’s, but chaos nonetheless. She does a lot of dance challenges with Fives, and is sometimes able to rope in Anakin, who tries really hard but is terrible at it, and Rex, who doesn’t actually dance and just stands there staring at the camera. There was one time she got Obi-Wan to do it with her, and he absolutely crushed it. All that grace has to help him somewhere else, right? Because she does dance videos, though, sometimes she get inappropriate comments or duets, which Rex, Obi-Wan, Plo, Fives, and Anakin all duet or make a video about explaining that she’s a minor and how unacceptable this is. Well, that’s what every but Rex does. Rex won’t let anyone, anyone, talk to his little sister like that, so he makes a super menacing video of him cleaning his guns.

Needless to say, she does a lot of videos with Rex. They do a lot of random videos of their conversations and pointless arguments. They also do so a lot of competitions with each other, rather it’s staring contests or sparring matches. Their sparring match videos are actually super popular, and they get more and more intense and complicated as they go on. There are never any weapons involved, but they get to show off combat skills and have huge fights across the ship or compound. Their usually filmed by a hysterical Anakin or Fives. Obi-Wan has made his disapproval clear, but there’s a video on Ahsoka’s account of him betting on the outcome.

Obi-Wan- Mostly on Cottagecore TikTok and posts aesthetic videos of him meditating, making fancy, pretty tea drinks, or any other mundane thing he does. He also posts self-defense videos to teach people how to protect themselves, and gives tips of how to use the force and how to help meditate. I think he posts once a week, but posts a bunch at one time because he’ll have one day of silence where he can get stuff for himself done. Basically, his account is to comfort people, to help people, in perfect Obi-Wan fashion.

He also posts encouraging videos to cheer people up when they need it. Cute messages like “Today’s going to be a good day” with that award winning Negotiator smile that get galaxy wide comments and duets. Sometimes the messages border on him illegally sharing decisions that the Senate’s made, like when he announced on his feed that a certain Planet should get ready to party because a certain vote had gone a certain way.

Sometimes, though, he posts videos of Ahsoka, Anakin, or Cody doing incredibly stupid things. It’s become a series, he shows the person do or say the stupidest things, and then he zooms in on someone else’s face. The most common duo is Anakin and Rex, but sometimes there’s Waxer and Cody, once or twice, Obi-Wan and Cody.

Rex- He doesn’t post a lot, and when he does he’s usually not really in them. People only know him specifically because he’s in so many of Ahsoka’s videos. His are mostly “the stuff I have to deal with videos” showing petty fights between some of the 501st or some animal that a soldier decided they wanted to sneak into the ship. That, of course, lead to a blowup on his account, so he started posting lots of content with his brothers. Ahsoka has the notion that he’s doing it to help the way people see Clones, but he does seem to enjoy it a lot.

He, like Obi-Wan, posts hand to hand combat training video to help people in the galaxy, put his training to more use. He makes sure to show how to hold your first in a punch, how to safely clean a blaster, how to take a punch. Some of his posts are to teach people about clones and mando’a traditions. But he’s not all serious. He likes making videos of him and his brothers when they go out to do things for fun or they go out to 79’s.

This one might be a bit far fetched, but I think he would also post videos of him and Ahsoka doing mundane things together, repainting their armour, making bracelets or some stuff on the floors of the bunks during hyperspace. It’s calmer than what Ahsoka posts, and purposely so.

Fives-Oh man. Fives’ account is a wreck. Half of the videos are him running away from something he’s done and the other half are him running into things that he shouldn’t about to be doing. Shakily filmed, someone (usually himself) screaming in the background, you can hear him panting and out of breath. A lot of the times Anakin is with him or chasing after him, and as you can almost always hear Rex cursing and yelling at them to stop, especially if they haven’t done the thing yet because that means they have a plan. When Fives has a plan it ends up being worse than when he makes it up on the spot. 

He also posts videos of him giving people in the streets compliments, because he’s sweet like that. He usually gets pretty funny reactions most of the time, and the few times they’re bad reactions he simply flips the camera and grimaces, then, of course, starts laughing because he’s not going to let one person put him down.

He also has a series of him painting the Bi flag all over the ship and waiting to see people’s reactions. The cutest was that one time Ahsoka walked past and ran her fingers along it softly and smiling. Also notable was the time Obi-Wan caught him midway through and just pretended he didn’t see him. All of those are posted with the persons permission, of course.

Aayla and Bly- They share an account where they do ALL of the couple-y stuff. Any couples challenge that they’re asked to do, they do. It’s hard to do the challenges like “You could’ve been nicer to me today” because they’re both on it all the time and have definitely heard of it, but they make do with all kinds of others. Aayla and Bly are definitely one of those couples that adopts all the kids that follow their account, and they’re ready to fight anyone who says anything bad the Clones or the Jedi.

There’s also a large amount of videos that some of the 327th takes of them cuddling together, training together, polishing weapons together. Basically, their account is them being cute and the rest of the 327th either being incredibly supportive of them or gagging at all the PDA. They start a trend where they go up in front of random people around the ship and start making out to get the reaction. Some examples of the best reactions are franticly running outside of the room, slapping Bly across the back of the head, and wild cheering.

Cody: You’re kidding, right? He does not have time to do the TikTok, nor does he understand TikTok at all. He is in most of Obi-Wan’s videos, and he’s sometimes in Rex’s too. Most of the time he’s telling all of them not to do whatever they’re about to do, or he’s sitting on the floor and crying with Rex.

Anakin actually started making videos called “When you see your dad and your other dad be romantic.” Where it’s just him finding Obi-Wan and Cody doing cute things in random places, followed by Anakin or Ahsoka making faces at the camera.

Plo- Parent side of TikTok for sure. His account features so many, so many, videos of him doing fun things with the 104th. He may seem like an extremely serious man, but put him with all of his kids and has almost no impulse control. They ask to stop at that restaurant they saw on the way to their mission, and he makes it happen. Everyone pretends not to notice because they wouldn’t dare go against him.

This account is also mostly run by everyone in the 104th because A. Plo doesn’t have a password and B. That’s how they get a bunch of footage. The phone is passed around throughout the day, but all of the content focuses on the Plo’s Bros relationships. Anything that he does, from giving a shiny a thumbs up when he comes up with a new plan, to teaching some of the older clones who are a little overworked how to take deep breaths. All the followers also a learn the Plo is absolutely terrible at any kind of card games, which is shown when they post video after video of the bets he looses.

Next for Star Wars I’ll be doing Bad Batch, then, because this got so long, I’ll do one with some more characters! Sorry it’s so long, this ran away from me a bit.

Some clone wars beautiful mutuals @radbatch (Who is the absolute best person to talk to about Ahsoka ever period end of story) of course and @maiseey (Who is now my my mutual? How?)