#We Came From Wolves

[lesbiradshaw]

theo and liam always getting paired together in 6b during episodes where all of the other storylines focus on couples going through stuff together is so funny because when you look at it, the only episode where they really get split up is genotype, which is one of the rare episodes where scott ISN’T paired with malia (because he’s with liam) and mason isn’t with corey (because he’s with theo) aka the canon love interests. like these episodes were cutting from shit like scalia almost dying together to thiam having intimate conversations about how liam processes emotions and morey saying i love you to thiam swearing that neither of them are dying for each other 😭 just very amusing to me. theo raeken: the accidental love interest.

[prouvaireafterdark]

really want them to work the his scar into the whole i, lestat, fought a wolf pack and all i got was this little scar narrative

That would be great, but for mental devastation reasons I hope he’s lying and his dad actually gave it to him

[ragingtwilight]

Pup died in WolfQuest now time to uproot the entire pack responsible

[coffeestripes]

Just found in my Drive some ancient Krita drawings

WAIT THERE IS ALSO A PAINT FOLDER

Behold, shity drawings!

I still remember them. Terracota and some friendly little crystal dragons i did for a RP, original species, a joke

This one haunted me till today, Hoalmoakfur letting herself rest in the water with her new powers (We did some weird stuff in our rps)

Btw this is their most recent design. Is from... Two years ago? I can't recall, but the difference is abysmal. Proud of myself

[andragoras-in-vanity]

isekai is such a popular genre right now, and its taken a clear shift from 'i got isekai'd and now im a fantasy hero!' to 'i got isekai'd and now i get to live a quiet and happy life in the countryside/as a librarian/pharmacist' and obviously a lot of it is just......someone wrote this to kill time and draw boobies, but Parallel World Pharmacy was so good???? i cried so many times, and i love the shift in tone the genre has gained with stuff like that

[in-class-daydreams]

Imagine Sen begging ex-husband Gojo, "Please don't tell mom!"

"Why is there a huge wolf in your dorm?" Satoru asks, bewildered.

Satoru was on business at the Kyoto school when he stopped by the dorms to visit his son. He got more than he bargained for.

To their credit, Naoki Zenin and Hikari Higuruma don't cower at the prospect of the famed Gojo Satoru catching them red-handed.

"She approached us while we were camping," Hikari explains. "We were cooking some meat and she came up with her ears pinned back and whined for some."

Satoru eyes the 150-something pound wolf. "That doesn't explain why it's indoors. And wolves went extinct in Japan more than a hundred years ago. And why is it that big?"

Sen and Nao hugged the creature around the neck. Sen says, "We think she's pregnant!"

"Still doesn't answer any of my questions."

Their line of conversation gets cut short by Satoru's phone ringing. He checks the caller ID.

"It's your mom," he tells Sen.

"Don't tell her! Please, dad, she's going to beat my ass!" Sen begs.

Satoru chuckles. "Oh, I know." He answers the call. "Hey, what's up?"

The four of them wince when your voice booms through the speaker.

"WHAT'S THIS I HEAR ABOUT SEN BRINGING A LIVE WOLF INTO THE DORMS?" you shout.

"How'd she know?" Nao mutters.

"I know it sounds bad, but--"

You cut your ex off. "Put Sen on the phone!"

Knowing that there was no escaping unless they wanted you to come down here yourself, Satoru gingerly hands his son the phone. While you have a full-volume rant about rabies and mauling and animal-borne diseases, Satoru holds up a finger and mouths, "Wait here."

He teleports away while Nao and Hikari pat Sen on the shoulder in solidarity. Hikari is about to tell Sen that he can take you off of speaker until she looks down and realizes you're not on speaker at all. You've just got the lungs of a drill sergeant.

"--rely on limitless to prevent yourself from getting bitten? Wild animals are not pets! What if there's-- Satoru, what are you doing here? I..." The trio listens with anticipation when you trail off and they hear Satoru saying something unintelligible to you.

The audio goes muffled, as if you'd put a hand over the speaker. You and Satoru exchange heated (on your side) words until you stop and huff. Then one thing from Satoru reaches the trio's ears.

"Just let me handle it. Please?"

They can feel your glare through the phone.

"You think you can just come here and bat your lashes and give me that wet puppy look and I'll cave?" you say incredulously.

"Yes. And, well. You know."

You huff and the line goes dead. A moment later, Satoru reappears.

"I've never heard anyone talk her down like that," Sen says in wonder.

Satoru shrugs. "It's a learned skill. I just showed her this picture." He hands them a polaroid.

The color is faded, but the paper is still in mint condition. Someone seemed to have taken great care of it. It reads "September 2005" and it depicts somewhere that must be the Tokyo High dorms. Satoru's visage is unmistakable, what with Sen looking exactly the same. The only difference is more babyish features, his hair, and the round sunglasses.

You looked much the same back then, too. Maybe a bit less tired-looking and with a bit more mischief in your eyes than Sen had ever remembered seeing growing up, but it was still you.

And sitting on the bed, surrounded by empty filet-o-fish wrappers strewn all over your bedroom floor, being hugged from either side by your teen selves, is a fully-grown grizzly bear.

~

Thanks for reading!

Click [here] to keep up with ex-husband Gojo and his estranged family | Ask stuff about Sen and the fam [here]

Hi, everyone! I'm back! Sorry, I was worried I was posting too much before and then I lost a little inspo. I've been having doubts about my Sen work, so I took a little break. Thank you for your support and kind words! It meant a lot! (And to the anon's who asked about reader's burn many moons ago, I haven't forgotten you, I'm just trying to do her injury justice in the fic for it.)

[headspace-hotel]

i would love to enjoy Creature worldbuilding but I always get hung up in how the Iconic Creature, the large, charismatic, often predator-type beast with a backbone and legs and all that, is such an Egregiously Huge Anomaly in creaturedom, an Outlier in a world of nematodes, springtails, beetles, and nondescript fossorial mammals

It's not that I need realistic nematode biodiversity in my reading. It's just that humans are megafauna, but we don't realize that we are megafauna, and worldbuilders are unimpressed with anything smaller than a fox, even though a fox is absolutely vast in the grand scheme of things...

...and fantasy worlds are populated with Gigantic Creatures, hypercarnivores the size of a usual land megaherbivore in real life, because of the undeniable badassery of riding a giant wolf into battle or whatever. But I can't help but think: where is the rest? Y'all know that the tigers and wolves of the world are the tenuously small tip of a pyramid of animal biomass, right? That the large herbivores they prey upon are in turn a pebble perched atop the summit of a mountain, made of the frogs, snakes, rodents, bats, and little birds that are incomprehensibly more numerous, and yet in turn are insignificant compared with the bugs, worms, snails, and slugs, let alone the microorganisms that render us all a mere smudge on the lens of deep time?

A deer, a human...we are gods among life-forms, worlds in ourselves inhabited by our own creatures. Disgust towards parasites is of course an instinctive reaction created by evolutionary pressures, but just think! animals vast enough to be inhabited by their own macroscopic animals! Imagine being a worm in the belly of a deer, unable to survive outside it any more than a human can survive in the vacuum of space, unable perhaps to comprehend that anything exists outside of the body of your god.

Imagine being a tardigrade frolicking in a pasture of algae and moss, unable to understand that this meadow exists on the branch of an enormous tree, and that this tree is itself only a single tree in a forest of millions, that when viewed from above resemble a lush carpet much like the moss. Imagine being a centipede in the permanent darkness of a deep underground cave, unable to know or imagine that there are other caves, that even though you and a hundred thousand generations of your ancestors have been confined to this single cave, that thousands of other caves exist, and that beyond these caves there is a world so much bigger you cannot possibly understand it, a world that stretches farther than you could see or travel in a thousand lifetimes, a world with no ceiling.

Imagine being removed from the cave! You learn that you ancestors came from this infinite place beyond the cave, that your relatives inhabit every part of it, that your family is more numerous than you could ever learn to count!

...what was I talking about again?...

[entitled-fangirl]

A Northern Lannister.

Cregan Stark x Lannister!wife!reader

Summary: the reader proves she’s worthy of being the Lady of Winterfell.

