#and their ilk from other fandoms

[eisforeidolon]

I think it's pretty telling in terms of unfortunate fandom trends in entitlement that there are people from multiple canons in the comments here going, 'Yep, I know shippers like that.'

The only thing a canon's creators actually owe their audience is the ability to walk away. Period. Sure, I think we all do our fair share of affectionate bitching about what we personally feel are lost opportunities, but if it gets to the point you genuinely don't even like the canon at all? It's on you to walk away and find one you will like.

Except certain fans refuse to accept that. They start out enjoying potential elements of the canon in a normal way along with the ongoing action. But somewhere along the line, fun and speculative what-ifs turn into convincing themselves the canon must be telling the story of the ship they want and the only story worth telling is that one. It has to be happening, because when they dissect the entire canon with shipping goggles welded to their face, they can find all these hidden clues where the canon is totally promising it will happen! Even when the creators say it's not, that's just misdirection! So by the time the canon ends without it happening because a storyline that didn't exist ... didn't exist ... instead of moving on or even just diving deeper into fanfic, they take it as a personal attack and throw giant screaming tantrums about what they were owed.

It is bad enough when it only impacts that one original fandom. It's absurd that sometimes you can't even move into unconnected fandoms without running across those same ship-only fans still trying to make everything about their thwarted entitlement. People who would be better off just enjoying canon B, but who remain obsessed with trying to convince the world they were done soooo wrong by canon A instead. Except they weren't. Not only did canon A never owe them anything, any familiarity with canon A usually exposes how out of place canon B's events being shoehorned in would have been. So all they end up accomplishing is newly annoying actual fans of canon B and continuing to annoy actual fans of canon A - while indulging their own absurd and entirely undeserved victim complex.

Fandom Problem #5910:

In what used to be my main fandom (until it got too toxic), there's one group of fans who make everyone else miserable. Their whole thing was that all they cared about was a ship, so when that ship didn't go canon, they took it out on everyone. Now that the source material has ended, they're jumping to other fandoms and bringing the same energy there: sucking all the joy out of moments by making it all about how THIS romantic plot or THIS romance-focused ending is what WE should have gotten, even though it wouldn't have worked or made sense. Sometimes I feel like nothing I love is safe from them!

[marveltrumpshate]

To say that we’re beyond devastated and at a loss for words barely scratches the surface of what we’re feeling in the wake of the U.S. election, and it’s been a struggle to figure out what to say and how to speak with impassioned clarity when we're muddling through fury, heartbreak, and fear. So what we did was go back to our 2018 "thank you" post to all of our creators, bidders, signal boosters, and supporters to reflect on the beginnings of MTH and where we can go from here.

When Marvel Trumps Hate was created, it was made with the hope that our name would outlast Trump. We would fight to eradicate the hate that he and his ilk have sown and continue to spread and not only survive but also thrive in spite of it. That Trump would be re-elected six years later by a bigger, more emphatic margin, with the Republicans taking the House and Senate, is a damning indication of the state of the U.S. today and a result that is of extreme concern for everyone in the U.S. and around the world.

In many ways, it’s dispiriting that not only have a lot of things not changed since MTH was founded, but they’ve also become actively worse and more dysfunctional. But the difference between 2018 and 2024 is that while our anger hasn’t gone away, our rage is now accompanied with a better, more clear-eyed understanding of what’s broken and what actions need to be taken. We know what needs fixing—and what works.

What works is community. We may not be able to put our trust in certain systems and people in power, but we can lean on and take care of one another. We have to and we will. How do we know this? Because you’ve all shown that since the beginning. We were reminded of it when reading our 2018 post and thinking about the past six years of MTH. Like we said in our closing message at the end of this year’s auction, it’s easy to feel defeated, but time and time again, we’ve learned that the most important thing is to show up even if you’re unsure of what impact you can have as just one person. Every year, that’s what you all do.

Hope doesn’t come from nowhere. We have to create it ourselves. And while there are dark days ahead of us, what we have to hold onto as we march forward, what lights our way, is the knowledge that you’re doing just that. This year’s auction is proof of it.

This year, 180 "Marvel"-ous creators came forward to offer 293 auctions. They offered 360 unique platonic and romantic relationships and character-centric options (if we include "all ships/gen"-inclusive relationships, this number is even higher) across 40 universes within the Marvel multiverse.

This spirit of inclusion goes beyond trying to encompass as much of the Marvel fandom as possible and can be seen in our auction and charity results too. Every one of 293 auctions was bid on, and every one of our 30 supported charities received donations. As ever, we’re in awe of your commitment to supporting all our creators and charities.

As for the crowning achievement, the culmination of our efforts, the grand total we raised this year is…

Wow. This is the most we’ve ever raised in a single MTH auction (other than our Spiders Georg 2021 auction), and you shattered the record for the highest amount donated to a charity AGAIN, with $9,420.62 going to Médecins Sans Frontières (Doctors Without Borders) too. This is all the more impressive considering it was accomplished by the second-to-smallest number of creators and auctions we had. It goes to show that no matter how small you are, you can pack a punch if you team up.

You can see the effort of our teamwork and the breakdown of the donations here (to enlarge the image, click here and hover to see the donation amount per charity).

We’ve also listed the amount raised per charity on our 2024 auction results page.

Creators, we couldn't have started this auction without you. Your commitment to the event, whether you return every year, made a surprise welcome return after a break, or are new and took what we know can be a scary jump into the event, moves us. It’s hard putting yourself out there, and we applaud you for it.

Bidders, your willingness to duke it out helps us raise as much money as we do. We’ve seen some wild things though what always astonishes us the most is that most donations are small ones including a lot of those crazily high winning bids—so many of them were the result of people pooling their five dollars together! This has been consistently the case since MTH began and is a testament to the ripple effect you can have if you’re part of something bigger than yourself.

We also owe our success to our amazing signal boosters. There can’t be an auction without any participants so to every fandom community Tumblr and Discord mod and every individual who shared our posts and encouraged their fandom friends to sign up and/or bid, thank you so much. Together, we reached hundreds of fantastic creators and bidders from all corners of the Marvel fandom, many of whom we didn't know and some who were hearing about us for the first time (and some who made the leap after sitting on the fence for years which is awesome).

Thank you all. We’re so touched by the massive number of people who donated above and beyond their pledged amount, creators who took on multiple auctions and offered multiple winner slots, and bidders who accepted their second-place wins with such eagerness. We also had people make donations in the spirit of MTH even though they didn’t win an auction, which was beyond generous. This year, we saw a record number of people doing that (even someone who was no longer part of the Marvel fandom but wanted to support what we were doing), especially in the wake of the U.S. election, and it made us very emotional to see such compassion.

From the bottom of our hearts, we thank you for helping us turn our seventh Marvel Trumps Hate auction into such a fantastic experience. We cherish every single message of love and support that we received and continue to receive on our Discord server and through DMs, Tumblr messages, emails, tweets, etc., and they as well as your generosity have buoyed us since September and the past two days in particular.

If you'd like to stay updated on all of the 2024 Marvel Trumps Hate fills, follow us and/or check out the "mth 2024" tag on our Tumblr. You’ll also be able to find works posted on AO3 in our Marvel Trumps Hate 2024 collection and links to fills in our Discord server, which you can join to brainstorm prompts, chat about fills, and find out about other fandom events.

And with that, MTH 2024 has officially come to a close. Thank you once again to everyone who volunteered their services, time, money, and platforms to spread the word. We hope that these results have bolstered your belief that you can make a difference as well as your determination to stand back up after being knocked down and defiantly say, “I can do this all day.”

Because we have to. For those of us who have suffered, for those of us who are in the most danger now, for those of us who have died at the hands of the evil and cruel in power and are no longer with us. For all of us who are still here. Because we all deserve to be here, safe, cared for, and alive.

So let’s get back up. Let’s get to work.

Yours in solidarity, Your 2024 MTH mods

[directdogman]

Each Dialtown cast member shares their favourite Muppet!

Idea: Characters from the cast of Dialtown are asked to share their favourite characters from The Muppets, in order to get the Muppets fandom on board with DT, which winds up being a largely fruitless ordeal.

Gingi insists that Grover and Oscar the Grouch from Sesame Street are Muppets when asked, and takes it badly when Gingi is instead asked to name a character FROM The Muppet Show. The ensuing discussion that follows is much too rancid to be published online, making the time spent trying to calm Gingi down entirely in vain.

Karen's comments are not published as she refuses to do ANYTHING other than vent frustrations about Kermit the Frog, making her comments unusable as they would undoubtedly piss off a large section of the Muppets fandom, who largely venerate Kermit the Frog.

Randy tries to make an argument for Scooter being the 'best one', feeling that he, himself, is the scooter of the Dialtown cast, and thus, must stick up for one of his ilk. This answer is NOT published because the internet would tear him to shreds for playing devil's advocate for the worst Muppet.

Randy is then given another opportunity to pick a favourite Muppet, provided he selects a different Muppet. Randy picks Pepe the Prawn. When asked why Pepe is his favourite, tears well on his screen and he asks if he can leave to get a glass of water. Upon leaving the room, Randy never comes back. The answer isn't included in the article, as it's impossible to discern whether Randy feels that Pepe the Prawn is truly a kindred soul or if he was simply put on the spot and felt pressured to simply name the first Muppet he thought of.

Oliver answers by explaining Gonzo is his favourite but every time he's given an opportunity to explain why, his explanation inevitably transitions into a rambling endorsement of anarchism. Each time, after he's been given an opportunity to explain himself, Oliver is asked to rephrase his answer to be less political and he accepts, apologizing for his mistake and swearing that he understands what the blog is looking for now. Oliver then proceeds to somehow transition back into an endorsement of anarchism until the interviewer gives up and decides to leave him out of the article.

We're not actually sure who Norm likes the best from the Muppets cast because before we could get to Norm, Gingi (irate that Grover/Oscar the Grouch were rejected as its answer) told Norm about Big Bird dying in the Challenger explosion (which happened in DT's timeline), prompting Norm to get really upset and leave before his turn came up. Norm's favourite character is PROBABLY Sam Eagle, but now, we'll never get to know for sure. Thanks, Gingi.

Mingus, when asked, declined to answer out of sheer disinterest. Upon being shown a photo of the extended Muppet cast, she arbitrarily pointed to Robin the Frog and said "That one, I guess." Upon being asked why she would pick Kermit's nephew of all characters, her response was: "It's no business of mine who this frog is related to. Nobody is well-connected enough to ensure they'll live if I deem them a threat to my success." After being reminded that Robin is canonically a child, Mingus retorted by pointing out that Robin is, in fact, a fictional frog puppet. Not sure what to do with this answer, but we certainly can't include it.

