#looking at it now IF I STILL FIND THOSE PIECES

[withahappyrefrain]

FRAT TASM!PETER WITH

“I had a dream about you last night. Woke up hard/wet. Wanna hear about it?”

THIS IS SOMETHING THAT COCKY ASSHOLE WOULD SAYYY OH MY GOD

This is how blonde frat Peter returns bless you

Warning: language, frat Peter being a cocky little shit, female reader, I think that's it!

"Hey, you made it after all."

You audbily breathe in through your nose, trying to ignore the fumes of vodka and who knows what else was in this God forsaken jungle juice.

Anything to give you the strength to face Peter Parker.

You turn around to find him leaning against the door, a joint tucked behind his ear, hands in the pocket of his black hoodie, bleached blonde hair somehow perfectly messy.

"Don't get ahead of yourself Parker. I'm only here to support my roommate," you scoff, turning your attention back to the game of beer pong. Not that you were truly interested.

But you couldn't let him know that.

You regret being late to the first day of your Science Diplomacy & World Health class. Had you known it would have left you no choice but to sit next to Peter Parker, you wouldn't have hit the snooze button for your alarm five times.

It wasn't even like you had asked to borrow a pencil from him. He seemed drawn to you, like a moth to a flame.

"Y'know, I feel like I would have remembered a face like yours. You a transfer?" He asked, as if you two weren't in the middle of a lecture.

Thanks to your roommate being in the sorority that paired up with his frat, you had heard all about Peter Parker. The infamous parties. How he dyed his hair blonde at the beginning of sophomore. How he's the biggest flirt that Delta Lambda Phi had.

You didn't even look at him when you responded, "We've been in the same class since freshman year. But I came here to get a degree, not to party."

Ever since that day, he wouldn't leave you alone. At first it started with ridiculously over the top pick up lines.

"Are you made up of copper and tellurium? Because you're cute."

All you could do was roll your eyes at every line, mustering all the strength you had to not smile. You had eyes, the guy was cute. But you also knew his type.

So when he extended a personal invite to the latest frat party, you simply turned him down, like you had for countless of other parties.

Of course, as luck would have it, it was exactly the party your roommate wanted to go to.

You hoped to avoid him, hoped that your roommate would find whoever she was looking for so you could leave.

But it was as if Peter Parker had a sixth sense for you specifically. His inability to find you in libraries, dinning halls, and the university's coffee shop (bc fuck Starbucks) had now extended to frat parties.

"You know Parker, stalking is a serious crime," you scoff, refusing to look at him. The ever present scent of cinnamon alerted you that he was now standing next to you.

"It's not my fault you have a beautiful face that I could pick out from a crowd," He mumbles, a stark contrast to the usual cocky bravada you're used to.

"Excuse me?" Without thinking, you turn to face him, making contact with those big brown eyes.

The corner of his pink lips jerk upwards as he leans in, brushing a piece of hair out of your face. His touch is gentle, something you weren't expecting at all.

"You heard me." The cocky smile had returned, causing you to roll your eyes.

"Hey, don't gimme that. I know you love how cheesy I am."

Unfortunately, it was true. He was never crude and it somehow sounded genuine, despite being accompanied by a worn snapback.

"It's not crass, unlike your fellow brotherin. I'll give you that Parker." You would have taken a step back if you could, but you were now up against the wall. But he still had space to close in on you, not that he did. He always kept enough distance that you could walk away.

Come to think of it, you hadn't seen or heard him flirt with anyone since the first day of classes.

"Y'know, I got an offer from Delta Chi. It could be way worse." His comment earned a laugh from you, a feat Peter was quite proud of.

"You're right, I guess I should give you that."

"I think you can give me a lot more," He leaned in, closing some of the distance between you two but not all the way, "If you want."

The ball was in your court. His lips looked so soft, no doubt from the vanilla chapstick he used. God, why did you know that about him? And why did he always smell like cinnamon instead of Axe body spray? That's what he should be using, it would certainly make it easier for you to discourage your own feelings about the guy.

Tired of denying, tired of putting up a wall, and not kissing anyone in the last four months caused you to grab at his hoodie, your lips crashing onto his.

You vaguely register the sound of the dropped plastic cup, as your fingers thread through his hair to find it soft, despite all the hair dye and bleach.

Peter's hands feel large as they skim your sides, landing at your hips. When his tongue slid across your bottom lip, you could feel your knees begin to go weak. As if he could sense it, he pushed your back firmly against the wall, one of his large hands going down to your thigh to help steady you.

Fuck, his lips were soft. There was muscle underneath that hoodie, you could feel it.

His lips trailed down to your jaw before settling on your ear.

"I had a dream about you last night. Woke up hard. Wanna hear about it?"

Desire burned at the pit of your stomach, your fingers gripping the strands of his hair.

"Where the fuck is your bedroom Parker?"

[paper-mario-wiki]

"no art is good bc it's a misconfiguration of the natural world to suit man's vanity" Is an extremely misanthropic take on art. Is humanity not part of "the natural world"? Can one not make pigments from flowers or minerals? You say that the universe would never align so that a piece of art is made without human intervention, but the universe did align so that it could be made, you just assume humans aren't part of it. I understand that this is some faux-deep shit I'm on, but I love art and while I think good is kind of useless adjective when talking about art in general, to compare the concept of art to a tumor is a pretty bad faith take. Sorry if that was like, ironic or something and I just sent a rant into your inbox for nothing.

your faux-deep shit could never reach the faux-depths of my even shallower faux-deepness.

i think the main problem when establishing this argument in the first place was saying "all art is bad" because someone asked me if i liked any bad art, and i answered using "bad" as a shorthand for "not good". if i had known i'd be getting into this pedantic of an argument about it i definitely would have changed my wording, because things that are "not good" are not inherently "bad", which seems to be where the majority of the misunderstandings of my stance come from.

i'd ask you this: what could be considered "good" outside of something that affects humanity in some capacity? to be clear, you're absolutely right, humans ARE natural, humans ARE part of the world. but the idea of something being "good" didn't exist until humans came up with it.

100,000,000,000,000,000 light years away, two planets crash into each other, each with their own forms of biological life so different from earth's that we would find it difficult to even classify it as life if we were given the chance to observe it, but that doesn't matter because we would have never been given the opportunity to reach those planets anyway under any circumstances. is this a good thing? is it a bad thing? i don't think it's either, it's just something that happened.

because "good" and "bad" are code words used to reflect the societal values of the person using them, they cannot exist in a vacuum.

so if that's the case, and "good" and "bad" only exist to us, what does it mean to us?

well, something "good" is something with objective benefit or subjective enjoyment-- but subjective enjoyment of something can also contradict the nature of its objectivity. soup can be considered "good" because it sustains us and is therefore beneficial. soup can be considered to "taste good" because someone might enjoy the flavor. but "torture" can only be seen as "enjoyable", but it benefits nobody-- even if the person doing it enjoys it. that's just them subjectively enjoying it.

conversely, something can be objectively good but still subjectively unenjoyable, like having a soup that's healthy in a way you think tastes bad! you'd still benefit from it, even if you didn't enjoy the experience. but regardless of whether or not you enjoyed it, what has the greatest bearing on something being considered "good" is its objectivity, as it's something fewer people can debate.

now, all of that being considered, what can "art" do that is objectively good, without it serving some secondary purpose? something that is objectively good can be artistically created, like a children's hospital designed by a genius architect-- but its goodness in that case would be derived from its benefit, with the subjectivity of it being something that only enhances its good.

a piece of fabric, stretched across a wooden frame and painted using colorful oils, creates no benefit objectively, it exists solely in the world of subjectivity. how can something be "good" if the only thing it does is hold the potential (not the guarantee) for a person to look at it, and enjoy looking at it?

more importantly though, is that bad? it's not.

but it is superfluous.

^ please forgive me for typing all of this. im so sorry. it's just so easy to be pedantic. i promise im not a stick in the mud and i love art, i just also happen to be someone who is personally deeply concerned with rhetorically whittling communication down to the bare knob of its meaning (XRA style).

because it is something i find subjectively enjoyable.

[thebenjiblackwoodexpress]

Devil's Snare Part. 8

Aemond Targayen x Reader

Description: A raven arrives to King's Landing carrying news of Prince Lucerys' death. Aemond returns to find his wife has reverted back to the timid and fearful girl he'd first met, horrified by his actions and terrified of the darkness that festers within him.

Previous part

Writer's note: Here it is, the part I've been scared to write as this story has been mostly fluffy up to this point. This is angst city I'm not going to lie. I took inspiration from Stephanie Garber's Once upon a broken heart series. Even more angst to follow in the next part. Thank you as always to all you lovely readers!

Warnings: Aemond being possessive and a little toxic. Angst, angst, angst. Seriously, Aemond is in the trenches because his wife is mad at him. Female reader.

