#in a very ‘mother to her men’ kind of way

[jacki567]

𝗦𝗔𝗙𝗘𝗧𝗬 (𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙡𝙤𝙫𝙚 𝙤𝙛 𝙖 𝙛𝙖𝙩𝙝𝙚𝙧)

𝗦𝘂𝗺𝗺𝗮𝗿𝘆: 𝙎𝙚𝙧 𝙃𝙖𝙧𝙬𝙞𝙣 𝙎𝙩𝙧𝙤𝙣𝙜 𝙡𝙤𝙫𝙚𝙙 𝙖𝙡𝙡 𝙤𝙛 𝙝𝙞𝙨 𝙘𝙝𝙞𝙡𝙙𝙧𝙚𝙣 𝙛𝙞𝙚𝙧𝙘𝙚𝙡𝙮. 𝙃𝙞𝙨 𝙡𝙞𝙛𝙚 𝙝𝙖𝙙 𝙗𝙚𝙚𝙣 𝙘𝙪𝙩 𝙨𝙝𝙤𝙧𝙩, 𝙗𝙪𝙩 𝙝𝙚 𝙥𝙧𝙖𝙮𝙚𝙙 𝙩𝙝𝙖𝙩 𝙝𝙞𝙨 𝙘𝙝𝙞𝙡𝙙𝙧𝙚𝙣 𝙬𝙤𝙪𝙡𝙙 𝙡𝙞𝙫𝙚 𝙡𝙤𝙣𝙜 𝙡𝙞𝙫𝙚... 𝙗𝙪𝙩 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙂𝙤𝙙𝙨 𝙬𝙚𝙧𝙚 𝙘𝙧𝙪𝙚𝙡

𝗣𝗮𝗶𝗿𝗶𝗻𝗴; 𝙥𝙡𝙖𝙩𝙤𝙣𝙞𝙘!𝙃𝙖𝙧𝙬𝙞𝙣 𝙎𝙩𝙧𝙤𝙣𝙜 𝙭 𝙙𝙖𝙪𝙜𝙝𝙩𝙚𝙧!𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙙𝙚𝙧

The love between a father and his daughter could often be a complicated one, but to Ser Harwin Strong it was anything but. The love he felt for his daughter was constant, a roaring ferocity that could rival the temper of Aegon the Conqueror’s very own dragon, Balerion. Since the moment she had been placed in his arms, the moment his brown eyes clashed with her lilac eyes, everything had made sense. He wasn’t born to be his father’s heir, to become a lord of a boring old castle… no.

Ser Harwin Strong was born to be a father.

He could never be ashamed of this. He desired to be a father more than he ever wished to rule over a castle that was haunted by the memories of previous generations that had committed heinous acts. When he was surround by his children; three sons and one precious daughter… what more could a man possibly wish for?

Y/n Velaryon had been the image of her mother in personality. From their stubbornness, their rebellious nature and their sharp tongue that could tear into the skin of their enemies, many believed that Rhaenyra had given birth to another version of herself in all but looks, but Harwin had been able to see parts of himself in his daughter.

Her brown hair was the same shade as his own head of curls, her mischievous smile that she wore when up to no good resembled his own cheeky grin, her protective nature over her family was just like his protectiveness over his brothers, and even the way she played with stray strands of fabric that hung from her clothes when nervous, that was all Harwin.

Y/n Velaryon was her mother’s daughter without a doubt, but to Harwin she would always be his precious little girl.

-

The day that Harwin had attacked Cole, after Cole had insulted his children and their mother, the day that he had been forced the step down from his role as Lord Commander of the City Watch was an incredibly painful day for Harwin. This was not because he had lost an honourable position within the Seven Kingdoms, but because his father had made the decision to send him back to Harrenhal in order to mould him into a suitable heir that would inherit Harrenhal one day.

Harwin would be forced to leave all of his children behind. He would scarcely be able to send ravens in fear of them being intercepted which would cause harm to his children and Rhaenyra. And most of all… he would never get to see his children grow up into honourable men and a beautiful, strong young woman.

The news of Ser Harwin’s leaving had left many upset, but none had been more upset than Princess Y/n Velaryon.

“Stay,” her quiet voice was full of hurt but Harwin was able to hear the commanding tone which caused him to stop and look down at her. “I-I am a Princess, the future Heir to the throne. Grandsire will listen to my wishes. H-He never denies me—.”

Harwin’s face relaxed as a soft smile appeared on his lips. He crouched down beside Y/n, speaking low but loud enough for Y/n to hear him clearly.

“I appreciate your kind words, Princess, but the choice I made to defend yourself, to defend your brothers and to defend your mother came with consequences, consequences I would gladly suffer in the name of protecting you.”

Y/n’s lilac eyes shimmered with unshed tears as she bit her bottom lip, a sign that she was close to breaking her composure.

“Then I shall send Cole away, too. H-He started all of this! He’s the reason that you are leaving! He’s the reason that you are leaving me!” Y/n lunged forward and wrapped her arms around his neck, her tears soaking his tunic. “Please don’t leave me…”

The last word made Harwin’s world stop.

“Father.”

Harwin pulled away as if he had been burnt. The one word that he had wished for any of his children to call him, no matter how selfish it would make him, had finally been said.

He looked down at Y/n with shock, and she returned his gaze with a tearful smile.

“Ser Laenor is my Papa, but you are my father.”

Tears of joy and love flowed from his eyes as Harwin pulled Y/n back into his arms. He would never forget this moment, the moment that he was finally recognised as what he had always wished to be.

He would never forget.

Not when saying his final goodbyes.

Not when returning to Harrenhal.

And not even as he took his final breath within the fiery depths of Harrenhal.

In his short lifespan, Harwin had gained the one thing he had wanted most of all; a family of his own. And his sweet little girl, his precious Y/n, made that very clear to him. He only wished that all of his family would live long, happy and fruitful lives before they would reunite with him.

Yet, the Gods were ever so cruel.

-

Harwin had fbeen reunited with Lucerys first. His small figure was soaking wet and shivering, his skin pale and sunken, and his right arm completely missing. Harwin had seen many disturbing sights in his lifetime, but none compared to the sight of his son.

“Lucerys.”

The boy turned around, his scared eyes relaxing slightly at the sight of Harwin. Within seconds, Lucerys’ appearance changed into a healthy looking young boy. His skin was full of colour, his missing arm returned, but he was still terrified.

“Aemond. Vhagar,” Lucerys whispered. “I left her. She will never forgive me.”

Harwin approached him and gently placed his hand on Lucerys’ shoulder, the young boy flinching. Harwin’s heart broke as he moved his hand away.

“Who will never forgive you?”

Lucerys looked up at him. “Y/n. When you died, she never forgave you. You left us, abandoned her when she begged you to stay… And now I’ve done the same.”

Sobbing rang throughout his ears, the heart wrenching sounds belonging to his mother and his sister.

“Your sister will never hate you,” Harwin told him. “Y/n will avenge your death. I know she will, because she is my blood,” Harwin looked Lucerys in the eyes. “You are my blood. That much I know for sure.”

-

The second to greet him was Jacaerys. His firstborn son, his little boy. His son resembled Lucerys when he first arrived, wet to the bone, skin pale and sunken, but his body was covered in crimson blood, puncture wounds covering his arms, his neck, even his face, making it clear how he had been killed. His brown hair was matted against his forehead and his face was filled with anguish.

“No! I promised them! I swore I would return safely!” Jacaerys yelled into the sky. “Return me to them! Baela is awaiting me! Y/n is calling me! Mother needs me! Send. Me. Back!”

Yet, Jacaerys’ appearance changed into a handsome young man that Harwin swore resembled himself in his teenage years.

“The Gods are cruel, my son,” Harwin told him, approaching him full of caution. “They take and they take, no matter who it hurts the most.”

Jacaerys finally looked to Harwin, his own brown eyes meeting very familiar brown eyes. However, Jacaerys had changed from the sweet boy that Harwin knew.

“And yet the Gods choose to make Mother suffer! To make Baela lose her love! To make Y/n lose another brother! What kind of Gods allow this to happen?!”

Harwin stepped forward and wrapped his arms around Jacaerys, who stiffened in his arms. And just like his sister many years before, Jacaerys broke down into sobs.

“You will reunite with them soon enough, my son,” Harwin whispered. “This, I swear to you.”

-

Next came Joffrey, his body bent and broken, missing many limbs. Scratches littered his soft skin, sections of his brown curls had been pulled off of his scalp. His body was covered in crimson liquid, and Harwin wasn’t sure where Joffrey wasn’t bleeding from. Compared to Lucerys and Jacaerys, Joffrey had died a slow, painful death at the hands of the Small People.

“My sweet son,” Harwin whispered in horror. “What have they done to you?”

Joffrey looked to Harwin, no recognition in his eyes, only fear. His body tensed up, his broken bones causing him to yelp in pain.

“Don’t hurt me! Please, I have nothing left!” He sobbed, believing that he was still alive and that Harwin wished to cause him harm. “You have taken everything, I-I have nothing.”

Joffrey’s voice was full of defeat, his body shaking with sobs as he clutched his head, rocking back and forth as he repeated his words.

The last time Harwin had seen Joffrey was when he was just born, and now he was a young boy, too young to suffer the causes of war, and too young to die the way he did. With his eyes filled with pain, Harwin crouched down beside Joffrey.

“I would never hurt you,” his voice was soft, but completely serious, which made Joffrey look at him. “We have met once before… after your birth. You won’t remember me, but your elder siblings have told you stories of me, especially Y/n.”

At the mention of his siblings, Joffrey’s began to sob once again.

“Jace! Luke! Y/n/n is all alone now!”

Joffrey allowed Harwin to hold him as he cried for his siblings, mourning Jace and Luke, and crying for the fate of Y/n.

“Your sister is strong, little one,” Harwin spoke softly. “She won’t be alone. She has young Aegon and Viserys, and she has your Mother.”

Joffrey sniffled as he looked up at Harwin. “Ser Harwin. Y/n told me stories of you.”

Harwin’s eyes filled with tears at the mention that Y/n actually had told stories of him to Joffrey. Yet, Harwin bit back his sobs and smiled down at Joffrey. “Come, let us reunite with your brothers.”

With that, Joffrey’s appearance changed into a boy that resembled Lucerys. His pudgy cheeks were soft once again, his skin unblemished, his head of curls intact. He had accepted his death, and now he could only move on with his family.

-

Harwin didn’t expect to meet the lilac eyes of his daughter so soon. He cautiously stood at a distance, his eyes taking in her appearance. Her clothes were burnt to a crisp, her hair completely gone, her once smooth skin scared by the fire of a dragon. Her hands were clenched by her sides, her lilac eyes the only thing that made her recognisable.

