#thus so did my commentary

[shadowbends]

DEEP DISH!! ROTTMNT FANFIC RECS (OVER 15,000 WORDS)

It’s me again, folks. Do you enjoy good fanfic? We’re reaching the end of the line, but I’m here to hook you up! Whether you’re new to the fandom and diving into the ROTTMNT fic scene for the first time, or a veteran looking for content you might have missed, my hope for this project is to point you to something you’ll enjoy!

This rec list is the last of three and focuses on longfic in the fandom, with a word count reaching anywhere over 15,000 words. You’ll find a variety of fic here, from novellas to full-blown novels—some complete, but many still ongoing! Though it may be heresy on the streets of New York, this is the list you want when you’re craving something really thick to sink your teeth into: a sit-down experience exploding with flavor. Don’t have time for that, actually? Then consider checking out my previous rec lists as well!

NEW YORK STYLE, BABY!! ROTTMNT FANFIC RECS (UNDER 5,000 WORDS)

STUFFED CRUST!! ROTTMNT FANFIC RECS (BETWEEN 5,000 AND 15,000 WORDS)

DEEP DISH!! ROTTMNT FANFIC RECS (OVER 15,000 WORDS) — You’re here!

If you enjoy any of these fics, make sure to reblog and spread the love! Don’t forget to check out the other works by these authors; many of them have written multiple wonderful stories not featured here that are just as good. Additionally, consider leaving the authors a comment! I’m not always the best at that myself, but fic writers work hard and deserve all the love in the world.

With all of that said, it’s time for the recs. Let’s dig in!

Quick note: On previous lists, I separated the recs by the general time period they took place in. I’m not going to that here, largely because—uh. Well. Nearly all of them are post-movie! This fandom’s sure been active in the last couple of months, huh? Given that, I’ll be sorting them by a broader method, but yes. If you’ve not seen the movie, this is your warning that spoilers abound in the recs below. 

➤ ➤ ➤ CANON COMPLIANT

The Aftermath by Starrcrossrose

57,262 words, 9/? chapters (last updated 11/03/2022)

Character Focus: Everyone (Leo-centric)

Genre: Angst, Family Drama, Hurt/Comfort

It would’ve been easier to say what he was feeling, but he honestly didn’t know how. He wasn’t sure why, either. He knew his brothers would understand and comfort him and be there if he wanted them to be. Hell, Donnie’s surprise sleepover and everyone showing up for it in the living room had been proof of that.

Yet he still couldn’t do it. He’d tried to talk to Donnie and the pain on his brother’s face had been enough to make him never want to speak about things ever again. He didn’t want them to hurt the way he did; he wanted them to be okay and normal and happy.

You know they aren’t happy. Why do you keep pretending to be fine when the others aren’t either?

Leo squeezed his eyes shut and buried his face into his knees as he pulled himself into an even tighter ball. He wanted to go into his shell as much as possible, but at the same time, a searing energy was making his legs feel like he could run or swim for miles. He could just go and go and go until he collapsed.

Maybe… maybe that'll help.

Set a few months after the movie, Leo struggles with the long recovery time needed for his injuries to heal, both physical and mental. Unable to talk about it, he turns to unhealthy coping methods instead. The rest of the family is doing no better from the fallout of the invasion, however, with each of their own stresses mounting the longer things go unaddressed. That is until Chapter 8, when things come to a head...

There are a lot of post-movie recovery fics out there, each one unique. The Aftermath’s hallmark has to be in its slowburn foreshadowing, and excellent character writing. Throughout many chapters, we get a glimpse into the heads of just about every beloved character the series has to offer, including April and Casey Jr. Little clues to what’s going to go wrong are set up early on, but just like the characters, I was blind to how serious of a turn things were about to take until the problem finally reared its head. This fic does a good job of showing how important it is to talk to one another, even if it’s hard.

Aftershocks by Katiemonz, McBethins, octolingkiera, theashemarie, and this_kills_the_man

153,543 words, 12/15 chapters (last updated 11/06/2022)

Character Focus: Everyone

Genre: Family Drama, Angst, Hurt/Comfort

“Good game,” Leo said to Donnie, smiling at Mikey in the same sly way as before.

“Thank you, Leonardo, but as I’ve said Uno is—”

“But you still lost,” Leo continued. He swept the cards up and began to straighten them for another shuffle.

“Second place is hardly—”

“Honorary title,” Leo cut in again. “Mikey won, so we owe him.”

“Owe him what? I have—”

“Keep your money, Don. In this game we’re dealing in secrets.”

“Secrets.”

“Yeah, specifically what’s up in that brilliant, big head of yours after all that Krang shit. C’mon. You owe him one secret.”

Picking up from the end of the invasion but spanning the weeks after, the day’s been won, but no one came out of the Krang’s attack completely unscathed. There’s a lot of trauma to unpack here—unfortunately, talking about it is the last thing just about anyone in the family wants to do. 

Another recovery fic, Aftershocks is unique for being a story told from five perspectives (the boys and April), as written by five different authors. As the brothers avoid each other, each arc’s events end up having quite the different take depending on whose POV you’re currently following, even in moments where the same scene is being retold. Truly an ensemble fic that focuses on everyone’s trauma, I’ve especially enjoyed that April was included. As the longest fic on this list, Aftershocks is heavy on introspection and exposition, but the characterization always manages to shine through in the details. I especially love the scene I quoted above; “Trauma Uno” is totally a concept I could see the boys coming up with. 

A Tale of Spirits by unorthodoxx

47,202 words, 6/? chapters (last updated 11/06/2022)

Character Focus: Ensemble

Genre: Adventure, Fantasy, Crossover

"I need to find my brothers," Raph mumbles.  "That's if they're even here."

"And then head back to the spirit world."

"It's not the spirit world!"

"Right," Toph grins. "This so-called 'other dimension' without benders."

"There are no benders in my world."

Toph reaches and places a hand on scaled skin.  Huge muscles twitch under her palm and the spirit stops.  "No benders?"

"Yes!"

She nods.  "Like the spirit world."

Raph throws his arms up with a scream and Toph cackles.

For a crossover, this fic requires quite a bit of investment in the second fandom to follow; you’ll want to have seen all of ATLA Season 1, and potentially even Season 2 if you want to keep track of what’s going on, especially for moments when episodes are retold, but with the turtles added in. Additionally, the POV is solely with the ATLA characters. Is this fic worth recommending despite that? Abso-freaking-lutely. This might be one of the most creative crossovers I’ve seen in any fandom, and I’m absolutely hooked.

The plot is deceptively straightforward—the four turtles mysteriously appear in the world of Avatar: The Last Airbender, separated and with no idea where the brothers are. Their arrival changes everything, with the people of the world seeing them as powerful spirits and guardians. I won’t spoil who ends up with who beyond what’s shown in the excerpt, but it paves the way for fascinating political intrigue and character development on all sides, our fave turtles included. Donatello’s position is perhaps the most fascinating for what may come of it, but everyone’s new groupings have been an utter delight. The banter feels charming and wholly in-character, and I can’t wait to read more. This is definitely a fic to keep your eye on, if you’ve not found it already.

Brother Dearest by Wardenov

69,666 words, 22/? chapters (last updated 11/03/2022)

Character Focus: Everyone (Donnie-centric)

Genre: Drama, Sci-Fi, Horror

“You came here looking for answers, weakling, because you messed with powers far beyond your understanding.” “I’m not-” She doesn’t let him continue. “Our brother may be dead, but the glory of our kind is that we are never truly defeated, not as long as our mark remains.” And as if to make her point, she raises a tentacle and delicately touches the glass - tendrils spawning from the point of contact, rapidly expanding across the surface like a frenzied contagion before freezing in place and crumbling under the extreme cold. “We cull the weak and assimilate those worthy, we bestow the blessing of Krang upon those who deserve it. You-” she spits, remaining tentacles scrambling to climb the glass where Donnie stood, “-you have stolen our gift.”

He says nothing.

“But,” she continues, sadistic smile returning, “your transgressions have ensured our survival. Our continued conquest. Whether you like it or not.”

Set a few months after the Krang’s invasion, things have seemingly gone back to normal for the Hamato family. Everyone’s doing their best to get by, and back to familiar routines and hobbies. Donnie, though? His newest project throws all of that into new chaos, showing that no matter how well-meaning, there are some things man (and turtle) was never meant to tamper with. 

I’m absolutely feral for this fic, and desperate to impress upon anyone seeing this why they should read it. It might be one of the very best fics the fandom has to offer. Seriously. You want plot and worldbuilding on par with the Season 3 we never got? Exploration of the Hidden City, and the Council of Heads that run it? High stakes, suspense, action, and family drama? Look no further, fam. Brother Dearest has it all, and every character (even Mayhem!) has a big role to play. April’s sleuthing, Mikey further develops his new mystic powers, Leo has some heavy choices to make as leader, and Raph isn’t as home free after the Krang invasion as he thought. Make no mistake, though, the star of this show is Donnie in his unwitting supervillain arc. Will his family be able to save him from himself? Only time and new chapters can tell, but this fic dug its claws into my heart and won’t let go, it’s so good. 

Drift and Chemical Reaction by Bronte

26,949 words, 7/7 chapters (split between two fics)

Character Focus: Donatello & Leonardo, Ensemble

Genre: Hurt/Comfort, Family Bonding

"Piña colada?"

"What the—?" Donnie cuts him off before he can finish, cramming a green and yellow striped straw between his teeth. Leo wears some of it, the yellow, smoothie-like drink dribbling down his plastron. "Wait, where did you—what is this?"

Donnie smirks. "Pineapple, coconut, rum. A taste of the tropics."

Leo blinks and glances down apprehensively at the ‘Better Late than Ugly’ mug in his hand. "...does this have alcohol in it?"

"Does this have—pfft, I would never. Do you know who I am? Donatello, upstanding citizen of Manhattan proper?" Donnie barks a laugh, tossing his head back before leveling him with a look. "Of course there is. As the Bard himself said, self-love, my brother, is not so vile a sin as self-neglect."

As two sides of the same story, these fics are being recommended together! Set after the movie, Drift is told from Leonardo’s POV, both during and after leaving the prison dimension, where Chemical Reaction tells the story from Donatello’s POV. 

The real charm of this fic, though? It has to be the banter. Reading this, I could totally hear the character’s voices in my head, which was only made better once the piña coladas came in. You think the twins are disasters; just wait until they’re drunk. These fics would be worth reccing on their own for that scene alone, but there’s actually a little bit of plot involved as well as Leo struggles to regain his ninpo, while Donnie... Well, something weird is going on with Donnie. Needless to say, both of these are a great read!

Every Night the Longest Day by ashtreelane

33,731 words, 13/? chapters (last updated 10/27/2022)

Character Focus: Leonardo & Family

Genre: Hurt/Comfort, Medical Drama

“What’s wrong, Leo?” Raph asks from where he is curled around him, the snapper’s chin nestled on the top of his head.

“Can’t sleep,” Leo mutters. He smells worry, sudden and sharp, and when he opens his eyes Raph has whipped around to look at Donnie, eyes blown wide, looking for an answer. Donnie is looking at him too, his eyebrows furrowed in concern.

“We- okay. Raph, don't freak out. This is to be expected, remember?” Donnie is saying, his voice just barely on the wrong side of too calm. He’s freaking out too. Why? What’s happening? Oh, he’s being addressed now, he should probably pay attention.

“Leo, you were cursed six days ago to be unable to fall asleep. Your memory is suffering because of it, but we’re all right here, okay?”

Leo kind of knows what they’re talking about. He remembers it, he remembers that it happened, but the… events are… foggy. What- what had they been talking about?

“What are we talking about?”

When Leo is cursed to be unable to sleep, he and the family must wait for a new moon to break the spell through a ritual. Unfortunately, that new moon is nearly two weeks off. As Leo is forced to stay awake for days on end, his mental and physical condition quickly begins to deteriorate. Through it all, Leo’s family stays by his side to help him through it, beautifully balancing hurt with comfort through the beginning. As the story goes on and Leo’s condition worsens, though... Well. Things aren’t looking good, let’s say.  

I have such a soft spot for this fic, though. It’s grown quite popular lately, so many of you reading this list may have already heard it, but there was a point when I was following early on where the author was debating shifting the POV around or sticking with Leo as an unreliable narrator. I was really proud of them for sticking to their guns and going with the latter, and I think it’s paid off in spades. The way the author experiments with formatting styles and missing scenes really makes the fic stand apart from the standard whump setup, and turns it into something akin to low-key psychological horror. If you’re into that sort of thing it’s a lot of fun; even if you’re not, the moments of family bonding peppered throughout the fic are so wholesome, and definitely worth your time.

Fallout by GauntletKnight

50,677 words, 20/? chapters (last updated 11/05/2022)

Character Focus: Everyone

Genre: Hurt/Comfort, Family Drama

“We are here. We are alive. Raph and Mikey are downstairs. Dad and April and Casey are on the way. You’re alright, Leo. You’re safe. We are all safe. No one is here to hurt you…or us.” There is no special inflection to his voice, but his words are firm, unmoving. Leo shakes for a moment, squeezing Donnie’s hand…and then he blinks, his eyes clear and he tries to take a breath.

Violent coughs wrack his body as he tries to dislodge the blood that had built up from his sobs. Bright red spatters down his front and across Donnie’s hands as he holds onto Leo’s arm. Each breath is like nails on a chalkboard.

Draxum steps in instantly, checking the monitor for vitals. “I’ve gotta get to that punctured lung…or else getting this blood transfusion in him isn’t going to do anything.” He turns to Donnie, holding out plastic gloves, “Can you-”

Leo shakes his head, finally getting a rattling breath into his chest. “N-no…Don’s…not great with this kind of thing. S’ok…he’s so good at everything else he had to leave some for the rest of us.” He smiles up at Donnie like Donnie hung the damn moon and stars, his eyes still shining with painful tears. It’s…a weirdly genuine moment between the two of them…

Donnie doesn’t like it.

Set between the final fight and grabbing a slice in the movie, this fic follows the immediate aftermath of pulling Leo out of the prison dimension with a bit more urgency and attention to everyone’s injuries. 

As I’ve said before, every movie recovery fic I’ve found has their hallmark, and I’d say Fallout’s is its heart and emotion. By focusing on the aftermath of the battle where everyone’s stresses are still running high, there’s a lot going on here, and it makes for some tense, but evocative moments. The story is lightly focused on Leo’s mental state especially, but everyone is going through it and as the POV shifts every chapter, each character gets some focus as they work through their injuries and messy feelings. Fallout is very satisfying read, and one I often come back to over and over.

hamartia by Punable

40,364 words, 9/? chapters (last updated 10/30/2022)

Character Focus: Donatello & Family

Genre: Angst, Hurt/Comfort

It felt nothing like how he imagined dying would feel.

Donatello was a man of science, so it would have been foolish of him to have not, over the years, devised theories around what results certain situations would generate, what or who they might take out of commission, and what he would need to do personally in order to gain the best possible outcome. He would sometimes note down how he believed these situations might affect him or his brothers, both physically or mentally - he wasn’t an expert on emotions, far from it, but he could at least logically assume that getting, say, struck by lightning (one of his planned-for possibilities) would leave its own traumatic scar on any man or turtle that happened to experience it, so he’d dragged in April for those certain emotional areas and promptly abandoned her as a research partner when she’d told him he was being obsessive. He was not obsessive, just thorough.

He couldn’t help but feel as though some of that research time may have been wasted, though, as he lay on his side, his newest project slash rework shattered into almost unsalvageable pieces on the floor across from him. (And really, that felt almost like the harshest blow - how was anyone except him supposed to salvage that hunk of junk? Was that all that he was leaving behind?)

He felt it had been time wasted, maybe, because dying didn’t feel at all like the soft, slowing breaths of passing peacefully into sleep, or the fast tight gasping of someone going out from a bullet wound. If anything, it felt like he was breathing too deeply, every breath filling his whole body and stretching out every wound and puncture and fracture, oxygen making his head light (or maybe that was the blood loss). He didn’t feel at peace, and he certainly didn’t feel as scared as he thought he should’ve been, as he had read he should have been.

Mostly, it just felt like an inconvenience.

Donnie almost dies, and that’s just the start of this angsty tale. What follows is an interesting exploration of what Donatello thinks of himself and his role in the team, and his family’s growing concerns when he won’t give himself time to recover. Donnie’s brush with death has lasting consequences, and a large part of the fic is dedicated both to how much they affect him and how long he can hide it from his family (and the audience). Once the truth comes out, though? Oof. 

The newfound disability is handled well, imo, and you really feel for everyone involved. There’s a lot about mental health that the author just does really well in general, actually. The focus on family and everyone’s concerns for their brother is where this fic really shines, though, and there’s a lot of emotion that hits just right. Basically, the hurt is done so well, I’m looking forward to when we get to more comfort.

i go there with you by bobtheacorn

21,649 words, 15/? chapters (last updated 11/04/2022)

Character Focus: Everyone

Genre: Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Humor

"But seriously," Donnie says seriously, brandishing his tablet screen above Mikey's head and pointing at it, "I cannot emphasize enough how important it is that you be Very Honest when I ask you to scale your pain using this -" He cuts his eyes toward Raph, who grins. "Emoji Scale. Which dramatization would you say you find the most relatable at the moment?"

"Okay, so defo… this guy," Leo says. He thinks he manages to lift his finger but that's all the juice he's got. "On the… left."

"That would be the thumbs-up emoji, Leo," Raph says cautiously.

"Awww," Mikey gushes, "Is that one because you love us?"

"Hang on," Leo says around another small huff of maybe-laughter, "You… can't prove anything. But also…" He moves his finger again. "Also this guy on the… on the far r-right. Like, for-real for real."

"Oh, the sad-angry-crying emoji, fantastic," Donnie says with a bit more pep, tossing the tablet and turning to Splinter, who's closest to the monitor, "Papa, would you do Leo a huge favor and smash that morphine button, please? Like, right now, immediately."

Set immediately after the invasion. This fic is a series of interconnected one-shots originally written for Whumptober, but by Chapter 9 breaks into its own thing. The whump remains a focus, but it’s tempered by a good dose of comfort and humor as well, which the author is a master of. 

If you want a recovery fic after the events of the movie that matches the feeling of the show, i go there with you is the fic to start with. The characterization and banter are spot on, as is the emotional whiplash. All of the characters gets some love and introspection in this one too, which is always fun.

Now That’s What I Call A Vacation! by WayWardWatson

56,238 words, 9/? chapters (last updated 11/06/2022)

Character Focus: Splinter & Family

Genre: Family Bonding, Adventure, Hurt/Comfort

Splinter turned his attention back to Big Mama, the flirtatious mood from earlier dissipating. “I am calling in your favor.”

It was like he had slapped her with his rat tail with how she reared back in visible disgust. Her fangs clicked in irritation and she scuttled further down, closer to where Splinter was standing. “Remind me, when have I ever owed you a measly-weasly favor?”

“When you misused demon armor for profit that nearly resulted in the end of human and yokai kind alike?” Splinter evenly said. “Oh, and the time I rubbed your feet, all eight of them, when you were on bedrest.”

“I thought that was an act of love.”

“Kindness.” He corrected because his heart hurt too much when she said love. “I was being kind. Though, if you want,” Again, his voice dipped into a purr, splaying out his arms wide in open invitation. “You could be kind enough to give me and my family a free round trip to Japan? I know you can do it.”

More scuttling as a low hiss escaped her maw. “That is a big, dimbly favor to ask.”

“I thought we were calling those acts of lo- kindness?”

“Why,” She drew the word out as she finally reached the bottom and pressed her broach. Suddenly, a swirl of light engulfed Big Mama and, with a whoosh of mystic energy that smelt like nutmeg, he watched as her stature began to diminish. Just as quickly, the light fractured and then separated into small motes of bioluminescent dust, casting a dim, golden glow around them. Now in human form, Big Mama stepped in close enough to touch. “Do you want to go to Japan?”

Without thinking, Splinter’s eyes trailed down then up and he swallowed. His heart was beginning to pick up, but certainly not from fear. He took a moment to gather himself. “My children need a vacation.”

Splinter takes one look at the S2 finale and the movie and decides that’s it, this family needs a break. Deals are made, mystic disguise brooches are acquired, itineraries are made, and with that, the family (including April!) are off on an exciting vacation to Japan! As with all scenarios involving the Hamato Clan, however, nothing goes so simply.

You’re getting so much bang for your buck picking up this fic. A family trip to Japan is charming in and of itself—and the author has done so much research on the country that some passages feels like taking a tour of your own—but this fic actually has a lot going on for it. How they even get to Japan involves some fun mystic worldbuilding, and the cloaking brooches open the door to interesting commentary on body dysphoria. And of course, things take quite a turn when the fam runs into a figure from Splinter’s past who has questions he struggles to answer. A refreshing story with creative ideas, Now That’s What I Call A Vacation! also has an excellent grasp on all of the characters, in and out of vacation mode. It’s a darling read.

odd man out by cosmocrow

22,676 words, 4/? chapters (last updated 10/29/2022)

Character Focus: Future Leonardo & Leonardo, Future Leonardo & Casey, The Hamato Family

Genre: Hurt/Comfort, Family Drama

“Master Splinter,” he greets, almost impressed by the fact that his voice isn’t wavering like he feared it would. “I’m sorry for barging in– like. Barging into your timeline? I– I can explain.” He really can’t, but that isn’t the point.

Splinter only raises a hand. “Don’t worry, Casey has brought us up to speed.” He turns to deposit the tray onto a cart, before folding his hands into the sleeve of his robe. Leonardo can feel those yellow eyes look him up and down as he straightens up again. Splinter takes a step closer, craning his short neck to be able to look Leonardo in the face. Melancholy dances on his features, but the rat smiles nonetheless.

“Look at you, you’ve gotten so tall, Leonardo.” The soft usage of his name almost makes Leonardo stumble. He hasn’t heard it from his father’s mouth in a long, long time. A familiar burn starts to prickle within his eyes, so he starts blinking in order to quell the itch, pressing his lips together, so his mouth won’t wobble. He isn’t sure why he’s trying – he knows that Splinter knows.

His father always knew everything.

Splinter steps even closer, lifting a hand from within the confines of his sleeves. Like a magnet, Leonardo bends down, so his dad can cup the side of his face. Gently, the old rat rubs his thumb into his cheek, just below his mask, over his red markings. Splinter’s sad little smile falls, and he tugs down the blue mask over Leonardo’s face.

“But,” he says softly, “you look so tired, my son.”

Several months after the movie’s conclusion, a familiar face from Casey’s averted bad future appears, just as everyone else is startling to settle back in. Predictably, this throws everything into confusion.

Tl;dr, Future Leonardo is sent back into the past and has to adjust back to a world sans apocalypse, and the family takes him in with open arms. Things between him and younger Leo are a lot more tenuous, but there’s a resolution early on that feels very true to their personalities—one less sure of himself, and the other who’s learned his lessons the hard way—that resonated strongly with me and made me fall in love with the story. Add to that some genuinely heartwarming moments with the family bonding, and you’re in for a good, if bittersweet time. 

Recoil by unorthodoxx

63,236 words, 10/10 chapters

Character Focus: Ensemble

Genre: Action, Team Bonding, Angst, Crossover

“Hey guys,” he yells.  “You might want to see this.”

It doesn’t take long for the three of them to spill into his lab.  Leo comes in first and drapes himself across the back of Donnie’s chair.  “What’s up?  You find the secret ingredient to Luenzo’s Pizza yet?”

“No,” Donnie scowls.  “They’re locked down tighter than Fort Knox, but it’ll fall soon.  They always do.  No fellas,” He enlarges the email, “We’ve been invited to a meet-up of sorts.”  

Raph’s hand settles heavily on his shoulder as the larger turtle leans in to read.  “Dear Genius Built…….Talk about…….agree to meet…..love…”

“IRONMAN!!?!?”  Mikey shouts.  “THE Ironman wants to meet us!”

“Wow,” Raph whistles.  “The Avengers.  That’s some top-level hero stuff.”