Years of training with Ser Cole to gain mastery over the sword, years spent studying to embody all that a Targaryen Prince should be, years bonded to the largest and most ancient Dragon in existence...all had taught Aemond control. But at the very real threat to those he loved at Aegon's coronation, the realisation that he did not have the power to guarantee the safety of his family, Aemond felt his tenous control over himself, over everything around him slipping.

Seeing Lucerys Velaryon again at Storm's End had been incendiary to Aemond, who already burned with rage and a desire for vengeance. The fear of losing those he loved, his fury at the Strong pup parading about the kingdom trying to steal his brother's inheritance, a loathsome feeling of vulnerability in the face of the boy who'd taken his eye from him and paid no recompense. All had lead him on a path of violence that there could be no turning back from. In killing Lucerys Velaryon, Aemond had begun a war that could lead to nowhere but death and destruction. He felt nauseous as he watched with horror the mangled pieces of Arrax fall from the sky. His mind swam with conflicting fears as he felt the true weight of what he'd done hit him, tightening his grip on Vhagar's reigns, the feel of the leather beneath his hands the only thing vesting him with a sense of reality. It did not matter that he had not meant to kill Luke, all that mattered was that he had lost control of himself and his dragon in turn. The Blacks would seek to retaliate tenfold, and if anything happened to his family now it would be his fault. The thought sent a jolt of fear tearing up Aemond's spine and he struggled to breathe, gasping for air. Then he thought of Y/N's reaction. He pictured her face contorted with disgust at his actions or worse still fear of him. The image sobered him somewhat as if a pitcher of ice cold water had been thrown over him and cleared his muddled senses. He gripped Vhagar's reigns and angled her in the direction of King's Landing. He expected it would not be long before Storm's End became aware of what had transpired and they would inevitably send ravens. He could not bear the thought of his wife hearing of what he'd done from any other lips but his own and that conviction had him pitching forward to urge Vhagar to fly faster.

The Prince's worst fears were realised the moment he stepped foot in the Red Keep as he was immediately rushed by his mother and The Hand, demanding explanations from him he could scarcely give and he knew then that he was too late. Whilst he had been panicking atop the clouds of Storm's End, Lord Baratheon had sent his ravens.

Aemond inhaled deeply, tentatively opening the door to the chambers he shared with his wife. Y/N's hair was mussed as if she'd been yanking at it and her breath was ragged as she paced about the room in agitation. Her head snapped up as he entered and he felt the look of fear in her eyes, of what he had done or of him, pierce his very soul.

He took small experimental steps towards her, unable to stop himself from reaching towards her. Though he immediately halted when she held a hand out to stop him.

Aemond was surprised to hear Y/N's voice break the silence first as whatever explanations, or apology he had prepared died on his lips.

"Is it true. Did you kill a child?" Both her gaze and her question were direct, but the waver in her voice sent a pang of pain through Aemond's heart.

He dropped his head, regret crashing over him all over again and contending painfully with the desperation he now felt to make Y/N understand that killing Luke had been a terrible mistake.

His voice got stuck in his throat as he took note of his wife's trembling form, the tears in her eyes threatening to spill over at any moment. He nodded almost imperceptibly and watched in horror as Y/N brought a hand to her mouth to ineffectively smother a sob, a look of utter devastation and betrayal on her beautiful face before she turned away from him entirely.

Her breathing turned more erratic and she clutched her abdomen as if physically pained by his confirmation of the terrible truth that her husband was a kinslayer.

"It was a mistake." Even to Aemond, this sounded laughable, a pathetic excuse and when Y/N spoke again, her voice was icy.

"You told me once that I was your light, an escape from the darkness that has ever haunted you since you were a child. But Aemond, what you have done..."

Y/N shook her head and rubbed the tears from her eyes, turning back towards him with a fiery resolve that Aemond had never seen lighting his wife's eyes.  "Was it all a lie? Was I simply ensnared by pretty words that dull the senses. Is this who you have always been?"

Aemond stepped towards her again, his words frantic. "No, you know I would never harm you."

Y/N looked at him as if she were seeing him for the first time. "I don't know anything anymore."

Aemond reached for her again but felt his own face crumple as Y/N flinched away from him, his arms falling back to his sides rigidly. 

He took a step back, holding his hands out in a placating gesture.

"I will not touch you if you do not wish me to."

Y/N said nothing, only continued to stare at Aemond with wide and fearful eyes.  Aemond watched her carefully, wishing to beg for her forgiveness but realising she was in too much shock and much too upset with him to take in his accuses.

Clasping his hands behind his back, he bowed his head to her, trying to keep his voice even though he felt his throat constrict painfully at Y/N's rejection. "I will leave you for now. You need have no fear of me." Aemond turned on his heel, quickly exiting the room, not imagining there could be anything more painful to him than the way Y/N was looking at him, with such unbidden terror, as others had his whole life, as if he would hurt her.

Y/N felt as if a mist had been removed from her vision. For all that she had shared with Aemond and for all she'd thought she knew him, she could never have imagined him capable of murdering a child.

She didn't believe it at first when the raven arrived, couldn't believe it. Had her husband not already told her that he'd long ago forgiven Lucerys for the loss of his eye? Had he not allowed his nephew Jacaerys to strike him, laughing it off? But in the space of a few short hours, Aemond had slain his nephew, become a kinslayer and started a war. Y/N was not prepared for this life and her mind was consumed by fears of what was to come. For surely Rhaneyra would seek vengeance. Worse still was the fear that she'd never known Aemond at all. Had she been in love with a mirage this whole time? Y/N recalled reading of a plant in a book of botany helaena had insisted she borrow, that while attractive to look upon was deadly to the touch. Devil's Snare it had been called. Even its flowers were toxic, able to cause delirium or hallucinations. Is that what had happened to her when she fell in love with Prince Aemond Targaryen, not fully understanding how dangerous he truly was? She'd paced their shared chambers, hoping beyond all hope that Lord Baratheon was mistaken. That Aemond would return, sweep her up into his arms and reassure her that it was all a big mistake, that all would be as it was. But she knew by the look on Aemond's face as he entered the room, by the slow and careful way he approached her, that nothing would ever be the same between them again. It did not stop her from asking the truth of it and with his nod of confirmation she felt the breath knocked from her, clutching at her stomach to hold herself together.

She'd finched involuntarily as he made to touch her, his eyes widening in alarm as a sob tore through her. Y/N was reeling from the unsettling feeling that had wound its way deep in the pit of her stomach that she no longer knew her husband. And what she did not know about him, what she could not understand in the conflicting images of him as a loving and gentle husband and a man who could murder his nephew, caused a wave of genuine fear to rise up within her. Perhaps he would lash out if she spoke to her horror at what he'd done.

Though Aemond quickly dropped his hands, wincing as if in pain at her rejection of his touch. Part of her wanted to reach for him, beg him for an explanation, tell him that everything would be OK though she knew it wouldn't. But she was rooted to the spot, lost in staring at her husband who until that moment she'd thought she knew better than any living soul. As Aemond exited their chambers she felt little relief. He had said "for now" and Y/N was certain he would try to speak with her again on the morrow. She doubted she'd be any more prepared than she was now to hear his excuses, to force herself to come to terms with the fact that he had killed a child in cold blood.

When Aemond entered their chambers the next day, Y/N noted the determined set to his shoulders and the seriousness of his expression and knew that this time he would not leave until she'd heard his explanations. Y/N had tossed and turned the entire night before she'd come to her own decision, and nothing Aemond said could sway her from it. She needed space to think, to begin to fully come to terms with all that had transpired in the last few days since Aegon had been crowned...to consider how they would move forward knowing now what Aemond had done.

Aemond spoke quickly, allowing no room for interruption.

"I know you are upset with me, that you are afraid. But I ask you to hear what I have to say, my love." He paused briefly, observing her before continuing as he seemed to find what he was looking for in her expression.

"I did not wish to distress you any more than I could see you were. But I must tell you now that whilst my actions were brash, I had no intention of harming my nephew, only of intimidating him. I acted out of anger and I lost control. I am sorry for it."

Y/N was gladdened at least to know Aemond had not intended to kill his nephew, but it did not change the bitter fact that he had. And she could not as easily accept this as she knew he wished her too.

She wrung her hands nervously, frightened to ask for what she wanted. Aemond appeared calm in the moment, but she had seen first hand how quickly his temper could turn.

Her voice came out meeker than she would have hoped. "I wish to be installed in separate chambers for the time being." It hardly mattered. Aemond stumbled a few steps backwards as if she'd shouted at him.

His voice was ragged.

"Why?

Y/N lowered her gaze to the ground, unable to look up at Aemond.

"I cannot pretend that I am not horrified by what you have done. And I need space to even begin to comprehend it...let alone try to forgive you, Aemond."