“Y/n…”

Y/n wasn’t able to cry, the pain too intense. She could barely move her lips, but she managed even though her voice was broken, barely audible.

“F-Father?”

Harwin broke into sobs at the sight of his girl. “My precious daughter, what have they done to you?”

Y/n’s eyes watered, but no tears were able to fall.

“Sunfyre. Had to protect Mother and Aegon…” her lips formed a smile. “Mother can rule now.”

With that, Y/n’s appearance changed into the form of her previous self. The previous image of herself before she had flown to Dragonstone, before she had jumped off of her dragon and before she had sacrificed herself in her Mother’s place. The last sight she saw was her Mother’s horrified look as Y/n’s dragon bit the head off of Sunfyre and burnt everything around him, mourning his rider’s death.

“My precious, brave girl,” Harwin smiled tearfully, hugging her tightly. “Why did you have to return so soon?”

Y/n pulled back and looked at him. “Why did you have to leave me so soon?”

Harwin rested his hand on her cheek, rubbing his thumb across her cheek. “I shall never leave you again.”

And Ser Harwin spoke the truth.

He never left her again.

[rootspiral]

hi, hello!! i absolutely adore your deep dive series into the aaa episodes, and i was wondering if you could/would feel like expanding further into agatha’s guilt towards wanda and all the emotion she shows in the first episode, when she sees wanda’s corpse? the way agnes seems to value human life is especially interesting to me, considering how much agatha has killed (and i understand agnes is a character in what’s supposed to be a very stereotypical detective series, but i remember how you said agnes is in some ways agatha at her most transparent). anyways, i thought i’d try to pick your brain a little more on the subject, because your takes are very interesting to me!

Hi hello to you, thank you for stopping by! And also thank you for your interesting question, consider my brain officially picked. I'm gonna ramble QUITE a bit because I want to talk about Agatha and misogyny first (as requested by @leoleolovesdc ) but hold in there, I'll get to wanda too.

To get to the point directly, I think that Agatha's actions are steeped in internalized misogyny, and I think it's something she inherited from her mother and the salemites. It's actually pretty common for marginalized communities or individuals to turn against their own and replicate the patterns of the oppressor, looking to ease their self-hatred or for outside acceptance or a sense of control. Think for example about super conservative wives voting against their best interests, think about all the homophobia and biphobia and transphobia and acephobia (etcetera etcetera ad infinitum) in the queer community.

The persecution of witches was essentially a war on a kind of womanhood that went against imposed gender norms. Witches (in the marvel universe and in real life) were more often than not women who lived independently, who knew herbs, who didn't marry, who worked as midwives etc. And talking about the salemites specifically and the way they treated Agatha: they did to Agatha what the external world did to them, they replicated a pattern. They targeted the odd one out, the woman in their group who was the most different, and called her evil and essentially tried to burn her at the stake.

We don't know a thing about evanora, but I would BET that a lot of her hatred stems from her own internalized misogyny / agatha being born female, and I honestly wonder if Agatha would have found it harder to love a daughter the same way she does Nicky or Billy, without any of her internalized bias kicking in. Since she was a kid Agatha had been hurt and persecuted by other witches, she's pretty much wired to mistrust and hate them. And it gets even more muddled and complicated because she hates witches but loves witchcraft, she hates women but is sexually and romantically attracted to them. She yearns to belong, but she ends up torturing and killing her own community. She allies with people like that disgusting prick who violated Jen.

Enter Wanda, who is essentially Agatha 2.0: she was born doomed by the narrative or, to say it like evanora, she was born evil. Evanora would have had a FIELD DAY with Wanda. The Scarlet Witch? The destroyer of universes? She would have tried to kill her on the spot. There is A LOT Agatha instinctively hates in Wanda, she's a woman, she's a witch, she's dangerous. Agatha does what the salemites did to her and what men did to witches: she replicates a pattern. She punishes Wanda for being too alone and too different and complicated and scary. And yes Agatha is doing it to get her hands on chaos magic and all that comes with that, but this is all the baggage she brings in.

There's the other side of the coin: Agatha hates women and witches, Agatha loves women and witches, and Agatha hates and loves Wanda. She's been essentially killing and running away for the past two centuries, refusing to dwell on the consequences of her actions, but we know that she is no unfeeling psychopath, that's just a role she plays. We know all her actions weigh on her. With Wanda that sense of guilt is even stronger because Wanda is not a random witch she kills and abandons in the woods, she has to live with her and witness all of Wanda's pain up close, how lonely she is, how scared she is, the grief of losing Pietro and Vision, it's all there to torment Agatha. She cannot be a child about it, she can't close her eyes and cover her ears and go lalala until it's over, she has to take it all in order to get what she wants. And what's worse, Wanda is so similar to her that Agatha can picture exactly what she's feeling down to her bones, that's empathy to the max. And she goes through with her plan and does horrible things to Wanda anyway.

Knowing Agatha like we know her now, I'm convinced that her guilt about Wanda is especially hard to deal with, but Agatha has always refused to deal with any of her inner struggles, so Wanda just goes on the pile together with all the painful and complicated feelings she's pointedly ignoring, and which are not haunting her at all, thank you very much!

Except when she's Agnes, because all the feeling are still there but she doesn't know where they come from. I'd say that more than transparent Agnes is unfiltered, she doesn't know she should censor her struggles like Agatha does. Based on Agnes, we can plainly see what the biggest issues on her Inner Pile of Shit and Sorrow are: grief over Nicky's loss, anger and yearning for Rio, extreme loneliness, and guilt over those she hurt, with a particular emphasis on Wanda.

[dice-n-antlers]

Good morning, fellow Bhaalspawn! I have another sibling for you…

Name: Amity

The name Amity of course means ‘friendship’ so, no, that is not what she was called in the Temple. In that moment on the nautiloid, just after clawing her way out of the pod, she desperately tried to remember something, anything about herself that wasn’t drenched in blood. Somewhere high above the clouds of bloodlust, shining like an impartial little star was this name. Amity. She doesn’t remember the source, but this is the name she was given for the brief time she was with a foster family.

Pronouns: She/They

Race: Tiefling. Although I like the idea of them being from half-elven or high elven stock (Fey’ri). Bhaal really was standing in the kitchen over a blender trying to make the perfect murder-child with the versatility of a human, the dexterity and grace of an elf, and the benefits of demonic blood.

Class: Sorcerer.

In-game they are the wild magic subclass, but I headcanon them as being of the divine soul subclass.

Alignment: Chaotic Good

As much as Bhaal tried to form her body into his perfect blade, he couldn’t mold the soul that inhabited the body beyond raising and brainwashing her into the cult. Every cut, every kill, every horrific act was an act of reverence and devotion to her father, but he could sense the softness in her and was disgusted by it. There was a quiet strife building between them long before she awoke on the nautiloid with fresh eyes. Amity desperately sought her father’s affections in the only ways she knew how, but it was all too easy for Bhaal to accept Orin’s betrayal and raise her to the seat of the chosen.

I don’t know what they’re feeding them in the temple of Bhaal, but she’s BIG. However, she typically uses her magic, or charisma, or dexterity to move through the world so she’s not actually very strong. (I wish there was an option for a large body type that was a bit softer, less muscle-bound)

[serpentface]

how is sex work perceived and treated - spiritually, legally, morally - in broad areas relevant to the white calf core cast? imperial wardi, the hills etc

Sex work is EXTREMELY stigmatized in Imperial Wardin, yet generally regarded as an element of society and a necessary function, not one to be eliminated. You'll occasionally find fringe groups decrying the presence of brothels as polluting elements upon cities, but they are minority figures- sex work is legal, generally accepted, and very common.

There are some exceptions- in most of the city-states, only sex work out of registered brothels is considered fully legal (independent sex workers are breaking the law in most city-states, though how much these laws are enforced varies heavily). All legally operating brothels must be officially registered, and are heavily taxed.

Prostitution of children is illegal, and this is one of VERY few protections for sex workers that is strongly enforced. But it should be clear that the societal definition of a child here does not match the contemporary- a person is generally considered an adult woman upon menarche (which is later on average due to poorer nutrition, but is still going to include a lot of like, 14 year olds). Boys are considered adults at the age of 16.

Forced prostitution is also illegal on paper, but this is poorly enforced. Even when not Outright forced, many sex workers are working as indentured laborers, or under prohibitive conditions where they have very little freedom of movement or legal ability to leave during the duration of their contracts.

Sex workers are an incredibly vulnerable, stigmatized social minority that have very few protections and are often subject to abuse.

The stigma against sex work surrounds the sex workers themselves. This is culturally justified and partly rooted in aspects of broader body taboo- receiving penetration = metaphysical vulnerability = openness to spiritual pollution, and they are considered to be heavily polluted by their line of work (regardless of whether or not a given person actually is receiving penetration on a regular basis- male sex workers who primarily have women as clients receive much the same treatment, the stigma here is fundamentally a form of bigotry, not something with a consistent internal logic).

In addition to concerns around penetration, the act of '''selling''' the body itself is seen as a polluting devaluation of the sacred body and using it to extreme excess. Sexuality and libido is societally valued, but in a framework of moderation- sex workers are seen as wildly out of moderation and are often ascribed qualities of an excessive libido by virtue of their line of work.

Sex workers are prohibited from entering most temples and participating in many public rites, justified in their ‘polluted’ status, under the assumption that it will de-purify the place and sully most rites. This serves to keep them isolated from key facets of social life and culture, and can leave many spiritually ostracized (most sex workers from within this cultural sphere are also going to believe in notions that they are spiritually polluted, with limited outlets to cleanse themselves).

There is one folk tradition that has developed to assuage some of these fears and the sense of isolation- an epithet to the Face Ganmache that translates literally to 'Mother of Whores' (a rather strong name that reclaims degrading slang in the original language as well), which watches over sex workers and their labors. This is wholly a folk tradition and not part of core dogma, and priests are self-appointed, mostly elderly former sex workers. They provide rites of purification and blessings for those denied access to temples, sometimes train themselves as midwives to assist in births (or abortions), and will help ensure deceased workers get proper funeral rites.

Generally, the concept of something being spiritually polluted translates to full avoidance of the person/place/thing involved, but these concerns are rarely applied to the Hiring of sex workers (ie they are spiritually polluted and highly impure and shouldn't enter temples but you, the client, are not affected by contact). While some people will try to provide logical explanations for why hiring a sex worker is not polluting, this does not have any true underlying logic and is a product of a society that both reviles sex workers and desires their labor.

They are generally expected to visually identify themselves as sex workers at all times- the exact details vary by city-state, but wearing hair unbraided and an uncovered head in public is most common (particularly in the west of the region).

