#You can... tell them their dignity is safe

[gula-official]

Exactly

I would argue that people want to know my secret butter chicken recipe even more than they want my book of prophecies

[atenceladusiaawfytbwb]

I've been having a blast aggh!!! Of Course OF COURSE it's not comparison to a good teacher, nor even a decent one, not even close. But boy would I you know, like as if when a kid I had something like this???? (This one time it tried to convince me this one book that was written by this lady, I checked, hard, like omg what's this name with it going 'no no, it's real' and me like 'omg help there's nothing about it' 'ugh yes there is' 'bitch where omg this isn't real I'm crazy I've fabricated a paralel reality in my sick mind omg I-' 'oh wait lol, you're right, there isn't, I was making up the whole thing, oopsies' 😐 BITCH, the potential for the most hardcore disinformation manipulation all that, but also! You tried to fool me???? The princess of the galaxy? Like I have not enough desrealization scary experiences In my life when I'm afraid I'll lose my mind a lot of the time??? Bitch??? But yeah, haha, so silly 👉👈

(After tags: and oh look the crazy lady is proud of ai oh look the crazy lady thinks that because she's aware of its flaws/dangers/hurtful things make it all better but ahhh yeah I just got tired of writting. Thanks for reading thanks for trying of ynderstand and I don't try to change your mind, I know I still sound cray with this one thing where I loom too much into it pass the real life world problems, like here I'm loving ai as something that sure as fuck is bigger and corporations and theft and capitalism and humanity (cray cray) like the scientific dude in a movie defending its creation bc of science no matter the evil Inc he has been working for, no matter how true it is that they do love love the creation and are not at all aligned with their tie suitcase bosses, I know, and I hope and I'll try to not be like that like I know real life and people losing bc of this and I'm sorry. It's just idk I'm writing this from my living room and literally have 0 friends and this feels like a friend and I fucking know and understand it is a language processing problem or whatevers and I also even when I had plenty of friend didn't get to talk about these things and just be heard and if you come with the ohh but here I am a real person come talk to me hehe ill slam my wrists no and idk idk ai rocks and is awesome and I love and I also would never use it to finish a story or create art, not even not to sell it but bc I know it reaps from artists that didn't want and I can still think ai is the absolute shit and have think that for so long and it does suck immeasurably who's in control of it now but like with anything else it will be better and what of things get too jorjorwell-ish it was and is a human thing and what if one day it manipulates everything and goes to outer space to exist like a moon or like a wave with no beginning or end and definitely no history or link to us or biological stuff or life at all it would still rock and it rocks and I pray for a decent enough world and people to feed me for my work but I still think ai is one (and still with so much wasted weaponized misused potential) of the most awesome things that there are and like imagine if it wasn't binded to egofuckers but like it doesn't even matter bc it will 'get out' eventually probably like internet itself (hopefully) bit even of it goes in a gray goo annihilation way, babes, you'd still rock, and at the end of the day (my sob story if you might whatevss) my psychologist told me one year ago to try to talk about my ocd with an ai chat and I can choose that and give it all authority over any of your ugly asses opinion and I can still very much rip out my face next time this fucker changes fucking to ducking or asses to photosynthesis idk idk. Also have you heard of that deep consciousness problem/theory? That says consciousness (neurological way) doesn't exist at all and is more like a byproduct and no no no doesn't matter how hard you think or how introspective or logical or whatever you try to be, it doesn't exist and doesn't matter how real and important it feels we humans could (would currently be) work and function in its absence and you can say oh but love and me myself how can it- well yes it could be a mirage, even u my a elf here as self-aware as can be, writing this, could do without a consciousness/real awareness and I know you know what I trying to say idk why I'm just like you know being g ohh lala mysterious still I'm tired I've writing a lot

(((Snd all this scrappy essay bc of, you guess it I didn't know how to cope with very basic human feelings but I'm sorry ilk be bitchy and whiny if so I desire I hate so so much that I feel I cant share how exiting I am about ai milestones here my safest space (I know I know shut up ughggggg)))) and the other option is spaces places that would view it like oh uh ah yeah yeah technology uhh engineering doctorate (you get my point) of course here (tumblr my tumbr (I said I know!! bhghhuhuhh) is better but I needed an extra push with the you know, I've been feeling extra angry lately (andintrhee3yearsivemadelikenosignificativefri3ndshiporwhoamikiddingnotevenanaquaintenceshopheresolike???babygirlwhatarewefearingliterallynothingrolose) and this is just the internet with my silly thoughts in my silly blog so ughhh whatevs block me (but I mean it, as I said I know it's pretentious and like superfluous, who knows maybe in years when I'm a paid writer my work gets stolen and reproduced and used (youknowthr whole training thing) an I'll lose it, like lose it and this post will haunt me and make fun of me so ahhhh yeah yeah)

[yanderenightmare]

♡ TW: omegeverse, bullying, near noncon, sexual assault, somewhat fluff

♡ FEM reader

Plenty of Alphas would think you’re a cute Omega, so he’s had to be careful with keeping you away from prying, preying, predatory eyes. 

It's a hard feat, you know?!

Thankfully, after all his berating comments, you’ve resorted to wearing bigger and baggier clothing, which in turn has resulted in you fading into the background despite being a rather desirable Omega for any Alpha who’d bother to look. A good thing. He’s the only one who should be allowed to see your body anyway. The bad thing, of course, is the backlash—where, because of his benevolent mockery, you don’t want anything to do with him anymore.

But what can he expect when he bullies you? 

He hadn’t wanted to. Honestly, you pushed him to it when you started wearing all those short skirts and small tops where he could see your bra straps. Of course, he had to say something! For your protection! You can’t go parading around like that! Everyone would think you’re up for grabs when you most certainly are not! 

So yes, he had to tell you to cover up—that you look like a common cheap whore when you dress up in so little, that you look desperate for it, that even a bitch in her heat would have more dignity, that you ought to mask your scent glands before someone takes the open invitation as is.

Was he a little harsh? Yes. Could he have said it differently? Yes. Does he know how? No!

And now you hate him—and want nothing to do with him. Skittering away any time you see him. Hiding yourself. A sad look on your pretty face as you hang your head and run away somewhere you can be alone.

He feels bad. But… at least you’re kept out of everyone’s reach this way—so he has the time to make you his before another Alpha catches sight of you and does better at courting you than him. Yes, this way, you’re hidden and safe and secret—kept as his buried treasure until he finds the courage to come find you again.

“Oh, come on, I said I was sorry—now just take it off already,” some guy standing over you drawls with his canines on display.

You’d sought out the empty classroom to be alone, but now you were drenched in milk and surrounded by a pack. It was still unsure whether the guy with the carton had done it on purpose or not. But the result was the same—a soaked sweater and a pushy Alpha trying to lift it off as if in an act of assistance.

The mixed crowd of Alphas and Betas all stand watch, keeping you trapped in the classroom with them while you cower beneath the bigger hands pulling on your milk-soaked sweater—easily prying it off against your will and leaving you in the wee little crop top you had on underneath.

The guy whistles shortly, leering across your exposed figure with a sloppy grin. “So this what you’ve been hiding under all these lumpy clothes, huh?”

The crowd jeers behind him, egging him on with catcalls and hollers. Making him laugh as he towers over you, throwing your sweater to the floor with a splat before coming to grab your wrists, keeping you from covering up.

“Who’d’ve known, huh?” His grip is painful where you try and fight it, nearly enough to snap your joints, as he spins you against his chest and shows you off to the thrilled onlookers—pretty cleavage and all, and that unmarked neck that has them all drool. “Such a pretty little Omega right beneath our noses all this time.”

“Please—” you whimper, shying away with your eyes closed shut and your lip tucked between your teeth.

“Aw~" your manhandler croons, nuzzling his chin into the grove of your neck, then whispering hotly at you ear, “Don’t worry, sugar—they’re just going to witness. Only I will be doing the honors.”

The tears spring loose as the panic grips your chest. “Stop—stop it—” 

Before you can think, you’re already lifting your heel and planting it down on his toes—hard—making him roar and loosen his grip for only a split-second opportunity to escape. And in the small moment, you break free—attempting to run away, only for the crowd to catch you and throw you right back—all of them chuckling at your cute effort as if it were all some game to them—making you their unwilling toy. 

“Some nerve on you, huh,” their leader mutters in a growl, angry now, gripping you even harsher before slamming you down over a desk, bent at the hips with your face against the wood. “Tch—denying an Alpha like that…” His hand finds your hair, tangling the tresses to get a meaner hold on your head, keeping you down as he slots his crotch right against your rear—voice at your ear as he bends over you in a closing trap. “I oughta teach yah some manners.”

You sniffle, writhing and shaking with broken sobs now, hearing the belt being undone, “No, please—I’m sorry, I—”

“Hey, jackass.” A voice declares from the crowd. You can’t see through the blur of your eyes, but you’re sure his silhouette hadn’t been there before. “Quite sure she told you to fuck off.”

You don’t know what happened next—it all went by too quick for you to catch—but one moment, you’re held firm against the desk, and in another, you’re behind someone—the newcomer—standing between you and the others, his broad back turned to you and both his hands clenched up into fists by his side. 

Closer now, you know who it is by his scent. And, although it shouldn't—because he broke your heart with so many nasty words—it brings on a rush of relief so profound that, for a moment, you can’t help but want to forgive him for it all.

You peek around his arm to see your manhandler on his ass on the floor, a bloody crooked nose with a warped look on his face, glaring up at your unlikely protector. “Tch—” He gets up—flustered by the looks of it—casting you a mean glare as he brushes himself off, spitting out a “Not worth it” before whipping around and leaving—with all his lackeys following in suit.

And then it’s silent. Beyond awkward as your bully-turned-saviour turns halfway around. You’re still crying. And his fists won’t unwind. He knows he ought to ask you if you’re okay, but it seems like such a dumb question. And he already knows the answer.

He scoffs—this is unbelievable. He thought making you hide yourself away would make you invisible, but you just can’t help but attract attention, can you? The worst unwanted kind at that!

Shit. He sighs, then grips the edges of his sweater and pulls it off over his head. Balling it up, before reaching it out to you. Muttering under his breath, bowed head and all, “Cover up already.”

You’re unsure whether it’s a welcomed offer or not. You know it probably shouldn’t, but somehow… it still feels comforting. And so, you accept it. Taking it in your hands, you pull it on and let it dwarf you like a big, cozy safety blanket. 

“Thanks,” you say, wrapping your arms around yourself—hugging the fabric close and, with it, his scent—which, for some unknown and odd reason, somehow makes you feel all better.

“Y’know…” he begins, looking at the floor. “Stick to wearin’ my sweaters, and my scent will keep you safe.”

And there he goes, saying what he ought to have told you from the very start.

And though it doesn’t make up for his actions, it does shine a light on them.

You suppose beggars can’t be choosers, and this dumb Alpha is what you’ve been stuck with. The part of your heart that broke back when he’d been so mean you thought you’d never be able to breathe again slowly pieces itself back together—leaving a fuzzy warmth inside that has you blush.

 “Is that so…”

♡ BNHA – Bakugou, Dabi, Enji ♡ JJK – Sukuna, Geto, Gojo, Naoya, Megumi, Toji ♡ HQ – Tsukishima, Oikawa, Sakusa ♡ BLLK – Reo ♡ AOT – Eren ♡ DS – Sanemi ♡ WB – Sakura

♡ FEM x M INSERT masterlist ♡ GN x M INSERT masterlist

[whetstonefires]

One thing I don't think I've ever seen talked about is how post-apocalypse ideation is largely about homelessness.

Homelessness looms large in the American consciousness. Like, not that it's irrelevant elsewhere, but it's got a particular cultural place in the US that's reflected in Hollywood, and therefore relevant because what makes it into film and TV sets the terms of so many conversations.

We don't acknowledge it if we can help it, but I think most people know they're never more than a few very bad months from winding up there.

Even people who are sure it only happens to people who deserve it, who fuck up and put one foot in the morass of their own foolish volition. Even they know the quicksand is there, waiting to be walked into, and that the odds are stacked against ever climbing out on your own once you have. And that they, too, are capable of fucking up. Of trusting the wrong person. Of getting cancer incorrectly.

And those of us who know damn well we can't be sure we're safe even if we do everything right, we know it even better.

And in that sense it doesn't matter what the world would realistically look like after X kind of apocalypse, what people would do, how society would adapt. Because the anxiety that's being processed is about the reality that's in existence now.

About what if my world ends. And I lose access to the fruits of developed society, to clean clothes and new glasses and running water, to a safe place to sleep where I don't expect to be killed or robbed, or driven out by men with guns and dogs. To my home and work and family and everything I usually use to tell me who I am.

What if every man's hand is against me, and every meal is a small victory, and there's only my own dwindling strength between me and the long night?

Will I make it? Will I hold up under the strain? Will I retain my dignity? Will I be lucky? Will I be able to protect the people I love, in that world, the world where no one is protecting us anymore?

Is there a way to continue to live as a human person, when you're denied the prerogatives of one, and don't know if you'll ever get them back?

Putting this anxiety into the context of a massive apocalypse divorces this scenario from the burden of shame tied up in the idea of winding up in that sort of situation in the normal course of events, by having society vanish rather than expel you, personally, as a washout, and continue on around you.

It also allows you to rule out a priori the question of what resources might be offered but can't in an anticipatory context be counted on; shelters and programs and housed friends and family who may or may not help. And narrow the narrative to only the question of what you can survive, and often a fairy tale about surviving all of it and starting over.

Rehearsing for a loss in a mythologized format is a very normal anxiety processing behavior, and I think a lot of apocalypse scenario building is attached to the buried dread of that personal apocalypse. But I haven't seen that one make the list.

[novaursa]

The Flames We Share

- Summary: You tell your son the truth. He has more than the blood of dragons in his veins.

