#every day i gather more and more evidence that i do in fact live in the florida of the uk

[scariercnidaria]

the diablo 3 reaper of souls hearse that belongs to the funeral service next to my workplace btw. if you even care

[obsessivevoidkitten]

A Mouthful of Cum Helps the Medicine Go Down

Male Surgeon DILF Yandere x Gender Neutral Reader CW: Nonconsensual oral sex, reader sucking that dick like they are the Gluckgluck 3000, somnophilia, non descriptive surgery, gun violence, blood, recovery, dream sequence, happy ending, mild age gap, dating Word Count: 1.3k (Written as a birthday gift for a friend, all written in a few hours yesterday, so I am sorry for any errors.)

The date you had just finished with Doctor Michael Hayes had gone pretty well. He was handsome and well put together, neat and tidy, and his personality definitely fit with what you had been looking for. In fact, you already set up another one with him at his request. Evidently the older gentleman, an actual surgeon, had felt the date had gone well too.

The evening kept replaying in your head. His rugged but charming demeanor, his eyes full of experience but still flashed with a sense of adventure whenever he stared at you. Maybe he was the one! After a deluge of slobs, bums, and selfish toxic freaks the thought that you may have found the man for you was like a breath of fresh air.

And he was just so handsome! A bit older, maybe mid to late forties, but he was definitely aging gracefully. You had to admit you definitely had some lewd thoughts about where you wanted his dick. In the texts the two of you had shared you had really felt a connection with him and had built a solid friendship but tonight solidified that it would evolve into something more.

You pulled into your driveway, just getting home after sharing your meal with Hayes. You drew your coat close, shivering from the sudden exposure to the chilly night air. You closed your car door with a thud and started walking up the path to your door, the thin layer of snow crunched beneath your steps as you did so.

A dark figure cloaked in shadow jumped out from one of the hedges that hugged the front of your house. A loud bang. Piercing pain. On the ground. You saw your blood leave you as the snow drank it greedily. Then darkness.

////

You were unconscious as the doctors rushed around you, zipping you to the operating room, communicating over your injured body about your condition.

Doctor Hayes was back on duty after your date, that’s why it had been so quick, otherwise he would have liked to spend more time with you. He was already sure the two of you would end up in a long term relationship. You just fit together far too well. It wasn't just one date, the two of you had been chatting for just over a month before meeting. You were a high ranked and well regarded detective and he was a surgeon, you both saved lives and you were both incredibly busy, so it took a while before the two of you could set up a proper date.

He was determined to see you again soon though. Only he didn’t realize that it would be on his very operating table. It certainly was not how he had wanted your next meeting to go.

It was touch and go a couple times, but luckily the bullet had missed your heart. The procedure was a success and full recovery was soon expected. Though a coma was medically induced to give you time to heal properly.

Even though you were pretty much out of the woods Hayes still held your hand and sat by your side during every free moment that he had. He heard from the cops, who were very eager to find the perpetrator, that they suspected you had been shot by an inmate that had been put away thanks to your detective work who had recently escaped. They had already caught the fucker but were just working on gathering evidence and getting a confession.

At any rate you were safe now with him, he wouldn’t let anything happen to you. Over the course of a couple days with you out like a light he had taken to just staring at your face, so peaceful in rest. Like an angel. He fantasized about the things the two of you would do while you recovered. The life you might have in the future.

And, occasionally, how it would feel to slip into you. He had played it cool during the chats the two of you shared and during your date but he was terribly obsessed with the thought of being with you, even masturbating more than once to pictures of your face that were available on social media.

One late night after his shift he found himself with you in your room and couldn’t help but stare at your lips. They looked so supple and he couldn’t help but think to himself that they would feel amazing wrapped around his cock. He gently traced your lips with his thumb and actually considered for a moment pulling out his dick and using that instead.

He quickly brushed the fantasy aside though. Until he heard you very quietly, but very clearly, mumble his name in your sleep in a lusty way.

Hayes’s resolve broke in the face of temptation. After that how could he possibly resist? He quickly locked the door and brought his cock to your lips. The best he had hoped for was rubbing it on your lips then jacking off until he came on your mouth.

To his surprise you opened your mouth and began sucking it in a way that could only be described as eager. He had to double check to make sure that you were truly asleep. He moaned involuntarily as you took him in his entirety, expertly twirling your tongue around his cock head as you sucked him off.

The surgeon stroked your hair, letting you go at your own pace as you blew him.

////

In your dreams you had just gone on another outing with Hayes. It had gone even better than the first and he had come back home with you. After some time spent on the couch snuggled up with one another as you streamed some show that neither of you paid much attention to you ended up with your head on his lap and his cock out in front of you.

You sucked it happily, starting on the tip and making your way quickly down the shaft. Normally you would have taken your time, but you were spurred on by his encouraging moans and the sensation of him absently stroking your hair.

You sucked a bit faster in anticipation of your prize. And you were well rewarded with what you sought. His cock throbbed in your mouth as it gushed with cum. You gladly swallowed every drop before smiling and going back to innocently laying your head on his lap as he put away his manhood.

////

This dream had coincided with reality, it wasn’t even necessary for the doctor to clean his cock as you had swallowed every trace of what he had just done. He briefly felt regret but pushed it away, the two of you had chatted about sex before anyway, it was only a matter of time before you would be on his dick anyway. And it didn’t seem like your sleeping self had minded very much at all.

When you woke up a few hours later, groaning from pain and being informed of your situation by none other than Hayes himself who by wild coincidence was your surgeon, you couldn’t help but imagine the taste of cum in your mouth. As if your dream had been reality.

When you found out that Hayes had spent so much time at your side while you were incapacitated you were truly touched. What other man would do that after just a date and a month of chatting online? It went far beyond the duties of a doctor.

That was the tale of how your long lived romance with Hayes started, and you definitely made the dream you had come true many times over the years, never aware of what he had done while you were recovering.

[mandarinmoons]

"I won't give up on you" - Spencer Reid

Summary: During times of doubt Spencer reminds you of his feelings towards you

The day you met Spencer it felt like you got to see a glimpse into heaven and the day he asked you to be his it felt like you died and went straight to heaven.

Why you of all people? There were so many better people out there, people who could offer so much more to him and were intellectually stimulating enough to keep a conversation going. You felt bad whenever he would have to stop talking about a topic you had no clue on and you were left to nod along and reply with a “Mhm” every now and then. It wasn’t fair on him.

It also didn’t help that you struggled with your mental health at times. For the past week the recurring depression resurfaced again and on top of dealing with the feelings of not being enough for Spencer, it was a recipe for disaster.

Growing up the way you did, you weren’t one to talk about what was going on in your head. You were used to keeping it to yourself and riding out the dark wave until you eventually felt better again, Spencer changed that though. He was a profiler after all and could easily tell whenever the dark thoughts took over and would drop anything to focus all of his attention on you. Holding you close to him, whispering reassurances, anything that would make you feel better he would do. The man was so close to even getting you a puppy at one point so you wouldn’t have to be alone when he would have to go on cases halfway across the country.

You felt guilty though. You felt bad that he had to put his life on hold to take care of you, hell you felt guilty for asking him to pick up some ice cream on the way home from work.

Spencer finally got home from work at a somewhat decent time tonight and the second he stepped through the front door his eyes scanned the apartment, the TV was on but the sound was on the lowest setting. As he walked to the living room he saw your sleeping figure lying on the couch. He rested his hands on the back of the couch and his eyes filled with concern as he saw red streaks across your cheeks. He reached out and lightly brushed his thumb across them which made you stir in your sleep. A moment later you looked up at him and saw his sad eyes.

"Hey,” your voice was hoarse from the crying. Spencer moved your face his way and ran his hand over your cheek, “Baby what’s wrong?”

You took a shaky breath as you gathered your words, “Spencer I…”

Spencer’s eyebrows knitted together and instantly went blank as it hit him, “No, baby no. Don’t say anything.”

Spencer moved quickly as he sat next to you and took you into his arms, pressing you to his chest, one hand on your back as the other caressed your head.

“Spencer I’m not-,” you could barely finish your sentence as tears began to blur your vision again and a sob racked your throat.

“Y/N you are everything to me. Please don’t let those thoughts influence you right now, I need you just as much as you need me.”

Spencer pulled you back as he carefully wiped the tears from your face, “I will not give up on you.”

Spencer’s voice was calm and the love and care he had in his eyes was evident. It hurt him to see you think you weren’t good enough for him when in fact he thought that he wasn’t good enough for you.

“I just think there’s someone better out there for you.”

Spencer shakes his head and looks at you with his puppy dog like eyes, “I don’t care if there could be someone out there who’s scientifically proven to be my perfect match. You’re all that I want.”

Spencer peppered light kisses over your face which caused a light chuckle to fall from your lips, “I’m sorry.”

"Oh sweetheart don’t be, just please, don’t shut yourself out yeah? Please come to me.”

You nodded and buried yourself deep in his embrace as your face rested in the crook of his neck, taking in the comforting scent of his cologne, “I’ll try to.”

You can find my masterlist here!

My requests are open so feel free to send one in! (SFW only)

[asumofwords]

Lighthouse - Sailor!Aemond x LighthouseKeeper!Reader - Mini Series 4/4

Summary: You work as a lone Lighthouse keeper on a small island just off the coast. Everyday was the same routine, tending to your duties and the lamp with not much time to spare. But what will happen to your routine when a storm rages across the sea, and a handsome man washes ashore?

Warnings: This fic is 18+. Readers discretion is advised. Warnings will be added in their relevance. She/Her Pronouns. Pining, kiss, angst, anxiety, fingering, smut, pussy eating like a champ, creampie for days, creampie, longing, dirty talk, love, fluff.

Note: Good lord, this is a long one, and also the final chapter! It's sitting at 12k words, so settle in for a hefty piece because I refused to cut it down or into two. Thank you all so much for your love and support of this mini series, I have had so much bloody fun writing it! I hope you enjoy how I have ended it, and hopefully now I can do some one shots for once in my damned life hahaha. Anyway, enjoy!!! <3

Final Chapter: Inevitable Ends, New Beginnings

The first thing that you noticed as you woke was a soreness between your thighs, a dull ache that throbbed with your heart beat, eyes slowly opening to the early morning light.

The room had a light blue glow to it, the sun only just beginning to rise over the sea and lands behind you, casting your little sanctuary in a cerulean tint. 

The second thing that you noticed when you awoke that morning was that you were alone.

You turned in the sheets, eyes surveying the room in search for the silver head of hair you had grown accustomed to seeing almost every waking moment, but he was nowhere to be found, though there was evidence of his presence being there.

Bar the small marks on your skin, the smell of him in your sheets, and the soreness between your legs, your clothes that had been strewn on the floor were now neatly folded on your chest at the side of the room, and the lack of breeches and tunic told you that Aemond was already up and dressed.

A moment of anxiety crawled through you.

Had he left you?

But then you remembered that he had no way off of your island, unless of course he swam, which you very much doubted he would be desperate enough to escape you to do that. But then there was the reason for his absence that early morning that began to spiral out of control in your mind.

Had he slipped out of bed? Tiptoeing as quickly and quietly as possible to not stir you from your sleep because he regretted last night, and could not bare to face the shame and embarrassment of seeing you? 

Had your moment of weakness tainted his stature in society? 

Would he beg that you tell none other? 

Not that you knew anyone from where he was from, but still, the inferiority of your birth gnawed at your conscience and creeped through you like the bitter sea winds.

Did he get his fill and was now avoiding you at all costs? 

Was he repulsed in himself for laying with you? 

Did he wish to pretend that it did not happen? 

Was his early departure to find the time and wherewithal in himself to gather strength to not feel ill upon looking at you? 

Sure, men of his breeding were sometimes known to lay between any woman’s legs, but it was usually one of equal standing and not at all someone of your status. And if last nights activities were any reference, there was no doubt within your mind that he had in fact lain with women before, once, twice, more, if his skills were any indicator. But perhaps they had been Ladies of his court back home, women of good breeding in high society, and for him to have been with you, well that would be akin to rolling in the mud.

You pulled yourself from bed and dressed yourself nervously, shaking your runaway thoughts, fingers stumbling over your buttons, pulling hastily at the laces of your boots, all too tight for your feet to be comfortable.

When you walked into the living space, you found that the glasses and whiskey had also been put away, no longer on the table where they had been left that evening, and atop the coal stove sat your kettle, steam rising from its nozzle. 

Beside the door, your large coat was hung on its hook, and the hook beside it, which had recently held your fathers old coat, given to Aemond to keep him warm on the breezy island, was now bare. At the absence of the coat, you knew that Aemond was to be outside, and decided to go out in search of him. 

Perhaps he left early to see what he could salvage of your boat, desperate to rebuild it himself and risk another encounter with the waves in an effort to get away from you. Or perhaps he had-

You walked to the lighthouse, the only place he could possibly be besides the beach that was empty with few planks of wood and what remained of his ship that hadn’t been re-swept out to sea.

Dew covered your boots, kicked up from the soft strands of grass with every step you took. The air was cold, and as you breathed, a cloud of your breath puffed in front of you, white and soft that dissipated before your eyes just as quick as it came. 

The large door to the lighthouse creaked open, and then clunked shut behind you, echoing up the spirals of stairs, no doubt alerting him to your presence. You slowly began to make your way up the never ending steps, the only time in your life in which you had dreaded it and found each one to be harder than the last.

Would he run?

Would he scorn you for seducing him? Bewitching him? Tempting him?

Or would he let you down gently? Telling you the dispiriting truth that you both knew; That he was a Lord and you were not of good breeding, and he would have to go and be wed to his advantageous bride that awaited him back home, and that laying with someone like you was a grievous mistake indeed.  

Your heart beat in your chest rapidly, gut churning as you picked at the skin at your nails nervously. 

When you got to the top of the lighthouse's small landing where the lamp was held, you spun in search of him, spotting the figure of the sailor, bent over the small desk in the corner, quill in hand. 

His long hair was pulled back in a loose braid, tied together with a piece of ribbon from one of the bags of food William had delivered to you. You watched as his hand moved swiftly across the page of your log book, pointer and thumb delicately holding the quill as ink pressed into the parchment with a neatness and precision that could have only be attained from proper schooling.

Hearing your approach, Aemond lifted his head to face you. Stray strands of silver hair hung in front of his face, swiftly tucked behind one of his pale ears as he gazed at you.

A small smile pulled at his lips, eyes crinkling in the corners. 

All anxiety, all worries, any trepidations about his reaction after your coupling from the evening before were swept out the window when he stood straighter, smile pulling wider at his lips.

“I didn’t want to wake you,” He placed the quill in its holder, leaning down to the book to blow at the ink gently before he took a step toward you, “You needed the rest.”

Be still my beating heart.

You smiled at him shyly, watching as he came closer towards you, hand twitching at his side as though it longed to reach forth and close the gap between you.

But it didn’t.

“You should have woke me.” Your hands clutched each other tightly in front of your skirts, embarrassment licking at your neck. How could you have ever doubted him?

Aemond shook his head at you, “No need. You have already taught me what needed to be done.” He turned to face the table again, picking up the log book to hand to you, “I’ve logged the weather for the morning. Checked the lamp and oil reserves. All is well.” 

You took the book from him, watching as his finger reached to graze yours gently, sparks flying up your arm. His writing was neat, swift and soft loops pulling in a slant as he correctly and proficiently logged the winds, skies, seas and temperature. There was not a thing missing, and he had even written note of his predictions of the weather for the rest of the day.

He stepped closer towards you, heat radiating off of him, “Besides, it’s only fair since I spent the night teaching you something new.”

Heat rushed to your face, hands clutching the logbook tightly as you looked away nervously, hearing his soft chuckle before his head dipped, hands coming to grasp the log book from your own, fingers purposefully covering yours, “Do you want to double check my work?” He asked softly.

You shook your head underneath him, stepping back, letting him take the log book from you to place back on the table, “No, I trust you.”

At your words, a softer smile pulled at his lips, before he held his hand out in the direction of the stairs, “Shall we? You’ve not eaten yet.”

“How did you-“

“-You would have seen I was gone and come straight for me. You’re a naturally curious person, and no doubt had a myriad of questions or things to say. I wondered if you would have felt some sort of fear to wake up alone after what we did last night.”

Heat rose in your cheeks again, and you cursed yourself mentally for ever doubting him, for ever doubting yourself, “I thought perhaps you would have made a mistake. You are a Lord, and I-“

“-You are far more than what you believe. I have not met anyone quite like you. Your birth and rank mean nothing to me.” Aemond’s hand reached forward to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear, warmth spreading through you at his words.

You couldn’t look at him, casting your gaze down to your hands as your eyes prickled with tears. How could he be so kind to you? How could he be so understanding? So calming? 