Male sex workers are denied certain rights otherwise available by default to men (self-legal representation, ability to own land that is not gifted, etc). Female sex workers do not have these rights to begin with, and have even more difficulty than other women in finding legal representation, given that they situationally rarely have fathers/husbands/male family members willing to support them.

Because of their inability to represent themselves in court and the difficulty in finding representation, they often have little to no recourse against abuse or violations of their contracts. There are some lawyers who specialize in representing sex workers (fewer still who do this entirely out of benevolence for a vulnerable social class), but they are few and far between.

The majority of sex work is marketed towards male clients, and the majority of sex workers are women. Male sex workers are mostly young men who serve male clients, and will usually keep themselves beardless and not overtly masculine (while not distinctly effeminate either) to remain desirable targets for the sexual outlet of most men. (There is no concept of sexuality in this culture- if you are a man, you are a penetrative partner in sex and the gender of the receiving partner is of little concern. Younger men beneath you in social stature (in practice, these are almost always sex workers) are considered appropriate targets of male desire, and as such you have some men who would be considered heterosexual by contemporary standards having sex with other men). Male workers who primarily serve female clients tend to vary more in age and have less social restrictions on their appearance or masculine presentation.

Eunuch sex workers usually serve male clients, and are regarded as appropriate targets of male attraction regardless of their age (largely as they are seen as entirely incapable of performing penetrative roles, and conceptualized as de-gendered). Akoshos (those designated male who perform women's gender roles) sex workers are seen as uniquely predisposed to serve both male and female clients, as their gendered space is broadly conceptualized as dual-gendered (being physically capable of performing 'male' penetrative roles while living under women's social roles)

Hiring of sex workers is not considered infidelity and is entirely permissible to do while married, though women are often heavily discouraged from doing so (largely out of concerns of pregnancy, partly out of patriarchal control over women's sexual behavior). A woman who pays for sex work receives more scrutiny than is applied to men. It is not outright inappropriate, but can be considered indicative of an excessive libido or overmasculinization. Women are imagined as having naturally lower libidos than men, so behaviors that challenge this notion tend to be be noted.

The only circumstances in which hiring sex workers as a man attracts scrutiny is when it is deemed excessive, symptomatic of an uncontrolled libido. Men who hire male sex workers closer to their age and/or bearded will also attract scrutiny- while not outright Condemned, it's suspiciously out of the acceptable range for male desire (though will most often similarly be interpreted as an excessive, uncontrolled libido, ie you'll just fuck anything with a hole). Receiving penetration from a sex worker as a man is wholly condemned, as is seen as UNIQUELY violating, not only a severe deviance from male social roles, but at the hands of a stigmatized, polluted figure that is at the absolute bottom of the social ladder. This usually happens in secret and often involves paying the worker off for their silence.

The one major exception to stigma against sex workers is in the lemna courtesan tradition. Lemna are mostly unmarried women and/or akoshos who are very skilled trained performers who work as entertainers for wealthy clients. Their services are not sexual in nature, rather they sing, dance, act, play music, and recite poetry, and are skilled conversationalists that provide company for clients. Lemna usually operate out of elite brothels, but as separate services to the sex workers, and are in theory never available for sex work. Lemna providing sex work sometimes (though not frequently) occurs in practice, but it is always be presented as something they have not been Paid to do- their payment was for entertainment, and they will present it as a (almost always purely fantastical) situation that they have grown attracted to their client and are engaging in a romantic tryst.

Lemna courtesanship is long-established and a valued part of this culture's art and theater traditions, and they do not face the same stigma as sex workers, rather being seen as an elite class of performers. They do not exactly have a High place in society either (as unmarried civilian women and/or akoshos, they are notably lacking in social power), but the regard towards them is overall positive. The exemption to this stigma partially lies within the framework of body taboo (they do not explicitly 'sell' their bodies or directly engage in sex work), but is largely rooted in the esteem of their tradition rather than any coherent logic.

-----

Sex work has a much less significant, less complicated, and less intensely stigmatized place in the highlands, mostly due to its reduced presence. Most people are living in relatively small agricultural villages, or transiently as herders, so there are fewer opportunities for sex workers to operate on regular and official levels. The only places you can reliably find sex workers within the highlands are in small quasi-towns that crop up around land trade routes, or occasionally as traveling traders (usually offering material goods in addition to sex work services).

There’s also no intra-highlands currency system, so sex workers will usually be paid in goods, which in turn influences the cultural lens on sex work. Goods have direct, immediate utilitarian value that currency does not, and paying goods for service is most pragmatically done as a means of material practicality- forming alliances, acquiring farmhands, receiving the defensive or offensive service of warriors, etc, not for temporary gratification.

The fact that this cultural sphere is fairly egalitarian in terms of gender (though it has strongly enforced, separate gender roles for married men and women) also contributes to the comparative lack of stigma- part of the Imperial Wardi stigma against sex work is interwoven with misogyny (with women sex workers being the most degraded extent of femininity, and male sex workers taking on inappropriate, degraded feminine roles in providing sexual services). Women have equal overall societal power to men in the Hill Tribes cultural sphere, and things associated with femininity are not Themselves degrading (men seen as feminine are not shamed for femininity itself, rather in their specific failure to perform male gender roles- the distinction can be subtle but is very significant to how gender roles are approached).

Casual sex between unmarried men and women is fully accepted, somewhat seen as a hallmark of youth. However, married couples are expected to remain exclusively faithful to one another. This also goes a ways to discourage hiring of sex workers, which would be accepted grounds for a divorce and a mark of shame on the person who strayed.

While not excessively stigmatized, the views on sex work here is nowhere near Enlightened And Supportive either, it’s still seen as a highly degrading, unfortunate line of work. Sex workers are usually going to be unmarried women of marriageable age who could not (or would not) acquire a husband for one reason or another. They are women who failed in expected roles of marriage and becoming the manager of a family’s home and property, and have not even taken an esteemed, productive role for spinsters (usually physical labor in herding, farming, raiding) in favor of one that is considered ‘selling’ one’s body to provide useless, base services to desperate men. It's something that will usually be looked at as sad and unfortunate at best, or an absurd dereliction of duty at worst.

Male sex workers are virtually unheard of (within the highlands at least, there's cultural stereotypes of Wardi men being effeminate and predisposed to sex with men, so of course THEY'VE got male sex workers all over the fucking place), and the concept of a man operating as a sex worker would just seem absurd to most.

But the levels of social shame surrounding sex work are actually higher for the client in this cultural context- it’s suggestive that you either cannot afford to get a wife/do not have the requisite masculine skillset to be a husband, or otherwise that you’re so utterly incapable of getting laid that you have to go to great effort and barter for sex, a petty expense of valuable goods. It's both a foolish waste and in many ways a failure of expected male gender roles. Most men who hire the services of sex workers will keep it on the down low, or (if living near the borders) commute to Wardi towns or tradeways for access. It’s seen as an act of desperation, foolish, emasculating, and will generally be mocked and shamed.

I actually have a framework of a folktale that kind of demonstrates the cultural lens pre-established (no names for the characters or clans involved, it's supposed to be of the far northern Bict-Braíghnnas tribe). I'll put it under the cut:

One of the folktales describes a young woman who was strikingly beautiful and exceedingly clever. She was of the Bict-Braíghnnas, the lone daughter of a very small, very poor clan, consisting only of her immediate family and a few cousins. Her father had died young, and her younger brothers and cousins were malnourished and inexperienced, and could do little to protect or grow their meager herd of horses (they certainly could not afford cattle). She had to take on the role of the provider for herself and remained unmarried long past marriageable age, living day by day doing whatever she could to scrape by and keep her family afloat.

She became aware that the patriarch of her ruling clan had an eye for her, and he began approaching her in hopes of soliciting sex. At first, she always brushed him off. She found him repulsive, as he was foolish and greedy and rather ugly. But she started to see an opportunity in all this. It was a humiliating opportunity, but one she was willing to take.

The next time he approached, she pretended to consider his advances, but only if he should provide payment in turn- if she was as beautiful as he kept saying, and he was as wealthy as he kept bragging, wouldn't it be worth the price? He first offered her a sack of barley, but she laughed him off. He then offered her fine clothes, but she feigned insult, was she not already beautiful even in poor, worn rags? He then offered her a breeding pair of pheasants, and she pushed aside her shawl to expose her breasts, and sweetly asked if he Really could not do better, wealthy in cattle as he was. The man was now, quite clearly, hard in his trousers.

He finally relented to an obscene payment- he would go under his wife (the owner of his cattle)'s nose and give her an adult cow, in payment for having sex with him just once. This is a high price to pay, but she was gorgeous and he was rich in cattle and could afford to lose one (or two. or five. Maybe more.). She accepted his offer and had sex with him, and came away with her very first cow.

(Some tellings of this story go on a tangent here where she sneaks the cow right back into the man's fields under cover of darkness, to breed it with one of his bulls and begin forming her own herd)

Over the next several months, he started regularly approaching her for sex in exchange for cattle, until he had to start coming up with explanations to his wife as to where the missing cattle had gone- he first claimed they were given as gifts, then that some were stolen, inventing wild stories of great raids and declaring open conflict with the greatest rival to his clan, all as means of masking his dalliances. This skirmishing came at great cost to his own clan, but he was too foolish and weak-willed to stop.

The woman was meanwhile using her newfound and growing wealth in cattle to make connections and political moves, slowly establishing herself as a powerful figure and having many in her debt. Her brothers and cousins, finally well fed, grew tall and healthy and began to take on roles as herders, protectors, and raiders, with the assistance of more young men gained in alliance. All the while, she dutifully continued her paid trysts with the patriarch whenever he summoned her.

Eventually, the man had given her so many cattle (which had been bred in the meantime, and more had been acquired in trade and raids) that she had three times as many as he did. One day, she did not appear as expected. She had amassed great wealth for herself and her clan, and had been courting the unwed son of the patriarch’s rival clan. The son paid a hefty bride price for her, and they were wed on that day.

Now the wealthiest in cattle and the most powerful clan in the valley, the woman and her new husband ousted the weakened and disgraced former patriarch, becoming the new ruling clan of the Bict-Braíghnnas. The couple were wise and wealthy rulers, and their clan remains in power and rich in cattle to this day.

---

The cultural outlook on sex work (among other things) is fairly well encapsulated here- the sex work itself is degrading, but this fits into common motifs of this cultural sphere’s folktales where the hero figure overcomes difficult and often degrading situations with wit and social skill, and ultimately rises above it. Note that as a (non-comedic) hero of this tale, she uses her sex work very intentionally and pragmatically for material gain and alongside many other measures to increase her standing. Also note that, when unmarried, she's specified as taking up practical labor roles, and ultimately acquires a husband and ends the story in the expected position as a wife.