ROTTMNT crosses over with the MCU! Set in a world where both universes exist in the same setting, this fic takes place after the Krang Invasion, but fairly into the MCU’s history, long before the superheroes have their falling out. So long as you have any familiarity with the first Avengers movie, you’ll be able to follow the story fine, as it’s straightforward: the appearance of the Krang was as abrupt as their defeat, and Tony Stark can’t let sleeping dogs lie. After uncovering the turtles’ involvement, an in-person meeting is arranged to handle the fate of the Krang Key.

Most of this fic is just a fun excuse to let the ROTTMNT characters bounce off the MCU characters, and it’s fun to see who gets along and who doesn’t. That’s the thing I love in particular about this story—the author is true enough to their characterization that not everyone is friends by the end, in a way that makes whole sense. The Avengers are disasters themselves, after all. The plot of handling the key is done exceptionally well too, and there’s a lot of high octane action at the end that’s quite thrilling. If you’re looking for a good time, you’ll fine it in Recoil, and if you enjoyed it, there’s more where that came from! The author has planned out several other stories set later on in the same series, the first of which (where the turtles meet Spiderman) is already out. So keep an eye on that!

this kind of weather by ihaveathingforpink

21,526 words, 2/4 chapters (last updated 09/18/2022)

Character Focus: Leonardo & Michelangelo, Raphael & Donatello, Ensemble

Genre: Action, Hurt/Comfort, Crossover

“Well, if it is business you seek, Krang has a proposition for you. There are two turtles Krang wishes for you to…remove from the board as their tenacity has proven to be as obstructive as it is predictable. For our plans to proceed, it’s too dangerous for either to remain alive.”

Takeshi takes another sip before asking, “Turtles? As in the ninja turtles that reside beneath the city, whom everyone pretends doesn’t exist? The people of New York won’t be pleased if I do anything to harm their heroes.”

“Oh, I want you to do more than simply harm them. First, they need to suffer.”

“Suffering costs extra. I don’t do anything for free.”

“I wouldn’t expect you to.”

“Yet you said two turtles when, last I checked, there’s four.”

“Ah, yes. They are of little concern to me. Krang only need you to get rid of two, and you must follow Krang's instructions precisely. Otherwise, you will fail. First, you will need to get rid of the little orange one; he may not look like much, but he’s one of the strongest mystic warriors of all time. I suggest you handle this one quickly—he can be quite slippery—but the blue one, Krang implores you to take your time.”

This story has one helluva hook. A surviving Krang puts a hit out on Mikey and Leo, and saying more than that would unfortunately spoil the twist of the first chapter. With just two chapters, though, this story is fascinating and deserves a lot more attention than it’s gotten. It has high stakes, great action, and is an emotional roller coaster that doesn’t let up. It’s also a bit of a crossover, though longstanding fans of the TMNT franchise will recognize these faces right away. That’s right, this is a crossover with Usagi Yojimbo! Besides characters of that series, though, there’s also a lot of familiar faces from previous TMNT series that Rise never got enough time to tackle, like Tiger Claw and Renet. 

You can probably guess from the latter’s name that things are about to get timey-wimey up in here, and you’d be correct. There’s an absolutely killer plot at work here, emphasis on the killer, and whether they want to or not the turtles have to take a divide and conquer approach to it while at one of their lowest points. Seriously, check this one out. 

Under Pressure by ParvumAutmaton

21,560 words, 4/4 chapters

Character Focus: The Boys & April

Genre: Suspense, Angst

“You know April, right?” The voice on the other end of the line asked. “You’re one of her gamer friends?”

Donnie blinked. The voice sounded familiar but that didn’t help him at the unholy hour where way too late morphed into way too early.

“And you are?”

“Her mother. Please, did she spend the night at your place?”

“No, she did not,” Donnie answered, forcing himself upright, his exhaustion evaporating with that question. “I believe she was planning on some extracurricular club activity yesterday afternoon. So we weren’t planning on seeing her.”

“I don’t suppose you know which club?”

“No, I do not.”

“Ok,” The waver Donnie heard in her voice implied that it wasn’t. “You will let me know if April gets in touch?”

“Of course Ms. O’Neil.”

The call ended.

Donnie stared at his phone.

One of the few fics on this list not set after the movie, this story takes place after the S2 finale on a dismal day when April goes missing. Investigating her disappearance leads the boys to a van and a lake, and an exploration on the dangers of cave diving. 

As you can guess from that description, this fic has quite the creative setup that’s both atmospheric and suspenseful. Be sure to heed the tags because it does get dark, but it’s still a great read, and the turtles’ determination to find their sister pulls at the heartstrings. 

➤ ➤ ➤ CANON DIVERGENT

big sister by Darth_Sunny

18,090 words, 6/? chapters (last updated 10/24/2022)

Character Focus: April & Family

Genre: Angst, Hurt/Comfort

April O’Neil wasn’t an only child anymore. She had four younger brothers, whom she loved with all her heart, and who she’d burned the world down for if anything were to happen to them. She’d fight every ancient mystic evil the world would throw at her if it meant keeping them safe. And if she couldn’t be there for them at the moment, she’d be there for them in the aftermath. She was their big sister, their oldest and only sister. : was the self-proclaimed protector, but even he needed someone to protect him and to help protect their younger brothers.

So that’s why, when she watched the portal close up, slicing the Technodrome in half, stopping the Kraang for good, knowing that he was trapped back in that prison dimension, April O’Neil felt her heart break into hundreds, thousands, millions of little pieces.

This one’s a fic following April’s perspective on the end of the invasion, from Leo’s sacrifice, to picking up Casey, and reuniting with the boys. It mostly follows canon, but there is a fairly major change revealed partway through that makes it canon divergent from the movie’s ending. It’s unclear if other changes will follow, but just in case it’s being slotted in the canon divergent category all the same. 

That’s not the focus, though. No, this fic is centered squarely on April and her relationship with the rest of the Hamato Clan. I love that it impresses how much April is a part of the family, and that the boys aren’t just her friends but her brothers, and that their pain is her pain. Watching the aftermath of the invasion unfold from her perspective is a fresh and evocative take. 

Like Father Like Son by eternalglitch

132,982 words, 25/? chapters (last updated 11/02/2022)

Character Focus: Everyone (Leo-centric)

Genre: Angst, Drama, Hurt/Comfort

“Here, Boss!” Huginn darted back across the room, wings straining, as he carried a very… familiar…

“Uh, wait up, no,” Leo said, eyeing the blue object as Huginn dropped it into Draxum’s waiting hand. “Do you even know where that thing’s been? Have you properly washed it at least?”

Draxum’s roots suddenly shift, dragging Leo upright until he’s forced to stand on his tip-toes to have any sort of purchase. “I happened to have had it offered to me by the mutant that you call Meat Sweats,” Draxum said, admiring the collar (for that’s what it actually was, even if Leo had never called it that when it was just a gift from his brother) in the light. “He was quite helpful once I mentioned what I wanted to use it for.” Draxum started to approach, the collar held aloft.

“So, what,” Leo bit out. “You’re gonna stop me from saying my one-liners? Big whoop.”

“I think you’ll find,” Draxum coolly said. “That this has been modified to do so much more than that.”

This fic needs no introduction. In fact, there’s a high chance some of you heard of LFLS before they even saw Rise; I’ve heard of people who only watched the show just so they could read it! It’s the most popular fic in the fandom for a reason. If that’s scared you off, though, or if you’ve avoided it for other reasons, let me tell you why you should give it a chance. 

The fic takes some of Rise’s best villains and settings, and explores the darker sides of them (do heed the warnings in the tags). Leo goes through the absolute wringer, but the effect his disappearance has on his family plays a central part of the story as well, with all of the brothers getting full blown introspection and character arcs. Donnie’s in particular hurts me. The emotions are high and the plot is juicy, with some of the tightest writing the fandom has to offer, including intelligent plans and dialogue. As far as hurt/comfort goes, this is definitely a slow burn with a lot of angst, but the author has promised a happy ending. Between that and consistent updates (it’s been going strong for two years), what more could you ask for?

Three Days to Live by Werepirechick

93,992 words, 13/13 chapters

Character Focus: April & The Boys

Genre: Cyberpunk, Action, Human AU

The heiress and former target lowers her hands, keeping them placidly by her sides. “K-tech is a vicious, unrelenting company,” she says, glasses gleaming in the room’s light as she lifts her chin in defiance. “The people who run it are the same. They don’t let people get away, and they don’t leave loose ends. You were all on their shit list as much as I am, the second you signed on.”

Leo shifts his stance, tightening his grip on his gun. “So what are you proposing?” he asks coolly.

“Like y’all said. I’m the heiress to the company. In three days I’m going to walk into a courtroom, sign the papers that frees K-tech from the control of my guardian, and walk out the richest, most powerful person in North America.” O’Neil smiles bitterly. “That is, if I can survive the next seventy-two hours. That’s where you come in.”

“You want us to guard you,” Raph states.

Ohhh, this fic is an absolute gem. You can’t say no to a good Human AU in this fandom to start, but to top it off with a cyberpunk twist? Trust me, this is a match made in heaven. The plot kicks off when the boys—hitmen in this universe—are hired to take out April O’Neil, an heiress to one of the world’s largest tech companies. When things take a turn, she makes them a deal: protect her for three days instead, and she’ll make them rich beyond their wildest dreams.

The plot that follows is filled with danger, intrigue, and high octane action. The world is incredibly thought out and immersive, and makes for a great way to work ROTTMNT’s mystic powers into a new genre. The banter, though. If you’ve read any of Werepirechick’s other fics, you’d know that’s their specialty, and it’s no different here in Three Days to Live. While on the run from the powers seeking to destroy her, the boys and April bond and their friendship is perfection. The series also blends in characters from other iterations of the franchise, but it’s not too distracting, and for the most part remains firmly rooted in the Rise style. Do yourself a favor, and give this one a read!

Posted: 11/06/2022

[kyouka-supremacy]

What's p/p?

Ah, I meant to say, pp, Psycho-Pass. I usually add slashes to avoid unprompted rambles to show up in main tags, sorry if that resulted confusing.

I love Psycho-Pass. I already made a post about why bsd fans might find it enjoyable, but honestly, there's so much more to it beyond what it has in common with bsd.

The prompts for reflection this series offers are just wonderful: on the relationship between citizens and government, on pervasive systems, on freedom of choice and free will, on safety vs. freedom, on discrimination of minorities and creation of scapegoats, on propaganda and brainwashing, on the increasing and treacherous presence of technology in everyday life, on how government uses technology to control and manipulate people, on fighting the system from the inside vs. fighting the system from the outside. I should watch it again too. It's crazy good.

Akane Tsunemori - the coprotagonist of the first season, the protagonist of the second season and overall the true core and heart of the franchise - is one of the most complex and beautiful characters I ever met. Her growth and character development is truly amazing: the way she starts off as unknowing and naïve, and grows so so much from there; how her writing finds this perfect balance between becoming more mature / hardening and staying true to her beliefs - even when everyone, the system, the people she relies to, the people she looks up to - tell her that there's no other way, that it can't be. It's breathtaking. She is a breathtaking character. The way alone that no matter how conscious and aware she becomes of how cruel the world is, how unredeemable people are, how beyond saving the system is, she still keeps believing in humans… It may sound cliché by itself, but believe me, it's wonderfully executed, and her character is truly amazing. Not to mention, the way she mirrors the coprotagonist Kougami is fabulous, but this is not really about him; she's an amazing character of her own right, and I will die on this hill.

The female cast in general is all amazing honestly. Don't get me wrong, the male characters are just as complex and multilayered (and I LOVE Gino and Kou, how couldn't I), but that's… Something we're more accustomed to, while finding well written female characters is objectively much harder. Female characters in Psycho-Pass aren't written as female characters, they're written as people, just as much as their male counterparts are. They have their fears and hopes and strengths and weaknesses just like any other character. I love Yayoi for being strong and coolheaded. I love (LOVE) Shion for being her fabulous self, kind and flirty and confident and with an heart so big, and for her subverting the trope of guy in the chair by being a glamorous woman who's also incredibly competent at her job of analyst. I love Akane's friends and I don't like season 3 but Mai is genuinely awesome and a joy every time she's on screen. I love Risa so much I could die, I love how strong and independent she is, I love the dilemmas she had to face, I love her choices and how they might have been the wrong ones and how it still haunts her, I love the tragedy of her character in general, I love the doomed friendship that used to be between her Gino and Kou. I love love love Fredrica, I love her being bossy and confident, diligent and determined. There's just a lot of… Strong and independent women in Psycho-Pass, and it's not just a way of saying, they really are.

I LOVE women loving other women, canonly, on screen. The confirmation may be delegated to a small moment in the last episode of the first season, but the fact that it's still there nonetheless, and how it confirms that all the previous moments and exchanges were indeed moments and didn't leave it to ambiguity… It's nice, to say that the first season of Psycho-Pass came out in 2012. And you might have to wait eight years, three seasons, five movies for it, but the phrase “I just want to go outside, dine somewhere nice, and go for walks with someone I love” may make it worth it.

And I LOVE how all the leader positions are filled by women. It's a little funny, honestly, in the best way– despite what I made it look like so far, the Psycho-Pass cast is still men-dominated (or at least a pretty equally split 50/50?); yet all the leader positions are always filled by women: Akane and Mika and Kasei and Frederica and Karina, it's always women.

Also, Mika is a brilliant character. Of course I love her. I'm so so sorry for how much hate and criticism she gets (over being a purposely annoying character! Insane! When Dazai exists!), when she does really and excellent job at conveying “look! A fucked up brainwashed individual in a fucked up brainwashing environment! I wonder how that could have happened!”. Not to mention that her growth, her long and devious way to admitting that the system is flawed, is truly well made, too. Unpopular opinion, characters with big flaws, characters who are unsufferable and make lives impossible to everyone around them, characters who mess up again and again, are actually great to watch.

Again, don't get me wrong, I absolutely adore Gino and Kou too ahah. They're both great!! But that you can probably see by your own. Gino in particular used to be my favourite, how his character does a total 180° turn. I love to see men admit their mistakes and make the choice to be better tomorrow.

About that, the relationships between the characters are AMAZING. Especially the main trio Akane / Kou / Gino, all the combinations within it are beautiful and deep and brilliant, so so enjoyable to explore and with their fair share of canon content, while still never straying to romantic territory (I mean, Akane/Kou may be going in that direction, but if that's true, that's the slowest slow burn I've ever witnessed in my life).

What's more. The world building / general premise - a dystopian world, where your predisposition to do crime can be measured and the government makes use of such technology to monitor and control the population and guarantee everyone's safety - is genuinely interesting and compelling. The aesthetic is genuinely cool (AH, now that I think about it, I've got my unfair bias for people in suits, and pp has a LOT of people in suits… ). The opening and endings feature great artists like Egoist, Ryo, Who-ya Extended and Cö shu Nie, so you're sure to love them!!

(Also, Psycho-Pass is something I used to spend entire nights talking about with a friend, and I'm always thinking about her and hold her tight to my heart in every moment so. That's worth mentioning for me, pfffttt. I love my friend so much.)

Finally, because the other Psycho-Pass post I made here keeps haunting me for the lack of trigger warnings, please be aware: Psycho-Pass DOES have trigger warnings. Pretty much for eveything you can think of. Sexual assault and gore and body horror on the top of my mind, but it's quite dark and gritty at parts in its entirety, so please please keep that in mind if you decide to pick it up.

Well, this is the end of my Psycho-Pass love letter for now. Please give it a chance if you can! I'll go rewatch it now. General watch order, in order of release, is season 1 → season 2 → movie → Sinners of the System movie trilogy → season 3 → First Inspector movie → Providence movie. I don't really like the third season or First Inspector movie (the characters are still great tho, even the newly introduced ones), and I've yet to watch Providence. The first season later came out with an extended edition of added scenes between episodes, and they're quite nice, so if you can't get ahold of it, you might want to look up for a compilation of the missing scenes still.

[ghost-proofbaby]

⭐️ Directors Choice⭐️

jooooo how dare you 😭 alright so i don't think i've talked about it in depth before (i've mentioned it in passing), but the shire is burning was 100% supposed to be an enemies to lover fic, especially when i was still writing the first ten chapters and hadn't posted it online yet. but at some point, in a denny's at like one am, i just realized that was not happening. same vibes as in new girl when they accidentally let nick and jess get together too early; i was writing those two idiots, and everything that was pouring out of me was just too much sweetness. i just knew there was not a single mean bone in shire eddie's body, and it clicked that he definitely had to have liked/noticed willow prior to their deal, so i just... gave in. which was nice because at that point, my only reader was me and audrey. the actual turning point can be pinpointed for me: when she approaches him originally outside of the gymnasium, and he assumes she's asking for free drugs, and the entire thing happens with him walking away as she tells him to fuck off and that it wasn't about drugs and he makes his smart ass remark about his jacket and steve's hold on her. my brain just malfunctioned and was like "nah, why did that man give her his jacket and not experience steve's reaction first hand?"

and thus, enemies to lovers was officially scrapped, and good old-fashion friends to lovers/two idiots in love trope filled that wonderful space. <3

[just-some-random-blogger]

The Salt In My Blood

You were the beloved Jewel of the Realm, the youngest Targaryen born to Alyssa and Baelon. Though your nature resembled more a lamb rather than a dragon, you posed a threat at court, for a single word out of your mouth inspired a thousand actions from The King and The Rogue Prince. Thus, your match with the Lord of the Iron Islands.

Daemon Targaryen x Targaryen!Reader x Dalton Greyjoy | 6k+ | cw: fem!reader, targcest (sister!reader), reader has valyrian features (silver hair, violet eyes), power imbalance, graphic depictions of violence/assault/murder/death, canon divergence/inaccurate timelines, ye old misogyny, fuckedupedness of men, smut (dub con, loss of virginity, piv, biting, marking, breeding kink, corruption kink, baby trapping, cockwarming, cunnilingus), internet translated high valyrian, angst, social commentary, typos, etc.

A/N: !!mind the warnings!! This is really yucky because it is. all men do is hurt women. Also I did basic research for Dalton Greyjoy and just used him cuz I needed a character. idk what he's actually like and I'm 99% sure this timeline doesn't add up so, just roll w it ok? Ok. If my internet translated high valyrian sucks, well, it be like that. And surprise surprise i made another song for a fic because i should make use of my music degree while im jobless 💔 my heart goes out to @arabellasleopardcoat because her fic capital really poked my brain and got me fired up enough to write/create again, even if just for this fic. i love you.

Tagging: @pinksirensong @aralezinspace @sloanexx @delicious-xx @deniixlovezelda @targaryenmoony @risefallrise @thebullship @sa3losa @sloanexx @azperja @happilyhertale

Father, father, shining star, save my brother from the war. Mother, mother, hold me close. I fear brother won't come home. So, I pray, night and day, I do my duty here. Find me, oh [a] husband, so fierce with not a fear. Father, father hears my prayer. Mother, mother dries my tears. All my strife ends tonight for my husband's here.

"But what if someone sees," you whisper.

Daemon clutches your hand tighter as you hurry down the hall. He looks over to you, your expression matches your shaky voice.

Perhaps, had the conditions been different, he'd be softened by your words. The ferocity of his protectiveness would have made him stop in his footsteps and clutch your cheek. Perhaps he would have promised to safeguard you.

But these conditions did not elicit such urges from him. No. It stoked the fires bacchanal in his gut. The stolen taste of your honeyed lips in the garden was not enough.

Daemon finally brings his darling sister into his bedroom, and there, he answers you, "who would dare spy on the king's heir, the prince of the realm?"

Your breath quickens at the sound of your brother locking the door.

The prince of the realm stalks over to you, a dragon gazing upon a meek lamb.

Again, you whisper, "what if someone finds out?"

Daemon could growl. He almost did as he grabs your waist and sinks his head into the crook of your tender neck. You don't even react when he does this, save for your gasp.

Oh, how like you, how docile and doe-like, never one to raise your voice, or fight back, especially not with him.

"Let them find out, sister," he claws your clothing, "then they will not steal you from me."

You are so pliant as he squeezes you, so soft as he roughs you back to his bed. You let him handle you like he did your dolls growing up. He treated them with less than a quarter of the gentleness you would,; they'd end up tattered and broken because of him by the end of your playing session, much to your heartbreak.

Though you cried about it, you never once held it against him, because each time, Daemon would wipe your tears and apologize. He liked breaking your dolls. He liked being your comfort.

He knew without a sliver of doubt you'd let him do the same to your body. You'd let him break you, then kiss the tears off your cheeks. You'd let him, for he was your star, and you were his doll.

Daemon presses you beneath him. He lays you down where he sleeps. He kisses you, the way he has sometimes imagined he would while touching himself, or while in the arms of another. His long, silver hair falls cascades down his shoulder, joining your long, silver hair that's spilled on his pillows.

For so long, he's denied himself of you, because you were too pure, too darling to be tainted.

You whimper as he pushes your skirts up, bunching them by your ribs.

But now, it's all different.

His mouth suckles his way to your neck.

"Daemon."

Now, it's not about denial. It's about what's right. It's about what you deserve.

"Daemon-" you whimper when he reaches into the waistband of your smallclothes, "-wait."

He breathes hotly against your jaw. His hands grab your knees and parts them for himseld

You push his shoulders back, catching his attention. He is displeased, and not even your glassy eyes could quell it. He warns you with an annoyed sound.

You gulp but mutter anyway, "this is wrong."

"Wrong?!" snaps he.

You tense at his anger, yet even then, you caress his cheek gently, "I am to be married to Lord Dalton Greyjoy."

"And you would have me believe you want him?" Daemon quips, "that you do not want me?"

You push yourself up on your elbows. Tears begin to spill down the corner of your eyes, "Daem-"

"Why do you think I am doing this?" He pushes himself against your core.

You whimper at the contact. He is hard.

He grabs your wrists and pins them to your sides, "I do this for your sake, little girl. To save you from your prison."

You gulp and blink rapidly, your silver lashes lace with tears.

The slightest semblance of remorse flashes on your brother's face.

With your head lifted, you watch as Daemon brings his hands to your ankles instead. He rids you of your shoes and chucks them over his shoulder.

Slowly, he strips you naked until you are left in nothing but the jewelry and the stockings he bought you one before.

You cover your breasts, and he lets you while he kneads at your slightly parted thighs.

His eyes are glued on your womanhood, on the curls that don't see the light of day and the flesh that's never been touched by a man.

Daemon clenches his jaw as his fingers inspect the heat there. The two digits find molten wetness flooding your entrance. You make a breathless sound and squeeze your thighs, trying, with pointless effort, to stop him. His eyes flick to your face, the look of embarrassment, of shock, of pleasure visible to him. He debates forcing your legs.

He licks his you-coated fingers and tuts instead, "open."

You look at him, your Daemon, with the faint line between his brows. You close your mouth and lick your lips. Your hands find their way back to your breasts.

The sight is maddening, especially with how the jewel of your necklace looks between the squished mount of flesh.

"Open," he commands with less patience.

Daemon watches his darling princess part her legs for him. His trousers strain more than it did already.

He watches you closely and motions with a finger, "those too."

You do not immediately comply. In fact, you look at Daemon with pleading eyes. He raises his brows at your bratty demeanor, and shakes his head, "are you disobeying me?"

You see the threat in his eyes.

"Kessa nyke mazverdagon ao rūnagon aōha dīnagon?" Shall I make you remember your place?

You shake your head and pipe softly, "daor." No.

Finally, you reveal your breasts to him.

He smirks, "good girl."

Your brother kneads your delicate flesh and grinds his clothed groin against your weeping cunt. The sound you emit makes the feel of the clothes on his skin unbearable.

His grabs your hands and places them on his waistband. He looks down at you as he rids himself of his top. By the time his burning chest is free, you've gotten half the wits to undo his breeches.

His eyes don't leave you as he takes off his shoes.

You timidly pull his pants down, sitting up slightly as you do. You make a soft sound when his manhood flings free. Daemon shoves you back and does the rest himself.

"Daemon. I don't think-"

Your voice is crushed by the feel of his cock sliding into you. A rush of heat ripples through your body. He leans down and kisses your shoulder as you whine.