Stabby + Shooty are asked for their favourites and they pick Statler and Waldorf respectively. When asked why, they explain it's because they're cool, wear suits, deliver CUTTING jabs, and each hang out with their best bro all day, not unlike themselves. The blog operator remarks: "Oh. I figured it was because, like you guys, they're kinda interchangeable and are pretty much overlooked by everyone", causing Stabby to angrily flip a table and storm out of the room. Shooty apologies meekly for his outburst and leaves to calm his companion down. The answer is not published as the interviewer had no clue which was Stabby and which was Shooty, thus being unable to accurately attribute the answers to either of them.

Bigfoot's favourite character turns out to be Animal, and this is the only answer that ends up being published.

Here's the finished article:

DIALTOWN ARTICLE, EACH OF THE CAST'S FAVOURITE MUPPETS: BIGFOOT'S IS ANIMAL.

The article only gets 3 likes.

[smusherina]

yard work - chapter 1 (regina george x reader)

fandom: Mean Girls (all media)

pairing: Regina George x OFC/Reader

summary: You'd been in the same class as Regina George since kindergarten. You'd lived on the same street even longer. Once upon a time, when life was sandbox disputes and who got the swing first arguments, you'd even been friends. Now, in junior year of high school, you doubted she even remembered you. The same couldn't be said about you. You definitely remembered her.

chapter 2

Summers spent cleaning the Georges' pool, mowing their lawn, fixing up their garage door, and giving the odd oil change to one of their cars was the norm for you. Your father had made it big as a self-made entrepreneur, climbing the ladder rung by rung all the way up from rock bottom, but he had ensured your upbringing reflected his humble roots. That meant that while you never had to go hungry like he did, your allowance was minimal. Enough for school lunch and a few dollars to spare.

Doing odd jobs around the neighbourhood had been your primary means of making money for the last couple of years. The block was pretty fancy, so not everybody wanted to hire some twerp with no experience when a professional was easily available. Even so, rich folk were surprisingly stingy. You had your own equipment, didn't ask for much and had a familiar face. The Georges were your longest-standing clients. Mowing their lawn in summer and shovelling their driveway in winter had been your job since you were thirteen.

That was probably the reason why Regina kept her distance instead of ridiculing you like everybody else. You went to the same high school, Northshore, but that was pretty much it. You hung around your own (loser) ilk and she had her (cool) troupe. She had this odd little clique with Gretchen Wieners and Karen Smith. You didn't know much about the two girls and you couldn't really tell if Regina even liked them. They hung out so they had to have something in common, right? You were but an observer at the end of the day, no matter how your neighbourly vantage point gave you a glimpse into Regina's life.

You counted her ignoring you as a blessing. It would've cut deep to fall victim to her new ways. This persona wasn't that new, you had to admit, but when you'd known her since practically diapers, high school was a pretty new development. She'd never been what people would describe as sweet or nice, but this mean girl persona was on a whole other level.

To be fair, you could very well understand why Regina was the way she was. You knew Mr George. You'd sat at the same dinner table as him, had experienced first-hand how his presence weighed on his family. Especially on Regina. Your father was the same way, all sharp edges with no time for tenderness, not even- especially not for his daughter. That'd been the reason you'd gotten so close to Regina in the first place. Most of the time it was just Regina, her mom and you at their house. Mrs George left you two by yourselves a lot 'cause she had to take care of Kylie. You loved being at the Georges' house.

(Expect, of course, those select few times Mr George was also there. But that was rare. Regina didn't invite you over when he was home.)

And now it'd been reduced to this. You, fishing leaves from the pool. Regina, inside with her new friends. Mrs George, lounging on the patio with a virgin margarita, chatting with you when you rounded the pool closer to her. Kylie, probably in the sitting room dancing along to whatever they played on MTV.

You straightened from your slouched position and groaned at the ache in your back. You leaned back with your hands braced at your sides, trying to stretch out the crick.

"Mrs George?" You hollered and waved your arms in her direction.

"Yes, dear?" She brightened up, perching up in her sun bed.

"You mind if I put my headphones on while I mow the lawn?"

"Oh, sure, of course!" She waved a hand dismissively. "Remember the glasses! And once you're done why don't you have dinner with us?"

"I'll think about it, Mrs George." You smiled with thin lips, knowing you'd be turning the offer down. With that, you plugged your headphones into the Walkman at your hip and walked to the shed.

You wore the safety glasses obediently, knowing all it took to blind you was one unlucky pebble to the eye. Your dad had been sure to lecture you about workplace safety over the years, like every time you stepped foot in the shop, so at this point putting on embarrassing safety equipment was second nature.

The Georges had a big lawn. Stingy rich people, couldn't get one of those driveable mowers. You'd be pushing this cart around till nightfall, or something...

Usher's newest album blasting in your ears and the rumbling of the lawn mower muffling all background noise, you didn't notice her at first. By the time you caught sight of Regina standing on the patio stairs, looking your way, hands on her hips and a displeased frown on her lips, you feared you were too late.

You let the engine die and tugged your headphones away from your ears. "What?" You yelled across the pool.

She rolled her eyes before answering. "Mom wants you in for dinner."

"Oh," This had never happened before. Usually, Mrs George would come round to give you your payment, ask you to stay and you'd say no. She'd smile sadly and say "Maybe next time, sweetie".

"She made casserole," Regina said, inspecting her nails. What was for dinner was definitely not the reason for your hesitation.

"Uh, I don't wanna intrude-"

"You wouldn't have been invited if it was an intrusion, idiot." She cut in sharply. "Don't be rude." And so, she swept inside.

"Uh- I- I'll finish up as fast as I can!"

[oonajaeadira]

That Awoooo Inside You, Pt. 2

Fandom: The Wild Robot / Fink the Fox

Pairing: Fink <3s OFC fox Farrah

Rating: G all the way, don’t worry. This is keeping in the world and disgustingly wholesome. Prolly too clean for tumbles 😆

Warnings: None. It’s for cuteness and for heart.

Summary: After the events of The Wild Robot, a new resident joins the island. She’s a little withdrawn and Fink finds out why.

A/N: This chapter is mainly for @brandylyn because it means so much to me that she wants to read a simple story about a little yearning fox.

PART 1

For the past many mornings Fink had woken to an empty hut, the little heap of leaves near the door where Farrah preferred to sleep flattened and empty. As much as he knew he could just track her by scent, it wasn’t necessary anymore. He knew where she was.

And his heart sank a little. 

He’d been hoping for the day when he’d wake to find her still sleeping, at peace, or the night where she’d fall asleep before him, comfortable in her new home. But her ears always remained alert, feigning sleep into the night, and she was gone by first light.

Not that she wouldn’t come back to join him for meals or to play fast-as-the-wind with the possum kids. But he supposed she went to the cove in the morning for the same reason she slept near the door.

Hoping to catch a whiff of home.

There’d been two full moons since Farrah came to the island and she adjusted fast to their strange way of life. She wasn’t as hard driven by hunger as some of the other animals and gained from their talks that was because food had been more scarce where she was from and she was patient when it came to waiting for meals. Fish and shellfish had already been a big part of her diet. 

So she must have come from another island…but Fink couldn’t be sure. Anytime he’d ask more about it, she’d change the subject or go quiet. And she was very very good at being quiet. Probably had to learn that with fur like hers. It’s a wonder she made it to maturity without proper camouflage. Silence and speed would be her only options.

Except when she laughed. She laughed loud and high, almost a cry when she was really going. Farrah was easy to amuse and he made sure to do so whenever he had the chance. He wanted to see her happy and settled here. With him.

And he just liked to hear her laugh. Nobody laughed at his jokes like she did.

“That is the look of a lovelorn fox,” Paddler dryly declared one day, turning away to scrape away at a massive trunk with his crooked incisors. Fink had just cracked a joke at a squirrel’s expense–and not a clever one either, something about the size of nuts–and Farrah had laughed before bounding off after a butterfly. The beaver’s remark made Fink realize that he was wearing a dopey grin and he shook it off, but not before Paddler added, “Be direct. Build her a dam to show how you feel.”

“I’m not going to give her a dam.”

“But I’m telling you, fine fellow. We may be swimming among the trees as a pike in the waters of the river, yet the ladies still love a good bit of worked wood. You have that home–a good design, said because, as you will remember it is mine–but a little riverside palace of her own? Eh? What a treat.”

Fink rolled his eyes, playing cavalier. “It’s not like that. We’re–” over in the near clearing, Farrah’s fur sparkled white in the sinking sun, her head tilting side to side as she watched two butterflies dancing, trying to pick up on their whispers, quiet and still….and beautiful. “--friends.”

“Ha!” Paddler choked on a laugh. “You fool no one, sir. Just give her a treasure and be done with it. I’m telling you a dam always does the job, but I suppose you must do as your ilk do.” 

“Is that why there's no Mrs. Paddler?”

“Oh ho! I have had my salacious share of affairs, I assure you. My dams are well-given and wide spread. I am focusing on other projects at the moment,” he boasted with a grand gesture towards his gnarled tree, and turned back to his gnawing.

But Fink hadn’t let the beaver’s advice sift completely to the background and after a particularly good day of digging holes for grubs and laying in the sun-warmed grass, it was Farrah herself that completed the thought.

“Okay. You get to take one feature from any other animal and add it to your own. What are you stealing?” Fink rolled on his back, belly to the sun, black paws bent and hanging lazily.

“Uhhhhh,” she sighed. “Mayyyyybe racoon paws?”

He wrinkled his nose in disgust. “Ugh. Really? You’d lose your ability to run fast.”

“Yeah, but where am I gonna run here?” she smiled, teasing, and his tail twitched hopefully. “And I bet they’re useful for arranging bedding and…holding fish…and…oh! I bet urchins would be so much easier to crack open, no more getting spines in my jowls…”

“Wait!” He flipped to his stomach then, his claws digging in the dirt, eager to run, eager to share the idea that had just come to him, ready to bound and yip but controlling himself–she was skittish if he was too bouncy–”You like urchins??”

“Of course. Do they live here? I’ve never found any.”

“Come on. I gotta show you something,” and he took off running with the breeze at his back, which carried the information that she was following and keeping up with him as he made his way through the trees and down the sloping landscape to the shore. 

Running straight for the goose flats, he turned abruptly at the shoreline and went crashing though some bushes until they came to a bluff wall. But instead of coming to a halt, Fink took a leap, knowing which ledges were wide enough to hold him, and which led out to the sea. From there, he was able to round the corner to a small cove. With the tide out, it was a completely isolated beach, not even a sand bird or seagull.