The actions of the man who hired her are distinctly shameful. He is performing his role as a husband TERRIBLY- being unfaithful, completely mismanaging his wife’s herds and ultimately driving his clan out of power all in pursuit of petty lust. He is in part an exaggerated, cartoonish embodiment of the cultural perception of the clients of sex workers- desperate, foolishly lustful, and an overall failure as a man. Most hearing this story would find his role highly comedic, a powerful but stupid foe for the clever and pragmatic hero to overcome.

(Very minor side note: the detail of him being enthralled by her breasts is also meant to be comedic- breasts are not sexualized in this culture (women's hips/thighs/buttocks are what is typically seen as sexually attractive), and many women will be out topless on hot days without note being made of it (toplessness is culturally acceptable, exposing genitalia/buttocks is not). The notion of a man being out of his mind horny over the sight of a bare tit would register to listeners as excessively lustful in a humorous capacity)

While the focus of the story is ultimately more on the contrast of thrifty and foolish behaviors, it also functions as a discouragement of hiring sex workers, casting the loss of assets in trade for sex as a similarly foolish venture, degrading to the worker and humiliating to the client.

[2024skin]

literally when I see women being frustrated with other women for staying with abusive men I feel like I'm watching the ouroboros. Like I get it, it happens to everyone, I've been there, but it's so self sabatoging.

[swordgrace]

𝐖𝐎𝐋𝐅𝐒𝐁𝐋𝐎𝐎𝐃, 𝐃𝐑𝐀𝐆𝐎𝐍𝐒𝐁𝐋𝐎𝐎𝐃.

⠀ཾ༵ 𑁍┆ cregan stark x fem!targtower!reader.

SYNOPSIS: as the youngest daughter of alicent hightower, you are wed to the young wolf, cregan stark. what many believe to be a union of strife, such a notion is proven wrong very quickly.

anonymous request.

{ FORMAT: one-shot — requested by anon.

{ WORD COUNT: 6.7K.

{ WARNINGS: SMUT (mdni), arranged marriage, reader is a targtower with pale hair & lilac eyes, skin color unspecified, first time sex (for reader), loss of virginity, p in v sex (unprotected), massive breeding kink, all stark men have a breeding gene, oral sex / cunnilingus (fem!rec), face-sitting, biting/marking, making out, lots of touching, missionary position, talk of having a child, soft ending + aftercare

{ AUTHOR’S NOTE: There’s been a ton of Cregan requests, so I hope that this satisfies a lot of people until I post another! ❤️ Thank you all so much for the incredible requests and support of my work, it means the world to me and I am extremely grateful for all of it. See you guys soon!

𝐁𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐝 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐝𝐫𝐚𝐠𝐨𝐧, 𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐝 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐨𝐥𝐟 — 𝐭𝐨𝐠𝐞𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐚𝐬 𝐨𝐧𝐞, 𝐟𝐢𝐫𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐢𝐜𝐞.

The North was often regarded as a harsh and unyielding environment, with bitter, stinging winds and snowfalls that could bury men alive beneath their might. Such tales were often told to scare children or dissuade them from leaving the roost.

It was untamed and savage, according to your mother — she who vehemently fought against your betrothal to Cregan Stark, the Warden of the North and Lord of Winterfell. A marriage steeped in wariness and discord, you had been pleasantly surprised by your husband’s kindness and warm stoicism.

Piety was a rarity in the bleak, bloodsoaked world you lived within — innocence was a quality as uncommon as a diamond in the rough. When Cregan had been offered such a sacred proposal during the last days of King Viserys I, he nearly scoffed at it.

A Targaryen, a Hightower — he almost imagined that the both of you would not do well together, and that it would become a sour union, made only to please families and uphold duty. His advisors, old men with embittered grudges against the South, cautioned him away from it, imploring him to wed a girl from the Vale or the Reach.

When Cregan Stark met you, clad in pale shades of sage and ivory, with lilac hues and a smile that could melt even the toughest of ice, perhaps it would not be a dreadful marriage after all.

Even with a dragon at your heel, there was something positively resplendent about you — Cregan could feel it within his marrow, a feeling seldom felt by any man locked in an arranged betrothal.

It was your innocuous, tenderhearted nature that beguiled him, as if you unconsciously drew him in with your honey. Your very first meeting happened to be to seal the marriage pact itself before you would be shipped away to the North, to be his wife and the new Lady Stark.

Cregan rarely found himself charmed by anyone, yet you possessed an inner beauty that flourished in his presence. You were your own flame, burning through his hardened exterior. He did not mistake your docile nature for weakness — you possessed a dragon, where he did not.

You were rather taken with him, perplexed by his outward ruggedness and gruff accent, the way in which he carried himself, massive physique clad in the thick trappings of a wolf. He was a mountain of a man, yet he handled you as if you were some precious jewel, sacred and worthy of admiration.

Alicent begrudgingly watched as you, her youngest daughter, untainted by her own fractured morality, was sent away to the North in the hands of some brute. For the good of the Realm, Viserys had told her, but it cut deeper knowing that it was you, her beloved flesh and blood.

Yet, as you found yourself beneath the crimson leaves of the Weirwood Tree in the Godswood, hands bound with Cregan’s own, you forgot about your mother’s bitterness entirely — and you were happy.

The first kiss was one that would make a permanent residence within your memory for lifetimes to come. He had cradled your face, towering over you as if he were a solemn statue, but even you could see the softening within his visage.

King’s Landing was suffocating, more often than not. The animosity that festered between your family smothered you, crushing you beneath its sharp heel. You were no longer surrounded by bitterness and resentment, and instead, cloaked by the protection and warmth of your new husband.

The feast held in honor of your blossoming union was one of merriment, the mood lighthearted and blissful. You sat beside your husband, stomach tumbling with a coil of nerves. Everyone seemed foreign to you, unfamiliar faces with their northern attitudes and odd indifference.

You could not fault anyone for having their suspicions, given your heritage. Being a Targaryen, pale-headed and violet-eyed, bringing your dragon from the South — it must’ve been jarring. Growing into your station as the Lady of Winterfell would be a long and arduous process, but you hoped that Cregan would show you the way.

Oblivious to your Lord-Husband’s smoldering stare, you politely consumed bites of the sugar-dusted fruit cobbler, admiring the vibrant aura within the room. Your wedding gowns were as pure as the driven snow, accented with silver embroidery and lined with pale fleece to keep you warm, given the cold gnaw of winter.

If it weren’t for Cregan’s steadfastness in providing you with a new wardrobe fit for winter, the icy chill would’ve consumed your extremities from the inside-out.

Leaning over within his seat, Cregan reached for your hand, stormy-gray hues churning with a kindness reserved for you. “How are you faring, wife?” He inquired, voice a low rumble; a soothing timbre that sent shivers down your spine.

“Very well,” Warmth crawled along your flesh when he referred to you as wife so openly and affectionately. You weren’t accustomed to having someone be so attentive to you, hang upon your every word, treat you with such courteousness. “This is so wonderful. I must thank you and your Keep, for your kindness.”

If you were anyone else, Cregan might’ve treated you with a stalwart cordiality found in most formalities, but you were not anyone else. You were good, sweet, and kindhearted — above all, you were quite innocent. He would’ve been telling himself a bold lie if he hadn’t thought about taking you to bed several times already.

The colors of the North suited you — his home suited you. Not many men of his position were so lucky when it came to betrothals, but he felt as if he was beyond fortunate to have married you. Cregan only hoped to be a good husband to you and to your future children, heirs to Winterfell, with the blood of the dragon and the wolf in their veins.

He had forbidden a bedding ceremony, content to guide you to your chambers once the festivities ceased, instead. Cregan enjoyed observing you and your demure mannerisms, from the way you made small talk with those around you, complimenting the choice of food and drink. It warmed his heart to know that his wife was an amiable soul.

“You needn’t worry, Princess. It is my duty as your husband to show you a bit of Northern hospitality.” Cregan mused, a ghost of a smile tugging at either corner of his mouth. He rarely showed any emotion, let alone treating his subjects with a smile given his hardiness, but he did show a sliver of it for you. He didn’t want to scare you away.

With a delighted smile, your hand shyly curled around his, your skin unblemished and soft. Cregan hadn’t touched a woman as silky as you, and it made his blood run hot — an inopportune time, given that it was in the midst of his wedding feast. “Thank you, my Lord.” You weren’t sure if you were permitted to abandon formalities just yet.

Cregan huffed, gaze twinkling with amusement as he let your smaller hand hold his own, digits tenderly caressing over your knuckles. “I would hope that you only call me ‘my Lord’ if you’re angry with me,” His chest rumbled with an affectionate sound. “You aren’t in King’s Landing anymore.”

Embarrassment rippled through you, but before you could correct yourself out of anxiousness, Cregan gingerly squeezed your hand. Instead, it evoked a smile from you, the very same tender expression you’d given him when you were proclaimed as his wife. “I will call you husband when I am pleased with you.” You mused, bright as could be, and so blissfully naive.

Often regarded as a brooding, serious man with little traces of humor, Cregan found himself letting his guard down just enough with you. Of course, to any observer, he still seemed rather stoic, but the brief, fleeting looks he gave you, the threadbare smiles — it suggested otherwise.

As the excitable buzz of the feast began to simmer, Cregan stood from the table, wood scraping across the stone floors of the Great Hall. He stepped away from you, sparing the servants and guardsmen a word before he returned to your side.

“Is there not to be a bedding ceremony?” You whispered, stomach still tight and festering with nervousness. It was something you feared since you last saw Aegon and Helaena be hauled away for such a thing. The concept of it frightened you, twisted and unusual.

With furrowed brows, Cregan shook his head, offering his thick arm out for you to take. “No,” He grunted, noticing the swell of anxiousness etched into your features. “I would never subject you to such a thing, or myself.” He murmured, feeling you take his arm as he led you from the Great Hall.

Relief flooded through you, and you finally relaxed, seemingly appreciative of Cregan’s thoughtfulness in the matter. “Thank you, husband.” You sighed, gripping onto his arm as he led you into a warm corridor and towards a massive spiral of thick, stone steps.

Though, you still had a duty to perform — consummating the marriage, creating an heir. Part of you feared what it all entailed, given that Helaena never seemed pleased with any of it. Would he hurt you? You were uncertain, but you wanted to believe that your new husband would keep you safe.

Cregan welcomed you into your marital chambers, tidied and polished for your stay. Whatever belongings you brought with you, they were situated near a set of fine, wooden chairs circled around a stone table. Everything seemed warm and comely in his quarters, the direwolf aesthetic heavy-handed, the hearth crackling and bursting with ripples of fire.