"Enough," he pants. He uses all his restraint not to fuck you dumb then and there. He grabs your thighs, pressing them into your chest. He can feel your tension. If he fucks you now, he could leave you unable to walk straight. But as sweet as that sounds, he doesn't actually want to hurt you, not that way.

Daemon sinks down to your jugular and kisses you there before he brings his hungry mouth to your breast. He sucks and nips, imagining it being heavy with milk for his babe, the babe he'd put into your belly.

The thought makes his moan and rut his hips.

You make a strained sound and your hands to push his arms. You call his name again, soft and shaky.

Daemon tries to ignore you, his hand coming to your lonely breast on the other side, but the persistent call of his name makes his sigh.

He lightly grazes your nipple before he releases your flesh. He trails kisses up your skin until he lands on your face, your face, which was now wet with salt.

"You need to relax. Mmm?" he coos, kissing your lips, "skoro syt gaomagon ao limagon? Hm?" Why do you cry?

You adjust beneath him, repositioning your thighs, digging your fingers into his nape. You whimper, "lēkia."

Daemon's belly burns. Look at you, crying for your older brother.

"Kessa, ñuha hāedar?" Yes, my little sister?

"Iksan zūgagon," you mutter, tears streaming down your temples. Your nails scratch up his scalp. I am afraid.

Daemon, selfish as he is, does not like the fact that leaves your lips. His brows furrow. He rubs your thighs in an attempt to comfort you. He kisses the corner of your lips, "hen lēkia?" Of your older brother?

You shake your head quickly, rubbing your thumb on his jaw.

His brows furrow tighter. His hold on your thigh tightens, "hen bona Āegenka Āzma?" Of that Iron Born?

You stay still. You take a moment before mumbling, "Viserys said I should marry him for my own good-"

"Fuck that cunt Viserys," he spits angrily.

Your lips quiver.

The anger in Daemon's chest dissipates as you rub the deep line between his brows. He props himself up, sinking a hand by the side of your head. He looks down at you.

"You cannot protect me forever," you whisper, finally relaxing beneath him.

Daemon watches as you lick your lips.

You gulp, "I am a Targaryen princess. I have duties to the realm, to my family."

"Your duty is with me," he grabs your hand, bringing it to his chest.

Your violet eyes sparkle as you examine his features. You tuck the long tresses that block his face behind his ear. Your belly ignites at the fierce beauty of your beloved brother.

"I burn for you," Daemon says, "I know that you burn for me."

"But Daemon-"

The gentle thrust of his hips stifle your words.

"Enough," Daemon repeats this time softer, head sinking back into the crook of your neck, "you have always belonged to me, and you know it."

You whimper and instinctively mold your body against him. Your legs tighten around his torso as his thrusts grow more and more confident.

Daemon kisses you, delighting in the gasp you give when he plays with your pearl. He muffling the sound of your mewls with his mouth.

"They insult us all by daring to mix dragon blood with fucking sea squid," he pants, "you were meant to carry my seed, be my bride."

You moan, feeling a foreign force in your belly.

"I will not let that sewer monster be the one to make you a woman," Daemon licks a stripe up your neck.

You tangle your fingers into the roots of his hair, "Daemon."

His nails scratch up your sides, "twas I that watched you blossom into womanhood, tis I that should be the one to take it."

Neither of you speak after he says this. You both simply whimper, wordlessly agreeing your bodies were made for each other.

The prince had not a single care in the world. He urges you to scream out to him with the flick of his pelvis. He didn't care if anyone could hear, neither did he care that anyone would see the viscious marks he was leaving all over your throat.

You were better than he had ever imagined, and he was determined to make you his. He was intent on emptying his balls in you, over and over again, until you could take no more, until you were too exhausted to leave, until your body had no other choice but to carry him a child.

And when he finally does spill into you, coming with a grunt and a soft, "you're mine," you, the virgin princess finally understand the fuss over sex, and reply to him with an, "I love you."

Daemon fucks you until his bed is soiled with a mix of your come. He fucks you until every minute movement from him makes you shiver and whine. He fucks you until your skin is marked with tender bites. He fucks you until you beg for respite, and then he keeps himself inside you after.

You were a worn little thing, and yet you managed to have the energy to still cling to him as you dozed off.

He kisses your temple and sleeps soundly, knowing he's done it; he's made you his. That was irrefutable. Only a madman would deny him of you now. He basks in the pleasure of your body, and in the knowledge his baby sister so wholeheartedly trusted in him to let him do this.

One can only imagine, then, the mortified horror you felt when you were given to Lord Greyjoy anyway.

This was not part of the plan. You were meant to meet Daemon. He told you you were going to speak to the king together, and yet here your eldest brother was, ushering you towards your captor-husband to be.

"My princess," Dalton says, reaching a hand to you.

You stare at his glimmering eyes, finding nothing but malice and lust behind them. You turn to your brother for help. You do not want to touch this man.

Viserys offers you none and looks away. It hurts when he does so, especially since he does so with such apparently scorn. He smiles at the man, "greet your lord. You will soon be wed to him, sister."

You muster enough artificial interest to smile and take the man's hand. Goosebumps form on your skin when he kisses the back of your hand.

He notices and chuckles, rubbing where he kissed, "such demureness. Do not be frightened of me, my dragon. I would not hurt such a pretty thing."

You clasp your hands together after he releases you.

"Not unless you ask," he adds, bursting into a laugh.

Neither you or Viserys return the amusement. In fact, the latter's face contorts at the distasteful joke. His nostrils flare, "you dare jest such uncouth things in front of your king?"

Dalton Greyjoy is unbothered, but stifles his laughter. He clears his throat and bows, "my apologies, my king. Tis the Ironborn in me. I cannot help my nature, much like you cannot help yours."

You feel light headed the entirety of this interaction. The room feels like it was closing in on you, and you kept glancing at the door, praying that your other brother free you from this torment.

He does not do so. He does not come. In fact, you do not see Daemon anywhere the entire day.

Dalton keeps you by his side, taking your arm in his as he makes you stroll him around the Red Keep. You do so, of course, no matter how strong the urge to run away and hide from him was. The entire time, Dalton recounts his stories of battle, his stories at sea, his stories of life. He's sincere enough, but you are not interested in the slightest.

"I think you'd enjoy the feel of sea salt against your skin, just as much you enjoy the whip of the clouds," he grins with genuine enthusiasm.

Any response you have is put out by his next words.

"I can introduce you to my salt-wives."

"Salt-wives?"

"Aye," he says proudly, "I'd say I have about twenty, but I cannot assure you its accuracy."

You are horrified. Finally, you have the gall to pull away, "what?"

Dalton chuckles, somehow amused, but his brows furrow, as if irritated, "we Ironborn keep salt wives in our ships, to give us comfort and warmth when the sea gets too rough. Is this princess so sheltered to not know this?"

You curdle when he reaches for your neck.

"You needn't be jealous. You'd be my one and only rock wife."

You scowl at his condescending tone, "I thought that was just a wives' tale."

He laughs. It is rich, amused, and foreboding. He shakes his head, "it's about as much of a wives' tale as your dragons are, princess."

Later that night, you weep at the king's feet, begging him not to marry you off to such a man.

Viserys does not hear it, and it is only then that Daemon finally appears.

When he does, it's as if the gods themselves breathed life into you. Quickly, you run into him and sob into his chest.

Daemon holds you tightly and glares at the king, "what have you done to her?"

Viserys scoffs. The dark room, illuminated only by the fireplace and a few lit candles, feels to him like it's darkened because of Daemon. He shifts where he sits, "I? I found her a husband."

Daemon's eye twitches, "you gave her to me! You said it just this morning."

You look up at Daemon, hopeful at the sound of his words.

"I said I would think about it once you report your patrol at the City Watch to me."

Daemon releases you to impose on his brother, "I kept your city clean from crimes and safe for the people."

"And where did you go after?" Viserys narrows his eyes.

You rub your arms as you watch your brothers argue.

Daemon does not respond.

Viserys turns to you, "tell your beloved sister where you went after your patrols."

Daemon does not move.

Your chest tightens at the silence, "... Daemon."

The said man opens his mouth, "I went to get a dri-"

"A whorehouse!" Viserys blurts, rising from his seat to glare at Daemon. He turns back to you, pushing past him, "I would know. I paid every whore in Fleabottom to seduce him."

Your heart leaps into your mouth, "w-what?"

Daemon is stunned.

"See now," Viserys is close enough to clutch your cheeks, "your beloved brother is a man like all the rest. No more is the dragon righteous than the kraken."

Your eyes begin to fog with tears. Your hands begin to tremble. Why was he doing this to you?

"Greyjoy is no less a dog than the rest of us. He at least, is honoring a tradition. Daemon honors only his cock."

You turn to Daemon, hoping to find this was not the case, but his expression says it all. Youlet a pained whimper, "you teach me so cruelly, brother."

"I teach you," he swipes your tears with his thumbs, "for your own good."

"You fucking--"

You scream in terror as Daemon lunges at Viserys. You reel back and watch as the two crash down to the floor, the younger of the two finding the upper hand. They roughly struggle against each other.

It only takes another scream from you, begging them to stop, for the kingsguards to burst into the room.

You can no longer stay screaming when Daemon grabs Viserys by the collar and slams him repeatedly against the ground, especially not when Viserys claws at Daemon's face to get him off. You dash forward just as the guards order the prince to stop.

You grab Daemon's arm, and out of instinct, he swats you back, hand hitting your nose with rage powered force.

You shoot back into a kingsguard, feeling your face throb in pain.

It takes Viserys screaming your name for Daemon to stop.

The impact of hitting the armored man makes your back twinge, but it does not hurt nearly as much as the back handed hit you received from your brother.

The kingsguard catches you and stands you upright. He quickly asks if you are alright, but doesn't wait for an answer because he then shoves Daemon back, putting himself between him and you when he tries to come near.

Daemon glares in offence.

"Throw him in the fucking dungeon," Viserys spits out as he is helped up by another guard.

Daemon fights back, but is no match against three guards.

He screams your name as he is dragged off.

You clutch your face as he tells you he didn't mean to hit you. You face throbs as he tells you he loves you, and only you.

For once, you doubt his words.

Viserys comes to your side, placing a gentle hand in your shoulder. You watch as he commands a servant to get something for your hit.

He clutches your cheek that was struck and sighs, "if you wed the Red Kraken, you will strengthen our hold on the Iron Lands. Dalton Greyjoy is a formidable warrior. I couldn't think of a more capable man to safekeep the Jewel of the Realm."

As he stroked your hair, you realized that Viserys was right. It didn't matter who it was, all men were the same. When your septa warned you of men's depravity, you believed your brothers to be the exception. Now, you knew exactly why you were called-

"Little lamb," Viserys coos, "I only want what is best for all of us."

You were too naive to believe in good things.

And so you marry Dalton Greyjoy the next day.

The haste with which the wedding is prepared is to prevent you from changing your mind, you figured. That, and to keep Daemon in prison for the least amount of time.

Part of you wanted to visit him, but part of you wanted him to suffer. In the end, you realized you were too weak to behold your brother as a prisoner.

Daemon screams and bangs at his bars, demanding he be released. But the prison guards have handled worse and throw cold water at him to shut him up.

He knew by the time he was free, he would be too late to stop your marriage, but still, he meticulously planned what he would do the moment he was.

That night, after the wedding festivities were over, Dalton takes you to your room and makes you his wife.

"It's been a while since I've had a virgin," Dalton says, caressing your cheek, "don't worry, I will be gentle."

You want to scream, you want tofight him back, but you remember you're not a virgin, and fear paralyzes you. You mumble, "m-my dragon riding."

Dalton pushes back bour silver hair and kisses your shoulder.

You can't help but think of Daemon in this moment, but it makes you feel sick, and so you will him out of your head. You mumble again, "my dragon riding may taken my womanhood."

Dalton pulls away and stares at you for a moment.

"I- I was told as a child, it happened to many Targaryen princesses."

He pulls his hands, which were on your hips, away then shoves you down on your bed. He smirks as he undoes his clothing, "then I can be rough with you, aye?"

You quiver at his gaze.

He laughs, shaking his head, "didn't I say I would not hurt you? Unless under your request?"

You push inch back as he crawls over. He grabs your ankle, then the other, causing you to panic. You instinctively kick him off, but instead of being deterred, he is excited.

"Sh, sh, sh," he hushes, "it will not be unpleasant, my dragon."

Your skin pricks with gooseflesh when he removes your shoes, your socks, and sneaks his hand up your skirt.

You whimper and turn away, finding you could no longer kick back when he seizes your knees.

"Please-"

"Shhh," he hushes, giving you the first solemn look he has this entire day he's been smug, "I've had much practice from my salt wives. You, my rock wife, will taste the fruits of my practice... as I taste you."

You gasp when he suddenly rips your underwear off.

" I swear to you, your body will enjoy it, even if your mind wants you to believe otherwise."

You muffle your mouth with your palm when you feel Dalton sink in between your thighs.

He was right.

The entire time he touches you, it feels like your skin was being scorched. Your heart was not in it, but your body twisted in pleasure. You hated that you longed for Daemon, even after the fact you were not enough for him; he was still the only one you still, and this moment proved it.

You were brought to tears at how pathetic it was. Tears streamed as you reached your peak, one of the many you receive from your... husband.

He handled you with carnal instinct, just as Daemon did, but unlike him, Dalton did not kiss your tears. In fact, he did not kiss your face once. It is you that initiates such a thing, amidst the throes of your lewd pleasure. He grabs your jaw when your lips connect, and quickly releases his load into you after.

Your peak is cut short because he pulls out just when you reach it.

You watch as he rolls over and goes to sleep without another word.

The next morning, the servants call you Princess Greyjoy and it haunts you.

"No need to look so sullen, wife," you hear over your shoulder.

If the cold from the early morning wasn't enough to make you shiver, the kiss on your shoulder was.

The ship rocks as you tear your gaze away from King's Landing, King's Landing that looked so tiny now from where you stood. A sea of tears laid between you and the home that will never be yours again. You turn to Dalton. He leans his elbows on the edge of the ship and looks up at you, "we can do many things to liven your mood."

You watch him as he rubs your hips. Your stomach curdles but you manage to offer a smile, "I... am flattered, but I do not want to distract the captain of this ship."

Dalton chuckles and straightens up, "trust me. The crew would appreciate it if you did."

You squeak when he yanks you into him.

"Right boys?!" he calls loudly, "shall I make a salt wife out of my rock wife?!"

The crew cheers and it makes your skin burn in mortification.

The next thing you know, you are thrown over his shoulder. He slaps your ass and takes you to his quarters. The crew laughs as he does.

You helplessly grunt when he drops you on his bed-- your shared bed. You silently peer up at him as he stares at you. You are releived he paces across the room, towards his table. He grabs something and chucks it at you. You flinch but manage to catch it.

He sits on the table as you inspect the pouch. You open it, finding herbs inside.

"I heard you've been drinking that," he says.

You look up at him.

"Haven't you?" he asks.

You smell it and wretch. It smells exactly like-

"Moon tea," Dalton says, making your blood run cold, "for the bastard in your belly.*

You are frozen in your spot. Your stomach drops when he stands and walks over. He grabs your chin. It is not harsh, but it strikes fear in you anyway.

"I asked you a question, wife."

You open your mouth, but no words come out.

"HAVE YOU BEEN TAKING THE FUCKING TEA OR NOT?" he screams, grabbing your neck.

Your hands fly to his grip. Your fingers attempt to pry him away.

You wheeze when he squeezes you. Your flail your legs and try to kick him off. You can't. Just as your vision begins to go dark, he releases you. You fall onto the bed and frantically try to catch your breath. You cough and hear him smash things around the room.

As so you behold the man who said he would not hurt you unless you asked him, brutalize the furniture.

You think your chances are better in the sea rather than on this boat. You slowly maneuver towards the door while he is distracted. Just as you are about to sprint, he grabs you and throws you back down on his bed.

"You stupid slut!" he screams, "you think you can run?!

You try to scream for help, but the pain in your throat when you try to stops you. Not a second later, you scream anyway.

He slaps you across the face, promptly silencing you. The sting is ten times worse than what Daemon did.

"I was promised a Targaryen princess, not some whore of a dragon!" he screams, kicking the chair by his desk across the room. He laughs angrily, shaking his head, "dragon riding, my arse."

Your heart drops as he storms over, "who's the father of your bastard child?!"

Indistinguishable sounds leave your lips.

"ANSWER ME!" he demands, grabbing your shoulders, dragging you to your feet. Your head recoils at the sheer force of it. You take a moment to steady your head.

Your eyes search Dalton's enraged features, hoping to chance upon a sliver of compassion... in vain. The sound that leaves your mouth is response to the bruising squeeze of your arms. You cannot help but whimper as tears stream down your cheeks, "you're hurting me."

He is further angered by this. He gives you a powerful shake. Your head lashes back again and you scream.

"Give me a name!" erupts the lord.

You no longer have it in you to hold your tongue, and so you confess, "Daemon!"

Dalton releases you. He is repulsed, "your brother?" He scoffs, "you revolting, little worm," he slaps you across the face, making you lose your balance.

Before you crash into anything, he grabs you again and keeps you upright. You can feel your cheek and lips swell at his assault.

"And here they had me believing you were some meek lamb," he laughs dryly, brushing your hair back, "you're nothing but a whore, grown from perversion and abomination."

Your expression hardens. You glare at him and rebut, though your head was pounding, "and your sea rituals are more righteous than my family traditions?"

Without another word, Dalton shoves you back, propelling you into his desk. Your skull crashes against the edge with a horrendous thud.

You fall limp onto the floor. Dalton cares little if you were dead or unconscious. He walks out of the room right before he can witness the red staining your white hair.

Dalton is no fool. He knows better than to disfigure a Targaryen princess.

He walks towards the wheel of the ship and continues the course to what his crew believed to be a shortcut to home. In truth, he was bringing the ship to its doom, to face you with with a trail of the sea.

He would crash the ship into a chokehold of rocks, and if you survived, if he found your floating body, he would keep you, as you proved your resilience. But if you were swallowed into the depths, if he was unable to find you in the debris, he would praise the Drowned god for your riddance.

The same want with his crew.

Of course, there was a bit of this that felt like suicide, but he knew he was too vengeful to die, so he knew he had nothing to fear.

When the Greyjoy ship finally reached the rocky pass, Dalton was promptly warned of the danger by his lookout, who he obviously ignored.

He ordered to hoist the sails, and, blindly, the crew followed, even through apparent worry.

It didn't take very long after for the ship to crash into the cliffs.

The crew clamors. They scream and panic, turning to their captain that could not care less. He pretends to steer them to safety, but he actually slammed them further into their demise.

The deck begins to crumble. The mast snaps. The sails break off. Dalton calls to abandon ship.

The crew don't need any more convincing.

One by one, each man for their own, they try to escape with their life.

By the time Dalton jumps off the ship, the thing is half submerged in the water, crumbs of it on the side of a rock.

It was pure chaos.

Dalton swims far enough from the destruction, and knows the gods smiled upon him and his decision when he sees a large wooden slab he can climb on.

He does just that and looks out to his crew, helping the ones that manage to swim over, commanding the others calling for help to simply swim or drown.

He looks around, trying to make out a body of a woman, a blob of a dress, a head of silver hair in the aftermath.

"My wife," he screams, "has anyone seen my wife?!"

He wasn't concerned, of course. He just wanted to know his fate as a husband, but this did make for a good alibi.

His surviving men look and swim around for you. They find no trance.

Dalton presses his lips, "little dragon couldn't fly away."

They take refuge in a cliff. Lord Greyjoy tells his crew not to bitch and panic because they will surely be found by a passing ship soon enough.

He had planned this shipwreck after all.

By the time Dalton and his remaining men were saved, a flash of red circled in the setting sky, hovering over the massive rock that held the shipwreck that bore the sigil of Greyjoy.

Caraxes screeches as his rider commands him to get closer to the scene. The dragon hesitates but eventually lands on the cliff. Waves crash upon the area, causing the beast to bleat when he is wet.

Daemon is frantic as he gazes upon the destruction. He is distressed unlike he's ever been. His voice is distinctly desperate and hysterical. He screams out your name, even though it was nothing against the roar of the splashing waves.

He heaves heavily as he erratically decides to dismount and jump into the water.

As he wades, he tries to convince himself that what he was doing was for naught. Perhaps you were not here to begin with. But the gut feeling was overwhelming; it was sickening.

He tries to believe that bottom feeder, Greyjoy, saved you before his ship crumbled. He tries to convince himself that cunt's lust for you was enough reason to keep you alive.

But he remembers the servant he threatened with a knife whilst demanding to know which route your ship would take. He thinks of how he almost shit himself while confesssing to Daemon that Greyjoy planned to pass through a rocky region as a shortcut. But Daemon's flown over that area, and knew it was out of the way to the Iron Islands.

After squeezing out what's left from that servant, Daemon's face falls when he mentions that rusted octopus had an argument with a servant girl that came to serve the princess a cup of tea.

Daemon was no fool. Dalton was a butish barbarian. If he found out you were drinking Moon Tea, he would do his worst on you for blemishing his pride.

And so he swam. Daemon swam, dove down, and searched for your body until he had to stop because Caraxes was getting restless. He commanded him to calm down, but he could only do it so many times until he, himself, was the same.

He eventually gets back on Caraxes. Daemon can't bring himself to leave just yet however, and finds himself praying to whatever god out there to return his love back to him.

Caraxes circles the area one last time before heading off. For some reason, Daemon feels the urge to check underneath a large slab of shattered wood. He commands his mount to lift it, and the dragon screeches as he does what he can with his hind legs.

The sound that leaves the prince's mouth is what could be described as pure anguish.

A head of silver hair floats up and wafts in the water along with a tattered dress. Your body garnered a horrid tone of grey and you were missing your shoes.

Daemon cannot contain the tears that gush out of his eyes.

Caraxes carries your body in his claws all the way to the Keep.

The way in which he commands his ride to set your body down is frantic and incredibly detailed. Part of him realizes Caraxes probably recognized you, considering the way he laid on his belly and sniffed you as Daemon buckled to his knees and lamented over your stiff and frigid body.

He speaks to you in High Valyrian. His salty tears drip on your salt water drowned body. He promises he will never trick you, never argue with you, and never make you cry ever again if only you open your violet eyes.

He rocks back and forth with you in his arms, unsure which of you he was soothing by doing this.

He swears he will turn the sea red with blood and burn the whole Iron Islands to avenge you.

He is incredibly uncomfortable of the chill of your skin. He shakes his head, telling you dragons must not be kept cold. He kisses your face in an attempt to warm it up. He recounts a time where you accidentally spilled candle wax on him, burning his skin, and tells you that you still need to make up for your offence. He tells you he will forgive you if you simply hold him back.

Viserys had to account for three dragons by the time he found out what was happening, one was Daemon, whose grief morphed into murderous spite. He threatened to slay anyone who wanted to take you from him. Not again. Another was Caraxes, who refused to leave his heartbroken rider's side. The last was your dragon, who felt the loss of your connection, and went into a rabid state mourning.

It takes 5 people to secure your dragon in the pit, 5 people to subdue Caraxes, and 3 people to separate Daemon from your corpse.

The king takes a moment to clutch your hand. His face flinches. Where once your hand was so warm, no warmth now remained. He steps back and watches the maesters cover your body and take you away.

[exitpursuedbyavulcan]

Studious II (Aemond Targaryen x Reader) 18+

After your last coupling, Prince Aemond has been acting quite strangely toward you. It doesn't make sorting out your own feeling for him any easier...

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x fem!reader (second person, no use of Y/N)

Warnings: smut (kinda?) , male masturbation, female masturbation (attempted), more Aegon commentary, more Aemond awkwardness

Author's Note: WOW, I was not expecting anyone to like my awkward Aemond brain dump, but boy howdy did y'all... I hope this lives up to the hype!

Read Part I Here - Read Part III Here - Read Part IV Here

My Masterlist

Taglist below the cut

Studious II

The day after his marriage, utterly distraught by the look of confusion and dissatisfaction on his wife’s face after the bedding, Prince Aemond Targaryen came to terms with the fact that he desperately needed help. And though it went against every instinct he had to ask for it, he would much rather admit this weakness – this shortcoming – than suffer seeing that disappointment on her sweet face each time he came to her.