As your thoughts began to race away from you again, Aemond uttered your name, causing your gaze to raise to his.

“Stay with me. Do not let your mind run away from you.” His seeing eye flicked back and forth across your face, the other unmoving, “Come. Let's eat.”

-

Aemond had walked with you by your side back to your cottage, and together you ate your breakfast, talking quietly to one another, through the initial shyness that swallowed you, about anything and everything you could to avoid talking about the evening before and what it meant for you, and despite his obvious desire to discuss it, he did not push the conversation and allowed the pace to suit your needs.

And that was how your days passed, not quite dismissing what had happened, nor acknowledging it outright like before, but knowing that it had changed the space between the two of you. The dynamic had changed once again, the way you began to dote on each other changed, or more so, him doting on you more romantically.

For every morning that passed, you would wake to an empty bed to find him in the lighthouse before the sun would rise, logging the weather and checking upon the lamp. Even times where he would stir you from your sleep in the middle of the night as he left to keep an eye on it, or telling you to take rest and go to bed if you had been with the lamp in the late hours.

What was more, was that Aemond no longer slept upon the small couch, and nor did you, the both of you comfortably sharing your bed together in the cold of the night. At first you had been nervous, but Aemond had behaved as though the two of you had slept in a bed together for years, simply telling you that the two of you should retire for the night and sliding beneath the covers, opening the other side for you to crawl in after. 

Your initial thought at the behaviour was that he wished to dive between your thighs again, to lick and suckle at the crux of your legs or thrust himself between them, but not once had he pushed for it, or been untoward, in fact, he seemed to open the possibility of a second time to be entirely under your control. 

Not that he didn’t touch you, no, he would slide behind you and tuck you beneath his chin, arm wrapped around your middle to keep you close to him, lips pressing featherlike kisses atop your crown when he thought you had fallen asleep, fingers tracing your curves with a featherlight touch during the night.

The shift was not only different for the dynamic between the two of you and your new living arrangements, but different in your own duties. No longer did the work of the island consume your every waking moment and thoughts, for now you had time to sit, to read, to get a good nights rests and spend more time attending to smaller more menial tasks, like repairing clothing that you usually wouldn’t have time to, or cleaning the cottage throughly. You also felt yourself smiling more, laughing more, enjoying life and what Aemond brought to it. 

It was simple, nothing extravagant of course, but above all, content. It was in those quiet moments when he would tell you a tale of sailing or more sanitised story of his youth, small smile on his lips, did you realise that you were happy. Happier than you had ever been, and in every hour that passed spent with him, a warmth within grew. 

A warmth for him grew.

It wasn’t until you had insisted that Aemond sleep the early morning and for you to tend to the lamp did you realise just how much time had passed. 

You were up the lighthouse on the circular gallery that it had outside, leaning against the railings as you looked out at the water, watching as the dark blue waves rocked softly against the cliff below, and even more gently towards shore, which was slowly becoming illuminated with the sun. But that was not all that was illuminated.

There on the rocking waves, was a row boat, off in the distance, making its way towards you.

It was not an unfamiliar boat, nor was it manned by an unfamiliar man.

William was rowing towards your island, reprieve supplies in tow which he delivered on time, every time, but this time you had forgotten what day it was, how much time had passed since he last came, too preoccupied with the new and exciting presence that had landed upon your beach. 

With swift steps you made your way down the spiral case and sped to the cottage.

What would William say when he saw Aemond?

Would he be shocked?

Would Aemond be compelled to leave?

Would William send word to Aemond’s family and alert the town, thus speeding up Aemond’s farewell?

You selfishly didn’t want him to leave, and almost wished William had forgotten about you, just this once. And there it was, that ache in your chest once again at the thought of him leaving, at the very real knowledge that he would leave, and that you would be alone once more.

When you entered the cottage, Aemond was seated at the table, cup of steaming tea in his hand with another in front of him at your seat waiting. 

Waiting. 

He was waiting for you, with fresh tea made. 

Your eyes welled with tears before you swallowed them down, a lump in the back of your throat forming. You almost didn’t want to tell him, didn’t want to see the excitement light in his eye in knowing that he could go.

That brilliant violet eye, a colour you had never thought to be true on a person until you saw him, a colour in which made your heart fill with warmth and stomach full of flurry, looked up at you, smile at the ready until he saw your anxious demeanour. 

Your shifted on your feet back and forth before pulling your coat off to hang at the door awkwardly. 

Sensing your anxiety, Aemond straightened in his seat, “What is it?” His smooth timbre crackled in the air, your back facing him as your face crumpled.

You swallowed and steeled yourself as you turned to sit with him at the table, pulling out your chair opposite to him as you sat quietly, grasping the hot mug in your hands.

“Is there another storm coming?” His voice wavered as he asked, lingering fear of storms still clawing painfully in his mind. The visions of the waves, the darkness, the screams of his men, the water entering his lungs, the-

“A man comes.” Your voice pulled him from his memories, fingers tightening on the sides of the mug, “William. He brings my reprieve.”

Aemond’s silver brows pulled into a frown, “You sent word of my presence.”

It wasn’t a question. 

It was an accusation. 

“No.” You shook your head, and watched as he visibly relaxed, “I wouldn’t have sent word unless you asked. William brings my reprieve every fortnight or so. We have been so busy I,” You gnawed at your lip, “I forgot. I thought we would have had longer, but now I suppose when he comes, you can go with him. Take lodge in his home.” You sipped the hot tea to swallow your nervous rambling, but still it broke forth, “I have a friend, a fellow sailor. Dalton Greyjoy, he could take you close to home, another port, anywhere to help. I don’t have money to pay for your passage, but he likes me well enough to perhaps do me this one favour. Or mayhaps you could offer gold on your arrival, I’m sure-“

“-You wish for me to leave?”

“No. But I know you must.” Your heart clenched in pain, you lowered your gaze to the mug of tea in your hands, watching the steam slowly rise from it, “You have a family waiting for you, worried for you. I do not wish to keep you here knowing that I may be causing you pain, or your family pain in the unknown.”

If you had raised your eyes to meet his, you would have seen Aemond frown lightly, but you didn't, so you hadn’t.

“You do not keep me here, and my family are not of your concern.” A beat, “Nor mine.”

Silence wrapped around the both of you as you refused to meet his gaze.

“When shall he arrive?”

You swallowed, looking at the small clock on the mantel, “Within the hour.”

Aemond nodded in your periphery, chair scraping beneath him as he stood, “Excuse me.”

His footsteps echoed on the stone flooring as he made his way to the door, pulling your fathers coat onto his shoulders before he left, no doubt waiting at the small alcove or beach to watch William arrive. 

You stared at the clock for some time, watching as the minutes ticked by, arm moving across its face slowly. But now that he was gone, away from seeing you, you allowed yourself to feel the ache that had crashed inside of you. Tear after tear fell down your cheeks silently as you watched the clock, the heat of the mug that lightly stung your palms, slowly but surely turning cold. 

He would leave, and you would be alone. 

Alone. 

Again. 

And he would leave and marry another.

Not you.

It shocked you that the thought of him laying with another, holding another tightly to him, caressing her, kissing her, smiling at her in ways that only you had seen thus far, made your stomach feel as though a knife was twisting itself inside. The lump in your throat sharp as though a dagger had been thrust through flesh and sinew, obstructing you from swallowing or breathing.

It felt as though you were losing him again. 

You didn’t know why, you couldn’t reason with it, for you had never known him before, but that day on the beach, as he lay lifeless in the sand, you had lost him. 

And then he had come back. 

And now he was to leave once more, and no more would he laugh in your small four walls, nor would he wake you with tea, or twist in the sheets beside you. 

No more would his hand linger upon yours, or his lips, or-

As another tear fell, the door to the cottage opened, and your hands quickly swiped up the wet tracks left behind on your cheeks. Rapid steps moved into the room as the door clunked behind.

“Your friend has arrived.” Aemond breathed, looking at the redness of your eyes and un-wiped tears on your chin. 

You swallowed, that dagger still lodged in place and nodded your head to stand, averting your eyes from his as you brushed down your skirts, “I suppose then I should fare you well.”

All that you could hear was the crackling of the fire and the beat of your heart thundering in your ears. You knew if you looked up at his face, to look into his lilac eye, to gaze upon his soft lips and sharp edges, that you would fall apart.

And so you didn’t, keeping your eyes averted to the corner of the room near the fireplace, wishing for it to be over. Wishing that he had never washed ashore so that you wouldn’t have to bear the heartbreak of him leaving. 

Because that’s what it was, you realised in that moment. 

Heartbreak.

“I’m afraid I will have to ask for your generosity once more.” Aemond breathed, and you blinked, slowly raising your eyes to meet his. His seeing eye searched your face as he breathed heavily, “I feel I may be succumbing to illness. I am falling- I feel,” He swallowed, “I feel compelled to stay. If you’ll have me. If not for a while longer.” His chest rose and fell visibly beneath the coat, hair cascading over his shoulders like waves of water.

He wished to stay?

Here?

With you?

Aemond blinked at your silence as his shoulders slumped slightly. He shook his head, looking to the floor, “Forgive me. That was too much to ask of you-“

“-No.” You shook your head, “No, not at all. If you,” You swallowed thickly, “If you feel unwell and compelled to stay, who am I to cast out a Lord in need?”

Relief washed over the two of you, and an unspoken air of gratitude floated amongst the space. You fought the urge to smile, to laugh, to jump with joy at the prospect of him staying longer. Of wanting to stay longer, of the thought that perhaps staying here with you was better than the prospect of going home to his family. 

His previous words echoed in your head.

Let me stay dead a while longer. 

Was this his staying dead a while longer? Avoiding his duties that awaited him when he returned home?

“Will you tell William of my presence?” His voice broke you from your revere.

You blinked.

Would you?

“Did you wish for me to?”

“No.”

You breathed a silent sigh of relief, “Then I shall not tell William of your presence.”

Aemond shifted on his feet, before nodding, “Thank you.”

You gave him a hopeful smile in response.

-

William arrived not too long after your agreement with Aemond for his extended stay, and hidden presence. You watched on from shore as he pulled his boat up the sand, his warm eyes crinkling at the sight of you.

“Y/n, my girl!” He called out to you, trudging up the sand to you as he pulled you into a tight embrace which you returned heartily, head tucked against his chest. 

Ever since your father had passed, William had become a father figure to you, but he had always been like that. Or at least like an uncle, a man who cared and loved you just as much as he did his own. You considered him family, and he considered you one of the same.

“How have you fared? We worried for you with that storm." His hand gripped your shoulder tightly, "Celia was beside herself with worry, pacing about the fire each night. Thought she would have burnt a hole in the floors by the end of it.” He chuckled, pulling away to look you over as you smiled up at him.

“As you can see, I am alive and well. The sea did not swallow me this time round.” You smiled, and turned to help him pull his boat further up the beach to unpack the supplies.

“Not all were so lucky,” William cast a glance to the remaining debris from Aemond’s ship, “Large pieces of hull washed ashore, we worried the ship had run aground atop the lighthouse.” His voice grew morose, “A few men washed up on the beach, but none survived the storm.”

You nodded solemnly, pulling a large bag of flour from the row boat as you lined it up on the grass with the others, “Debris landed here too. The ship sunk just off of the horizon in the thick of the storm. The sea took all.”

William hummed sadly, “Unbelievable storm that, not even Lord Greyjoy had seen a storm so large. Did any find their way here?”

You straightened, heart beginning to race in your chest. You swallowed and carefully thought of your next words, “One. Though he succumbed to waves like the others.” 

The lie made you shift uncomfortably. You didn’t want to lie to William, but you didn’t want to go against Aemond’s wishes either.

A large hand grasped your shoulder and tightened softly, “There was nothing you could have done. We saw the lighthouse day and night through the storm and thats how we knew you were safe. Celia dragged me to the beach in the rain to make sure it was on as proof of your wellbeing.”

You nodded, “It would take far more than a storm to stop me or the lamp.”

William chuckled, a crackly laugh that was familiar and warm, “Don’t I know it. Now, are you going to make this old man a drink, or do I have to beg for one.”

You laughed at his words, picking up the sack of flour and other bags of food and supplies, leaving the large crates for him to carry, “Come on then, before the Gods take you.”

-

After doing multiple trips and talking along the way, the cottage was now filled with supplies and food for the next fortnight. Flour and dried meats and other items were strewn on the counter and in the kitchen, leaning against the walls and shelves, whilst small jars of pickled foods and jams made by Celia were neatly lined in a small crate on the table.

When the two of you had begun to drop the supplies into the cottage, you held your breath, hoping that Aemond had made himself scarce and out of the way as you came in and out. Thankfully, your bedroom door was for once closed, and you assumed Aemond was keeping himself quiet inside. 

William sipped at the warm tea you made him as he seated himself in the chair that had become Aemond’s, long stocky legs stretched out in front of him as he rubbed a knee with a hand, working some invisible pain or injury out of it.

“Place looks good,” William commented, eyes roaming across the room, “You’ve been busy.”

You hummed in reply, lifting the mug to your lips. 

If only he knew. 

But William’s gaze stopped by the door, eyes locked onto something as he wordlessly stared. 

Shifting in your seat you turned to face it, stomach dropping. 

Beside your empty hook, was the other.

And hung on it, was your fathers old coat.

Aemond’s coat.

Your head turned back to look at William, mouth opening and shutting as you tried to think of an excuse, as you tried to think of a way to explain as to why there was a man’s coat hung on your door when you had supposedly been alone. And as you opened your mouth to explain yourself, to make up some poor take of an excuse, William beat you to it.

“I miss him too.” His voice was lower than it had been before, “Did you keep all his belongings?”

Your heart pounded in your ears, and a pang of grief moved through you. 

Your pa.

He thought you had his coat out because you missed him.

And whilst you did miss him, you were thankful that that was what William thought of it, and not that there was a man living with you, currently hiding in your bedroom. Though, that would be a hard thing for William to believe, even if you told him.

You nodded, “It seemed a waste to be rid of them.” You sipped your tea, wondering where this conversation may lead you. 

William gave a gruff sigh, “Do you not get lonely here? You’re all on your own. A woman your age should have a companion, someone to talk to at the very least. A cat even.”

You raised your eyebrows at him, “Are you suggesting I marry someone? I have my pigeon, but she’s not very talkative.”

The sea weathered man raised his shoulders, “You’re not getting any younger.” His words irritated you as he continued, “Not that you’re not capable of doing this on your own.” He explained, watching as your eyes narrowed on him, “You’ve proven yourself more than capable for that. I just,” Another sigh, “I know this isn’t what your father wanted for you.”

“Wanted for me?”

“He didn’t want you here, trapped. He wanted you to see the world, to go out and meet someone. He hoped you would settle down, start a family. He did not want to bear the burden of the lighthouse onto you.”

You looked down at the table, “It’s not a burden.”

“I know.” He said, but it didn’t sound as though he believed you, “But how often do you get to do things for yourself?”

You gave him a small smile, “I am perfectly content here, I don’t see why I should have to marry.”

“I’m not saying you have to, I’m merely suggesting the option.”

You hummed, “Well, not many men would like to live this life, nor are they prepared or knowledgable enough for it.”

Except for Aemond.

William laughed, crows feet becoming deeper, “I know you think men are a burden, if not a waste of ones time, but you never know, one may just wash ashore and change your perspective.”

Your breath stilled in your chest.

Did he know?

“What about Greyjoy?” William clicked his fingers, “The Dalton lad.” “His eyes always looks for you when he comes to town. Asks after you; Where you are, who you’re with, what you’re doing. Nice lad.”

“Nice enough.” You shifted uncomfortably, “But his heart belongs to the sea, and he would scarcely be home. What life would I live raising a child with a father who blows in with the tide? Not to mention, he has, shall we say, fleeting affections for others.”

William snorted, “I wouldn’t say his affections for you were fleeting, but aye, he is a man of the sea through and through. And those Greyjoys are known for their whoring.”

You guffawed, “William!”

“What?” He looked at you incredulously, “I speak the Gods honest truth. He wouldn’t be my first choice for you, but Celia-“

“Ahh.” You leant back in your chair, “Has Celia been playing the matchmaker of late?”

The older man grumbled, “When has she not? She tried to suggest Edmund Pyke-“

“-The fish mongers son?”

“Aye.” William shook his head, “Meek young man, too meek for the likes of you. I told Celia you’d eat him alive.”

A huffed chuckle fell from your lips, “Not much to devour. If I remember correctly, he stands half your size. Quiet boy.”