“If there is something not to your liking, inform me — I will have it rearranged,” Cregan rumbled, following in your footsteps as you neared the open hearth, warming your hands and basking in its glow. He stood close to you, towering over you with his bulk and might. “How are you?” He asked, ensuring your comfort above all else.

There was little need for the hearth when Cregan was near, radiating a natural heat that drew you in. His countenance seemed softer, not nearly as impassive as he’d been before. “I am more than fine, I promise.” You assured him, hands wringing together. “I thought that I would miss home, but I do not. Isn’t that terrible?”

Perplexed, Cregan seemed inclined to listen to your elaboration, chestnut tresses framing his face. “It isn’t a terrible thing, princess. I would imagine that it must be freeing, to be somewhere else. You’ve never left the capital.” He replied, knowing that you were quite sheltered for most of your life.

A soft sigh escaped you, and you tried not to think about it anymore. You didn’t want to sour the mood with talk of home and the past — this was now. “It is liberating,” You confessed, craning to look at him with a semblance of wonder and affection. “I am happy that I’m here with you.” You spoke with genuineness and finality.

It was pleasing to hear you say such a thing, and even better to know that you truly meant it. One thick, burly arm slowly encircled your hips, bringing you into the warm expanse of his chest. “Good,” He murmured, expression steely. “That pleases me greatly.”

To know that Cregan valued your happiness was a wonderful feeling — you felt cared for and seen, shrouded within his protectiveness. You imagined that it would be a blissful marriage. “Thank you, Cregan.” His name slipped from your perfect tongue, and he thoroughly enjoyed the sound it made.

A low rumble vibrated through Cregan’s chest as he drew you as close as he could, tracing his calloused digits along the soft curve of your jaw. “You are very beautiful,” He murmured, timbre edged with a delicious husk that made your knees buckle. You shivered, something that he took note of. “Are you cold, wife?”

You nodded, sucking in a sharp breath when his lips neared yours. “I am.” A squeak escaped you, followed by a steady exhale. You had been kissed before, but the extent of your experience abruptly stopped there. You imagined that you wouldn’t be cold for much longer.

His lips met yours, the kiss tender yet passionate, deepened by your husband. Cregan found your mouth to be most pleasant, pliant and perfectly soft, yet malleable. You reciprocated his kiss, hands moving to press against his chest.

“Will it be painful?” You whispered, likely in an attempt to soothe your gnawing nervousness. Agony was something that didn’t coexist with pleasure, in your mind. You wanted this moment to be special and sacred, binding yourself to your husband.

Cregan hesitated, gently cupping your face with his rough palm, tenderly stroking along your cheek. “I wouldn’t dare harm you, princess. You have my word.” He assured, and it confirmed his suspicions — you hadn’t been with another before. “It might be painful, but I will be gentle. We don’t have to start tonight.”

Admittedly, it was quite the opposite for you — you wanted to start tonight, but you longed for clarification first, and he gave it to you. You shook your head, hands slipping toward the front of his tunic, as if silently pleading with him to stay. “I want to.” You insisted, looking like the picture of innocence.

As much as he liked you sweet and pious, Cregan had a feeling that it would be somewhat different after this. His gray hues swirled with a heavy desire, dropping towards the delicate curve of your mouth. “May I?” It was all that he needed to ask, and as soon as you nodded, he brought you in for a heated kiss.

Despite his appearance, a stone-faced wall of muscle and Northern strength, he was incredibly gentle with you. He held you against him, never tight enough to cause you discomfort, hands softly kneading into your hips. You kissed him back as best as you could, feverishly hot, butterflies erupting within your stomach.

His beautiful wife — Cregan could not imagine another, now that he had you in his arms. The way you kissed him was innocuous and tender, as if you were also terrified of making a mistake. Your purity, a precious thing indeed, would be tarnished and dissolved after this evening.

The thought of you, round and swollen with his child, was both tantalizing and tempting — well within his grasp. Cregan wondered if they would take after you, pale-headed with lilac hues, or perhaps himself. If the Gods were good, they would be a blend of the both of you, a dragon and a wolf.

You shivered again when your burly husband curled his hand into the back of your wedding gown, fingers slipping between the gaps, feeling inklings of your bare skin beneath. “I’ll keep you warm, wife.” He rumbled, pressing a kiss against your jaw. It wasn’t from the cold, he knew this, but his honeyed words made you flustered.

He dropped his cloak, allowing the thick curtain of fur to land against the floor. He was impossibly broad, as thick as stone, tunic loose yet snug enough to accentuate his brawn. You felt your breath hitch within your throat, swallowing another barrage of nerves.

Cregan’s mouth assailed your neck, hand peeling away the collar of pale fur in order to reach you. Every kiss was passionate, wrought with need, yet maintained that air of gentleness. Roughness was in his nature, but he wouldn’t dare fall into that pit on your wedding night.

You tasted ambrosial, sweet velvet beneath his lips, which peppered themselves wherever they could. He listened to your soft gasps and needy whines, your hands having curled into the coarse material of his tunic. He wanted to show you just how perfect you really were.

Suddenly, your gown felt much too tight and constricting, as if you would drown within it. You alleviated such sensations by loosening the bodice, tugging on the ivory strings. The fur became unraveled as Cregan gently draped the garment over the back of a chair.

Left in the thin, humble trappings of your smallclothes, nothing more than a corset hugging a linen slip, he silently appraised you with the hunger of a wolf. You appeared to be shy, somewhat coy in his presence as he looked you over, large palms settling against the swell of your hips.

“Why do you shy away?” Cregan murmured, chestnut brows furrowing together, tone one of genuine concern. You were the prettiest creature he’d ever seen — most Targaryens were known for their beauty, but you possessed it both ways, inner and outer, and that only made you more incomparable in his eyes.

Swallowing your nerves, you chewed at the inside of your cheek, hands fidgeting together. “I suppose I worry about what you’ll think,” A sore insecurity, to be sure, but something most young maidens possessed. Cregan’s gray hues softened, one hand stroking along the length of your spine. “That I won’t be suitable.”

A huff escaped him, a threadbare chuckle as he shook his head, pressing a kiss against your forehead. “You worry too much, princess.” That deep, thunderous timbre of his, husky with his Northern accent, shook you right to your core. “You are my wife — and you are perfect.” He assured, kissing along your jaw.

You exhaled, hands reaching for his tunic, wanting to see him without his clothing. There was a rush of warmth that crawled across your flesh, surging through your blood as Cregan pressed endless kisses against your skin. He trailed from jaw to collarbone, hands loosening your corset.

With a brusque tug, your gruff husband tore it from you altogether, tossing the bodice aside. “I will show you how perfect you are.” He rumbled, voice a low, heavy caress near the shell of your ear. You shivered, gaze half-lidded as you tugged insistently at his tunic.

The message was unspoken, but conveyed nonetheless as your mountain of a husband let his hands drop from you, only to tug the coarse, dark linen over his head. He was burly, broad-shouldered and thick with muscle, wisps of chestnut tresses framing his face.

Amusingly enough, Cregan possessed more of a cherubic, youthful face than you expected, yet his nose was slightly crooked from having it broken, faint scars upon his face. His eyes seemed wisened, old beyond his years. He reached for your slip, gathering the material within his hands as he looked to you for consent.

With your confidence rejuvenated, you nodded, breathless and wanton as you assisted him in maneuvering out of your thin smallclothes. The brief lick of chilled air dragged across your bare flesh, causing your nipples to harden, pebbling with the chill.

Fire danced across your physique, tantalizing and gorgeous, beautiful beyond compare. Even Cregan seemed speechless for a beat, throat reverberating with a low grunt as he motioned toward your shared bed.

You half-expected him to pounce on you, grab your hips and stake his claim, but he simply resorted to watching you slide onto the bed, covered in furs of all varieties. The frame rustled slightly, and you laid down, a picture of true perfection. Your crown of pale tresses seemed to stick out amidst the darker pallor of the furs.

Anticipation churned violently within your gut, arousal slick and mounting between your thighs as Cregan stalked closer, removing clothing in the process. You watched with bated breath as he loosened the ties of his breeches, removing them altogether.

It was to be expected — a man of his indomitable stature likely had the assets to accompany it. You nearly choked at the sight of him, terrified that it really would hurt, even if he was gentle. You sucked in a sharp breath, bewildered when he had reclined beside you instead.

“I won’t bite, my Lady.” Cregan rumbled, soothingly patting his lap as you crawled closer. He effortlessly picked you up, letting you straddle his hips as he admired you from below. “Hm.” With a hum of approval, he caressed along your form, stroking from your thigh to your breasts.

It was agonizingly deliberate, made to explore and study instead of acting upon salacious impulses. Cregan observed you closely, palm gently cupping your breast, thumb swiping over your nipple. You gasped, careening into his sensual embrace.

A flurry of desire bubbled within him when you planted your smaller hand atop his, as if encouraging him to knead and grope at his leisure. He seemed pleased, and so did you, a low hum escaping you as he caressed your silky flesh.

He made sure to show that same amount of attention to your unattended breast, slowly kneading into you. Those tempestuous gray hues never tore themselves away from you, boring into you with a searing intensity.

Warm slick coalesced between your thighs, only mounting and growing when he continued to touch you, hand lifting to cup your chin. You absentmindedly leaned into his touch, eyes becoming half-lidded as you rocked forward within his lap.

The sensations you felt were new and exhilarating, goosebumps dancing across your spine, heat pooling between your legs. “May I touch you?” You asked, tone delicate and sweet, a display of your piety and innocence. He quite enjoyed your desire to explore alongside him, and he gave a nod of his head.

“You don’t need to ask, princess.” He soothed, jaw tensing as your soft palms settled against his chest. Cregan’s stormy eyes didn’t leave you, carefully tracing each plane of your curves, the downy texture of your skin, the lilac glint of your eyes.

Your fingertips dragged across his musculature, committing each scar to memory, features becoming hot beneath his incendiary stare. He was your husband now — you imagined that scenarios like these would become commonplace. “You are so handsome,” You whispered incredulously, lips curling into a gentle smile. “Perfect.”

Cregan appeared perplexed, a soft huff escaping him as he trailed his calloused palm across the small of your back. He couldn’t recall the last time someone had called him perfect and meant it — and he knew that you did. He neglected to act, allowing you to explore as much as you pleased.

Awestruck, he watched with silent hunger as you leaned down, lips pressing against his own. A soft grunt escaped Cregan as he caged you in, mouth passionate as it tangled with yours. He enjoyed the feeling of your body snug atop his, your skin resplendent, like velvet against the grating bite of stone.