He went to Grand Maester Orwyle first. For while he had taken a vow of chastity, his knowledge of anatomy would be more than useful. Besides, he had always been kind and patient with Aemond during their lessons in his youth – he would not judge the Prince for this failing.

For more practical knowledge, he asked Lord Jasper Wylde, his father’s Master of Laws. His long-held position on the Small Council proved he could be trusted. More than that, the man had seeded twenty-seven surviving legitimate children thus far, and another was soon expected. ‘Ironrod’ clearly knew what he was doing.

Lastly, Aemond reluctantly enlisted the help of his older brother. He had his doubts about whether Aegon actually knew anything useful. Still, no one could deny that he had more relevant experience than anyone in King’s Landing who was not a whore.

Aemond listened to their advice diligently, as if it were no different from anything else he had studied. And, like always, he had been a good student.

The glorious sounds his wife had made when he started putting his lessons to use still echoed in his mind. The gentle whine when he had kissed her. The sharp inhale when he had started caressing her. The shiver that ran through her when he found her ‘pearl,’ as Aegon had called it. And her delicious gasp when he found that sweet spot inside her.

But there were other sounds – worse sounds. The alarm in her voice after he had brushed his tongue against her lips. Her confusion as to why he was touching her at all. How her eyes had gone wide with panic when he began to pleasure her, and how she had begged him to stop.

And every time he closed his eyes, he saw her hiding her face in her pillows after he smiled at seeing her find her own pleasure as he thrust into her – as though the very idea of enjoying being with him was something incomprehensible. Like it scared her.

She hadn’t wanted to look at him, kiss him, or be pleased by him. And she hadn’t come.

So, he assembled his advisors the next day, seeking some explanation of what he had done wrong. Or new instructions on how to please her in a way she wouldn’t eschew.

They had quickly decided the solution wasn’t some new technique, but for Aemond to ‘woo’ her.

The prospect at once delighted and terrified him.

At least he had advisors to help him figure out how.

Indeed, Lord Wylde had taken on the demeanour of a man plotting a war. He asked Aemond to list every detail he knew about his new bride and wrote everything he said word-for-word on a piece of parchment, along with his own commentary and musings on strategies.

Aegon’s comments and observations, mostly concerning her breasts, were not written down.

But the elder Prince did not mind, as he was quickly distracted by his own interrogation of Grand Maester Orwyle. He wanted to know precisely when, why, and how the Maester had pleasured Helaena.

Once Orwyle finished giving him the details, it was clear the Prince was far more impressed than offended. When Aegon finally turned back to the matter at hand, the Maester said a silent prayer of thanks that he was not going to lose his head.

After more than an hour of strategising, they had devised several courses of action for Aemond to try.

“She will be so enamoured by you that you won’t even have to touch her to get her to come,” Aegon declared proudly.

Orwyle and Wylde winced at the Prince’s crass words, but could not deny they also felt confident in the plan.

Aemond growled at his brother, eye blazing with rage. “This isn’t just about sex, Aegon. I want... I want her to like me.”

He sighed and slumped in his chair, running a hand over his flushed face. While he would never admit it aloud, he wanted so much more than to just be liked by his wife.

He wanted her to feel the same thing he felt exploding in his chest every time he looked at her. The intensity of the feeling was more frightening than losing his eye had been. And more thrilling than his first flight on Vhagar.

More than anything, he wanted her to love him – as he loved her.

But as his fingers grazed the leather strap of his eyepatch, he knew it was an impossible dream.

She was so beautiful. So gentle and kind. So pure and full of light.

He was monstrous. In the years since losing his eye, he had become as hideous in his soul as he was in the flesh. He had delved so deep into the darkness of his anger, resentment, and hatred that he knew there was no escape.

Until she had come into his life.

From the first moment he saw her step out of her father’s carriage, he knew that if she looked on him affectionately and allowed her holy light to shine upon him just once… perhaps he could be saved from damnation.

“I need her to like me,” he sighed, feeling not like the fearsome Prince and warrior he was, but like a whimpering, desperate child.

A dozen snide, and admittedly quite witty, comments died on Aegon’s lips. Once, he would not have hesitated to say them, to laugh at the hurt in his brother’s eyes.

But that was before Driftmark.

Before he had failed to protect Aemond from their bastard nephews – spurred on by the very teasing Aegon had once led them in. Though he wasn’t there when the eye was actually cut, he knew that if he hadn’t been such a twat before then, his brother would be whole.

He would still be an awkward, pathetic mess with no clue how to fuck a woman properly, but… he wouldn’t think himself so unworthy of his wife.

“Well,” Aegon drawled, slipping back into the mask of the blithe, carefree Prince everyone knew him to be. “I think we can at least manage ‘like.’ Now, get off your brooding ass, woo the girl, and make her come!”

-

You sat comfortably in a secluded corner of the Red Keep’s library, reading the book you had been forced to set down after your husband’s arrival in your chambers the night before.

Libraries were all the same, no matter where they were. The peaceful quiet interrupted only by the turning of heavy pages every so often. The soft shafts of yellow sunlight streaming through the small windows – stained glass, if you were lucky. The smell of old paper and well-worn leather.

It was far too easy to imagine you were back in your father’s library at home. Even better, this little corner you found felt as private as your own rooms.

More private, perhaps. Here, Prince Aemond could not barge in requesting you perform your marital duties.

Or so you thought.

A shadow stopped in front of you, blocking out the mottled sunlight you were using to read. Thinking that perhaps it was later than you’d thought, and one of the Maesters had come to tell you that you’d once again stayed past the library curfew, you looked up with a polite smile.

And met the single violet eye of your husband.

“Good afternoon, wife,” he greeted, dipping his head slightly and giving a decidedly awkward smile.

With his dimples, he was very nearly handsome when he smiled. But it did not quite reach his eye, and his brow was set too hard for you to truly see him as such.

Blinking rapidly as you tried to quickly hide your disappointment that your private reading spot was discovered, you returned the smile as best you could. “Husband.”

Aemond stared at you as though he expected more, as was apparently his habit, but you only stared back.

Why should it fall to you to put more effort into the marriage than he did?

Finally, he cleared his throat slightly. “I was wondering if I may join you in your reading? I noticed last night that you were reading Valyrian history. It is a favourite subject of mine.”

Indeed, you had begun studying the history of House Targaryen more in-depth the moment your betrothal was announced. You wanted to familiarise yourself with the family you were to join.

Though your ideas about becoming a true member of the family faded quickly, you continued your research. As much as the disappointment of your marriage had made you loathe to admit it, it was a fascinating history.

But now it meant Aemond wanted to read with you…

“I am sure you’ve read this particular history before,” you said, shyly showing him the title. It was little more than a beginner’s primer, almost more a storybook than a proper history, but you had to start somewhere. “Would you not rather read something more… novel?”

He laughed slightly, and you realised you had just unintentionally made a play on words. And not even a particularly clever one.

“Seeing my family’s history through your eyes would be quite ‘novel,’ as you so cleverly put it,” he replied, obviously quite determined, if he was willing to compliment you.

Was that… the first compliment he ever gave you?

When he smiled at you like that, it brought you back to the way he smiled when he had done… whatever it was he had done while he was inside you that made your vision burst into stars.

You blushed as heat pooled in your stomach at the memory, and the feelings that came with it. Your feelings about him, which you hadn’t yet allowed yourself to sort through – if you even wanted to.

He had made you feel so small and unwanted in the training yard when he grimaced and ran away from you. But then he had touched you so gently and gazed at you reverently at your slight gasp of pleasure like it was as beautiful a sound as he’d ever heard.

And then he left. Again.

But that was what you wanted – wasn’t it?

You had no idea what you wanted. And right now, figuring it out wasn’t your primary concern.

What he wanted from you was.

You prayed it was honestly just to discuss history.

So, you smiled as genuinely as you could and gestured to the seat across from you. “Then I would be… happy to have you join me.”

His eye lingered slightly on the seat next to you, but he nodded and took the seat you indicated.

You looked at him. He looked at you.

“Should I…” you began, at the exact moment he opened his mouth to speak.

You looked down, clamping your lips shut to let him speak first – as a good wife does.

He let out a sound halfway between a laugh and a sigh before setting his hand on the table. You watched as he flexed his fingers, wondering for a moment if he wanted you to reach out as well – if he wanted to hold your hand.

It was a ridiculous thought. One you silently scolded yourself for as you gripped the book harder, keeping your hands firmly where they were.

Silence fell as he mulled over his words, the left corner of his mouth twitching every so often as though he had almost decided what to say. Not wanting to interrupt, you simply sat there, pondering how uncomfortable you had become in this once-soothing place.

When it was just you, you savoured the silence. When he was here, you abhorred it.

“Do you have any questions?” Aemond asked, finally breaking the silence.

His words confused you. Was he referring to the book or to him? You had so many questions about what he had done last night, though you were more than a little afraid to ask them.

“What kind of questions should I have?” you replied, ashamed by how small your voice came out. Hopefully, he interpreted it as respect for the library.

He quirked his head, his lips again spreading in that not-quite smile, not-quite frown he often made after you had said something to him. Then, on the table, his hand curled into a fist.

“Just…” he gestured to the book. “Questions about what you don’t understand. I would be more than happy to help you.”

If your mind had been clearer, perhaps you would have seen the offer for what it was: a genuine desire to help and, perhaps, a way to get to know you better.

But something about Aemond clouded all your good sense as thoroughly as a stormy sea.

Your brow instantly furrowed in anger. Did he really think you were so stupid you could not understand a simple book meant for children?

“I have no questions,” you said coldly, your voice louder and harder than before.

Aemond blinked, his eye widening as he reached further across the table toward you. “I… I have studied the histories extensively, and I know they are complicated and difficult to understand. If there is anything that you are struggling with, or – ”

“Of course,” you cut him off. All your mother’s advice about how to be a good, dutiful wife was long forgotten as your anger rose higher and higher. “It is quite a difficult book. The words, I’m afraid, are well past my simple understanding. I’ve actually only been looking at the illustrations.”

His face was frozen, his eye wide, and his mouth hanging slightly open. He looked remarkably like a freshly caught fish. You laughed at the thought, slammed the book shut, and stood.

“Although,” you hissed. “Even the pictures have started to become too ‘complicated’ for me. I’m afraid my headache is returning.”

He finally blinked and leaned across the table, truly reaching for your hand now. “No… I didn’t…”

You stepped away, harshly pulling your hand away from his. “If you will excuse me, husband. I must rest before the evening meal, or else I fear I will be too exhausted to participate in any intelligent conversation.”

That look of hurt again came over Aemond’s face, but you were far too angry to care. As you stomped out of the library, you did look back at him once.

If you had, you would have seen him slump over in his chair with his head in his hands before he pounded his clenched fist against the wood table, earning quite the scolding from a nearby Maester.

-

You once again did not attend the evening meal with Aemond and his family.

It had been a hard decision to come to. You had even dressed before finally deciding to remain in your rooms. But in the end, you supposed that the consequences of missing a second night would be easier to endure than an evening sitting next to your husband.

Your husband, who so obviously disliked you and thought you were an idiot.

That was what he had insinuated, wasn’t it? Why else would he have offered you help in understanding a children’s history book?

It was stupid of you to even want to read about Targaryen history, you scolded yourself. It was little more than a repetitive tale of countless generations of dragonriders who all shared the same handful of names. A stupid story about a stupid civilisation.

But as you sat at your desk eating your solitary meal, you couldn’t help but wish you hadn’t left the book in the library.

You contemplated sending one of your maids to fetch it, but you had no doubt Aemond would hear about it. That is, if he hadn’t just taken it himself.

Oh gods, what if he had?

He would find the notes you had made and tucked into the cover – including the family tree you sketched to keep all the names straight. It would only confirm his suspicions about your intellect.

You could picture his smug smile when he found the notes. The way the corners of his mouth would lift just enough to expose his dimples. There would be an arrogant twinkle in that violet eye. Perhaps he would be so amused by his simple-minded wife that he would have to bite his lip to hold back a laugh. Those lovely pink lips that had felt so soft on yours…

Shaking your head violently to banish the foolish, lustful thoughts, you took a long drink of your wine. Hopefully, it would soothe your nerves enough for you to think about anything but Aemond. Or at least enough to calm your breathing and banish the heat that bloomed beneath your thighs.

Once again, you lost your appetite and sent your meal away only half-eaten.

You needed to pray.

That was the only answer. The only way you could rid your mind of these horrible, sinful thoughts.

You had only just grabbed your copy of The Seven-Pointed Star when there was a knock at the door.

Not again.

“Who is it?” you asked, heart pounding with both nervousness and anticipation.

“It is Grand Maester Orwyle, Princess,” came an unfamiliar voice. “The Queen sent word you were unwell.”

A great wave of relief and disappointment washed over you, your book falling to the floor as your hands went slack. “Yes, come in,” you called.

Then, to yourself, you whispered, “I am quite unwell, indeed.”

-

The next afternoon, you sat comfortably on your couch, still in your nightgown and robe. It was improper, yes. But after assessing you in your somewhat panicked state the night before, Orwyle commanded you be relieved of your duties for the next few days.

‘Duties’ was a strong word, as your responsibilities only required you to stand silently next to your husband at court and gossip with the Ladies in the afternoon.

Still, you were glad to be rid of them, even if only for a few days. You had plans to go to Sept and pray and to sort out your feelings for your husband – the frightening, complicated feelings that had you so rattled that the Grand Maester himself thought you to be genuinely ill.

But not today.

Today, you would simply rest, drink your chamomile tea, and read the books your maid had fetched from the library.

None of them were history books. That had been the one requirement you had. Well, that and no romance.

So, as you sipped your tea, you allowed yourself to fall into the world of your book – a world of grand adventure, mythical beasts, and a pirate lord with a dashing smile and eyepatch…

Damn.

You threw the book aside, dangerously near the lit hearth, and crossed your arms. But before you could get too far into your wallowing, there was a knock at your door. Again.

“Who is it?” you called, eyes blazing as though you could see through the wood and smite whoever stood behind the door.

There was silence.

“It is Aemond,” came his soft, melodic voice. “May I please come in?”

You clenched your jaw, willing yourself to say ‘no. No, I don’t want to see you.’

“Yes, you may,” your voice said instead. You baulked, unsure how the words came out so wrong.

The moment he stepped through the door, you turned your eyes down. You didn’t want to look at him, for you knew if you did, your logic would abandon you as whatever it was you felt for him overcame you.

But then you caught a flash of bright pink, and your head snapped up.

Aemond was carrying a small bouquet of dog roses, your favourite flower.

The large blooms were the most vibrant pink you had ever seen, perhaps even more so than in the fields where they grew back at home. Even the dot of yellow in their centres seemed as bright as the sun.

They seemed so out of place against the wall of black leather that was Aemond.

Slowly, you looked up from the flowers to face your husband. He had crossed the room to stand before you – awkwardly, as always. His lips were pursed, and his brow set in a deep furrow.

“I’m sorry,” he said quickly and quietly, stiffly holding the flowers out to you. “For what I said yesterday.”

You did not move to take them. Did not blink. Did not breathe.

“I did not mean to offend you,” he continued, arm still extended. With the flowers only inches from your face, you could see how tightly he held the stems – his knuckles were bone white. “I spoke without thinking, and my words did not accurately reflect my intentions. I only meant – ”

His voice faltered as you reached up for the flowers. You did not want him to snap the stems. They would die more quickly if he did.

As your fingers brushed his, he flinched, dropping the flowers unceremoniously onto your lap. You immediately grabbed them, carefully examining each bloom to ensure it was not damaged. Thankfully, they were intact.

You stared and stared at them, memories flooding your mind. Every year, your entire family would journey to the fields where the dog roses bloomed. First, you would picnic together in the grass, the happiest meal of the year. Then, when you were finished, you and your siblings would race to examine each flower, competing to see who could find the loveliest bloom.

They would do so without you this year.

Distantly, you heard Aemond saying your name, drawing your attention back to him. He was frowning, his brow crumpled. “I thought…” he whispered, “I thought you would like them.”

You blinked, confused by his words. But the motion sent the tears welling in your eyes spilling down your cheeks. You were so caught up in your memories you did not notice you were crying.

As you looked back down at the flowers, you missed the subtle movement of Aemond’s hand, reaching out to wipe the tears away. Instead, when you moved away, he clenched his fist so tightly that his nails began to bite into his palm.

“I miss home,” was all you could say before the tears began to fall in earnest.

Aemond stepped back, bumping into the low table before the couch. “I’m so sorry,” he murmured. “I did not mean to upset you.”

Then he turned, stumbling into the table once more, and left.

As the sound of the shutting door echoed in your mind, you did not know whether you were still crying from your homesickness, or because he had left you again.

-

After Aemond left, and you had finally stopped crying, you had one of your maids set the bouquet in a vase. But not before you had carefully inspected each stem to be sure they were intact.

Somehow, they were.

You put the vase on your vanity where the flowers could catch the sunlight before crawling into your bed, intending to take a nap after what was an unintentionally exhausting morning.

But you did not find sleep.

Instead, you stared at the ceiling, thinking over what Aemond said.

He had apologised for making you feel stupid, and then you immediately cried over flowers.

You had never felt more stupid.

And now you felt like you needed to apologise.

So, despite having Orwyle’s official permission to skip all your obligations, you finally rose from your bed as the sun set and asked your maids to dress you for dinner.

Because you made your decision to attend the evening meal at the last minute, the rest of the family had already begun eating when you arrived.

Aemond, who sat facing the door, was the first to see you. His eye immediately went wide, and he stood so quickly that a servant had to catch his chair before it toppled to the ground.

Aegon began laughing hysterically.

Queen Alicent shushed him once before she stood, giving you a mildly concerned but otherwise pleasant smile. “I’m so glad you could join us, my dear,” she said pleasantly as she gestured for you to sit. “We were beginning to worry about you.”

“I have simply been tired,” you assured her as you slowly walked around the table to your place. Curious, they had still set a place for you, despite your missing the last two meals. “Adjusting to life at court has been more difficult than I thought.”

As you came to stand before your chair, Aemond held a hand out to help you sit. Then, just as you had only hours before, you looked from his hand to his face. His brow was still set in a furrow, but he was almost smiling.

You took his hand, squeezing it tighter than you usually would. The only forgiveness you could give while being watched by his mother, grandsire, and siblings.

He seemed to understand, giving you a real smile – a breathtakingly beautiful smile – as you sat. You wanted to return it, but all your lips would do was tremble pathetically. You were sure that if you opened your mouth, you would burst into tears. So, you fixed your eyes on your plate and listened to the idle conversation around you.

Aemond himself began serving your plate, somehow knowing exactly what you liked and what you didn’t. When he finished, you looked over to him briefly and nodded your thanks, earning another of those beautiful smiles.

Your stomach flipped, and you told yourself it was only because you were hungry.

Neither you nor Aemond said anything to each other for the rest of the meal. Instead, you were more than content to simply listen. Or try to.

You were all too aware of every movement Aemond made. The way his long, elegant fingers gripped his goblet. The severe line of his jaw moving when he responded to his grandsire’s questions. The way he sat, legs bowed slightly outward to allow him comfortably at the table.

If you weren’t careful, your leg would brush against his.

You made sure to be very careful.

What you were not aware of was Prince Aegon’s eyes on you, noticing each time your eyes slid to his brother. Every so often, he would dip his chin and raise his brows when he made eye contact with Aemond, nodding toward you in encouragement.

Aemond noticed, but did nothing to act on it.

Not until the meal was ended and everyone rose from the table. He stepped to your side and extended his arm, accidentally bumping you, rather firmly, with his sharp elbow and causing you to jump away from him.

“I’m sorry,” Aemond said hastily. “I just… I hoped I could escort you back to your chambers?”

You looked at him for a moment, at the near-pleading in his eye, and nodded, slipping your arm into his for the first time since your wedding ceremony, and began to lead you through the castle halls.

As your private chambers were separate from the rest of the family’s, you were alone as you walked. You were not sure whether you were grateful for it or not.

The silence was palpable and nearly painful.

“Thank you,” you whispered, and Aemond stumbled at the unexpected sound. “For the flowers, I mean. They are a favourite from home.”

You looked up at him, and he gave another half-smile, but said nothing.

Silence fell once more.

“You look very beautiful tonight,” Aemond said, nearly shouting the sudden words. The corner of his lips twitched when you looked at him in shock. “This dress suits you much better than the one you wore yesterday, and is far more flattering than your nightclothes.”

Any warmth you felt at the initial compliment was thoroughly snuffed out at the remainder of the comment. Though you once more felt like crying, you schooled your features into indifference as you turned away from him, only looking straight ahead.

“I did not know you disliked them so,” you muttered, removing your arm from his and clasping your hands in front of you. You fixed your gaze straight ahead and did not waver. “I will not wear them again.”

Aemond stilled, but you did not break your stride. You only knew he followed after a moment when you heard the soft sounds of his boots against stone.

You walked in silence until you reached your door, then turned back to him. “Is there anything you require of me tonight, husband?”

He wore that expression of hurt that caused your chest to tighten, but you did not allow yourself to react. Finally, after a long moment, he licked his lips and shook his head once.

That was all the dismissal you needed. You opened your door just enough to slip through and shut it firmly behind you.

You did not speak to your maids as they prepared you for bed until they presented you with one of your favourite cotton nightgowns and your robe.

“Not those,” you whispered, though you longed for their comfort and warmth. “Something else. Anything else.”

They dressed you in one of the thin silk nightdresses, one which matched the colour of the dress you just removed. Though it was soft and luxurious against your skin, as you settled beneath your covers, you felt cold.

In the hall, Aemond took a stumbling step forward to rest his forehead against your door, his hand resting on the handle but not moving. He stayed like that for many long moments, silently cursing himself, before he stepped away and retreated to his own chambers.

-

The following day, you woke still feeling tired. It had been hard to find sleep when you felt so cold. When curling into yourself still did not warm you, you rose from the bed and stalked to your dressing room, determined to find your more comfortable nightclothes.

But the moment you ran your hand over the well-worn brocade of your robe, Aemond’s words again echoed in your mind.

He was right. It was not flattering. Your father had it made when you were younger, and he had obviously expected you to grow as large and tall as your brothers. But you had not, and the robe still overwhelmed your frame.

Your maids had offered to take it in to make it fit better, but you had denied them. You liked the way you could disappear into it, how it could double as a blanket, the way it streamed behind you as you ran through the halls of your father’s keep.

It was familiar – it was home.

Now Aemond had ruined it, as he had your dreams of a happy marriage.

Reluctantly, you rang the bell for your maids, apologising for the late hour, and asked for another blanket.

But worse than the aching in your bones and the heaviness of your head was the sinking feeling in your stomach when your maids told you that Aemond had sent word asking you to come watch him fight in the training yard.

No reason was given. Why would there be? A man did not need a reason to summon his wife.

You wanted to ignore the request. With Orwyle’s orders that you should rest, you easily could. Yet you could not deny the sinful part of you that remembered how you felt watching him train only days ago.

With his sword in hand, Aemond was a different man. He was graceful and confident – the Prince you imagined when you first heard of your betrothal. The sight of him had lit the smouldering fire of desire within you, shameful as it was.

Despite your prayers, the memory of his seeming indifference, and his more recent insults, you could not deny you wanted to see that man again.

So, you once again donned your warmest cloak – only after confirming with your maids countless times that it was flattering – and headed to the training yard.

Aemond was not in the ring when you arrived but sulking by a table full of weapons. His arms were crossed tightly in front of him, and though he faced the ring, he was not truly focused on the fight. He looked as distant as he did on your wedding night, just before he asked you to get in the bed.

That is until one of the Kingsguard – the Dornish one – pointed to you on the ramparts, and he looked to you.

You braced for another grimace, but it did not come. Were it not for the slight, almost hopeful raise of his brows, you would think him completely indifferent.

He turned back to the weapons table, quickly selecting a longsword and walking to the ring, barking an order that immediately disbanded the current melee. You watched him jump up and down, stretching and shaking his limbs to prepare for his own fight.