Warnings: blood, death, fighting, cursing, yelling

Masterlist

…………………………………..

They hate her.

She's sure of it.

They all hate her.

A Lannister lion in a den of Stark wolves.

Cregan was wonderful, and he made no actions that would lead her to believe he thought her less than for not being a northerner.

But the whispers were still there.

Their mother's last contribution to the earth, Y/n was born the much younger third sibling to the twins, Tyland and Jason. The two treasured her. Due to their significant age difference, she was much more like a daughter than a dear sister. So when she was to marry, they knew the beauty had potential.

And with the war looming over their heads, she was sent to Cregan in an attempt to gain the North's favor.

The greens failed in their attempt at gaining Cregan's favor, however, the girl had not.

He quite liked her.

She had a fire to her that he knew would cause trouble.

And he also liked trouble.

What a deadly combination.

…

"I assure you, I am no delicate rose, Lord Mormont," she said through gritted teeth.

He chuckled in amusement, "You're a mere woman. We will not have you discussing battle plans."

"Mere woman?" She scoffed. "I am your Lady of Winterfell. I am married to the Warden of the North- the man you raise your banners for!"

He shrugged, "My loyalty is to him, not a Lannister wench."

Her eyes burned with fury. "Watch your tongue, Mormont-"

"-Or what?" He taunted. "You'll have your Lord Husband take it? He wouldn't."

Her fists clenched so hard she swore her nails cut into her palm.

She couldn't cause trouble. She couldn't cause trouble.


She huffed and turned around, walking away from the man, ignoring his taunting words as she did so.

…

Cregan stepped up to his war table and looked around at the men, "Where is my wife?"

They all looked around and at each other, lost at what he meant.

His brows furrowed, "Where is my wife?" He tried again. When no answer came, he snapped at a servant, "Where did she go?"

The servant bit her lip, "I last saw her storming from the castle, my lord."

"What?"

…

Hours passed, and Cregan became more and more worried, but he couldn't walk away from his war table until the meeting was finished.

Luckily, she returned.

Mid-meeting, she threw the doors open, making all in the room jump from the sound.

She stood in the doorframe, covered in blood with a look of rage in her eyes. A bag in hand.

They all stood at the sight of the lady, utterly shocked.

Cregan's eyes widened and he immediately rounded the table to get to her, "My love? Wha-"

She threw the bag down and moved to Lord Mormont. "You."

Mormont frowned, "My lady?"

She gripped his cloak with one hand and swung at hard as she could with the other, breaking his nose.

All around the table gasped, completely shocked by the woman's actions as Mormont fell against the table, holding his nose when blood gushed from it.

Her rage was all but tamed, "CALL ME A WENCH AGAIN! I FUCKING DARE YOU!"

Cregan raced forward, pulling his wife back by the waist when she began to wind up for another punch.

She grunted and fought against him, "DO IT! FUCKING DO IT!"

Cregan held one arm around her waist, the other gently around her neck to push her head back against his chest and he whispered to her, "Stop this."

But she was far from done, "I'M A FUCKING STARK! A WOLF! MORE WOLF THAN YOU!"

Cregan tried again, "C'mon."

She looked around, noting the wide eyes, "YOU CAN BE NEXT IF YOU WANT!"

Mormont stood up now, the bottom half of his face completely red, "Control your lady wife, Stark!"

Cregan's brows furrowed, "Pardon me?" His voice lowered, "Did you call my wife a wench, Mormont?"

Y/n finally quieted herself, her chest heaving but her eyes glaring.

Cregan finally looked at her and really took in the blood, "Where did all this blood come from?"

She looked over to the cloth bag she left on the floor.

Lord Bolton crossed the room, picking up the bag and grimacing when he saw what laid inside. "My lord?"

Stark's eyes moved between his wife and the man. "What is it?"

"Two heads, my lord."

All eyes moved to her frame slowly, continually being shocked by the woman.

"Love? What happened out there?"

She pulled herself away from him and reached up, trying to wipe the blood from her face but smearing it instead. "Green spies."

He frowned, "How did you know?"

"Tried to take me back."

Silence fell over the group and Mormont decided to break it, "Perhaps they should have."

Instant rage fell over Cregan's face and he rushed forward, throwing a punch at the man, connecting with his jaw. "YOU BASTARD!"

Bolton stepped forward, "My lord. Please."

Cregan held the bloody Mormont up by his cloak, his jaw clenched as he growled the words out, "To the wall."

Mormont frowned, "w…what?"

"To. The. FUCKING WALL!" And he threw him to the ground.

Cregan then turned to the rest of his war council with equal anger, "Anyone else wish to spew insults in my face?"

When no one answered, he turned to his wife, whose anger had disappeared and surprise had replaced it at his actions. "Are you alright?"

She nodded, "Yes, Cregan."

He grunted and moved back to his place at the table. "Go wash yourself and return. You're needed here."

She nodded, leaving the room quickly.

"Someone get this Mormont scum out of here!"

…

The entire North heard of the Lannister girl's actions, and it was quickly forgotten that she was of Lannister blood entirely.

She was a Northerner.

There was no doubt about that anymore.

………………………………

Cregan Stark taglist: @misswynters, @cosmosnkaz, @sithapprentice, @kaniromi, @lovemesomevesey, @its-jackie-bb, @callsignwidow, @8812-342, @nyxbranwenn, @thorins-queen-of-erebor

[somewhereincairparavel]

Percy this. Percy that. It was always about Percy Jackson. All the fucking time. 

It was always about the Hero of Olympus, the one who defeated Kronos and led the battle of Manhattan, the one who was offered immortality by the king of the gods himself, the one who restored glory to Rome by returning the golden eagle, the one who became praetor of the Roman camp in 2 weeks with limited training. 

His Roman camp. Jason Grace's Roman camp.

Percy Jackson had pulled off everything in 2 weeks that Jason Grace wasn't able to accomplish despite dedicating his whole life for duty. 11 years of blood, sweat and tears, simply gone down the drain.

Jason had failed his camp. He had failed his home. Turns out, he wasn't as great as the people of Rome had once preached about him. It was obvious considering the less than warm welcome he had gotten from his so-called “home”. 

He received no hugs, no cheers, no “we missed you jason!”, no “I was so worried about you!” or even a single pat on the arm by his “friend” Dakota. Dakota and Gwendolyn hadn't even spared a glance at him.

Nothing. Instead, this new Jackson boy was held up to worship like a god amongst the people who once considered Jason a “hero”.

Jason laughed bitterly. Was it selfish of him to be disappointed with Reyna? With a pang, he got to know that Reyna hadn't sent a single search party out to look for her “best friend”. Not like Annabeth did for Percy, not like Thalia did for Percy.

With a pang, he got to know that the whole camp basically deemed him as ‘dead’ and Reyna hadn't even set up a memorial of remembrance for him. The camp had simply moved on with their new hero. Without a single shred of thought for Jason Grace. 

The forgotten Hero. The lost hero. Jason Grace.

These thoughts of doubt gnawed on Jason's mind, slowly eating him up ever since he'd first seen Percy Jackson in those damned praetor togas that once belonged to him. 

He didn't dislike the boy, of course not, it wasn't Percy's fault that Hera wiped their memories or switched camps.

 But it was hard for Jason to not resent him, or feel even the tiniest amount of envy, knowing that Reyna willingly replaced him with Jackson. Very quickly too, at that. He overheard Octavian blabbing to his lackeys about how Reyna “was head over heels for Percy almost immediately” 

“I guess that's it. Maybe I am someone who is easy to replace.” Jason thought, his eyes pricking as he looked over from the flying ship, at the place he once used to call home. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Jason watched remorsefully as Thalia, Grover, Percy and Annabeth were all gathered at the table in camp half blood, cracking jokes about dam french fries or whatever that meant.

Thalia caught Jason's eyes, staring at all of them from a distance. She smiled softly, and gave him a tiny wave. He weaved his lips into something that was meant to look like a wry smile, but it came out as a slight grimace, as he waved back.

Thalia was so close to Jason, yet so far away.