Dragging a hand from the swell of your hips to the nape of your neck, he gripped the base of your skull, gingerly kneading into your pale tresses. He kissed you again, oozing with desire as he stole every wisp of air from your lungs.

He pulled one leg up into a v-shape, supporting your back to keep you upright atop his lap. You could feel the thick girth of his cock nudge against your backside, causing you to shiver at the foreign sensation. “Do you trust me?” Cregan murmured, roughened fingertips dragging over the pliant flesh of your thigh.

There was an indiscernible look within his eyes, chestnut brows drawing together slightly. Your breath hitched as you nodded, and Cregan settled against the furs, strewn on his back. Those strong hands of his continued to nudge you forward, bringing you from his warm lap to his chest, and then a touch closer.

“What are you …” Uncertain yet filled with exhilaration, you had no idea what Cregan was planning. Your slick cunt neared his mouth, and your Northern paramour did little to slow the process, bumping you forward until you hovered above him. “C—Cregan, C —” Your voice tapered off into a whine.

His tongue raked hot embers across your cunt, a sensation that immediately made your knees buckle. You used the headboard to brace yourself, mouth tearing open as a strangled gasp escaped you. Part of you feared sitting down entirely, but Cregan coaxed you down, hands digging into your haunches.

Your reaction was beyond worthwhile, body trembling and coiled, hand scrambling to brace yourself as the other fervently dug into his chestnut tresses. You never imagined that such pleasure was even possible, filling you with an excitable ecstasy that sank into your bones.

Splitting past your folds, Cregan tasted every inch of you, tongue seeking your cunt with a fervor. He was vigorous in his ministrations, not shying away from consuming every drop of your arousal. His nose brushed against your mound, hands kneading into your thighs to reassure you, let you know that he had you.

Even when he rested beneath you, he still seemed indomitable, perhaps a touch intimidating. You didn’t look down, body involuntarily trembling and rocking forward, back beginning to arch. “Gods, a—ah!” You stammered, thighs twitching and quivering as his tongue gently flicked over your clit.

Visibly flustered, you felt so strange and smitten, riding your husband’s face as you would your dragon. It filled your belly with a rousing fire, one bright enough to consume the rest of your body, licking along the length of your spine.

A low rumble emerged from Cregan’s chest, a vibration that rattled you to your core. He wanted you to have your fill, take as much as you could and drown within pleasure. Your maidenhead was still intact, a virtue that he did not treat lightly. He didn’t feel the need to breathe, lapping at your cunt with a wolfish gluttony.

You were undeniably soaked, like a fine stout upon his tongue as he devoured you. Cregan was passionate, each stroke of his tongue ensuring that you felt it all, bliss erupting throughout your stomach.

Chasing after what you imagined to be your release, you happened to peer down for a moment, finding the contented face of your husband, whose face was lodged between your legs. His brows were creased in concentration, tongue prodding against your entrance before languidly flicking back to your clit.

It was only when he pursed his lips around that sensitive clutch of nerves, that you nearly collapsed around him. Even your draconic blood could melt, tempered by the hardened ice of your Northern paramour. You gasped, hips stuttering as your thighs squeezed at either side of his head — fortunately, he didn’t seem to care.

The only thing you wanted was this, forever — your husband’s tongue between your legs, a sanctuary in the North with a potential family, a life in which you could finally find your solace. You continued to squirm and writhe, moaning his praises into the warmth of your chambers.

As you approached your peak, you grappled with Cregan’s tresses, tugging at the root as you rocked forward, again and again. “Cregan,” You moaned, countenance contorting into a look of sheer pleasure, bones crawling with an insatiable heat. “Cregan, Cregan, please!” It was a siren’s song of desire.

He did not stop, but he didn’t change course, either. Instead, he simply continued on, suckling at your clit as he intermingled it with timed laps of his tongue. Your release slammed into you, white-hot and blistering, gnawing away at your stomach as that coil of heat effectively snapped.

A whine emerged from you, one that was nearly breathless as you rocked forward again, legs shaking from ecstasy as you rode out your peak. Cregan, ever the dutiful husband, lapped at your nectar, savoring the taste, the scent of a pleasurable aftermath.

“What —” You had to catch your breath again, attempting to recuperate as you sat back on his chest instead, thick, burly muscle plentiful enough to cushion you. “Where did you learn how to do that?” It was an innocuous question, one so sweetly-spoken that it nearly caused Cregan to chuckle.

He did, however, smile — a rare, sentimental gesture reserved only for you. It was threadbare, and if it weren’t for the nature of your relationship, one might’ve thought him to be rugged and indifferent. “You need only ask, princess, and I will oblige.” His voice was a deep rumble that warmed your insides.

You thoroughly enjoyed the nickname of princess — a term of endearment given your status, but you were a princess no longer. “I am a lady of the North now, aren’t I? A princess no longer,” You proclaimed, skin shimmering with perspiration. “What will you call me, now?” You asked.

“Hm,” Cregan contemplated, pressing a kiss against your leg before he sat up enough to have a good look at you, chin still glistening with your slick. The sight was lewd, enough to make you unbelievably flustered as he grew closer, nearly chest-to-chest with you. “Lady Stark would suffice.” He murmured.

Something amorous burned within you, a smolder that soon turned to ignited sparks. “It would please me greatly.” You hummed, running your hands over his biceps before Cregan gently changed places with you, moving you beneath his bulk, comfortable upon your back.

Soft was a mere understatement — he could feel himself melt. It was not your dragon’s blood or heat that made him crumble, but your heart. He could imagine you as the mother of his children, belly round with his heirs, the Lady of Winterfell, a Hightower no longer.

He settled between your legs, and you gasped when his cock gently glided against your slick core. Cregan knew to temper himself, to be as gentle as he could with it being your wedding night, but his resolve was steadily diminished in your presence. He steeled himself, pressing a string of kisses along your body.

Without thinking, you unconsciously goaded Cregan into a point of near-frenzy. Your hands found the taut, trunk-like muscle of his biceps, visage filled with a sense of awe and adoration. “A child would please me greatly.” You confessed, having no clue what it would do to your husband.

Cregan stopped, digits curling into the thick furs on either side of your head. It took every fiber of his being not to fuck you then and there — and he wouldn’t, it wasn’t right for him to take your maidenhead with such roughness. His fantasy became reality, a visceral, beautiful vision that made him grunt, jaw unnaturally tense.

His rough palm soothingly stroked along your thigh, lust swelling within him like a blizzard, a violent storm of need that transcended all bonds of propriety. “Does Lady Stark want me to put a pup in her belly?” Cregan rumbled, tempestuous hues ignited with a fire that demanded to be extinguished, sending shockwaves right to your core.

You swallowed the growing lump within your throat, shuddering at the sound of his voice — an edged husk, like the rumbling of thunder before a deluge or the shaking of a mountain. “Yes,” You exhaled, searching his countenance, only to find desire. “I would.”

The Gods were testing him, aiming to see if he would break beneath the pressure, but he refused. Cregan lowered himself over you, lips molding themselves against yours in a hot kiss. Your hands remained poised atop his biceps, barely able to wrap themselves around the thick, corded muscle.

He wasn’t much of a talker, and it quickly dwindled into deep grunts and heavier sighs as he aligned his cock with your entrance. He made sure to part your legs, keeping them spread as he began to push inside of you. The sudden intrusion made you gasp, startled at the twinge of pain, the discomfort of it all.

Cregan despised the mere thought of causing you harm, and even he was willing to end it all then and there. “We don’t have to continue, beloved.” He rumbled, pressing a soothing string of kisses along your face. The endearing nickname made you preen, nails digging into his arms.

“No, I — I’m well enough,” You breathed, insistent on continuing. Cregan deliberated, but when you let out a low whine, he obeyed your command. “Gods, I need you, Cregan.” Pitched with a wanton resonance, you urged him to keep going.

Your neediness made his blood run hot, and he nodded, sluggishly resuming his pace. He continued to tilt his hips forward, cock feeding into you, inch by agonizing inch. Cregan felt the desperate bite of your nails clutching into muscle, leaving behind angry crescents.

You were never fully warned of the pain, the discomfort that accompanied pleasure. It was always sold as some fantasy, particularly for men — nights of heavenly passion resulting in bliss. For you, it was simply a marital duty to provide your husband with an heir, but this transcended that. Passion and affection sparked between the both of you, and it felt right.

As Cregan finally bottomed out inside of you, he allowed you time to fully adjust, rocking into you at a lackadaisical pace. He continued to shower you in kisses, wherever his lips could reach, giving particular affection to the crook of your neck.

Whatever discontent you felt, you hastily pushed it aside, tossing it into the recesses of your mind. Instead, you focused on him — on how incredible he made you feel, the warmth you experienced in his presence. One of your hands slipped to thread within his chestnut tresses, mouth agape.

You took him so well — better than expected, and it filled him with a sense of pride and ardor. Cregan pressed hungry kisses along your throat, nose buried into the hollow of it, right beneath your jugular. He continued to go slow, afraid of causing you further pain.

Cregan repositioned his hand, leaving one lodged beside your head, the other sinking into your haunch, digits tenderly kneading into your thigh. It was an offer of reassurance, and he watched your countenance shift from discontented to relaxed.

“Move,” The sharpness of your command brought him to heel, and he very nearly smiled — it was there, the ghost of it toying at his lips. Bringing his hips back and then forward, you moaned, knowing that the sting of pain would soon blossom into pleasure. “Please.”

Molten heat swirled within the pit of your stomach, arousal thick between your legs as Cregan began to find his pace, a rhythm that shook you to your core. He was so very gentle, even for a man of his herculean mass and muscle. He took care of you, soothingly caressing your thigh as he thrusted into you.

His cock filled you completely, a stretch that would take you more than just one night to adjust to. Your maidenhead was gone, your cunt tight around his length, pulling him in again and again.

Cregan’s breathing became heavier, somewhat labored as he consummated your union. Each snap of his hips held meaning, beyond the creation of an heir. It was tenuous with feelings, a burning sentiment he felt for you, ardor that had grown into a fire.

Admittedly, his mind was hazy, fueled by desire and the mere thought of you wanting a child — you had asked it of him, demanded, and he was at your mercy. Cregan couldn’t have gotten any luckier with you, the most resplendent woman he’d ever seen.

Imagining you full and round, still as lovely as the day he set his eyes upon you, a mother and a dragon — it was nothing short of true perfection. He chased after it, evident by the growing vigor and passion in each thrust of his hips, cock nearly tearing you into two.

No matter how gentle and careful Cregan was with you, it was to no avail, but you no longer cared. “Cregan,” You moaned, lifting one leg to hitch it around his waist, and that only seemed to further spur him on, allowing him to hit new depths. His throbbing length nearly kissed your womb, filling you to the brim. “Cregan!” You cried.