The Kingsguard stepped into the ring with him, wielding a large morningstar. The sight of the fearsome weapon sent a shiver of fear through your veins, but you quickly brushed it aside in favour of a small surge of pride.

You had seen Aemond fight. Surely success would come easily.

Though perhaps not.

At the first strike of the Morningstar, Aemond fell to one knee as his shield shattered. You startled, prompting the old Lord to your side to set a hand on your back and whisper his assurances.

“The Prince is a fine warrior,” he said, “a single strike will not fell him.”

But it was not only the one strike.

Over and over, the Kingsguard’s weapon struck, Aemond only barely avoiding it each time.

Once, after Aemond was forced to concede several steps back, the Kingsguard let his offensive stance fall and whispered something. Your husband only growled back at him, loud enough for you to hear from where you watched. Though even in the ferocity of his new advance, he fumbled through his strikes.

This was not the man you watched in the training yard before. However, there were hints of him, sometimes – a graceful swing of the sword, the agile avoidance of an incoming strike, or a strong blocking with his shield (which was replaced several times).

Though those glimpses were few, they were enough to light that fire once more as each one sent that tingling down your spine.

You even considered going down into the yard when the fight was over and asking him to take you back to your chambers.

The idea when quickly squashed when the fight ended badly.

A powerful blow from the morningstar sent Aemond backwards into the dirt. He only barely hung onto his sword. The Kingsguard dropped his weapon and approached the Prince with his hand outstretched.

Aemond did not accept it. Instead, he swatted the knight aside as he stood, driving his sword point-first into the dirt. Then, after whispering something you could not hear but could tell by the fury in his eyes was harsh and likely cruel, he turned and left the training yard.

Without a single glance your way.

-

Aemond did not attend the family meal that evening. He could not bear to face his wife after such a mortifying display.

Seeing her disappointment would break him, he was sure. Though worse was the possibility that she may laugh at him – mock him, as he had unintentionally mocked her.

Gods, he had not fought so poorly since he was a mere boy and had not yet been allowed to wield real steel. Perhaps the next day, Cole would give him his wooden practice sword back. He would deserve it, for both his abysmal performance and his arrogance.

When Lord Wylde suggested he invite her to ‘witness his martial prowess,’ he had let himself fall victim to Aegon’s flattery and his own vanity. And the gods had seen fit to punish him for it.

He would beg their forgiveness later. After he committed another sin. One he had been indulging in far too often of late.

Though his body – already sore from the fight – protested every movement, Aemond removed all his clothes. All the while, he tried not to think about the wrongness of what he was about to do or how much he had embarrassed himself, but about his wife.

How beautiful she had looked on the ramparts. How her hair floated so gracefully in the wind. How the colour of her cloak brought out a delightful sparkle in her eyes. How she had jumped each time Cole landed a blow.

That she cared whether he lived or died should not make his heart flutter as it did, but he would take whatever she would give him, even if it was the barest of affection.

When he was naked and laid himself across his bed, his cock was suitably hard and leaking. Still, he reached for the small phial of oil Aegon gave him when he suggested he ‘practice building his stamina.’

“It is a sin,” Aemond had hissed, horrified by the mere suggestion.

Aegon only shrugged. “So is killing. But we do so in war without fearing the wrath of the gods. Why? Because it is in pursuit of a noble goal. I would say making your wife c… happy and satisfied is a noble goal, wouldn’t you?”

It was an impressive logic – for Aegon. Still, Aemond went to the Sept each morning to ask the gods for forgiveness.

And each night, like now, he practised.

After depositing a droplet of oil into his palm, he took hold of his cock and began to slowly stroke himself.

It was nothing like being in his wife. No matter what he did, he could not replicate that wonderful feeling. So he quickly stopped trying.

Instead, he pumped himself hard and fast, trying to get to the edge of his peak as quickly as he could – and then stopped. He curled his hand into a fist at his side as he squeezed his eyes shut, waiting a few agonising moments before resuming at a slower pace.

The only thing that made that waiting bearable was assuring himself what it would lead to – or what he hoped it would lead to.

He pictured his wife as she had been when he was touching her. How she had come so close to giving herself over to pleasure.

He hoped she would not ask him to stop the next time. Instead, she would let him touch her until she came. She would let him taste her, something he had never considered before Aegon told him of it, but which he now craved like a man lost in the desert craved water. She would beg him to fuck her, to once again brush his cock against that spot inside her, over and over until they both came apart.

And he would gladly obey. He would do anything she asked – if she only would.

Aemond brought himself almost to coming over and over until his stones ached from being denied so long. Only then did he allow himself release, spilling across his stomach with his wife’s name on his lips.

-

The dinner felt unbearably strange without Aemond beside you. No excuses for his absence were given; it was apparently not a subject anyone else was curious about.

So, you ate your food, spoke when you were spoken to, and excused yourself the moment you were done eating.

Though he had never much talked to you at meals, his presence was still somehow missed. You missed the touch of his hand as he helped you into your seat, the low timbre of his voice when he answered a question from his mother or grandsire, and the warmth of his gaze whenever you caught him looking at you.

You missed all those little joys, which you only then realised were indeed joys, so much that you would gladly endure his insults and criticism if it only meant he was there. Besides, you liked how he had gawked in the library when you mocked him in return. That could become a fun little game…

As you left the dining hall, thinking about how he had smiled at you the night before, you found yourself turning not for your own chambers, but for his.

Perhaps he was hurt from his fall, and that was why he was not there. Surely, it was only concern for his health that had you turning this way, nothing more.

But then you took another step forward, and you knew.

You desired him.

The shock and shame of it had you immediately retreating to your own rooms.

You quickly had your maids prepare you for bed, dressing in another silk slip of a nightdress before sending them away and curling beneath your blankets.

Soon, your own heavy breathing was the only sound in the room. The godsdamned crickets had gone silent again, wishing for you to hear every shameful thought you had clearly.

You thought of the strength he had shown in holding off the Kingsguard’s attacks. The strength you had seen in the tautness of his muscles as he hovered over you. As he used those hands that so skillfully wielded a sword to bring you pleasure.

Your legs squeezed together of their own accord at the thought, and you became all too aware of a wetness between your thighs – the wetness he had once coaxed out of you with his gentle touch.

Spreading your legs and trying not to think about the sin of what you were doing, you slowly raised the hem of your nightdress and slid your hand over your folds.

Where Aemond’s fingers were warm, yours were cold. You rubbed your hand over your thigh momentarily, remembering him doing the same thing, before touching yourself again.

This part of you was unfamiliar, and you fumbled around more than Aemond had that first night.

You found your entrance first but shied away from slipping a finger inside. Somehow, that felt too wrong, too much of a sin.

But that was not the only place Aemond had touched that brought you pleasure.

Following the same line his thumb had taken, you searched from that little spot that had sent lightning through you.

It took some time, but you found it.

Though, no matter how fast you moved your finger or how hard you pressed, your own touch did not bring you nearly as much pleasure as Aemond’s had. Finally, after many long minutes, your attempts were causing far more frustration than anything else, and you ripped your hand away from your sex.

You nearly cried when you saw your fingers glistening – with bright red blood.

Your moon’s blood was here.

You were not pregnant.

-

The next morning, you immediately sent for raspberry tea to soothe the aching that had already taken hold in your abdomen and did not get out of bed until it had arrived and you had drunk two cups full.

Then, you wished you had not gotten out of bed at all. There was another note from your husband – he wanted to meet you for a walk in the gardens.

At least it meant he was not hurt. But to face him after what you had done, or tried to do…

A good wife did not do what you did. A good wife would have gone to his chambers and made sure he was well, would have let him take comfort in you.

Gods, you should have done so. You wished so badly that you had done so.

You could not change what you did, but you could be a good wife from this point on – you would be.

So, despite your pains, you dressed and headed for the gardens, where his note said he would be waiting for you all morning.

You spent the entire walk through the castle praying. To the Father for forgiveness for your sin. To the Mother for forgiveness for failing your husband and to beg that his seed quickened the next time. To the Crone for the wisdom to be a good wife – again, as the same prayer had obviously not worked the first time. To the Warrior, for the courage you would need to face Aemond. To the Smith, to repair what had been broken between you. And to the Stranger for whatever you had forgotten to include in your prayers to the others.

Truly, you needed the blessing of each of the Seven.

It was only by clutching the Seven-Pointed Star pendant until your fingers hurt that you did not collapse at the sight of Aemond.

He looked ethereally beautiful in the morning light. The soft sunlight streaming through the few leaves that still remained on the trees set his hair aglow, like he was touched by the gods themselves. Indeed, they must have been tempting your devotion to your promise. Why else would they make him appear so tempting?

You swallowed thickly, grateful you had approached him from the left, so he would not see you gawking. Then, once you had regained your composure, thanks in no small part to a new wave of pain in your belly overwhelming any desire, you stepped forward and curtsied.

“Husband,” you greeted with as much sweetness in your voice as you could muster, “thank you for the invitation to join you today.”

Aemond stood from the bench and bowed back to you, even though protocol did not require it. “Thank you for coming,” he said with a shy smile. “I was worried that… you might not.”

“It would be improper for a wife to deny her husband’s wishes,” you replied.

Dutiful. Polite. A good wife.

But Aemond’s smile fell. “I hope you do not feel you had to come here just because I asked,” he murmured, not meeting your gaze. “I hope that you wanted to come.”

You found yourself almost smiling at him, at the sentiment he offered. Then, nodding, you stepped forward and awkwardly held your hand out for a moment before returning it to your side. “I have not yet had the chance to see the gardens. Will you show me?”

He looked as though you had just offered him a kingdom and held out his arm for you to take.

Despite the heat radiating off him, you shivered as you looped your arm through his, and he began to lead you down the flagstone path.

You walked in silence for a while, but it was not as heavy or uncomfortable as before. There was only the faintest hint of tension between you, the rest replaced by a kind of contentment – unfamiliar but pleasant.

Aemond only spoke to name some of the plants you saw. How he knew exactly which ones you could not identify yourself, you did not know. He just… knew.

You stopped in front of the gnarled trunk of a wisteria vine. It was not in bloom, and most of its leaves had fallen, but it was still beautiful in its bareness.

“It is wisteria,” Aemond said after a moment, pointing with a finger to trace its path from its roots to the very ends of the vine some twenty feet away on a trellis. “At the end of spring, it will produce hanging blooms that are a lovely shade of purple.”

You looked up at him, at his one eye and its lovely shade of purple – the colour of wisteria, you realised.

Before you knew it, you were smiling so wide it hurt your cheeks. “I know,” you replied, your voice almost a laugh. “It is one of my favourites.”

Feeling yourself begin to blush furiously, you turned back toward the plant. “There was one even larger than this right outside my window at my father’s keep.”

Aemond did not – could not – respond. You had just smiled at him, and it was more beautiful than he had ever imagined.

-

You walked through the gardens on Aemond’s arm until you had seen every plant, every flower, every leaf. It was the happiest you had been since arriving in King’s Landing, and indeed in many years before.

But it could not last forever. While you were merely a wife, Aemond was a Prince. He had duties far more important than walking with his wife. So, when he mentioned the hour was growing late, you did not ask him to stay.

You merely removed your arm from his, bowed your head, and whispered your farewell. As a good wife does.

Yet Aemond remained in front of you, the look in his eye so intense you had to turn away.

“May I come to your chambers tonight?” he asked, his voice small but firm.

Your chest tightened.

You wanted to say yes – to kiss him and feel his touch once more. But…

“My moon’s blood arrived today,” you told him quickly before the fear in your gut could still your tongue.

Until he made that request, you had been enjoying the time spent with your husband so dearly that you had nearly forgotten the pain in your belly, the undeniable proof of your failure to produce an heir.

Your failure to be a good wife.

As tears sprang to your eyes, you watched his face twist with confusion, then crumple with despair, and finally, freeze into an expression you could not name.

Once more, he felt like a mystery to you – a stranger. Had you really come to know him so well, to care for him enough that even a single unknown expression could cause you this much pain?

You must have, for the pain in your empty womb was nothing compared to that which now took hold of your heart.

He looked to the flagstones below you, his mouth starting and failing to find words. “I…” he began, then stopped.

“Aemond?” you asked, desperate now for him to say anything, even if it was to call you stupid again.

Your mind was so clouded by fear at what he may say next that you did not realise it was the first time you had called him by his name since the wedding ceremony.

His eye met yours again, and he raised his brows. “Thank you for the walk.”

And then he left. Again.

To your credit, you did not cry until you were back in your rooms.

-

You did not go to dinner that night or even eat the meal that was brought to your rooms.

You only prayed and cried and prayed some more. Until you fell asleep on the couch in your sitting room.

After waking in the dark at some point in the night, with a blanket over your shoulders. You knew you should move to the bed, or you would be sore in the morning. But whatever you did, you would be sore for at least a few more days. So, you stayed on the couch.

For a while, you watched the door, hoping that Aemond would walk through and throw himself at your feet as he begged your forgiveness. And despite your better judgment, you would give it to him without hesitation.

But he did not come.

Eventually, you fell asleep again.

When you woke once more, you were indeed sore. But it was quickly forgotten when you saw something unfamiliar on the table before you – a leather-bound journal and a folded note with your name written on it in beautiful script.

Curious but cautious, you only grabbed the note before settling back into your seat to read it:

My dearest wife,

Forgive me for not coming to you myself to apologise, but given the way I acted the last time I did so, I believe you will prefer this.

I am so very sorry that my behaviour towards you has been utterly abhorrent. Please know that my stumbling words and foolish actions come not from a place of malice or even indifference. Rather, they are an attempt by a stupid and incompetent man to try and impress his wife.

There is nothing in the world that I desire so much as to see you happy. Nothing I wish for more than to see your smile and, if the gods bless me, to be the reason for it.

For my love, when you smiled at me yesterday – I have never felt anything so wonderful.

But as the past weeks have shown, I fear I am incapable of presenting myself with dignity when I am in your presence. Your beauty, kindness, and pure goodness overwhelm me the moment I see you, and all my good sense abandons me. No matter my intentions, nor the poetry I compose in my mind prior to coming to you, the very moment I am with you, I become little more than a bumbling idiot, unable to even say ‘hello’ without somehow offending or upsetting you.

So, I will no longer try. I know I have caused you much more discomfort than anything, and it pains me beyond measure. Already, I have begged the Seven for their forgiveness, and now I beg yours.

If you do not wish to give it, I will understand. I will accept whatever you decide and act accordingly. If you wish to not see me again, I will disappear. But I would be doing you a disservice as your husband if I did not at least share with you the depth of my feelings before we are parted – if that is indeed what you desire, though I hope it is not.

I am all too aware that if I tried to do this myself, I would say some ridiculous thing to make you hate me forever. That is, I admit, my greatest fear. So, I have asked the servants to deliver you this note, along with my diary. I know you keep your own, for I have seen it in your chambers. Therefore, you know that what you will read is not merely words, but the truths of my very soul.

Please know that I am not afraid to share it with you. As my wife, you are entitled to know everything about me. But more than that, I want you to. I want you to see all that I am, to know me as well as the gods themselves. I pray that what you will learn will not frighten or upset you but show you the man I so wish to be. The man I would be, if you allow me.

I pray you will like him, perhaps even learn to love him. For he loves you so very, very much.

I have marked the passages I most want you to read, but you have my permission to read everything. I will not hide anything from you, not anymore.

With all my love, more than you know,

Your husband, Prince Aemond Targaryen

As you lowered the note, now stained with several of your tears, you looked at the journal – the diary – on the table. It contained the truth of your husband, the man who had confused and angered you, delighted and amazed you.

It was a truth that, once you knew it, would change you forever.

But you had already been changed, hadn’t you? Irrevocably. The only thing the diary would change was whether it was for the better or for the worse.

So, after one last prayer, you set Aemond’s note back on the table, picked up the diary, and began to read.

-

Taglist (bold means I couldn't tag you) If I forgot you, I'm sorry! I've never had a taglist this big before!

@hb8301 @that-girl-named-alex @bat-revival @dahlias-and-marigolds @dc-marvel-girl96 @nina2697 @padfooteyes @missusnora @bluebirdonafencepost @bellaisasleep @yentroucnagol @sarahkimtae @imjustboredso @howdoichangemynameto @hopebaker @yelenabeleovapocket @let-love-bleeds-red @maximizedrhythms @xideshiz @siriusdumblittlepuppy @skikikikiikhhjuuh @lemonivall @anisa269 @flavorofsalt @queenofshinigamis @elles-mind-palace @dragonfireandpixiedust @glitterandgoldfinds @daydreamerblues @tswiftsthings @kitkat-writes-stuff @miraclealignertlsp369 @cryztalline @im-obsessed-with-marvel @fluffiy @kotonei-molyneux @natie335 @killjoynotes @mariahossain @bellstwd

[princessnijireiki]

what happened w the staff wrt “scortched earth”

ok so staff has a new page @/humans where they've got a post up listing several of the current moderators for the site, some of whom linked their own tumblr blogs. user @partyjockers made an original post like "so the new staff lineup explains why mods aren't blocking actual terfs huh" & then reblogged their own post with screenshots for evidence, one of the @/humans intro post, and one of the blog of one of those mods, "jas," @/jezzuminah. all publicly visible posts.

jas is a diehard hp fan, but people paid close attention to her artwork (her art tag is linked in a pinned post at the top of her blog). she's done a lot of dramione fanart, a lot of attack on titan fanart, and ship fanart of aged up preschoolers from spy x family. of note, she also put in her header, "opinions are my own," which is typical for ppl maintaining private social media accts linked to their real professional lives, as a way to ask for or demand a free pass to be inflammatory in some way w/o facing prof'nl. repercussions.

most of the commentary I saw at that point on @partyjockers's post was like, "lol that figures," bc it's not like any of that is especially shocking to see on tumblr; it's dime a dozen in fandom circles, but funny to confirm that "yeah the employees #on here are like that too, ugh, smh. 🙄"

within ONE DAY, staff had no only entirely shut down & seemingly permabanned @partyjockers, AND copyright striked the original screenshots so they get blanked out to error pictures if you try to repost them, they also did something they've never done before + which past staff have indicated was not doable within the tumblr framework: they scrubbed every trace of the post from the site. original post, gone. THOUSANDS of reblogs, all gone. even notifications from people interacting with reblogs of the post, wiped from the activity page. like beyond twitter, where if you delete a tweet, you can still see people's responses from THEIR pages, and you can still see QRTs even if you can't see what's been retweeted... every interaction w that post was gone. @partyjockers, gone. jas just toggled off the "view top posts" feature, locked her twitter & instagram, and deleted one piece of dramione fanart that people began reblogging after that overkill response.

and NOW the scrutiny is higher than ever before, because it's all fun & games and "my opinions are my own" until one person hurts your feelings (at WORK) by pointing & saying, "harry potter fan!" ...and, vitally, they also proved @partyjockers right. they've always been able to erase the entire footprint of violent fascists, people spreading explicit hate speech, literal nazis, revenge porn distributors, doxxers, bigots who run active harassment campaigns (incl some terfs!), ppl who share EXPLICIT csa materials, gore, etc.— even pages like @communismkills just got shadowbanned, and that was after a LONG TIME being a leaking sphincter on this site.

and tumblr staff have thus far ONLY ever unleashed this big gun ONCE in the whole history of the site, to my knowledge, as a tool to take down a page that wasn't even, like, a "whistleblower" for anything that serious, but who JUST SAID, "y'all don't ban terfs (true!) & y'all hire harry potter fans (also true!)," which apparently this new staff took sooooo personally & seriously & disparagingly (lol) that they nuked a random person's page from orbit over the "insult."

and we're currently on day 2, so I'm sure more will eventually unfold, but yeah, this scorched earth tactic is genuinely batshit hostility out of nowhere, over not even mild criticism but just a literal factual observation.

[frankingsteinery]

for some reason people seem to think that mary somehow stumbled into writing a commentary on marriage/incest accidentally, and that the themes of frankenstein are all about her trauma due to her experiences as a victim of the patriarchy, as a woman and a mother surrounded by men - as if she wasnt the child of radical liberals who publicly renounced marriage, as if she herself as well as percy shelley had similar politics on marriage, as if she would not go on to write a novel where the central theme is explicitly that of father/daughter incest years later…

the most obvious and frequent critique of victor i see is of his attempt to create life - the creature - without female presence. it’s taught in schools, wrote about by academics, talked about in fandom spaces - mary shelley was a feminist who wrote about feminism by making victor a misogynist. he’s misogynistic because he invented a method of procreation without involving women purely out of male entitlement and masculine arrogance and superiority, and shelley demonstrates the consequences of subverting women in the creation process/and by extension the patriarchy because this method fails terribly - his son in a monster, and victor is punished for his arrogance via the murder of his entire family; thus there is no place for procreation without the presence of women, right?

while this interpretation – though far from my favorite – is not without merit, i see it thrown around as The interpretation, which i feel does a great disservice to the other themes surrounding victor, the creature, the relationship between mother and child, parenthood, marriage, etc.

this argument also, ironically, tends to undermine the agency and power of frankenstein’s female characters, because it often relies on interpreting them as being solely passive, demure archetypes to establish their distinction from the 3 male narrators, who in contrast are performing violent and/or reprehensible actions while all the woman stay home (i.e., shelley paradoxically critiques the patriarchy by making all her female characters the reductive stereotypes that were enforced during her time period, so the flaws of our male narrators arise due to this social inequality).

in doing so it completely strips elizabeth (and caroline and justine to a lesser extent) of the power of the actions that she DID take — standing up in front of a corrupt court, speaking against the injustice of the system and attempting to fight against its verdict, lamenting the state of female social status that prevented her from visiting victor at ingolstadt, subverting traditional gender roles by offering victor an out to their arranged marriage as opposed to the other way around, taking part in determining ernest’s career and education in direct opposition to alphonse, etc. it also comes off as a very “i could fix him,” vibe, that is, it suggests if women were given equal social standing to men then elizabeth would have been able to rein victor in so to speak and prevent the events of the book from happening. which is a demeaning expectation/obligation in of itself and only reinforces the reductive passive, motherly archetypes that these same people are speaking against

it is also not very well supported: most of the argument rests on ignoring female character’s actual characterization and focusing one specific quote, often taken out of context (“a new species would bless me as its creator and source…no father could claim the gratitude of his child so completely as i should deserve theirs”) which “proves” victor’s sense of male superiority, and on victors treatment/perception of elizabeth, primarily from a line of thinking he had at five years old, where he objectified her by thinking of her (or rather — being told so by caroline) as a gift to him. again, the morality of victor’s character is being determined by thoughts he had at five years old.

obviously this is not at all to say i think their relationship was a healthy one - i dont think victor and elizabeth’s marriage was ever intended to be perceived as good, but more importantly, writing their relationship this way was a deliberate critique of marriage culture.

[tbzhub]

Just Go Fuck Him

Pairing: photographer!Lee Hyunjae x afab!reader

Summary: Hyunjae moves back into his childhood home and old feelings and memories come up.

Warnings: MDNI, reader has scars, brief mention of childhood trauma, brief mention of surgeries, flashbacks, a smidge negative self-talk, hyunjae is the rizzler, smut... creampie, pet names, yada yada

Rating / Genre: M, neighbor au, childhood crush au, fluff?, slight angst (it’s really not THAT bad), lots of pining

WC: 8K (2K+ words for the smut scenes)

Artist Note: @everynewiee Enjoy! Special thank you to @the-boy-meets-evil for reading this and giving me the best fucking commentary. You're a gem and I probably would not have posted this if you hadn't stroked my ego. Love youuuuuu. If there's a typo I'll get to it eventually

m.list tag list

The living room was quiet in its typical offputting fashion as you sat around with your parents; no one saying anything as there were no conversations to be had and nothing playing on the television since no one would pay attention anyway, a phone captivating its user as everyone sat in their respective places. Any interaction at this point would feel almost disrespectful and annoying, disrupting the usual routine of your and your parent’s day. 