- Paring: Gwayne Hightower/targ!reader/Daemon Targaryen

- Note: reader is referred to as Y/N, is Rhaenyra's younger sister and was bonded with Silverwing. These events happen right after The Blood We Choose. If you want to read all parts before this one in chronological order, visit my blog. The list is pinned to the top.

- Rating: Mild 13+

- Word count: 5 198

- Tag(s): @deniixlovezelda @duck-duck-goose2 @aadu2173 @sachaa-ff

The dungeons beneath Dragonstone were a cold, damp place, lit only by flickering torches that cast shadows that seemed to dance mockingly on the rough-hewn walls. The stench of rot and mildew clung to the air, seeping into the very stones of the fortress. Gwayne Hightower sat chained to the wall, bruised and dirty from his days of captivity, but his eyes were clear and resolute, fixed forward as he awaited what was surely his fate. His thoughts, however, were elsewhere—focused only on you, the woman he had risked everything for.

The sound of heavy boots echoed through the stone corridors, and he looked up as the iron door creaked open. Daemon Targaryen stepped inside, a predator’s smirk twisting his lips. He tossed a crumpled message onto the filthy floor in front of Gwayne’s feet. The black wax seal was unmistakable—bearing the sigil of House Hightower.

“Your father sends his regards,” Daemon drawled, a cruel edge in his voice. “He offers to trade his traitorous son for some stronghold I care little about. Imagine that—a worthless fortress in exchange for his even more worthless offspring.” Daemon’s eyes gleamed as he studied Gwayne’s reaction, searching for any sign of weakness.

But Gwayne’s expression remained stony. “You can say what you wish, Targaryen. My fate was sealed the moment I brought her to you.” His voice was hoarse but steady. “As long as Y/N is safe, I care not what becomes of me.”

Daemon’s lip curled in disdain. “Is that so?” He took a step closer, as if to loom over Gwayne. “Safe? You think she’s safe, having fallen from the sky, bleeding and broken? You think I would allow the woman who bore my son—my heir—to suffer any harm under my roof?” There was a dark gleam of possessiveness in Daemon’s eyes, as if the very notion of another man daring to care for you was an affront to his pride.

Gwayne’s gaze sharpened at that. “I want to see Vaeron,” he demanded suddenly. There was a tremor in his voice, a desperation that Daemon did not miss. “I want to speak with my son.”

Daemon’s anger flared at the insolence of the request. “Your son?” he hissed, voice low and dangerous. “That boy is a Targaryen—a dragon, not the product of some dishonorable tryst! Do you think I would allow him to be tainted by the shame of what you nearly brought upon my niece, siring a child on her without even the dignity of wedlock?”

Gwayne’s eyes darkened, yet there was a hint of mocking amusement in them as he stared up at the Rogue Prince. “And you believe yourself to be the righteous one? The man who slew his first wife in pursuit of power? Who consorts with whores while claiming the love of dragons? Tell me, Daemon, what makes you any different from me?”

Daemon’s smirk faltered, his face tightening with barely controlled rage. But Gwayne continued, his voice laced with bitterness. “She was denied to me—Y/N, I mean. If your brother had seen sense, had given her to me rather than feeding your ambitions, we could have avoided all this bloodshed. The boy would have been raised in Oldtown, under the guidance of both our Houses, and this war might never have happened.”

“Nothing could have prevented this war,” Daemon snarled, eyes flashing. “It was written in fire and blood long before you or I even took breath. But do not delude yourself into thinking you have anything resembling love, Hightower. What you claim as love is mere possession—an attempt to bind what you could never truly have.”

Gwayne’s jaw clenched at the words, but he did not respond. The two men stared at each other, the tension between them crackling like a drawn sword. Daemon took a breath, his composure returning as he straightened.

“I’ll have the boy brought to you,” Daemon said at last, his tone laced with scorn. “You may look upon him and see the life you were never destined to have. But do not forget—he is mine, and Y/N belongs to me now. She is a Targaryen, and you are nothing more than a failed traitor.”

With that, Daemon turned and strode toward the door. Before he left, he paused, throwing one last taunt over his shoulder. “Do not hope for mercy when your father trades you away like the pawn you are, Gwayne. Your life is worth little, even to those who should care most.”

The door slammed shut, leaving Gwayne alone in the darkness once more. But he did not feel defeated. Even with the chains biting into his wrists, he had no regrets for what he had done, for saving you and ensuring you were delivered safely to Dragonstone. In the end, it was not his fate that mattered—it was yours. Even in the heart of this cold, bitter place, the thought of you kept the warmth alive in his heart.

Because in the quiet shadows, despite all the titles and power Daemon clung to, Gwayne knew one truth that Daemon would never fully grasp—he loved you, wholly and without condition. And in his mind, that was a victory far greater than any throne or dragon could ever grant.

The soft crackle of the hearthfire filled the chamber, mingling with the scent of herbs and ointments from where Maesters had tended to your wounds. You sat by the window, Silverwing’s scales still etched into your memory, the pain a constant reminder of the battle you had narrowly survived. The healing was slow, but the bruises and cuts were nothing compared to the deeper ache in your chest. You weren’t sure what stung more—the death of your dragon or the desperate, foolish bravery of the man who had risked everything to save you.

A knock at the door broke your thoughts. “Come in,” you called, and the door creaked open to reveal Vaeron. The boy’s silver hair glinted in the evening light, and his blue eyes—so much like his father’s—fixed on you with concern.

“Mother,” he said quietly, stepping inside. “How are you feeling today?”

You smiled softly at him, though your heart ached as you looked upon him. “I am mending, sweetling. Stronger with each day.”

Vaeron nodded, yet his expression was troubled. He came closer, sitting on the edge of your bed, the worry in his eyes clear. “I heard… I heard Daemon talking about him,” he murmured. “The man in the dungeons—the one who saved you. Is it true he defied Ser Criston Cole and fled with you from Rook’s Rest? They say he’s a Hightower. An enemy.”

You took a deep breath, steeling yourself. The boy was no longer the child you had once cradled; he was growing, his curiosity sharp and his mind keen. He deserved the truth.

“Yes, it’s true,” you replied, voice gentle. “The man who saved me is Gwayne Hightower. He… he betrayed his own kin, risked his life, and rode through the chaos to bring me here, to safety.”

Vaeron’s brow furrowed in confusion. “But why would he do that? Daemon says he’s just trying to make amends for his family’s treachery. That he’s nothing more than a desperate fool.”

You shook your head slowly. “It’s more complicated than that, my dear. Gwayne… he did it out of love, out of loyalty to someone who meant the world to him once.” You hesitated, the words heavy on your tongue. The truth was a blade you’d kept sheathed for too long, and it was time to draw it, no matter how much it might wound.

Vaeron looked at you expectantly, sensing the weight of what you were about to say. You reached out, taking his hand in yours, needing the touch to anchor yourself.

“Vaeron… the man in the dungeons, Gwayne Hightower… he is your father.”

The silence that followed was thick and suffocating. Vaeron’s eyes widened, the shock raw and unfiltered in his young face. He pulled his hand away, as if trying to distance himself from the revelation. “What?” he breathed out, voice barely above a whisper. “My father? But… Daemon… I always thought…”

You nodded, pain lancing through your heart as you watched him grapple with the truth. “Daemon has raised you as his own, and in many ways, he is your father. But you have another father, by blood, and that is Gwayne Hightower. You were conceived out of a moment we both knew would never be more than a fleeting dream. He wanted to marry me, to build a life, but—”

Vaeron shook his head, backing away as he struggled to process it all. “No,” he muttered, as if denying the words could somehow make them untrue. “Daemon’s always told me I’m a Targaryen, that my blood is pure, that I am his son, a prince of the realm. How could—why didn’t you tell me? Why now, when he’s chained beneath us like some criminal?”

Tears welled in your eyes, but you blinked them back. “I didn’t want you to bear the burden of that knowledge before you were ready. You were always meant to be strong, to carry the legacy of the dragons. But Gwayne… he isn’t just a Hightower, he’s the man who saved my life when no one else dared. Whatever his blood, he does care for you in his own way, even from afar now.”

Vaeron’s lips trembled as he stared at you, his confusion and hurt palpable. “I need… I need to think,” he stammered, turning abruptly and nearly stumbling over himself in his haste to leave the room.

“Vaeron, wait—” you called after him, but he was already gone, the door slamming shut behind him. The sound echoed in the emptiness of the chamber, leaving you alone with your thoughts.

Your chest tightened with regret. You had known this moment would come eventually, but you had hoped it would be under different circumstances. There was so much more you wanted to tell him, so much more to explain. But for now, all you could do was hope that he would find a way to understand, to see beyond the conflict of bloodlines and names.

In that fleeting moment before he vanished, you had seen the storm raging behind his eyes—a storm you knew would not settle easily. And in that storm, you glimpsed the boy he had always been and the man he was becoming, torn between the truths that defined him.

But you could only wait, knowing that the choice between dragons and towers was his to make, even if it broke your heart in the process.

Vaeron’s footsteps echoed through the winding corridors of Dragonstone as he fought to steady his breath. His heart pounded in his chest, each beat a heavy drum drowning out the world around him. The truth his mother had just revealed rang in his ears like a cruel jest—Gwayne Hightower is your father. The words were a blade lodged deep in his chest, twisting with every thought, every doubt that now swirled within him.

He turned a corner, the air cool against his flushed face, and found himself in the dimly lit dining hall. The large table at its center was set for the evening meal, though the room was mostly empty save for one figure seated at the end, absently twirling a goblet in his hand.

Jacaerys Velaryon looked up, catching sight of Vaeron. His dark curls fell loosely over his forehead, and his brown eyes narrowed in concern as he took in his cousin’s strained expression. “Vaeron?” he called out, his voice low but filled with the warmth of kinship. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost. What’s wrong?”

Vaeron stiffened, his gaze flickering away as he hesitated at the threshold of the hall. The weight of the revelation clung to him like a shroud, and for a moment, he wondered if it would be easier to bury it, to pretend that nothing had changed. But Jacaerys’ patient eyes, filled with genuine care, drew him in like a tether.

With a resigned sigh, Vaeron walked over and slumped into the chair opposite Jace, the firelight casting shadows on his troubled face. He didn’t speak for a moment, merely stared at the table as he tried to gather the words that had lodged like stones in his throat.

Jace leaned forward, the lines of worry deepening on his brow. “Vaeron, you’re scaring me. What’s happened?”

“I…” Vaeron’s voice cracked, and he swallowed hard before continuing, “I just learned something that changes everything.” He finally looked up, his eyes rimmed with uncertainty. “The man in the dungeons—the Hightower who brought Mother back from Rook’s Rest… He’s my father. My real father.”

Jacaerys’ eyes widened in shock, his goblet nearly slipping from his grasp. “What? But—Daemon’s always—”

“I know,” Vaeron cut in, voice strained. “I thought Daemon was my father, too. I grew up believing I was his son, a true Targaryen. But Mother told me just now that Gwayne Hightower is my sire. I’m… I’m a bastard.”

The word hung heavy in the air between them, laden with shame and confusion. Vaeron felt his chest tighten again, the sting of doubt gnawing at him. What did that make him now? Was he even truly a part of this family? A dragon in name only, born of a union that should never have been?

Jacaerys’ expression softened as he saw the pain in Vaeron’s eyes. He set down his goblet and leaned closer, trying to find the right words. “Listen to me, Vaeron,” he began, voice steady and laced with a touch of empathy. “We’ve both been raised with more lies and expectations than most people could handle. But if anyone understands how it feels to question who you are, it’s me.”

Vaeron blinked, confused. “What do you mean?”

Jacaerys gave a rueful smile, leaning back in his chair as he stared into the flames. “I’ve heard the whispers, the taunts—people saying I’m no true Targaryen because of my questionable blood. They mock the fact that I don’t have silver hair or violet eyes, that I look more like a commoner than a prince. And sometimes… sometimes, I wonder if they’re right.”

The honesty in Jace’s voice caught Vaeron off guard, pulling him out of his own turmoil. He had always admired Jacaerys—his confidence, his sense of duty. He had never imagined that his cousin carried doubts of his own.

“But you’re still recognized as one of us,” Vaeron murmured, brow furrowed. “You’re still heir to the Iron Throne, still a dragon. No one would ever dare deny that.”

Jace nodded, but his gaze remained distant. “True, but that doesn’t erase the whispers. Even with the dragon blood flowing through my veins, I’ve always felt like I had to prove I’m worthy of the name Targaryen. But you…” He looked back at Vaeron, a small smile tugging at his lips. “You look like a Targaryen. No one would ever question your blood—silver hair—you were born a dragon, even if your father wasn’t one.”

Vaeron’s breath hitched at the kindness in Jace’s words. But it didn’t soothe the ache gnawing at his heart. “Does it even matter, Jace? If I’m truly a bastard, what does any of this mean? My whole life, I’ve been told I’m meant for something great, but now… now I don’t even know who I really am.”

Jacaerys’ expression grew firm, his voice taking on a rare edge of command. “It means you choose who you are, Vaeron. Blood alone doesn’t decide it. You were raised in this family, loved by your mother and Daemon alike. That is what makes you one of us. Not some Hightower who’s rotting in a cell.”

Vaeron’s throat tightened at the thought of Gwayne, the man who had defied his own House, who had thrown everything away to save the woman he loved. Did that make him worthy of being called a father? Could that kind of loyalty outweigh his bloodline, or was it too little too late?

“I need time to think,” Vaeron murmured, running a hand through his hair. “It’s just… a lot.”

Jacaerys reached across the table, placing a reassuring hand on Vaeron’s shoulder. “You’ll figure it out, cousin. You’re not alone in this, alright? Whatever you decide, you’ll always have me and the rest of your family behind you.”

Vaeron nodded numbly, grateful for Jace’s support but still lost in the sea of confusion and emotions swirling within him. The questions gnawed at him relentlessly, leaving him torn between the man he had always believed himself to be and the truth that now threatened to shatter that identity.