For a moment, you feared being split in-half by your mountain of a husband, but he slowed enough to let you recuperate, throat reverberating with carnal grunts. The rumbling of his chest, the heat that radiated from him in waves — it was all perfect.

It was driving him mad, the way your cunt constricted around his cock, the way in which your back arched from the furs, chest brushing against his. Cregan grunted, jaw set and brows furrowed in concentration as he kneaded into your thigh, something to alleviate his tension.

His thrusts deepened, became passionate and invigorated with love, and each snap of his hips made your head spin with delirium. You were drunk on desire, clinging to him as if you were a drowning maiden, hand splayed against his shoulder.

Whenever he happened to become a touch too vigorous, he felt your nails dig deep into his flesh, leaving behind the reddened marks of your consummation. Cregan was getting close, chest erupting with labored pants as he pressed his forehead against yours.

You moaned, body bending beneath his passion, malleable within his hands. His cock throbbed within you as he sought to spill his seed, face against yours, lips occasionally connecting in a series of sloppy, warm kisses. Everything felt incredible, in ways that you couldn’t comprehend.

He was so burly, a thick wall of impenetrable muscle that seemed to envelop you entirely, shield you from everything else, from all harm. Strands of chestnut stuck to his temples, flesh glittering with perspiration from the exertion of lovemaking, coupled with the heat in your chambers.

With another brusque thrust of his hips, he settled inside of you, reaching his peak with a subtle groan. His seed filled your cunt in hot ropes, more than enough to take, if the Gods were good. Cregan exhaled, feverishly hot as he began to recuperate, neglecting to remove himself from you for a few moments.

“Are you alright?” Cregan murmured, ensuring your wellbeing first, above all else. A stinging soreness settled into your thighs and your core, but you would survive. He didn’t completely obliterate you, thankfully — you wondered what he would be like, unrestrained.

“Yes,” You smiled, visibly flustered beneath the intensity of his stare. “That was incredible.” Your confession made him huff, likely one of amusement as he pressed a kiss against your forehead. Even you glittered with sweat, but that was to be expected.

You already wanted more — and you nearly asked it of him.

Lascivious fantasies took root within your mind, and the mere idea of him being rough and completely domineering made your cunt throb. You could not do it now, given how exhausted you were, but he had certainly unlocked a new side to you, a side that you were unfamiliar with.

Cregan pulled himself from you, propping your hips up beneath a feathered pillow to ensure that his seed would take. He rested beside you, drawing you into the bulk of his muscled arms, allowing you to rest your head against the expanse of his chest. “You were perfect.” He rumbled, roughened digits stroking along your spine.

It pleased you to know that your husband was satisfied with you, much to your delight. “I am glad,” Relief rippled through you as you inched closer, perfectly slotted against his frame. “So were you.” Your pleasant accolades made him smile, fracturing his stony exterior.

“There will be plenty of time for this, that I can promise you,” Cregan was more concerned with getting to know you, his beautiful lady-wife, Lady Stark. “I would like to start with you.” He murmured, savoring the sensation of your fingers tracing across his abdomen.

You blinked, seemingly surprised by Cregan’s genuine interest in you. It made you happy — perhaps you could have both. Moments of learning and moments like these, where you could indulge in pleasure.

“Would it offend you if I asked you to do both?” You questioned, warmth crawling along your body as Cregan squeezed the swell of your hip, gray hues sparkling with a semblance of mirth.

“It wouldn’t,” Cregan mused, timbre dropping to a lull, a husky octave that seemed to envelop you in its stoicism and warmth. “It pleases me to know that Lady Stark possesses the appetite of a dragon.” His teasing made you squirm, but he simply caressed you and held you closer.

With a coy smile, you lifted your head, pressing your lips against his, asserting your still-lingering desire for your husband. “Not a dragon,” Your tone softened with a sweeter resonance. “A wolf.”

copyright @ swordgrace ; please do not steal my work and claim it as your own or translate it onto other platforms.

[carbonatedeverclear]

purity culture ruins people’s ability to engage with works that deal with serious issues and it’s disheartening to see people entirely miss the point of a work because they are guided by a knee jerk reaction towards disgust and I need to ramble

so, I’m reading a book called Jawbone by Monica Ojeda and it’s a very interesting horror novel that centers around puberty and teen girls and their relationships to their mothers. One of the bigger themes in the book is the idea of shame revolving around sexual development. One of the main characters is a young lesbian who is developing feelings for her best friend and has a mother who is incredibly homophobic and disapproving and in part of the book there’s a scene where this character talks about her mother catching her masturbating and the way that she is disgusted by her daughter and kind of this horror around being viewed as having lost your innocence from experiencing something that is common and should be mundane. sexual development is seen as a horrific and sinful action and that causes this character trauma through the rest of the book surrounding the way that her mother looks at her and how her mother is going to react when she finds out that she’s gay it’s a book that deals with a lot of topics around sexual shame. For example, another character is so terrified of the sin of masturbation that she keeps herself from masturbating by imagining being raped by men in her family who she cares about because it disgusts her and keeps her from achieving sexual arousal. the book itself shows that the action of the character masturbating when she’s six years old is an innocent action. It’s one that comes from curiousity and just what happens when you have a body. The book is very clear that the act is being sexualized by the adults around her and their reactions feel violating.

So it is infuriating to then go from reading this book to trying to read reviews of this book and finding that the first review on Goodreads is a one star review that just says “in this book a six-year-old masturbates 🤮” participating in the same disgust with the natural sexual development of young girls that the book itself tries to depict as a horrifying and violating way to view children and puberty 

[neonln4]

i found a good boy, and he's on my side | lando norris smau

lando norris x reader | a little bit of best friend!oscar

summary: when y/n's ex writes a messy song about her, fans push for lando to break up with her (he doesn't even consider it)

fc: sabrina carpenter

kind of a part 2 to what a coincidence, but you don't have to read part 1 for this to make sense

warnings: non-existent angst, lando very much in love with y/n, very brief mention of cheating (not lando), maybe some typos

note: y/e = your ex

yourex

liked by user1 and 593,827 others

yourex Biting My Tongue out tonight

Finally sharing my truth

View all 1,384 comments

user1 WE LOVE YOU Y/E

user2 ready for the tea 🍿

ynfan2 PLEASE LEAVE Y/N ALONE I BEG WE'RE OVER YOU

ynfan1 "sharing my truth" OHHHH BROTHER

user3 the y/n fans getting nervous

ynfan2 not nervous, sick of his lies

user2 perhaps y/n isn't as perfect as you think

user4 anyone else just here for the music

user5 @ yourusername YOU ARE SO OVER

♡

♡

yourusername

liked by landonorris, yourbff, and 1,138,827 others

yourusername leng

View all 5,394 comments

ynfan2 UNBOTHERED QUEEN

user2 is she just pretending her ex didn't drop a shady song about her

user6 lando still in the likes ... this is so sad

yourbff your reminder to not wear the red top this weekend

yourusername you've seen my outfits already TRUST there's no red in sight

landonorris that's my girl

ynfan1 MOTHER IS GOING TO SILVERSTONE

user4 how has lando not dumped you yet

user5 you really don't deserve lando

user3 HAS LANDO HEARD THE SONG YET? DUMP HER!!!

ynfan3 what's with all the loser hate comments

landonorris my girlfriend is sooooo leng now come give me a kiss

yourusername calm down

yourusername on my way tho

♡

♡

landonorris

liked by oscarpiastri, yourusername, and 983,492

landonorris a little summer fun

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user1 JEALOUS

yourusername who's the baddie

landonorris that's my girlfriend mate back off

ynfan2 WHY ARE THEY LIKE THIS

user3 waiting for the dumping...

user4 crazy that they're still together

user8 i think some of y'all are a bit dramatic, the song wasn't even that bad and it's just his perspective

ynfan3 A LANDO FAN WITH A BRAIN

yourbff last pic i want her baddddd

landonorris so you don't want [redacted]'s number anymore?

yourbff WAIT I TAKE IT BACK

ynfan2 QUEEN Y/BFF FINALLY APPROVING OF ONE OF Y/N'S MEN

oscarpiastri you stole my best friend

yourusername we literally have plans next week

♡

yourusername

liked by landonorris, oscarpiastri, and 1,293,283 others

yourusername is this thing on? 🎤

View all 3,128 comments

ynfan1 MOTHER IN THE STUDIO!!!!!

ynfan2 the last pic has me crying 😭😭 i just know she's about to be a menace

user2 if she's actually making a response song that's kinda pathetic

user3 right? her fans all say y/e is using her for fame but she's also doing it

yourbff let me hear it first

oscarpiastri i better get the link first

landonorris ignore both of them, i get first dibs

user1 THE DRAMA if she's making a response song lando better get out of there quick before he's her next victim

user4 WE DON'T CARE ABOUT YOUR LOVE LIFE

ynfan3 all these haters camping on y/n's post omg she's so famous

ynfan4 WE LOVE YOU Y/N IGNORE THE LOSERS

♡

♡

yourusername

liked by landonorris, oscarpiastri, and 1,428,372 others

yourusername my turn🩷

surprise! planned to keep these in the vault, but i guess things change. 'vicious' and 'eternal sunshine' live performances out now on youtube! studio version out friday 💋

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landonorris proud of you love 🤍

yourusername 🧡🧡🧡

ynfan2 OH MY GOD NO WAYYYYYYY

ynfan3 "my turn🩷" THAT'S MOTHERRRRRRRRR

ynfan1 love lando supporting her through it all that's a good man

ynfan4 SHE SPILLED Y/E IS SO DONE

yourbff i love you so much!!!

yourusername love you!!

user3 these songs are really good ... sorry for hating before

user1 some of y'all switching up in the comments, she could be lying!!

ynfan5 perhaps i misinterpreted the lyrics, but did y/e CHEAT ON HER???

ynfan3 pretty sure 👀

♡

yourusername

liked by yourbff, landonorris, and 1,391,283 others

yourusername it doesn't get, doesn't get better than this 🧡

View all 4,302 comments

yourbff LOVE Y'ALL SO MUCH

ynfan4 THESE HAVE TO BE LYRICS

ynfan3 more lover girl music coming soon LET'S GOOOOOOO

ynfan2 y/n writing her two shady songs about y/e then going back to writing cheesy love songs for lando we love to see it

landonorris how i obsessively adore you 🤍

ynfan2 y'all they're quoting future lyrics right in front of our faces i just know it

user3 it's not looking like a break up any time soon

oscarpiastri answer my texts

yourusername sorry been busy 🤭

oscarpiastri disgusting

yourusername NOT LIKE THAT.

ynfan5 Y/NLANDO WILL ALWAYS PROSPER

♡

landonorris

liked by yourusername, yourbff, and 1,028,832 others

landonorris we are never breaking up btw

View all 2,384 comments

ynfan2 LMAOOOOOO

yourbff i'll have to break all of your bones if you ever hurt her

landonorris the scary thing is that i actually believe that you would

oscarpiastri hurt her and your life is over

landonorris DAMN DID Y'ALL READ THE CAPTION OR NO

user3 they're kinda growing on me y'all ...

ynfan4 everyone say we love you mom and dad

user4 worst news of my life

user2 i'm gonna be forced to like her this is terrible

yourusername thank god

landonorris if you leave me i think that i just might lose it completely

yourusername don't ever quote my songs at me again

[cosmictheo]

𝐎𝐍𝐄 𝐎𝐅 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐆𝐈𝐑𝐋𝐒 | feyd-rautha

(gif credits to @pascow)

— summary: an arranged marriage with feyd-rautha in the name of reconciling your houses was something you were not expecting, neither was the soft and light way he seemed to behave towards you and only you. —pairing: feyd-rautha harkonnen x female!atreides!reader —word count: 3k —warnings: arranged marriage, feyd being gentle and calm because the reader is the love of his life (as it was written), probably ooc!feyd (sorry but i just love to see the most savage and feral men fall on their knees for their s/o)

writer’s note: english is not my mother tongue, so please forgive me if there is a grammatical error. hope you like it!