He knew she loved him, but it felt different. And an annoying, nagging part of Jason had known that Thalia would never be as close to him as she was to Annabeth or Percy. 

Ironic isn't it? Jason and Thalia were always connected since they came from the same womb, yet she was closer to Annabeth, a girl she'd found after she had run away from the same woman that had given Jason to the wolves. The same woman who had turned his life upside down by abandoning him. 

Thalia had found Annabeth right after she thought she had lost Jason. In a strangely ironic way, Jason felt like he'd been replaced all over again.

Thalia had replaced Jason as a younger sibling with Annabeth without even realizing it, all of this took place mere months after a baby Jason was considered to be dead. This situation had strangely reminded him of Camp Jupiter, how he was replaced by Percy right after Jason was considered “dead” by Camp Jupiter.

This made Jason reach the possibility that if he were indeed “dead”, he wouldn't be missed. People wouldn't bat an eyelash. Since there was always someone better than him. Someone like Percy Jackson, who could easily fill the void Jason would leave behind.

His eyes watered, as he looked at how much fun his sister had with his friends. Knowing full well, that he'd never be able to do the same.

Jason felt ashamed that he had to ask Percy about Thalia’s likes and dislikes, he was thalia’s brother. He was supposed to know.

Jason watched as Thalia quickly hugged the trio, as she left their table to leave with the hunters, not even realizing that there was one person whom she forgot to hug.

Don't take it personally. Don't take it personally. She just forgot. She doesn't hate you. She just forgot. She doesn't prefer Percy over you. She's in a hurry. That's why she forgot. Jason repeated that like a mantra, the only person he was trying to convince was himself.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“And he rejected immortality!- oh you should've seen Zeus' face!” Annabeth exclaimed to Hazel excitedly, as Percy was blushing at the compliment fountain being poured at him by Hazel and Annabeth.

Jason had always been fascinated by that story, the almighty Percy Jackson getting offered to become a god, by Zeus.

His father. Jason's father, Zeus. 

Jason felt stupid and guilty for getting envious, it's not the fact that Percy had been offered immortality, no. Jason couldn't care less about being immortal. It was the person who offered Percy invincibility that bothered Jason so much. 

Jason knew that even if he went to the ends of the world to accomplish something, his father wouldn't be able to praise him or even talk to him for a long time. 

Zeus and Jason could never be like Hades and Nico, or Poseidon and Percy. That's just how it is.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Reyna had come to camp half blood for a fun visit. Jason would've been ecstatic in other circumstances, but in this case, he wanted to be as far away from her as possible. Because currently, Reyna seemed to be looking at everyone, but refused to meet Jason's eyes. She seemed to keep her distance as she laughed at something Percy and Piper were saying. 

She may as well have just stabbed him, it would've hurt a lot less. 

He had truly been naive to believe that he could make amends with Reyna. Now he knew, it would never be possible. There was too much pain mixed with bitterness on both ends. But seeing her get along with Percy reminded him of the old times of friendship he and Reyna had shared. Keyword: had.

Once again, the fates had shown him that Percy Jackson would always be better. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

As Jason Grace lay on the cold floor, coughing out blood. He realized he was alone, he was dying, but he was alone.

Like always. The sickly voice of Gaia, that had once haunted his nightmares, boomed in his head. Jason knew he was hallucinating as a result of blood loss, Gaia is in deep slumber. But that did not stop the voice in his head that was invented by his insecurities. Even in the end, you've been forgotten, Jason Grace. Because that's what you will always be. The second best. The leftover. The pawn who is discarded, after his purpose has been fulfilled. Percy Jackson would always be better in everyone's eyes. 

To the Romans, you are simply the one who betrayed his lineage. But Percy is the one who restored glory. He did your job for you.

To the Greeks, you are simply a burden, one whom they were forced to welcome.

To your father, you are merely one of his many sons. 

To your sister, you are a stranger.

Jason's resolve to live had weakened, hot tears were streaming down his face as he closed his eyes in defeat, he had come to the painful conclusion that nobody is going to come find his body. Nobody is going to mourn him.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Oh I will always be much better than you at this! Bring it on, dude!” Percy laughed as he striked his play sword lightsaber at Jason's. They clashed. 

“You wish, Jackson!” Jason shot back jokingly, as they sparred playfully with toy lightsabers.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Jackson, you jerk. You were right after all, you will always be much better than me” Jason laughed bitterly, as he recalled that memory of his sparring session with Percy.

 Suddenly everything went black. The life had successfully ebbed out of him.

Little did Jason know, was that someone had indeed come to look for him. Tempest, his Pegasus had come to retrieve his body, but Jason was long gone. People had indeed mourned him. His friends were, indeed, anguished. His sister was, indeed, heartbroken.

Jason's soul parted this world, with the knowledge that he'd always be The forgotten Hero. 

The lost hero. Jason Grace.

[ceilidho]

take me home, country road

[ao3]

You have nothing on your person apart from a hastily packed suitcase and the dress you came into town wearing, on the run from trouble back home. Too bad John's missing a bride that matches your description. Or: the 1800s (mistaken) mail order bride au (part 8)

part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4, part 5, part 6, part 7

-

Now a nocturnal animal emerges into the daylight hours.

A week becomes two and your shoulders untense. It’s not something you notice at first because you’re used to an ever present strain between your shoulder blades and an ache in your jaw from grinding your teeth at night. Then a fortnight goes by without so much as a missive with your name on it floating across John’s desk or a stranger appearing in town after tracking you down, and you wonder if maybe the world really is big enough to hide in. 

It sure feels that way at times. The woods beyond the bounds of John’s property stretch out farther than the eye can see and even walking it feels like you could disappear into another realm. Old spruces shoot up high into the clouds, and deeper into the woods, huge rock formations grow more and more prominent as you near the mountains. John takes you through the woods on horseback, following the rough trails carved into the dirt by a century of wagons and carts using the same path. The footprints of a different time. 

Up in the trees, birds warble and chirp, talking to one another in songs that you’ve never heard before. A woodpecker drills into the side of a tree. Pinecones snap out of the upper branches and drop to the forest floor. 

There is only a single trail and it’s easy to lose. You grow a bit nervous when John takes you off the trail and deeper into the woods, but he does so with the confidence of a man that knows these woods like the back of his hand. You go quiet when he stops Buttercup to let a herd of deer wander by, the stragglers hurrying to catch up with the group, throwing the two of you nervous glances before they disappear into the thicket. 

“Should we be out this far?” you ask in a whisper, reluctant to disturb the silence. Though the woods are full of animals that bleat, chirp, chatter, and hoot, the sound of your own voice feels preternaturally loud and shrill. 

“We won’t get lost, darlin’. I know my way around,” John reassures you, curling an arm around your waist to hold you to him. These days, you hardly worry about tumbling off the horse. Not with him at your back anyway. 

“That wasn’t really my worry,” you mumble, trailing off.

“Then what’re you getting all worked up about?”

“Aren’t there wolves out here? Or bears?”

He snorts, the sound making you jolt. You don’t topple over because he has such a firm hold around your waist. “They don’t usually come this close to town. They’re more scared of you than you are of them.”

“That sounds like something mothers tell their children to stop them crying,” you say flatly. You draw your legs up automatically when John directs Buttercup through a shallow basin, a shortcut back home. It makes you anxious for a moment, but the water barely goes up to her ankles, so you relax when you realize that you’re in no danger of being swept away by the current.

“That doesn’t mean a bear or wolf can’t wander by, but it’s rare.”

“And there it is.”

You can feel the heat of his glower on the back of your head. “We could spend the night out here if you want to see for yourself.”

At that, you shut your mouth. Even if he were to prove his point, you have no interest in camping out in the woods now that you’ve become accustomed to the luxury of a soft bed. Granted that you’re forced to share that same bed, still you’ve never slept half as well as you do these days. You wake up rested after nine hours of blissful shut eye, a sleep so deep that your dreams only come in half-remembered flashes. Often they involve the man you wake up wrapped around, and for that you’re grateful that they remain submerged. 

A new desire has started to burrow its way into the back of your mind in recent days. It starts out as a thought so brief that you hardly notice it before it skitters away. 