Your favorite place to cocoon was on the right side of the sofa, wrapped in a plush blanket while you doom-scrolled until you eventually needed to walk the dogs. This is how your days were spent since your college graduation, making your parents the only ones on the block who weren’t empty nesters. Maybe that explained why you never went out—  there was no one to go out with. Everyone else seemed to blossom rapidly, moving away and starting lives too hectic to return to their childhood homes on a regular basis while you sat at home, wrapped in blankets, feeling left behind.

Feeling left behind wasn’t inherently a negative thing, though— and it wasn’t really a feeling either. Acknowledgment: that’s what you’d describe this part of your life as— the acknowledgment of being a late bloomer, the acceptance of being the last flower waiting to bloom. The last person to leave the nest, as some would say, and that fact was totally okay with you because, in truth, it was okay for you to spend your days the way you pleased. There was no reason to run out and chase after what everyone else was doing just to keep up, to avoid loneliness at the risk of getting hurt. 

Maybe it wasn’t just an acknowledgment; perhaps being a flower that’s yet to bloom guaranteed safety from a world so wide with new people who didn’t know you and old people who’d changed so much that you didn’t know them at all. You certainly weren’t close with anyone that you’d grown up with, and when you’d run into them at the odd holiday party that you were forced to attend, that fact was always highlighted awkwardly and sometimes painfully. There’s something to be said about standing silently in a circle full of adults that you used to run around outside with as a child, as wild stories are passed around, and accomplishments are one upped by additional accomplishments. You’ve watched enough cliques coalesce in real time, cliques that you were a part of as a child but somehow couldn’t squeeze into as an adult… and to say the least, it gets old. Thus, you cocooned, you doom-scrolled, and you became content with the silent life you’d curated with your parents.

So the living room is as quiet as it always was, and the day would drone on as it always did, and you’d be just fine not rocking the boat until it was time to go to bed and do it all over again tomorrow.

But sometimes the boat needs to be rocked, and the loud knock that’s heard does the trick in making your mom flinch in her seat, and your father crane his neck to the rather unexpected sound.

You, on the other hand, do not react because a knock at the door— regardless of how foreign, is never for you. The shifting of your parents getting out of their seats and the creaking of the floorboards underneath their feet does nothing to pull you away from your phone because, again, no one is knocking on the door for you, and you’d never entirely inherited your nan's natural curiosity.

It’s not until your mom comes back into the living room with her head peeking out from behind the foyer wall as she calls out your name that you finally get up from your favorite spot on the couch. The action is done begrudgingly, but your mom swears someone is here to visit you, and her smile is vast, so at the very least, you would appease your mom and be polite.

-

The thing about people-pleasing was that you never knew where you’d end up. You could set out to be polite to some unexpected guest to appease your mother and end up staring face-to-face with your childhood fucking crush. This wasn’t hypothetical; this was actually happening, and you were currently wearing drab black sweatpants.

He says hi first, hugging you at the front door as your parents invite him in for tea, and you stand there looking like a fucking idiot troll whose soul has just left their body. Specifically, you were internally screaming as you said hello and tried not to look like you were combing through your hair with your fingers.

“It’s been so long, Hyunjae. How’s your mom?” Your mom asks as she heads into the kitchen to start the kettle, and you look down at your hands as he responds to her. 

He’s still just as polite as he used to be when you were kids, and that pisses you off.

“It’s so lovely of you to visit,” you hear your dad chime in, and you want to scowl because you felt quite the opposite. Who visits someone they haven’t spoken to in well over half a decade out of the blue without even a single warning? How were you the only person put off by this rogue visitation?

“I thought you were a travel photographer. What are you doing back here?” You ask, and really, you wish you could tell him to leave because this was too much, and you could feel the memories starting to stew inside your brain. You could feel the heat rising in your cheeks as you looked up at his ever-charming smile, and all you wanted to do was flee to your room.

“I moved back. I missed home.” 

-

Hyunjae’s return meant your parents weren’t the only non-empty nesters anymore, which should make you feel better about yourself, but it doesn’t. It makes you feel like a child again and not in a way that should feel safe or warm and fuzzy. It makes you remember your childhood with him as your next-door neighbor. It makes you remember your childhood in general, and it makes you remember all the shenanigans that the two of you got up to together. All the silly poems and doodles you’d write about him in your journal growing up start to whisper around in your mind. All the conversations you’d have in your backyards pull to the forefront of your brain. Core memories flash like you’re watching a synopsis of your life thus far when you close your eyes after turning in for the night. 

You slowly began to remember just how easy it was for you to grow attached to the boy that lived next door…

Hyunjae was a few years older than you, but he was always sweet, unlike the boys his age who lived in the neighborhood. Even in your younger years, it was his kindness that really set him apart in your mind. He was one of the few older kids who played nicely with the younger kids instead of ditching or excluding them or stealing their toys. 

When you fell and scraped your knee trying to ride a bike for the very first time without any training wheels, he was quick to run inside his house to get a bandaid and a small bag of ice. He had kissed your bandaid-covered knee in hopes that it would get you to stop crying, and at the time, you thought the gesture was ludicrous; he wasn’t a mom, so there was no way that he could have the ability to wipe away someone’s pain with the simple press of his lips. 

That was the day that you learned it wasn’t just mothers who held such a magical power

-

So you were putting effort into your looks to walk the dogs now... Nothing crazy— just making sure your hair wasn’t frizzy and that your clothes weren’t wrinkled before you left the house. You hadn’t run into Hyunjae yet, but it was bound to happen, and you wouldn’t be caught off guard when it did.

The dogs were slower than usual to round the block this afternoon, but you didn’t mind, enjoying the album you were listening to as you admired the cotton candy-like clouds dashed across the beautiful pale blue sky. For someone who spent such a massive chunk of their time indoors, you really did appreciate being outside.

Apparently Hyunjae felt the same way. You saw him outside for the first time since he came back, sitting on his front porch with a camera in his hands as he presumably took shots of the sky above. This was perfect actually. You could skitter by unnoticed. With your headphones over your ears and a fancy digital camera concealing most of his face, there should be this shared agreement that deterred one from interrupting the other for the sake of exchanging pleasantries. 

As you move closer, your house getting more prominent in your field of view, you’re reminded that dogs don’t give a fuck about made-up social contracts. Yours pull on their leashes to get to Hyunjae, one barking, and that’s enough to steal the man’s attention away from snapping the shutter. 

Damn. Your streak of avoidance shattered.

He smiles when he sees it’s you and waves with the most earnest expression on his face, and for a brief moment, you forget how to walk like an able-bodied person, legs feeling like mush and mind going blank as his inviting eyes settle on you and your dogs. 

“One foot in front of the other. Smile like a sane person. Don’t let him sense his sheer power over you.”

You repeat the mantra in your mind as you let your dogs pull you closer to him, nearing his front porch with bated breath and a weak smile. It's those wooden steps at the entrance of his house that get you, the ones that harbored far too many sweet core memories. As you sit beside him on the landing, you can’t help but think of every single time that you’ve sat here in the past.

“Hey,” He says, wrapping his arm around you briefly in a friendly, one-armed hug before he sets his fancy digital camera far away from the dogs’ reach.

Your hello is soft and shy, but you didn’t stutter at the physical touch, so you’d consider that a small win.

“So you came home just to take pictures of the sky?”

He snorts at your question, “I already told you why…

“I got tired of the world at large. Plus, there’s more than enough beauty around here. The familiar things deserve to be photographed, too.” He admits simply– as if the sentiment is genuine common knowledge. He’s smiling down at you, and for a second, maybe it was a delusion, but you honestly felt like he was talking about you specifically.

“Watch. I’ll show you what I mean.”

He reaches out for his camera and begins to snap pictures of your dogs, petting them and scratching behind their ears. One of your dogs must secretly be a Hyunjae simp because he can capture her dopey smile perfectly.

You silently watch as he goes through the pictures, his smile widening, and he leans close to show you the one that must have tugged at his heartstrings. It’s a picture of your dog, face cradled in Hyunjae’s large hand, her eyes practically shining with glee, and she has the cutest doggy smile to match.

You giggle, face breaking into perhaps its first genuine smile in such a long time. “This is perfect. I have to show Mom. I’d love a copy if you don’t mind?” 

When you look up from the camera, you notice just how close you are, invading his personal space unwittingly, and a blush rises in your cheeks as you quickly lean away to create some tangible distance.

He only hums in agreement before shutting his camera off again and making eye contact with you. “I’ll send you a copy later tonight. Has your number changed?”

-

When you finally get home, your cheeks hurt from smiling so hard, and the spring in your step is undeniable. You let the dogs off their leashes and put away your headphones before practically skipping to your bedroom.

You flop on your bed, feeling weightless and energized from the crumb of interaction... This could become a problem, an addiction— could a person become addicted to another person? Regardless of the answer, you squealed in bed, covering your face in your hands as you let every single positive emotion flood through your body. Your legs kick in the air, and you feel giddy, high on the love and infatuation of a crush a decade in the making.

Oh, you were so fucking doomed. Hyunjae needed to either move away or express his intent to marry you as soon as possible because every feeling you’d shoved down had come back in full force, plus interest.

A knock on your bedroom door makes you freeze mid-tizzy, and as the door creaks open, it's your mom’s head that peeks into your room, and the smile that graces her lips looks nearly childlike. She wanted to gossip, you could tell.

“I saw you sitting over at the Lee’s. It’s been so long since I've seen you two sit outside on his porch steps like that.” She says, and immediately, your face goes blank. Any traces of giddiness is sucked right out of you in exchange for bashfulness. 

Vibe ruined. You felt so exposed.

“What? I’m happy. You two used to be so close growing up, and he was such a sweet kid. It’s just nice to see…” she trails off before finally taking the hint and leaving you alone to writhe in your newfound angst and embarrassment.

Your mom was right, though. You spent ample time on the Lee’s front porch growing up.

When everyone had gotten old enough to where the playing field was level, and the neighborhood kids could all get off the school bus together, it was common to hang out in a large group after school. Sometimes, this entailed sitting around and talking. Still, most of the time, this led to adventuring around the block and getting into what could only be labeled as dumb, child-appropriate shenanigans.

It didn’t take long for you to bow out of these afternoon activities in exchange for seclusion, sat at your front door doing your homework, reading a book, or maybe drawing. You didn’t want to partake in what everyone else was doing.

Hyunjae had been the one to start the unspoken tradition by randomly sitting on his porch one day instead of running out to play with everyone else. You noticed him outside, but your head is inside a book about horses, and frankly, what someone else did on their porch was none of your adolescent business.

But that day, he called you over, asking if you wanted to sit with him, and when you explained that you were reading a book, he was quick to respond, saying the same thing.

“We don’t have to talk. Just sit next to me.” That was his persuasive pitch, and it worked.

That day, you sat side by side on his front porch steps, one reading a picture book about horses and the other reading a Spiderman comic book. When he noticed you struggling to sound out an unfamiliar word, he broke the comfortable silence to help you.

That's how it started, the many sessions of keeping each other company on his wooden steps. That’s probably the true catalyst of your friendship, him calling you over and you obliging his request, sitting side by side on wooden steps instead of running around with the other neighborhood kids.

Gradually, this evolved from a mini reading club to you bringing art supplies over to paint together, him helping you with your math homework when it got tough, or even him simply reading a chapter of his library books to you with your head laid against his shoulder, eyes closed as you pictured the fictitious world that Hyunjae was describing to you.

The Lee’s front porch steps slowly became a second home to you, and as you both grew up, experiencing life in new and complicated ways, sometimes the only thing that helped you get by was sitting on those steps with Hyunjae by your side.

-

The coming days felt slow; your typical routine of couch cocooning left you unsatisfied, and you found yourself counting down the hours, minutes, and seconds until you could walk your dogs outside. Which was silly because you were a grown adult; you didn't need to find an excuse to go out… but you did want an excuse to run into Hyunjae again.

Which again— you were a grown adult, and you could take life by the balls and knock on his front door, say hi, and invite yourself in. You weren't going to do that, but at the very least, you acknowledged that plan as a viable option: baby steps and all that.

In your defense, though, you didn't want to make a fool of yourself, and you were scared. So much has changed over the years since you’d last appropriately spoken. You had so many unanswered questions, and you felt like the elephant in the room, the elephant that you’d birthed, still hadn't been addressed… You didn’t think that you’d earned the right to rogue, unannounced visitations in the same way that Hyunjae did.

As of right now, you are settling on the waiting game. Hyunjae sent you the picture of your dog, just as he’d promised, but you haven't seen him outside since. At this point, the ball was in the universe’s court, and you hoped to be favored kindly.

Today, you decided to bring your pinning to a different location, settling on cleaning your bedroom instead of wistfully thinking about Hyunjae as you stared out your living room windows. You would give your room a real deal deep clean; organize and clean out your closet, vacuum, feather dust, wipe down your bedroom windows, and toss out anything that hadn’t been used in three years— the works.

You were moving through these tasks with music on blast, shimmying and singing along while you harbored a spray bottle in one hand and a cloth in the other. No area was safe for dirt or dust in your room. You were intent on cleaning until your room was interior design magazine-level spotless, and the next inanimate victim was your window. You pushed back the curtains and drew the blinds to reveal the dusty glass pane.

Wow, this should get done more often.

You attacked the window pane with cleaning spray and started wiping, swaying to the beat of the bass-heavy song that played through your speakers, and soon you're doing more dancing than wiping. You get lost in the song, singing into the window as if you were in a music video as you run the cleaning cloth over the glass like it was a prop.

Then you notice Hyunjae standing in his bedroom window, and you halt. How long had he stood there? How much of your theatrics had he witnessed? You remove your hand from the glass, and your face twists up in humiliation. 

He crosses his arms, eyebrows arching upwards, but the rest of his expression seems impassive before he finally bursts into a fit of laughter, causing you to do the same. Your embarrassment dissipates as he claps his hands to applaud you for such a lovely showcase, and you playfully bow. 

This moment wasn’t the first time that one of you has gotten caught being weird in the recesses of your bedrooms by the other, but it’s been so long that you can’t help but giggle. Some things really don’t change, and you’re glad that, at this point, getting caught by Hyujnae feels the same way as it did when you were younger. No judgment, just a short shock of embarrassment followed by playfulness and laughter shared between good friends. 

-

Hyunjae’s been back home for over a month now, and you were still… dragging your feet when it came to acknowledging the obvious. You were being stubborn, and you were starting to annoy your mother. She, so badly, wanted to play matchmaker. Yet, you wouldn’t give her the satisfaction, insisting for the nth time that you did not like Hyunjae and that he did not like you. She’d roll her eyes and drop the matter, but she always muttered something under her breath. Then you’d act like you didn't hear, just like she’d act like you hadn’t spewed such a bald-faced lie.

You did like him, though. You more than liked him, and that’s what startled you most. To want someone in so many ways... The concept was so new to you, and Hyunjae made pining over him refreshing. 

There were parts of it that were innocent and parts that felt like carnal desire. You wanted to talk to Hyunjae every day like you used to— to spend time with him every day, just like when you were kids. There was this familiarity in his presence that was soothing, and yet most days, he left you feeling drunk off the feelings and needs that you’d developed for him. 

He was sweet, and he made you laugh, but at his baseline? Hyunjae was a flirt that left you flustered all the time. 

It’s the looks he gives you, the curve at the corner of his lips when he’d notice you short-circuit from one of his sly compliments, or the intense eye contact he’d give you while you spoke. It was the way he’d playfully nudge you as you sat beside him on his porch steps, and it was most definitely the cheeky smile he'd flash at you when he was jogging around the block with his shirt off. With all of that, you were starting to look at him differently, and you found yourself appreciating him in ways that you’d never paid attention to before.

When had he gotten so irresistibly attractive? Has he always been this undeniably sexy?

He’d gotten stronger, bulkier. It only took a few shameless glances in his direction while he was outside, gearing up for a run, to notice just how toned he was. His back muscles were lean. His arms looked so firm… like he could protect you with them or wrap them around you as he drilled nothing but raw pleasure into your body. The thought alone made you shiver, and it was becoming damn near impossible to look at him in a friendly way. Exceptionally not with his lips so perfectly crafted. He had lips that could easily hypnotize you— and they did often. You’d try your hardest to focus on his words just to fantasize about how sweet and kissable his lips were. 

Right now, you were stuck between reality and a daydream as you stood outside listening to Hyunjae speak. You’d crossed paths as he was coming in from a late evening jog, and you were heading out to walk the dogs. You watched the way his tongue ran along his bottom lip slowly, and then your eyes began to trail down past his bare chest. Before you could fall deeper into your thoughts, heat spread across your chin, and your face got tilted upward for you to meet Hyunjae’s gaze.

“Like what you see?” He guesses, calling you out playfully, and your reaction time is slow to it all. 

You barely register getting caught as you focus on the sudden physical contact, the way his hand cups your chin firmly, and the warmth that his fingers provide to your skin. His touch lingers as you stare up at him with a facial expression displaying nothing but need. How could such a simple gesture cause you to buckle so intensely? If you tried to speak right away, you might let out a moan. 

You have to take a step back to regain your composure, and your hand tightens around the leash that you're holding. 

Fuck. 

For a moment, you’d even forgotten all about your dogs. They needed a walk, and here you were eye fucking Hyunjae outside his childhood home. Your words are mumbled and short as you try to slink away, stepping to the side to get around him on the sidewalk.

“My bad.”

That’s all you could say. It was the lamest thing to come out of your mouth in a while, but your dogs could be your escape from such an awkward situation. 

His hand grabs your wrist, though, stopping you from completing one of your little vanishing acts. You can barely hear him over your rapidly beating heart. All you can make out is that he’ll text you when to come over, and there's something else about going for a drive.

-

Hyunjae kept taking casual side glances your way while you sat together in his car. No one was talking, and you could tell he was gearing up to say something ridiculous. The smirk that graced his mouth was your leading indicator, and the suspense killed you. The lull in your conversation only heightened your anticipation as you tried to relax into the passenger seat, sitting silently and with thick tension.

“You never answered my question, you know.” His words come out so nonchalant that you nearly misunderstand him.

But you could play coy, too, so you take a long sip from your drink to keep him waiting.

 “Hm?” 

The eye roll he gives you is comical and dramatic, and he feigns offense as his hand covers his heart.

“You forgot that fast? Wow, dude. Check me out, and then forget all about it. I feel used.” Even as the words pass his lips, he’s smiling, his eyes creasing, and the rise of his cheekbones are very telling. Hyunjae just loved to see you squirm in the hot seat.

“I don’t know what— did you just call me dude?” His phrasing finally registers, and you scoff. Was this a date, or did you just get painfully friendzoned?

His eyebrows quirk upward, and the smirk along his lips turns devilish momentarily as he hums, eyes intently on your own.

“I’m sorry. Would you prefer something more forward? I could call you baby… there's also babe, angel, sunshine. Buttercup if we’re feeling frisky. Darling is a favorite of mine, but anything’s on the table, really.” 

Your nose scrunches up at his blatant teasing. The man was straight up toying with your emotions. “Just f-forget about it.”

“Whatever you say, Sweetheart.” 

His words bounce around the car before striking straight through you. The cup in your hand clatters clumsily into its holder as you drop it.

So much for keeping it cool.

“Ooooh, so that’s the one. I’ll remember that.” He says through a chuckle and a smug grin as he reclines further in his seat.

“You know you didn’t have to bring me all the way out here to tease me. You were doing a pretty good job from the comfort of your own home.” 

You tried to sound dry and aloof, but you started to buzz with anticipation. The feelings that you’d kept hidden, albeit poorly, would be pushed and prodded to the surface, thanks to Hyunjae and his charming smile.

“That’s not why I brought you out here. I actually wanted to talk. I’ve missed you.” He admits, reaching out to touch your shoulder tenderly. 

“Hyunjae. We’re neighbors. You see me every day.” You assert, facial expression going deadpan as you stare back at his unwavering flirtatious gaze.

He sighs at that, mind seeming to go to a faraway place before he speaks up again.

“It’s more than that. I miss how close we used to be. We haven’t hung out alone like this since the summer before my senior year of high school. It feels like decades have passed and…

“It felt like it happened out of nowhere. It was like one day, we were close. I’d say we were best friends, and then the next day, you woke up and decided that wasn’t the case anymore. Why? What did I do?”

There was a gleam of hurt in his eyes that caused your bottom lip to jut out as guilt struck you. Hyunjae was right. You were close. He was your favorite person, and you were his. He was ever-present throughout much of your life, and then you ghosted him. You could pinpoint the exact moment when things changed, and you’d decided to stop being his friend. 

You were a teenager riddled with insecurities, and instead of talking to him about it— or talking to anyone for that matter, you’d made the conscious decision to become reclusive. You thought that you needed to detach from someone that you, for the longest time, considered was your one and only gift from the universe growing up.

You purse your lips together before opening your mouth to speak, but doubt settles and seeps into your bones. “I don’t know how to explain this without sounding dumb.” 

Hyunjae shrugs, “Just say it. Dumb or not. We’ll piece everything together as a team.”

His eyes were soft, and his hand went to rest on your knee, giving you all the comfort and safety that you needed to explain yourself.

“Um… obviously, I have a crush on you, right? Like, let’s move past that fact fast.” You pause to read Hyunjae’s reaction, but he only gives you a small smile while his hand reaches for yours, lacing his fingers through your own.

“A-and… I guess I knew that even back then. I mean, yeah. I had a huge fucking crush on you back then. Oh god, it was bad. It's just as bad as it is now, honestly. But when we were in high school, I started developing all these insecurities. I started noticing that other girls looked different from me. They didn’t grow up getting used to the hospital like I did. They didn’t have these long surgical scars on their legs like mine. You remember that part of my life, right? Your mom let you visit me after my first surgery when I was super young.”

Somewhere along the way, you shifted in your seat to stare out the window as you spoke, unable to hold eye contact and show vulnerability simultaneously.

“I didn’t realize it then because I was so young… I just wanted to feel better, but my body was branded with all this trauma. The scars on my thighs documented it all. It was hard going to gym class. The locker room was awful; I’d feel so insecure, and then I’d have to think about you constantly. All the girls knew you, and they’d talk about how hot you were. All. The. Time. And because I was your best friend, they’d ask me about you all the time. I was ‘popular’ but only because they wanted something from me. I couldn’t deal with it. All these beautiful girls with perfect, flawless skin constantly asked me about the guy that I’d liked for so long.

“I could not deal with another school year being seen only as the gateway to Hyunjae. I spent that summer in my room crying and wishing that things were different. That I was different, that I'd wake up and these scars would be gone. That I could finally get the guy that I’d wanted for so long… Obviously, that never happened. So I thought that if I put you and our friendship behind me, maybe I could, at the very least, move on because why would a guy like you want someone so far from perfect.”

You did it. Hyunjae is finally caught up and no longer left in the dark. All that was left to do now was listen to his response. You feel firm hands grab at your waist, and you're awkwardly pulled out of your seat until you're straddling Hyunjae’s lap.

“Thank you for sharing all of this with me, but… is that what you really think? That I wouldn’t want you because of something like that?” He’s looking up at you with tears threatening to spill from his eyes, and all you can do is nod meekly.

“I hate that, you know. I hate knowing that you spent an entire summer crying, and I was right next door, and I didn’t know.” His hands fall to your thighs, squishing them in his hold gently as he processes all of this information.

“I can’t even joke about how down bad we’ve been for each other because right now I’m shocked.” He goes on, sighing heavily before chewing on his bottom lip.

“My mom raised me right. I can reassure you that I would never care about something like that. I know, all too well, how to appreciate and treat a good woman. You’ve always been beautiful to me, and you’ll continue to be. Always. No matter what. Those parts of you are gorgeous, too, because they’re a part of the bigger, breathtaking picture.

“I don’t want to miss out on any more time, okay?”

Before you can grace him with a response, his lips are on yours, and his hand is pressed against your back as he pushes your body closer to his.

It was the kind of kiss that made you realize just how lonely you’d been. Urgency and desire ran straight through your veins to pool at your center, and you felt like you were melting into the man below you. You could stay like this forever, straddling Hyunjae’s hips while your tongue collided beautifully with his. He kissed you like a thirsty man dying for a drink. Faint gasps leave your chest whenever he pulls away to breathe to dive back in and fuse his mouth with yours again. 

So this is how Hyunjae’s lips feel. This is how it feels to be kissed by him.