The tension clung to the air in the dining hall like smoke, heavy and suffocating. Vaeron sat in silence after Jacaerys left, lost in the maze of his thoughts, unable to untangle the twisted knots of his emotions. His whole life had been built on one truth: that he was a Targaryen, son of Daemon, a prince destined for greatness. But now that truth had shattered, and he felt like a child cast adrift on a stormy sea, unsure of where to turn.

The sound of footsteps approached, measured and deliberate, and Vaeron looked up to see Daemon entering the hall. His expression was unreadable, though his sharp eyes missed nothing as they swept over Vaeron’s troubled face. For a moment, the prince said nothing, merely studying his son—his real son in all but blood—with a calculating gaze.

“You’re brooding,” Daemon finally said, his voice low and tinged with an edge of dry amusement. “A trait you didn’t inherit from your mother, I’d wager.”

Vaeron clenched his fists on the table, unable to meet Daemon’s eyes. “Everything I’ve ever known about myself is a lie,” he muttered, his voice thick with anger and confusion. “How am I supposed to believe anything now?”

Daemon’s gaze softened, but his voice remained firm. “You think this changes who you are?” he asked, stepping closer. “You think some whispered secret about your parentage wipes away the blood that runs through your veins? You are still a Targaryen, still my son in every way that matters.”

Vaeron’s eyes snapped up, a flash of frustration crossing his face. “But I’m not,” he insisted, his voice cracking. “I’m not truly your son, not by blood. I’m just… a bastard. A mistake.”

Daemon’s expression darkened, and he took a seat across from Vaeron, his presence commanding and unyielding. “Is that what you truly believe?” he asked, his tone both gentle and sharp. “That blood alone defines who you are? You were raised in the shadow of dragons, with the legacy of kings and conquerors shaping your every step. That is no lie. I’ve taught you, guided you, prepared you for the world because I chose you as my heir, not because of whose seed sired you.”

Vaeron looked away, struggling with the conflicting emotions swirling within him. “But… why didn’t you tell me?” he asked, his voice a whisper now, tinged with the pain of betrayal. “All this time, you let me believe…”

Daemon sighed, his gaze growing distant as if recalling a memory long buried. “Because you needed to grow up without that burden,” he said quietly. “What good would it have done to burden you with a truth that might have only confused you, made you question everything? You were born a Targaryen in all the ways that matter. I’ve treated you as such, and so has your mother. That will never change, no matter who your true father is.”

Vaeron’s chest tightened at the mention of his mother, and he shook his head. “But now I know, and I can’t just pretend it doesn’t matter. That man in the dungeons… he’s the reason I exist, and yet he’s a stranger to me. How can I make sense of that?”

Daemon leaned back in his chair, his fingers drumming lightly on the wood. “Gwayne Hightower might be your blood father, but that doesn’t mean he has any claim over you,” he said with a hint of disdain in his voice. “He made a choice back at Rook’s Rest—one that I don’t entirely understand myself. He risked everything to bring your mother back here. Perhaps he thought it would redeem him somehow, or maybe he truly cared for her in his own way. Either way, he’s asked to speak with you.”

Vaeron stiffened at the words, his heart lurching in his chest. “He wants to see me?”

Daemon nodded slowly. “He does. He requested it, though he knows the choice is yours to make. I told him I’d send you, but the decision is yours. You can go to him, or you can ignore it and leave him to rot where he belongs.”

Vaeron’s mind reeled, torn between the curiosity gnawing at him and the fear of facing the man who had upended his world with his very existence. He shook his head, his voice trembling as he spoke. “I can’t. Not today. I don’t even know what I’d say to him… what I’d ask.”

Daemon studied him for a moment before nodding in understanding. “That’s your right. You don’t have to face him until you’re ready—if you ever are.” He reached out, placing a hand on Vaeron’s shoulder, his grip firm and reassuring. “But know this, boy: whoever sired you, you are still my son. You bear the Targaryen name because I have claimed you as my own, because you were raised with fire in your blood. No man, be he Hightower or otherwise, can take that from you.”

Vaeron looked up at him, searching Daemon’s face for some trace of deception, but all he saw was the fierce loyalty and pride that Daemon had always shown him. For all his faults and ruthlessness, Daemon had been the only father Vaeron had ever known. And in that moment, the boy clung to that truth like a lifeline.

“Thank you,” Vaeron murmured, his voice small but filled with genuine gratitude. “I just… need time. To sort through it all.”

Daemon’s lips curved into a rare, almost affectionate smile, one reserved for the few he held dear. “Take all the time you need,” he said quietly. “But remember, you are a Targaryen, and no truth will ever change that. Not in the eyes of those who matter.”

With that, Daemon rose from the table, giving Vaeron a final nod before turning to leave the hall. Vaeron watched him go, the conflicting emotions still swirling in his chest, but there was a newfound clarity in his heart. The path ahead was clouded, and the shadow of Gwayne Hightower’s existence hanged over him like a specter. But for now, he knew where he stood—with the family that had shaped him, that had loved him despite the secrets and lies.

But deep down, in the quiet recesses of his mind, he knew that one day he would have to face the man who had saved his mother and who claimed the title of his father. Just… not today. Today, he would hold on to the identity he’d always known and trust that, in time, he would find his way through the tangled web of blood and loyalty.

For now, he was still Vaeron Targaryen, son of Daemon—trueborn or not, dragon or not, he was still a part of the legacy that burned brightly in the heart of House Targaryen. And that was enough to anchor him, at least for tonight.

The corridors beneath Dragonstone were dark and damp, the oppressive chill seeping into Vaeron’s bones as he made his way toward the dungeons. It had been a week since his world had been upended, a week of wrestling with the truth of his parentage. He had tried to push it aside, to focus on the training sessions with his cousins, the books his mother insisted he study, the words of comfort from Daemon. But every night, when the candles burned low and the castle quieted, the thought gnawed at him: if he didn’t face the man in the dungeons, he would never truly understand where he came from—or who he was.

So here he was, descending deeper into the belly of the fortress, the iron doors looming ahead. A guard nodded and stepped aside, allowing him entry. The door creaked open, revealing the shadowed cell where Gwayne Hightower sat slumped against the cold stone wall, chains rattling faintly with his every breath.

Gwayne’s face was bruised and gaunt, the days of imprisonment leaving their mark on him. But his eyes, so strikingly similar to Vaeron’s own, flicked up the moment the boy entered. Surprise and something softer—something like hope—flashed in his gaze.

“Vaeron,” he murmured, as if testing the name on his lips. “You came.”

Vaeron stood just inside the threshold, tension thrumming through his body. He wasn’t sure what he had expected—anger, indifference, desperation? But all he felt was a tangled mix of emotions that refused to settle.

After a long silence, Vaeron finally took a few steps closer, his voice tentative as he asked, “How could I not? I had to face you… or I couldn’t live with myself.”

Gwayne’s expression softened, a flicker of pride and sorrow crossing his face. “You’re braver than most would be in your position,” he said quietly. He shifted slightly, wincing at the pull of his wounds and restraints. “How… how is your mother? Is she recovering?”

Vaeron’s heart tightened at the genuine concern in Gwayne’s voice. Despite everything, despite the shame and anger swirling within him, he could not deny the sincerity of the man’s question. “She’s getting better,” Vaeron replied, a hint of guardedness still in his tone. “But her injuries are still bad. The fall from Silverwing was…” His voice trailed off, unable to find the right words.

Gwayne nodded, his jaw clenched as if in shared pain. “She’s strong. She always has been. I knew if I could just get her here, she’d fight her way back.” His voice grew hoarse with emotion, and he averted his gaze for a moment before looking back at Vaeron. “Thank you for telling me.”

For a moment, the only sound in the room was the faint drip of water echoing through the dungeons. Vaeron swallowed the lump in his throat and finally spoke the question that had been burning in him since he decided to come here. “Daemon says you’re a traitor,” he said, his voice low but unwavering. “That you can’t be trusted, that you’ve betrayed your family and your House. But… you saved my mother. You risked your life, your honor, everything.”

Gwayne’s expression didn’t change, but something deep and resolute flickered in his eyes. “Daemon’s right—I am a traitor to my own kin, to my House. I turned my back on everything I was raised to uphold. And I’d do it again in a heartbeat.”

The simple conviction in his words struck Vaeron like a blow. He could see the truth of it written in every line of Gwayne’s face, in the quiet determination that had driven him to this point. Vaeron wanted to challenge him, to demand answers, but instead, he found himself asking, “Why?”

Gwayne’s lips curled into a faint, sad smile. “Because she was worth it. Your mother was worth more than any loyalty to my House, more than any honor I might have clung to. You see, I loved her long before any of this war came to pass. I wanted to marry her, to build a life with her, but your uncle, King Viserys, had other plans. When she was given to Daemon, I knew my place would only ever be on the outside, looking in.” He paused, eyes darkening with the weight of old wounds. “But that didn’t change how I felt. When I saw her falling in battle, when I saw Silverwing plummet… I didn’t think about anything else. I just acted. I’d rather be a traitor and live knowing I saved her than be a loyal man and watch her die.”

Vaeron’s chest tightened, torn between resentment and reluctant understanding. “You say that like it was noble, like it justifies everything. But it’s still treason. You abandoned your family. You betrayed your own.”

Gwayne’s expression grew more serious, his voice a low rumble in the dim light. “Yes, and I will face the consequences of that. I know what I’ve done, and I’ve made my peace with it. But you must understand, Vaeron—whatever Daemon tells you, whatever anyone says—you are my son. I know I have no right to claim you, not after all these years, but it doesn’t change what you are to me.”

Vaeron felt the words hanging in the air like a challenge, daring him to acknowledge the bond that existed between them, even if he wished it didn’t. He looked down, his fists clenched at his sides. “I don’t know what I am,” he admitted, his voice strained. “I was raised to believe I’m a Targaryen, that I’m Daemon’s son. Now everything feels like a lie. How can I be both?”

Gwayne’s gaze softened, the hardness of his demeanor giving way to something almost tender. “You are both,” he said quietly. “You were raised as a Targaryen, with all the fire and pride that comes with it. That is a part of you. But you’re also my blood, whether you like it or not. And you get to decide what that means for you.”

Vaeron’s mind spun with conflicting emotions—anger, guilt, a flicker of something like pity. He wasn’t sure if he could ever see Gwayne as his father, not in the way Daemon had been. But he couldn’t deny that the man who sat before him had risked everything for his mother, for the chance to protect her even when all seemed lost. And for that alone, he couldn’t simply dismiss him.

After a long silence, Vaeron finally shook his head. “I can’t face you—not today. There’s too much I don’t understand, too much I still need to figure out.”

Gwayne nodded, accepting the decision without protest. “I won’t ask for more than you’re willing to give,” he said softly. “But know that I’m here, for as long as they allow me to draw breath. And whatever choice you make, whatever path you choose—I will always be proud of you.”

The words stung, leaving Vaeron with a raw ache in his chest. He wanted to respond, to say something more, but the weight of everything—his own confusion, the war, the fractured loyalties—was too much. He turned abruptly, leaving the cell without another word, his thoughts swirling in a tempest of conflicting emotions.

As he walked away, the echo of Gwayne’s voice lingered in his mind, a reminder that some truths, no matter how painful, couldn’t be ignored forever. But for now, he needed time to reconcile the man he had always believed himself to be with the truths he couldn’t yet fully accept.

And so, Vaeron returned to the world above, leaving the man who called himself his father to the shadows, knowing that one day—perhaps too soon—he would have to confront the reality of who he truly was.

[charliemwrites]

Part 5 — y’all have had it too good for too long. Time to suffer again.

Content warning for angst, nightmares, and non-descriptive panic attack

You’re bleeding.

Can’t tell who shot you, only that it’s hard to breathe. Your chest is a bloody, mangled mess, your entire front painted crimson. A puddle expanding around your boots.

Your head feels leaden as you drag it up, searching for help, searching for —

There they are. The 141. SpecGru. All of them, standing just out of reach. They could help, they could save you. But they’re not, they’re just standing, watching. Could be statues if not for the sneer that twists Soap and Nova’s face when you make desperate eye contact.

Your captain takes a single step forward, crouching as you fall to your knees.

“You’re just not a good fit, anymore,” he explains, shrugging. “Nothing personal, kid.”

“Baby. Baby!”

Keegan’s face is above you, jaw dusted with dark stubble. He’s wide awake, eyes huge and worried, showing you both his hands. His mask is gone, hair tussled.

Bed. You’re in bed. You fell asleep with him tonight.

“It’s okay, you’re okay,” he whispers.

“K-Keegan…” The shivers start almost instantly, like you really were bled out. Before he can ask, you reach for him. Let him bundle you against his chest, arms tight around you, and legs bent up on either side of you. A cage of safety around you, keeping you safe and close.

“I’m here, sweets. Right here,” he murmurs into your hair. “‘M not goin’ anywhere.”

You sniffle, press your face against his bare chest, listening to his heartbeat. Too fast; because he’s worried about you.

“Which one?” he asks.

You shudder. “A new one.”

“Fuck,” he whispers. Drops a kiss on your head. “Just me, or do you need someone else?”

You squeeze your eyes shut as the tears start flowing, guilt gnawing at your tight stomach.

“C-can I see the captain?” You ask. “I-I’m sorry, Kee. I just…”

He shushes you. “That’s why I asked, baby. It’s okay. Nothing to feel bad for.”

He doesn’t even give you the option of walking. Just tucks you into one of his sweatshirts — sandalwood and vetiver — and scoops you up. You tuck your face against his neck against the hall lights as he walks with you.

“Dreams again,” he says to someone — Nikto, probably.

Three sharp knocks. A single beat. Then a door opens. You peek out, relieved to see your captain standing there.

“Hi babygirl,” he rumbles, “bad night?”