And then it lingers. 

You wake up in the middle of the night hot, sweat dripping down the nape of your neck and a fire burning in your loins, a red-hot coil wound around itself, fit to burst. Pulsating. At some point throughout the night, you must have thrown a leg around John’s waist because it rests there now, your hand planted in the middle of his chest and your sex all but rubbing up against his thigh. Under your hand, you can feel his heart pump strong and steady.

You hold very, very still, waiting for him to wake. But John sleeps on, his palm loose where it rests along the curve of your hip, fingers curling into the flesh of your backside. 

You can hardly look at him these days without shaking. You’ve come to fixate on the sway of his hips when he walks and the flecks of silver in his beard. The grooves in his weathered hands. The way your head fits in the palm of his hand when he cradles it to his chest. The fond glimmer in his eyes that shines the brightest when he puts his hat on your head and it slips past your eyes, too big for your head. 

When you tip it up in order to see, the folds around his eyes become more pronounced with the force of his smile.

“There you are, bug,” he says, taking the hat off your head to set it back on his and reeling you in for a kiss. 

Bug, love, honey, darling. The constant flux of endearments makes your head spin. John never calls you by the name on your marriage license. It’s like that name means nothing to him, cast away at the first opportunity and replaced by an endless stream of pet names.  

He hasn’t touched your sex since making you come on the porch swing the week before. He pulls you into a chaste embrace at night, the only evidence of his own desire being the stiff shaft nestled against the small of your back in the early morning hours, which he takes care of on his own in the bathroom downstairs after pressing a kiss to your cheek. You feel robbed of something, though you don’t know quite what. 

You’re tempted to offer your help, but you don’t know exactly what that would entail. Inexperience and fear of rejection hold you back, stay your tongue. In the two weeks you’ve been married, he hasn’t once tried to pin you down and rut between your thighs like you expected and dreaded that very first night. 

Now that that time has passed, you don’t know how to initiate that moment again. 

John promises to teach you how to ride a horse. You can’t see a reason to protest, much to your chagrin. Despite your apprehensions, even you can’t deny that it would be a helpful skill. A train only goes one way after all, confined to a single track. A horse has no such laws to obey.

The thought stays nestled at the back of your mind as the days continue on.

You flounder around in the kitchen on the day that John invites his deputies over for supper. You’ve met the big one—Simon—now a small handful of times, each encounter marked by a silence that sucks the air out of the room when he turns his gaze on you and holds it. Perhaps you’ve simply ascribed too much importance to his person, given that every time you’ve seen him, your life has changed irrevocably. His presence is always followed by revelation it seems. The archangel of vicissitude. A harbinger of uncertain times.

The other two are new. John introduces you to them when you bring out the cutlery and crockery to set the table, and you nearly go cross-eyed when they reach across the table at the same time to offer their hands. You go to meet them halfway, but flinch when John brings his hand down on the table with enough force to make the silverware jump.

“Sorry, darlin’,” he apologizes to you first before turning his glare on the other two. “That ain’t proper, boys. You wait for the lady to offer her hand first—you don’t treat a woman like she’s a mutt you’re teaching to shake.”

“Ah, sorry, hen,” the one on the left says, his voice a thick Scottish brogue like a purr. He’s possibly the handsomest man you’ve ever met, but there’s something dangerous and wild in his eyes. When he smiles, it curls up in a roguish sort of way that makes you falter, like he’s in on a joke that you aren’t. “Dinnae mean to offend. No’ often we get ta meet such a pretty lady.” 

“Sorry—” the one on the right apologizes in a voice far more earnest than his counterpart’s. “And sorry for him. We think he was raised by wolves.”

“What’s yer excuse then?” the Scot sneers, knocking his knee into the other man’s under the table. “Dinnae see ye waitin’ for her fuckin’ hand like a gentleman—apologies, hen.”

“Christ,” John sighs, leaning back in his chair and staring up at the ceiling. 

Simon stays silent at the other end of the table, but the whole table jumps when he aims a kick at the Scott’s leg. He hisses and blurts out a word in a language you’ve never heard before, the word unmistakably vitriolic. He clutches at his shin and shoots a nasty look at Simon, though he doesn’t make a move to retaliate. 

“Name’s Kyle. Kyle Garrick,” the other introduces himself, and you finally reach across the table to offer your hand. His hand is warm against yours when he takes it, dark skin burnished in the candlelight. There’s something inviting about him; something about his eyes, so dark that you almost fall into them. Thick lips curl up into a smile. “And this here is Soap.”

You frown. “Soap?”

The man in question runs a hand down his front, emphasizing the cut of his shirt and the way it clings to the muscle of his chest. “‘Cause of how well I clean up.”

Simon barks out a laugh at that. The sound comes so sudden and sharp that it startles you. “You got it ‘cause your mum had to wash out your mouth with soap.”

It’s the most you’ve ever heard out of him and you can only stare wide-eyed at the lot of them as they dissolve into bickering and squabbling after that. It’s almost a relief to head back into the kitchen to finish cooking. 

Dinner is a similar messy affair, punctuated by the sound of Soap practically gnawing the meat off the bone. He only apologizes when John barks at him for making a mess, more food on the floor around him than on his plate, but his table manners don’t last very long. John doesn’t seem so much embarrassed on their behalf as annoyed, but it’s an annoyance that comes with an aftertaste of warmth. You can tell without asking that they’ve known each other for years. 

There’s room enough in you for food and envy. Back home you had friends. Never close friends, but acquaintances at least. Maids you could recognize by face. Small talk while ascending single-file up the servants’ staircase. Perhaps little more than that. You’d never been particularly close to any of them, but how could you? You worked from morning ‘till night, up and down the stairs, moving in the shadows. Never making too much noise lest your employers take notice of you. 

Like he did.

You shake it off. That’s no matter now. You’re hundreds of miles away and living under a new name. A married woman, to the county sheriff no less. It only sometimes hurts your heart to think of how lonely you’d been. 

When they leave, you stand at the window and watch as they disappear into the black of the night, Simon at the front of the pack, his torchlight leading the way. The sound of horse hooves beating against the dirt recedes the farther they get. 

His hands warm your shoulders. You don’t know how long he’s been there, standing behind you while you stared out the window after the boys. All you know is that his hands are warm, and the kiss he presses to the back of your head makes you arch back into him, unconsciously gravitating closer to him. Needing to be near. 

In bed, you curl your fingers against his chest. On a rough exhale, you wake. You dream still of something terrible that happens somewhere else, in another city, in an old life. His heartbeat lulls you back to sleep.

John takes you to the local seamstress to have you fitted for a pair of pants and suddenly you’re out of excuses. They fit you comfortably, like a second skin, and you find yourself pulling at the legs at your final fitting as if to stretch out the material. The seamstress nearly jabs you with a pin and glares up at you until you stop fidgeting. 

You come to terms with it when he brings you into the stables and makes you fetch the saddle from where it rests on its stand. It’s heavier than you expected. You stumble back over to where John now has Buttercup standing in the middle of the stable, holding her by the lead fixed to her bridle. 

“I don’t know if—” you start, trepidation climbing up your chest until it grips you by the throat. For as many times as you’ve ridden her, you’ve never done it alone. 

John fixes her lead to a post and walks over to you, taking the saddle from your hands and letting it drop to the ground. He cups your face in both hands to tilt your head up. “Hey, honey. We’re not doing much of anything today, alright? Just a walk around the paddock so you get used to sitting on Buttercup on your own. I’m not gonna smack her ass and send you down the trail at full tilt..”

That gets a laugh out of you. “You promise?”

He smiles. “Promise, darlin’.”

And he keeps it. The only thing you do that day is learn how to tack a horse and how to properly mount and dismount her. The latter part of the lesson is devoted to you trying to find your balance while John leads the two of you around the pen at a leisurely pace. He calms you down when he sees you grow too stiff, stopping to coo and rub your thigh until you gradually relax. It’s heartwarming until Buttercup begins to tense up too for a reason unbeknownst to you and you watch in righteous fury as John calms her down the same way.