“Welcome to the northern most point of the island,” he explained with a sweep of the paw. “When I don’t wanna dig clams to a soundtrack of honks, I come out here. The tide leaves little treats too. Cockles, a dead fish, sometimes an eel. Sometimes though–” he scanned the stretch of beach, his heart skipping at the sight of a dark little blob, “--there! Urchin!”

Dashing over, he sniffed at it and, finding it still fresh, held it down with one paw and expertly cracked its underside open with his teeth. Then he sat back high and proper, very proud of himself, and offered the feast to her with a flourish. “Madame.” Surely this would be it. This cove was his little secret, his treasure to give her. And serving up delicacies with humor? He just wanted to make her smile…

But Farrah had stopped nearby, distracted, her strange eyes–one light, one dark–searching the sea, her nose activated, taking in the air.

“Uh…Farrah?” Snapping to, she closed the distance, and Fink cocked his head. “Everything okay?”

“Oh, of course. I just caught a whiff of–” she fought off a glance to the sea. “It doesn’t matter. Oh wow! The urchins are huge here!”

“Yeah,” he chuckled nervously. “It’s a specialty here. You’re gonna love the recipe. This one’s for you. Dig in.” As she did, Fink turned fully toward the water and scanned the horizon, trying to see what had caught her attention but found no scents or sights out of the ordinary. “This place is a little secret of mine, but you’re welcome to it anytime.”

“It’s nice here. Quiet.” She licked her jowls, taking in the last morsels of the delicacy. He still hadn’t turned from the sea and just as he meant to ask what had pulled her attention, she surprised him by coming to sit beside him, not just near him, but right beside him, shoulder to shoulder, flank to flank. “Thank you.”

Success. He sat still, paralyzed, trying to keep his heartbeat from racing, his tail from twitching. She liked his gift, she liked his shared treasure, he could feel his paws wanting to happy tap in the sand and the springs of his hips wanting to leap in triumph.

But still he sat. Because she had finally come closer and he knew even a twitch would send her just out of reach again, no matter how badly he wanted to curl his tail around her–not only to warm her but to protect–his foxy instincts running high.

But still he kept sitting, as long as he could, watching her from the corner of his eye as she sniffed the wind and seemed to be relaxing around him.

Not long after that, she was gone in the mornings and he’d track her here to this cove and peek around the bluff wall to find her sitting in almost the same spot, looking out toward the sea. The first day he’d found her, he’d startled her and she ran off in a flash, not coming home until after dark.

After that he left her be and went back to the goose flats for breakfast. She’d join him soon enough and say nothing about it, smiling as if all was fine. But she never sat so close to him again and she still slept every night with perked ears near an escape route.

After a while though, he tried a different tactic. He came out into the cove and sat at the shore as she did–quiet and still–only still very far away. He’d let her pick up his scent before moving closer and sitting nearby, matching her gaze to the sea, and they would sit in silence for a short moment before she would perk up as if all was well and backtrack to the wall and therefore getting on with the day, nothing more about her alone time to be said.

Until today. Poking his head around the bluff he found Farrah on her feet, trotting up and down a short length of the shore, eyes on the far, far horizon…and then he noticed the smell.

Snow.

There was an iceberg far out to sea, not unusual for late spring on some years, but not altogether common either. They never came close and were often in and out of sight within a morning. This one was drifting further away and Fink watched as Farrah tracked it going, looked after it even when it was too far to be seen or smelled, finally sitting with a little sigh and sink of the head.

And then he understood.

One recent night they’d been looking up at the stars and Fink had pointed out The Great Crack in the Sky, his friend Roz had told him its name was Cassiopeia, whatever that means. That’s when she told him that in her home, they called that group of stars The Iceberg Edge. The elders of her pack used it to teach kits not to go out onto the ice when they saw the pattern of this constellation on the ground, because it meant the ice was breaking up and going out to sea. 

This is how she came here, she told him, caught on a piece of spring ice that broke away during a clutch of warm days. It drifted too far out to sea for anyone to hear her howling. When it was almost melted out from under her, she was lucky enough to swim to a piece of debris and huddle on it for a few days until there was an upset and she was in the water again and the next thing she knew she was waking up in the hut with a bear blocking the exit.

It seemed like yesterday and ages ago all together.

Once she noticed him sitting down the beach, this time he moved closer and sat quietly for a little bit before speaking slow and low.

“You…miss your home, huh.” As he expected, she only blinked down at the sand, and his ears fell to a droop. But she wasn’t running off or changing the subject. Maybe if she wasn’t ready to talk, she might be okay with listening. Fink swallowed, realizing he was about to say some things out loud for the first time. “I felt the same way when I came to this part of the island. My mom kicked me out pretty early and I was run off before I could really learn the ropes. It took me a long time to forgive her. I know now that it wasn’t her first choice, that there were too many males and not enough females so I guess she was afraid I’d get targeted. But I was pretty darn lonely for a long time.”

“What changed?”

His breath caught as she spoke up, but he managed to recover and answer. “I found friends. Really amazing friends. I hope that for you too. It seems like you’re off to a good start. Especially if you keep giving Pinktail a break from her spawn.”

At least she cracked half a smile before letting it fade again. “Friends don’t replace family.”

“No, not replace. But they can become another kind of family. I have proof.” He’d told her enough about Roz and Brightbill, and Thorn spent enough time in the hut that he knew she understood. “But I’d like to hear about your family…” and here he couldn’t help himself, his self-interests creeping in as he tested his chances, “...I assume you mean your mate and kits…”

Here Farrah gave him a look so sudden, so bewildered and distressed that he was about to ask her if he’d overstepped, but instead, that laugh of hers broke out, although not as loudly as usual. 

“I was talking about my mother and siblings. They were my whole world. They had to be. The food was scarce so the families were spread out and…well. Mate? That’s… I’m obviously nobody’s first choice, I mean, just look..” She stuck out her tongue and made a silly face, tilting her head from side to side. 

Fink could only blink, perplexed.

The breeze picked up, but the scent of snow was only a memory now, the water a flat line. Farrah’s nose pointed down to the sand again, her half smile diminishing by half again for a moment. Fink leaned forward, words starting to bubble up, words he thought he’d never get to say to another fox. But before he could say what he’d been holding down, she shook off the mood and feebly tried to make it a non-issue, abolishing the silence between them.

“Have I ever told you how my sister once head-butted an elephant seal?”

“Ah…no. Really?”

“Really!”

“Huh. What’s…an elephant seal?”

“It’s–oh! Sometimes I forget…of course you wouldn’t know...!” Then that laugh again, launching into the story, starting with an impression of the seal–although if it was a good impression or not, he couldn’t tell having never seen one. But he knew somehow by her laughter that it was. She was suddenly back to normal, comfortable to be herself when it was only the two of them in this little hidden cove.

No mate. She had no mate. This was good news. For him. But sad for her. That is, if she wanted one. What if she didn’t–? Wait. What did she mean by that? That nobody would choose her? Because of her fur? Because she was a runt? Maybe that made sense in a place where she would have to hide from predators, but she wouldn’t have to do that here. And even if it was necessary, he could protect her…probably. If she wanted that... Even so, she’d be okay. If he learned anything from Brightbill it was that sometimes the will to survive past nature’s plan for you makes you even more likely to outlive everyone else.

He could certainly feel nature’s plan working on him and thought with a little grin that he would gladly give up a longer life for that plan to work out….

But Farrah was speaking, talking about her family, their annual rounds from point to point in their territory, how she and her sisters used to share everything and hide and pop out to scare their mother and she would do her very best to act frightened. And the nights dancing under the green light curtains! Had he ever seen the shifting lights in the night sky? He had to admit he hadn’t. So he put his wonderings aside and laid down in the sand, crossing his paws and listened, learned, and bathed in the light of her widening trust. They had all day until the tide came back in. And Fink had no need to be anywhere but here.

He hoped in time, she would feel the same.

___

PART 3

SERIES MASTERLIST

MAIN MASTERLIST

[srim01997]

Second Chance | Aemond Targaryen x OFC

Paring:  Aemond “One-Eye” Targaryen x Viseara Targaryen (OC), Aemond Targaryen x Viseara Targaryen (OC), Implied Aegin II Targaryen x Celtigar! OFC

Fandom: House of The Dragon (HBO)

Warning: Fluff, Baby Baelon being chaos like his mom, What if! Viseara survived childbirth.

Writer’s note: Some special with what if! event I might made more special chapter about them. ;)

Please ilke, comment and reblog!!

Second Chance masterlist |

Special Chapter: Cannibal

"Aemond, would you like to hold Baelon?"

"I—I think I'd better not, my love," he stammered.

Despite his protests, Viseara placed their infant son into his arms, leaving the one-eyed prince blinking nervously. He glanced down at the tiny child in his embrace, unsure of what to do. It was absurd, really—he was a father in his early twenties, while his wife could technically be considered his mother given their age difference. The irony felt bitter.

Viseara had nearly died giving birth to her son, Baelon, requiring the maesters to keep a constant watch over her throughout the night. However, as her older brother once remarked, Viseara was far too stubborn to succumb easily.

Aemond had nearly fainted when, just days after her recovery, she carried Baelon from his cradle, mounted her blue-scaled dragon, Nyx, and flew around Dragonstone several times with their infant in tow. Baelon had loved it, laughing joyously in his mother's arms. Although Aemond knew that Alyssa, his wife’s mother, had done something similar with her own children, it did little to ease his anxiety.

Baelon's dragon egg had hatched, but tragedy struck when the hatchling died just days after emerging from its shell. Determined to ensure that his son wouldn’t grow up feeling inadequate or dragonless as he had, Aemond tirelessly searched for another egg for Baelon but found none. Dragons rarely laid eggs anymore, and the few remaining had already hatched.

Instead, he took Baelon on rides atop Vhagar or allowed Viseara to carry the boy on Nyx. Having experienced the shame of being dragonless, Aemond was determined that his son wouldn’t endure the same fate.

Baelon grew up surrounded by his cousins but was closest to Visenya, the daughter of Rhaenyra and Daemon, who was born after their efforts to have another child. The two often played together on the beaches of Dragonstone for hours. Daemon once teased Viseara, saying he wouldn’t be surprised if Baelon and Visenya ended up marrying one day.

Everything was peaceful until Baelon's sixth birthday. Viserys and Daemon had traveled to Dorne to negotiate a peace treaty. Aemond wanted to accompany them but was told to stay behind, as Vhagar's presence might incite violence among the Dornish. Instead, he was tasked with looking after Baelon.

That afternoon, Aegon and Elia visited with their three children, and Aenys arrived by ship with Helaena, who was in the early stages of pregnancy. While the children played in another room, Aemond conversed with the adults.