“Indeed. Always a shock when you hear him speak, like a mouse’s fart.” The man teased, draining the rest of his tea in one gulp, “But a man like that is no match for a woman like you. You need someone who can take what you give.” His eyes softened as he looked at you, “I doubt any man would be worthy of you. You are so very much like your mother; kind, soft.” A grin pulled at his lips, "But then you are frustratingly stubborn like your father and argumentative to a fault. And Gods awful at making tea.” He grimaced.

“My tea is perfectly fine, thank you very much. If it is so horrible for you to drink, then perhaps you should make yourself scarce.” You bit the insides of your cheeks to stop yourself from smiling, and William did the same, until finally he burst into a howling laugh, hand on his stomach as his head bent backwards.

“Oh no,” He grinned, standing with a grunt and pop of his knees, “I don’t worry for you marrying a man, I worry for the poor soul who will have to marry you.” 

You stood to meet him, “Then you needn’t worry, for I see no husband on the horizon by the name of Greyjoy or Pyke.”

William raised a brow, “Just those names then?”

Heat rushed to your cheeks, “Be quiet, you.” You smacked him on the chest lightly, letting him pull you in for a final hug.

-

Slowly you walked William back to his boat, chatting quietly amongst yourselves as you went to shore, helping him to drag it down the sand to the water, the little vessel swaying in the small waves, the sun slowly beginning to set in the horizon.

“Now you take care of yourself, you hear me? Come to town and visit when the weather is fare. The girls would love to see you.”

You nodded, promising to come soon, hugging him once more on the sand. 

William took one final gaze at you, eyes searching your face with an almost unreadable expression to it, “You’ve changed.” He pushed his boat further into the water before sitting to face you, rowers in hands as his boat rocked side to side on the small waves, “You’re lighter. Brighter. Before the storm you were dull, but now…” His voice trailed off in the wind as he rowed himself backwards slowly, “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were in love!” He called out, boat moving away from the beach.

“A good thing you know better!” You called out after him, heat rising in your neck and face as your heart began to race in your chest, “Give my love to the girls!” You waved and he nodded, your feet stepping back to avoid a small wave that dragged water up to your boots, “And tell Celia to stop trying to marry me off like a prized mare!”

“I’ll do no such thing!” William yelled back laughing, before finally he was away. 

-

You stood on the beach, watching the man grow smaller and smaller as he made his way back to shore. Your feet had begun to sink into the sand, damp seeping in through the sides before you decided to return back to the cottage. 

When you entered, your bedroom door was open, and Aemond was in the kitchen, pumping water in the dry sink to wash the two cups and put them away. As he heard your approach he turned his head toward you, though not fully.

“He seems a decent man.” He stated softly, hands scrubbing the tea from the cups.

You smiled softly, “He is. I grew up with him. Always visiting me and pa whenever he had the chance. And when pa died, he became a father to me.”

Aemond hummed, “He cares a lot about you, as if you’re his own.” Aemond grabbed a cloth and dried the mugs placing them back on the shelf, “It’s good to see decent men being decent fathers.”

You nodded and smiled. You knew from what Aemond had told you that he did not have a good relationship with his father, and you were more than fortunate to not only have one, but two father figures in your life who had been nothing but loving to you.

And whilst you thought of memories of your pa and William, the air in the cottage shifted.

Aemond dried his hands and turned to face you, his posture stiff, face pulled into a hard line, “You didn’t tell me that Dalton was pursuing you. You would let me leave on his ship with him without saying as much?”

There was something in his eye and the way that he spoke that made you shift on your feet nervously. 

You began to pull your coat from your shoulders, “Pursuing is an exaggeration.” You lied to yourself, “Dalton has no desire to ask for my hand, nor has he ever expressed any desire. His family are Lord’s. He himself is a Lord. His family would never approve of my-“

“-But he wants you.” Aemond said lowly, stepping forward, looking down at you from his nose, “Desires you. I heard William say that he seeks you out, asks after you. It’s clear there is something there between you.”

Your brows furrowed, “Do you make a habit of listening in on others conversations? There is nothing between me and Dalton. I have known him all my life, and to this day nothing has happened. He is scarcely in town, always on the seas exploring new lands, new women. His interest in me is purely physical, I assure you.”

“And is it reciprocated?”

You blanched, blinking up at him, “Reciprocated?”

Aemond’s jaw twitched as he looked down at you, “Do you desire him in the way he desires you? Do you wish for him to touch you?” His voice dropped lower as he stepped towards you, hand coming to tuck loose strands of hair behind your ear, fingers lingering at the skin of your neck, “To taste you?”

You couldn’t think. 

Couldn’t breathe.

Stuck to the floor as you looked up at the silver haired man whom you now realised was jealous. 

His lilac eye had darkened as he looked down his nose at you, sharp features illuminated harshly by the fire behind him. His lips were pulled into a stiff line, and his chest rose and fell shallowly.

“Well?”

You blinked again, and cleared your throat softly, “No.” You whispered quietly to the room, watched as his brows furrowed in disbelief, “Once I had.” You admitted watching as his jaw ticked, “But that was before I met you. It feels a long time ago, and it was merely a passing thought, one bred by the desire to not be alone.”

At your words, Aemond seemed to relax, his lips softened and brow evened out, though his jaw remained clenched, “And are you alone?”

Your head cocked to the side.

Alone?

But he was standing right with you.

Right in front of you.

“No?”

Aemond huffed a small humourless laugh at your response, clearly you had misunderstood him. 

“Do you feel lonely? With me here?”

You licked your lips, feeling the warmth of his body come closer as he stepped forward, fingers at your neck sliding to the back, tangling themselves into your hair as he pulled you closer. His mouth was a breath apart from yours, his eye on your lips as you heaved uneven lungfuls, waiting for your answer.

You tilted your head upwards, lips brushing against his softly, the feeling sending warmth settling into your gut as you chased his embrace. But Aemond did not let you close the gap, and moved his lips away, awaiting your answer yet again.

As soft as a whisper came your answer.

“Not anymore.”

Aemond’s lips met yours as soon as the words left your mouth, chasing yours in a heated kiss, the hand at the back of your neck tangling in your hair tightly as he pulled you impossibly closer, other arm wrapping around your waist to pull you against him, almost lifting you onto his own feet. 

His lips felt like a breath of fresh air, a fire within you set ablaze with each passing moment. You chased after him as much as he chased after you, your hands desperately pulling his tunic closer to you, neck craned up on your tip toes to reach.

The sailors hands came to the front of your dress, teeth nipping at your bottom lip causing you to gasp. His tongue took advantage of your parted lips, licking into your mouth at the opening. You moaned warmly, feeling his hands pause at the buttons at the front of your dress. You nodded sharply, not willing to part from him to verbally give an answer. 

With practised ease, he began to pull at the buttons one by one, slowly opening the front of your gown. When it was finally undone down to your navel, you parted for air, a wave of realisation crashing over you.

“The lamp.” You breathed breathlessly, rearing your head back to look up at Aemond, night had begun to fall outside.

His eye was half lidded, pupil expanded across the lilac, and a soft pink dusted on his cheeks, “Already lit.” He mumbled before crashing his lips back against yours. 

You made a startled squeak, and wondered briefly when he had had the time to go light it in your absence. But any lingering questioning you had were lost when his large hands scooped under the front of your collarbones and up to your shoulders, slowly sliding the gown down your torso, freeing your arms as he went. 

He stepped back to look over you, goosebumps rising on your skin as his heated gaze roamed over your breasts and body. His lips were pink and swollen from your embrace, and the pupil of his eye expanded.

Feeling a spur of confidence, you undid the small belted laces at the back, letting the heavy dress and skirts fall to the ground beneath you in a puddle.

Aemond was on you in a second, the room tilting as you were suddenly picked up, legs automatically wrapping around Aemond’s hips as he hungrily kissed you, all teeth and tongue and impatience, neediness bleeding through the both of you in a rush of desire.

It was as though wildfire had caught in the space between, and it burnt at you both hotly, the flames licking higher and higher on your bodies, an all consuming need. 

Your need for him burnt.

“Bed.” He murmured into your lips, speedily walking to the room before he dropped you onto the bed with a bounce.

You gazed up at him through your lashes and watched as he pulled his tunic from over his head with one hand in one swift movement, your eyes roaming down his lean body.

Pale littering of scars were on his chest and arms, and your gaze moved lower still to the trail of hair that lead to what was beneath his breeches, the memory of it causing your core to clench around nothing.

Aemond breathed heavily looking down at you before he pulled you to the edge by your feet, a squeak rising from your chest as he loomed over you. 

With haste, Aemond unlaced your boots, throwing them away alongside the stockings he rolled down your legs impatiently. Then came your stays, which did not survive his large, weather worn hands, which tore the laces from their holes, ripping the material at the seams. 

You gasped loudly as he did it, not truly knowing the strength he had hidden, which was then smothered by his wanting mouth, body climbing on top of you as he kissed and nipped sharply at your lips with his teeth, hips pressing down into your own as he ground into you.

Heat settled in your gut with each thrust of his hips, his hardening length brushing against your sensitive pearl each time, sending shooting sparks of pleasure up your spine. The kiss consumed you, heat rising in the room as the both of you gripped and pulled at each other desperately, Aemond only breaking the kiss to pave a path down your neck, stopping every so often to suck or bite at your flesh, marking you which caused you to mewl beneath him. 

He sunk lower and lower on the bed, pulling up your slip with his hands as he settled between your thighs once again, your hands gripping the sheets of the bed as you looked down at him. His eye was already on you, watching your face as he breathed cool breaths against your bare core. 

You whimpered as he blew air onto it, cold on your throbbing bud as he smirked up at you, “Sīr lōz.”, He cooed, swiping two fingers gently up your slit, parting your folds.

A finger pressed down on you, watching with delight as you squirmed beneath him. You bucked your hips up towards his lips shyly as he blew against you again, smirking at how you whimpered and writhed, desperate to alleviate the ache that had been building within since he captured your lips with his. 

“Is something wrong?” Aemond smirked, rubbing his fingers through your folds, but never quite touching you were you needed him.

“Please.” You whispered, hips seeking his fingers desperately.

“Please, what?"

You shut your eyes tightly, embarrassment coursing through you, "Please, Aemond."

The man chuckled gently, pressing a kiss just above where you needed him, watching as your eyes opened to look down at him again.

"Syt ao? Mirros.”

Aemond ducked his head between your thighs, hand on either side of your thighs, holding you open for him as he licked a wide stripe up your centre, tongue flicking against your bud.

Your back arched from the bed, eyes screwed shut as pleasure shot through you. The Targaryen moaned into your folds, beginning to lap at them hungrily, thumbs holding you open for him so that he focused on your pearl. 

“Iksā sīr vok syt nyke.” Aemond groaned, two long fingers finding your entrance, slowly beginning to push inside of you. 

Your breath hitched as they entered, immediately curling up to the soft spongey spot inside of you that he found last time, memorising each and every inch of your body and the reactions that you made when he licked, sucked, pressed or rubbed against it. 

The sounds he made as he lapped at your core was filthy, depraved, and down right ravenous, moaning into your cunt as pleasure wound tightly in your belly, his ministrations slowly but surely pulling you towards the edge, no doubt assisted by his low rumblings in his mother tongue.

“Nyke jorrāelagon ao.” He gasped against your thigh, watching his fingers disappear inside of you as he began to fuck them at a faster pace, wetness coating your thighs and the bed beneath you “Gaomā daor gīmigon ziry,” He kissed at your thigh looking up into your eyes with an intensity that made the breath in your chest still, “Yn iksi vēttan naejot sagon.”

Your hips bucked, one hand releasing the sheets to card through his hair, his lilac eye momentarily shutting as you pulled lightly at the strands, a hum vibrating his chest, “Common tongue, please.”

“More tongue?” Aemond responded cheekily, eyebrow raised at you, and before you could quip back, he was back to using his mouth on you, sucking your pearl into his mouth as his fingers did not slow, the tension in your gut about the break. 

“Oh.” You breathed, mouth open, “Oh Gods. Oh- fucking Hells.” Pleasure raced through you violently, and a long pealing whine flitted from your lips as you reached your peak.

Aemond sucked your bud into his mouth as he flicked his tongue against it, fingers fucking inside of you speedily through it, the wet squelching of your release loud in the room with each thrust of his hand. Your grip in his hair tightened and you pulled, still falling from the precipice he had brought you to, a deep grunt vibrating into your already sensitive core. 

“Aemond- Nng- Please. Slow down.” You whined, writhing as the pleasure soon turned borderline painful, too overstimulated to function.

With a final broad wipe of his tongue, the silver haired man ceased his movements, allowing for your body to finally slump into the pillows, a light sheen of sweat covering you. 

Your eyes slid shut as you huffed a laugh, whimpering lightly when he pulled his fingers from within you. Aemond placed wet kisses to the top of you mound, your hip bones, and then to your stomach which he revealed by pulling your slip up your body. 

Only did your eyes re-open when he kept lifting the slip up over your breasts, his mouth coming down to capture a pert nipple in his mouth. He rolled it with his tongue, teeth lightly holding it in place as he slotted his hips against you once again.

You moaned, hands sliding down his sides to his breeches which were still very much on his hips.

“Off.” You breathed, tugging at his pants, his mouth releasing your nipple with a soft pop.

“Patience, byka perzys.” Little flame, Aemond chuckled, shifting to drag his breeches down his legs, kicking them off the bed along with his boots. 

When he laid back against you, his hands moved to your shift again, pulling it over your head, leaving the two of you bare before each other once again. His head dipped and captured your lips, the taste of yourself on his tongue tart and musky.

Swiftly, Aemond used his thighs to part your own, moving them over the top of his as he lined the hard tip of his cock up with your soaked entrance.

Without pause, Aemond slid inside of you, catching your gasp in his mouth as you stretched around him. There was only the slightest of stings this time, your body far more relaxed than the first time.

The head of his cock pressed against your cervix snugly as he pushed to the hilt, the feeling of fullness spreading within you and up through your gut. You don't think that you could ever get used to such a feeling, such an all encompassing fullness that would forever shock you.

Aemond didn’t wait to give you a chance to adjust, and began to thrust himself through your silky walls immediately, sparks of pleasure beginning rippling up your body. A large hand held your hip, whilst the other buried itself in your hair, tilting your head further back for him to dive his tongue into your mouth, flicking at your own as you messily grabbed and kissed one another.

Feeling yourself begin to jolt up the bed, you lifted your legs and wrapped them around his waist, pulling him deeper and closer to you, desperate whine moving through you as his hips clapped against yours.

It was frenzied, fiery, and with each smack of his hips, you felt your wetness spread against his thighs and hair at the base of his length, his pelvis rubbing against your sensitive nub.

“Sīr ȳrda.” He moaned, head dipping into the crux of your neck, hand on your hip skimming to the globe of your ass, squeezing it as he fucked you harder, grunts spilling from his lips growing louder.

“You feel so good.” You whimpered, hands clawing at his back sharply as you felt a familiar coil within begin to wind again, “Please.”

Aemond raised his head to look down at you, your gaze meeting his. With his thumb, Aemond began to swirl small, wet circles into your pearl, accelerating your oncoming release. The lilac of his eye looked almost black as he lowered his voice to you.

“Take it from me.” 

Pleasure coursed through your veins. Blinding white heat pummelling through you as you reached your peak below him.

“There you go.” He cooed, watching as your release crashed over you.

Aemond tumbled over the edge with you with a cry. Your nails dug into his back as he sped up, looking down intently, mouth slack as he watched you come apart from below, not once breaking your locked gaze.

His forehead pressed into yours as he slowed, the throbbing of his length inside you and warmth of his spend filling you causing a smaller wave of pleasure to race through you, your walls clamping down onto him. Aemond hissed before coming to a stop, the both of you panting heavily, bodies going slack, the weight of him on top bringing you an odd sense of comfort.

Carefully Aemond rolled off of you, his cock sliding out from your sensitive walls as he lay on his back, pulling you into his side to tuck your head beneath his.

You curled into him immediately, as though you had done it a million times before, fitting perfectly at his side. You wrapped an arm around his middle, lifting a leg to hook over his hips, which he held and sooth his his hand. 

Your entire body was buzzing with the after mass of your release, limbs feeling heavier than they once were. The two of you sweaty and satiated, whilst small little huffs of joy breathed into the space as you both fell into a comfortable rest.

 -

Another week goes by, and soon enough, it had been almost a month since Aemond washed ashore on your island. 

Almost a month since the largest storm you had seen raged across the horizon and into the headlands.

Almost a month since you had nursed a man back from death and back to the living.

Almost a month since your heart began to grow fond of the man. 

Almost a month since you had grown content with Aemond’s presence. 

Things had changed again, not in any negative way, but things became more passionate, more heated, more tender.