Aemond's response was breathless, as if he were trying to speak though a pressing weight pushed down on his chest.

"You cannot stand to be in my presence then? Do you no longer love me?"

Y/N gawked at him.

"I'm not sure I even know you any more Aemond. If you could just allow me some time to think..."

Aemond practically snarled in response, his anger taking Y/N by surprise.

"So easily you cast our love aside. You were meant to stand by me always as my wife. Am I not your husband?"

Y/N felt her own anger rise up and she pushed through her timidity to voice it.

"So I must forgive you any transgression, silently stand by as you commit atrocities? Simply because I am your wife? My thoughts and feelings are my own."  Within seconds Aemond had crossed the room and possessively gripped her waist. "You are mine." 

Incensed, Y/N tried to push against the cage of his arms, huffing in frustration when she failed to move him even an inch. "You cannot possess a person, Aemond...If all you want from me is placid acceptance then perhaps it would be better to dissolve our union." She had not truly meant it, regretted it as soon as the words had left her mouth. But her words had the desired effect as Aemond's eye widened and his arms slackened around her. In the next second he had dropped to his knees in front of her, gripping her skirts. He placed his forehead against her stomach, his anger seemingly entirely dissipated, his touch and voice all gentleness. "No, my love. I will give you anything. But not that. Never that. I did not mean it. Of course your mind is your own and I always want you to speak it. Shout at me, tear this place asunder, strike me if you must. I can live without your forgiveness if you feel you cannot give it, I can live with you hating me.  But I cannot live without you."

Y/N felt her own heart soften at his gentleness, but she was still too upset with him to just fall straight back into his arms.

"Then will you agree to my request?"

Aemond tensed, his grip tightening slightly on her hips before he nodded against the fabric of her dress.

"If it is what you need, then I will see to it."

Y/N prised Aemond's hands from her then, equal parts relieved by his assent and pained at seeing him this way.  She whispered a hurried "Thank you" before moving around him and hastening from his chambers. She expected to meet resistance with every step but as she passed over the threshold she briefly looked back to see thst Aemond had not moved even an inch.

In the days that followed, Aemond scarcely saw Y/N at all. If he did it was  a mere glimpse as she hurried down a hallway, headed for the chambers his mother had settled her in at his request. He had made to speak to her on one occasion as he's come across his lady wife emerging from her chambers. But as soon as she saw him she quickly retreated back into her room. Aemond had rested his forehead upon the door that separated him from his love briefly, feeling the distance between them like a dagger to the heart. He had not meant any of the harsh words he had spoken when they'd last met. Her rejection had stung him and he had lashed out like a petulant child, spoken to her and acted as if she were a possession of his rather than the woman he loved. In his own disgust at himself he'd tried to bear their separation as best he could, but he hoped that with time Y/N's heart would soften to him again. He did not think he could bear what was to come without her at his side.

Two more days passed before he heard the sound of Y/N's voice again. Aemond came across his wife again in halls adjacent to his sister's chambers. She'd stopped, seemingly choosing between turning back the way she'd come or crossing paths and a clumsy servant boy bumped right into her, prompting her to pitch forward. Aemond swiftly darted forward to catch his wife by her waist, pulling her upright and holding her against him as he roughly shoving the boy away away from her. He glared at the boy, speaking through gritted teeth. "Watch yourself."

The boy looked shaken as he stuttered frantically. "My sincerest apologies my Prince, Princess." He nodded at them both before practically sprinting down the hall away from them, leaving Aemond and Y/N alone.

Still holding Y/N in his arms, Aemond took the opportunity to look upon his lady, though he was concerned to observe the dark shadows under her eyes and a certain hollowness in her cheeks. He lowered his head to gaze into her eyes, tentatively raising a hand to brush a lock of hair from her face.

He spoke softly, eager not to scare her away.

" Are you well?"

Y/N nodded, though Aemond noted that she looked anywhere but at him.

"Yes." Her timid reply sent a pang through his heart. He had fallen in love with Y/N's shy and gently nature quickly when they'd first met. It had inspired a protectiveness in him he could never have anticipated, endeared him from the first. From the moment he'd rescued her from Helaena's pet spider she had always just been his shy girl in is mind. But her return to the timid creature who could barely stand to look at him pained him beyond measure.

Lost in his own thoughts, he almost didn't catch Y/N's next words.

"I must go."

"Must you?"

Y/n did not reply, but  she began to push against him to extricate herself from his hold.

Aemond felt himself becoming desperate. "Please, my love."

"Release me, my Prince." Aemond let Y/N go as if she'd scorched him. In a way she had with her use of his formal title, as if she didn't know every part of him, couldn't see into his very soul, as if he were nought but a stranger.

Aemond found himself grateful to Aegon for offering him a place on his small council. Discussions on tactics and strategy gave him ample distraction during the day. At night he could not stand the conflicting feelings of guilt and loneliness that threatened to consume him, heightened by the emptiness of his chambers without the presence of his beloved wife. Each time a maid would enter his chambers he'd startle, feeling strangely as if he were seeing a ghost of the girl he loved. He could not stand it for long and spent his nights wandering about the Keep or the filthy streets of King's Landing, only returning to his chambers in the early hours of the morning when he was wearied to the bone.

His mother regarded him with an air of suspicion and wariness now, blaming him for starting the war with The Blacks. But seeing him look so piteous, she'd softened somewhat and Aemond was glad of the news she would bring him of his wife, of her daily customs and health.

He was unsurprised to learn that she had taken to spending the better part of her own evenings in his sister's chambers, often sleeping there. He'd observed with affection the tender bond his wife had developed with both his sister Helaena and her children.

The hour was late when Aemond came across Y/N again, making his way through an ante chamber that led from the household chambers to the lower levels of the keep just as she had surely been heading to his sister's chambers. She stopped in the middle of the room at the sight of him and Aemond halted, mimicking her movements. A fire crackled in the hearth on his left, casting a warm glow that illuminated Y/N's features. For a brief moment Aemond willed the flames to burst free from the hearth and set the room ablaze, just so he would have an excuse to carry her from it though he knew his touch was no longer welcome. Realising the mad turn his thoughts had taken he decided then and there that he had to fix this. He could not stand Y/N's silence any longer, this distance she had imposed between them. He had to make her understand.

"I will not deny the bitterness I have long felt towards Lucerys for taking my eye and receiving no punishment for it. But I never meant to kill him. It is true, I pursued him but it was his fear I wanted, not his blood. I wanted him to feel as I did when he took my eye. I did not anticipate Arrax retaliating in defense of his rider and...in truth I lost control of mine own dragon."

Y/N's expression turned pensive and conflicted as she mulled over his words 

"You killed a child, Aemond. Lucerys was no match for you or your dragon and yet you pursued him."

Aemond shut his eye briefly, inhaling slowly as he tried to calm himself enough to answer Y/N without frightening her further. He would not shout at her again. But he needed her to understand that the moment the crown was placed on Aegon's head, war was inevitable. He regretted Luke's death, but he could not undo it.

"There must always be casualties in a war. If it had not been my hand that struck the first blow then it would have been Rhaenyra's."

Aemond's voice sounded colder and more unfeeling than he'd hoped, but to him it was a plain and simple fact he'd long grown accustomed to. His siblings had been raised to fear their sister Rhaenyra, by virtue of their posing a threat to her claim to the Iron Throne.

Y/N's voice shook slightly as she spoke, though Aemond was glad at least that she met his gaze now and had not run from him.

"Aemond it was monstrous."

It was like a dagger had been thrust through his chest. Aemond had always been aware of whispers at court of the one-eyed Prince, of his disfigurement and intimidating presence. They had only grown louder since the news of Prince Lucery's death became common knowledge. But while Y/N had undeniably been wary of him when they'd first met, she'd never treated him as others had. She'd been able to see the good in him, the light in the darkness and pulled him towards it...towards her. But he loved her, and he knew that she still loved him too or she would not have listened to his explanations at all and would not still be standing before him. He recognised the warring emotions in her eyes, the agonising mixture of sadness, fear, and longing, because he knew she could see the same conflict in his one good eye.

Aemond suddenly felt that it did not matter if Y/N did think of him as a monster, as long as she thought of him, as long as long as she thought of him as hers.

"If that be so then I am your monster."

Y/N's eyes widened in shock, though he noted how they quickly softened as she shook her head sadly at him. She turned her face to gaze at the flickering flames and Aemond had to lean towards her to hear her.

"You are not a monster, Aemond. That is not what I meant. You would not regret your nephew's death if that were the case."

Aemond quickly closed the distance between them, emboldened by her words, wrapping an arm around her shoulders to draw her to his chest.

"I am glad to hear you say so for I cannot stand this silence any longer. I love you and whatever horrors I have wrought you must believe that I would never do anything to harm you. The thought is inconceivable to me. Can you find it within your heart to forgive me, to love me again my darling girl?"