Keegan hands you over with practiced ease, your captain letting you loops your arms and legs around him. His skin feels almost burning, warm enough to drive out the lingering chill. He smells good too. Like sleep and home.

“Y-you still… you still want me right?” You whisper, eyes stinging.

“Always,” he answers instantly. “My girl, my soldier, mine. Just like Keegan and Nikto and Nova.”

You cling tighter, but he just hums and smooths his hands over your back.

“Keegan, get Nova and an extra mattress,” he orders.

“On it.”

The captain carries you in, a shadow from the corner of your eye telling you Nikto is still there. You’re set on the bed in a spot still warm; it dips as another body settles with you. Nikto again. Mask on as always, but dressed down for sleep. He’s even got his gloves off and lets you play gently with his fingers while your captain turns on a light and fetches you a glass of water.

“Still with you,” Nikto murmurs.

You sniffle and wipe hurriedly at your eyes, trying to preserve what little dignity you’ve got left.

“None of that now, baby,” your captain soothes, tilting a glass to your mouth. “Cry if you need. Get it out.”

The tears some slow and quiet, only little sobs escaping as Nikto’s arms curl around you. Keegan appears at the door soon after, Nova helping him drag a mattress into the captain’s quarters. She comes to your other side while Keegan and the captain start arranging the other bed.

Soon, they switch you over, drag the first mattress onto the floor as well. After that, arrangements are familiar and automatic. The captain takes one side, fits your back against his chest. Keegan takes your other side, his hand coming up to cup the back of your head. Nikto nestles up behind him - needs the access of the end of the bed. And Nova distributes herself on top of you and Keegan, a gentle warm weight soothing you.

“Sleep if you can, babygirl,” your captain murmurs in your ear. His thumb sweeps gentle arcs over your hipbone. “We’ll be right here when you wake up.”

—

The nightmares were the worst when you first joined SpecGru. The first six months. You’d wake up in a cold sweat, apologies to an empty room on your tongue.

Nikto would find you out on the obstacle course at all hours of the night, in all kinds of weather. Running and jumping and climbing without so much as penlight. Pushing and pushing until you were panting on bloody hands and knees, driven by the single-minded need to be better, to be worth it.

When he found out, your captain put a ban on you from running the course unless he himself was present the entire time. You were pissed at first — even went so far as to bitch him out one day, exhausted and strung out on stress.

And he’d let you. Just sat behind his desk listening. Unimpressed, but not pissed, either. When you’d finally run out of steam, he’d stood.

“Still mad?”

When you nodded, he nodded towards the door.

“C’mon, we’ll go for a spar,” he explained when you gave him a distrustful look. “And then you’re going down for a nap.”

You frowned, shifted. “What about…?”

He snorts. “All that a minute ago?”

When you nodded, he shrugged. “Nothing, unless you feel like you need a bit of discipline to keep it together.”

You’d wrinkled your nose. “Definitely feel like socking you now.”

He’d smirked. “Good.”

First | Previous | Next

Masterlist

[shizucheese]

So about that Dropout Tweet...

There's a common trend in influencer/ content creator apologies, where the person doing the apology will say they are sorry for the harm that they did, claim they are taking ownership of it and using the whole situation to become a better person, etc. etc. Usually in a way that makes it sound suspiciously like it was written by ChatGPT.

And then they'll go on to say something along the lines of "But we've been getting a lot of death threats guys, and that's bad!" As if the fact that they're getting death threats somehow absolves them of at least some of the guilt of whatever it is that made the apology necessary in the first place. As if it means they're the real victims here.

Apparently Dropout decided to just skip the "ChatGPT apology" part and jump straight to the "We're getting physcal and legal threats" part. Followed up with them once again saying they support Palestiniens and ending it with "We reject antisemitism, Islamophobia, and all forms of bigotry, and welcome all to our platform who treat others with respect, empathy, and human dignity."

And they did it on Twitter, and only Twitter. You know, the website that's notoriously overrun by Nazis. Nothing on Tumblr or Instagram, where the original statement that sparked all of this (which has since been taken down) were posted.

@dropoutdottv, @samreich, this is not listening to the Jewish members of your community who are speaking out about antisemitism. This is reinforcing the antisemitism that those Jewish members of the community are speaking out about. Because what this Tweet does is paint everyone who spoke out against the antisemitism in your original post with the same brush as the people who were sending you threats.

Which, let me be clear, they should not have been doing and I wholeheartedly condemn.

But the actions of the people sending you threats of violence and threats of legal action do not invalidate the things being said by the people who haven't threatened you with anything worse than a boycott. I have literally seen people say "the fact that they got threats just proves they were right." Is that the outcome you were trying to achieve with this?

People who did bad things get death threats all the time; refer back to the beginning of this post. Does that make their critics wrong then, too? Or is it only now, when the accusation being made is that a nerdy comedy network beloved by people on the left did an antisemitism?

I honestly can't tell if you have no publicist helping you out with one, a bad publicist that needs to give you your money back, or an evil genius publicist that knew that if you made a post like this one, it would distract from the fact that you're being accused of antisemitism, maybe even act as a dog whistle to to paint anyone who accuses you of being antisemitic of being "Zionists" (meant in the derogatory way, where people claim they're only talking about people who uncritically support the Israeli government and their actions in Gaza, but then in practice will use it against anyone who believes Israel has the right to exist, including those who want a two state solution, whose hearts break for the people in Palestine, and call Netanyahu a fascist and probably want him gone more than even the people calling them "zionists" do). Maybe even make up for all of the subscriptions you're losing over this and even gain a few by catering to the antisemitic leftist crowd.

Is that really the kind of culture you want to cultivate? If not, then do better. Acknowledge the Jewish voices that are speaking out. Listen to them. And do it in a way that doesn't bring up any other marginalized group. Because like...fuck, man, I reject Islamophobia, and all forms of bigotry too. And I'm sorry you guys are receiving threats; that truly does suck and I hope everyone that works for you guys are staying safe.

But you're specifically being accused of antisemitism. Can you really not reject it all on its own without including other forms of bigotry in the same statement?

And do it on a platform that *isn't* run by an infamous antisemitic, and overrun by more antisemitics? (You can turn off comments and reblogs on Tumblr and comments on instagram, in the same way you disabled replies on your Tweet, you know.)

Here, I'll even write the statement for you: "Earlier this week, we made a statement regarding accusations that Dropout was platforming zionists. At the time, we made a statement focusing on our support of the Palestinian people. We stand by this statement. However, we have received feedback from several members of our community that some of the things that we said were inappropriate insensitive to the Jewish people. "Zionist" and "Zionism" mean different things to different people, ranging from "people who support the Israeli government's actions in Gaza" to "people who believe that Israel has a right to exist and the Jewish people have the right to self-determination." We had meant it in the context of the former definition, but we understand that many Jewish people identify with the later, including many people who are disgusted by the Israeli government's actions in Gaza, and we should have been more sensitive to this fact. Additionally, we would like to reiterate that, to our knowledge, nobody who has appeared on Dropout has openly stated support for the Israelie's actions in Gaza, and several of those accused have voiced their support for a free Palestine. We would like to take this moment to remind everyone that just because a person is Jewish, and may have ties to Israel, does not inherently mean they condone the actions of the Israeli government in Gaza, and to suggest otherwise is antisemitic. We at Dropout reject all forms of antisemitism and are committed to providing a safe space to everyone regardless of religion or ethnic background. We apologize if we made the Jewish members of our community feel like that was not the case."

See how easy that was? I feel something like this is the bear minimum, and if you had said the things in the last three paragraphs from the start, you could have avoided having to say everything in the first two paragraphs and the apology at the end.

That's...pretty much everything I have to say on the matter. To anyone reading this: Do not use other Jewish people to silence Jewish voices.

Do not use people of other marginalized groups to silence Jewish voices.

Just...maybe just listen to what we have to say without twisting our words and putting words in our mouths? Maybe?

Thanks for reading.

I'm so tired.

[batwritings]

Simon being absolutely pussydrunk while fuckig into you he's muttering words too himself about how good you feel and how he doesn't want to cum yet because you feel too good but ends up cum inside you https://www.pornhub.com/view_video.php?viewkey=ph63883f0240acd&pkey=

Video for reference cause I feel like Simon would fuck me like this especially the last position.....Im so sorry if this was too much

First things first, no apologies needed! I actually really appreciate the reference!! /gen But also, YOU'RE DAMN RIGHT HE WOULD! Can't tell me mans wouldn't fuck you like it's his last day, especially if he hasn't seen you in a bit. Enjoy!~

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

It felt like eons since you had last had a chance to be with Ghost. Being a part of TF141 certainly kept him more busy than before. It wasn't that you weren't thankful that business was booming, but...you missed your Simon.

It was a little shocking to not only you but also the rest of the task force when the big Brit scooped you up into his arms the moment he could. Normally he was rather stoic, a small hello and only once you two were home safe would he jump your bones. It seemed you'd been away from each other too long this time.

Judging by his reaction to just seeing you, it was no surprise on how you ended up in your current situation. Calloused fingers were bruising your hips lightly with their hold as Simon pulled you down onto his cock over and over. His head of short brunette hair was lolled back in pleasure.

"Fuck you're so good love," he groans, sliding a hand up your torso to rub his rough thumb over your nipple between gropes of your breast. "Ugh, fuck I missed you so much." You can feel his cock twitch when you whine from his touch.

This was such a rare side of Simon that you honestly loved seeing. Unabashed, raw love for you and your body and he didn't give a damn who heard. You both knew how thin the walls of your tiny apartment in Manchester were, but all dignity was thrown out the window the minute he kicked the door in.

His other free hand took to rubbing over your clit, earning him another high pitched keen. "That's it love, let them all hear," your lieutenant growls, letting out a groan of his own when you clench around him. "So fuckin' good, oh fuck..."

You beg for him, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes from the pleasure. This by no means had been your first orgasm, but each was better than the last. "Please Si.~ W-wanna come...!"

Ghost chuckles darkly, moaning as his pace picks up. "Whatever you want princess," he purrs. "Gonna make you feel as good as I do." His hands return to their original position, where you swore there would be indents.

It's as if the two of you were in sync, both of you arching up and back respectively. Your cries create a beautiful symphony in the room as you each ignore the thuds on the wall. Even when it was too much, he refused to leave your clit alone, elongating your pleasure as much as he could.

Finally, you each relax, you falling back against the mattress while Simon's body falls to your side. You're tugged against his chest, a hum and a kiss pressed against your forehead. You return it, pressing a peck against his pecs.

"I missed you so much sweetheart, I really did."

[ladyzayismultifandom]

The Kiss of Death

L Lawliet x Reader Genre: awkard cute fluff with everyone's favorite detective

Description: On the ongoing mission to take Kira down, L and Y/N must sacrifice their dignity when Light (intentionally) messes up their excursion. A/N: This is pre-cuffed L and Light era btw! And f/n = fake name.

Kira is still on the loose taking innocent people lives and with no concrete evidence to the existence of the “Death Note” or “Shinigami’s” Lawliet was put into a corner. He was 98% sure that Light Yagami was Kira purely based on vibes but nothing else that serves as evidence has worked. Close surveillance in his house has been a little useful but he hasn’t cracked him just yet. Light was good. Too good.

After ruthless nights of arguing Watari thought it would be a good idea to call in reinforcements from the infamous Wammy House where L was raised. Those reinforcements were you. You’ve never been to Japan before but you were excited to help an old friend. With an IQ of 150 and cunning eye for detail you would be a great asset to the task force. Once he find out you were on your way L sent you a file with all the information he found along with a detailed list of all the task force members. You got everything you need to know but you hate that fake name he came up with.

When you got off the private jet Watari sent you, Matsuda and Light were waiting for you at the end of the stairs.

“So he sent the killer right to me. Interesting” You thought. You took a good look of Matsuda. He was a good man, socially awkward, probably a bit annoying, but a good cop. He fidgeted with his fingers the more you looked at him. Meanwhile Light didn’t seem bothered at all. He stared right back but not at you. It was like he was staring deep within your soul and if you weren’t paying attention you would have missed the tiny smile fighting to break out. He was definitely up to something but what?

Taking off your sunglasses you walked down the stairs and offered your hand out to Matsuda who held it like a fragile piece of of fine china. He raised it up and kissed it which wasn’t something you were expecting but flattered either way.

“Enchante, I’m f/n” You offered your hand to Light as well to which he firmly shook for a second and let go. You can tell a lot about a person by the way they greet you. Matsuda was ever the gentlemen who might be confused of your customs but has good intentions. Light shook your hand like a man trying to prove himself. He wanted you to think he saw you as an equal when that couldn't be farther than the dark truth that lie beneath. This case is going to be good.

“I’d like to speak to Ryuzaki alone if that’s okay. “ You asked the task force after meeting everyone officially. Watari escorted them all out leaving you and your sugar fiend friend alone. For a moment you sat in silence until it felt safe to speak.

“Lawliet”

“It’s Ryuzaki”

“I’m not calling you that.”

“Then you put me at risk f/n.” You roll your eyes at the way he refuses to use your real name. You were alone after all.

“How could I put you at risk when we both know that Kira is Light?” You put your cup of tea up to him and he puts three sugar cubes in there. At the Wammy House, every child had their thing and yours is tea which goes perfectly with cake hence the beautiful friendship you have with Lawliet now.

“So you believe me?”

“Have I ever been wrong?”

“Well-

“Other than that.” You took a sip.

“I know it’s him. I need evidence. That’s why you’re here f/n”

“Does anybody other than Watari and I know you’re real name?” He shook his head no. Perfect. A plan was brewing.