Aemond would touch you whenever he could, hold you whenever he could, hand pressed against yours. Lips to yours, or your cheek, or forehead, and his his hands would seek you in gentle caresses that would set you alight and wanting for more.

And he always gave you more.

He seemed to be insatiable, never quite getting his fill, and whatever he had awoken inside of you was equal in fever. 

You noted that his personal preference was to be between your thighs, lapping at your folds whenever he could, pulling peak after peak from you whether on your bed, or the couch, against the table or walls or doors or kitchen bench. And even, on one occasion, in the lighthouse, pressed against the bricks with a leg hitched over his shoulder. 

Aemond never seemed to get enough of it, always insisting on it before he would sink himself inside of you. You had asked him why once, and he had flushed, stating that it was to prepare you, but when you had asked again, he said that there was no greater sweetness in all the lands he had travelled to than your, so eloquently put, cunt. 

Not that you minded, in fact, it began to be a favourite pass time of your own. 

When you had woken that morning, it wasn’t to your usual bodily clock, rising before the sun after years of habit, but rather to the warm and wet sensation that prodded and swiped between your legs.

You rose with a moan, and then a deeper one as you found Aemond between your thighs kissing your centre like a man starved. It didn’t take him long to get you to reach your peak, and when you had, he had smiled almost smugly, and stated that that was all he needed to eat for the day.

But the newfound intimacy and exploring each others bodies wasn’t all that you enjoyed in your shifting tides together. Each moment spent with Aemond you learnt more about him. Piece by piece he would reveal new information to you. A new memory, a new story, a new piece of knowledge about the mysterious man that you would itemise and lock away in the back of your mind to create a larger picture of the man in front of you.

You spent hours reading together when not working, for double the hands makes for swift work, and you found that for the first time in your life, you had the ability to sit down, to breathe, to not have every waking moment thinking about the lighthouse and only the lighthouse. And in those moments of breath and thought, you realised how much you truly had been missing out on in life. 

You had thought you had been content alone, but the more time you spent with him, the more time you spent reading or hearing about his own adventures, you realised, much to your dismay, how you longed to do the same. But you couldn’t ever leave, for no-one would man the lighthouse after you, at least no-one you would know to be so proficient. Unless it was William himself, but he had a wife and daughters and a job of his own, and you would never ask him to do such a thing for your selfish wants and imagination.

And so you were content in savouring each moment you had with the sailor whilst he was still there, laughing loudly over whiskey as he told you of a story of his older brother losing a wooden sword match with one of his nephews, or another time in which his brother Aegon had grown so drunk at a family event, that two maids had to assist him to bed, dropping him halfway up the stairs as they went.

You learnt that his sister, Helaena, was a sweet and gentle woman with a soft and kind heart. She had, what he called, a nervous or paranoid disposition, and often believed her dreams that things were to happen, the family taking no notice to her fretting. Though he did note, with an ashen face, that she had warned him once about a danger beneath the eye. 

Had she meant the eye he lost?

Or the eye of the storm which led to his ships demise, and almost his own?

Aemond did not know.

His mother, you learnt, Alicent, was a stern and pious woman, heavily religious and intent on him performing his duties and marrying a young Lady from a neighbouring land. Though at times she seemed to be somewhat overbearing and traditional in his retellings, when he spoke of her, there was a deep fondness in his eye, and it made you all the more disappointed in yourself for having kept him away from them.

During his stay, Aemond kept his promise to you, teaching you what he could of High Valyrian when you had the chance. It was a struggle to start, but you picked it up quicker than you had thought you would. 

He would praise you for your pronunciation, which only led you to want to do better for him, his words of affirmation doing something to your heart and body, which resulted in you mumbling words and phrases beneath your breath every chance you had to perfect them. 

You also learnt that he had an older sister, estranged, not talked about and something that was clearly a taboo for the sailor, but when he did mention her, it was to note that her High Valyrian was more advanced as their father had spent ample time teaching her, but not his four other children.

Aemond was, for the most part, self taught, besides the help of a lone tutor which Aemond noted was poorly. 

Each time he shared a piece of himself to you, your heart longed to go with him, to see the famed Keep where his family resided. To meet his mother Alicent who was such an important person in his life, as well as his sister Helaena. You wished to meet Aegon, to see if he truly was as bumbling as Aemond had told you. 

You wished to see the foods they had, imported from foreign lands you couldn’t pronounce, to walk the Gardens of the Keep, to see the ashen barked Weirwood tree in his Godswood, to try a starfruit, which Aemond had a craving for almost every second day, the shape and flavour a wonder to you. 

You wished to be a part of his life, a part of his family, and a tiny, foolish part of you thought that perhaps you could. But the more rational side knew that it could not be, that you were of low rank, and you could not leave the lighthouse unmanned, and as each day passed with this heavy revelation, came the looming of a dark cloud above you.

-

The fresh scones you had made were still soft and fresh, Celia’s jam spread thickly on top as a treat for the both of you that morning. The cottage was cold, but the heat of the fire radiated warmth around the two of you, a subtle wind whistling past the windows outside. 

Despite the bright mood the two of you had, started by Aemond waking you up between your thighs, that cloud still loomed over the top of you, dread and anticipation of what was to come nipping at you like a hound.

“Celia makes great jam. I should like to thank her one day.” Aemond hummed, popping a small broken piece of scone into his mouth to chew, licking the jam off the pad of his thumb after he swallowed.

You nodded, smiling, though it didn’t reach your eyes, “You should thank her yourself in person. I am sure she would like to meet a real Targaryen.”

His eye searched your face, “One day.”

“But when?” You swallowed, preparing your speech which you had practiced over and over in a loop in your head, finding some way that would make him want to stay, to make him want you.

The silver haired man frowned, placing the rest of his scone on his plate as he sat himself straighter, “When?”

“Yes. When.” The lump in your throat grew larger with each passing second, “You have a family, duties, a life. Your mother must be beside herself with worry and grief, and I fear that I am taking you from that. I fear I am creating pain for you all.”

“Taking me?” Aemond sounded confused, eye swiftly searching your face as you straightened in your chair.

“I do not wish to…force you to stay here, or corrupt you into thinking I could be anything other than this.” You watched as his frown deepened, lips pulling into a thin line, “I cannot keep you here as much as I wish to.”

His frown softened, “You wish for me to stay?”

“Kessa.” (Yes) You said quietly, “But I know it is not the reality we live in. You are a Lord, I am-“

“-Why do you always bring up my rank?”

“Because it means something. If your family found out that you have been here, with someone like me, the talk alone could ruin your potential list of decent wives. Your future. I fear I have already tainted-“

“-Tainted?”

“Yes, I-“

“-Why do you believe yourself to ever be capable of tainting me?” Aemond’s voice was stern, colder than before, as though angry at your words. You looked down at the table shyly, focusing on the scone smeared with jam.

“You do not think you could stay here forever, do you?”

Aemond huffed air through his nose, “I can do whatever I like. Go where I please, see who I wish. For now, my family believes me to be dead, and even if I was known to be hale and healthy, I can still do as I please.”

“But your mother-“

“-My mother,” Aemond began, voice softening, “Will one day come to understand.”

You shook your head, confusion coursing through you, “I don’t understand.”

Aemond’s jaw tensed, teeth pressing sharply against each other before he adjusted himself to sit even more impossibly straighter, “Do you believe in the Gods?”

Your eyebrows knitted together, “Of course. I would not have prayed to them if I did not.”

“Then you must believe the Gods control our paths and fate.”

Paths and fate?

What was he talking about?

“Yes, I believe so. But I don’t understand what the Gods have to do with you needing to go home.”

Aemond took a deep breath through his nose, his hand on the table as fingers flexed and then curled back into a fist, dropping into his lap out of sight, “My ship sunk for a reason. I do not believe that it happened without purpose. I drowned and came back for a reason. You prayed to the Gods to save me, and they did.” His tongue peeked out of his lips to wet them, and your heart began to race in your chest, “The Gods gave me a second chance at life and brought me straight to you.” He shook his head, silver locks falling over his shoulders, “Before you, I was unhappy, but with you? I have never been so content. So… at peace.”

Tears prickled at your eyes, your own hands twisting in your lap, “Please do not say such things to me, Sir. My heart cannot bear it.”

Aemond leant forward, “But it is the truth. And mine own heart cannot bear the thought of leaving here. Of leaving you.”

A tear fell from your eye, sliding wetly down your cheek as you looked at him, his figure blurred in your vision, “You cannot want me.”

“I can. And I do.”

A sob fell from your lips as you looked at him, “This is cruelty, Aemond. You cannot- You can’t- Your family would never allow it. You cannot say these things to me, do not give me false hope. Do not give me reason to believe.”

Aemond's hand lifted on top of the table, palm up, offered to you. 

You looked at his palm, and the soft smooth skin there, and wished to mark it. You wished to mark him so that he could never leave, so that he could never be without you without evidence of you existing.

“False hope would be to say that I could ever leave here with my heart intact.” His hand waited for you on the table, “Please.”

Another tear fell from your cheek, “You cannot want a life like this. You cannot want a life with me. I have no money, I cannot ever leave, I would never trap you here with me.”

“You could never trap me in the first place. I am yours.”

I am yours.

Another sob fell from your lips, chest aching at the thought of losing him, at the thought of him leaving you. That this declaration would be for naught, that he had not truly thought this over, but deep inside of you, you hoped, dreamed, begged the Gods for his words to be true.

Aemond’s hand slid off the table and back into his lap as he stared at you, silence creeping across the table.

“I am just as much yours. Irrevocably.” You breathed, watching as relief flooded Aemond’s face, “But I cannot ask this of you. Not when you lose so much if you do.”

Aemond stood from his seat, swiftly coming towards you where he knelt in front of you, forcefully taking your hand in his as he looked up into your tear filled eyes. His thumb brushed over your knuckles soothingly, his other hand briefly coming to swipe a tear from your cheek before meeting the other that held yours.

“You are not asking me to do anything, byka perzys.” His words came swiftly, eye searching your face as tear after tear fell down your cheeks, “And if you were, I would do it. A thousands times over, I would do it. If you asked me to walk back into the sea, I would do it. For you, I would do it.”

“Aemond,” You shook your head sadly, mouth opening again to argue, but he interrupted you.

“-I want to stay.” His hands gripped yours tighter, “Here. With you. I want to be with you. Always.” He swallowed thickly, “If you’ll have me.”

Your blood thumped loudly in your ears as you looked at him. You couldn’t breathe. You couldn’t speak, mind going a thousand miles an hour. 

He wanted to stay.

He wanted to stay here.

With you.

“Please do not turn me away. The fate of the seas would be kinder.” His voice cracked, and your heart ached.

There was no turning back, no moving from this conversation without an outcome. 

It all just depended on which path you wished to go. Which path your heart ached for most, and that was for him to stay. But would it come without consequences? Would his decision to stay be a mistake he would come to resent you for? 

You had nothing to lose, he had everything to.

But the way he was looking at you, the way he was patiently and nervously awaiting your answer, watching as tears continued to fall from your eyes, not just out of grief, but sheer overwhelming love for the man knelt before you, offering all that he was, sacrificing all that he had, and for you.

A small smile cracked on your lips, and you watched as his eye became hopeful. Your hand lifted to his cheek, caressing it softly to cup his jaw as you looked him over; his lilac eye, the sharp aquiline of his nose, the way his plump lips pulled sharply at its peaks. Never in your dreams could you have imagined such a man, and never in your life did you think to imagine that a man such as him could be yours.

And it was in that moment that you made your decision.

You smiled, small sobbing laugh escaping your lips as you rubbed a thumb against his skin, feeling the smooth stubble beneath it, “The Gods brought you to me.” You whispered, eyes searching his face for any sign of regret or trepidation, and when you found none, you continued, “Who am I to turn you away?”

And there it was, that full smile that you had grown to love. 

Aemond’s lips pulled widely revealing his teeth as he beamed up at you. 

Never had you felt such joy, such elation inside of you at the sight, your heart feeling as though it became full, a fire settling into your chest raging as it always did with him, for he always made it feel as though he set you alight.

“Avy jorrāelan.” Aemond declared softly with a smile, his eyes crinkling in the corners, lilac dancing with admiration, the unseeing eye reflecting the light of the sun outside like a cloudy morning sky. 

He sat up on his knees and leant forward, face coming towards you before his eye shut, and his lips met yours in a passionate kiss. Your hands grabbed his face, and he did yours, diving his fingers into your hair, holding you to him gently as he slowly sought your lips with his own. 

It was not rushed, it was not frantic, but patient, the both of you knowing that you were no longer running on limited time. No longer stealing moments together before the end.

No longer was there a looming departure of his presence in your life, and as though a breeze from outside swept inside the house, the dark looming cloud that had situated itself above you cleared.

When finally did you part, breathless and giddy, a curiosity took over.

“What does that mean?” You questioned, burning desire to know eating away at you, “What you said?”

And there was that smile once more, and you knew in your heart what it meant after that.

“You will know soon enough.”

Translations:

Sīr lōz - So wet

Syt ao? Mirros - For you? Anything

Iksā sīr vok syt nyke - You are so perfect for me

Nyke jorrāelagon ao. I need you

Gaomā daor gīmigon ziry, Yn iksi vēttan naejot sagon - You do not know it, but we are made to be.

Sīr ȳrda - So tight

Avy jorrāelan - I love you

Thanks so much for reading along with me, if you wish to be added to the general tag list please let me know :) Likes and reblogs are greatly appreciated ! Enjoy <3

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[mixtape-racha]

it's a scream, baby! | hyunlix

chapter four: movie's dont create psychos

words: 1.54k // warnings: cursing, crying, hinted panic attack

OFFICIAL GHOSTFACE KILL COUNT: 003

once (y/n) had showered and got ready for the day, she checked her phone again to see another message from hyunjin. he had asked to meet him in town to grab lunch together - he had also added that he hoped it was an official date, but if she wasn't comfortable with that it would be okay.

a rush of adrenaline coursing through her veins, grinning as she replied, confirming its role as their first official date, and rushing to get ready to meet him. after all, it wasn’t every day your crush of four years finally asked you out. especially after the horror the town had endured the day before.

as she finished preparing herself, she heard a knock on the door. seungmin and minho still seemed to be dead to the world, so she took it upon herself to answer - surprised to see felix stood there, hand still raised to continue his incessant knocking.

“can i help you, lixie?” (y/n) smiled, ushering him into the house. “seung and minho are still home i think, but i’m about to head out, what’s up?”

her answer seemed to confuse felix, his brows quirking in a squiggle, and a small pout forming on his lips.

“where are you going? who are you meeting? you’re not staying out tonight, are you?”

(y/n) giggled at his bombardment of questions, gently shoving his shoulder. what on earth was his problem today? felix was never protective or cautious like this, often being the one to remind the others that she was, in fact, an adult when they got too overbearing. 

“i’m meeting hyun for a lunch date, lix. no, i’m not planning on staying out today. what’s going on with you?”

“(y/n),” he started, looking at the girl like a fragile doll vulnerable to breaking on the spot. “yeji’s okay, don’t panic. but nari and her girlfriend areum were killed in their dorm last night.”

and like that, (y/n)'s world seemed to crumble on the spot. her mind stopped, and suddenly tunnel-vision had taken control. she needed to get to her friend now.

“oh, god. oh, fuck. no, yeji–”

was the last thing felix heard before she sprinted out the front door, frantically scrambling on her phone to call her closest friend.

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

“yeji, babe, oh god-!” (y/n) cried out, throwing her arms around the girl where she sat on the grass outside her dorm building. her face was swollen and streaked with tears, entire body trembling and a green sheen over her face. she looked like shit. probably felt like it, too.

“i found them, (y/n). they were just in the living room. when i saw the front door was open, i– i was so scared…” she whimpered, tears freely throwing again into (y/n)'s hoodie as she sobbed against her body. “i shouldn’t have gone out last night, if i was home i could’ve saved them. i shouldn’t have gone.”

shaking her head frantically, (y/n) pulled yeji away from her shoulder and cupped her cheeks.

“no. no fucking way, hwang yeji, you are not blaming yourself for this. don’t you dare. in fact, i’ve never been so grateful you weren’t home last night, because if i lost you i don’t know what i’d do. don’t you ever blame yourself for this.”

the two of them sat there in their spot in the grass for what could have been hours, and it probably was in all reality. (y/n) simply held her friend in her arms, stroking her hair softly as her sobs slowly turned into dry sniffles.

yousheheld her closer still, having to turn her head away too as the coroner’s came out of the building entrance with two evidently full body bags. it was almost like the world stood still, people simply watching as both girls’ parents clutched onto each other - areum’s mothers cries resounding across the entire campus.

but still, (y/n) stayed in yeji’s bubble - she needed her more than anyone else could in this moment. once the area had cleared a bit of the people watching in shock, she gathered yeji up and allowed her to lean on her body as a crutch.

she wrapped her jacket around yeji's shoulders, and rubbed her arms as she slowly lead her away from the building and towards her own. she could stay with (y/n) as long as she needed - knowing minho and jeongin wouldn’t mind at all. 