You both become lost in the kiss, and his hands begin to roam. Warmth spreads across your lower back as one of Hyunjae’s hands snakes its way underneath your shirt to caress your skin, and a shiver flows up your spine. Your fingers tangle into his hair, anchoring yourself to this moment as your hips roll. That’s when you feel it.

“Oh.” You breathe out.

The tent in his pants nudges against you perfectly as you're coaxed into a steady grind by the firm hand pressed along your back.

“Feel good?” He asks, pulling away to look up at you with glossy lips and messy hair. Your nod is an eager one as you try to lean down, eyes closing as you search for his lips again while Hyunjae leans into you, pressing kisses to your neck instead. 

You feel his free hand creep up to your thighs as you continue to chase after the friction his crotch provides. Your skirt slowly becomes bunched up, cool air hitting your thighs, and you freeze, shyness and insecurity washing over you.

“J-jae…” You stutter out in a whisper, grabbing his face in your hand to stop him from looking down.

There’s a look of understanding on his face, but you also see a glint of something else in his eyes. “Wanna come back to my place, Sweetheart? I can think of some ways to help you get comfortable.”

-

As promised, Hyunjae made you feel safe and comfortable. He asked for permission before peeling a new article of clothing away from your body each time. He litters soothing touches and gentle kisses to any freshly exposed skin as he gets you undressed fully. When you’re completely bare, he’s keen to comfort you, making a point of looking you in the eyes before sneaking a glance down to your chest briefly.

“Just focus on me, okay?” He says, voice as soft as cotton while his hand comes up to stroke the side of your face sweetly.

He leans back to take off his shirt, and even though you’ve seen him shirtless more than a handful of times, you can’t help the whine that leaves you. Your eyes trail down his toned torso and settle expectantly on his hands that fiddle with his jeans. You were about to learn something new about Hyunjae, and you were paying very close attention.

He was big, and you sink your teeth into your lower lip to stop the moan that tries to punch out of you. Your heart pounds heavily in your chest as you stare blatantly at every part of him before your wide eyes finally lift to meet his gaze.

“It’ll fit.” He reassures smugly, and you roll your eyes at that.

“When did you get so cocky?” You sass through a tease as you're pushed backward onto his bedsheets.

“Don’t be jealous, Sweetheart. You’ll be full of cock soon.” He tosses back, causing you to shudder. 

He hovers above you for a moment, caging your body in between his strong arms as he looks down at you with fondness in his gaze while he admires your beauty. He leans down to kiss you on the lips before moving down your body.

His lips press against every part of your body on his trek down your chest and past your stomach. When he gets to your thighs, he takes his time, closing his eyes as he kisses every spot, running his tongue along the blemishes that make you doubt yourself. He alternates his love and affection as he slots himself between your legs, nipping at one thigh before pressing a wet kiss to the other.

You feel weightless already. There's not an ounce of nervousness in your body as Hyunjae worships the parts of you that you thought you disliked the most. You felt cared for, cherished, and like you were the most enticing person in the world. The tingling sensations travel closer and closer to the apex between your thighs until you let out a gasp that quickly morphs into a whimper.

“Jae— 

You're cut off by a moan as Hyunjae’s tongue swipes up your wetness in one languid motion, causing a jolt of pleasure to dash through your body. He hums into your pussy as he runs his tongue from side to side, parting your folds and tasting you hungrily before he slots your clit between his lips. You lurch forward, and he reaches one arm up to press you back into the bed, resting his hand on your stomach. He pushes your thighs farther apart with his free hand; his grip is tight around your thigh while he buries his face further into your pussy, tongue unrelenting as he sucks on your clit in tandem with the flicks of the wet muscle.

You didn’t know how to move through life after experiencing something life-altering like this. Hyunjae’s mouth made you feel unreal. His tongue could easily be labeled the 8th wonder of the world. All you could do was softly moan his name like you were reciting a prayer as he worked you over. 

The bed dips as he shifts his positioning, stopping his ministrations for a minute, and when you look down, you notice just how drenched his chin is because of you, and you shyly close your legs.

“Y-you don’t have to contin—

He cuts you off by forcing your legs apart and looking up at you purposely while he settles between your thighs again. 

“Why would you deny yourself something we both know you want?” He challenges, tongue sticking out to ghost over your glistening pussy, and the delicate warmth that the barely-there touch provides is enough to have you whining in need. You push his head back down, hoping he’ll just shut up and go back to town. He does, but not without having the last word. 

“Knew you couldn’t resist me,” he teases, words slurred as he tries to talk between sloppy licks. His tongue remains flat as he laps at your pussy to make you fall apart. 

When you seem close, with moans flowing out of you ceaselessly, he sinks into you, tongue massaging your spasming walls as he fucks you with his mouth, and that’s all you need. Your face grows hot, and you start to quiver; your thighs begin to falter, and Hyunjae has to hold them steady with his large hands as your orgasm swallows you whole.

“Oh FUCK.”

You will never be the same. Your body throbs with pleasure, and you shake through the most powerful feeling that you’ve ever encountered in your life. You’re speaking only in incoherent babbles as Hyunjae continues to tongue fuck you until the sensation is far too much for your pussy, and you have to push him away. You look up at him breathlessly, eyes unable to stay open for more than a few seconds at a time as you come down from such an intense finish.

“God bless you, Hyunjae.” You finally say, still twitching from your nerves getting lit on fire.

“I take it I did pretty good, hm?” He points out with the cockiest grin while he wipes his chin, coating the back of his hand in your essence. His eyes drift away from your face to check you out, and his face melts into a genuine smile.

“Your body is perfect to me, by the way. Every single part of it. Every minor detail.” He reassures, voice coated in sincerity as he trails his hand along your thigh, thumb running across a faded scar.

Goosebumps rise on your skin as you turn your face away from him, with a blush peppering your cheeks. “It’s your turn…” You add, letting your legs fall open for him.

“Our turn,” He corrects as he turns your face to look up at him. 

“You ready, Sweetheart?” He asks while he hovers above you, and you can feel how warm and heavy he is against you, prompting you to nod your head yes.

Hyunjae sheathes himself inside you slowly, causing you to groan blissfully as your eyes fall closed. He feels so good. The stretch is just right, and as he buries himself deep inside you, it’s like you’re being split open, but in the best way. Your hands rest on his shoulders as you adjust to his girth and length. When you finally open your eyes, you're met with the sight of the most beautiful man you’ve ever seen trying his hardest to hold himself together.

“You okay, Darling?” You ask in a teasing whisper while you take in Hyunjae’s state. He looks tense, his teeth are abusing his bottom lip, and for shits and giggles, you clench around him and he hisses.

“You’re incredibly tight.” He says through gritted teeth before he exhales. He rears back, his eyes flutter closed for a moment, and you hear him curse under his breath.

“I-it’s like your pussy is choking my cock…” He mumbles before he leans down to kiss your neck and tries to press forward again. You hear him whimper softly, and it’s the most alluring sound you’ve ever heard, and it's all because of you.

“I feel good?”

“You feel so. Fucking. Good.” He praises through a pant. 

His hips start to roll against yours as he finds a steady pace to fuck you with, and soon his bedroom is filled with a mixture of moans and skin slapping against skin. His body weight presses you further into the bedsheets, and you feel like you’re being surrounded by love and warmth as every fantasy that you’ve ever had comes true. 

Hyunjae’s strong body lays flush on top of yours, and his fingers lace through yours while he rocks into you harder with precise movements. His other arm goes under your body to tilt your pelvis upward as he begins hitting you at a new angle that pulls a cry out of you. Your legs tighten around his waist, needing him closer and deeper as you’re fucked into oblivion. Each powerful thrust has you sliding up the sheets, and your pussy clamps down on him whenever his cock drags out of you. You felt stuffed, filled to the brim, and you missed him when he reared back, leaving you nearly empty for half a second at a time.

Praises were mumbled against your skin while he plunged into you. You had the best pussy. You were doing a good job; you’re taking him so well. You felt incredible. Hyunjae’s words sent you to the edge, and all you could do was gasp and moan as you came undone. Your walls flutter and spasm as you arch your back, screaming his name out for the neighborhood to hear.

“J-Jae,” you whimper, lip trembling as Hyunjae molds your body to his fat cock.

“I know, Sweetheart… Relax and enjoy it.” He coos softly, coaching you through your second orgasm.

His hips don’t slacken; they do the opposite, speeding up as he hammers the sweet spot deep inside you repeatedly until something inside you snaps. You writhe underneath him, and your fingers tighten around his own as you fall into bliss. Hyunjae’s eyes are glued to your face as your mouth drops open, and a long, drawn-out groan leaves your body.

“That’s right, baby. Keep going.” He says through a grunt as he starts to chase his high.

He shifts, lifting you into his arms while his cock stays buried inside you. You're positioned upright, body going limp against his muscular thighs as he continues to drill into you, massaging your walls at a merciless pace. One large bicep stays wrapped around your waist, and his free hand snakes between you both to rub against your clit as if he could get you to cum a third time. You’re just a brainless lump of whimpers at this point as your head rests against his sweaty chest.

“I’m close, Sweetheart. I know you can do it again, come on, baby.” He pleaded, voice ragged as his thrusts turned desperate. 

His moans get more prominent, and when you look up to meet his gaze, Hyunjae looks fucked out beyond belief, lips parted, and hair a disaster on top of his head. You muster up enough energy to kiss him on the lips, swallowing all his pretty noises and whimpering against his plush lips. You feel his hips stutter. Then heat spreads inside you, and you shake as he fills you with cum while you experience another earth-shattering orgasm.

You're both tired and sticky. The bed sheets are hardly halfway on the bed, twisted onto one side, but neither of you seems to care. You collapse onto the bare mattress with Hyunjae’s cock still hidden inside you. When he finally pulls out, your dripping pussy adds to the mess on his bed. He lays down beside you, immediately pulling you in for a cuddle.

“You’re going to stay here, right?” He asks, looking down at you with a hopeful gleam.

“Of course. Even if I wanted to go home, I couldn’t deal with a walk of shame right now. My legs don’t work. I’ll leave tomorrow afternoon when I have to walk the dogs.” You answer through a giggle.

[schneiderenjoyer]

UTTU Catalogue's Categories

There's a lot about UTTU that still is unknown and they operate strangely. I've seen some conversations about it, but out of everything that's making me lose my mind is the Category Covers.

The implication of Categories creating a diverse subculture (and potentially subspecies) of arcanists within the arcane community aside, the covers literally tell us the very essence of the arcanists categorized within it are. All hidden by the fine print (seriously they're hiding the words and shrinking the letters and blending it into the colors on purpose, it's so hard to see)

The clearest one I can read full is for Arcanists; "The two-faced are among them. Born to Suffer." It's a strangely poetic way to describe how arcanists, in human society, are viewed to be ill fated people. Thus, they're born to suffer for their nature.

There's also Awakened; "Backdoor listing, welcome to the phenomenon world." Which is interesting since we know the arcanists listed in this category have a far more bizarre and even unknown way they're born and became arcanists. A form of "backdoor" approach to being born an arcanist. A Phenomenon, if you will.

The Beyond is a little hard to read near the end, but it states; "Under the surface, I know nothing but the fact of my ignorance." And who is in that category? Jessica. There's also words covered that make the word WHO and a cut off line that says "Cannot spe? spa?" Does it refer to the fact that Voyager doesn't speak?

The Mixed is even harder to really read for me, but I can make out is the half the phrase of "Where did the rationality go... -----" like it's questioning where they went wrong in the gene process to not be 'logical' enough for human society, but just 'irrational' enough to stand among arcanists yet not fully belong. A lovely commentary on mixed races.

Lastly, the reason I'm writing this whole thing, is for the Infected. Why? Well, one, we now have an official arcanist categorized to it, Ezra Theodore. (This has now been debunked and instead replaced with a far more infuriating revelation here.) And for the unofficial...

SLAMS TABLE

IT'S SCHNEIDER, YES, THIS IS ANOTHER OF MY LONG DELULU RANT ABOUT HOW WE GOT SCAMMED SO HARD DURING BETA AND LOST OUR CHANCE AT A PLAYABLE ITALIAN MAFIA GODDESS. I'M MAKING MY STANCE, BLUEPOCH PLEA--

Anyway.

The caption for this category is ominous, threatening even, being; "We know who you are and we will visit the visitors." And for those who don't know why this is important. This category pertains to one of the most fascinating cases.

Because it's for humans that can use arcanum.

Not that they have an arcane bloodline, no. They're pure blooded human that can use arcanum. And that spells a fucked up implication that could mean all sorts of things. One being human experimentation. And UTTU knows something and are making sure people in this category understood that even if they can use arcanum, they're not arcanists. Like many arcanists, they're keeping the line between humans and arcanists very clear. Even calling the category "Infected" like it's a virus, a plague. Something dirty that entered their veins.

UTTU is fascinating in this regard and I hope to see more about them in the future the more times they have these flash events and maybe even someday fully explored more in depth to its lore.

[hopefulstarfire]

Do yall wanna know my actual favorite butterfly effect?

Two people fucking on a mountain indirectly lead to my favorite comic of all time, Under the Red Hood.

Let me explain.

Joseph Hugo married a woman named Sophie Trébuchet in 1797. He was a general in Napoleon's army so they moved around quite a bit. In a letter he would later write to his son, he and his wife had been on a trip on June 24th 1801 to get from one post to the next and he believed this, on the highest peaks of the Vosges Mountains, is where he believed they conceived their son, who would later become the Ocean Man and famed author Victor Hugo.

(Fun fact: Jean Valjeans prisoner number, 24601, is absolutely in reference to his believed conception date)

Victor Hugo grows up and obviously is responsible for many works, such as Les Miserables and The Hunchback of Notre-Dame and was never one to shy away from political commentary. Thus, he was exiled from France and sent to living on the Channel Islands. It was here that he wrote a novel titled The Man Who Laughs.

Like many of his works, this one does have different adaptations. One in particular came out in 1928 starring Conrad Veidt as the character Gwynplaine, or the Man Who Laughs.

Fast forward about a little over a decade later in 1940. A comic book writer comes into work to be greeted by two artists he worked with, one who did significantly less work than the others. These three men were Bill Finger, Bob Kane and Jerry Robinson.

Now the details of this meeting are...well, up in the air. Each man had their own account to it, and Bob Kane especially is the most unreliable given that he took credit for literally everything and we went over 70 years without Bill Finger getting any sort of credit to actually creating Batman. But what we do know is that there was a drawing of a playing card and a face for the joker card; and Bill Finger said, "Hey, that looks like Conrad Veidt in the Man Who Laughs."

They pushed further with that angle in making the character, a new villain for their hero; the obvious, Joker.

Some years later we get a little bit of an origin story in 1951, in the comic The Man Behind the Red Hood! (ALSO written by Bill Finger) Some college students are trying to solve this decades old case of a burglar in a red pill helmet that was called the Red Hood and trying to figure out who it was. Teaming up with Batman and Robin, they find out that the Red Hood was in fact Joker's old alias. He used to be a lab worker that was stealing from a playing card company with that alias. He was caught by Batman and threw himself into some chemical waste to escape, thus becoming the Joker.

This origin has stuck around in some form ever since. The moniker was unused for quite a long time after this, but would eventually find a new home in a different character.

See, in the 80s, Batman's second sidekick, Jason Todd, was killed off in a very brutal fashion after a fucking poll that people could call two different numbers to decide if they were going to save him or not. I will get into why I have so many frustrations with everything surrounding this story another day, but the important thing to know here is that the Joker killed Jason while Jason was trying to save his mother.

And for a good period of time there, Jason became a character that you did not bring back to life. Until they did.

A storyline running from 2005 to 2006 came into life, called Under the Hood. In it, Batman has to fight a new foe taking on the mantle of Red Hood, only to discover its Jason Todd, brought back to life from the Lazarus Pit, and taking on the mantle of the man that murdered him to go fucking murder the Joker and take control of crime in Gotham and do what he believes Bruce couldn't, all while dealing with trauma and feeling replaced.

So yeah. We wouldn't have my favorite character or story if it wasn't for Victor Hugo's parents fucking on a mountain and conceiving him there where "The elevated origin seems to have had effects on [Victor Hugo] so that [his] muse is continually sublime". That is a quote from that letter. Victor Hugo's mountain conception where he got a great muse is the reason for the Joker and Red Hood. Thanks for coming to my Ted talk.

[valentineish]

What I need abled people to realize is how fucked up it is to ask strangers about our mobility devices or medical equipment. I especially need you to internalize is how much this functions like catcalling.

The harassment started the minute an abled decided to approach me. There was not an appropriate way for them to ask about my body and the equipment it needs. But because of their actions, I am given the job of figuring out what's more dangerous: disclosing intimate details about my life, health, and body, or pushing back.

Without fail, ableds get hostile when a cripple like me chooses the latter. There is outrage at even the most polite expression of "no thank you". Trying to express how they've violated me isn't even an option. I am already aggressive for not performing an impossible standard of grace.

And because of this stranger's choice, because of the power dynamics at play, my existence suddenly centers on a stranger. My life needs to go on pause to handhold a totally unknown abled's feelings about my hurt they caused. All the while, I still have to brace for the potential that they will overpower me, or steal my equipment, or try to institutionalize me.

This is a terrifying position to be in. And it happens so frequently, my stomach drops whenever a stranger approaches me.

There are no neutral questions you can ask about a stranger's body – and my equipment is part of my body. This is not small talk. This is not considerate or empathetic. Despite how it looks to you, these are not like comments on somebody's outfit.

Hearing any inquiry about my crutches or limp or whatever from somebody I don't know is invasive and creepy. It's like somebody asking you "what did you do to become left handed?" or "did you always smile like... that?" or "oh my god, why do you have glasses?", then being expected to give an in-depth answer. It fucking sucks, and for disabled people, it has broader implications than you can imagine.

If you want to know why that person you spotted needs medical equipment? Tough. Shut the fuck up, mind your goddamn business.

EDIT: I want to include an ask I got about this post so it doesn't get lost in a reblog. Screenshot and expansion will be under the cut.

Anon was right to point this out! I would like to better clarify the point I was trying to make.

I chose people commenting on somebody's smile, dominant hand, or eyewear on purpose. Expression can be impacted by things like facial paralysis or even neurodivergence. Paralysis or amputation can require changing one's dominant hand. And despite their normalization, prescription glasses are medical equipment.

Ablebodied people can get comments on these things. Some people just have distinctive expressions. People can be naturally left-handed (and notably, punishing left hand dominance was the standard for generations). Non-prescription glasses were a huge trend in the 2010's. Similarly, ablebodied people can temporarily require mobility aids! You or someone you've known has likely needed a cast or crutches due to an injury.

Strangers approaching an ablebodied person about these things is still bad. It's inappropriate, and the kind of thing you'd vent to friends about for being uncomfortable. Still, answering typically won't require sharing extremely personal, potentially traumatic information. It does not carry the fear of stating "my body is like this forever for a reason scary or inhuman to you".

When these questions are directed towards a disabled person, though? It does carry those heavy implications. We are being put at risk. A stranger is asking us to divulge our ability status, and give them wildly personal history. Furthermore, it confirms us as disabled – thus putting us at risk for discrimination of varying levels of severity, including institutionalization.

My point in making that comparison was not "people don't say those things". Strangers absolutely do this. My point was "comments about medical equipment count as body commentary". My crutches or bifocald do not get treated like the extensions of myself they are. The severity of this harassment, then, does not translate to those who don't need such accommodations.

Questioning somebody's body or the things supporting that body is never a good idea. Whether abled or disabled, a stranger is bothering that person simply to sate their own curiosity. Nothing of substance can be gained – but everything is at risk for disabled people.

[bookworm-2692]

Life Tracker updated for Episode 7! This one is much quicker than Episode 6 on account of not being on holiday at the time, even though there were two thirds more deaths this time. Previous posts: Session 6, Session 5, Session 4. Also Session 8 (finale) post!

As usual, close ups and commentary below the cut. I’ve also added another graph for the average time of each team, which will also be below the cut.

There was so much carnage! 45 whole deaths in a single session! Not all deaths were awarded time during the session, but Scott’s video advised that it would be added by next session, so I have taken the liberty to add all the time as I see fit, hence why Scott is back to 7.5 hours. I haven’t seen every episode yet (in fact, other than Scott, I’ve only seen those that have perma-died), so I’m not sure if anyone else’s time is a mismatch, but if so I’m happy to explain where I’m getting my time additions and subtractions from!

Now for some close ups.

First, there was enough chaos that I decided to take a close up of Session 6 and 7 together so we can properly appreciate it:

And a close up of Session 7 by itself:

So many people lost major time, so it’s interesting to see Scott’s uptick of time at the end - he ended on only 30 minutes less than he would have been if he hadn’t died at all this session. Pearl didn’t die at all, and got the kill credit for Martyn blowing himself up in a trap, so she actually ended the session 30 minutes better than she started it. Grian also did very well for himself - he killed and died so many times, but somehow ended on the exact time he would have been on if he had experienced a peaceful deathless session.

BigB, Cleo, and Martyn all ended the session 1 hour poorer than they started, and Bdubs and Scar ended 1.5 hours below where they would have been. Nosy Neighbours are thus doing super well, with Mean Gills and Clockers not too far behind, in terms of maintaining position from the start of the session.

TIES had an awful time this session, with Impulse and Tango both losing a net 2 hours, and Etho and Skizz losing a net 2.5 hours - and obviously Skizz entirely died.

Joel possibly had the worst time, losing a net 3.5 hours this session - though it didn’t help that 5 of his 7 deaths were all caused by the one person. Technically Jimmy didn’t do too badly, given he only lost a net 1.5 hours... but given that he was out of the series only an hour into the session, and also the first out entirely... it really didn’t go well for him either

I also find it interesting the sheer number of vertical lines this graph, the ones representing a death immediately followed by a kill or vice versa. I would love to figure out a way to show only one line at a time on the graph, so we can more easily see someone’s journey, but I haven’t had time to look into it yet.

Now onto the graph of the average times per team.

This one is super interesting to me, especially TIES’s line - they had the lowest average life right from the start, but somehow by Session 4, through Session 5, and for most of Session 6, they were the team with the highest average time, and then it quite literally went downhill from there. The only thing saving them from being last now is the fact that the Bad Boys are down to only a single living player, and even then Grian is doing far better than most of TIES.

It’s also interesting to me how Mean Gills had a significant time uptick at the end of both Session 6 and Session 7 (the first due to Martyn and the second due to Scott). Scott’s time was so high that it kept Mean Gills’ average time as yellow for all of Session 6 despite Martyn being red for most of it... and Martyn then got enough kills to keep it there. Mean Gills is also the only team in the entire graph to anywhere gain such consistent significant time.

These averages also coincide with the comments I made above about the time offset difference for each player from the start to end of the session. Mean Gills are doing well, but they’ve been doing well for so long that I’m sure most players are aware that they need to be a target. Nosy Neighbours are also doing well but I feel like they’ve flown under the radar, and are not a significant target right now.

Here is a close up of this graph with Sessions 1-4:

And the close up for Session 5-7:

And the Session 7 only close up:

I kept the dead players in the teams’ averages, since I think it is a better reflection of the teams’ strength as a whole, but I also created a version that excluded dead players. In those screenshots you can really see Bad Boys’ and TIES’ time jumping up at a death, instead of falling as it did here.

Here are the alternate averages graph:

And close ups:

This makes Bad Boys look a lot better, because Grian does have a lot of time... but he is also alone. And there is definitely strength in numbers. Two players at an hour and a half each can fend off an attacker more easily than a single player at three hours can... unless nerves and panic get to them, as we definitely saw this session.

Wow and I almost forgot to include the raw data for this session!

The first hour of the session:

The second hour of the session:

There is just so much death! Look at all the box outlines!! I could barely fit this data on two screens on the zoom I was on, and I did not want to zoom out further.

I also obviously have data for the averages, but it was too far away from the column with the times on it that I wasn’t sure if it would still be useful on its own? Let me know if you want to see it!

This has once again been fascinating to see, and I cannot wait to see how Session 8 will go. Will it be the last session? Will they go until everyone is dead? Will they somehow have enough people with enough time to get to Session 9? Will Mean Gills be the final two and get to play fun relaxing games like Scott was suggesting? 