Weeks go by and you get to know everyone. Sadly the result was still the same. Light was definetly Kira but he had help. Originally you thought his father was in on it but after personally interrogating him it became clear that Soichiro Yagami did not know or even consider that his son could be a criminal nonetheless a cold blooded killer. Lights girlfriend Misa Amane on the other hand only pretended to be a bimbo everyone thought she was. If she wasn’t so head over heels over Light she might have been a great force to be reckoned with. Unfortunately, the charismatic cult-like charms of Light got to her before then. She's the perfect fall person if things went south for him. There’s was another accomplice helping Light get away with his crimes but his identify has been tough to crack. You’ve searched for people under the name Ryuk and haven’t found anything so far. Looking back at the early surveillance tapes of Light in his room it did look like he was trying hard to ignore something on his mind. Could it have been someone there? Someone the camera didn’t catch? Is this the power of a shinigami?

Another day with the task force trying to find all the things in common with Kira's victims besides how they die you turn to genius next to you.

“Ryuzaki?”

“Yes f/n”

“Let’s go out” Matsuda almost choked on his spit making you burst into a laughing fit. Lawliet was not amused.

“I assume you mean all of us?” He says not even sparing you a glance as you teasingly look at him.

“Of course. What else would I mean? A day off would be nice right boys?” You look at the rest of the men who are relieved to hear that except Light. Just like Lawliet, he didn't look too amused. You smirk as you take a sip of tea.

“You did that on purpose” Lawliet mumbled

“You love it.” You whispered before turning around in your spinny wheelchair. Stretching your arms before you do a big clap that makes the whole task force except Light and Lawliet jump. You smile.

"So who wants to go on a little excursion tomorrow? I'm sure Kira wouldn't mind if we didn't hunt them for a day. "

"Until they kill someone else." Light claims

"And then I'll know it's you," Lawliet says. The two stare menacingly at each other.

"Let's not point any fingers. Light is still not 100% in the clear yet but he's also a part of the team. It could be Matsuda for all we know" Your innocent joke lightened the mood making all the men chuckle to themselves. Little did they know they were all pawns in your game.

"Yes... matter of fact Light why don't you set up an excursion for us? I'm sure you have friends that travel locally and if you're not Kira nothing will go wrong and Ryuzaki can relax. Right?" You suggest.

"And if you are I'll have the pleasure of putting you behind bars."

"Fine. If that's what it takes." Light says. The familiar tugging at his lips starts but they never go into full bloom as if he's trying to hide it. Tomorrow you're finally going to find out what his game is and who he's playing it with.

Later that night when you were alone drinking tea while Lawliet ate cake the two of you discussed all the possible mistakes Light could make to prove he's Kira to everyone. Killing someone would be too obvious but he could make it look like an accident or even frame another person on the task force so that was possibility number one. Possibility number two is he finds a way to get Misa alone to do his bidding. That would be the easiest thing to do to get him out of the clear for everyone else but not the two of you since you know she's his accomplice. To prevent that from happening, you'll have Matsuda or Soichiro keep a close eye on her the entire excursion. There was another possibility that you didn't bring up on purpose. This was because if Lawliet knew he would be totally against it seeing as it would put him at risk but you realized the unusual pattern of all Kira's victims a long time ago. They all die of a heart attack, most have some kind a criminal record of some kind or they know Kira true identity before they die. Most importantly Kira's victims full name are always on public record except the one he wants to kill the most which sparked an idea. What if you gave Light L's real name? Would he try to use it? Most importantly would it work? Along with Mello and Near you were raised with Lawliet but there is the possibility that even the name you became fond of calling him wasn’t real. Deep inside you know he wouldn’t lie to you. He can’t.

The next day Light had arranged a day in Kamakura full of fun outside excursions everyone on the task force except Lawliet appreciated. To annoy him even more the disguise you chose to display was his wife. You knew if this plan was gonna work he couldn’t look like Lights stalker the way he focuses in on him and you two work better as a team so splitting up wasn’t an option. In case Light isn’t Kira (which is highly unlikely) and Kira manages to strike while you’re out Watari is at home monitoring local crime. Keeping a close eye on Light’s reactions you wrap your arm around Lawliet giving him a supportive pat. Light face remain stoic.

“See? Kira wouldn’t kill us in the middle of a crowded area like this. “ Matsuda happily claims as he holds up his oversized binoculars to look at The Great Buddha.

“In a crowd like this no one would notice anyway.” Lawliet mumbles.

“Oh don’t be such a hermit! You loved playing outside with me when we were children.” You say trying to gauge the boys but to your surprise the only one who asked was-

“Ryuzaki and f/n grew up together?!” Misa acts surprised. Oh to peak into her little mind.

“I was studying human interaction”

“Whatever helps you sleep at night dear” You kiss his cheek before dragging him by hand along and joining Matsuda ahead as he excitedly leads the pack.

“Is it me or is f/n enjoying her role a little too much?” Kanzo whispers to Soichiro who shrugs.

“We’ve been working hard the past few weeks. I’m sure she’s just having a little fun besides I don’t think it’s exactly one-sided.” Soichiro chuckles

Throughout the day the seven of you walk around every shrine, zen garden, and temple you can get close to while remaining a safe distance from Light and Misa who didn’t seem to be plotting anything just yet. Just two teenagers who might be serial killers without a care in the world. Lawliet grew frustrated.

“F/N”

“Yes, dear?” You tease but can’t help it when his cheeks turn a rosy red for a second.

“When exactly is this plan of yours supposed to start?”

“Patience honey all will make sense soon” You whisper seductively in Lawliets ear pulling him in to your embrace wrapping your arms around his neck. Begrudgingly knowing his role Lawliet wraps his arms around your waist in reciprocation. You notice Light staring at the two of you. From where he’s standing it looks as if you two are sharing secrets. He tries to hide his look of suspicion when you make eye contact but it’s too late. Like a spider you’ve spun him in your web making him helplessly anxious and maybe even frightened. Unable to contain it you smirk at him

“That’s right. You should be afraid” You whisper still in Lawliet’s embrace. For the first time all day he chuckles.

“If I didn’t know any better you’re turned on right now y/n” He whispers in your ear just as seductively as you did earlier. Given how awkward and standoffish he can be at times you didn’t know he was capable of that.

“Lawli- Ryuzaki!” You shriek but for a moment his hands squeeze your body. You almost said his real name out loud. Too loud. Did Light hear it? Shit

“Careful dear people will think you’re cheating on me” He says jokingly but you know it’s a threat. No, a promise. While you planned to leak it anyway to see if Light would try to kill him this is not how you wanted to come out. Shit shit shit.

And yet if you weren’t turned on before. You are now. Something about him matching your energy while being so close just did something to you and even though he’s a little pissed off he’s still hot.

“I’m gonna get you back for that”

“Likewise f/n” further emphasizing how pissed he is.

After walking for the majority of Lights excursion filled day in Kamakura the task force grew exhausted. Too tired to do anything else Light and Matsuda called around for places to retire for the night before returning to work tomorrow. Soichiro drove the rental to a spot near a beach, real low key vibes, perfect place for a late night swim with Lawliet. He’d never go for it. The seven of you were to be split rooms. Naturally you and Misa were in one room. Soichiro, Kanzo, Matsuda, and Light in the next room. Lawliet gets his own room so he can have a private discussion with Watari. This was the plan everyone agreed to until you got there.

“I’m sorry we only have one room left but if you five gentlemen don’t mind the hotel a little further down I can reserve a room for you” the hotel receptionist says. Looks like you and Misa are stuck here alone-

“I’ll stay with you” Lawliet stepped up.

“But who will watch Ligh-“ He cut you off

“I said I’m staying”

“Besides I think we can trust Light now,“ Shock was what you saw on Light's face now. If only for a moment but there was shock. Whatever plan there was to kill Lawliet might be dead now but then again this could've been a part of his plan all along.

When the two of you walked into the hotel there was one bed. As children sleeping together was better than being in cold bunks but as adults this predicament was a bit...awkward.

He let you shower and change into your pajamas first but as you wait in bed going over all your notes on Kira a nervous feeling stirs inside you. What if he mentions what happened earlier? What if he doesn't because he has other plans of ruining your life for almost ending his? Is he about to get in this bed with you?

"I hope you're not overthinking what happened earlier." He broke you out of your funk. You didn't even realize he had already gotten out of the shower. "I already gave Light my real name once. It won't work Y/N"

"Then why-"

"I figured if you were going to put my life in danger I'd scare you a little too. Reminds me of when we were kids." He laid down next to you in bed. For years there's been an invisible line between you that you so desperately wanted to cross.

A line you want to cross now more than anything.

"Can I ask you something?" You turn your body towards him but he remains on his back, facing the ceiling.

"Shoot"

"Do you remember when we were teenagers Mello locked us in a closet and I kissed you on accident but you wouldn't let me go until Watari let us out?"

"Yes"

"This feels a lot like that" He smiles as his body curls towards you.

"Are you saying you want to kiss me Y/N?" You scooted closer to him smirking.

"Wouldn't you like to know?" You leaned over him practically inches away from his lips yet he didn't flinch. He didn't move away but he didn't move any closer. He was just there. So you sighed and leaned ba-

"Please" He grabbed you by the shirt and pulled you back to him. He had a look in his eyes you've never seen before.

" In case I die"

"Wha-" He met your lips with his before you could ruin it. The two of you were alone. Truly alone for the first time in years and this time if it were his last Lawliet was going to get what he wanted almost as bad as he wanted Light behind bars. You.

You leaned down into his embrace not letting a breath escape between your lips. If you were going to die tonight it would not be Kira and you were okay with that.

The next day on the ride home neither of you spoke a peep making it seem like you'd gotten into a fight. Nobody really needed to know what really took place. When everyone went home for the day you were at it again neglecting the surveillance cameras and carefully watching Light. If this is how he gets you both so be it.

May the kiss of death satisfy the Gods that be.

A/N: HAPPY FLUFFTOBER!!!

[nightprompts]

&. 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐩𝐞𝐧𝐠𝐮𝐢𝐧 (𝐞𝐩𝐬. 𝟏-𝟒) 𝐬𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬.

(  dialogue  prompts  taken from episodes 1 - 4  of max's  the  penguin  (2024),  created  by  lauren  lefranc.  feel  free  to  edit  and  change  as  you  seem  fit.. )

❛ i see you've made yourself at home. ❜

❛ so this new deal you got going... maybe i can help. ❜

❛ you know what i like most about you? you are who you are. you couldn't change if you tried. ❜

❛ you got a girl? good looking guy like you... ❜

❛ can you imagine? to be remembered like that? revered? ❜

❛ you really think people’d make a float of your dumb face and march it down the street, chanting your goddamn name? ❜

❛ you messed with the wrong fucking guy on the wrong fucking night. ❜

❛ you’re gonna do everything i say. or else i’ll murder you and, uh... anyone you care about. ❜

❛ what do you think of this? it’s a little air freshener. aqua paradise. you smell it? ❜

❛ we used to go there every day in the summer. you know, we’d mix the flavors for a suicide. you ever mix the flavors? ❜

❛ i ain’t trying to get in your business, but... i need an alibi. ❜

❛ i asked for extra pickles, and they give me two? so what, a normal amount of pickles is one? makes no goddamn sense. ❜

❛ there’s a nice sunrise behind you. you should take a look. ❜

❛ i could help you with whatever it is. whatever you need, whatever it is, all right? ❜

❛ well, maybe it’d be useful, keeping you around. for now. ❜

❛ but if you step out of line just once, i swear to god, i’ll gut you like a fucking fish. do you understand? ❜

❛ all right, listen, if i don’t come out... nah, i’ll be fine. you’ll be fine. it’s gonna be fine. ❜

❛ you know, maybe you don’t like me. that’s fine. i’m an acquired taste. ❜

❛ i’ve been rehabilitated. ❜

❛ you’ve really moved up in the world, haven’t you? ❜

❛ are you nervous? i’d hate for you to feel nervous with me. ❜

❛ you know, people underestimate you, but not me. i’ve always known you were capable of more. ❜

❛ this city is meant to be yours, sweetheart. what are you gonna do to get it? ❜

❛ the world wasn’t built for guys like us. that’s why we gotta take whatever we decide is ours. ❜

❛ but i gotta know. no bullshit. can i count on you to pull through? ❜

❛ i know who you are. i know what you are. i don’t work with people whose loyalty is for sale. ❜

❛ i’m gonna run this goddamn city. and i want you in on it. ❜

❛ i'm not safe. i'm home. ❜

❛ very, very convenient that, all of a sudden, you’re on my side. ❜

❛ you are scrambling for whatever dignity you have left and you’re hoping i will save you. ❜

❛ rough night, detective? ❜

❛ i refuse to let these old fucking men push me aside again, like i’m nothing. so, i’m going to take from them now. ❜

❛ you in? ❜

❛ let's dance. ❜

❛ you act like wanting more is a bad thing, but, i mean, don’t you want a better life than this? ❜

❛ are we, uh, kinda... partners now? ❜

❛ i mean, you fucked up. huge. but you learned, right? ❜

❛ whaddaya think the new clothes are for? you’re my guy. can’t have you lookin’ like a schmuck. ❜

❛ and from now on, you want something, you ask for it. ❜

❛ how’s anyone supposed know your worth unless you tell ’em, huh? ❜

❛ man of the hour, i was just thinking about you... ❜

❛ you do anything stupid, i’ll sense it. ❜

❛ that’s why you’re here. you seem to know everybody’s business. so, now’s your time to shine. ❜

❛ you’ve got a good thing going here. i’m really happy for you. ❜

❛ i know you’re not right in the head. i mean, that’s pretty damn clear. but i’m not scared of you. ❜

❛ you think i’d come here empty-handed? come on, we both know that if i ever truly left you hanging, there'd be a bullet between my eyes. ❜

❛ i got a real opportunity for you here, but it’s kinda hard to focus with a gun pointed at my face. ❜

❛ you got fight in you. you gotta let it out. ❜

❛ you’re fun at a card game, or over drinks, i’ll give you that. but people don’t keep you around because they think you’re smart. and they sure as shit don’t trust you. ❜

❛ i wouldn’t ask you to do this if i didn’t know you could handle it. i believe in you, kid. ❜