(y/n) were also positively sure that the others would volunteer to go back to her dorm and collect her things for her as soon as the police allowed entry. she needed a big support system right now, and (y/n) couldn’t think of anyone more supportive than her boys, her big, crazy chosen family.

it was only once she had ushered yeji into the dorm, locking and double-locking the door behind you that you realised you had failed to inform hyunjin of why she couldn’t make it to your plans a few hours earlier. 

luckily, it seemed felix had gathered everyone into the dorm due to the way she had run off, given the seven shocked expressions around her as she followed yeji to the floor as she collapsed, sobbing again.

lifting her head from yeji’s broken form, she shook her head at her friends, praying they’d get the hint and not stick around to bombard the girls with questions. she gave a silent exhale of relief as minho ushered everyone except chan and jisung out of the room quicker than she’d ever seen before.

peeling your neck and torso away from yeji’s body, you allowed her to sink further into your lap - her cries quickly turning into hiccups and sniffles again, but the trembling of her body showing no sign of stopping any time soon.

“chan, a favour?” (y/n) started, with him nodding his head quickly in response, ready to do anything to help. “get a cup of cold water - use a plastic cup in case the shaking gets worse. also grab my weighted blanket from my room, a clean set of clothes and some towels so she can shower. the wash kit she keeps here is in the box under my desk.”

she watched as he made a mental note of all the requests and darted off towards the other end of the apartment. (y/n) stroked yeji’s hair back out of her face, speaking in a hushed voice so as to not startle her.

“babe, we’re gonna get up now, okay? i’m gonna sit you on the sofa so you can have a drink, and then i’m going to take you to shower, yeah?”

unable to get the words out to reply, she simply nodded, breath coming out in shudders as chan returned with a water bottle full and with a couple of cubes of ice. jisung quickly darted forward, almost coming out of a daze, to help (y/n) lift yeji from the hard flooring and steer her stumbling feet towards the couch just to the left of them.

(y/n) held onto the bottle for yeji as she took a few deep sips, the redness slowly dying from her cheeks. but once her breathing was kind of stabilised, she did something (y/n) weren’t expecting. honestly, it seemed no one was expecting it - but she flung her arms around jisung, mumbling against his hoodie as she inhaled his scent, breathing becoming much calmer.

once she’d successfully drank half of the bottle, (y/n) again helped her stand, and seeing her newfound comfort in (y/n)'s best friend, instructed jisung to keep an eye on her while she showered. he quickly agreed, offering to stay with her while she had something to eat and napped on the sofa so (y/n) could shower herself.

“honestly, (y/n), you look a mess. i mean that with all love and respect but - you look exhausted. i’ve got yeji, go look after yourself for an hour, okay? shower, have a nap, talk to hyunjin. whatever you need.”

she nodded, tears finally building up behind her eyes as the events of the day caught up with her. she embraced jisung in a tight hug, him planting a soft kiss on your forehead before he lead yeji to the communal bathroom with the things (y/n) had instructed chan to collect for her.

shrugging off her hoodie, (y/n) headed towards the kitchen, not recognising her own broken and hoarse voice as she called out hyunjin’s name. he came bolting towards her, cupping her face in his hands to judge how she was feeling, before pulling her into a long hug.

“god, i’m so glad you’re okay. what do you need, angel, i’ll do anything?” he rushed out, his heart hammering in his chest as she wrapped your arms around his torso.

“just need some company, honestly. would… would you wanna come and cuddle with me while i get a power nap?”

“of course. i mean it, anything you need and i’ll do it.”

she chuckled tiredly as she pulled away from the hug and started pulling the other boy towards her room.

“if you could stop whichever fucking psychopath is going around killing people, that would be great.”

oh, if only (y/n) wasn't facing the opposite way to hyunjin. maybe then she would’ve caught the way his jaw hardened and his brows furrowed.

if only.

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[rahabs]

the fact that you would defend the israeli government after they’ve murdered 30,000 innocents in the largest bombing campaign in modern history is literally despicable and borderline evil. if a genocide documented ad nauseam cannot make you cognizant of israel’s colonial and deeply racist regime, then literally nothing can and you are beyond reasoning with. actually incredible how multiple history degrees have clearly taught you nothing about how a genocide works — or perhaps more concerningly, they have, and you simply don’t care because the victims are palestinian. the fact that you would use those very history degrees to excuse israel’s genocide of palestinians is deeply disturbing and indicative of the rancid hypocrisy within western academia. history will exonerate the indigenous palestinians, and it will be unkind to those like you who defended and cheered on their annihilation.

It‘s so amazing to me that you actually believe this, and that you‘ve so wholeheartedly swallowed the propaganda Hamas (known for using their own civilians as human shields, known for paying their citizens extra for killing Jews) has been peddling. So I am going to paste here some points others have already made that I‘ve saved over the course of information-gathering, though I doubt you‘ll bother to read or learn, judging from your asinine little comments here.

1) Palestine Gaza is a genocidal nation. The goal of the Palestinian government in Gaza is literally to destroy and commit genocide against Israel and kill every Jew by every means possible. This is literally written in their founding charter. "The Day of Judgement will not come about until Moslems fight the Jews (killing the Jews), when the Jew will hide behind stones and trees. The stones and trees will say O Moslems, O Abdulla, there is a Jew behind me, come and kill him. Only the Gharkad tree, (evidently a certain kind of tree) would not do that because it is one of the trees of the Jews." There is no solution for the Palestinian question except through Jihad. Initiatives, proposals and international conferences are all a waste of time and vain endeavors. The Palestinian people know better than to consent to having their future, rights and fate toyed with.

2) Palestine is an apartheid nation that has ethnically cleansed 100% of their Jews and stole their territory after 1948. There used to be tens of thousands of Jews living in the areas of Judea and Samaria, which was renamed to the West Bank by Jordan. However they've all been ethnically after the 1948 Arab-Israeli war and 0 Jews are allowed to live in Palestine today. 3) Palestine is an authoritarian dictatorship both in Gaza and the West Bank. Hamas won majority of the votes during an election in 2006, but the Palestinian president simply refused to recognize the results of the election and refused to hand power over to them. This resulted in Hamas siezing power in Gaza, executing hundreds of their political rivals, and they never held another election. Likewise, the leadership in the West Bank also refused to hold any elections and still continue to illegitimately cling to power. Abbas, the president of Palestine had a 4 year term which was supposed to end in 2009. He's still the leader today and has continued to postpone election after election. 4) Palestine supports the outright open murder of innocent civilians. I've already mentioned the charter of the Palestinian government in Gaza above where their goal is to eradicate Israel and genocide Israelis, but the Palestinian government in West Bank is just as horrible. There's the Palestinian Authority Matry Fund where they literally pay a salary / pension to any Palestinians who commmit terrorist attacks against Israelis, be it through stabbings, shootings or suicide bombings, and they've paid out billions so far. The Foundation for the Care of the Families of Martyrs pays monthly cash stipends to the families of Palestinians killed, injured, or imprisoned while carrying out violence against Israel.

5) Palestine is horribly corrupt oligarchy. Palestine receives billions from the USA and Europe in aid every single year. Whatever money isn't spent on paying literal terrorists, or on rockets to shoot at Israel ends up going to corrupt Palestinian leaders. Yasser Arafat, the first Palestinian leader, died a billionaire. Abbas the current President is worth $100 million. The Palestinian leaders in Gaza, Ismail Haniyeh, Moussa Abu Marzuk and Khaled Mashal have an estimated combined wealth of over $10 billion. Meanwhile the combined GDP of Gaza is only about $2.5 billion, meaning these 3 leaders wealth is equal to 4 years of Gaza's GDP. 6) Palestinians have caused wars and instability in every country that they've sought refuge in. In Jordan, Palestinains assasinated the Jordanian king in 1951, then attempted a coup of a the country in 1970. After they failed, they were expelled to Lebanon where they started a civil war with the Christian Maronites. This war lasted 15 years and killed several times more people than the entire Israel-Palestine war (150k died in Lebanon civil war vs 25k in Palestinian-Israeli wars). In Kuwait, the Palestinians supported Saddam as Iraq invaded Kuwait. In Egypt, they've been hit by several bombings by Palestinians. 7) There is no freedom of speech or equality in Palestine Gaza. No equality of sexes, no equality of races, and definitely no queer rights in the entirety of Palestine where you could be killed for the crime of being openly queer. [If you identify as a liberal, there is literally] no reason to support a country where majority of [your] friends would either have severely restricted rights, be treated like objects, or be thrown off a building just for existing.

Let me reiterate: Jews are indigenous to Israel. Jews have existed and lived in what we now call the Israel-Palestine region for thousands of years before the foundation of Islam, and even before the foundation of Christianity. In the game of “which Abrahamic religion came first?” Islam ranks dead last.

Israel as an identity as a people has existed for thousands of years and has been recorded as far back as the Iron Age on:

i) The Mesha Stele;

ii) The Tel Dan Stele;

iii) The Kurkh Monoliths; and (potentially)

iv) The Merneptah Stele.

While scholars have argued over the translations on the Merneptah Stele, the general consensus among historians, classicists, archaeologist, etc, is that it refers to the existence of Israel at the very least as a collective identity that existed at the time, and was called Israel.

They were eventually repeatedly forced out by other powers such as the Romans and many others, but that doesn’t change the fact that Jews had a continuous existence in Israel before being forced out by what people like you would normally call “colonising powers” were it not so contrary to your own ill-supported arguments. It also doesn’t change the fact that Jews, and Israel, existed before both Christianity and Islam, and long, long before Palestine.

So if your entire argument boils down to "who was here first" and the ideas of "colonialism" and "anti-colonialism" and "decolonisation", then I am telling you, Jews were there first. You could argue Canaanite groups like Moabites and Ammonites were there too, but Moabites and Ammonites don't exist as a continuous group anymore. No matter how you look at it, you are wrong, so let me parrot your horrible argument right back at you:

The fact that you would defend Hamas, a known organisation whose founding Charter literally calls for the annihilation of Jews, who have systematically purged Jews for years, who launched multiple attacks against innocent Jewish people (the music festival, the babies and the woman and the children slaughtered), the fact that there's a Palestinian Authority Matry Fund where they literally pay a salary / pension to any Palestinians who commit terrorist attacks against Israelis, be it through stabbings, shootings or suicide bombings, and they've paid out billions so far; the fact that you defend the existence of the Foundation for the Care of the Families of Martyrs which pays monthly cash stipends to the families of Palestinians killed, injured, or imprisoned while carrying out violence against Israel, etc... that you would defend this is "literally despicable" and not only outright evil, but ignorant to the nth degree.

If the continuous genocidal nature of Hamas against Israel cannot make you cognizant of Hamas' deeply racist, violence, and terrorist regime (to the point where none of the Muslim countries around them will take Palestinians in; even their fellow Muslim countries want nothing to do with them), then I'm not sure what to tell you. You say I am beyond reasoning, but from where I'm standing, your head is so far up your own ass that I don't even know if you're aware of anything that isn't the smell of your own shit.

It's actually incredible to me how you can ignore what multiple historians and scholars are saying because you want to cling to your idea that Hamas are just a bunch of "poor innocent brown people" who need help from the "evil white Israeli regime". Or perhaps, more "concerningly," that is just it: you hate Israel because you erroneously perceive them as white, and so therefore they must be evil. I don't know, but that is what a lot of anti-Israel sentiment seems to boil down to in the world of people like you.

The fact that you would excuse and ignore Hamas' outright horrific acts and ignore history is deeply disturbing and indicative of the rancid hypocrisy within the west, but particularly within western circles that claim to be "progressive", "liberal", and "leftist."

Hamas has said no to every ceasefire. Hamas has said no to every compromise Israel has offered even before October. If Hamas stops fighting, the war ends. If Israel stops, then Israel is annihilated.

History has already shown that Palestinians are not indigenous if we are playing the "who was there first" game with Israel and Palestine, you're just so ignorant that you will refuse to see the evidence right in front of you. You are the one cheering for the annihilation of an indigenous group, and the one history will frown upon is you.

[the-tulpar-vocaloid-blog]

KAGAMINE LEN

Age: 39

Gender: Male…?

ABOUT LEN:

Len is an extremely supportive cousin to Rin. People often mistake them for brother and sister, but they’re cousins. He was supportive when Rin got into the StarKrypt firm, bringing her dream of stardom to light. He was also supportive when, out of her own volition, She left the firm because she didn’t like the way they were treating their employees. Len doesn’t know about this. So, he ended up taking a job on the VStar, run by Krypton. Their mascot was based off one of the stars that StarKrypt brought to light. Len’s wary of that fact. He’s looking into if StarKrypt is connected with Krypton at all, and he’s getting close to finding out.

He does his investigating off of company time, so they don’t catch him. Because, he’s brought up evidence that proves that Krypton was mistreating their employees. He plans, or planned to, sue Krypton with all this evidence, so that he and  the rest of the crew could live off the grid, like the big family they were. Not needing to worry about any sort of expenses. They could all be happy. Yet, that day never came.

Len often struggled with asking for help. He always kept his problems to himself, but the crew was helping him with that. Something that stemmed from his childhood, (which will be talked about in a fanfic later), that he couldn’t control. Yet, there he was, getting the help he needed. 

“They’re my family. I wouldn’t trade them for the world”

BEFORE THE CRASH

Miku: he could clearly see the bags under her eyes every day, and how she actively avoided music that was from the firm StarKrypt. He could sense the unresolved trauma radiating off of her. So, he did his best to avoid any sort of triggers. He paused his playlists when she came into the room, and never talked about any sort of music. They became best friends.

Rin: They’re cousins. What else can I say? They’re bonded, through thick and thin. They always play-fight, and the crew loves watching their interactions. It’s a welcome distraction from the tense atmosphere of the ship, and the fact they’re not allowed to do much of anything, under Krypton’s watchful eye.

Kaito: Kaito’s a goddamn child! Why would Krypton let him on the ship? He knew that Rin would take good care of him, but he was still worried. He kept a close eye on Kaito, and often let him slack off. After all, he was a child. He didn’t deserve to be trapped in this environment of tenseness and stress.

Fukase: “I regret ever calling him fuckass”. Len said, as more and more drawings of him as a banana kept popping up on the ship. He now had the ever-so-affectionate nickname, “Banana man.” He didn't want to admit it, but he loved that stupid nickname to bits. Hell, on the communal birthday party they threw, Len even dressed up as a Banana. Everyone was laughing, and having a good time. There ended up being more secret parties, so that everyone could have a birthday. To keep some semblance of normal on the ship.

“You guys are worrying me.”

AFTER THE CRASH:

Miku: he notices her struggles immediately. How she cried in the medical room when she thought he was asleep. How she was slowly losing the sparkle in her eyes, her once rosy face became paler by the day. How she was barely able to sleep at night. He did his best to comfort her, yet to no avail. She was the one to gather the crew around him as he died, of an infection that they couldn't cure.

Rin: Rin stayed in the mechanical room most of the time, not coming to visit him. They lost their bond, yet Len still wanted to gain it again. Only when he died, did Rin ever cry. It was a sight to see.

Kaito: Len didn’t want Kaito to see him die. Yet, he was surprised when Kaito hugged him, crying. He didn’t want to lose a father figure in his life, and Len sure as hell didn’t want to leave Kaito, with all the stress of helping to run a ship without a captain.

Fukase: it was the first time that he had ever seen Fukase cry. When he was digging Len out of the foam, realizing his arm was obliterated. He didn’t know that Fukase knew anything about amputation, until he properly amputated Len’s arm, to save him from death. That was the only time Len, or anyone, had seen Fukase cry. When he died, Fukase held his hand, smiling. That was the first time that Fukase called him by his name. It made him feel so sad.

“I’m sorry, everyone”

DEATH: He died in the medical ward, from an untreatable infection in his muscles. He was struggling with holding on, and only when everyone had said goodbye, did he officially pass on.

[sheepwithspecs]

Freedom of Choice

|| FFXIV || Rated G || XIVRarepairWeek2024 ||

Ao3 Link

He was an idealist, she was a realist; can I make it any more obvious?

Day 1: Fated Arenvald x Fordola

“I wish you’d turn out that light.”