John gets you a hat to keep the sun from beating down on you, but there’s little he can do about the soreness between your thighs and the stiffness in your legs the next day. All you can do is hiss and moan in pain, hobbling around the house until he forces you down into a chair and hikes up your dress in order to apply an arnica salve to your inner thighs. 

It’s a relief and an affront at the same time. The duality of man. The salve soothes much of the ache, but you twitch nervously around John for the rest of the day, the memory of him pinning you to the chair and forcibly spreading your thighs haunting you. The lingering ache in your core is just the salt in the wound. 

It rains another day. A light drizzle while the sun is still out.

Every day you sit and you think, will it be today? And then the wash basins are emptied out in the field, the horses are taken out to the paddock, you pin the laundry up on the line to dry, and John presses a farewell kiss to your forehead when he leaves you with Kate and nothing happens. Every inch of you waits for more, anticipates more. Throbs when he leaves you wanting, only a chaste kiss and a squeeze around your waist before he’s off. 

You can feel it coming to a head. An itch you can’t shake. 

That day comes with another ache you can’t shake. 

“Please,” you beg, clasping your hands in front of you. “One day of rest. That’s all I’m asking. I can’t do this anymore, John.”

John snaps the lead in his hands. “Let’s get a move on. We’re burning daylight.”

You hang your head low on the march over to the stables, John taking up the rear like he expects you to bolt. An executioner’s walk. The thought of escape has never seemed further away—not even because of its feasibility, but because all you want to do is lie down and rest.

“You can quit your moping,” he says as you tack up Buttercup, a pout on your lips. “Got something special for you today.”

That makes you perk up, regardless of the fact that he doesn’t specify what that is. Anticipation mounts in you when he helps you up onto Buttercup and then climbs up behind you himself. He steers her away from the paddock and towards the trail leading into the woods, the sun at its zenith now, illuminating everything as far as the eye can see.

You’ve ridden this trail before. A week ago, with John at your back as he is now. Through the fields and over the hills until the trees start to number in the tens and then the hundreds, no clear delineation between plain and forest. Simply there and then everywhere.

By now, after hours of sun beating down on the path, the trail is mostly dry, yesterday’s rain long since having sunk into the earth. You think it’d still be a tough hike on foot, but on horseback you cover acres of land at a brisk pace, Buttercup hardly breaking a sweat. You cross paths with a small group traveling by horse and wagon, but John breaks off from the path not too long after that, steering Buttercup deeper into the wilderness, where the only gullies are the ones carved out by years and years of rainfall. 

You only see it when the land begins to dip and you’re forced to hold onto the horn and tighten your thighs around the fenders to keep steady. At the bottom of a hill, a small stream opens up into a larger river, narrowing out at the other end where the land rises again and the water can only trickle over the pebbly riverbed. On the other side, a rocky outcropping cuts the stream off from view.

“Is this where you used to come to bathe?” you ask, recalling an earlier conversation.

John sighs. “Thought I’d take you for a swim as a treat, but if you’d rather just tease me—”

“Well now, let’s not be hasty,” you say, already trying to dismount on your own, eyes glued on the stream glimmering in the sunlight. John chuckles, keeping you pressed to him until he guides Buttercup under a tree for shade and dismounts first, helping you down after him. 

All you want to do is wade in the stream up to your ankles, so that’s what you do. Boots kicked off, Buttercup relaxing in the shade of a tree, John standing by the water’s edge with his hands on his hips and watching you tiptoe over the smooth rocks below. You roll up your pant legs, but eventually you feel the ends grow damp as you venture farther out. At its deepest, you would probably sink up to your waist.

“Don’t you want to swim?” John asks from somewhere behind you.

You splash around a bit, kicking your feet through the water. “Hard to do that with clothes—”

When you turn back around to face him, your eyes dart down momentarily at the sight of skin before you squeak and whirl back around, sending up an arc of water. Twice now you’ve seen him naked. 

“You’ve no clothes on,” you state, bluntly enough that it almost sounds stupid. 

You hear the water splash and ripple when he takes his first step in. “Right—you better think about doing the same if you don’t want to ride home soaking wet.”

“I was perfectly fine just getting my feet wet,” you say indignantly.  

“We came out here to swim, not get your feet wet,” John laughs. You stiffen when his hand comes down on your shoulder, conscious of the fact that your husband is standing right behind you, entirely divested of his clothes. “So best get to steppin’.”

“You can’t make me.”

“Oh, honey,” he says pityingly. “Yes, I can.”

You squeeze your eyes shut as you make your way back to shore, careful not to allow yourself a glimpse of him. Your boots are stacked beneath the shade of another tree, John’s clothes folded neatly beside them. You strip slowly, attentive to the world around you; though unlikely, it’s not impossible that someone might wander by. Your only consolation is that John is still within sight, though you keep your back to him because in recent days, you’ve developed a hunger for him that even now makes your stomach hurt.  

Though the air is warm, you shiver. When you turn around with your arms crossed over your breasts to hide them from sight, you find John wading in the river up to his waist. You’ve seen him like this once before, the hearty body of a man in his prime. Sturdy and strong. The hair on his chest is darker than that on his head, wet too from the dip he must have taken when your back was turned. His hair is slicked back too, a wet hand combing it back. 

“Come on, darlin’,” he calls, beckoning you forward with his hand.

The water is a cold shock when you step in past your ankles. Ice cold tendrils wrap up your legs, sucking the warmth from you. 

You suck in a soft breath when he pulls you into his arms and heaves you up, big hands gripping under your thighs. Your breasts press against the wet skin of his chest, nipples already pebbled. The river is deeper than you assumed; John pulls you deeper in until it pools around your waist and then your chest. Cold enough that you shiver until John dips his head down and the kiss he presses to your lips melts you from the inside out. 

You can’t escape the intimacy of water-slick skin. When John drags you up his chest, your nipples brush over his and the shudder that passes through you is violent, toe-curling. You know that he can feel the heat of your core even underwater. With your legs wound around his waist, every inch of you is plastered to his front. Even your fingers play with the ends of his hair, arms draped over his shoulders. You can’t look away.

“C’mon,” he murmurs, breath hot on your face. “Eyes on me.”

As if you could look anywhere else. 

He reaches down under the water to readjust himself and you gasp when his shaft is suddenly right there, trapped between his belly and your heat. It’s the closest you’ve ever gotten to coitus, his glans nestled between your folds. You’d only have to shift slightly for him to slip right in. The thought makes your breath quicken. 

He doesn’t make a move to take you though, even knowing that he could. How easy it would be. How it’s due to him. Your husband that’s waited a fortnight to take you as his own. John kisses you until each slick pass of his lips grows sloppier, clumsier—his lips barely parting from yours before they’re on you again, rendering you a creature of base needs. 

But his hands don’t shift from your backside where he holds you in place. His fingers dig into the flesh hard enough to bruise, but they don’t move to part your folds to make room for his manhood. You expect him to—practically yearn for it and squeeze him around the neck all the harder when he subverts your expectations, doing no more than letting you grind your heat against the base of his shaft. 

“John—John, please,” you beg, mindless for what. You don’t know what you’re asking for. 

“What d’ya need, darlin’?” he asks into your mouth, stealing your answer with another kiss. 

You fall under the swell of another wave. When the root of his cock glides over your clit, your core clenches on nothing, a sob half-bitten off in your mouth, ripped from your chest. 

It doesn’t matter how close to him you get—he gives you nothing. The heat could very well burn you from the inside out. Cold water caresses your skin as it flows past, but the center of you runs so hot that you hardly notice it. 

When he hikes you higher up against his chest, you clench your fingers in his hair, whining when he takes your nipple into his mouth. Your gasp comes out sharp and hurt when the coarse bristles of his beard rub rough against your breast. He sucks at your breast tender at first, gentle, eyes half-lidded like his mind has gone somewhere else, but there’s a glint in his eye that grows wild and dark, that turns him rough. You don’t know what to do except shake and let him use you how he wants. 