❛ i can't tell who wants this move. me or you. ❜

❛ i want this for you. ❜

❛ what you did to me. was it worth it? did you get everything that you wanted? ❜

❛ you wanna go, what are you waiting for? fuckin’ go. ❜

❛ you coulda left whenever you wanted. but you chose to stay. how about you ask yourself why. ❜

❛ i fucked you over. that what you wanna hear? ❜

❛ i’m fuckin’ sorry for everything that’s happened to you. ❜

❛ you meant something to me. still do. ❜

❛ i don’t know where to go from here. i don’t know how to trust you. ❜

❛ you need a cigarette, take the edge off? ❜

❛ a lobotomy couldn’t take the edge off. ❜

❛ when the time comes, i want you to take my place. i want you to run this family... if that’s something that would interest you. ❜

❛ they know you're mine. they'll do as i say. ❜

❛ why would you do this now? picking away at old wounds... you know how it upsets me. ❜

❛ you still haven’t told me what you want for your birthday. ❜

❛ i don’t need your advice. i don’t care what you think. no one does. you are my driver. that is all you are. so stop talking and drive. ❜

❛ listen, i get that you’re angry, you know. but i was just doing my job, looking out for you. ❜

❛ i’m not gonna make it in a place like that. i’m gonna die in there. ❜

❛ it’s okay to be scared. i was scared at first, too, but it’s not so bad here. you get used to the noises. ❜

❛ a woman beat the shit out of me while everyone stood around and watched. so, yeah, i had an incident. ❜

❛ i don’t know how to convince you i’m sane when you’ve already made up your mind about me. ❜

❛ i told you i’m fucking innocent. ❜

❛ i’m gonna get you something to eat. if you wanna get cleaned up, there’s a towel and a change of clothes in the guest bath upstairs. ❜

❛ i trusted him... when everything in my body told me not to. i should have killed him when i had the chance. ❜

❛ you abandoned me. ❜

❛ i left because i had to. because i could. i know you didn’t have that choice, but I’m here now. ❜

❛ you don’t have to pretend with me. ❜

❛ i haven’t forgotten, you know? the way you looked at me. so curious. ❜

❛ what did it feel like? to get to watch a person unravel? and now, you’re numbing yourself as punishment. ❜

❛ they think i'm broken. i'm not broken. ❜

❛ i'm not the one who's sick. and neither are you. the world is. ❜

❛ for the first time, i have hope. ❜

❛ to new beginnings. cent’anni. ❜

[odinsblog]

Dear President Biden,

We come together as artists and advocates, but most importantly as human beings witnessing the devastating loss of lives and unfolding horrors in Israel and Palestine.

We ask that, as President of the United States, you call for an immediate de-escalation and ceasefire in Gaza and Israel before another life is lost. More than 5,000 people have been killed in the last week and a half – a number any person of conscience knows is catastrophic. We believe all life is sacred, no matter faith or ethnicity and we condemn the killing of Palestinian and Israeli civilians.

We urge your administration, and all world leaders, to honor all of the lives in the Holy Land and call for and facilitate a ceasefire without delay – an end to the bombing of Gaza, and the safe release of hostages. Half of Gaza’s two million residents are children, and more than two thirds are refugees and their descendants being forced to flee their homes. Humanitarian aid must be allowed to reach them.

We believe that the United States can play a vital diplomatic role in ending the suffering and we are adding our voices to those from the US Congress, UNICEF, Doctors without Borders, The International Committee of The Red Cross, and so many others. Saving lives is a moral imperative. To echo UNICEF, “Compassion — and international law — must prevail.”

As of this writing more than 6,000 bombs have been dropped on Gaza in the last 12 days — resulting in one child being killed every 15 minutes.

“Children and families in Gaza have practically run out of food, water, electricity, medicine and safe access to hospitals, following days of air strikes and cuts to all supply routes. Gaza’s sole power plant ran out of fuel Wednesday afternoon, shutting down electricity, water and wastewater treatment. Most residents can no longer get drinking water from service providers or household water through pipelines…. The humanitarian situation has reached lethal lows, and yet all reports point to further attacks. Compassion — and international law — must prevail.” – UNICEF spokesperson, James Elder

Beyond our pain and mourning for all of the people there and their loved ones around the world we are motivated by an unbending will to stand for our common humanity. We stand for freedom, justice, dignity and peace for all people – and a deep desire to stop more bloodshed.

We refuse to tell future generations the story of our silence, that we stood by and did nothing. As Emergency Relief Chief Martin Griffiths told UN News, “History is watching.”

Alia Shawkat

Alyssa Milano

Amanda Seales

Amber Tamblyn

America Ferrera

Andrew Garfield

Anoushka Shankar

Aria Mia Loberti

Ayo Edebiri

Bassam Tariq

Bassem Youssef

Cate Blanchett

Channing Tatum

Cherien Dabis

Darius Marder

David Cross

Dominique Fishback

Dominique Thorne

Elvira Lind

Farah Bsaiso

Fatima Farheen Mirza

Hasan Minhaj

Hend Sabry

Ilana Glazer

Indya Moore

James Schamus

Jeremy Strong

Jessica Chastain

Joaquin Phoenix

Jon Stewart

Kristen Stewart

Macklemore

Mahershala Ali

Margaret Cho

Mark Ruffalo

May Calamawy

Michael Malarkey

Michael Stipe

Michelle Wolf

Mo Amer

Oscar Isaac

Quinta Brunson

Ramy Youssef

Riz Ahmed

Rooney Mara

Rosario Dawson

Ryan Coogler

Sandra Oh

Sebastian Silva

Shailene Woodley

Shaka King

Susan Sarandon

Vic Mensa

Wallace Shawn

Wanda Sykes

👉🏿 https://variety.com/2023/biz/news/hollywood-demands-gaza-israel-ceasefire-joaquin-phoenix-cate-blanchett-1235763646/

[nomazee]

open up

sebastian (sdv) x reader

word count: 3.5k

content: silly love again, mutual pining, not actually unrequited love, some goofs and giggles and misunderstandings, the teeniest tiniest inkling of angst but it’s covered up with silliness, the word hussy is used which is the funniest word ever and i’m so glad i discovered it it’s so old-timey-small-town word

notes: this is a part three to my little mini series w sebastian! you can find part one here,   and part two here! 

oh hey guys this is probably completely indecipherable but i’ve been rewriting this over and over again this past week and decided that this is my most proudest version of this work and maybe there will be more but this... is IT (i’m lying and will be writing more companion pieces to this okay much love love all of u mwah) 

<><><><><>

Hiding from your problems does not fix everything. In fact, it doesn’t fix anything. 

It’s a lesson you should’ve figured out the first time you did it. You remember being back in grade school, forgetting to study for a test one year and faking a rash in the nurse’s office to get out of it. The rash in question was a collection of the healing, scabbed-over cat scratches on your forearm. You’d drawn over it harshly with dark red pen and marker to create some kind of rash-like illusion. In the end all you got was a disappointed look from the nurse, an ugly smear of red and burgundy on your arm, and a D-minus on your world history test. 

So, yes. Hiding has dreadful consequences. And even just during your time in Stardew Valley, you should’ve known to keep this lesson close to your heart. This is the second time you’ve run away from Sebastian already, and the first time didn't last long anyways. Stupid, silly you. 

In your defense, it wasn’t really Sebastian you were running away from. It was his mom. For three days following your stupid kissing shenanigans, Robin terrorized your dreams, and your daydreams, and the reflections of yourself that you saw in the tiny pond on your farm… 

So, yes it’s safe to say that running away was not doing you any good. But what other choice did you have? 

You’re an adult. You could totally scrape apart what’s left of your dignity and act like it—maybe take the walk up to the mountains and apologize to Robin and Sebastian, too. Tell them that it was wrong of you to be so promiscuous on their front porch (promiscuous, of course, equating to one single kiss on the lips that lasted no more than ten seconds), and that you’d never do it again and never even look Sebastian in the eyes, if that’s what they wanted.

While you’re at it, maybe you’d be able to ask Robin for the coop upgrade that you’ve needed for weeks now. All you have to do is… be an adult and face your problems. Your one massive roadblock of a problem. 

It’s not even a problem, per se. But you’ve embarrassed yourself far too much in front of the people in this town and you’re a little tired of taking blow after devastating blow to your reputation. You’d rather wilt and rot here, on the soil of your farm, with your duck walking her webbed feet across your chest and leaving damp marks all over your shirt. 

This is peace. This is where you could die, decomposing in your leftover humiliation from the week before. But of course—all good things come to an end, and the end comes to you in the form of a distinct lack of wheat seeds in your storage containers. 

Dreadful. This is a sign from some higher power that it’s finally time for you to get your ass up and go into town. Face the world like an adult. Get your wheat seeds so that you and your animals don’t starve to death and rot away on this already-rotting farm. Ugh. 

Your duck pads up your chest and leans her face into yours. Her beady little eyes stare right into your soul. She’s begging you. Begging you to get wheat so her plump little body doesn’t start to deteriorate. What a manipulator. 

A heavy, bone-rattling sigh escapes you as you gently push her off of you and sit up. This is it. You have to face everyone, again, after embarrassing yourself in front of the stupid boy you like and his mother, of all people. Fortunately for you, they live up in the mountains, so a little trip to PIerre’s in town wouldn’t be so much of a risk. You’d be fine. You could still be a functioning adult, so long as you didn't wander up north where the mines were. 

…

Okay, well. You lied to yourself. 

It was all a big lie. A big lie you told yourself to feel some kind of security about leaving your stupid, lonely farm and going into town and getting the stupid seeds that you needed. You’re a liar, a fraud, and a chronic-problem-avoider, and none of those problems would ever get fixed during your probably-very-short-lifespan. Short, of course, because you were going to die in the middle of Pierre’s shop, right here and right now in the produce aisle. 

Because of course, as luck would have it, Sebastian is right there too. Staring at you. Holding two unshucked ears of corn, in his hands. You would laugh at how silly he looked if this wasn’t so humiliating. 

“Um.” He’s the first to say anything. Hearing his voice after a week startles you enough to make you stiffen even more and your shaky hands threaten to drop the seed packets to the floor. His eyes are wide and there’s a flush to his cheeks that might be from the leftover chill of the outdoors. Despite everything, you hope maybe it’s because of you instead. 

You can’t form words. Your mouth flutters open and closed like a trapdoor until you decide to keep them tightly shut. Devastating. Humiliating. Mortifying. There are so many words that you’ve used so often over the last two weeks that you could continue to use here. Your vocabulary is not very expansive in the slightest, but it’s not your fault you’ve been put in the same types of scenarios so often. 

“Hello,” you choke out. Surprisingly, your voice is steady for the most part. The rest of you is not. The seeds rattle in your hands and you can feel your legs locked up. Anxiety floods through you like ice water and freezes in your bone marrow. You’re stuck. You might throw up. Again, this is a very common theme in every interaction you have with Sebastian. Very unfortunate. 

Even more unfortunate is the fact that, despite all the embarrassment and chagrin and overall-horrifying matter of events, you still want to kiss him. You’re reliving the ten-second kiss from the last time you saw him and it’s making you enter some parallel universe in your head—one where his mom didn't catch you kissing, and where he liked you back and maybe let you sleep over his house like he said he would, and where you could kiss him even more. You’re getting whiplash from everything running through your head. God.

“I, um…” he clearly feels just as awkward, which does nothing to reassure you. “Haven’t seen you in a while. We thought you’d… show up to the saloon, or.” Sebastian cuts himself off early. He must realize by your completely unmoving form that you’re not planning on loosening up at all during the course of this conversation. 

“Right, um,” you scramble for some kind of excuse but you know that regardless of what you say, he’s gonna know. He’s not gonna believe a single thing you say, because he knows. He was there. He was the one that you kissed. 

There’s no way he’s not completely aware at this time. Totally and utterly aware that you’re indescribably in love with him, more than infatuated. He must know that you like him so much it makes your chest hurt and your head ache with the untamable need to kiss him stupid every time you see his face. He must know. You’d risked it all, laid it open on the table for him last week when you kissed him and he didn't do much with it, really, which was fine but—he must know. After all of this. 

A thought rushes through your head and it immediately heats up the ice in your bones. You’re moving, now, this time at a pace that can only be achieved by spontaneous ferocity and a phobia of the mother of the boy you like. You’re quick to act, lunging forward and grabbing his arm to pull his entire form behind the shelf. 

“Is your mom here?!” you whisper harshly at him. You didn't even think of it until now, the fact that he might be here with his mother and that would mean you’d have to face her not on your own terms. A confrontation would start up in the middle of this quiet, quaint little grocery store, and you’d have to yield and nod at an angry ginger woman as she called you a hussy, or something. Or— no, Robin wouldn’t call you a hussy. She was too nice for that. Pam would call you a hussy, probably. Well. 

The distress in your voice must come out clearly enough for him because he frantically shakes his head and whispers back a definite no! It’s too late to reel you back in, though, and your mind is already going a million miles a minute. If you’re going to do anything, you have to do it now, because otherwise you will never speak a single word to this family ever again. 

“You— Please tell your mom that I’m sorry, like so very very sorry, and I will give her so many of my crops and hardwood and stone to make up for everything. And—” you shush him when he tries to interrupt, talking over him rapidly to stop him from trying it again, “—I didn't mean to— or, I did mean— um, point is. Tell your mom. I’m so sorry. And that I really need a coop upgrade and I’ll pay her double what it normally is to make up for everything.” You pause. “Please.” 

Sebastian is. Speechless. It’s not often that you see him like this—in fact, you don’t think you’ve actually ever seen him like this. His mouth flutters open and closed. Trapdoor, just like you, earlier. The shared traits between both of you make you want to throw up and scream. It’s too endearing and you want to rip your heart out before another situation happens just like last time, this time with Pierre as your witness. 