Y/N sighed but Aemond felt his heart stutter as she leant against him rather than pushing him away as he'd expected.

"What would that make me Aemond? I was never prepared for this life of political intrigue and machinations, for violence and warfare."

Aemond tentatively raised his hand to cup the back of her head tenderly but the loud clacking of footsteps had Y/N jumping away from him, his hand falling to his side again.

A moment later his grandsire entered the room, shooting Y/N a withering look as she hurried past him. Aemond kept hoping she'd glance back at him, but she did not.

Angrily he turned on Otto.

"You frightened my wife, grandsire."

Infuriatingly, Otto bore an expression of amusement as he quirked an eyebrow up at Aemond.

"A wife would not scorn her husband as she does you, Aemond. The whole court has observed her unseemly behaviour towards you, her lord husband who she should obey. She makes a mockery of you. Aemond, you and your dragon are the single greatest power in this war and if she does not realise the importance of this fundamental fact then perhaps it is time for you you consider the disolussion of your marriage."

Aemond felt his blood heat and his temper rise dangerously. He did not wish to harm his grandsire, it would only upset his mother. But neither would he allow Otto to speak of his wife in such a way. He'd become far too comfortable doing so.

"I do not care for whispers. Y/N is my wife and she can do as she pleases. I will not impress myself upon her if she does not wish it but I will not listen to you continously besmirching her either. If you suggest that I annul my marriage again, I will kill you grandsire. I have already been branded as a kinslayer and it would serve you well to remember it."

For once, Aemond could see a flash of genuine fear in Otto's eyes as he was seemingly stunned into silence. Aemond brushed past him, not caring to wait for a response. He bristled with irritation as he passed the throne room, hearing his brother and his friends drunkenly inventing denominations for him as king upon the iron throne. He hoped that the cold night air would help to clear his mind though tonight he felt that the stars looked less desolate, the dark streets of King's Landing less eery and sinister. For a weight had been lifted from him when Y/N leant into his touch, when she'd told him that he was not a monster.

Aemond felt a sense of foreboding when upon returning to the Red Keep around the Hour of Ghosts, the whole keep seemed to be wide awake and and in a state of dissaray. Pulling his cloak from his shoulders, Aemond questioned the first guard he saw.

"What is the meaning of this raucous?"

At the sight of him the guard visibly paled but stayed infuriatingly silent.

"Speak quickly you fool."

At the Prince's stern command the guard stood to attention.

"The Queen was attacked in her bedchamber, my Prince and the young Prince Jahaerys slain. We have yet to find the perpetrator."

Aemond felt as if the ground were collapsing between him. His sweet sister, his little nephew...how could this have happened? Dread seeped into the pit of his stomach at the sick realisation that his wife tended to spend her evenings with his sister and her children. He'd seen her making her way in that direction before he'd left...left both his wife and sister unprotected.

"Where is my wife?"

The guard swallowed loudly, stepping back a pace. "Princess Y/N was with the Queen in her chambers during the attack. I believe they are both with the Queen Dowager now."

Without another word Aemond took off at a run, his heart pounding in his chest and his blood thrumming in his ears.

@jjkysnk

@ieieibhibu8

@skymoonandstardust

@truly-abysmal

@idonotknowenglish

@leonesimp

@hyacinthesiss

@nanawafflesstuff

@callsigncrushx

@bitchyfestivalbouquet

@void21

@sapphiresandferrari

@pinkykats-place

@superintenseart

@youknownothingjohnwatson

@iportes-22

@misspinkonmars

@zoetje2004

@ateliefloresdaprimavera

@sakurachan-9

[diminuel]

Oh im hooked on the idea now that wani’s transition was preceded/spurred by a stunning sinatra-esq drag king performance. Normally so plain and practical and reserved. Loosened up with a couple drinks and Ivankov being pushy (its a one time thing! For fun! Live a little!)

And ivankov gets to watch this little flower of his bloom on stage (there you are darling… well ill be damed…)

And dragon is halfway to blackout drunk and absolutely losing it. He wasn’t even sure he liked men, but he’s scrambling not to fall to actual pieces in the audience. He didn’t realize how dehydrated he was all his life until he saw that tall drink of water. Oh fuck he’s looking at him oh fuck oh fuck

And Wani is slowly but continuously finding more and more unrealized confidence. They were never a performer, but everyone *likes* feeling attractive, the approving gaze of the crowd that slowly builds to deep hunger and fascination. The song selection increasingly sultry. She agreed to ONE song but does a full set. She feels *expensive* like a luxury silk garment or gold plated watch. Sophisticated. Like if she stepped into any room all eyes would be on her and would be hanging onto her every word. Important. Strong.

By the end Wani is pantsless (gotta show off those mens sock garters) and their shirt is fully unbuttoned (much to the crowd’s delight) and dragon has managed to accidentally pull himself *over* the table in his attempts to hold himself upright

Haha, nice!

I love that Dragon's a) still relaxed enough at this point to watch Iva's shows and get drunk and b) that he's absolutely delirious with lust over Wani's performance!

This clearly was an aha! moment (or the beginning of one in Wani's case) for both of them *lol*

[weirdsht]

Disillusioned 19 . It’s Only Responsibility

a/n: omg my fav chapter is finally here. i was so giddy when writing this lol

tags: low-key yandere behavior from Cale, implied torture, if Cale says what he feels is irritability then it's irritability goddammit

English isn’t my first language so there will be grammatical errors

Pls don't repost my work anywhere without my permission

Constructive criticisms and any kind of interaction are more than welcome

Requests are currently closed but my ask are still open (read pinned)

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Cale feels as though he can’t get a good grasp on his emotions these days. In particular, he feels as though he feels intense emotions when _____ is thrown into the mix.

Maybe it’s because he feels accountable as he willingly took in the healer.

He doesn’t know when it started, he only noticed he felt that when back at the Gyerre Territory. It was the afternoon after he had destroyed a human trafficker’s house, just before he talked with Antonio. Ron reported that he had finished investigating the Perduellios.

“Young master, this old man took a stroll there and I must say that it’s very filthy. It looks clean from a certain distance but there are rats everywhere once you look closely. No wonder healer-nim grew up with a weak body. Someone like them does not fit that place.”

The redhead didn’t say anything but the servant could tell his listening to every word. 

The young master’s eyes don’t lie after all. 

And right now those eyes are filled with anger. 

Unmeasurable Anger

To the point it made the servant do a double-take.

Despite Cale’s brewing anger he still does everything according to plan. He doesn’t let out a single ounce of that anger until later when his talking to Alberu.

“Your Highness, the future shining sun of the Roan Kingdom. No one is as bright as you. Just seeing your face, even through a communication device, brightens my night and brings me hope for tomorrow.”

“Just tell me what you want. Is it another golden plaque? But you still have some.”

“Not this time your highness.”

Alberu was taken aback at the serious expression on the redhead’s face.

“As you already know, the Perduellios were working with the Chryshis. I trust your highness to handle the Gyerres and the Chryshis. However…”

“You want to handle the Perduellios.”

“We really are alike your highness.”

Alberu already saw this coming so he instantly agreed.

“I’ll allow it on the condition that they must stay in Aunt Tasha’s dungeon. Speaking of Aunt Tasha, she said she also wants a piece.”

“Then I shall be generous enough to share.”

Cale himself isn’t sure how he had the time to meet that bastard family. Between the war against the Indomitable Alliance. Fighting Arm and the Empire, and teaching the nobles a lesson Cale still managed to find free time to visit the Perduellios.

Must be the power of unmeasurable anger.

“Beacrox, Raon prepare to move quietly tonight. We’ll be meeting Tasha.”

The two are confused as to why, but Cale did not explain. He doesn’t need to as they instantly understand after seeing who’s inside the cell they are visiting.

“Young master Cale shouldn’t _____-nim be here?”

Cale looked at Tasha as if she said the most outrageous thing ever. Meanwhile, in the background, Beacrox is preparing his tools as Raon supplies information as to what the healer went through.

“Why would they be here when I’m doing this to relieve stress? I’m here to act trash, that’s not something an unofficial holy maiden should see.”

The next morning Alberu regrets taking a peak before the cell was cleaned up. He doesn’t think he can light up any of his beloved candles for at least a week.

+~+~+~+~+~+

Succeeding that incident, the next time Cale was overtaken by his emotions was after Operation Reflection. Unlike the last time, Cale felt two conflicting emotions this time.

Skyrocketing Pride and Plumeting Disgust

_____ was a core player during the navy battle and that made the redhead proud. Of course, he was also proud of everyone else in their group.

…but perhaps his a bit more proud of the healer.

However, it was only because they had come a long way. As Cale’s responsibility, his proud that the healer is doing better under his guidance.

Nothing more, nothing less.