Desperation nips at your heels, urging you up the length of him. If you had more nerve, you’d reach down and grasp him under the water, notch the head of his member against your sex and sink right down on him. You need him like you've never needed anything before. Every part of you aflame, searing hot under the sun at its highest point; right overhead, right on top of you. 

His teeth sink delicately into your areola, tongue lapping over your nipple to soothe the hurt, and suddenly, you break.

“Please—” you gasp, wrenching his mouth away from your breast and whimpering when he resists at first, glaring up at you like he might bite. “Please, John—I can’t take it. I need you.”

His eyes darken, the pupil swallowing everything up. “Need me where, wife? Here?”

A hand dips between your thighs, pointer finger gliding over your sex, plump with blood. So tender that your mouth hangs open on a whine when he touches you. 

“Y-yes,” you whimper, gaze swimming. 

John’s breath comes out in a harsh, ragged pant. Completely undone in a way you’ve never seen before. “Get out, darlin’. I’m taking you home. Gonna give you what you need.”

[major-comet]

the biggest problem with tos’ episodic format is that the episode usually ends pretty quickly after the conflict resolves and then they never really talk about it again - no matter how intense or harrowing it was

which means that we don’t get to actually *see* the interpersonal fallout of bones being diagnosed with and cured from a previously-incurable terminal illness (that he didn’t even want to tell jim and spock he had), and then just four episodes later drugging them so that he can go be tortured (and likely die) instead of spock, and so jim doesn’t have to make the choice between them.

did they talk about it? beyond just a standard debrief and a “never fucking do that again bones i swear to god i mean it this time”? did they make it the captains’ quarters for the debrief, only for mccoy to be pulled into a crushing, trembling hug as soon as the door shut while jim tried to assure himself that bones was still here, was still breathing? spock hovering nearby - a hand gently coming to rest on his shoulder?

why didn’t mccoy want to tell them about the xenopolycythemia, anyways? to try and hold onto a few more normal-ish months before every time they looked at him their eyes would be filled with grief - mourning a man they hadn’t yet lost? the same reason he ran away; to spare them what he went through with his father?

only for him to immediately turn around and throw himself back to the wolves to (almost) die right in front of them anyways

i don’t really know how they handled it. whether they talked about it and attempted to soothe the hurt, or just resolutely tried to bottle it up.

but i do know this: spock eventually came back from gol because jim simply (though accidentally) called out for him in a moment of need. bones only came back because jim personally drafted him back into starfleet

[demigods-posts]

imagine a world where the heroes of olympus series was one big crossover. a world where we meet an eleven year old boy named jason, no last name because it reminds him of his mother — a drunk who literally threw him to the wolves as a toddler. jason, who's earliest memory is chewing on a stapler and his older sister tending to the wound on his bottom lip — but he hasn't seen or heard from her since they were separated years ago. jason, who grew up reaching for the sky like a purpose, desperate for a chance to prove himself. jason, who fought to save the world at fifteen years old. and jason, who finds himself in the grand canyon four months later with no memory of who he is or where he came from, feet away from some frantic sixteen year old girl in search of some dude named percy jackson. imagine what this could have been.

[chloe-skywalker]

Nothing Can Happen - Jacaerys Velaryon/Targaryen

Jacaerys x Fem!Stark!Reader

Warnings: GOT

Word count: 988

Summary: Jace fall’s in love with Cregon Stark’s twin sister.

Authors Note: Hope you enjoy ! I wrote this before season 2 even had a release date. Reader is supposed to be Cregon Stark's twin sister.

Masterlist

House Of The Dragon Masterlist

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

“Welcome to Winterfell Jacaerys Targaryen.” Y/n greeted as she watched the prince land his dragon and dismount before he approached her.

“Wish it was under different circumstances.” Jacaerys said as he approached who he could only believe was Y/n Stark. Rumors didn’t do her beauty justice he thought.

“Don’t we all?” She agreed but Y/n sadly believed the seven kingdoms may never be at peace. “We know why you are here.”

“My Mother-” he started but Y/n held her hand up to stop his prepared speech.

“Is the rightful heir to the Iron Throne. We stand behind your mother. We will fight with your family.” Y/n smiled having already known what kind of speech he was going to give and just save him the time.

“Thank you. It’s appreciated.” Jace felt relieved that he wouldn’t have to convince them or make any deals. If only it was that easy every time.

“Our father swore to Rhaenyra. We will honor that. Honor means something to us here. And she was named heir. Viserys never changed his mind or made a formal change. We won’t stand with the greens.” Y/n stated to him confidently. 

“Again. Appreciated.” he nodded at her.

Jace kept glancing at the direwolf at her side and it made her let out an amused laugh as she noticed. “You can pet her. She won’t hurt you.”

“I-I’m good.” He answered nervously.

“You can ride a dragon but not pet a wolf?” Y/n teased him amused at his reactions.

“I grew up with dragons.” Jace points out.

“I grew up with wolves. But I’d go up and touch your dragon.” Y/n shrugged teasing him more. She had decided it was fun to poke at him, in a friendly respectful way of course.

“Then you are braver than me.” Jace state’s smiling at her. He believed her and he could see in her eyes that she was confident when it came to what she was saying. Jacaerys had also realized in these few short minutes he enjoyed seeing her smile.

“Would you like a tour of Winterfell? My brother would’ve been here but he’s stuck doing some preparation.” Y/n offered with a more relaxed tone with the prince.

“I would love to see Winterfell.” Jace smiled, enjoying how she treated him as if war wasn’t looming.

^     ^     ^

“I’ve noticed you getting all friendly with the Targaryen Boy.” Cregon say’s breaking the silence between him and his sister as they took their direwolves to the creek nearby.

“Just being friendly with an alley.” Y/n tells him not even looking up from the creek as she answered her brother. She didn’t want to see the look she knew would be on his face.

“You like him.” Cregon stated his thoughts on their closeness, after all he knew his sister better than anyone else.

“Cre-”

“It’s fine with me. I like him, he’s a good man.” he interrupted her.

“Nothing will ever happen.” She shook her head glancing at him. She expected a different reaction from him but she shouldn't be surprised he was always supportive of her and wanted her to be happy in life.

“Why won’t you let yourself be happy?” It broke his heart to watch his sister do this to herself. 

“He’s betrothed.” Y/n turned to look at him & before she could get any more emotional she looked away and shook her head. “Nothing will ever happen.” 

“Fuck.” Cregon sighed, something always stood in Y/n’s way and it really angered him sometimes.

“It can’t go anywhere but friendship.” Y/n stated effectively ending the conversation. Turning back to look at her reflection in the creek's water. She did not want to let this affect her, it was never a possibility to begin with so why did she let herself get so attached to begin with.

^     ^     ^

“It has been a pleasure staying here. Thank you for your hospitality.” Jacaerys thanked as he got ready to leave back to Dragonstone.

“It was our pleasure. We’ll be ready when the time comes.” Cregon held his arm out.

“The crown appreciates your loyalty.” Jace shook forearms with Cregon sending their deal. Their loyalty.

“Always.” Cregon smiled before walking far enough away to give the prince and his sister some privacy.

“I’ll miss you.” Jacaerys broke the silence between them first.

“I’ll miss you too, you’ve become a great friend. Prince Jacaerys.” Y/n gives him her best smile she could given the circumstances.

“Y/n-” He tries to speak out, not liking the fact that she called him only a friend.

“Jace. This, us. It can’t go anywhere. You're betrothed, and that’s all there is to it.” Y/n tell’s him what they both know to be true. Even if they wished differently. But they couldn’t stand in the way of their duties.

“I will talk to my mother. I promise.” Jacaerys wanted to keep what they had going, he didn’t mean to fall in love with her on his visit but he did. He admired that she was trying to keep thing’s respectable. Let him go even if it hurts her.

“Don’t promise that. Don’t give out false hope.” Y/n shook her head with tears filling her eyes, but she would not let them fall. At least not till she was alone.

“I promise. I really do.” he did not want her to give up on them, on what they felt growing between the two of them. But even he knew there was a slim chance.

“It was nice meeting you Prince Jacaerys.” Y/n gave the best smile she could muster at him. It was obvious she was trying to distance herself emotionally.