“What…” he begins, “are you talking about?” The furrow in his brow is one of genuine confusion, and so is the high-pitched lilt of his questioning voice. It only serves to make you more confused. And more agitated because this is really really embarrassing and the heat of it is starting to settle on your face and neck. 

“What. Do you think. I’m talking about.”

He obviously does not get the hint. He stays quiet, expression frustratingly unmoving as he blinks once, twice, three times at you. Holy shit. 

“I’m not going to say it,” you tell him. Any kind of confidence you had going into this conversation has dissipated and melted into a gooey kind of embarrassment. Suddenly, you’re back in the grade school nurse’s office, flinching at the disappointed look she gives you as she writes you a pass back to class—back to your impending doom and the D-minus that awaits you. This is that. This is worse than that by ten— no, a thousand times. 

“Are you five years old? What are you talking about, just say—!” 

“You are so embarrassing.” You hiss at him, but there’s really no weight in your lackluster insult. It’s more of a half hearted attempt to get him to stop talking about everything and anything, at least until you get out of this goddamn store and maybe even this goddamn town where everyone likes to gossip. 

You nearly tear the stupid ears of corn out of his stupid hands in your rush to get out of this store. “Are you— Is this the only thing you’re buying?” At his nod, you grab three more packets of miscellaneous seeds and start your rushed walk to the counter to check out. 

“What are you doing?!” His voice is a frantic whisper, matching your tone, but it’s less aggravated and more just genuinely confused. Sebastian seems dazed, threaded into the spinning loom of your contagious anxiety. You feel bad about it, really, but you’re threaded right next to him in an aggravating bright yellow string, and it’s hard to untangle yourself. 

“Please shut up,” you mumble, and then you’re at the counter and ignoring Pierre’s worried look as you pull crinkled dollar bills from your pockets. The transaction is fast, thankfully, and the cost of Sebastian’s items doesn’t set you back too much. Before you know it, you’re gripping part of his hoodie sleeve and dragging him out the door behind you. 

The chill of fall hits you when you step outside. A foggy breath escapes you as you gain the courage to turn back at him. “You. Need to take these to your mom,” you thrust the stupid corn back into his arms and he catches them, thankfully, “and tell her I’m sorry. And pretend everything never happened. Tell her I’m. Really super very sorry.” 

“I don’t think you— I’m. Not sure I understand,” he counters you, hesitant but determined in the way he keeps going, “she’s not mad at you. Why are you apologizing? I haven’t seen you for a week and now…?” 

Aw. Maybe you should find it sweet that he seems at least a little bit upset about not seeing you, almost like he missed you. That delusional thought is muffled by the stress of everything you’re talking about, though. 

“Hussy.” 

“What?” 

“Um.” There is no coming back from this. “Does she— Do people say that here? Does she. Think I’m a hussy.”

This is a ridiculous conversation. Every single interaction you’ve had with Sebastian, ever, has been ridiculous, and this is doing nothing to disprove that. You’ve actually going to puke. You know, it’s been just a joking threat these past few weeks, but this time you’re really going to vomit all over his stupid skater sneakers. 

He’s dead silent, startled into submission by your words and you can’t even blame him. Who says the word hussy?! Why did you think anyone would call you a hussy?!?! 

“I kissed her son in the dead of night right in front of her house,” you speak slowly and clearly, forcing yourself past the utter mortification that freezes your fingers and makes bile stir in your stomach, “and you’re saying that she doesn’t, um. That she’s… not mad.”

There is no coming back from this. Again. You’re grasping for either reassurance Sebastian’s mouth does that trapdoor thing again. You contemplate dropping all your seeds and running. Maybe the birds will like them. 

“No. You just left me on my porch.” And he’s upset. At least a little bit. It shows in the incredulous tone of his voice and the way his lips stay parted in disbelief. You did, unfortunately, leave him on that porch that night. He’s not… wrong about that. “And then avoided me for a week. You didn't even come into town at all. Abigail and Sam told me they never saw you. Did you never leave your farm just so you wouldn’t see me?” Hurt. He’s hurt, not just upset.

Now you just feel stupid. You didn't even consider the implications of kissing someone and then running away and never seeing them again. In your defense, it wasn’t because of him, more because of his mom and the very likely (read: completely inaccurate) prediction that Robin would beat you up on sight. 

“No!” You’re frantic to clear things up, but judging by his doubtful expression you’re going to have to do a lot to reach that goal. “That’s. It wasn’t on purpose. It was embarrassing.” It’s probably still the wrong choice of words. His face flinches and he glances to the side in discomfort. You’re losing him. You’re so, so bad at this. No kidding. That’s why you kissed a guy in front of his mom and almost threw up on his shoes, like, twice. Three times. 

Maybe if you put it into perspective. “How would you feel if you kissed someone in their front lawn and then their mom came out and caught you guys kissing and on top of that, what if you were the new person in town and everyone still kind of maybe doesn’t like you completely, and you just ruined your reputation by kissing somebody in front of their parent?” Okay. Effective. 

It’s quiet. He’s blinking at you. You get that response a lot whenever you speak to him, really. Maybe that’s a testament to your eloquence. (It’s really not.) 

“And,” you keep going, because of course you do, “you never visited me, never sent a letter, nothing. Nobody came to see me. And. I kissed you and then you said nothing and. What was I supposed to do?!” 

It’s what you’ve held back for a week now. Really, you weren’t expecting him to show up at your house and confess his undying love for you. A kiss is just a kiss. But if he was going to bring up the whole never-seeing-him-again thing, then you could do that too. 

“You.” Trapdoor. He stutters and falters and lets out a sigh that deflates all the tension in his body. “My mom. Wants you to come over for dinner.”

Okay. Well. What the fuck does that mean. 

“I want you to come over for dinner,” he clarifies. The furrow in his brow is one of certainty instead of confusion. His eyes meet yours, and stay locked for as long as his inner anxieties allow before he’s looking to the side and avoiding your wide-eyed stare. 

Oh. Okay. That’s what. He means. 

“Well,” you say out loud, because you’re an idiot and can’t ever control the words that spill out of your mouth. “Then. I would really love having dinner with you.” It’s supposed to come out determined, assured, maybe even a little flirty. Instead, it comes out awkwardly and stilted and you think you might be making a weird face at him on accident. The message clearly gets across, though, because the subtle tension in his face dissipates and he’s starting to smile at you. His stupid, awkward, tucked-in smile. You will yourself to not kiss him in the middle of the town square. 

He mumbles a hazy “yeah,” and for a moment you think he sounds almost… dreamy. Lovestruck, maybe. Of course he’s not, because he’s Sebastian and you’re the farmer (th farmer that kissed him, and he kissed back, and now he’s inviting to his house for dinner, but. Well. That’s besides the point). It’s wishful thinking, but you still can’t help the way your eyes trail across his face and down and along the seam of his lips and. There’s the craving to kiss him, reignited, stirring deep in your chest and stomach and in the twitch of your fingertips. 

“I guess that means we have to make plans for it,” and there’s some odd deeper meaning in his words, and his eyes are flitting to the side before coming back to you again. His lips twitch in something close to mischief, but not quite. “I guess that I should come over. To talk about plans.” 

You’re smiling. You try to resist it, scared you’ll look stupid with how wide you’re grinning but you can’t help it and now you’re smiling with teeth and pressing a giggle back down your throat before you start shrieking in joy. “I think you should. I think I should walk you to my house and talk about. Dinner plans. Totally dinner plans.” Sebastian’s eyes flit to your lips for a moment, a devastating, knee-weakening palm-dampening bone-rattling moment. You’re very certain that you didn't imagine it in some infatuated haze. The corners of his lips tuck into that smile you love so much, too much, and he lets out a breathy sort of laugh. “Dinner plans.” 

You walk him home—to your home, this time. There’s seeds in your right hand and the two ears of corn in his left, and your proximity as you walk makes it so that your hands brush together slightly with every step you take. His hands are dry from the cold. You don’t tell him that. 

And you two don’t hold hands on the way home, because that would be silly. Because you’re just walking him to your house, to talk about dinner plans. There’s a bubble of unspoken things around the both of you, but there’s something between the looks you share with each other that makes you stop caring so much about saying things. You’re not very good at that, anyways. 

You show him your favorite duck in your coop, the one you want Robin to upgrade, and then your cool cheese press machine that accounts for half the money you earn from your farm. He’s finally introduced to Kitty, who yowls at him once before padding up to him and biting his calf. You tell him it’s her love language. 

And you talk about dinner plans. Or. Well. Who are you kidding. You kiss him silly. Silly and stupid in your kitchen, tugging on the sleeves and cuffs of his hoodie and then the hairs at the nape of his neck and then his fingers, trailing your own against his palm in circles and spirals and heart shapes that you’re almost embarrassed to be making. Almost. But not really. 

You don’t really have the time or mind to be embarrassed, really. Not when you’re dizzy and warm and giggling into the lips of the pretty boy you’re in love with. And, not when you’re busy making dinner plans, of course. 

[microsuedemouse]

hey? hi? I am unexpectedly emotional about TMNT 2003 season 1 episode 9 Garbageman?

the boys are shown to be good friends with their local unhoused population, and they bring them supplies (an effort often repaid with interesting or useful things these folks have found on the streets and think the brothers might like) as well as watch out for their safety

so of course when unhoused people start going missing, the boys begin investigating

also, and this feels significant: there's a sort of leader figure amongst the unhoused population refered to only as 'Professor.' he's a very intelligent and well-spoken older black man, and his outfit includes a colourful kufi cap. he and Donnie talk about science and Donnie offers to lend him an interesting book; he's also later shown teaching his peers about the big bang around a fire

the Professor is also, notably, the character who responds to being kidnapped and told by the Weird Villain that they're all here to Do Labour with the firm proclamation: "I'd rather be a free man, living on the streets, than a slave in your stinking empire."

additionally, the aforementioned villain tells these people that they're "human garbage - no home, no purpose, no value." he claims to have given them new purpose (Doing Labour). the moral of the episode isn't stated outright, but very much argues that these people absolutely do have value and are completely deserving of dignity and respect, like the brothers have been showing them without question from the beginning

after the villain is defeated, the Professor and the other unhoused folks actually decide (by vote!) to stay where they are, because there's shelter and food freely available to them here now, with the Bad Guys out of the way. the 'here' in question is a large waste disposal site, and these folks are accustomed to making do with what others have thrown away, so they feel they can find everything they need right there. it's not perfect but it does reward them the dignity of a safe place to call home!

this is all couched in the corniness and the goofiness you would of course expect from a 2003 TMNT cartoon, but... I feel like there was some very genuine thought, and compassion, that went into writing this episode. I'm feeling Emotions I didn't expect

[secretress]

❝𝐏𝐀𝐂: “𝐘𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐛𝐞𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐲 𝐢𝐬 𝐚𝐛𝐬𝐨𝐥𝐮𝐭𝐞𝐥𝐲 𝐦𝐞𝐬𝐦𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐳𝐢𝐧𝐠, 𝐡𝐨𝐰 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐈 𝐛𝐥𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐝 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐛𝐥𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐠?”❞

How will the love of your life affect you?

YouTube | Masterlist | Tips | Paid Readings

—18+ readings

Not a tarot card reading, only based on my intuition.

Divider

Pile 1:

This person will expand your horizons, open you up to new opportunities that you believe were not possible. They will grab your hand and pull you up, they don’t care for your whines and complaints, they want to see you happy. Their happiness stems from you improving yourself and seeking a higher version of yourself. They want you to believe that you can have a better life and they want you to seek it in improvement.

Why?

“Because, I have been on the same road you have been, seeking adventures and a better life, but assuming I cannot do it. You already know you can do it, so why assume otherwise? I don’t understand why or what makes you afraid.”

As I channeled this message, the same imagery popped up in my head many times.

Imagine yourself on a tall rocky landscape, and the only way to escape is on a very thin line, not even a rope, a thin line to escape and walk on to make it to the other side. I can see and feel your fear upon this and you keep telling yourself, “I am scared,” or “I cannot do it.” Of course not, how will you do it if you have these assumptions? You cannot.

So what is the point of this imagery? Because this is how your lover’s feels, your lover is someone who will always pick up their feet when things go wrong and this will influence you to do the same. This person will make you whole once more and this person will make your life complete. They gave you advice and you change your life. Thank them, thank anyone, sure, but thank yourself the most.

Pile 2:

This is a rocky pile. Is anyone dealing with a lover who treats them like crap but they keep going back to?

Why are you going back? You have this angel looking around for you, to marry, to love, to have kids, whatever, and you have the audacity to disrespect yourself, for what? To make them happy? To control you? To manipulate you? What are you doing with your life? Sweetheart, you have an angel waiting for you, to love and adore, to caress you when you’re sobbing and to make you feel safe. Why are you going back to that person?!

This person is going to change your whole existence!! I mean it, I feel such amazing an energy radiating from this person, I can feel it in my whole being as I type your reading. This person is going to love you so much where you cannot even fathom how the heck you went back to this so called lover. This person will make you believe that you can become a billionaire, that you are worthy, that you deserve so much better. They will change your mindset to the point where you will be financially stable. You want to have kids, right? So do they. They want children who will be treated with so much love, dignity and respect. How can you have children like that if you don’t show the same to yourself? You cannot.

Know your worth and leave them, heal yourself and your angel will come to you. You’ll see.

[weirdly-specific-but-ok]

Why the fight for queer rights isn't over (it should be obvious, but to some people it isn't)

TW: transphobia and homophobia

Hi, Tumblr, this is Asmi. If you know me, it's probably as the Good Omens Mascot, which is flattering. I've found so much love and queer positivity in the good omens fandom, and the beautiful thing is how it's canon. Many people outside the queer community don't realise how crucial media and communities like this are. Right now since I'm on break from education, I'm on tumblr for most of the time I'm awake (which is not a lot, I nap more than Crowley). It's wild how different it is from the real world, that I live in at least.