Arenvald turned his attention from the creased parchment in his hands, peering through his bangs at his sullen bedmate. Fordola had her face buried in one of his spare pillows, both arms burrowed beneath it as though she planned to smother herself in the soft featherdown. “Some of us are trying to sleep,” she added, her trademark scowl evident in every muffled word. At that moment, the midnight bell chimed low and strong from the chronometer.  

“Sorry, sorry.” Smiling patiently, he refolded the parchment and tossed it onto the bedside table. “It’s only that Alphinaud’s letters are always so interesting,” he explained, adjusting his legs with painstaking care before shoving a pillow beneath them. Pillows and cushions had come to be indispensable in the months since his accident, being one of the easiest ways to prevent pressure sores. He was on his way to becoming something of a connoisseur, gathering castoffs from all over Ala Mhigo in order to gauge the quality of the fabric, the firmness, the moldability, even the strength of the stitching. Fordola made no mention of his growing stash, though perhaps that was because she seemed to prefer using him as a pillow instead.

“He’s going to the New World soon,” Arenvald settled the bedclothes over his legs with a heartfelt sigh. “Tural, he said. I’m almost jealous… I wish I could go.”

“Then go,” Fordola grunted, peering at him from beneath her elbow. “Put that linkshell of yours to use and tell him you’re coming along for the ride.”  

“I could go, I suppose,” he mused, lacing his fingers on his stomach. “It’s not as though I’m bound by any real authority, not like when I was a Scion. And it’d be nice to travel again; exploring the star, meeting new people, delving into ancient ruins or scaling mountains in search of adventure…. But I’m better off staying here. There’s still plenty to do for Ala Mhigo, not to mention the former Skulls and their families. The Silver Griffins need me now more than ever.”  

“Glad that’s settled. Turn out the light.”

“Besides….” Arenvald grinned. “I’d much rather wait until a certain someone can come along, too.”

“It might take a long time, if you’re banking on me.” She gave up the pretense of sleep, rolling onto her side to face him. “Who knows when they’ll see fit to set me free, if they care to at all. Time means nothing to a gaoler.”

“If you ask me, you’re one of the few things in my life worth waiting for.”

“Hmph.”

Arenvald couldn’t bring himself to voice the full truth: the thought of being so far away from her, even for a day, was almost too much to bear. The Resistance soldiers already joked that they were nigh inseparable, with Fordola serving as a volunteer for the Silver Griffins as well as his unofficial bodyguard in the field.

There were, of course, those who found their relationship less than palatable, snide whispers and sidelong glances. The bastard and the butcher. There were those who insisted that Fordola must have seduced him, perhaps employing some Garlean technological trick that kept him in her thrall. Others were more simple in their hatred, calling her a whore and him a whoreson in the same breath. They weathered the insults in stride, her raging fire the fuel for his diplomatic tongue.

At their core, they were the same—children of Ala Mhigo. His half-Garlean blood had left him no better off than her efforts to earn their favor. In Garlean eyes, they were savages; to Gyr Abanians, they were traitors. If his lot in life was easier, it was only due to the fact that he’d arrived on the winning team, so to speak. It was strange to think that in another life he might have been a Skull, or she a Scion.

“Do you think—” he began, the thought sparking an idea, “that if things had happened differently—if our lives had been different, I mean—would we have still ended up like this?”

“What are you going on about now?” she huffed. “I thought we were talking about the New World.”

“I know, but listen. Remember that time after your father died, when you had a chance to run away from Ala Mhigo and start a new life with the refugees? What if you had? Or what if I had never left the city, and instead I’d joined up with the Skulls when I was older, or… or anything else, really. Do you think we’d have still found one another, even if things were different?”

Fordola stared at him without a word, lips parted in utter disbelief. After a moment she fell back to the pillow with a groan, rubbing her eyes with the heels of both palms.  

“Probably not?! What the hells kind of question is that?!”

“You don’t think we’re meant to be?”

“No! No one’s meant to be!” she snapped, gracing him with her best snarl. Her brows were furrowed deep enough to nearly meet over her nose, lips twisted almost comically in her annoyance. “There’s no such thing as soulmates or what have you; it’s all a heap of rubbish! That’s the sort of tripe spouted off by poets with no more common sense than a dodo two days from the axe.”

“But what about fate? Destiny? You don’t believe in that?”

“Tch! Of course not!” Fordola sat up, looming over him with a stern glare. “Fate’s nothing but a bloody myth. People do things because they want to, not because the stars are aligned. Rhalger himself could tell me otherwise and I still wouldn’t believe a single word. I’m here because I choose to be here, and no other reason. The only one in charge of my destiny is me. Now turn off this godsdamned light and stop asking silly questions!”

She lunged across the bed before he could move, arms straining to reach as she forcefully clicked the lantern shut, dousing the flame within and throwing the room into darkness. He blinked the spots from his eyes, waiting until she rolled back to her side of the bed before venturing to speak.

“Do you know what I think?”

“For fuck’s sake— No, I don’t know, and I don’t care to. Go to sleep!”

“I think that in every world, all the parts of you and all the parts of me… we always find one another, no matter what.”  

“Well, Ithink your friends are a bunch of liars. I’ll believe in other worlds when I see them for myself, and not a day before.”

“I think we knew each other before, when there was only one world. I think even in the Final Days we were together. I think—”

“Arenvald!” He fell silent, heart beating strong with conviction. Now that the thought had taken root in the forefront of his mind, it was nearly impossible to ignore. Maybe this was part of the Echo, the memory of what once-was. Maybe Fordola didn’t feel the same way because the Resonant was not built with such capabilities in mind. Or maybe she was right, and he was just being ridiculous. But even so—

He was startled from his thoughts by cool fingers on his chin, turning his head with a gentle touch that belied his partner’s strength. She placed a clumsy kiss on the corner of his mouth, the barest flutter of lips, before resting her cheek on his chest.

“If it makes you feel better to think that way, go ahead and believe it,” she sighed, the breath tickling his sternum. “But don’t get upset when I call you a fool.”

“I think—” He wormed his arm beneath her, pulling until she was flush to his side. Even in this way, they seemed to fit together so well…. “I think that’s just my way of saying that I’d choose you in every lifetime, too.”

“Hmph. That’s not what I said.”

“That’s what you meant, though, isn’t it?” Arenvald smirked. He could practically feel the full force of her blush, hot as an iron against his bare skin. “Isn’t it? Fordola?”

“… Shut up and go to sleep.”   

[lux-et-astra]

the sink timeline

so here’s what i think ACTUALLY happened…

after i finished listening to the sink the first question i had was “can someone explain this to me??” so hopefully this will make some sense of what went on! this is just my interpretation, but here’s my best guess at the truth of what happened.

i think the first meaningful moment is that in some way, kate lost her parents. i don’t know if that was due to divorce, as needs to dig/dip day would suggest (“Because – her mum thinks I don’t give her enough physical outlets, I, I only get her every other –”) or due to death or abandonment, but however it happened, kate ended up living with her grandparents. we get evidence that kate lives with her grandparents in a few places (“Peter Mansford lives in his grandma’s house, which means two things. There are always lots of jam tarts, and his parents are dead.” session three, “It was her grandma’s car, because her grandma was giving you a lift to swimming” session five, “It’s nice she gets out, obviously boring for her, just… just with her grandma and grandad, but… people say things, darling.” session six) and due to the mention of this in sherbet, i think it’s safe to place this occurrence first in our timeline!

i think this ties in with the next point about kate: upon at least one time, she was in a fire. we get mention of this in a few different places again (“He wasn’t even gonna do it, because he couldn’t afford the train, and his car had been in that fire.” session one, “I’d wave, but I don’t want to boast about my hands.” session three - i explain this a little more in my analysis) and it’s probably the best explanation for why kate is the way she is - a formative (and traumatic) experience with fire could lead to an obsession. i think these two points tie together and kate lost her parents in a fire, but i don’t have enough evidence of this to call it any more than a personal opinion!

the next point in our timeline is kate meeting birdie! we can gather that they meet as children from sherbet (“You walk over with your see-through dolphin bag with three dolphins on, bumping on your leg.” places their age as fairly young) and from the fact that they’re firm friends as adolescents in snakes & ladders. by the time kate and birdie meet, kate is already beginning to show signs of her obsession (“You say, “do you like swimming?”, and she says, “it’s not very dry.” And then you just listen. And look at her. And you go swimming.”) and this friendship seems to carry on mostly unhindered until the girls reach adolescence and the cusp of adulthood.

there is an argument to be made for kate having caused another incident of some sort - we get a little textual evidence for this in session six (“What happened in the swimming pool, it’s just…”) and also a suggestion that kate had somewhat of a reputation (“People say things, darling.” session six, “Um, s– you – you also state that he was known for being a “troublemaker”, which I can tell you – is can…tegorically not, non true.” session one) all of which suggests that kate may have caused some incidents during the course of their friendship, but her problems largely went unnoticed and untreated.

as kate and birdie approach adulthood, they go on a camping trip together. it’s implied that this isn’t an unusual occurrence (“Sweetheart, just… these little swimming trips, and camping trips, and little…” session six) but this trip is framed very differently - both girls seem to be aware, given that kate declares it openly, that this time they are running away (“Bye, everyone! See ya fuckin’ never! […] They are gonna be so surprised when we don’t come back!” session six) and don’t intend to return. however kate has an ulterior motive - she intends to set fire to their tent with herself and birdie inside (“And they knew all they needed to do to be dry, and warm, forever was just to huff, and puff, and burn the house down.”, “So, they knew, it would – it would hurt, for a minute. It would hurt for a little min– minute, but then, they would be so warm and dry to their bones forever. And they knew that the wet ones would look for them, but they were together, and they knew that sometimes, it’s better when people don’t come back.” session six) in order to be dry forever. we can tell now that kate’s intention not to return is much less innocent than it seems. the girls play a game of birdman, similar to hide and seek, and when kate finds birdie, she explains the true purpose of their camping trip and reveals her intentions (“I’ve got a story. Okay? That’s gonna be your scare. You just have to listen to the story. To the end, that’s all. Okay? And then it’s finished. And we go back.”)

at this point, birdie runs away (“Come back, you have to – come back! Wait! Ah, fuck! […] Wait! Don’t leave me!” session six) and kate gives chase, at some point ending up in the lake ([SFX: SPLASH] session six, “They couldn’t tick her off, in the end. No one could. Yeah, they looked and looked, but no one could find her.” session four) which presumably leads her to spiral, and to return to the burning tent or to run away - at any rate, kate then disappears for a long time.

birdie finds help, though she herself is traumatised and shocked by this experience (“Come and sit down. Do you want some water?”, “Can you talk? Love? Listen to me, are you alright? Love? Are you alright?”, “Was there anyone else, love? Is there anyone else in there? Can you hear me?” session six) and presumably is so overcome by trauma and shock that she begins to repress her memories of the camping trip (“You just have to remember what happened.” session six, “Underneath your dreams, swimming into focus, is the truth. Like a lovely bit of hair, at the bottom of the canal. And we’ll find it. Whatever it is that’s keeping you from sleeping. Whatever it was that you did.” session two) - we can see that birdie is deeply affected by this experience, and it has a toll on her life as she proceeds, affecting her relationship with others. (“I’m not mad, Claire, you’re making me sound mad.” session two, “It’s all in your head.” session five)

birdie begins to have (or continues to have and begins to seek aid for) disturbing dreams. she turns to “the very latest in nanomesh sleep technology” (session one) in order to try and stop her dreams or understand what’s happening. unfortunately, it seems that her dreams were painting a realistic warning of what’s coming for her - unbeknownst to birdie, the faceless voice helping her “sleep clean” is in fact kate, who has come for birdie at last to finish the game they never finished playing in the woods. the ending is left ambiguous after birdie remembers the camping trip incident in full and realises what has happened, but it’s implied that birdie comes somewhat under kate’s thrall (“And the last little bird to get scared is scared so much it isn’t a bird anymore.”) or possibly, in fact, finally burns (“All its feathers get hot and dry”, “So warm now. So warm. So dry.”)

i hope that was helpful!! i’ve mostly tried to only suggest things that i can back up with evidence but there’s my idea of what went on in the sink!! feel free to chat if you have any other thoughts/ideas <33

[mayhemchicken-varneyposting]

Varney the Vampire, Chapter 5: My God, He's...Unfashionable!

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After learning some troubling new facts about vampires, Henry sits around dissociating for 15 minutes before being interrupted by George, who's brought him a mysterious letter from one Sir Francis Varney. Varney is his neighbor, who recently moved into the neighborhood and wants to be friends, but apparently not enough to get the family's name right. Henry and George are introverts and don't want to be this guy's friend, so they resolve to ignore him and hope he goes away.

The full moon rises, and the brothers and Marchdale gather in Flora's room to keep watch while she sleeps. Marchdale suddenly remembers that he tore the vampire's clothes while chasing him the previous night, and pulls out the scrap of cloth. It looks (and smells) like part of a hundred-year-old coat. They all agree to simply pretend this little piece of evidence had never come up, until a few hours into their watch when Marchdale realizes that the scrap looks a lot like the outfit the guy in the portrait is wearing. This idea is so troubling to them that Henry and Marchdale immediately run across the hall to compare the two, and sure enough they match exactly. Henry mentions that, funnily enough, the man in the portrait was buried in his clothes.

Just then, they're interrupted by the sound of footsteps in the garden outside. They rush out with the intention of shooting the intruder, who they assume is the vampire, but it turns out to be Chillingworth. Chillingworth is a huge busybody, and couldn't resist lying in wait near the house to see if the supposed vampire would turn up. After reconvening briefly with George, Henry, Marchdale, and Chillingworth decide to conduct a sweep of the grounds. They climb up on top of the garden wall in order to have a better vantage point, and from there they spot a human figure lying under a tree. As they watch, the light of the moon falls upon the figure, and it begins to sit up and move.

Immediately, Marchdale shoots it, and it falls to the ground once more. The three of them run to investigate the figure, which gets up again and runs away from them, managing to evade them in the woods. All three of them remark that the figure appeared to be wearing hundred-year-old clothes. This cinches it for Henry, who is now completely convinced that the figure is his ancestor risen as a vampire. Chillingworth, on the other hand, stubbornly insists there's no such thing as vampires. Marchdale proposes that, to put the matter to rest, they go and visit the family crypt and investigate the tomb of Henry's ancestor for signs of disturbance.

We have word from Varney! He's sent Henry a letter, in which he calls him "Mr. Beaumont", which is hilarious and probably not intentional on the part of the author. Rymer is, as we will see, hopelessly bad at keeping his character names consistent. Varney lives in an estate called Ratford Abbey, which he moved into a few days ago and is located very close to the Bannerworth house.

Henry makes explicit for the first time the Bannerworths' dire financial situation, which has previously only been alluded to. The family was once wealthy, but successive generations of irresponsible Bannerworth men have depleted the family fortune, and now they are so poor that Henry fears they may not be able to keep their house much longer. Due to these circumstances, Henry doesn't want to make any new acquaintances. He is sure that Sir Francis Varney, being a gentleman, will pick up on this and not push the matter. Sure, Henry, let's go with that.

Like every girl I knew in middle school, the men in this book insist on doing everything in groups, and sure enough, Henry, George, and Marchdale all end up keeping watch in Flora's room. George insists on joining because his nerves will keep him up all night otherwise, and Marchdale insists because he, being older, has a cooler head than the other two. Immediately after making this assertion he tells them that if he catches the vampire tonight he's gonna wrassle it. The three of them reason that a three-person watch is not overkill because that way, if something distracting happens, they can send two people to investigate it and leave the third behind to keep watch. And boy, can these gentlemen get distracted. First they simply HAVE to go across the hall to compare Marchdale's cloth scrap with the painting (can it not wait until morning?), and then when Chillingworth makes his appearance they make a spur-of-the-moment decision to search the grounds of the house, on the grounds that Chillingworth thought he heard something on the other side of the garden wall.

Themes of denial and aversion continue to crop up. As evidence of the vampire mounts, the men continually remind each other not to do anything so rash as believe in the obvious conclusion:

"Say nothing of this relic of last night's work to any one." "Be assured I shall not. I am far from wishing to keep up in any one's mind proofs of that which I would fain, very fain refute."

Henry tells us that the ancestor in the portrait committed suicide. While never directly stated as such by the text, this is another hint; one folkloric belief is that death by suicide could lead to a person becoming a vampire.

Hearing a noise from outside, they assume the vampire has returned, and in doing so nearly shoot Chillingworth:

"Among the laurels. I will fire a random shot, and we may do some execution." "Hold!" said a voice from below; "don't do any such thing, I beg of you." "Why, that is Mr. Chillingworth's voice," cried Henry. "Yes, and it's Mr. Chillingworth's person, too," said the doctor, as he emerged from among some laurel bushes.