Suddenly, a soldier rushed in, pale and panicked, reporting that Prince Baelon had run off to the other side of Dragonstone for no apparent reason. Aemond immediately dashed out to search for his mischievous son. He had heard that the area was frequented by Cannibal, the massive black dragon infamous for devouring anything smaller than itself.

As he heard Vhagar's roar echoing across the cliffs, Aemond sprinted faster, calling out for Baelon. He froze when he reached the scene. There, perched on the monstrous Cannibal, was his pale-haired son.

To Aemond’s astonishment, the dragon didn’t harm Baelon. Instead, it allowed the boy to climb its massive frame. As Aemond cautiously approached, Cannibal bared its teeth, growling menacingly.

Switching to High Valyrian, Aemond assured the beast he meant no harm to his son. After a tense moment, Cannibal relented and allowed him to approach. Aemond scooped up Baelon, who giggled with delight, and smiled wryly.

"Looks like we have another brave Baelon in the family," Aemond said, kissing his son’s head. "And the youngest ever to bond with a dragon."

When news of Baelon bonding with Cannibal reached the Red Keep, Rhaenyra immediately flew to Dragonstone on Syrax, eager to see for herself. She stared at the young prince, who looked at her with wide, innocent eyes.

"Does Princess Viseara know yet?" she asked.

"I’ve sent a raven to her, sister," Aemond replied. "But knowing her, she’s probably—"

The roars of a red dragon, a crimson queen, and a blue-grey scaled beast echoed across the skies. "Looks like they're having too much fun burning Dorne," Aemond remarked as he turned toward the docks. 

The three dragons landed gracefully, and Viseara, clad in black and red armor, approached them with urgency.

"Baelon, don’t give your mother a heart attack!" she scolded, running her hands through her son’s hair. "You shouldn’t bond with a dangerous dragon without a dragon keeper present!"

Daemon approached with a wide grin. "Let me see the new dragon rider," he said, scooping up Baelon from Aemond’s arms. "Bigger dragon than your father, but my dragon’s still cooler, you know, little nephew."

"Daemon," Viseara and Rhaenyra said in unison, making him flinch. He gave a sheepish grin and returned Baelon to Viseara.

"I was just teasing the little Baelon," he muttered, handing the boy over.

"You’re impossible," Viseara grumbled.

"I’m your twin brother, remember?"

"You were only born first because I kicked you out, Daemon. So, technically, I should be the elder sibling."

"Oh, really? Want to race again, sister?"

"Your dragon is slower than mine and Meleys. Still think you stand a chance?"

"Low blow!" Daemon groaned. Indeed, the Seven seemed to have cursed him with a twin sister who always got the better of him.

No matter what, though, Viseara would always be his twin sister.

"So, in conclusion, Baelon can play with Cannibal, but he can't ride him until the dragon saddle is ready, correct?" Aemond asked, preparing to retire for the night, while Viseara brushed her hair in front of the mirror. He was still wrapping his head around the fact that their little son had bonded with the most dangerous dragon alive without being incinerated—or ending up as a meal. The dragonkeepers had nearly fainted when they learned they'd eventually have to saddle the beast, knowing its volatile nature. The one-eyed prince often wondered where Baelon got his reckless streak from. Was it from him or Viseara? Perhaps the child was the gods' way of punishing him—reincarnating his grandfather as his son for stealing his daughter as his wife.

"Forgive me, grandfather, for taking your daughter as my wife," he thought wryly.

"Yes, but the hard part will be saddling him," Viseara replied, placing her brush down and walking to the bed. "You know how risky it is to saddle a wild dragon that has only recently bonded with a rider." The rogue princess's casual tone was undercut by a sudden, pointed question: "Did you ever think of marrying someone else?"

Aemond, who had just laid down, bolted upright at her words. His good eye blinked rapidly as he processed what she had just said. Reaching out, he clasped her hand, pressing tender kisses along her knuckles. "Seven save whoever upset my wife," he vowed silently. "I'll have Alys Rivers curse them into madness."

"Why would you say such a thing, my love?" he asked softly.

"Well... others have so many children, and I’ve only given you one. Plus, I’m old enough to be your mother—"

"Name them, and I’ll have Alys Rivers curse them all���ow!" He winced, rubbing his arm where she'd smacked him.

"I'm just overthinking," Viseara muttered.

Aemond understood. The age gap between them was undeniable, and in their previous lives, their fates hadn’t intertwined like this. It wasn’t surprising that she would have such insecurities. Gently, he clasped her hands again.

"You’ve given me more than enough by blessing me with our son," he reassured her. "I would never want you to endure the agony of childbirth again just to satisfy the whims of lords or match my father’s ambitions. Having you as my wife is all I need. I swear I will never take another wife, even if you were to pass."

Viseara scoffed, crossing her arms. "If I die before you and you remarry, I’ll haunt her until she goes mad."

"Seven save me," Aemond muttered, pulling her into a hug. "I swear to the gods, I’ll have only you as my wife. If I break that vow, may the Seven strike me down."

Her lips twitched into a smirk. "You’ll have to make up for all the time I was away then. Sleeping alone must’ve been dreadful."

"Sometimes I had Baelon sleep with me," Aemond admitted sheepishly, brushing his lips against hers. "I swear, no handmaid ever shared my bed in your absence."

The rogue princess pushed him back onto the mattress, straddling him. Before they could proceed further, a loud voice from the adjacent room interrupted them—none other than Aegon’s.

"If you two are going to do it, keep it down! I can’t sleep!—Ow! Elia, my love, don’t hit me!"

"And I can’t sleep because of you, Aegon!"

The couple chuckled softly at the exchange before Aemond leaned over to blow out the bedside candle, plunging the room into darkness. They hoped this time, nothing would interrupt their long-overdue reunion. The End

[sleepingdeath-light]

relationship hcs ; astarion

requested by ; mod / self indulgent

fandom(s) ; baldur’s gate 3

fandom masterlist(s) ; here

character(s) ; astarion ancunin

outline ; “dating headcanons for astarion”

note ; i have never played this game and am going completely off of the clips and guide videos i’ve been watching pretty much nonstop for the past week so apologies if my characterisation is at all shaky in this piece

warning(s) ; brief references to canon torture, self worth struggles, and other related angst — but otherwise mostly fluff!

when it comes to being in a relationship with you — a real relationship, that is, and not the act he was putting on to try and manipulate you at the start of your journey as a group — astarion is, for lack of a better analogy, very much so a fish out of water

and, thankfully, that’s not something he’s ashamed or scared to admit to you, so the early days of your relationship are filled with a lot of trial and error as you navigate your new dynamic and he adjusts to being permitted to make his own decisions and set his own boundaries

some things definitely come easier than others for him — namely verbal shows of affection like using pet names for you or being playful or flirty whenever you’re together; things that are more instinct than anything else, but no less genuine in their use

as one might expect, astarion does also use quite the variety of pet names for you — to the extent that your friends have a running joke about him not actually knowing what your real name is (which he always refutes with about as much sass as one might expect) — with his main terms of endearment being ones that he settled into using early on like ‘darling’, ‘beautiful’ (or ‘handsome’ if that is your preferred term), ‘my dear’, and, when he’s being a bit of a tease, ‘my little treat’

actual physical intimacy, however, is a much different story given his rather unfortunate history with his body and how he was forced to use it by his tormentor

of course he knows that you’re different, that you’re not like cazador or his ilk, but that doesn’t make those old habits any easier to break, nor two hundred years of trauma easier to shake from his mind — love and patience can only go so far, after all, and those memories and their effects on him won’t just vanish overnight

so, naturally, that means that adjusting to physical touch unrelated to sex is a very slow process for him — though he’s thankful to have you there with him throughout

there are a few things that he learns he really quite enjoys and makes that abundantly clear to you when you’re together: kisses, gentle touches to the hand, and hugs, mainly

oh and his kisses are truly marvellous once you help him accept intimacy unconnected to sex — they’re soft and sweet but no less passionate for it, starting off with a brief peck before he turns his head and gently (oh so gently) grasps your chin or cheek or neck and pulls you closer to him, almost as if you’re melting into each other as the kiss either deepens or makes way for a string of chaste pecks before you eventually pull apart for whatever reason

he also always makes sure to sooth any places he’s bitten with some apologetic kisses once he’s had his fill (as well as plenty of compliments on your person and about your blood)

his other favourite places to kiss you are either on your hands or wrists (the gentleman that he is): the insides of your wrists, the tips of your fingers, each of your knuckles in sequence, the backs of your hands, your palms when you cup his face in your hands — truly the list is endless and he delights in finding new ways to fluster you and make you smile

shit talking and gossipping amongst yourselves is extremely common and astarion has mastered the art of saying just the right thing about someone he doesn’t like just loud enough for you to hear at the perfect time to make you laugh (or try your best to cover said laugh if you’re currently talking to the subject of said shit talking)

when it comes to sleeping arrangements, astarion just loves being held (but not too tightly so he still has the freedom to get up and walk away for whatever reason if he needs to), but the specifics of the position don’t really matter to him — he’s just as happy to have you laying on his chest, or him on yours if you’re larger than him, as he is to cuddle you on his side (though he does secretly prefer to either be the little spoon or to have his face level with your chest when you’re both on your sides as it makes him feel safer, though it will take him a long time to ever even consider admitting to that)

he is naturally very protective of you and has been known to pull a dagger on anyone he deems as a threat to you — which is very beneficial in combat scenarios or situations where you are actually at risk, but a bit inconvenient when you’re trying not to draw any attention to yourselves and the issue is just some drunk that can’t keep quiet (still not good and something that should be called out, but perhaps not worth having to leave the town you just got to early as to avoid getting charged with yet another crime)

he doesn’t quite know what to do with himself whenever you’re unwell for whatever reason (especially if it’s something a healer can’t contend with) because it’s been centuries since he’s experienced any sort of illness so he can’t even really empathise with you about your situation — he tries his best, of course, but it’s easy to tell that he’s really out of his depth

no matter how long the two of you have been together, astarion still melts whenever you ask his permission to do the smallest of things (like asking if you can kiss him or hold his hand, for example) — but he melts even more when you accept when he declines for whatever reason becaus the novelty of being respected and loved without expectation or conditions never really wears off for him and he appreciates it all just as much as he did the first time

[valyrfia]

You know what i have kind of being afraid lately that charles and max becomes a bit more distant and cold, because of how much lestappen started to get talked. Because before it was just fans, but now even f1 media uses the lestappen thing a lot

Like that video where they asked max "it seems like you explain things to max a lot"

The RPF curse unfortunately, the more popular the thing becomes, the more it spreads to people who aren't as strict with boundaries about it as they should be (because it gets them engagement!) and the more likely it becomes that someone who should NOT know about the RPF finds out about it.