“Human, those useless noble bastards were also talking bad about our _____ when you left. Some of them even had the nerve to directly yell at them. I wanted to smack them, but you told me to not do anything to those people for now so I didn't."

But then Raon’s report came.

Pride had been washed over by disgust.

Good thing _____ had talked him out of doing anything rash.

“Cale it’s okay. People who only know how to leech off other people are not worth your time.”

Did he mention how proud he is of how far _____ has come? Because he really is.

However, rumours say that it was the night after that when Cale first ‘visited’ the Perduellios.

+~+~+~+~+~+

Cale’s next overwhelming emotion is something his already familiar with. He already felt it back when they were in the Whipper Kingdom.

In fact, he has already associated this feeling with the healer.

Heart Palpitating Distress

But this time it feels more intense. Cale feels as if his heart is going to crawl out of his chest and into his mouth.

Thump!!

Thump!!

The redhead had been acting as though nothing was wrong ever since they finished the battle at Castle Leona. Contrary to his calm exterior, the redhead is a mess on the inside.

A wound, a stab wound with a lot of blood gushing.

Just inches near _____ heart.

And Cale has a strong gut feeling that it was _____’s own doing.

Seeing the copious amount of blood they lost was already bad enough. Seeing the nasty wound itself when they had to change the bandages was worse.

Then as if that isn’t enough to send Cale into a coma, the healer had the audacity to stand up not even 12 hours after their injury.

It was at that moment the commander made a conscious choice of sticking the healer to him like velcro.

+~+~+~+~+~

Nowadays, Cale is not ping-ponging between his emotions like a madman. But he did notice that he tends to feel a particular emotion these days.

Jealo– Irritability

Cale isn’t sure why he feels irritated, but he does. He feels irritated as soon as _____ woke up and started talking to Bud.

What happened during the week he was gone that those two are all friendly now?

And what was that? Bud is going to teach _____ how to drink?

Not on Cale’s watch.

It’s one thing for him if _____ themself wants to try drinking, but he won’t let the healer be coerced by some fool.

“Ron, separate those two as much as possible. That drunkard is nothing but a nuisance to _____.”

For a moment Cale got the chills when he heard Ron chuckle. It doesn’t help that the kids are laughing too. Regardless, it looks like the servant will heed his request so he lets it be.

But his jea– irritability doesn’t end there.

The next victim of Cale’s so-called irritable mood was this poor servant in Mogoru.

When Cale got back to Mogoru he unfortunately had to leave _____ back in the castle. There are too many undercover missions they have to do. And while _____ is much better than Choi Han at undercover missions, that man is a lot of things but an actor is not one of them, Cale isn’t cruel enough to make them take on such a taxing mission after being sick.

So he leaves the healer in the Mogoru Castle with Rosalyn and the others. 

“Young master-nim what about assigning a dedicated servant for healer-nim?”

Was Rosalyn’s suggestion after Cale mentioned _____’s tendency to overwork themself.

It seemed like a good idea, therefore they arranged for the healer to have a servant. The servant’s job would consist of making sure the Medicus is eating and resting properly. That servant would also act as _____’s assistant, taking care of whatever the healer needs.

At that time, Cale was satisfied with that plan.

That satisfaction quickly changed when he visited Adin’s room, (well, it’s practically _____ and Cale’s room now) and saw how the healer kept calling the servant’s name. In the beginning, it was fine, Cale didn’t mind it. But then he noticed how _____ seems to call for that servant every 5 sentences they utter.

Honestly? Even Cale knows his acting irrationally this time.

Did he care though? Of course not. Since when did trash care for another person’s feelings?

So he stationed that servant far away.

“Raon make a call in the underground villa. I must talk to Hans”

“HAHAHAHAHAHA!”

Ignoring Hannah’s snickering that turned into full-blown laughter, Cale called Hans over to assist the healer.

Because if the healer is going to rely on someone who’s not Cale, then it might as well be one of his people.

This one is a totally logical decision on Cale’s end. It’s not because of his jea– irritability.

It’s definitely just part of him being responsible over _____.

[lulublack90]

Prompt 22 - Rule

@rosekillermicrofic September 22, word count 739

Previous part First Jegulus part

The day came for their little heist. Barty fired up his crumbling van and collected Sirius from his flat before making the short journey to Grimmauld Place. The dark house loomed above them. Barty had no idea how it looked so much less inviting than the identical houses beside it, but it did, and it sent a shiver down his spine. 

He looked over at Sirius, who was frozen in his seat, staring at the building. Barty put a reassuring hand on his shoulder. 

“I’ve got your back, mate. Burger Face and Lord Twat are on their way to Wiltshire for the Malfoy ball, which, as we both know, is a total fabrication and will give us the time we need to steal all those damn books Regulus is so fond of. Now, come on, I refuse to carry them all out while you have whatever crisis this is,” Barty huffed at him, but it had the effect he wanted, and Sirius got out of the van.

Together they walked up the narrow steps to the front door, and with a bit of jiggery and the right tool, they were in. As a rule, Barty didn’t usually use his skills for actually breaking and entering, but this was a special case, and Regulus had left his keys behind when he’d fled, the ones with his and Evans's flat keys on them. This was something he needed to rectify. He spotted them on the hook just inside the door and deftly pocketed them on his way past.   

Regulus had slept in the same room since birth and they both knew where it was. Sirius opened the door and whistled. 

“There are a few more books than the last time I saw his collection,” He said, his mouth gaping. Barty snorted. Regulus’s collection had been steadily growing over the years. He had nothing else to spend his money on or any other joys in his life. 

“Well, let's get stuck in,” Barty grinned, pulling the first lot of books off the shelf and stacking them on the moving trolly they’d brought with him. It took hours to move all the books. But finally, the job was done. They brought in empty cardboard boxes and emptied Regulus’s drawers into them. Soon, the room was completely cleared. They did a final scan before Sirius checked his watch. 

“We’ve still got a bit of time, do you fancy a bit of mischief?” His grin split his face in a way that reminded him of Regulus when he had a dastardly plan.

“Always,” He answered, intrigued. Sirius and his friends had been known as the school tricksters, and he wondered what the elder Black Brother had come up with. Sirius’s hands suddenly held two glass jars of sliced pickle pieces and Barty’s face lit up. “Oh you beautiful bastard,” He cackled as he took a jar. 

“I’ll take the top floor, you take the bottom, and we’ll meet in the middle. Okay, ready set go!” And Sirius was racing off to the level above. Barty, fully onboard, ran down the stairs and straight into Walburga’s sitting room. 

He hid pickle slices everywhere. In drawers, under cushions. He even put a few inside the sofa cushions. The kitchen was fun. One went into the sugar bowl, another in the odds 'n' ends draw. He stuck one to the fridge like a magnet. By the time he got up to the middle floor, he was running low.

“Here,” Sirius said when he spotted the near-empty jar. Barty held it up and Sirius poured more of the slices into it. “I had a second jar,” He explained when Barty gave him a look. He didn’t really think that the man had gone easy on his mother's bedroom, but you never knew.

They planted the last few pickles and then made their retreat. Barty carefully re-locked the door with his pilfered keys, and then the van was rumbling down the road and on its way to the café. Sirius let out a laugh, and Barty followed. Soon the van was full of gasping laughter. 

He pulled the van up beside the side door of the café where Evan and Remus were waiting for them. James had very kindly got Regulus out of the way for the day so they could surprise him.

Now the real work began, trying to find space in that poky flat for all Regulus’s books. 

Next part

[problems-exe]

The Poem

The story of how Prim and Lu got together in the printerjamau

Wrote this a bit ago and decided it was about time I posted it. This is incredibly long, so I apologize for that, but for those interested in their story, I think it's worth the read.

Begins after the cut :]

The sound of the wind breezing through the desolate building rooftop does nothing to drown out the rapid beating of their soul.

Prim finds themselves sitting, not alone, but with a close friend. Listening to her ramble about the latest au she visited and the small bakery from which she had bought treats. The bag sitting at her side was long emptied, its contents having been eaten hours ago. Prim has found themselves a lot less alone lately.

Despite their best efforts, it's hard for them to focus on Lu’s rambles, distracted by the intense feeling of something in the air. Something about today felt distantly off. It wasn't unusual for the two to meet like this, a gift cradled in one of the skeleton's hands. But Lu had seemed so.. anxious when she asked them to meet. It was odd. She had seemed… flustered? Almost? But that wouldn't make any sense-

“Prim?” Lu pulled them out of their daze with the utterance of their name, a concerned and nervous expression on her face.

“Sorry, that wasn't that interesting, was it? I got a bit carried away…” She states, averting Prim's eyelights as a deep blush settles on her face, accentuated by the deep orangish-pinkish hues of the sun setting before them.

‘She looks so beautiful like this,’ Prim shoves that thought as soon as it crosses their mind, nervous glitches appearing up their body as they force themselves to refocus on the conversation again.