You know, it's funny that it never occurs to anyone that Chillingworth might be the vampire. So far the guy has been behaving very suspiciously.

Chillingworth says he heard something, so naturally a search of the grounds is in order. They return to Flora's room to tell George their plan. George agrees to stay behind, but not before arming himself with a sword, which he was keeping in his bedroom. I assume that sort of thing was more normal in the 18th century.

Chillingworth continues to be suspicious, or at the very least incredibly nosy:

"You are, no doubt, much surprised at finding me here," said the doctor; "but the fact is, I half made up my mind to come while I was here; but I had not thoroughly done so, therefore I said nothing to you about it."

They fetch a ladder from the garden, and use it to climb to the top of the wall Varney spent five minutes failing to climb the previous night. From this vantage point, they catch sight of a mysterious figure lying underneath a tree. Is the implication that he's been lying there all night?

The moon slowly rises higher in the sky, until the moonlight falls on the ground below the tree. As the light falls over the figure, they see him move, convulse, and then slowly begin to get to his feet - at which point Marchdale shoots him, laying him low again. Rude, Marchdale.

Of course, as Marchdale points out, they could stand around shooting him all night - so long as the moon shines on him, he'll keep getting up again. And get up he does, just in time to evade Chillingworth running at him. Off runs the vampire into the dark woods, where none of the three men dare give chase. Henry has been greatly shaken by all this, and finally sheds the air of forced denial which the men had all adopted. I would think this sensible if it led to him taking any action - stock up on garlic, perhaps? - but that's not how this book works. Believer or skeptic, all are equally incompetent. Case in point: Chillingworth, quite the opposite of Henry, stubbornly refutes the notion that what they just witnessed was in any way supernatural. Does he have an explanation, then, for what just happened?

"True; I saw a man lying down, and then I saw a man get up; he seemed then to be shot, but whether he was or not he only knows; and then I saw him walk off in a desperate hurry. Beyond that, I saw nothing."

You saw a man wearing hundred-year-old clothes, matching the appearance of the one who broke into the Bannerworth house last night, who in turn matches the appearance of their hundred-years-dead ancestor. At the very least you should suspect foul play of some kind.

Marchdale winds up being the voice of reason, as the only one of these dumbasses to come up with an actionable suggestion: hey, if we think this guy might be Vampire Runnagate Bannerworth, why don't we go check on him and see if his grave's been disturbed? The chapter ends there, with the three of them reconvening with George and telling him of their new plan, and all four of them committing to carry it out.

Next: The author stalls for time with an entire chapter of exposition.

[coolcarsntrucksngunsnusa]

What I Learned in the Peace Corps in Africa: Trump Is Right

By Karin McQuillan (Black American female)

Three weeks after college, I flew to Senegal, West Africa, to run a community center in a rural town. Life was placid, with no danger, except to your health. That danger was considerable, because it was, in the words of the Peace Corps doctor, "a fecalized environment."

In plain English: s--- is everywhere. People defecate on the open ground, and the feces is blown with the dust – onto you, your clothes, your food, the water. He warned us the first day of training: do not even touch water. Human feces carries parasites that bore through your skin and cause organ failure.

Never in my wildest dreams would I have imagined that a few decades later, liberals would be pushing the lie that Western civilization is no better than a third-world country. Or would teach two generations of our kids that loving your own culture and wanting to preserve it are racism.

Last time I was in Paris, I saw a beautiful African woman in a grand boubou have her child defecate on the sidewalk next to Notre Dame Cathedral. The French police officer, ten steps from her, turned his head not to see.

I have seen. I am not turning my head and pretending unpleasant things are not true.

Senegal was not a hellhole. Very poor people can lead happy, meaningful lives in their own cultures' terms. But they are not our terms. The excrement is the least of it. Our basic ideas of human relations, right and wrong, are incompatible.

As a twenty-one-year-old starting out in the Peace Corps, I loved Senegal. In fact, I was euphoric. I quickly made friends and had an adopted family. I relished the feeling of the brotherhood of man. People were open, willing to share their lives and, after they knew you, their innermost thoughts.

The longer I lived there, the more I understood: it became blindingly obvious that the Senegalese are not the same as us. The truths we hold to be self-evident are not evident to the Senegalese. How could they be? Their reality is totally different. You can't understand anything in Senegal using American terms.

Take something as basic as family. Family was a few hundred people, extending out to second and third cousins. All the men in one generation were called "father." Senegalese are Muslim, with up to four wives. Girls had their clitorises cut off at puberty. (I witnessed this, at what I thought was going to be a nice coming-of-age ceremony, like a bat mitzvah or confirmation.)

Sex, I was told, did not include kissing. Love and friendship in marriage were Western ideas. Fidelity was not a thing. Married women would have sex for a few cents to have cash for the market.

What I did witness every day was that women were worked half to death. Wives raised the food and fed their own children, did the heavy labor of walking miles to gather wood for the fire, drew water from the well or public faucet, pounded grain with heavy hand-held pestles, lived in their own huts, and had conjugal visits from their husbands on a rotating basis with their co-wives. Their husbands lazed in the shade of the trees.

Yet family was crucial to people there in a way Americans cannot comprehend.

The Ten Commandments were not disobeyed – they were unknown. The value system was the exact opposite. You were supposed to steal everything you can to give to your own relatives. There are some Westernized Africans who try to rebel against the system. They fail.

We hear a lot about the kleptocratic elites of Africa. The kleptocracy extends through the whole society. My town had a medical clinic donated by international agencies. The medicine was stolen by the medical workers and sold to the local store. If you were sick and didn't have money, drop dead. That was normal.

So here in the States, when we discovered that my 98-year-old father's Muslim health aide from Nigeria had stolen his clothes and wasn't bathing him, I wasn't surprised. It was familiar.

In Senegal, corruption ruled, from top to bottom. Go to the post office, and the clerk would name an outrageous price for a stamp. After paying the bribe, you still didn't know it if it would be mailed or thrown out. That was normal.

One of my most vivid memories was from the clinic. One day, as the wait grew hotter in the 110-degree heat, an old woman two feet from the medical aides – who were chatting in the shade of a mango tree instead of working – collapsed to the ground. They turned their heads so as not to see her and kept talking. She lay there in the dirt. Callousness to the sick was normal.

Americans think it is a universal human instinct to do unto others as you would have them do unto you. It's not. It seems natural to us because we live in a Bible-based Judeo-Christian culture.

We think the Protestant work ethic is universal. It's not. My town was full of young men doing nothing. They were waiting for a government job. There was no private enterprise. Private business was not illegal, just impossible, given the nightmare of a third-world bureaucratic kleptocracy. It is also incompatible with Senegalese insistence on taking care of relatives.

All the little stores in Senegal were owned by Mauritanians. If a Senegalese wanted to run a little store, he'd go to another country. The reason? Your friends and relatives would ask you for stuff for free, and you would have to say yes. End of your business. You are not allowed to be a selfish individual and say no to relatives. The result: Everyone has nothing.

The more I worked there and visited government officials doing absolutely nothing, the more I realized that no one in Senegal had the idea that a job means work. A job is something given to you by a relative. It provides the place where you steal everything to give back to your family.

I couldn't wait to get home. So why would I want to bring Africa here? Non-Westerners do not magically become American by arriving on our shores with a visa.

For the rest of my life, I enjoyed the greatest gift of the Peace Corps: I love and treasure America more than ever. I take seriously my responsibility to defend our culture and our country and pass on the American heritage to the next generation.

African problems are made worse by our aid efforts. Senegal is full of smart, capable people. They will eventually solve their own country's problems. They will do it on their terms, not ours. The solution is not to bring Africans here.

We are lectured by Democrats that we must privilege third-world immigration by the hundred million with chain migration. They tell us we must end America as a white, Western, Judeo-Christian, capitalist nation – to prove we are not racist. I don't need to prove a thing. Leftists want open borders because they resent whites, resent Western achievements, and hate America. They want to destroy America as we know it.

As President Trump asked, why would we do that?

We have the right to choose what kind of country to live in. I was happy to donate a year of my life as a young woman to help the poor Senegalese. I am not willing to donate my country.

https://peacecorpsworldwide.org/rpcv-karin-mcquillan-what-i-learned-in-the-peace-corps-in-africa-trump-is-right-senegal/

[beloveddawn-blog]

The Course of True Love

Dedicated to @minnieposting who I was discussing this idea with.

This is based on the fact that when Lucius became a romanceable character, Teleri went from like seven hearts with him to two. I didn't even do anything! But Teleri isn't the farmer romancing this elf, Zari is.

Zari/Lucius

2200 words

Rated T for some language and implications.

Zari grinned as Lucius laughed, pleased to be making her new friend happy. He had been the first person she’d met when she was new in Nel’Vari and what a welcome he had been! Her favourite part of him at first had been his clear dislike of shirts, though it had quickly been overshadowed by his dry sense of humour and easy-going demeanour. He was reserved, for sure, and obviously had gotten so used to being ‘the strange one’ that he didn’t even try to make real friends anymore, but Zari had persisted. He hung out most often on the bank of one of her favourite fishing spots in Nel’Vari, so it hadn’t actually been that hard to strike up conversation with him.

It had not escaped her notice that he hid from the citizens at the very edge of the city, any more than it had escaped her notice that they had managed to stick her even further out.

Their casual camaraderie had slid quite easily and unstoppably into a crush that Zari could no more halt than she could halt breathing, making her heart race and her palms sweat every time he was near. She always scanned for his name on the notice board, searched for his striking hair wherever she went in town, and swooned the days she was lucky enough to see him. She kept her wild heart a secret, however, and never spoke of it. He had made it clear, in a thousand little ways and a hundred bigger ones, that his attention, devotion, and zeal was reserved for the Moon and only the Moon. As he adored the moon, so too did Zari adore him: near (but not near enough), true (yet unwantedly different), and steadfast.

Then, one day, something changed.

Lucius was not at the riverbank as expected.

Lucius was not anywhere he could normally be found.

Zari had fretted herself into a total state before finally working up the nerve to question Opal about it. She was the only other person Lucius really interacted with… which made her the only person who ever could spill her secret to the man in question. It was enough to make Zari unreasonably wary of the other woman, despite the fact that Opal… actually didn’t seem to care too much about what was going on around her.

As evidence, her complete disinterest in the strange behaviour of her coworker.

“He’s apparently ‘working through some things’.” She replied, doing full air quotes and rolling her eyes. “Which is fine, but do it on your own time. Nel’Vari doesn’t run itself, you know. The moon attendants are vital to the health of the city and all who live in it. It is not a duty that can be shirked.”

“Is he alright, though?” Zari asked, even more worried than she had been before she got her question answered. Opal sighed longsufferingly.

“Ask him yourself tomorrow when I drag him out of the Temple by his ear and make him work.” She replied, glowering in a way that made it clear to Zari the conversation was over.

Only… It turned out she didn’t have to go looking for him. There, standing next to the path to her farm, was the exact person she was looking for.

He had come looking for her.

The usual butterflies that took root in her stomach when she saw him went on a rampage, with all of her worry and love coiling together like a nest of snakes in the very core of her. All of this together put her on the very edge of her last nerve, and she couldn’t help the grating giggle or high-pitched squeak she made as she called out to him.

“Lucius! Hi! I haven’t seen you around lately!”

He broke into a heart stoppingly sweet smile when he noticed her, though one ivory brow winged curiously upwards.

Even that made her swoon.

“Zari!” He replied, stepping forward and gathering one of her hands in his. She flinched, entirely startled and too on-edge to hide it.

They had never touched before.

His face pinched in with concern at her unusual reactions. He’d seen her arm in arm with Sass or Helios plenty of times, and even all over Char as the two giggled and raced through the woods together. He knew Zari wasn’t leery of contact. She smiled reassuringly at him, though from the way his lips turned down she assumed it must have come out rather sickly.

Those beautiful lips…

Zari gave herself a full body shake and focussed her attention back on Lucius, who was now looking rather concerned. “I haven’t seen you in days! I was worried something might have happened to you.” She confessed, noting how that simple admission caused him to relax so swiftly.

“I have been… preoccupied.” He admitted, glancing down momentarily and rubbing a thumb contemplatively over her knuckles. “I needed time with just the Moon and myself to understand exactly why.”

Time without you. Zari heard, clear as day. There was no one else to avoid. There was no one else who sought him out the way she did. No one else that cared like she did.

“Oh.” She replied softly, pain lancing through every nerve as her heart broke. She offered him whatever pitiful remains of a smile she could muster up, and charged right through this conversation without pausing to note the way concern laced his face as he seemed to recognize the agony in her. “Oh, I see. It’s… It’s fine, I get it. I’m glad you enjoyed your little sabbatical, because let me tell you, Opal is pissed that she’s had to do all your work for the last week.”

“Zari…”

“And I wouldn’t want to piss her off, she seems like the sort to take it personally, you know? So I’m sure you’re going to be really busy this week as well…”

“Zari…”

“And I’ll miss my favourite view coming into town, of course, but you do what’s best for you…”

“Starlight…”

“And I know the whole chest thing isn’t about me! I promise I know that…”

“Favourite… View…”

“It’s just most people who hang around the edges of town dressed in as little as you dress in are looking for company rather than avoiding it, and sometimes a girl thinks a few things before knowing better, you know?”

“Company.” He repeated with distaste, obviously getting the reference, before leaning in closer to take a better look at Zari, who was full on panicking now.

“It’s just that you have such nice shoulders and such a striking colour and it hits like a punch to the face…”

CRACK!!!

Both of them stilled, the sound of bone splintering echoing through the trees around them. Lucius let go of her to raise his own hand to his face, carefully catching the first drops of too-bright red to mar his cool colour palette as they ran down his face, the contrast emphasizing just how out of place they were.

Zari laughed, high and hysterical. “That was meant to be a mime.” She blubbered through her maniacal giggles. “It was supposed to be a mime of a hit, you weren’t actually supposed to be that close to me.”

Lucius’s eyes shuttered as he took a step back, still cradling his face. “I see. I’ll make sure I do not encroach again.”

Zari’s wings flared with power. She couldn’t stop her hysterics, she’d been wound too tight for too long, but that didn’t stop her from healing what she’d done.

Well, healing the physical, at least. She watched in despair, still cackling, as Lucius turned on his heel and disappeared into the forest.

Her laugher turned to tears, and eventually to quiet as she lay there, no one else coming by to check on her. No one ever came this far out except Lucius, and now even he wouldn’t.

And it was all her own fault.

*

It was Helios that had grabbed her off the forest floor, of course it had been. He’d come thundering through the woods like he was perusing the hounds of hell, mounted of his own hellhound, and scooped her right up to ride with him. He scolded her all the way back to the Nel’Vari house about losing contact and staying out past bedtime, but subsided when she burst into a fresh set of tears when he mentioned inconveniencing the elves.

He just sighed, promised her they would talk the next day, and yanked her at full sprint through the house. They collapsed on the single bed (so reminiscent of the first season her friends all came to visit her, back when all four of them would squish into one tiny bed) and he almost immediately passed out. Zari had just a moment to appreciate just how good her friends were to her before she followed him into oblivion.

*

The next day Helios was off like a shot, apparently having forgotten he’d promised to talk to her. She smiled into her pillow, charmed by how adorably eager he was to go see his wife, then her mood fell as her own abysmal failure to communicate with a person she liked struck her again. She melted back into her bed, suddenly feeling like even moving was going to be too much for today. It was unusual, she was always so energetic, but today she just… couldn’t.

Char came to find her around noon, apparently having been tipped off by Helios that she wasn’t feeling well. Zari hadn’t moved.

The fire elemental curled up next to her, using her whole body like a heating pad, and ran her fingers softly through her short black hair. They stayed like that, lost in the act of giving and receiving comfort. Finally, Zari felt strong enough to speak. “I messed up.”

Char hummed thoughtfully. “I’m sure we can fix it. You fixed it when I fireballed the fence, and I fixed it when Sass accidentally took out the daisies at the end of Hive Row. And Helios didn’t even actually ban you from Sustainable Forestry when you messed up planting trees in rows. We can help. Fixing things is what we do. Except Sass, who I’m pretty sure is actually trying to start her own Zoo.”

Zari snorted. “This isn’t just about us, though. I… may have been mean to Lucius?”

She could just feel Char narrowing her eyes, even though she couldn’t see it. “... I doubt that. You’re head-over-heels for him. I’m sure it wasn’t that bad.”

That got Zari’s attention. “How did you know???” She hissed, shooting up to sitting and accidentally knocking Char onto the floor. The other girl glared at her from her new prone position.