The comments underneath Max's latest instagram post left me feeling uneasy, to be honest. Far too much "omg Lestappen!" or something along those lines making jokes that I would almost believe were lifted straight from the tag on tumblr. It's disconcerting. All I can do is warn about how I've seen other popular RPF go south in my time which is that people either a. end up trying to play into that content so much that it gets noticed by the people involved or b. conspiracy theorist begin to be incredibly invasive in an attempt to 'prove' that they are into each other/the ship is real etc. etc.

The issue isn't tumblr, it's fandom culture which historically was concentrated on tumblr going mainstream and people who I'm sure ten years ago would've bullied our ilk on whatever playground suddenly using fandom terminology or speaking openly about ao3 and shipping or using ship names in spaces where it's not appropriate. I've seen the complaint with Lestappen that it's full of 'ex-larries trying to do the same shit' when in my experience, it couldn't really be further from the truth. All the people who watched Larry happen either from within the fandom or as an onlooker (as I was) know full well how south RPF can go if you don't put in place strong internal and external boundaries. As a result, we may have some ex-larries or similar among us on tumblr, but in my experience the 'trauma' (for lack of a better word) and hindsight enables us to set down boundaries quite well and keep the RPF on tumblr and ao3. The people who are pushing romantic Lestappen past boundaries are those who have NOT witnessed something like Larry in real time, and indeed may not have had any real fandom experience in their more formative years and as a result have no idea how to interact with fandom etiquette or fandom culture. This applies to fans, but also to social media and media teams as well, who come across fandom terminology, see that it gets interaction, and choose to use it. It is a massive problem, and I'm so afraid to say that at the rate we're going at it's a matter of when Max and Charles discover what we mean by Lestappen, not it.

[joannerowling]

that g*iman article is so vile holy shit. it makes the stink his fanbase has risen after the podcast even more rancid. at this point im confident that people who are wholeheartedly trying to please the gender movement are either spineless coward or predators who are building themselves a loyal support net. bc even now his fandom still have a problem with victims going to a "terf podcast" and treat it on the same level as actual serial sexual violence. like be fucking real for once. and it took them like a month to start actually taking about the basics instead of running a fucking conspiracy about secret trans rights sabotage.

also, ive made a personal observation. this whole incident has turned me away from good omens book and series 100% the minute I've finished listening to the podcast. I haven't gone back ever since and don't feel any significant loss about it what so ever. Analysing this made the constant moaning about ethics of consuming content from La Sorcière TERF maléfique and producing fan works about it pathetic. if they had any consistent principles, like they demand everyone else to have, it wouldn't be such a tragedy in the first place. I can, of course, recognise that HP probably has a much more significant role for these people than anything g*iman ever produced. but the question remains – if she is so harmful and evil, and she harms you personally, why are you still engaging with her universe and characters? I've read a lot of g*iman to be very confident in saying that his books and comics do contain disturbing shit that is unsettling and unpleasant, and that looks and feels like it was a choice to write it that way. i was being turn away from his works simply because the content was uncomfortable and g*iman was starting to look like a hypocrite because of what he said and wrote. good omens was sorta like the last straw, partially become it was co-written by Prattchet (his attitude towards Rowling soured my experience with his lit too, btw. thnx, Joanne, for sparing me lots of time and nerves 🩵), and it's gone now too. so like, if the hp book are crawling with bigotry that makes them feel unsafe and targeted, why even touch them still? read another book, indeed.

Reading the article convinced me to listen to the podcast (now that it's been added to Deezer i can do that in the train, yeah!), and my god, it's absolutely horrific what these women went through.

But re: your second paragraph. Here's the thing, i don't think clues about writers doing horrible shit out of the public eye are to be found in their work (as Gaiman himself apparently put it, writers can lie). It's not his fiction which should have tipped people of, it's his actions.

Middle aged married man with kids, publically hanging on tumblr, a website known for being full of insecure teenage girls and younger women who find refuge in fandom culture. Plenty of famous men would probably do the same if they didn't fear it'd look suspect, but the fact that Gaiman was bold enough to actually do it spoke of someone who had compulsions he couldn't reign in even if it would have been smarter. And those types are usually the ones who act on their impulses.

The fact that he has high charisma in general. Not just with young women but older writers as well, men and women. He's reasonably attractive for a man his age and very eloquent. Never trust a man who can make that sort of impression on people.

The way he used Pratchett's death and their friendship to prop himself up. Well, that one is touchy i guess, they were clearly friends, but i don't know, i always had a bad vibe about this. Adapting Good Omens was fine, but he pushed season 2 with this "Terry would have loved this, it's the sequel we always planned on writing" angle i knew he was a manipulator who would steep low to get what he wanted.

The fact he never directly attacked JKR, unlike other men of his ilk (like RT Davies or GRRM), only once published that ask of that anon on his tumblr who said she'd plagiarised Diana Wynne Jones (which she obviously didn't). Gaiman just answered "we should always read more of Diana Wynne Jones" or something like that. Sly fucker.

[silent-as-the-grave]

Falling Slowly Into You

Fandom: Baldur's Gate 3 Pairing: Astarion/Halsin Content Warnings/Tags of note: Fluff, Astarion has complicated feelings about sex, insomnia, boys kissing Length: 1,903 words

Summary: It's late, and Astarion can't sleep. Halsin helps him calm his mind.

-

The fact that he'd survived those first harrowing days after the Nautiloid crash was a bloody miracle.

Centuries of city life left Astarion with very little interest in the great outdoors with all that greenery and muck, all those unpredictable animals and biting insects—he simply didn't know what to do with it all. As much as he tried to hide behind a front of aloof nonchalance, finding himself abruptly tossed into the wilderness without a single clue turned out to be positively terrifying. Perhaps he'd had more patience for 'roughing it' before he'd been turned, but those memories had long since been wiped from his mind like cheap tailor's chalk.

And don't get him started on nature's lack of creature comforts, like clean clothing, soap, and actual beds.

A sharp, rumbling sort of snort broke the relative silence, the accompanying vibration shuddering through his thin frame. It reminded the vampire that as much as he might grumble and complain about the things that vexed him, some aspects of nature did have their perks.

The man beneath him may not be an actual bed, but in some ways, he's even better.

Astarion lay sprawled across an impossibly broad chest, his pale skin a stark contrast to the expanse of sun-kissed flesh that warmed him from below. The sound of Halsin's steady breathing and occasional snores quieted his otherwise restless mind like a soothing lullaby while he pillowed his head against the other's shoulder, his fingers tracing idle patterns across the druid's collarbone. He felt his body rise and fall with Halsin's every breath as if the vampire's weight was inconsequential, yet the large hand curled over his waist suggested it was more than welcome.

It felt unexpectedly comforting, being so close to someone so… grounded. So in tune with their surroundings and, at the same time, with him. For a vampire to find easy companionship with a druid of Silvanus seemed in itself a marvel, considering the animosity that often cropped up between those who valued nature and the undead, but for that companionship to spark a friendship, and then—well, whatever this was?

If Astarion gave a rat's ass for the divine or their ilk, he'd be tempted to call it a miracle.

His stroking fingers stilled and came to rest against the center of Halsin's chest, feeling the steady pulse of life beneath his touch. The rhythmic beat stimulated his sanguine hunger, to be sure, but it also spread over his thoughts and anxieties like a soothing balm in a way Astarion had never expected. In a world that always seemed to demand his attention, push his boundaries, and test his ability to survive, it was oddly comforting to simply… be.

Astarion's fingers curled against the warm body under him, not wanting to disturb the peacefulness of the moment with his feather-light touch. Halsin had become a port in the stormy chaos of Astarion's life, so sure of his purpose and place in the world, while the vampire felt adrift. The druid seemed to have an understanding of life and all its intricacies that Astarion still struggled to grasp. At the same time, chaos threaded its tendrils through every inch of Astarion's character, stirring a tangle of reckless thrill-seeking and muddled morality that didn't seem to fit with Halsin's serene calm.

Yet, despite their incongruent differences, the two of them had been drawn together like iron filings to luspeel.

His cool breath stirred a few strands of chestnut hair as the vampire inhaled deeply, the action self-soothing rather than necessary. Could this strange connection they'd forged really last?

"For such a surreptitious creature of the night, I've never met anyone who thinks as loudly as you do, my star," a voice thick with the remnants of trance murmured between them.

Astarion snorted, the playful scorn and accompanying eye roll evident in his words even in the dark. "Then I'd have to congratulate you for finding a way to completely and utterly tune out Gale's self-imposed monologues, and demand that you share your secret with me. Unless you want that man's overwhelming verbiage to melt my poor brain someday."

"Perish the thought. I'm rather fond of your pretty head and all of its contents." The large druid yawned, his incisors and canines –a little longer and sharper than what would be considered normal– catching a glint of moonlight. Halsin's hand drifted sleepily to the small of Astarion's back, the warmth of his touch leaving the vampire's cool skin tingling. "Does meditation elude you this night?"

Shrugging, Astarion took the other's wakefulness as an opportunity to shift and bury his nose into Halsin's neck, inhaling the captivating blend of wood smoke, musk, and sweet herbs that made up his scent. "No more than normal," he mumbled, the answer as intentionally ambiguous as usual. Neither of them were strangers to the nightmares, the anxieties, or the plain and simple insomnia that often plagued Astarion's rest.

But he was trying to be better about communicating, dammit. Pressing a soft kiss against the heartbeat pulsating in Halsin's throat, Astarion tried again. "I suppose I… I found myself thinking of you. Of us. Of what the future might hold. None of which is very conducive for a relaxing reverie, I'm afraid."

An acknowledging hum rose from Halsin, whose other arm slid around to fully envelop Astarion in his comfortable embrace. "Sometimes," he said quietly, "it can be hard to outrun your own thoughts. I know that all too well. They can be as bad as a pack of ravenous wolves—eager to harry, to consume. But you must not let them corner you. Step aside, let them pass, and soon enough, they'll find another distraction and wander back into the woods."

"Ugh, you and your ridiculous tree-hugging metaphors," Astarion grumbled, though his words lacked any venom. "You make it sound so deceptively simple. I'd much rather find my own distractions than wait for my thoughts to do it by themselves."

"That's a valid alternative as well."

Raising his head a little, Astarion warily met Halsin's gaze. Those drowsy hazel eyes held no judgment, no hesitation, merely affection and a quiet acceptance. How could this man always be so godsdamned considerate? "What, you're not going to pressure me into a late-night discussion about my feelings? On the importance of a solid four hours of meditation and how building good resting habits will make everything magically better?"

"Do you want to have a discussion or lecture about your reverie in the middle of–" Halsin turned his head to peer blearily up into the night sky, trying to gauge the time, "–moondark? Because we can if you want, but it's not my first choice any more than it is likely yours."