“Nah. Long day. Just zoned out.” Prim replies after a pause. A lie. And they know it's one. Their day had been fine, a typical day as any. They're always honest with her; why are they being like this now?

“Oh,” She sounded surprised, as if she had been expecting Prim to call her boring.

“I'm sorry, do you want to talk about it? I've been rambling on for a while…” She continues, looking back at Prim with a crooked smile. The usual squint of her eye sockets not present. Something was wrong. She'd been acting noticeably off all evening; they should have picked up on the pieces sooner. Prim was the worst person for something like this.

“Are- are you feeling alright? You seem.. upset.” Prim slowly gets out, thinking through the words before settling on them. Lu looks a bit startled at the question.

“I'm, um, yeah! Yeah, I'm alright, just-” She fumbles with her words for a moment, blush on her face darkening, and Prim's expression turns into a concerned frown.

“I wrote you something.” She continues, digging around in her bag for a split second before retrieving a clean, white envelope. Clasped shut with a cat sticker, the words “For Prim” written in cursive on the back. She bashfully presents the letter to Prim, and they momentarily gawk at it, carefully taking it from her hand. Careful to not get ink on it.

“You mentioned wanting to read one of my poems sometime, so..” *She adverts her gaze, voice trailing off at the end as Prim looks over the parchment presented to them. Their soul pounds in their chest, and they scramble to find balance in its weight. They stare at the small envelope, feeling deeply touched by the gesture. They reach to carefully remove the cat sticker before Lu's hands stop them.

“Don't, um, don't read it here. Read it when you get home. It'd feel embarrassing to watch you read it in front of me.” She states, with a nervous laugh, gently pulling her hands away. Prim nods carefully after a moment, slowly and delicately moving to place the parchment in their bag, careful not to bend it.

“I better get going now,” Lu interjects after watching Prim's bag close. They look up at her, surprised.

“Already?” They respond, concern still evident in their face.

“Yeah, I've got a long day tomorrow. I'll see you in a few days?” She responds, sounding hopeful, pleading almost.

“Obviously,” Prim responds immediately, worry still swirling in their chest.

“Right. Of course.” She states, as if reassuring herself.

“I'll see you then.” She continues, a tight smile on her face. She gives a wave of goodbye before disappearing into a portal, leaving Prim sitting alone. Surprised by the abruptness of it all.

They clutch at the strap to their bag, the featherlight weight of the envelope feeling heavy at their side. They're worried about what they'll find written in there. It's hard to fathom Lu acting so.. afraid over one of her poems. She'd sounded excited at the idea of sharing some with them when Prim had brought it up. Maybe she got cold feet? Even then…

Well, no point in speculating. They'll find out when they get home.

Prim sits for a moment longer, taking in the sunset one last time, attempting to calm their racing thoughts. After feeling more composed, they reluctantly rise to their feet, a tinge of anxiety gnawing at their chest.

Navigating through the usual motions of leaving a get-together like this, they slide one of their feet along the asphalt, leaving a trail of ink behind. They place their foot back next to the other, standing in place as the ink pools around them.

They begin to sink into the puddle, dragged into darkness for a split second before emerging in the cozy living room of their apartment, ink swiftly vanishing beneath them.

Taking a cautious step toward the nearby couch, they gingerly take a seat, pausing to take a deep breath. They turn their attention to the coffee table before them, using their hand to slide a few objects to the side, making room for the letter nestled in their bag.

Pausing once more to collect themselves, they carefully unfasten their bag, delicately reaching inside to withdraw the envelope. They stare at it pensively, toying with the small sticker that sealed it, a tiny yet almost taunting obstacle. They smooth the envelope with a thumb, using one hand to slowly and meticulously peel off the sticker, careful not to rip the parchment

They feel lost in their own little world, with nothing but themselves and the letter existing within the tranquil room. Unfurling the page from the envelope, they place the latter on the couch alongside them before setting the sheet down on the cleared space of the coffee table.

Their eyelights graze over the page, reading its contents carefully. It reads,

Prim,

I've written this poem for you to convey the words I've struggled to say aloud. I’m sorry for not finding the courage to tell you in person. As an artist yourself, I'm sure you understand that sometimes it's easier to express our emotions through our work.

I understand if my feelings aren't mutual; I know this must have come as a shock to you.

I just hope this doesn't change anything between us.

Yours Always,

Lu

Below this, begins the poem,

On a canvas brimming with vibrant dreams,

Where colors mix and blend with gentle grace,

I've etched our story, yours and mine,

In shades, that time will embrace.

Your smile, a brush of vibrant hue,

Turns every moment into radiant light,

And in your eyes, I find the clues,

To ignite my soul with a beautiful sight.

Each day with you, a masterstroke,

A blend of joy and true elation,

Your laughter dispels the shadows,

Bestowing me a profound sensation.

From twilight’s glow to dawn’s first rays,

My love’s a spectrum rich and rare,

In every shade, in every phase,

You're a masterpiece beyond compare.

With every brush and every stroke,

I craft a world where we could be,

A place where dreams and hearts intertwine,

A canvas created for you and me.

So I ask now, with hopeful heart,

To step inside this vivid scene,

To share a life, to play a part,

Will you be my love, my dream?

Prim sits in stunned silence, reading and rereading the words, page blurring as they attempt to process what they've just read. Lu likes them. Actually likes them. It's hard to comprehend. Why would Lu choose someone like them when she could have anyone she wanted? Lu's affection felt like a dream, too surreal to grasp.

The confession weighs heavily on Prim's chest, butterflies fluttering in their stomach. They're at a loss for words, mind racing with questions and uncertainty, but also a strong feeling of excitement that they can't push down. Their face turns a deep shade of cyan, magenta, and yellow as the realization sinks in. Lu likes them, and they like her. The words of the poem echo in their mind, evoking a soft smile. Despite being alone they start to feel embarrassed by their reaction, prompting them to pull their scarf up to cover their blushing cheeks as they read through the page once again.

A panic settles in as Prim suddenly realizes that they need to respond to Lu's confession. What do they say to her? Nothing they could say would come even close to matching what she had written for them. They never had been the best at expressing their emotions. But… Lu needed that right now. She deserved a proper response from Prim.

No wonder she had been so nervous earlier, she had poured her heart out to the inky skeleton. She's probably feeling as anxious as Prim does right now, waiting for their response.

Well, better not keep her waiting any longer.

They cast a final gaze at the poem before rising to their feet, letting their scarf fall from their face. They secure their bag firmly over their shoulder, one of their hands clasped around its strap. With unwavering determination, they proceed, ignoring their nerves.

They begin the familiar routine of creating a portal, their foot swiping across the ground with a trail of ink following in its wake. The ink gathers at their feet, pulling them into the encompassing darkness.

Upon emerging, they find themselves standing outside The Star Sanses’ base, as well as Lu's home. The Omega Timeline bathes everything in the glow of starlight, casting the surrounding area in a celestial glow. After countless visits, the building's layout is etched into their memory, allowing them to easily locate Lu's room from the outside, even in the darkness.

After a brief walk, they arrive at Lu's window, gazing up to get a glance at it. They can see her curtains partially drawn, revealing a few of her plants resting on the windowsill. Their nerves intensify as they turn their attention to the tall tree adjacent to her window. Taking a deep nervous breath, they begin the familiar climb. Despite having done this many times before, the weight of the moment makes their movements feel awkward and slow, taking longer than usual to ascend the tree.

Eventually, they settle on a sturdy branch, close enough to reach Lu's window. They pause for a moment, trying to calm their anxiety before tentatively tapping on the window and leaning back, waiting for Lu to open it.

Moments later, they catch a glimpse of Lu's face peeking through the curtains, her eyelights meeting theirs. Despite the dim lighting, her deep blush is unmistakable. With a soft click, the window unlocks and slides open, revealing Lu's head as she peeks through to see them clearly.

“What are you doing out here?” She asks, her voice filled with unease, a nervous expression on her face.

“Me too,” Prim responds quickly, their cheeks darkening as the words leave their mouth, realizing that their statement didn't quite make sense.

“...What?” Lu asks after a pause, her head tilted slightly in confusion, a slight laugh heard in her tone.

"I mean— I read the poem. Me too. I, um, I feel the same,” Prim stammers, avoiding Lu's gaze, turning their face away and tugging their scarf over their cheeks once more.

“Oh,” She breathes, surprise evident in her voice. There's another moment of silence, broken only by the chirping of the crickets and the rustle of the wind.

The air feels tight as the silence sits between them, Prim's soul pounding anxiously in their chest. They're starting to wonder if it was a bad idea coming here. What if they misunderstood the situation? What if they just messed everything up?