It was clear to Jace that she wouldn’t change her mind without proof they could be together. Jacaerys was determined to talk to his mother about this once he got back. He had to try.

Taglist:

@padawancat97 @maryvibess @misspendragonsworld @gruffle1

@starkleila

[cregnstark]

hiiii so this is a little tidbit from a much larger cregan stark fic i’ve been slaving away at. not sure where exactly this scene will ultimately end up in the finished piece but i just wanted to share since i’ve been promising my writing and thus far neglecting you all. lmk what you think! ‹𝟹 ― cregnstark

“Is this what has become of our great house? Whoring our women out to flea-ridden dogs in The North?” Aemond’s intrusion came with no knock or announcement, simply pushing his way through the grand oak door, letting it slam against the wall before a guard rushed to close it behind the prince.

The queen and her lord father, The Hand, jumped at the sudden bang upon the prince’s entrance into the otherwise peaceful and empty room.

“Aemond. We were just fashioning to summon you.” Alicent stood quickly to greet her son, reaching forth to him as his mother, as she had dozens of times throughout their shared life together.

He did not reciprocate the gesture.

“For naught. The whole of the keep is bustling with the thrilling news,” He locked eyes with his grandsire, Otto Hightower, but only for a moment before moving past his mother towards the balcony at the window. “Why has this been allowed? Why has she who was promised to me being sanctioned to wed the Lord Stark?”

“It was not of our control, Aemond,” Otto answered for the queen, looking to quell his grandson’s anger before it turned violent, as it was likely to since claiming Vhagar some years prior. “The King has dwelled upon the histories and legacies for many a year. There has been no Targaryen and Stark marriage in recorded time. Viserys was more than delighted to bless this match; the first of its kind.”

Otto Hightower looking to be the optimist amongst them. Otto Hightower looking to take control of the situation.

“And what happens when his offspring attempt to lay claim to our birthright? We just allow wolves to become dragonlords, hm?” Prince Aemond turned on his heel, taking large strides toward his mother and grandfather where they stood at the small council’s table.

His shouldered were squared and his firsts curled in on themselves at his side, knuckles almost white. He looked ever the force of fury as he often was these days. Alicent’s babe, her boy ― now a man grown, with his own achievements and attitude; driven by a powerful energy she did not always understand.

“The King has led no indication that any children they have would be given dragon eggs to cradle. Nor is there a reason to believe they would hatch either.” She attempted to soothe her son’s concerns, unsuccessfully.

“She was promised to me, mother. It is the principle.” Aemond sneered, almost hissing like the dragon his blood made him to be. This was more than just anger at a Targaryen women marrying outside their own house, as was very uncommon to begin with; no, this was a personal matter. Aemond One-Eye had been personally slighted. What was once promised his to stake claim to was now that of another man’s.

“We will make a good match for you, my love. Forge a strong alliance for our house and the realm.”

“Our children would have been the true Targaryens, like Aegon and Helaena’s. Purest blood of the dragon. Now that of Old Valyria is to be gifted to a Northman under silver cloche. Viserys has long been weak against the wishes of his daughters and it is repugnant that he not only granted her this wish but is celebrating it.”

In that, Alicent could not disagree.

[foone]

I want a human zoology textbook.

Zoology, as in the study of animals. Like, a study of how humans work, done by an author that is not human.

I specifically want this for a couple reasons:

1. Descriptive, not prescriptive: don't tell me what the author thinks humans should do or how they should be. Tell me what they do. Observationally!

2. No bias towards "nature". I don't particularly care what the author is imagining humans are like in some "garden of eden" unfallen state. I want it to reference how humans ARE.

3. No morality applied to this! What do humans DO, not what you think they should do, or how they should be. And most importantly, no self-censorship in order to avoid offending some of the humans that disagree with ways people live.

And the reason I want this is because of how biology textbooks/wiki pages get written, where even if they try to be progressive they're still written from this weird perspective where they're explaining based on old ideas and the progressive stuff gets a footnote.

Like it'll be "humans have two genders, male and female. This is determined from their chromosomes, XY for male and xx for female."

And then you scroll past two pages for men and another two pages for women, and then it has one subsection that covers non-binary people and intersex people. And it's like: well then integrate that into your main statement!

It's like the author's worldview is still "there's two genders and everyone is born as one" but they've been forced to accept there are some weird exceptions but the core worldview is unchanged. And it's understandable! Wrong, but understandable: the grew up in a world that is quite strong on the "there are only two genders" ideology and doesn't like to remember that intersex people exist.

But like, imagine if you tried to do this as a zoologist. You're like "hey, all bees are female!" and then someone points out the rare male drones and they're like "oh okay I'll update my zoology textbook."

And now it reads:

All bees are female. Most are workers, and one is the queen.

(a couple sections go pass)

Drones: recent science has discovered that some bees are born male. These rare exceptions live short lives where they fertilize a queen and then die.

And it's like, no? Drones are very important to how a hive lives and they can't survive without them?

And we're constantly doing the same thing to humans and it's just bad science. Like, sure, maybe you could have the theory that "humans come in two genders: male and female" but as soon as you see one non-binary person, you have to discard that theory: it has been proven false! It's like not believing in other galaxies after Henrietta Swan Leavitt figured out how Cepheid Variables worked.

Add to that the "nature" thing. Like, you can make a sort of argument about nature vs artificial settings for a lot of species: the whole alpha/beta wolf thing came about because it turns out wolves act differently in captivity compared to the wild, so it makes sense to study how the vast majority of wolves live, not a small group you stuffed into a small area with unusual conditions. It's like saying the lifespan of goldfish is under 5 minutes, based on your study of them in this dry box you put them in.

But humans are different: we are tool-users who build new environments for ourselves. And while you can talk about how humans living in different environments act differently, it doesn't make a lot of sense to call one of them "artificial". All of them are made by us, and humans always do this. This means all environments are natural (because building environments for ourselves is what we naturally do) and all environments are artificial: we always alter our environments to better suit us! That's one of the things we naturally do!

And as for morality, it's about not ignoring things humans do regularly because you think it's weird or you think they shouldn't.

Like that tweet where someone pointed out that lots of species can change gender. Clown fish are a big one, some frogs, a couple birds, some lizards, and humans.

And people often have an immediate knee-jerk reaction of "that doesn't count!" for the last entity in that list. Why? Because we do it (usually) with clothes and makeup and medication, instead of just "naturally"? Bullshit. We're naturally TOOL USERS. Of course we use tools to change gender. We use tools to do EVERYTHING. That's natural for us.

So yeah. I think it'd be refreshing and enlightening to have a zoology textbook written about humans with this detached non-human perspective. An unbiased description of what humans are and do, rather than one irrevocably tinged with ideas of what humans should be and should do.

Basically I want to load up Vulcan Wikipedia and check the "Humans" article.

[rainyreading]

can we get a 3some with theo and draco🫠🫠 there's not many of these but i need more

Two is Better Than One

Draco Malfoy x Reader x Theodore Nott

wc: 1,900

warnings: smut, threesome 18+

a/n: no because I love draco and theo together thank you so much for requesting i’m already working on another one with them in it ;)

requests open

Draco had a problem. He thought you were completely and utterly irresistible. He would look at you at the breakfast table and think you’re breathtaking. In his mind he would think what it would be like to have sex with you. He thinks it would probably be like heaven. Right now he was stuck in the friend zone and he desperately wanted to get out of it.

Little did Draco know Theo felt the same way. The three of you were actually really good friends. You were really close. Sometimes it looked like the three of you were more than friends. But no one really questioned it. It seemed really natural. The three of you were in your own little world.

The green and silver breakfast table was buzzing on a Tuesday morning. Everyone was chatting about the slytherin party that was taking place tonight. Everyone was wondering who was going and what everyone was wearing. You didn’t know about the party until you arrived at the breakfast table late as usual.

“Hey guys what did I miss?” You asked as you sat down next to Pansy, across from Draco.

“Nothing really we are just talking about the party tonight,” Theo chimed in.

“Oooh fun, is everyone going?”

“Yeah I think so,” Pansy answered.