"No," Astarion huffed, his throat tight and his voice curt. "I most certainly do not."

The druid's eyes softened, and with a slow, deliberate motion, he cupped Astarion's cheek in his palm and gently brushed his thumb across smooth skin. "Then what do you need from me, my heart? You know that I will do anything within my power to put you at ease so you can rest."

And that was just the thing, wasn't it? The disparity didn't make any sense.

Almost uncannily wise and confident, Halsin was also a veritable beast on the battlefield, wielding the kind of strength that could probably get him anything or anyone he wanted. Sure, the vampire might have his ageless beauty, but Halsin was truly a virile sight to behold. Astarion understood why anyone with eyes would want to climb him like a tree.

But with him, Halsin was so soft, so giving, so altogether safe. No matter how close they get, Halsin didn't assume he was allowed to grab or fondle, to lay a claim or possess him.

Almost as if testing the waters, Astarion slowly shifted until their faces hovered inches from one another, his breath washing over the other's lips. Ruby eyes traced over scars and tattooed skin before returning to settle at the curve of Halsin's mouth.

"You," Astarion whispered. "Just you. And this."

Halsin didn't rush Astarion along. He didn't hurry to fill the space with words. Instead, he let the moment stretch, giving Astarion the space to make a choice and act on it, if he wanted to. The only sound that drifted between them came from the steady sound of the druid's heartbeat, and his gaze never left Astarion's. Fingers warm and calloused from years spent wandering the wilds gently traced the outline of the vampire's lips in silent invitation, but lacking expectation.

There was never any expectation from Halsin.

Closing the gap came easily, their lips meeting in a slow, almost tentative kiss. It's not like they hadn't kissed before, but until Halsin, Astarion had never experienced the kind that the druid liked to give: not rushed, not driven by hunger or desire, but indicative of something more profound. Halsin's kisses were a quiet exploration, a soft caress, a gift without strings.

Astarion treasured each and every one.

The druid's mouth was warm, strong, and steady against his, tasting faintly of the tea with honey he liked to imbibe before bed. His tongue lapped at the seam of Astarion's lips without demanding entry, gentle and playful in a way that one might not expect from such a big man. One of his hands crept up the back of Astarion's neck, combing through soft, silver curls before cradling his head with something akin to reverence.

Astarion sighed into the kiss, pale eyelashes fluttering as he released a soft sound of contentment.

Long, slender fingers suited for toying with locks found their way to Halsin's cheeks, his fingertips dimpling the druid's skin as he deepened the kiss. It was slow, intentional. It was unspeakably tender. Halsin's lips parted eagerly beneath him to accept his cool, probing tongue and tangle it in warmth, letting him lick deep, giving as much of himself to Astarion as Astarion wished to take.

Everything around them seemed to fade as they kissed. Astarion's worries and concerns fell away under the other man's rapt attention, leaving only the warm press of their bodies in their wake. No matter how many unnecessary breaths he took, no matter how much Halsin's pulse began to speed up, no matter how aroused parts of them might get in the heat of the moment, the kiss never lost its slow, easy pace.

Time passed in a blur as the two elves lost themselves in their late-night affection. When they finally pulled back, their foreheads resting together and breaths mingling in the soft intensity of the moment, neither of them immediately found words to speak.

"Better?" Halsin eventually whispered, his mouth soft and kiss-swollen.

Perfect.

With a nod and a soft sigh, Astarion settled back against his makeshift bed, his eyes drifting closed with Halsin's hand stroking his hip. He may not be entirely free of his worries, but simply feeling so revered and cherished by the unusual man beneath him helped to quiet them.

It had taken time and a hell of a lot of patience, but Astarion was truly starting to believe that whatever the future held, Halsin would ensure that he wouldn't face it alone.

With Halsin at his side, Astarion thought he could survive practically anything his new reality threw at him. And maybe, someday, he might even learn how to live again.

-

AO3

[myobsessionsspace]

Hi Lovelies,

I'm sorry but l'm heated today. So sis gets a little bit of my time but just 🤏

She's honestly not worth any energy or space in anyone's mind whatsoever. Especially people who don't know her from jack if it wasn't to do with her clout chasing and childish weirdos feeding into it and her.

She's the definition of a clout chaser through and through. She's what? An influencer? From a 'rich' family? An actress? What in? Who knew her before all of this? Who is she without this?

She says she wants not parts of this scrutiny, the fandom etc...yet...the most recent malarkey.

Nothing but sad pathetic clownery.

I don't have figures but I guarantee you every time she partakes in these shenanigans her follower count goes up.

And we all know more IG followers = ₩₩💳

Who followed her before all of this started? Miss Rona and everything post 2020 really brought out the imagination and unhingedness in so many😒

She's not saying or doing anything a typical bias fan wouldn't do. She's a fan like the rest of us, I can and do post member pictures too. I can post plushies, fans, plates n shit too. Heck gimme a budget and after watching some member lives and IG stories I can be dating each of them (maybe not Jin & Yoongi cos they keep their ish locked up tight!)

Anytime she does this we get rabid incoming on all sides, apart from those that really just don't give AF.

IDGAF about her or any other name thaf constantly gets brought up, the other that does the same, the old one that got replace by our rider Polyc, blonde haired, blue haired, any haired heiress, idol, model, BFF of idols, none of them.

I'm not fans of any of them. I'm fans of 7 members. I ult bias Jimin & Jungkook and I love Jikook's unique duo.

There’s so much to enjoy about Bangtan & Jikook.

She and the rest of them can keep their online games for the equally immature and unhinged to enjoy, seeing as what the members give us isn’t enough for them 😒

She's a fan. A somewhat 'famous' fan. But a fan nonetheless. The only thing I empathise with there is that little princess and the others like her are missing Jikook content as much as us. So they’re are making their own content. Cos that’s what it is, entertainment content, fiction, a fairytale with her and the others trying to be the main characters.

She’s unprivileged like us in the fact that Jikook have each other right now, like they always have, whilst we are on the outside looking in. Her and all the others like her. All those giving her and her ilk the attention.

The best thing to do with her is to reduce her following numbers, don’t follow her, unfollow her, ignore others boosting her content and keeping her name floating around. Stop giving all those spreading her BS views & clicks, even the comments and quotes, we don’t wanna see it or spread it, so don’t see it or spread it.

Just make her the non MF factor she is.

💜

[olderthannetfic]

First as a disclaimer: I'm pretty sure I'm not an anti (I'm anti death threats and am fine with incest, age-gap, abusive ships etc)

However I'm probably still a social/political enemy for various reasons but you sometime post asks from people you disagree with I think and I think you might know this answer.

Anyway onto my question I'm the kind of shipper who likes canon compliant ships and looking for hints and stuff but these days it feels like everyone boasts about how much their ships deviate and poop on canon etc. Do other shippers with my mentality still exist and I just don't notice them (Outside of anti spaces) or are we actually a dying breed?

--

Eh. I think "political enemy" has a pretty fluid definition if one is really into playing politics. If you aren't out campaigning on a white supremacy platform, we probably have some goals in common.

I usually block people for being extremely annoying on a day I'm feeling hormonal or for attacking people particularly viciously in my comments, not for nominally being in some other camp.

--

I think the more canon-adjacent fandom flavors are actually really common.

They're a little lost in the tumult of "My headcanon is actually canon!!!" stuff on tumblr that we like to laugh at on my own blog.

They're also less common in oldschool m/m-shipping spaces because those are often inherently non-canon ships. In the past, it was because homophobic censorship wouldn't let anything be made. These days, it's because the flavor of m/m a lot of people like is more easily found by adding romance to a buddy canon than by trying to add buddy-ness to a romance canon in many cases, and this can be true even if canon is original m/m aimed at fandom types.

Here's the thing: oldschool m/m shippers tend to be particularly prone to building community spaces and recording our history precisely because it's so easily erased and so often attacked. This type of shipper also tends to have more of a cohesive identity. That makes it far easier to name ourselves and set up little fiefdoms on modern social media.

I'm one of these people. Shittons of the people doing amateur fandom history work are. Much of the OTW old guard are. And lots of us know each other at least a bit, so if you're running into one of us, you're probably running into more of us.

--

However, that doesn't actually mean this type of shipping is the most common or that there have never been spaces devoted to something else.

That old Beauty and the Beast tv series with Linda Hamilton had epic canon shippers. So did Moonlight (the vampire tv series). So did and does Twilight.

A lot of these shippers had this as their first and possibly their only fandom and carried on being obsessed long after canon was over.

Lizzie/Darcy shippers put anything I have ever been a fan of to shame. No matter what the AO3 numbers show, this ship far, far exceeds the popularity of Destiel or any of the other m/m heavyweights.

--

I think the problem you're running into is that in the modern era of binging things on Netflix and regular joes being huge media geeks, analyzing canon in a nerdy way and obsessing over your canon ships is just how a big chunk of the population engages with media.

Fan theories that are closely tied to what was actually on the screen/page are the bread and butter of water cooler conversations and have been since The Sopranos and its ilk.

Yes, I know some fuck will immediately show up and go "Ahem, ahem, I am a GEEK and SPECIAL and the people around me never have intellectual conversations about media literally ever!!!!" just like every single time we have this conversation. But times have moved on, and being overinvested in canon theorizing just is a normie activity now, and that's great! Except when you want a special term and space to find your people.

The only time canon shippers really stand out from that is if they're extremely fic-focused, and then they often start straying farther from canon, especially if they stick around the same fandom for a long time. Either they start becoming more fans of some fic writer or they start wanting to diversify what they themselves are writing.

The really good close-to-canon fandom activities are at their best when lots of fans find the same currently-running canon at the same time and before canon itself passes its prime.

Even I started out on alt.tv.x-files, analyzing the shit out of season 2 and not caring much about non-canon things. (Though, admittedly, I was more NoRomo than MSR.)

--

That said, antis are not actually that canon-focused in most cases. They will do the "My headcanon is reality" thing as much as anyone. They just tend to spend a lot of time hating on explicit m/m and a lot of explicit m/m is of non-canon ships.

Honestly... anon... you might want to figure out what the latest CSI-ish franchise is and find the obviously-future-canon het ship from that. Those tend to get the 10 seasons of build up and fan theories that don't stray too far from canon.

This stuff is not only not a dying breed, but it's so common that one of the editors of NCIS delivered a deeply cringeworthy lecture at my film school about what "shippers" are and how the Tiva shippers affected the production.

People into those ships don't need tumblr: Major entertainment magazines are publishing their fan theories for them.

[sgiandubh]

Anon rebelde.