Gently, Lu's hand takes hold of Prim's arm, snapping them out of their thoughts; they timidly look up, finding Lu's gentle smile waiting for them. Prim feels the blush on their face deepen and forces themselves to not look away. It's hard to gauge her expression as Prim searches her face, but she doesn't appear to be upset. Lu tugs on their arm, and Prim understands the unspoken message. With Lu's help, they slowly make their way through the window and into her bedroom, landing softly on her carpet.

The silence doesn't last much longer once Prim is inside. Lu's expression is soft and adoring as she delicately takes Prim's hands, their eyelights meeting in a moment of quiet connection.

“...Really?” She asks, her voice gentle and hopeful. The look on her face leaves Prim feeling flustered, wondering how they had gotten so lucky. Prim nods, struggling to find the words, their throat tightening. Lu's smile widens.

“I want to hear you say it out loud, though,” Lu playfully pouts, her affectionate expression coaxing the words out of Prim. They feel like they'd do anything, as long as she continued to look at them like that.

“Yeah. Yeah, I, uhm…I like you. I have for a while now,” Prim responds, their voice slightly shaky. Lu's smile grows impossibly wider, her eyelights fuzzy at the edges, glistening with tears of joy.

“Will you be my partner, Prim?” Lu asks, her voice filled with hope and excitement.

“I'd like that,” Prim replies easily, their face flushed, gazing back at Lu with the same adoration.

“Cool,” She responds with a wet giggle, using one hand to wipe happy tears from her eye sockets.

“Cool,” Prim repeats, with a similarly elated expression. They gently replace Lu's hand with theirs, wiping the tears from her face. The two of them stay like that for a moment, silent, until Lu speaks again.

“May I..?” She asks, face flushed, eyelights flicking down to their mouth. Prim nods, and Lu leans in.

Yeah, coming here had been the right decision after all.

[rainintheevening]

Part I - Part II ... Part XVIII - Part XIX

It hurts to see Peter hurting.

More than the state of their city (still theirs), more than the shattered buildings (he imagines the inferno of Christmas with a little shiver), even more than the dark smudges under their mother's eyes (he and Susan make all the meals during the holidays), it's Peter who wrenches at his heart, ache welling behind Ed's sternum.

He sees how Peter yearns for a sword, an enemy, a way to make all the brokenness around them right. More than sees, though, Edmund knows.

Knows the hunger that eats at the back of the throat, the way a single page in the newspaper swamps security like a tidal wave, the helplessness that weighs shoulders and hands till falling to fury or despair seem the only choices available. Hunger and helplessness had been his old play-fellows, back Before, and now he finds their heads reared again, but he also finds himself too taken up with watching over his brother to pay much attention to them. He forgets himself in his concern for Peter.

Peter does not cry again, not that Edmund sees or hears at least. He sleeps little, laughs less.

The girls too are shaken by the alterations to what had once been their world, but Lucy laughs more than she cries, and Susan steps easily into the motherly role.

Peter does all the shopping. In the span of their three weeks holidays, he also fixes all the bicycles in the garden shed, digs up the whole bed of the Victory garden, mends two broken chairs and a chest of drawers, takes a broken clock to pieces (Ed is the one who finds the problem), and fights four different boys, two of them more than once.

Many of the children who had stayed through the whole of the bombing are quick to sneer at those who did not.

“As if we chose to go!” Edmund complains.

“Cowards,” hisses Daisy Moore as she passes them in the churchyard, and her brother laughs.

“Got scared by a few rockets, and left your poor mother all alone in her shelter, listening to us all burn?”

Ed does not relax his grip on Peter's arm until Daisy and Danny have disappeared, until the tremble of taught muscles under his hand has melted away, until the growl has died in Peter's throat.

“Look,” Ed says with forced lightness, guiding Peter toward the street where Lucy leans against a small tree, singing to herself. “I know it was terrible, but there's no call for talking like that. It might make you feel better for a moment, but it makes someone else feel horrid for awhile, so it's definitely a sum-total loss.”

Peter does not answer.

The next day he and Susan come home from a walk, and his sleeve is torn and there is blood on his knuckles.

“They insulted Susan,” is all he says to Edmund in the mirror, bent over, washing wounded hands.

Edmund is glad when they go back to school.

At St. Maurice’s, Peter's responsibilities are clear, he's respected, he has the wide open sky and the wild moors to ride over.

They step off the train at the village station, and Ed sees him breathing deep, smiling at Colin's enthusiastic greeting, leaping to catch a stolen cap and prolong a wild chase along the platform.

Ed joins Peter very early for a ride the next morning, slapped awake by the cold wet May air, but he sees the light in Peter's eyes, the way he greets each horse in turn, and Ed strokes Rose's neck, tickles under her chin as he smiles himself.

“Perhaps he'll be alright.”

But then this term Wollers is gone, graduated, good, steady old boy off to the war, and the new Head Boy ticks Peter off twice in the first week for ‘interfering’, slaps Alexander Morrow in Ed's form with a hundred lines (in French!) for cheeking him in the hall, and generally does his best to let everyone know he's in charge, while also making everyone hate him for it.

Ed hates it, especially for Peter's sake, when Peter's only a year younger and also named head of the Sixth Form. A few weeks in, Peter joins Ed on the way in to lunch, and his brow is drawn low over still-smouldering eyes, jaw set in a hard line.

“Beaumont”, he says, without preamble. “Trying to tell me what to do about Gilly when it's a Sixth Form matter. Now who’s interfering?”

“Not you,” Ed says mildly, watches Peter's shoulders drop, watches him exhale. “Just don't give him the satisfaction of marking you up for anything,” he adds.

“I know, I know,” Peter sighs. “Jolly well wish I could box him, but I can't unless he starts it. I don't know why they chose him.”

At least Pete has rugger to shine at, Ed thinks. Peter had sat his Junior Cert at the end of last term (and passed with Credit or Distinction in all subjects, which Ed is very proud of him for) so he's more relaxed with his own studies, making time for more tutoring of the young ones, and making the rugby team.

Edmund tries out for the Junior team, gets named a spare. He knows he's not strong, but he is fast, and slippery.

A letter from Dad comes, forwarded from Mum, and it is cheerful, telling them things they already know about the successes in North Africa, expounding on his work learning Arabic, giving a brief written sketch of the desert sunset that strikes up vividly at them like heat from the sand till Edmund can see it as clearly as the view west from Tashbaan.

Peter is quiet though, broody for days after. Ed watches, wonders, worries.

Three months and Peter will be 17, a year off of signing up. Sometimes Edmund is certain Peter would have already gone, fudged his age and signed his name; he doesn't doubt they would take a strapping youth like Peter with very few questions. But he'd promised Mum, and Peter Pevensie is not a promise-breaker.

He's also not the only one hurting, not the only one missing Dad, missing Narnia, but Ed doesn't like to worry his brother, doesn't want to add to the concerns Peter carries.

There are questions sitting somewhere in his stomach, and he tries to ignore them, but they've grown heavier over the days, weeks, months. Time ticking by, another spring, and something about the sunrises, the green flush racing across the quad, rising in the victory garden, the apple trees by the stables bursting into bloom, it makes the longing flare bright in him.

As always the memories stay hazy, sometimes fearfully so, only brought back in sharp relief, a cleared streak in fogged up glass, in odd moments. Ed thinks there's a pattern in it—when a lie hovers on the tip of his tongue, he hears Oreius's voice; when Peter turns with an angry word, he remembers tense council rooms; when an apology fails to melt Edmund's own shame, he sees Tumnus's face. But there are smaller, less specific flashes too, and one day, hard at work with the violin in one of the practice rooms, he gets lost in the music, notes dancing under his fingers, spinning, swooping, diving, soaring, and he plays and plays and plays until he coasts to a halt, stands breathless and a little dizzy, feeling exactly as he had after his first real flight on the back of a gryphon, and his hand on the bow grips involuntarily tighter, as if feathers and fur are slipping through his fingers.

“Oh, don't stop.”

A hoarse whisper making Ed spin round, but it is only Peter leaning in the doorway, yearning writ large across his face, until their eyes meet and it twists into sorrow.

Only then does Edmund realise his cheeks are wet, and he pivots quickly back, lays the violin down gentle, deliberate.

Peter says nothing, but he comes across the room, stands close behind, close enough that Ed decides he doesn't care, and turns, falls into Peter's chest.

Arms wrap strong around him, smile bunches the cheek that presses against his head, but still Peter says nothing, and Edmund is glad. Just for a minute he hides his face in his big brother's shoulder, and lets himself cry. Peter holds him, safe and tight, and he stays, sniffling into Peter’s vest, until Peter says, “It sounded like Narnia. What was it?”

Ed sighs, pulls away to scrub a sleeve across his nose. “I don't know. It just sort of… came over me. Or out of me. Or to me– I don't know.”

Slow grinning pride breaks across Peter's face. “So you're a composer now too!”