“It’s not like it’s a secret.” She replied, obviously peeved. Her expression softened into shock at the panicked look on Zari’s face. “By the Flame, did you seriously think it was? Everyone knows, Zari! Please, please tell me you didn’t actually think that was a secret?”

Zari buried her face in her hands as her wings snapped out and vibrated in distress.

“Oh, Flame.” Char cursed. She ran her hands down her own face with an exasperated groan. “Okay. Okay. This is still manageable. What did you say to him?”

“... I… said it was fine he never wants to talk to me anymore..”

“See? That’s manageable.”

“... Then I implied he dresses like a whore.”

“... Not ideal, but still manageable.”

“Then I punched him in the face and broke his nose.”

“Zari!”

“It was an accident! He was holding my hand and I panicked!”

“And you broke his nose? He’s going to think you don’t want him to touch you!”

“...”

“What did you do?”

“I, ah, I flinched? When he grabbed my hand? I wasn’t expecting the motion!”

“Why are you like this?”

“I don’t knowwwwww!” She wailed, throwing her hands in the air.

Char sighed expressively, but before she could say anything the door was flung open, echoing through the house.

“THAT DOES IT!” Sass’s voice rung from the stairs. “NONE OF YOU ARE ALLOWED TO TALK TO ANYONE YOU LIKE WITHOUT A SIGNED PERMISSION FORM AND AN APPROVED SCRIPT.”

Char pouted. “That’s really unfair. Zari is the one that messed up!”

“YOU MISSED YOUR FIRST DATE WITH DOCTOR WORNDHART BECAUSE YOU WERE BUSY FIGHTING OUR OWN SCARECROW.” The indignant voice was getting closer, and both other girls sulked back from it. “THEN YOU WANTED TO SHOW UP AT HIS HOUSE AT 6 AM IN A WEDDING DRESS AND HOLDING A DIAMOND AS AN APOLOGY! HELIOS HAD TO SIT ON YOU IN THE BOUTIQUE!” The demon stormed into the room as she continued to shriek at them, pointing an accusing finger before her. “THIS APPLIES TO YOU TOO.”

“I, on the other hand, am married, so I actually am exempt.” Helios commented, strolling in behind her with a shit eating grin on his face. “Suck it.”

Sass turned her accusing finger on him then. “Not. Helping.”

“Of course I’m not. Char has somehow wooed her paramour through repeated hospital visits and blue roses, and Zari has charmed Lucius enough for him to initiate physical contact. They don’t actually need help, so instead I’m going to laugh at them.” He grinned, sharp and sharklike, “Serves them right for making fun of me first!”

[camillasgirl]

The Queen's speech at the Foreign Press Association Awards 2023

Ladies and gentlemen, it is a huge pleasure to be here with you this evening to celebrate the 135th anniversary of the Foreign Press Association and to reflect on your many achievements as the world’s oldest and biggest association of foreign journalists.  But I cannot begin without also reflecting that as we gather, journalists, photographers and their support teams are even now risking their lives.  We think particularly of those reporting from Ukraine and the Middle East in these most difficult of times. 

By joining you this evening, I am following in the footsteps of my husband, an honorary member of the FPA, who joined you at these Awards in 2008.  On that occasion, he described your role as “not only to look at the world and study the way it works, but to report what you see accurately, to explain it and indeed to interpret it.  In so doing you shape the view and define the perspective of millions of people and that is an enormous responsibility”. 

I know, second-hand, a little of the responsibility of your profession.  There are journalists in my family…and I have even been the subject of one or two stories myself over the years...  I have also had the opportunity to visit a significant number of newsrooms and have seen how tough your work is. Particularly, if I dare say so, for women, who, despite the many hurdles they have faced, have been among the bravest reporters of all. From trailblazers like Martha Gelhorn and Christiane Amanpour, to those such as Marie Colvin (an FPA Journalist of the Year) and Daphne Caruana Galizia, who have so tragically paid with their lives, their courage was matched only by their conviction that the truth matters. Perhaps this has never been more evident than in our digital age, where disinformation runs rife and where female journalists are increasingly targeted on social media.  The FPA has done much to promote and protect women throughout your long history, appointing your first female President in 1955, and, more recently, providing specialised training for women to deal with disruptive and abusive behaviour from members of the public.  For this, all your readers and broadcast audiences are in your debt.

As the late great Dame Ann Leslie wrote, it is among the sacred duties of journaliststo ‘face the glacier in the cupboard and to expose its coldness and cruelty to the bright, clear and humanising light of day.’ That is what she, and all of you, do.  This is especially true in one area of your work for which I should particularly like to thank you:  raising awareness of domestic and sexual abuse against women in every part of the globe.  The FPA was, of course, founded in 1888, when foreign correspondents came to the United Kingdom to report on the Jack the Ripper murders and decided to band together to secure better access to information and sources.  Although we might now deplore some of the more sensational approaches to those terrible events, the fact is that the FPA grew out of the need to reveal and condemn violence against women.  And this remains a key part of journalism today. You have the ability to break the corrosive silence that frequently surrounds abuse.  You bring into the open the voices of victims, you break taboos, you shine a light on these heinous crimes and you guide the public on what they can do to help. As the foreign correspondent Christina Lamb makes clear in her devastating book ‘Our Bodies, Their Battlefield’, rape and sexual abuse continue to be a pervasive and all-too-often hidden feature of conflict zones the world over.

Ladies and gentlemen, as my husband observed 15 years ago, yours is an awe-inspiring responsibility:  you question, debate and analyse and thus protect what is so easy for us to take for granted – true freedom of expression.  As I said at the London Press Club Awards in 2011, I believe freedom of expression to be at the heart of our democratic system. In this, you play a vital, if not pivotal role.

Take courage from the words of one of our greatest writers, and former journalist, Tom Stoppard:  “I still believe that if your aim is to change the world, journalism is a more immediate short-term weapon”.  May you continue to use it wisely. Thank you. 

[itmeansiris]

The Solar System Legacy Challenge: Devastated Gen 1 pt.35

After a week spent recovering the Gratz household almost feels back to normal. It’s a calm afternoon and Kason is in the living room with Venus while Aphrodite and Ishtar are down for naps. Mercury is upstairs lying down, still not fully better. She’d been feverish every couple days and suffered from constant dizzy spells. Her parents stayed until she was strong enough to get out of bed alone, but had to eventually return to Tomarang for work.

A wave of dizziness washes over M and the throb of a headache threatens to ruin a decent day. She gets up and goes into the bathroom checking for something to soothe the discomfort. She reaches for the painkillers on the sink when she noticed the two loose pregnancy test. Overtaken with fear she takes one out and sits on the toilet.

She stares at the plastic little life changer. Hesitating before deciding she had to know. They hadn’t even considered it as an option for why she’d suddenly gotten so sick but it would definitely explain a lot. She waits painstakingly long before the 5 mins are up and she checks the little screen.

M: Watcher no...

But the words across the screen wouldn't change no matter how long she stared at it. Eventually she got up, finished in the bathroom she went back to bed stunned.

M: How did this..? What are we going to do? Another baby!

Her mind was racing. She'd sat upstairs, head spinning for about an hour before she gathers the courage to go downstairs and deliver the devastating news to Kason.

She found him lying in the living, head back, eyes closed. It seemed like he was napping. He looked so peaceful. She stales a moment not wanting to wake him, a weak excuse to not tell him the truth. But after the New Years Eve incident and the week that followed she owed him an explanation and he deserved to know now. It wasn't just her life it was theirs. Without opening his eyes he calls out to her.

Kason: Its not polite to stare.

He teased her. She smiled with sad eyes and Kason sat up and slide over making room for her on the sofa. She sat but didn't get comfortable, her hands shaking slightly. He placed a reassuring hand on her lower back waiting for her to start.

M: I'm pregnant

Completely surprised he doesn't have a moment to tame his reaction.

Kason: Fuck, M... You're sure.

It's not a question. She's holding the evidence in her hands. She stands quickly her body shaking more so than before.

M: I'm so sorry Kason...

He drags his hand across his face and sighs.

He pulls her back down to the sofa. He takes a moment to collect his thoughts, but its a second too many. M frantically starts apologizing, rambling about how it's all her fault.

Kason: M! This isn't your fault...It isn't anyone's fault. We just weren't careful.

They sit in silence. The air charged with tense energy.

M: How are we supposed to do this? We barely kept our heads above water when we had the triplets. I can't believe how stupid we've been. How careless!

Kason: M you have to calm down. You're still not feeling well. This can’t be good for you.

He traces small circles along her back with the pad of his thumb. But even that wasn't enough. He stood and turned his body on the couch and pulled her to tuck her legs around him.

Kason: M, we are not the same people we were almost a year ago. Our financials are in order, our careers secured. We have our home, we have our family and most of all we have each other. I remember our conversation and at the time I meant what I said. But nothing can change the fact that this baby is here now and we both know what you are and aren't willing to do. So with that being said what other choice do we truly have. I'm here for you M, I’m not going anywhere.

Though he had taken it astronomically better than she expected, it didn't settle her unease.

As the weeks passed, M struggled as she approached her 2nd trimester. She tried to be joyous when she announced to her family that they were having another baby and when Winter and Peyton called to say they'd had their new baby. It was a bittersweet moment. She wanted to be happy for her best friends but it felt like a look into her near future. A future she still hadn't been able to accept. The only joy she truly felt was when she was alone with the triplets and her husband. She could let slip away the careful mask she had learned to wear when other people were around. The despair consumed her , making her usually dazzling personally dull, to a minuscule gleam.

As she neared her third trimester Kason did everything he could to help her stay relaxed. Her parents would spend weekends to help her around the house with the kids while Kason was at work. Kason had quickly learned to accept the idea of a new baby but M continued to struggle throughout her pregnancy. Kason worried the depression she was falling into was going to over take her. There were days when she did nothing but lay around, not speaking, or leaving the bedroom for any reason. His world would tilt on its axis anytime he managed to get a small reaction on those days. Every sigh, pull of the corner of her mouth and even her tears were welcomed, because he couldn’t stand the blank slate that she was sometimes.

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[raichubork]

GTO Review

Great Teacher Onizuka is a beloved and iconic series and in this post I'll talk about both the things I absolutely adored about it and my frustrations.

So, right off the bat I'm gonna mention that I don't often laugh hysterically while watching anime (or anything really) but somehow GTO managed to have a buncha moments so ridiculous that my only possible reaction was pretty much set in stone...

The humour and character writing are both plain genius!! I could never for the life of me predict what Onizuka's next move would be. His recklessness and luck, as well as his gullible and kind nature added a lot to his complexity as a character.

In the artistic department, we got the banger openings and EDs, the on-point animation and variation in facial expressions. In terms of voice acting, every VA fit well and every character's lines were delivered perfectly, tho my personal faves were undeniably Urumi and Miyabi. Kotono Mitsuishi's vocal range and her accurate French pronunciation were a pleasant surprise but I also liked the bite and seriousness Miyabi's voice had, while it was also laced with uncertainty and her screams in that parking lot were simply harrowing ngl, I was 🤏 this close to crying during that scene.

And now, about my frustrations that gave me mixed feelings on the series despite how much I enjoyed every episode, except for the Yoshikawa/Anko part in those last few episodes during the Okinawa arc. It was just unpleasant to watch, honestly. I think Yoshikawa's random personality change and his attitude towards Anko felt out of place, even though it can be ruled out as his pure kindness.

And either way, Giving Mukai and Yoshikawa romantic interests in order to call them "men" as if it's manly to...chase after a girl that's come to terms with the fact that you don't like her and save the one who's made your life living hell from certain death, respectively, just to ditch the subplots altogether and create loose ends kinda sucked tbh. It made me anticipate a lot of stuff that just didn't happen. GTO being a comedy manga (mostly) doesn't really excuse that, as some other series managed pull off some sorta closure to their subplots. My main example is Danshi Koukousei no Nichijou. Unlike with Mukai and Kujirakawa, who only get 1 singular episode together and their relationship never ever sees the light of day, "Literary girl" becomes a running gag in Danshi Koukousei.

Admittedly, I wanted and expected Fuyumi and Onizuka to get together because they're 2 consenting adults which at least kinda have chemistry but I'm convinced that Tooru Fujisawa either:

intended Onizuka to have commitment issues and despite him dealing with other people's problems he never gets his resolved, presumably because he keeps running away from them

struggles to write romantic relationships or doesn't know how to.

Onizuka's struggle to commit to romantic relationships (which is evident in both his relationship with Misato and the one with Fuyutsuki) never gets any closure, from what I've gathered.

The sexism was another thing that occasionally bothered me. While at times the perverted jokes were genuinely well-timed and maybe even funny, other times they felt very awkward, out of place, uncomfortable,, well you get it.

Some things aged poorly, simply put.

especially the ganguro stuff

On another note, the anime's ending kinda left me with a mild sour aftertaste. It felt like an Onizuka thing to do, but at the same time...how and why. Like FYM he's teaching in America now. Dude can't even speak English properly.

It also felt like the ending didn't allow for anything afterwards even tho the manga continues and ngl I'm personally not willing to read it becuz of the ending, Urumi and a few more things that didn't really get resolved.

Either way! It was overall a really fun watch, it gets a 7.8/10 from me

Toodles

[unohanabbygirl]

I’ve been following along with your HIPS x FMN posts and I’m totally invested. Could you give us more angsty headcanons?

I’d be more than happy too. Ngl, I’ve been thinking about this AU for a while now so I have quite a few.

First off, getting into Osferth’s headspace is important because the plot revolves around his existence just as much as it does Luke’s past life and former trauma’s. Being a child born of r*pe isn’t an easy plight to come to terms with and creates insecurities regarding self-worth as well as your place in the world. Knowing that the worst thing that’s ever happened to your mother is what led to you being born is traumatic within itself. It’s something that never leaves your head, always there to remind you that you shouldn’t exist, that you ruined the possibility of your mother having a great life and doing amazing things. Luke could’ve been someone history regarded as one of the best Lords Driftmark had ever seen, but because of him Luke is no more than a victim whose been the subject of perverse and degrading art for centuries.

The constant reminders hurt, especially living in modern day. He’s still very young so being such a big (and slightly controversial) topic in history gets to him easily. He’s been forced to listen to strangers good and bad opinions regarding his mother and the choices he made. Judging what Luke should’ve done differently or how he fucked up by doing x,y,z despite the fact that he was no more than a scared kid himself. Osferth has always been a kind, understanding boy so it drives him up the wall that people can’t find it in themselves to see that his mother isn’t a topic to fuel their debates but a human being. Its a lesson to him that teaches him not everyone is capable of empathy or can put themselves in someone else’s shoes like he can.

Egg gathering evidence for months to reveal to the family that Aemond has a twisted fixation with graphic paintings depicting Luke’s assault hits Osferth hard. Though everyone did their best to make sure we wasn’t subjected to every piece of evidence available he still decided to do his own research after listening in while hiding at the top of the staircase. It leads him to googling the museum and taking some time to scroll through their website where he finds an entire category dedicated to art with Luke as the subject amongst other popular historical figures. The first page is tame and even leads him to shedding a few tears. Filled with beautiful pieces of paintings and sculptures alike that depict he and his mother as holy figures. Mostly of him as a newborn in Luke’s arms.

Sadly, the next click is where things start to get darker. Osferth doesn’t even make it to the bottom of the second page when he exits out and deletes his history without a second thought because there’s a chilling look of fear in Luke’s eyes as he tries to push a lust ridden Aemond off of him. Some are from as early as the late 12th century with price tags that go upwards of hundreds of millions. Little descriptions going on about the complex beauty of pain, forbidden lust and tear jerking push and pull between primal instinct and basic morality.

He doesn’t talk to anyone for a few days after that. Makes it a point to block Helaena’s phone number too after the bs she spouted in her brother’s defense. She never tries to contact him anyway, not after the absolute disaster she made of his 12th birthday party after showing up uninvited with Maelor and the twins.

One of Osferth’s most difficult struggles regards his looks which is understandable. He’s a carbon copy of Aemond and there’s not much he can do about it. He’s come to Rhaenyra about it quite often, voiced his own issues with how he looks as well as asking if she resents him for it. Ofc she tells him no, gives him a big and and assures that she could never see Aemond she looks at him. Same as his own mother did after he learned the truth.

Unsurprisingly, this doesn’t help much.

Soon enough Osferth goes down the rabbit hole of cosmetic procedures to change his most striking features. He’s still a young teenager (I picture somewhere around 13) so it’s not as though he can go under the knife, but this doesn’t stop him from becoming borderline obsessed with changing his looks via surgery once he’s of age. Perhaps a nose job or chin shaving, maybe both along with some filler to make his face less angular. Round out the harsh edges that he’s come to resent.

In conclusion our baby is struggling 😔