Al hilo de tus últimos anons, se podría decir que el nerviosismo ha echo mella en toda esa amalgama de gente amargada que circula por el fandom. Sus creencias son tan arraigadas en ellas que no pueden permitir que otras opiniones se manifiesten libremente, opiniones casi siempre fundadas en datos y envueltas en ese guante de hierro enfundado en uno de terciopelo, que paciencia tienes, y que su cortedad de miras les impide, por lo menos ignorarlas antes de exponerse públicamente al bofetón correspondiente. ¿Será tu larga experiencia como diplomática la que te otorga esa paciencia infinita para darles un poco de tiempo y esa atención que no parecen disfrutar en su vida real? Lo que si se es cuanto disfruto de tus respuestas 😘🦾

Dear (returning) Anon Rebelde,

¡Estoy segura de que todos te extrañaron! Y estoy muy, muy contenta de que hayas vuelto para seguir con tus ingeniosos comentarios. Aquí va la traducción:

'Following the thread of your last Anons, it looks like nervousness took its toll on all that hodgepodge of bitter people roaming across the fandom. They cling so much to their beliefs, that they seem unable to allow other opinions to be freely exposed, opinions that are almost always backed up by facts and delivered with that iron fist wrapped in a velvet glove (what patience must you have!). Also, they are so short-sighted, they are unable to ignore different opinions and expose themselves to being slapped. Could it be because of your long diplomatic experience that you seem to have this infinite patience, allowing them a bit of your time and the attention they seem to lack in their real life? What I do know, however, is how much I enjoy your answers 😘🦾'

Well, thank you for the kind words, darling. There seems to be, indeed, a cluster of people whose only raison d'être in this fandom is to make sure no dissenting opinions from the current narrative are ever heard again. So much so, that they are ready to stalk shipper inboxes every single day - you can easily imagine I am not publishing everything and if I do, it is just to show how far things can sometimes go (very far). It makes one wonder, truly: do these people work? are they raising families? form healthy relationships? It seems to me, every single time, I am either reading the tantrum of a 12 year old or the cold, brutal rebuke of a 55 year old bitter man. I know I don't have the time, nor the slightest interest in doing the same and I was very disappointed to see some shippers cross the street, in a useless attempt at dialogue. And if anything else fails, those same people will go as far as try to hack your Tumblr account or email and of course, publicly insult you almost on a daily basis - who is pathetic and delusional, here, I wonder?

But make no mistake, querida. The Sopranoes will never admit to sending Anons (especially those blowing their own trumpet), nor using clones to monitor our slightest comments and immediately share with their ilk. Obsessive behavior, combined with revolting hypocrisy, pathological victimization and plain harassment. It has been like this from Day 1 and it is what it is: it will never stop.

As sure as I am they do not deserve any of my time and attention (and believe it or not, I am), I wish I'd have the same tact and discernment as in my professional life. A friend I trust and respect very much even tried to explain several times (and alas, to no avail, it would seem) that it was not productive to even grant them this time and attention, at all. She was right, of course and I am probably wrong. But sometimes, too much is really too much and, despite my best efforts, I never could quite understand that 'turning the other cheek' parable. In here or in real life.

And so, I take full responsibility for being at times really un-diplomatic when choosing to answer those people. It is what it is. I would be ashamed to realize my two mentors are a cross-fandom proven mythomaniac and a frustrated PA of a former TV star. I happen to have higher expectations of myself and no thanks, I'd rather spend my OL (more and more limited) airtime talking to warm, kind and witty people. Or trying to make sense of the narrative shitshow and, in the process, muscle my neurons.

Thank you for being you, Anon Rebelde. Always a pleasure and forgive, of course, the very long answer.

[ciaossu-imagines]

For day 17 of the event, I used the word ‘hands’ from prompt 8 for Gokudera from Katekyo Hitman Reborn. I really enjoyed thinking about this one and I hope any fans of the series will enjoy these small headcanons 😊

What ‘fandoms’ would the character belong to?

I’ve mentioned it in previous posts, but I really do believe that Gokudera is someone who is really into horror movies. While he loves the genre as a whole, I do believe he has favourite series and horror movie villains. He’s a big Freddie Krueger fan, is a fan of the Exorcist movie, the Insidious series, and for horror-based television shows, he’s a huge fan of Stan Against Evil for sillier things and From, American Horror Story, and Channel Zero for more serious horror television.

I do think Gokudera is someone who would have gotten really into Supernatural. He’s not only watched the series in its entirety at least twice, but owns all the seasons, as well as some merch.

Let’s get clear one of my strongest fandom headcanons for this boy. Gokudera? Huge Dungeons & Dragons nerd. He loves everything about the game, the different worlds, and he’s always dreamed of doing a campaign. Even before he gets to, he has at least a half-dozen potential characters drafted up and figured out. I do like to headcanon him getting into a D&D group, consisting of various characters (most definitely including Byakuran, Shoichi, and Julie) during high school. However, it’s always been a dream of his to have a campaign with his fellow Guardians, but that isn’t something that happens for many years, not until Lambo is a teenager and better able to handle the game, though the poor Dungeon Master has a hard time re-explaining the rules and guidelines to Lambo every damn session.

Gokudera also gets into other tabletop rpg’s, such as Call of Cthulhu.

I do think that Gokudera would be a huge fan of MonsterQuest and Destination Truth. He’s really always going to enjoy any documentary series or movies based around cryptids, urban legends, and things of that ilk. He really enjoyed Beyond Belief: Fact or Fiction, for its stories and he’d always try to guess and would keep track on how many he guessed correctly.

I do think Gokudera gets into podcasts. He has several Dungeons & Dragons podcasts he listens to, like Critical Role and Dungeons & Daddies. He also really enjoys podcasts like Lore and Welcome to Nightvale, along with some horror-based podcasts.

[srim01997]

Second Chance | Aemond Targaryen x OFC

Paring:  Aemond “One-Eye” Targaryen x Viseara Targaryen (OC), Aemond Targaryen x Viseara Targaryen (OC), Implied Aegin II Targaryen x Celtigar! OFC

Fandom: House of The Dragon (HBO)

Warning: none for now

Writer’s note: My Aemond x OC coming!!

Please ilke, comment and reblog!!

Second Chance masterlist | Next Chapter

Chapter 1  New Start or Punishment

Rook's Rest was a hellscape of charred corpses, soldiers writhing in agony from burns, and the sky ablaze with fire as two dragons clashed ferociously. The sapphire-scaled killer, the mount of a rogue princess, battled against Vhagar, the ancient dragon of the one-eyed prince. Earlier, Rhaenys and her dragon, Meleys, had been defeated by the Greens’ dragons. Aegon and Sunfyre had fallen as collateral damage in Vhagar’s fiery onslaught—or perhaps it was Aemond’s intention to rid himself of his brother. No one could say for certain.

The blue-gray dragon roared, its sound tearing through the battlefield, as its rider commanded it to strike the far larger Vhagar without hesitation. The sky lit up, blinding those below as soldiers scrambled for cover, dodging the searing flames spewing from the mouths of both dragons. Despite her courage, Princess Viseara Targaryen—twin sister to Prince Daemon—found herself at a disadvantage. Though seasoned in combat, her adversary’s sheer size was overwhelming.

Viseara bore wounds from an unknown battle, her body battered and unsteady. Her only intent was to rescue her kin, Rhaenys, but she had arrived too late. Driven by rage and grief, she had thrown herself into the fray with the reckless resolve to bring down the enemy dragon.

Her dragon faltered, a savage bite from Vhagar tearing into its neck. Black blood sprayed like torrential rain, drenching the battlefield and scalding the soldiers below, their screams mingling with the chaos. Gripping the reins tightly, Viseara’s slender form braced against the spiraling descent of her dragon. Her mismatched eyes—one a vivid Targaryen violet, the other an icy blue—caught sight of Vhagar plummeting after her, the monstrous creature’s rider shouting something lost to the roar of the wind.

Tears streaked down her pale cheeks, blurring her vision as she strained to decipher the words. The world seemed to freeze as her dragon struck the ground with a resounding crash. Everything went silent, save for the frantic, enraged cries of her one-eyed nephew echoing in her ears.

And then, darkness fell.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

Viseara jolted awake at the piercing cries of Alicent in the throes of childbirth. Her mismatched eyes darted around, taking in her surroundings—she was in the Red Keep, her three children close by. Across the room, she spotted Rhaenyra with little Jacaerys and Laenor standing beside her. The rogue princess drew a deep breath, shaking her head in disbelief as she tried to piece together what was happening. She vividly remembered being on the battlefield at Rook’s Rest and—wait. Was she dreaming? Or had she truly been thrown back to a time before the war had even begun?

"Your Grace, it’s a boy," the Maester announced to her brother. "He’s small but healthy."

Aegon? No, no. When Aegon was born, the Maester had described him as large and robust. Then…

“Aemond. His name shall be Aemond,” the voice of Alicent announced.

What? Viseara’s mind raced. The gods sent me back to when that one-eyed nephew of hers was nothing but a harmless newborn destined to grow into a kinslayer? Why couldn’t they have sent me to before Aegon was born instead?!

“Auntie?” came Rhaenyra’s voice, snapping her out of her thoughts. “You seem distracted.”

“I’m just tired, Rhaenyra,” Viseara replied evenly, though her mismatched gaze remained fixed on Alicent’s other children, who were gathered around to glimpse the newborn Aemond. The pale-haired princess realized, with a resigned sigh, that the gods must have sent her here for a purpose—to reform this nephew before he became the man who would spill the blood of his kin.

Raising a nephew into a decent human being shouldn’t be too hard… right?

Before the war, King Viserys’s youngest sister, Vissera, had a cordial relationship with Alicent. However, their bond fractured when Rhaenyra’s second son caused Aemond to lose an eye. To complicate matters, Otto Hightower frequently whispered warnings to Viserys about her, claiming she was as dangerous as Daemon. Seizing an opportunity, Vissera used her innocent young nephew as an excuse to keep a close watch on the Green Council’s secretive plots while her eldest brother grew weaker from his illness.

“He’s smaller than I thought,” Vissera muttered, gazing at baby Aemond, who stared back at her with curious eyes. His tiny hands tugged at her pale hair, and he laughed, oblivious to her contemplations. “Adorable now, but how on earth did you grow up so ruthless...?” She sighed. Upon reflection, her elder brother bore some blame for neglecting his other children, allowing the seeds of rivalry to take root. If only he had shown them the same care as Rhaenyra, the family might have experienced warmth instead of animosity. No, Otto was at fault too! Pushing his daughter to marry her best friend's father? The audacity!

“His egg hasn’t hatched yet?” she asked, glancing at the pot containing Aemond’s dragon egg. Tradition dictated that a dragon egg placed in a cradle would form a bond with its owner, but not all eggs hatched. Sometimes the dragon within died shortly after, or worse, never hatched, petrifying into stone.