And Ed must needs shove him away, rolling his eyes. “I didn't exactly write it down, so I'll probably never be able to play it again.”

“That doesn't change how beautiful it was,” Peter says, hopeful and true like Edmund needs him to be.

He fingers the violin strings, plucking them gently, tick tock tick tock tick, and he says it quiet.

“It's been about ten years. In Narnia. Without us. If the time difference between the professor's visit and ours is consistent.”

“Corin will be a man,” Peter murmurs in the surprised tone of grown-ups talking about nieces or nephews they haven't seen in ages. “And what would you bet Aravis and Cor are married?”

“Peridan and Anna must have several children by now.” Ed’s voice catches in his throat at the thought of his friend, who had sworn he would make Edmund godfather of all his sons, as well as letting him teach them all how to fight. And oh, Ed had stood up at his wedding as best man, hadn't he? While Peter had given Anna away, in lieu of long-lost father or brothers.

“Erah and Pearl–” Peter starts, but can't finish.

“We weren't trying to leave,” Edmund says. “I wish they knew that.”

“We were only following Lucy into another adventure.” Peter has a little half-smile on his lips, and then his arm around Ed’s shoulders is warm.

“The professor said it wouldn't all be easy.” Edmund rests his head on Peter's shoulder.

“Do you ever wish-?” Peter starts, but cuts himself off with a decided “No, I don't.”

Edmund knows, he's wondered himself, once or twice on difficult days, but he always answers the same as Peter. He'll always be grateful they had been brought to Narnia.

But there's one question he does hesitate over, as the seasons change, and the clock ticks on, and he voices it now, barely above a whisper: “Are you so sure we'll go back?”

“Of course,” Peter says at once. “Aslan said we would always be kings and queens of Narnia. We'll get back somehow.”

“You're sure?” Edmund pulls away enough to look hard up into Peter's eyes, searching for a hint of doubt.

“Quite. We have to.” Peter swallows hard, looks away out the window where the rain falls steady in the quad. “We have to,” softer now.

Ed sees the longing in his brother's eyes, and he wishes suddenly that just being here with Edmund and the music and the rain was enough for Peter. But he loves his brother anyway.

“Alright, your majesty,” he says lightly. “Now come on, the supper bell will ring any minute.”

He snaps the clasps on the violin case closed, leads the way out of the room, humming the whisper of wings in a blue sky.

Behind him, Peter is silent.

[writingoddess1125]

Small Touches

Bucky Barns x GN Reader

Fluffy 💕

Masterlist <<

Kofi <<

SFW

• Bucky’s not used to touch.

• Not after all the years of isolation, manipulation, and pain that have made him recoil at even the slightest brush against his skin.

• Despite therapy the weight of the Winter Soldier haunts him, making it hard to believe he deserves something as simple as a gentle hand.

• But when you come into his life, it’s like the walls he’s built around himself slowly begin to crack, piece by piece.

• Despite his best efforts

- You having been a Family friend of Sam, You of course were invited to a family outing. Sam also dragging Bucky with him to get him more socialized.

• The first time it happens, it’s an accident.

"(Y/N)! My favorite annoyance!" Sam called out once he saw you, of course a laugh bubbling from your chest as you walk over and give him a side hug to not spill your drink.

"Sam! How of the US chicken doing?" You joke with a wide smile as he rolls his eyes.

"Fine Fine- Smart Ass. Oh and (Y/N), this is Bucky Barnes, he is- someone who works with me" He introduced as he gestured to his acquaintance who gave a awkward smile. You still a bit buzzed from your drink and your natural social reaction also give a Side hug to the stronger with a cheerful greeting- Unaware you were hugging the side of his metal arm.

It leaves Bucky confused, wondering why your touch didn’t feel like the usual threat in the back of his head. A bit frazzled by it as Sam tries to explain away that you were a hugger-

He stiffens instantly, his mind racing, but you don’t even seem to notice.Instead of pulling away quickly or acting awkward, you continue talking, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

"It's wonderful to have you here! Here have a beer and food should be done soon- Speaking of I think I left the drinks i brought in the car" You say cheerfully as you gesture to the grill near by. Setting down your drink on a near by seat as you excuse yourself to run the errand.

Interesting..

His breath catches, but you quickly pull away, not wanting to make him uncomfortable. He doesn’t say anything, but inside, something stirs. It’s not fear—it’s curiosity. He hasn’t flinched. That’s… progress, right?

• It continues like that for a while—small, fleeting touches that don’t last long enough to feel overwhelming but linger just enough to leave an impression.

• A pat on the back when he does something good.

• Your hand briefly brushing his as you hand him something.

• They’re all innocent touches, but each one feels like another brick coming down from the fortress around his heart.

• Eventually, Bucky finds himself missing those moments.

• He won’t admit it—not at first—but something about your touch is grounding.

• It’s warm, and real, and for the first time in a long time, it doesn’t come with pain or fear.

• He starts to lean into it, allowing your hand to stay a little longer when it rests on his arm.

• He doesn't flinch when your fingers linger by his.

• The day he initiates touch for the first time catches you both by surprise.

You’re sitting on the edge of a rooftop, watching the sunset and chatting mindlessly, Bucky talking about how this area used to look like when he was young- when he hesitates for a second, then slowly reaches for your hand. His fingers wrap around yours cautiously, like he’s afraid of breaking something fragile.

It’s a big moment for him—one he’d been building up to in his mind for weeks.

He doesn’t say anything, and neither do you, but the soft squeeze you give his hand is all the reassurance he needs.

EXTRA-

• Soon After he asked you out, which of course you say yes to.

Now Bucky is no Virgin, thats not a surprise since before he was a bit of a player- However that was a lifetime ago so now- He feels like he's starting from scratch especially with you.

This day in age also is much more sex positive then back in his day...

"You're Joking-" Bucky asked as he sat next to you slack jawed, while you laugh loudly next to him on the couch of your livingroom, your legs slung over his thighs as you two lounge together, having had to pause the movie that was being played cause it had a Tinder scene and he had been confused.

"No I'm not- I promise" You say with a wide smile as you wipe the tear from your cheek.

"Sex is not as sacred to some as it was before- So yes you can go on your phone and just swipe on pictures of people you'd want to have sex with, agree and meet up" You try to keep your laugh under control at the way his eyes widen and jaw slacks.

"But- No Date No- Dinner? Flowers? Like I had to put in so much effort back then! And now you can just- Do that?" He questions, now sitting up and waving his hand like a old grandma at how this generation is too open and should be more careful!

"I haven't even told you about the wide range of Imternet Porn either- Or Orgies, Sex Clubs, Free Use Clubs, Toys, BDSM" You say as you watch Bucky's face scrunched up in confusion at the last part ad he holds up a hand to stop you.

"B.D.S.M?"

[artsycooky13]

top 3 fave bbys in the burrito show (bonus SUPER LONG tags on how i feel bout the characters)

[kelocitta]

Tangentially related to some of the discussion i posted earlier but quiet literally the first RW Art Month i participated I did it completely on whim like, one day before it started. And I mostly did it because I hadn't drawn a ton of rain world and wanted to draw more. Fandom presence was a lot smaller than and I was one of a handful of artists who did the entire thing. Fast forward and I still do Art Month and I've gotten to work with VC directly. But it was quite literally something I decided to do completely on whim that set the ball rolling, and for something a lil more niche and certainly with a lot more dev/fandom art involvement than most. It's really random how and why you might get noticed more than usual, especially with the "toss it into the search and hope it pays out' mechanism of Socmed

[impzone]

AGGHHHHH FINALS ARE OVER….. i was gonna post a drawing for it saying “it’s so over” because i got a B but i don’t have the energy orz

[thebaffledcaptain]

big things happening in the British Corner…

[ne0nwithazero]

It's strange how I kind of went from consistently disliking my art, to like, disliking individual pieces, but when I look at my overall work I just get filled with so much joy and pride

It's not like I'm doing anything groundbreaking or utterly amazing, but I guess it's the thing of like, seeing myself as an ordinary human capable of creating things? I just see so much beauty in humanity's capacity of creating things, and I guess I had to teach myself to see that beauty in my own capabilities as well, no matter how mediocre they are

It's hard to say I like things I create because I fear people will think I'm full of myself, but I just have so much pride in my work. If I start looking too closely at my art, I start seeing all the mistakes and everything I hate about it, but if I step back and take in the bigger picture of all I've done and how far I've come? I don't know, it's a strange feeling to describe

It's best described as this sentiment of fulfilment that makes me realize that there's nothing else I'd rather be doing with my life other than creating art I love and sharing with people

[autistic-shaiapouf]

Also with so little time before the con and so much Outfit left for me to make, I'm starting to enter hyperfocus when I'm working on it 👁👁

[vlindervin7]

muslims will act violently homophobic in a country that values gay rights and then act shocked when it reflects badly on their community