Only time will tell.

[worstqueerbaittournament]

Before you complain about the picture: I asked people to send in better pictures of Grif and Simmons and NOBODY DID

Submission message for Janis: Mean Girls  - Janis + Person who submitted Janis here. Yes, I meant the movie. The whole time it is implied she's a lesbian only for her to end up with a dude lol

Submission message for Grif and Simmons: Hi! I’m submitting Grif and Simmons from Red vs. Blue. I think they’re the worst personally because I’ve spent a third of my life being queerbaited by someone’s fucking halo ocs.

Additional propaganda: Meanwhile Janis from Mean Girls IS queerbaiting:

    She’s presented as a lesbian throughout the film

    She gets very emotionally attached to girls and tries to sabotage them after they ‘betray’ her and become more interested in boys/popularity (Regina in the past, Cady during the film)

    Proudly declares herself a “big lesbo” to half the school during her trust-fall scene

    Wears a suit to Prom and kisses her gay best friend Damien, they both show complete disgust afterwards

    But in the LITERAL LAST SCENE OF THE FILM, she’s shown dating a guy and kissing him.

((I also haven’t seen the musical yet, so I can’t comment there))

Vote Janis, she’s the only right answer.

this ain't enough information about Grif and Simmons; these two are literally the intro character for the entire series. The first conversation they had became a running joke and repeating theme to the point that, years later, it was used in a dramatic moment so Grif could identify Simmons while fight an evil look-alike. When one of them got injured, the other donated various body parts, including skin and organs, and then became a cyborg, thus having the metaphor of "becoming part of each other" and "you have my heart". They still bicker constantly and and trade insults. They've been glued at the hip for more than a decade. The one time they were split up, it was treated like a devastating divorce, with one of them using the line "I quit you". They then both proceeded to have mutual pining and emotional withdrawl from being apart because they're just THAT codependent. They've been forced to share living space, and immediately devolved into having old-married-couple situations. During a planet-wide sex party, they fooled around in a closet, everybody knows this happened, but they refuse to fully acknowledge it. The VA for Grif even plainly stated that "Grif is in love with Simmons". Simmons once mentioned that he and Grif carved their initials into a tree. When we see the "inner worlds" of their minds, Grif's is almost empty except for a tiny Simmons that runs around to annoy him, and Simmons imagines a Grif that has to do whatever he says, but STILL insults him because Grif can't stop being Grif.They had a talk show together and even called themselves their ship-name "Grimmons". They've been having one long conversation for 2 decades. They're slow-burning like a tire fire. They're married, but they'll never properly get together. IT'S BEEN 2 DECADES

Let's not forget Tucker's actually-in-the-show commentary when he's spying on them over the radio of "I've only been listening to them for five minutes but I can tell they're really in love. Why can't they see it?”

It's literally been two decades.

[galebrainrot2024]

Gale x Tav Enemies to Lovers Part IX/9

GAS!! Anyway, Part 9 Enemies to Lovers Gale POV

The memory of Tav falling replayed endlessly in his mind. Gale was unable to shake it - granted, it had only been a few days and even so it haunted him. Why did his brain insist on exhuming things he could not change?  He was overcome with guilt that he should have done more, could have done more. That he should have insisted in a back up plan or come up with one himself. How reckless it was, how he let his pride get in the way of sense. He thought of how he tended to her before she came to, only succumbing to sleep once his weary eyes could no longer be forced open out of sheer will. 

What a fool he was. 

Gale was reenacting the first moments when they arrived in the Underdark, seething over how blind he had been. He would never be anything more than a rival to Tav, an insufferable ego-manic, and Gale saw that clearly. Astarion wasn’t exactly being subtle. Yet Gale was unconvinced, his gut nagging him. Why had she looked to me though? Why would she bother to look for my reaction at all? 

He felt ashamed, embarrassed even for feeling the fingers of envy. He had no right to. And besides, Tav had yet to apologize. Gale still wanted an apology from her and thus, he squirreled himself away until it was time to move from their last camp. While they traveled, Wyll was busy talking Tav’s ear off so Gale was able to happily mosey behind, unworried about confrontation. Besides, talking to her with the rest of the companions present wouldn’t end well for anyone. The last thing this group needed was more drama. Between him and Tav, Lae’zel and Shadowheart, Astarion and, well, everyone else, he didn’t need to add fuel to the fire. 

Gale was preparing dinner, mid peel, when he heard her footsteps approaching him from behind. “Whatever it is you have to say to me can wait,” he said, his eyes not leaving the potato. “I’m not really interested in talking to you at the moment.” The air was cooler down there, like a crisp Autumnal air. 

He heard Tav’s footsteps stop. It made his chest tighten. Despite telling her he was not interested in talking with her, in fact not talking to her at all was driving him mad. Tav was all he could think about no matter how annoyed he was with her. 

“Fine. Goodnight.” He heard her say, her tone icy. 

He bit his tongue, still frozen in position and the silence piqued his curiosity. He didn’t hear her walk away. “You’re still here.” 

“I am.” 

“Hm. Curious, if you ask me, since you said ‘goodnight.’ If you’ve come here to grill me, I am not interested, and if you’re in need of grilling something might I suggest you start working on the fish.” He heard a soft laugh that sounded like she tried to catch it before it made a sound. His lips pulled up into a smile. Still, there was no sound of footsteps. “Have you come here to just lurk? Taking our trip to the Underdark a bit literally.” Another soft puff of air. His smile grew and he resumed peeling the potato. 

The foreign sounds of creatures cloaked the air, a sense of calm settling between the two of them. Gale continued to slowly and methodically peel the potatoes, inspecting each as he placed them in the pot, making commentary as he went. “Oh wow, I’ve never seen one with quite so many eyes!” and “You’re much mushier than I like, but it’ll be our secret.” And then, “My, you’re the smallest potato I’ve seen. I almost feel guilty cooking you. In you go, then.” 

“Are you still here?” Gale asked, although he knew the answer. The moment felt strangely comforting, more so even than the Weave. 

“I am.” 

“Have you got anything to say for yourself or shall I continue?” 

A grunt. More silence. And then finally a resigned and sincere, “Gale, I know I don’t deserve your forgiveness or grace, and I -“ he heard her swallow hard and pause. Her voice, though honest, was also tight as if she was unpracticed in the art of apology. 

“Difficult for you to apologize, is it?” 

He heard her sigh in annoyance, “I already apologized -“

“Ah,” Gale held up a finger but still did not turn around. “You apologized for saying a cruel thing, an apology does not equal forgiveness. I should know that better than anyone.” He sighed, grunting as he rose to his knees and finally turned to face her. Gale inhaled heavily when he looked at her, startled by how her skin glowed in the purple, unending night. “And then you proceeded to ignore me for close to a month. Without so much as an explanation. Hits a little too close to home for my taste. So, while you may have apologized for the first offense, you certainly did not for the second.” 

Gale’s eyes trailed from Tav’s eyes to her lips, to the way her body curved and then back to hers. Their breathing seemed to synch as they held their gaze. He watched Tav’s lips part before she looked away and pulled her hair back nervously. “It was childish, I know. I’m sorry, Gale. I really am. I just…” She closed her eyes and inhaled. “I shouldn’t have reacted that way, it wasn’t fair of me.” Tav turned her eyes to his again and Gale felt heat prick at his ears. Silence filled them until she cut it, “I also wanted to thank you for saving my life.” 

Gale paused, shaken. She couldn’t remember, could she? “Karlach saved your life.” He said, turning away to put the potatoes over the fire. “But, Thank you for your apology. Now, if you’ll excuse me - ” 

“That’s it?” Tav said, grabbing his arm. He felt a jolt shoot through him and cleared his throat, averting her gaze. “Don’t pretend like you don’t know what I’m talking about.” 

Gale knew he would lose his resolve if he turned to look at her. He knew the next words were rile her up and still they came tumbling out, “What are you talking about?” 

She dropped his arm, her expression dark. “Unbelievable.” 

Gale sighed and caught her wrist as she went to turn. “You’re right - I’m sorry - I’m just feeling a little stung at the moment.” He saw Tav’s brow furrow and then her face floods with color. 

“That was nothing.” 

“It certainly didn’t look like nothing.” 

Tav glared at him. “What about you and Karlach?” 

Gale was unable to stop the instant laugh that bubbled out of him, “Karlach? Tav, surely you know her better than that -“ he paused and looked at her with a furrowed brow, “Don’t you? You know she likes-“

“SH!” Tav said, pressing her fingers against Gale’s lips. As soon as she did this Gale felt himself stop breathing. The feeling of her hand on hips lips ignited him, the spark licking through his blood like wildfire. He felt a rush of blood to his nether-region and tried to ignore the feeling. 

He took a deep breath and wrapped one of his hands around her wrist to bring her fingers away from his lips. He leaned down a bit towards her, his voice soft. “Ah, your point is moot. I may have locked myself away for a year, but I wasn’t born yesterday, I’m afriad. I’d rather you be honest with me instead of pretending as if you and he aren’t intimately spending time in one another’s company.” 

“Why would that be your business?” Tav asked and Gale’s eyes flicked down to see her lick her lips. He swallowed hard. 

“OOOO I knew I felt the fire cooking,” Karlach said and they both stepped back from each other quickly. Gale rubbed the back of his neck and looked around. She held up her hands and laughed, “Oh, I didn’t mean to interrupt, but this meal won’t cook itself and I’m bloody tired. Please man, I’m famished.” Karlach rested on the ground by them, as if she meant to supervise Gale so he would stay true to his word. 

“Fair enough,” Gale chuckled and looked to Tav only to catch a soft, unreadable expression before returning to work. 

[piracytheorist]

Episode 28 thoughts!

Did I say I was elated by the political commentary from one (1) line in the previous episode? This one had LOTS and I am so excited to get more into the world building!

Since this episode is mostly focused on Yuri, this post will focus on his part. The other parts are light-hearted and unrelated to the plot of Yuri's part, so I'll make a separate post for them. Maybe.

I admit, though Yuri is nowhere near blorbo territory, I am genuinely intrigued by his character and I can't help kinda investing in how his story will progress.

It's almost scary, how good at his job he is. The SSS have truly hit the jackpot with him, considering how capable he is, how dedicated he is to protect his sister, and how young and easy to manipulate.

Their wanted guy does something completely non-suspicious and tries to run out the window the moment he faces arrest, because that's exactly what an innocent person would do! Anyway, he gets ambushed by Yuri and oh my god.

Yuri please. That's not a normal face to have after throwing someone down - especially someone who actually drew a gun at you? Interestingly enough, the guy didn't draw a gun in the manga.

Then we see about the anti-East stance of Westalis, and... that's a very interesting image there.

"The Devil's Republic" instead of "The People's Republic". "The Age of Confusion" and "The truth as told by photographs". Imagery of mass graves and harsh military law. Also, Cyrillic letters on the journals to the left and right! I wonder if they're actually translatable, but in any case it's interesting that it's the West that uses Cyrillic letters along with Latin ones. I'd have loved to be a Japanese-speaking fly on the wall when they decided on those stylistic choices.

So Perkin already had issues with the law, and was using his journalism skills to rebel against the Ostanian government.

As I said, I absolutely loved that we got some political commentary on this episode, as I've been dying for some signs on how Westalis sees Ostania. And well. It's not good.

Perkin lies and constructs scenarios that fit his "Ostania is a nightmare" narrative, manipulating the audience loud and clear.

Like, look, buddy. I know Ostania sucks. I know surveillance and censorship are the death of freedom, but you don't need to go that far. It's yourself and your work you're sabotaging that way.

And he's not even... like, he then mocks the kid and tells him if he continues to "not share his toys" he will be arrested and killed? Bro, chill.

That's what happens when you join the trenches of a cold war but have no sympathy for your fellow human. Perkin mocked and terrified the boy and then he left laughing. He had no reason to do either of that.

Looks like Perkin's mother died, and her death was caused by their poverty; probably a sickness they couldn't afford proper treatment for. So he's in for it for personal reasons, though again, that doesn't justify being so mean to an innocent kid and manipulating the people of a foreign nation.

Wait, wait. Perkin says something interesting.

According to what he says, people keeping their wealth for themselves and not sharing - aka capitalism - is what the West stands for. But then he's mad at Ostania's government for forcing them to live in poverty and thus causing his mother's untimely death? What's going on, and what is his reason behind making the child fear the West? Because what he says there certainly isn't going to inspire the kid to go against the Ostanian government.

I'm leaning towards him not trusting Westalis either - and is just using them to rile them up to help bring the government down - and/or having a lot of unresolved issues that he's bursting out irrationally on a little kid, because the kid can't defend himself and is an easy target for Perkin's ire.

The fact that Yuri of all people, the personification of no control over one's feelings, got so mad at Perkin for terrifying the kid like that, says a lot.

Yuri made all of those appendices about what clothes Perkin wore and what people rode the underground train with him, so when Yuri mentioned Perkin went to the market, I expected a "See appendices for what he bought there" lmao

Interesting detail that Perkin had a cactus and a succulent, plants famous for needing very little care. The ashtray is also full. Visual commentary!

At least whatever is wrong with him is really really funny. The way his superior has caught onto that though XD

And he's conscious of it lmao

It's a good sign, if you ask me.

Lotsa books and another plant, I can't tell what it is but it's one that seems to require water and sunlight; and it's seated next to their full library!

Meanwhile, Perkin unknowingly, but unsuccessfully, reaches for Yuri's sensitive buttons. Yuri writes his sentence about Perkin probably being motivated by his care for his family... but Perkin is the enemy, you see. Maybe kinda related to what I said in my meta about Yuri's extremism, to him the "other side" are monsters with no empathy who only want to bring chaos. Suddenly he's faced with a man who threatens the safety of the country Yuri's beloved sister lives in, and with illegitimate means to boot, yet his motivation is something Yuri can relate to.

Considering Yuri got so mad at Perkin for scaring the child, I wonder what Yuri's reaction will be when/if he finds out Twilight's core reason to be a spy. That would gut him, I think.

Yuri's original notes on the paper say "Although it is still in the investigative phase, these actions may be caused by his personality and beliefs. Another possibility is hatred of a particular group or individual. However, that seems somewhat insufficient for the motive. Is Perkin [motivated] by concern for his family?"

It's easy to call a man such as Perkin a bigot and use such a narrative to explain his actions, and thus dub him the "enemy" and a "monster", along with anyone who would ever oppose the Ostanian government. So Perkin caring for his family and their future shocks Yuri to the point that he rips the paper off, deleting any signs of sympathetic view towards Perkin.

Perkin waits for his opportunity; after the mail is cleared from "suspicious" letters, he takes over from his coworker so that he can slip his very incriminating - and very misleading - "evidence" in.

Apparently people aren't too suspicious of people offering to help.

Perkin knew what he was doing, though. After his father warned him, he hesitates for a moment before the throws the letter in the cart and seals his fate.

It is pretty terrifying, though. Defamation is no joke but it's one of the things free press has to tolerate, if it wants to be called "free". Legal action can be taken after the press is out, in a public court, and investigate on how much of it is a lie and misinformation aiming at hurting someone or a group of people. Letting prejudiced and brainwashed police officers dictate what should be said and what not is at the height of censorship.

Perkin realizes he's fucked. He's terrified, but he knew what he was getting into - and he has experience with getting in such trouble, after all.

He's not a nice person, but I felt so sad when he said goodbye to his father and just... walked out to accept his fate.

Something interesting regarding the SSS is that they refer to themselves as "kokka hoan-kyoku" (State Security Service) and that's their official name for them, but the people may call them either that or "himitsu keisatsu" (Secret Police). I don't think I've heard anyone but citizens (and WISE agents) use the latter. Like earlier, when Perkin threw the toy gun in the trash, one of the boys used the phrase "himitsu keisatsu". I feel that's interesting because it may show how using the latter may be less... "respectful" for them.

When Perkin is being arrested, for example, he uses "himitsu keisatsu", and then calls Yuri "the government's dog". So that shows how much he respects them, lol.

SOMEONE SLAP HIM ISTG

Heeeey, Yuri... what if post-identity reveal Yor really really fucking loves Twilight and will be devastated if he's hurt? WHAT THEN?

But also hey, the fact that Yuri felt the need to reply to Perkin? It's a sign that this whole case had a much bigger impact on him than he expected. He put Perkin in the mould of "bad person who wants to destroy the country my beloved sister lives in, who makes his family sad" in order to avoid the possibility of relating to him.

He'll get there. He'll get there. It's a good sign he offered to request for financial aid for Perkin's father. Perkin thanking him for that speaks for what truly mattered to him.

I just love how layered everything is. Since the whole story is mainly focusing on Twilight's side, we as the audience are meant to sympathize and want peace to be secured, and for outside forces to help bring down the totalitarian government. But we're not meant to justify Perkin's behaviour, whether that's his fictional narratives or the way he mistreats innocent children, and at the same time we're meant to understand his motives were sympathetic. No-one's perfect, and the road to hell is paved with good intentions. At the same time, we're shown that Yuri, the "enemy" of Twilight's side, also has sympathetic motives and can also show empathy.

I mean, yeah, he swallows it down and replaces it with projection and coldness. But isn't that what Twilight does, too?

God, my heart fucking aches. He's twenty years old. He has his entire life ahead of him and this is where the regime lead him into. It's terrifying, and it's meant to be.

Yuri is so confident he'll catch Twilight and the director is like "Yeah whatever. If that helps motivate you." I see now why he referred to him as a cute puppy in episode 8. Yuri has very little experience and dreams very high but in a way, that keeps him motivated to work his ass off and never doubt what he's being told to do.

... Huh. Another similarity with Twilight? (sans the lack of experience)

Yeah oh my god that's even scarier. The director thinks that catching Twilight is too much for Yuri, but he allows him that "illusion" because it motivates Yuri. Fuck. Disgusting.

You'd think that a household with a spy and an assassin living in it would be using their peephole a little more often. Instead Yor looks surprised to see Yuri at the door. Like I get how it needed to be this way for the show, but it's a funny concept XD

Their outfits are so cozy! I love how they use different shades of red for Yor. And a detail!

I love how every single piece of clothing Yor owns has rose-shaped buttons. It's like she has an unlimited supply of them in every colour and just replaces the normal buttons with them. I know it's for stylistic choice on Endo's part but it's a cute little headcanon to have XD

Anya <3 she doesn't understand and she's still freaked out by Yuri's obsession with Yor but she cares <3

And that's the thing! Anya cannot understand the intricacies of what's just happened. She just reads Yuri's mind and what she gets is "He needs comfort." And she offers it T_T

ACAB but that doesn't mean one can't be a sentimental bastard. You know?

The little heart on the moon ended me. What an episode!

Overall, I loved it, especially after writing down this analysis! Not much plot-wise but I really appreciated this look into the political situation and how all of it affects Yuri - and how there's a lot in him that can help him grow.

Oh, and reminder that I'm anime only, so please no spoilers from the manga 😁

[weirdmageddon]

ur davejade posting has me Remembering and goddddd. theyre so good. thank u

i want to make a davejade analysis masterpost but the funniest thing with these asks is that theyre the ones that really prompt me to put my thoughts together in some direction and i ALWAYS find a new implication or connection to talk about. like while i’m writing the connections will just make themselves known. if i made a masterpost i’d have to update it every time i think of something new which defeats the purpose of a masterpost because it’d never be finished. so i just like to spitball into separate posts and just shove them in my davejade tag. i was NOT expecting to get back into homestuck with davejade at the forefront but i can see things now i didnt then

im gonna go off again because it’s so obvious to me on this jumpy scrambled “reread” that dave has a fat fucking heart-on / affection erection for jade. hes tryin soo hard to be cool but hes like this with jade actually behind the screen and she knows it

words and deeds of a court jester dude who totally has a crush on his childhood internet friend and doesnt acknowledge it (btw this is woefully incomplete for the sake of brevity but i could elaborate in another post. i actually have a draft (edit: posted) with a shit ton of more analysis stuff in it on why he acts differently with her than other characters):

the next day (chronologically) when jade messages him:

hussie commentary: “Dave's one-pixel-smile there means that there are literally more than ten thousand drawings on the internet of Dave and Jade kissing. That pixel literally made that happen.”

i mean … it sure is easy to assume how he feels about jade based on the way he talks to her and when his sprite only ever smiles one other time in the entire fucking comic and the reality of that other one was arguable since it was during [S] Karkat: Mental breakdown and its likely karkat was hallucinating it based on the content and context of the flash

nah this one was real. and it was from the first conversation we saw between dave and jade in the comic and thus set the standard for their dynamic. and remember old school 2009 dave was kind of a menace so it says a lot

this girl was special enough to him to warrant that pixel

jade calling dave a “huge baby” for him getting nervous about a piss while she’s his server player. he makes such a big deal about it while shes like oh my god just go:

and the absurdity of the situation being one of his favorite memories

i know pesterquest isn’t “canon” canon but it passes my character essence check and still contributes something of substance to my argument. like i can say this is not at all out of place if these characters were plopped into these scenarios. remember this takes place on the same day as the above, 4/13/2009. theyre the same age as above and have the same relationship as they did above, just in a different scenario that wasn’t possible in canon wherein they didn’t play sburb

Jade wanders away from that window and toward another one, whose view is exclusively centered on the rolling blue. She presses a hand against the misty pane and sighs. JADE: you know, dave talks a lot about coming to visit me here. i mean, all of my friends do but dave especially JADE: in his usual davey way of course, which means making lots of jokes and not sounding very serious about it JADE: "yeah im itching to put on my safari hat and come traipsing down to doomdeath archipelago to get my ass murdered by infinidog the eldritch retriever," stuff like that JADE: i know he really means it though! he wants to see me, just like i want to see him JADE: but its just wishful thinking

anyway daves reaction to seeing his isolated online friend for the first time irl cry because she has guests. its even better with the character sprites

JADE: we can play with all my toys and jam out to some music and stay up all night chatting with each other and oh my god oh my god youre here youre all here this is really happening!!!!! Jade's next laugh verges on hysterical and she's got tears streaked down her cheeks. Dave looks a little perturbed. DAVE: wow holy shit uh DAVE: its cool jade no need to get so DAVE: like this DAVE: kind of fucks me up seeing you cry DAVE: not that im trying to make this all about me DAVE: i mean uh

and so after mspa reader’s intervention, who do we see with jade the next time we see her?

dave. and hes goofing with her squiddles while grinning

DAVE: okay so lets see what we got here Jade's room is bright and cheery, fresh flowers in the hanging pots, curtains pulled open wide to let in the afternoon sunlight. Jade sits on her bed while Dave paces in front of a line of squiddle toys, carefully assembled in neat ranks. DAVE: this blue one is clearly in charge look at his dominant posture DAVE: also hes the only motherfucker not tentacle deep in his homie DAVE: hes an untangled buddy that is some shit really cuts to the core of like DAVE: DAVE: emotions JADE: its actually because the magnets in him are messed up, and always have been!! DAVE: harley you are ruining the magic come on

basically what im putting together is that dave was REALLY fixin to spend some time with jade. extending into her sphere of interests that he doesnt express much with anyone else; you can tell he really wanted to engage with her in a less irony poisoned way. he’s softer with her than his other friends and god forbid the trolls, he is much less skeptical about things when talking to her (he even questions why he just seems to go along with her eccentric precognitive statements but he doesnt change his attitude about it), he showers her with his music and raps to the point where jade is expectant of getting poetry from him. rap IS poetry. please realize that dave is sending her his poetry, regardless of how goofy it may be. this is the level on which im viewing this at and once you realize this theres no going back. there comes a time in every homestuck’s life where they have to see how dave interacted jade and conclude that he had a cute little puppy crush on her unbeknownst to either of them. and it was adorable. and now, in the year 2023, it’s your time to realize this too. no going back.

and btw it all came back around…………………nimblest son of a bitch who had the gumption to glue a nasty pair of latex cat lips to his face

for a reason that wasnt a joke anymore

don’t think ive seen anyone talk about this parallel at the end to one of their first conversations in the comic. maybe somebody did back in the day but i never saw it