No wonder Aemond bonded with Vhagar in the future, Vissera thought. The Greens gained the largest dragon, but Aemond lost an eye and bore a grudge against Lucerys for years, culminating in the tragedy at Storm’s End—the war’s brutal beginning.

Honestly, had Rhaenyra been married to Daemon from the start, half these problems might not have arisen. The Greens would have dared less with the rogue prince around. But no, her troublesome twin had to disgrace Rhaenyra, earning himself exile, leaving their poor niece to fend off vipers. Well, it was time for this aunt to step up and ensure Rhaenyra claimed the throne.

Cradling baby Aemond briefly, Vissera returned him to Alicent. The baby immediately wailed, forcing her to soothe him before handing him back.

“I don’t understand why he cries every time you leave,” Alicent frowned, settling Aemond back into his cradle.

Maegor’s Holdfast was riddled with secret paths, most overlooked by nobles. Few knew where each led. How did she know? Well, she, Daemon, and Rhaenys had explored every inch of those tunnels in their youth. Rhaenys, in particular, used them to reach the dragonpit and successfully bond with her dragon, Meleys (Daemon nearly tore the castle apart upon hearing). And of course, she and Daemon had their escapades in Flea Bottom, resulting in scandalous rumors reaching Jaehaerys about her consorting with courtesans. That little adventure led to her being married off to the youngest son of House Celtigar.

Thankfully, her husband had been kind and loyal, deeply in love with her. Their happiness, however, was cut short when he died from a broken neck after falling off his horse, leaving her a widow with a newborn daughter.

Now, standing hidden behind a wall, she eavesdropped on the Greens. Some questioned the legitimacy of Rhaenyra’s children, citing their dark hair as proof of infidelity. Vissera’s lips thinned as she listened. With her brother too ill to leave his bed often, she knew the Greens were gaining confidence in their schemes.

For now, she was alone. Daemon had fled to Pentos with Laena and hadn’t replied to her letters.

Damn that twin of mine.

Shaking her head, Vissera slipped through a secret passage leading to the dragonpit. She saw Aegon speaking to Sunfyre while Helaena remained secluded in her chambers despite claiming Dreamfyre as her mount. Her own dragon roared upon seeing her, nuzzling her affectionately. She buried her face in its neck before mounting, letting it take off without a word.

The cool air filled her lungs as she soared over the Crownlands, calming her nerves. She needed a plan to prevent the inevitable war. The Greens were already positioning their pieces, ready to place Aegon on the throne the moment Viserys passed.

She had to deal with Otto and Larys Strong before it was too late. But how? Alicent was devoted to her father, and while Lyonel Strong was Hand of the King now, Otto would undoubtedly return once Lyonel and Harwin were gone.

“Now I understand why Maegor wanted to burn the Hightower to the ground,” she muttered. “A den of vipers, all of them.”

Years Later

“Auntie! Auntie!” Little Aemond, still at the tender age of a child, sprinted toward her, wrapping his small arms around her legs. He had somehow escaped from the maesters assigned to his lessons. The second prince of House Targaryen was notably smaller than Aegon at that age, a fact that had caused Alicent much worry, especially when a serious illness had once threatened his life. Yet, the young prince had survived, albeit with a peculiar trait—his unfailing attachment to his aunt, Vissera, far more than to his own mother. He often begged her to take him dragon riding, even after his dragon egg refused to hatch.

“If you skip your lessons again, I won’t take you anywhere,” Vissera warned, her voice stern as she gazed down at the pale-haired boy who pouted in defiance.

Her head throbbed. He was adorable as a child, but how would such a spirited little boy grow into such a terror later in life?

“Prince Aemond, it’s time to return to your studies,” one of the maesters urged as they gently took the boy’s hand, leading him back to his chamber.

Vissera shook her head, only to meet Alicent’s sharp gaze. The queen, clad in her signature emerald gown, approached her sister-in-law with measured steps.

“Princess... I must ask you to stay away from my son.”

“I have kept my distance as you asked, Your Grace,” Vissera replied evenly, “but as you can see, it’s not exactly my choice.” She gestured toward Aemond, whose attachment to her was undeniable.

Alicent couldn’t deny it either. She herself often wondered why her second-born seemed so drawn to his aunt. From the moment he could walk, he’d toddle after Vissera, a habit that nearly had her accused of witchcraft.

Some people truly had too much time on their hands.

Alicent sighed, turning away with Ser Criston Cole trailing behind her. The Lord Commander of the Kingsguard didn’t miss the opportunity to shoot Vissera a disdainful glance. She returned it with a sly smile, thinking that if Rhaenyra ever wanted to exile Ser Criston to the Wall, she’d gladly help draft the decree.

But her thoughts quickly shifted to her niece, Rhaenyra. Initially, there was only one dark-haired child, but now, there was another. Vissera had tried to caution her niece against certain indiscretions, warning her to avoid actions that might expose the truth about her marriage to Laenor. But what could she do? Her niece’s husband had his own preferences, and their efforts to fulfill their marital duties had proven fruitless.

“Do you like it, Helaena?”

Helaena nodded quietly, her eyes fixed on the beetle Vissera had brought her from a distant land. Unlike most, the youngest princess preferred collecting insects to engaging in conversation. Yet, there was something peculiar about her—the strange and cryptic things she often said.

“Sapphire and ruby will unite as one.”

Vissera frowned slightly but said nothing, leaving Helaena’s chamber as her septa entered. She strolled through the gardens until she reached the weirwood tree, placing a hand upon its bark.

“Sometimes, I wonder why the gods sent me to this time,” she murmured to the ancient tree. “What can I do as a woman who wields a blade yet has no voice in the council?”

Though Vissera was the sister of King Viserys and Prince Daemon, it didn’t mean she held the same authority. Only Alicent and Rhaenyra had seats in the Small Council, and now her niece was under constant attack by its members.

“Princess,” a guard interrupted her thoughts. “His Grace wishes to see you.”

The Targaryen woman nodded, following him to her brother’s chambers. Inside, she found Otto Hightower and Alicent deep in discussion, while maesters attended to the ailing king. As they were dismissed, Viserys waved for his sister to approach.

“You’re not looking well, brother,” Vissera remarked, sitting by his bedside. “Why have you summoned me?”

“Can’t a brother simply wish to speak with his sister?”

The dim light of the room revealed the extent of Viserys’s decline. Vissera’s voice softened with concern. “Are the maesters still using the same treatments?” She sniffed the remnants of his medicine, frowning.

“I’ll speak to them about changing their methods,” she offered.

But Viserys waved her off, weary. “It’s too late for that, Vissera. My time is running out.” His remaining good eye fixed on her intently.

“Promise me you’ll protect Rhaenyra.”

“I’m already sworn to protect the heir to the Iron Throne,” she assured him with a faint smile, pressing a kiss to his forehead. “You should rest now.”

As she exited the room, she cast a sidelong glance at Otto and Alicent, her expression unreadable. She strode to the training yard, where the young princes were sparring. Aegon clashed swords with Ser Criston Cole, while Jacaerys trained under Ser Harwin Strong, who lingered nearby with the air of a man hiding a deep secret.

Vissera spotted Alicent cradling a drowsy Aemond, with Helaena clinging silently to her skirts. Aemond perked up upon seeing her, his tired face breaking into laughter.

Vissera could only shake her head. She remembered a time when the boy wasn’t this attached to her.

What had changed?

TBC.

[savelockwoodandco]

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Thank you so much for the question and for your support -- and for the support of those who've asked similar questions.

We got a few like this, so we figured we'd answer them all in one (and our apologies if we've missed your question -- our inbox is apparently very hungry, eating asks before we get them, and we have quite a few people who have to try three or four times before their question ends up in our inbox).

Crowdfunding comes up every now and again as a solution, especially when people see other fandoms doing it to purchase ad space (such as the OFMD fandom recently). We've seem many fandoms do this over the years and many fandoms avoid this, and there's pros and cons to each approach.

As far as we're concerned -- speaking here as Twitter and Tumblr Mod, not by any means speaking as the One True Voice of the Fandom -- crowdfunding is very often a slippery slope. There have been a few things crowdfunded within this fandom -- space at cons being the one that comes to mind -- and in our opinion that kind of thing makes sense. It's small and personal, and has a real, tangible result -- aka a booth -- along with a set price and very little wiggle room for presenting where money is going. You've probably seen posts on this blog alerting the tumblr space of these happenings, and we're comfortable with that.

Crowdfunding for ad space -- billboards, blimps, electronic ads, and their ilk -- on the other hand, gets tricky very quickly. There have been dozens upon dozens of crowdfunding scams within fandoms -- not saying within ours, saying that with our decades of experience in fandom, we've seen more than our fair share. Crowdfunding attempts that start out with a small group's passion can turn ugly very quickly, and it's a big ask to trust strangers on the Internet not just with your passion and time, but also with your money.

And while there's a chance for high visibility, even if everything goes perfectly, it's a lot of outlay for little to no tangible benefit. There have been fandoms who use it who have had their show picked up; there have been fandoms who use it without any effect whatsoever. It's not a guarantee; it's not even something that always does something.

We the mods invest our limited time and humble talents. We're always amazed at how LockNation has gathered to provide their prodigious talents and time to make this campaign something to be proud of. Knowing the inherent risks of a lot of crowdfunding campaigns, especially ones as directionless as saying (random example we made up but have seen in past campaigns) "donate to save the show" with no other information, causes us to be extremely wary of such efforts.

Once again, we don't speak for the fandom at large. At its core, and like we say in our pinned post, this blog is primarily a place for a lot of information to be gathered in one place and for positivity and encouragement -- celebrating the wins, keeping up momentum, and marveling at what LockNation has managed to do, all in less than a year of the show being out, and less than 9 months since Netflix's hissy fit (as we call it). Others may use their allotment of time and energy and, yes, capital, as they see fit.

There's a post about 2 weeks ago on this very blog from our friends at the Discord, looking for donations to get a booth at GalaxyCon Richmond if you're looking to get your wallet involved! If you have the power, more power to you. We're huge fans of the power of cons here on this blog.

Being the Fandom Grandmas (affectionate) that we are, we've seen nebulous crowdfunding events go south a few too many times to try to organize anything ourselves, and you won't see a big sweet to buy ad space on Times Square anytime soon originating from the mods. We're comfortable with the constant, measurable successes we've been able to bear witness to and help along in some small way here on this little blog.

Above all, we all love the same show, and we're all working towards that awesome day that we get the S2 announcement! Let's work towards it the best ways we know how. We'll be at the finish line before we know it.