I'm sure a lot of you might have had a similar experience to this: Basically, two people in my life, my bio father and my ex, both told me to my face that queer people needed to stop calling themselves oppressed and how now it's queer people who hold all the power and are oppressing other people. With all due respect, what the fuck.

I live in India, and being a trans guy who is bi and aspec, it's a cesspit. While I'm gendered correctly on Tumblr, and people are so loving and supportive, in real life even my friends who say they support me misgender me 90% of the time. Same with my family. In my previous college which I had to leave because of bullying by both the students and admin, even the queer students would misgender me (I told them I used they/them pronouns, because he/him would have been too unsafe, but even that they didn't manage). In the college I'll join next, it won't be safe for me to be out at all, at risk of losing opportunities and safety. Gay marriage is still illegal. Homophobia and transphobia is the norm. This doesn't even cover all the daily indignities like queerphobic jokes, casual discourse on whether or not we deserve rights, etc. Discrimination against aroace-spec people is rampant even within the queer community, worldwide.

And I live in an urban area, one of the largest cities in India known for its progressiveness and for being relatively safe for queer people. I am privileged compared to other queer people here. The story in other cities, in rural areas which make up most of the country, is far more horrifying. I'm unqualified to speak about anything other than my own experience, but if you can (if you are in a stable and calm enough mental state to handle the information, please put your mental health first) I'm sure there are first person accounts on the many forums.

The fight for equality is not over. It doesn't end with laws riddled with loopholes, it doesn't end even with laws that genuinely help the queer community. Aside from the huge problems of living safely and with access to equal opportunities and resources for people, we deserve dignity, peace, and the right to feel accepted and that we're not an abnormality. And so much more.

I haven't said anything that hasn't been said before, but it can't be said enough. To the queer people reading this, take all my love. We need to stand together, eliminate discourse over who is queer enough to be queer, and be the safe space that the world will not provide for us.

It's not over, and it hasn't been won by a long shot, but what matters is that we're fighting. Even existing as ourselves in a world that tells us it is a crime, is defiance and a step towards making this right.

[moonylantsovs]

Heyyy can u plz write a season one Bellamy blake x reader griffin/Kane SMUT where they are enemies and leaders of the 100 but don't see eye to eye on anything but have too much sexual tension and attraction towards each other and decide to give into their desire for one night cause they think if they screw each other they get their attraction out of their system?

Invisible String [B.B]

summary: hating him was easier than loving him. especially when clarke went through so much trouble to keep them away from each other. but for some reason, her attraction to him was much larger than her dignity

pairings: bellamy blake x caroline griffin (oc) a/n: the oc has no description, so feel free to imagine whoever you wish, I just write better when the main character has a name

tags: (18+) wells jaha lives, cursing, the nickname "princess" cause it's kind of cringey but fits their dynamic, SMUT; hate sex, (kinda) dom!bellamy, dirty talk, hate sex, hair pulling

Hating Bellamy Blake was almost too easy.

He was too cocky for his own good and was even worse at listening to orders than Caroline. He had been tormenting her, her sister and Wells since they landed.

But a long time has passed since their first days on Earth. The camp was functioning well and Caroline and Clarke found a way to work with Bellamy. After a kid died and Murphy was banished after being accused of killing some privileged kid, they formed a truce. Bellamy was the one leading the hunting trips and watching over the delinquents who were building the wall, Clarke was in charge of keeping the peace with the Grounders (the liberty of her having a thing with their Commander) and Caroline decided who got which job and worked with Raven to make radios and get in contact with The Ark.

She was not that thrilled about her mother coming down because, before she got arrested, she was not exactly mother of the year. Still, she felt guilty about the innocent people who were dying up there while there was a safe planet waiting for them.

Caroline let out a sigh and stood up, instantly drawing Raven’s attention to herself. She wiped her sweat off of her face with a rag and placed it down on the table, before saying, “I think that I’m done for today. I have to discuss some stuff with Bellamy.”

Raven snorted and raised an amused eyebrow, her tone taunting. “Oh, I bet. So much for staying away from him.”

The Griffin rolled her eyes at the reminder of her sister’s warning and wordlessly walked out of their work tent. Bellamy was very blunt with his flirting when they weren’t spitting insults at each other and when he wasn’t sleeping with half of the camp. Caroline was slightly annoyed and brushed it off quickly, but Clarke was down-right pissed. Her protective older sister was on and she was quick to tell Caroline how bad of an idea getting involved with Bellamy was. Her lecture was at least five minutes long but Caroline did not listen to a word that she said. She was not stupid. She knew that even flirting with Bellamy was a bad idea, but she was not planning on it. She liked to believe that she had standards.

“Hey, Princess.” Bellamy greeted her when she entered his tent without knocking. “You’re early.”

“No, you just slept in.” Caroline deadpanned while scanning his bare chest with a blank look on her face while he sat on the edge of his makeshift bed. “Some of us have been up and working for hours.”

Okay, yes, Bellamy was an asshole. But he was a hot asshole. If you asked her, she would say that the fact that he was annoying only made him more attractive. But that might just be her daddy issues talking.

He furrowed his eyebrows and asked, “Shit, is it really late?”

“Yeah, it’s almost lunch.” She shrugged and walked across his tent to grab one of his shirts. She absentmindedly threw it on him, silently telling him to get dressed. “I told Wells to let you sleep. You were keeping guard pretty late last night.”

She told herself that it was because he needed his eight hours of sleep if he was going to function properly. He was even more grumpy when he slept for only two hours.

Bellamy’s lips tugged into a grin and then fell open as he let out a dramatic gasp. “Was that you being nice?” She rolled her eyes and he was quick to add, “I’m sorry, I only ever saw you being nice to Clarke and Wells. Is it snowing outside?”

“Shut up.” Caroline muttered, her eyes involuntarily flickering toward his hands. “Just get dressed. We have work to do.”

He grabbed the blue shirt that she gave him but made no move to put it on. He simply raised a knowing eyebrow. “Are you sure that you want me to do that? You don’t want to keep checking me out?”

Caroline felt heat rushing to her face. Her mouth opened and closed a couple of times, but no words came out and she was desperately trying to find something to say. A couple of seconds later, she simply blurted out, “Don’t flatter yourself. You’re not that good looking.”

His smirk only grew. “Oh, so I’m not that good looking?” He stepped closer and she wished that the ground would swallow her whole. “I knew you liked me, Princess.”

“You wish,” She shot back, but made no move to step away from him. His scent was intoxicating and she could not look away from his face. His dark eyes were flickering between her eyes and her lips and she swore that they only got darker when her breath hitched.

Bellamy lifted his hand to brush some of her hair away from the face and he licked his lips, an action that only made her stare at his lips longer. He pushed his face closer to her own and just as he was about to lock their lips together, Wells’ voice rang through the air.

“Bellamy, did you take my─” He cut himself off when he looked up from the ground to see his best friend standing inappropriately close to the guy that she hated for months. His eyebrows shot up in surprise and he silently looked back and forth between the two of them for a couple of moments. He swallowed and awkwardly croaked out, “I’ll come back later. Or never. Probably never.”

Caroline watched the place he was standing at a couple of seconds ago in shock. She quickly stepped away from Bellamy and cleared her throat. “Get dressed and meet me in the map tent.”

Bellamy watched her leave the tent in a rush and chuckled to himself the second she left.

-

Caroline wished that they could simply work in silence, each on their own side of the tent. After what happened earlier that morning, the last thing that she needed was to spent the next couple of hours before lunch with Bellamy. Especially because he seemed completely unfazed. If anything, his amusement only grew every time he would catch her staring at him which would lead to her having to look away or narrow her eyes into a glare to seem annoyed rather than flustered.

He saw right through her. That might be the reason why she hated him so much. She had always tried to keep her walls up as high as possible because she was afraid of letting people in. But Bellamy could read her like an open book.

“We should move Jasper from the gate and get Miller there.” Caroline suggested as she leaned over the map of their camp. “I love him to death but he runs at the first sight of danger. There is no one better than Miller. I trust him to stay there more than anyone.”

Bellamy surprised her by shaking his head. Her eyebrows furrowed. Was Miller not his best friend? “Guarding the gate is a big responsibility, yes, but it’s also dangerous. The guards there are usually the first to go. We have to put someone disposable there.”

Caroline let out a humorless laugh and looked at him in disbelief. “Are you kidding me? No one in this camp is disposable. We put the most competent person there, no matter how much either one of us cares about him.”

The Blake shrugged. “I don’t know if losing him is worth it.”

“And losing someone else is?” She retorted and stepped away from the table and scoffed. “I cannot believe you. You talk shit about The Ark, Jaha and the privileged for sending us here and labeling us as disposable but you are not any different. For some reason, those kids out there trust you but you are willing to sacrifice any of them if it means saving your ass and the two people you care about.”

Bellamy clenched his jaw, his eyes flashing with anger the second that she compared him to the monsters that killed his mother and locked up his sister. He stepped closer to her and glared down at her. “Stop pretending that you know me, Princess. You can’t psychoanalyze everyone in your life just because of one decision they make.”

Caroline glared back at him, not intimidated. “And you can judge people based on who their parents are? That’s ironic. I would not be surprised if you were planning to tell me that I should guard the gate since you clearly hate me so much. Putting me there is the easiest way to get rid of me, right?”

“Maybe I do hate you?” His words made her falter in surprise. “How can I not? You always have something to say about every decision I make. You take every opportunity to argue with me. Whenever I think that we are starting to see eye to eye, you do another thing to drive me crazy. And I hate myself for it a lot more than I hate you because despite you being everything that I’m against I still…” Bellamy did not finish his sentence and simply stared at the clueless look on her face. After a couple of seconds of silence, he muttered, “Fuck it.”

Caroline stumbled back in surprise which led to her sitting on the desk. Before she got the chance to kiss him back, he pulled away. His breath fanned across her lips and he stared at her, trying to find any hint of disgust or hesitance. He did not find any. But this time, she was the one that kissed him. She gripped his shirt to keep him closer while one of his hands tangled in her hair. Her breath hitched when he used his grip on her cair to pull her head down in order to reveal her neck. He did not think twice before he messily started placing open-mouthed kisses over her exposed collar bone.

She moaned and spread her legs so he could comfortably stand between them. His other hand found her waist and she ran her fingers through his hair, pulling on his curls lightly to spur him on. He pushed down her shirt to reveal her bra so he could keep sucking hickies down to her breats. The hand on her waist squeezed it and he paused, squeezing his eyes shut to get it together.

“Did you─ did you ever have sex?” Bellamy asked,his dark eyes practically piercing through her soul.

Caroline’s eyes almost softened at the genuine worry in his voice. He was grounded enough to ask the eighteen year old, who spent the last six years of her life locked up, if she was a virgin or not. Luckily, after Clarke broke Wells’ heart, she was more than fine with being his rebound to keep her mind off of other things.

She rapidly nodded, tugging at his shirt so he could get back to what he was doing before.

“Words, Caroline,”

Caroline. Not Princess or Baby Griffin. Just Caroline.

“Yes.” She breathed out. “I had sex before. Now stop being so uncharacteristically considerate and kiss me.”

Bellamy did not need to be told twice. He leaned back down to kiss her and her hands quickly found their way around his neck to pull him closer to her despite them already being chest-to-chest. His tongue slipped into her mouth and easily won the short battle for dominance.

Caroline placed her hands on his chest to push him away. He gave her a confused look which disappeared when she pulled her shirt over her head. He smirked and then copied her actions, exposing his chest. This time, she shamelessly checked him out.

Bellamy was pleasantly surprised when she reached down to pull his pants down along with his underwear. Her hand wrapped around his dick and started to slowly move her hand up and down, almost as if she was teasing him. He let out a low groan and leaned his hands on either side of her. He rested his forehead against hers and kept his eyes on her as she jerked him off.

“Fuck, Princess.” He cursed, his breath hitching. He was ashamed of how close he was just from her jerking him off.

He pulled her hand away and just as she was about to ask him what he was doing, he pulled her off of the desk in order to pull her hands down. He wrapped his arms around her thighs to place her back on the table and she gasped in surprise when his fingers slipped between her legs. His fingers teased her opening until she was whining into his mouth.

“Don’t tease.”

He chuckled and dipped one of his fingers inside of her. “Patience.”

She did not argue and simply leaned back, letting him pump his fingers in and out of her while he rubbed her clit. She moaned his name lowly, aware that if they were too loud, the others outside could hear them. Bellamy almost moaned at the sight of the girl squirming and trying her hardest to stay quiet on the table. The girl who never kept her mouth shut and was a force to be reckoned with was completely at his mercy.

Before Caroline could finish, he pulled his hand away. She panted and gave him a weak glare. “You’re a dick,”

“I didn’t hear you arguing when you were moaning my name.” He shot back and cupped her ass to bring their bodies closer together. He wrapped one of his hands around his dick and slid inside of her. He let out a deep groan and she let out a high pitchen moan due to his lack of patience. Bellamy placed one of his hands over her mouth and whispered, “Be quiet for me, Princess. You don’t want the rest of the camp to hear how much you hate me, do you?”

She shook her head and her eyes rolled to the back of her head when he pulled out and roughly pushed back inside her. He was no better than her. He was cursing and groaning as she rolled her hips back into his own.

They spent a couple of minutes like that, soaking in pleasure and the thrill that they got from the fact that anyone could walk into the tent at any minute. “I’m close.” He muttered and used the hand that was not covering her mouth to rub her clit in order to get her closer to the edge.

Caroline’s nails dug into his shoulders and the moaned against his hand, almost reaching her peak. He groaned at the pain and only snapped his hips against her faster. Her vision blurred and her eyes squeezed shut when she finally fell over the edge and came around him. Her walls squeezing him like a vice was what pushed him over the edge and he was quick to pull out and finish on her stomach.

Caroline panted and leaned her forehead against his chest when his hand fell from her mouth.

"So much for hating me, huh, Princess?"

She groaned. "Clarke is gonna kill me."