Draco stepped on your foot under the table and you looked down to see him trying to play footsie with you. You playfully kicked him in the shin back, which earned you a smile and half a laugh. Draco stepped on your other foot and you quickly stepped on his. This went on for a while back and forth until the both of you started kicking each other.

“Okay truce,” you begged.

“Fine,” Draco responded.

“Will you be attending the party Y/N?” Theo asked.

“Most likely.”

“Good.” Theo smiled, “Won’t be nearly as fun if you’re not there.”

You smiled, “Aw you’re sweet.”

☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆

The party was in full swing. Draco and Theo were draped lazily on one of the couches. Theo was smoking a cigarette and Draco was people watching. What they didn’t expect is to see you in a tight dress descending the stairs. You looked hot as fuck and Draco and Theo were practically drooling.

You were intrigued with the way the slytherin boys were watching you so you made your way over to Draco and Theo. When you arrived at the couches they were looking you up and down and it made butterflies flutter in your stomach.

“Hey Y/N.” Draco started.

“You look great bella,” Theo commented.

“More than great,” Draco added.

“Do you want to dance with me Draco?” You asked.

“I don’t dance.”

“Come on, please,” You pouted.

“Fine.”

You and Draco made your way to the center of the room. There was lots of sweaty people dancing. You threw your arms around Draco’s neck and swayed your hips to the music. Draco planted his hands on your hips.

The two of you danced for a while. Then Draco leaned down and brushed his lips over yours. You were looking into his grey eyes and saw lust in them. “Is this okay?” Draco asked for your permission to kiss you. “Kiss me please,” you begged.

Draco smashed his lips onto yours in a hungry kiss. You were both making out and then you needed to breathe so you pulled away. Next thing you know Theo came up behind you. “Couldn’t resist you cara mia,” he says whispering in your ear. You push your ass back against his crotch and grind into him.

Theo let out a low groan. Draco was in front of you and Theo was behind you. Theo started to kiss your neck, you moved your head and tilted it to the side to give him more access. Draco was smirking and continuing dancing with you.

Draco and Theo were looking at you like hungry wolves. There was an unspoken energy between the three of you. It was like you all wanted to tear each other’s clothes off.

“Why don’t we go upstairs and have a little fun,” Theo suggested.

Draco took your hand and led you upstairs, Theo following closely behind. The three of you made it to Draco’s private prefect dorm. Theo locked the door behind him and casted a silencing charm over the room.

“Do you want us?” Theo asked.

“Yes,” you confirmed.

Theo kissed you on the mouth, tasting you and crushing your lips together. The kiss was heated. As he kissed you he walked you over to the bed. You lay in the middle and Theo was on one side of you and Draco was on the other. Draco started to leave dark purple marks on your neck and chest.

“Let’s get these clothes off,” Draco told you.

“Sit up for me love,” Draco guided you.

You did as you were told. Draco unzipped your dress on the back. You weren’t wearing a bra so your tits spilled out. You slithered out of the dress leaving you in your panties. “So fucking beautiful,” Theo complemented in your ear.

Theo leaned down and took one of your breasts in his mouth. He massaged the other one with his calloused hand. You bit your lip to keep from moaning. Draco touched your cunt over your panties feeling your arousal on the fabric. “Fuck, you’re soaked,” Draco hissed.

“I want to see you guys,” you whined.

Draco and Theo both chuckled. Draco took off his shirt and so did Theo. You gaped at them. Their toned abs illuminated in the light. Theo went to your other breast to suck on. You were getting impatient. You were so turned on. Draco asked, “what do you want?”

“Want your fingers please, touch me please,” you begged.

Draco rested his hand on your thigh. “This okay?” “Mmhm.” “Can I?” Draco asked referring to taking off your panties. “Yes,” you answered. Draco discarded your underwear and inserted a finger into your dripping hole. The feeling of his digit in you felt good and you finally felt some relief.

Draco added another finger. He trusted his fingers in and out. Theo kept his attention on your tits. Draco curled his fingers to hit that spongey spot inside you. You were getting close. “I can feel you squeezing the life out of me,” Draco drawled.

“More please,” you begged.

“More? You greedy girl.”

Draco stopped his movements and you let out a whine because you were so close to coming and it was ripped away from you.

Theo was looking at your cunt and you felt shy. “Draco please tell me you’re gonna let me fuck this pretty pussy,” Theo exclaimed.

“I guess, she’s gonna suck my cock then.”

“You don’t know how long I’ve wanted this,” Theo huskily spoke.

You let out a whimper. Theo unbuckled his pants and Draco followed suit. They both stripped themselves of their boxers. Their painfully hard cocks sprang free. You were wondering how they were gonna fit because of their size.

“Get on your hands and knees for me bella,” Theo ordered.

You did as you were told and you felt the tip of Theo’s cock swipe through your folds. “You gonna be a good girl and suck my cock?” Draco asked. “Mmhmm.”

Draco pumped his cock a few times with his hand and put the tip of it on your lips. Theo let out a loud groan as he slid into you from behind. You felt him enter you and you hissed at the stretch.

Theo was in heaven. He couldn’t believe it. “You’re squeezing me so tight cara mia,” he growled.

“Open up sweetheart,” Draco ordered.

Draco put his cock past your lips, you used your tongue to lick the tip. Draco moaned at the sensation. You took him in your mouth carefully. Then you took one hand and held the rest that didn’t fit in your mouth. You were balancing on one hand.

You started bobbing your head up and down on Draco’s length. Theo set a brutal pace. The pleasure was overwhelming for all three of you. Your walls clenched around Theo’s cock and he felt euphoric. Theo pulled out just to slam back in. He was gripping your hips harshly, you were sure there would be bruises there later.

“Fuck, you’re taking me so well,” Draco praised.

You let out a loud moan when Theo hit a particularly deep part inside you. “It’s like you were made for me,” Theo purred.

You sucked Draco’s cock skillfully. He wasn’t going to last long. Your mouth was warm and wet, it felt so good. Draco reached around and grabbed your hair. He used that as leverage to fuck your mouth.

Theo was thrusting harshly and you felt yourself getting closer to your release. Draco was rough but you felt his cock twitch in your mouth signaling he was close.

“Gonna let me come down your throat?” Draco panted.

You nodded best you could with his cock in your mouth. Draco spilled his cum in your mouth and you swallowed every drop. You stuck your tongue out to show him you swallowed it all.

“Gonna cum bella,” Theo hissed.

“Cum inside me please, need it,” you begged.

“Hey no fair, next time i’m fucking her pussy,” Draco ordered.

Theo filled you up with his cum and your own orgasm washed over you. You felt like your body was floating. You were tingly all over. Theo fucked you through both your orgasms. When Theo pulled out you whimpered.

You collapsed on the bed, and curled up in between Draco and Theo. The three of you snuggled together catching your breaths. Draco rubbed your back and Theo stroked your hair. Your legs were intertwined.

“Wanna take a bath love?” Draco asked.

“Only if you carry me,” you responded.

“I’ll start the bath,” Theo explained. Theo got up and turned the bath water on. He waited for the water to get hot and then put the plug in the drain. Hot water soon filled the big bathtub and Theo added some bubble bath.

“It’s ready!” Theo got in himself. Draco untangled himself from you and threw on some grey sweats. He picked you up bridal style and carried you to the tub.

The hot water felt amazing on your skin. Theo drew circles on your thighs underwater. Draco took his time and washed your hair for you from outside the bath.

When the water started to get cold the two of you got out of the bath. Draco gave you one of his shirts and a pair of clean boxers to wear. The three of you got back in bed.

Your mind was still a little fuzzy but you thought about what had just happened and how you didn’t want it to end. So there was a burning question you wanted to ask. You took a deep breath and asked, “What if we all date each other?”

“What do you mean?”

“I want to be with both of you. You would be my boyfriends and you two would have one girlfriend and one boyfriend,” you explained.

“If that’s what you want, how can I say no to you,” Draco replied.

“I’d love to,” Theo told you.

“Yay!” you clapped.

Before you drifted off to sleep you herd a faint voice say sweet dreams. Which was funny because Draco’s and Theo’s dreams finally came true.