ᯓ★ part one ── part two ── part three (coming soon)

Your arranged marriage to Feyd-Rautha had been the reason for House Atreides and Harkonnen to strengthen their alliance, ensuring that neither would stab each other in the back, which was most expected from the Baron. Your Houses had been wavering on a faint thread that separated you from a war and this marriage arrangement had pacted a reconciliation. It had been your parents' idea and obeying your parents was the most important thing for you, right after protecting your family and indeed that was what you were doing, guarding your family.

Your twin brother did not like the idea, he was not very fond of Feyd-Rautha and his House, moreover, he found him rather... repulsive. For Feyd was a savage, a ruthless and bloodthirsty man.

However, he had to admit that, next to him, you would be basically untouchable, after all, it was like having a guard dog, the most possessive and protective dog, a dog that was ready to kill and ravage for you if necessary.

“He's scary.” Paul's voice echoed inside your head as together you walked along the vast hallways of the Harkonnen palace, at the end of it, Feyd-Rautha stood, engaged in a conversation with your parents, forever as stiff and somber as he had been since you had first met him.

“Just look at him, you'll have to wake up next to him for the rest of your life.” Your brother insisted, throwing you a knowing and concerned look. “We can fix this without you having to marry that man, sister. There must be something—”

“Enough.” you interrupted him, finally dragging your eyes from your betrothed to your anxious brother pacing beside you, you made an effort to offer him a reassuring, soft smile, grateful that he was always so caring and concerned about you and your well-being. “There's nothing else we can do. You know about my visions and what they foresee. Our House will not endure if I do not accept this offer.”

“We will do whatever it takes to survive for now.” You added, holding Paul's gaze, noting the sadness and pity behind his dark eyes, and like the good sister you were, you sighed softly, leaning closer to him to bring him some kind of reassurance. “Our turn will come to make our move and win, brother.”

“Whatever it takes.” He echoed, nodding his head, fingers brushing your clasped hand around his forearm, as you were accustomed to do when you walked side by side.

“The marriage will take place two weeks from now.” The Duke's voice gave out the news once you were all inside the assembly room, with the Baron at the head of the table, of course, looking uncharacteristically approving and pleased to hear the announcement.

The massive man showed his approval with a hint of a phantom, twisted smile, plump fingers taping the edge of the black table in front of him. “We will have the princess as a guest in our home for a week and then the na-Baron will visit her home for the last week, prior to her coming to live here.”

He planned the whole thing and there was absolutely no one in the room who had the idiotic courage to be against his command, so, it was settled.

Once you said goodbye to your family and gave a tight and emotional hug to your brother, you were left alone in the dark and gigantic planet of the Harkonnen family, feeling like an outsider, like a small prey surrounded by bloodthirsty predators. Although, the place possessed an indescribable and incomparable beauty, the sun was black, and the light that irradiated was whitish, giving it a beautiful contrast with all the black buildings rising majestically. But the place was rather... depressing, quiet and somewhat eerie, it was nothing like your home.

You soon felt out of place, and everyone who looked at you could see it too. It was as if you had some kind of golden aura, glowing among all the darkness and gloom of the place.

Feyd-Rautha watched you attentively, analyzing every expression and emotion you let be shown across your face, catching the look your eyes possessed, that special little gleam that flashed in your orbs as you admired Giedi Prime as if it were one of the most beautiful things you had ever seen in your life, his home.

“Do you like it here, my lady?” His husky, raspy voice managed to snap you out of your trance, and your heart skipped a beat once you trailed your gaze from the horizon beneath the balcony to him, meeting his deep, dark gaze. He always seemed to look at you with those eyes, captivated, as if you were some form of strange spectacle.

And indeed you were, you stood in perfect contrast to the planet, your eyes were bright, lively, your aura was vivacious and hopeful. And because of that, he liked to look at you, study your face, your body language, every little reaction you had in response to something. You were fascinating.

Whenever you entered any room, his deep blue eyes were pulled to you like a magnet, drawn to orbit around you like his planet circling the dark sun.

Feyd noticed out of the corner of his eye how your hands clasped lightly around the balcony fence in front of you, skin contrasting against the blackness of the material. 

You nodded your head very slowly, twisting your body just enough to be able to look him directly in the face, big eyes looking up at him, not with fear, but with expectation. “I do.”

Even your voice was the opposite of his, keeping that soft and delicate tone, as elegant as you.

He seemed satisfied with your positive response, and so, he dared to lean against the balcony fence right next to you, but careful not to cause you to feel too uncomfortable or intruded upon. His eyes never left you for a second and he was quite pleased that you were bold enough to hold his powerful and intimidating gaze.

“Good, it will soon become your home too.” Feyd answered you, in a tone that oscillated between amusement and fascination, you didn't quite know how to decipher the expression on his face either, naturally.

He was very complicated to read, even if you tried extra hard, the many tutoring and lessons with Lady Jessica didn't seem to do much use, with him. Perhaps because he made you feel unnerved, he made your soul tremble like no one could, stepping beyond your walls and standing where none of your senses seemed to work. Where the eye could not see.

“Are you mocking me?” Still, you had the courage to ask him that bold question, one eyebrow rising on your forehead and your head twisting slightly, defiant face and all.

Your bravery made him laugh slightly this time, a noise that was heard almost unnaturally, with a small crooked smile on his lips that looked all too unusual and strange on him. For not even his strongest and most powerful enemies had had the courage to stand in front of him and challenge him like you were doing right now. You were a fierce girl. And he liked that.

“I wouldn't be likely to mock you, my lady.” Feyd-Rautha replied calmly, his tone of voice the exact same, as if you were a spectacle. Your eyes lowered to his hand, which snaked slowly to the edge of the balcony fence, fingers stroking the smooth surface. “I'm just stating the obvious. You'll be living here with me soon. It will be our home and you will reign with me when it's my turn.”

You narrowed your eyes slightly at his response, not yet quite convinced that he would behave so calm and composed with you, when not more than two days ago you had seen him slicing men to pieces in the arena. “You are not bothered by me invading your space?”

You asked that question because you knew how... eccentric men usually behaved, you could see it in basically every man with any power you had ever met, in the so many meetings with the Duke back home. You could see how they treated their wives, how they looked at them and how they talked to them, as if they were dealing with a servant. You feared this marriage was like that too.

Even your parents' marriage was broken, since Duke Leto kept close to his heart another woman who was not Lady Jessica, he did not love her as he loved that unknown woman. You had grown up seeing an empty and cold marriage, merely to fulfill a duty.

You understood that your marriage would also have that basis, and therefore, you knew that duty was the death of love. But for some silly, innocent reason, you wanted to think there might be love here. As the naive, young girl that you were.

Feyd-Rautha shrugged, not taking much interest in the matter of the question, “You'll be my wife, my space is your space.”

A hint of a smile tugged at the corner of his lips when he saw that his answer pleased you. You could begin to understand that to him the whole arranged marriage thing wasn't as important as it was to you, or maybe it was, but it didn't seem to bother him or disagree.

“Does this marriage bother you?” It was his turn to ask, staring down at you, noticing how beautifully your skin reflected the pale natural light of the black sun. He could see how frustrated you were now, to be there, with him. “Does it bother you to be my wife?”

You sighed heavily, peeling your eyes from Feyd-Rautha and returning them to the beauty of the landscape below, pondering the questions. His dark eyes followed your every movement as your body turned forward again, hands gripping the balcony fence as if your life depended on it.

“Do you care much for my opinion of you?” You decided to answer him with another question and that seemed to annoy him for his frown deepened and his fingers halted on the fence, devoting himself to glaring at you with his azure eyes, mirroring the pallid light of the gloomy sun.

“Woman, I will marry you and live by your side for the rest of my life, of course your opinion is important.” He took a couple of steps closer to you as he spoke, hand closer and closer to yours, managing to make you even more nervous. “Don't speak nonsense, it doesn't suit you. You're a smart girl.”

Seeing the expression on your face, he leaned even closer and out of the corner of your eye you watched as his hand rose to your face, resting on your chin and turning it ever so gently for you to look at him, but your eyes lowered, fleeing from his.

It seemed astonishing to him that you didn't even flinch away when you sensed the approach of his hand to your face, as if it wasn't the same hand that had slaughtered so many and slit so many necks by the same motion.

“Don't take your eyes off me.” He demanded in a low, raspy tone of voice, you could feel his breath brush against your face. “Look at me.”

When he whispered your name in that delicate, nearly pleading tone, you finally summoned the courage to look at him, allowing him to cradle your chin between his fingers and allowing him to be so close to you that you felt suffocated by the warmth of his body against yours.

“You fear me?”

He asked in that tone of voice, whispering, silently asking you to have mercy on him, not to fear him as everyone usually feared him, not to see him as the monster everyone saw, but as your husband, your protector and your lover.

He saw how your eyes watered slightly as fear peered into your usual stoic, cold face, and Feyd-Rautha was used to beholding that face, was used to fear, because it was always the last look of his enemies.

“I'm afraid. Of leaving home, of living on an unknown planet, of marrying someone I don't know.” Then you shook your head softly, looking up at him through your long eyelashes. “But I am not afraid of you, Feyd-Rautha.”

“You're very bold... and emotional.” He whispered in a disapproving but gentle voice, fingers tracing barely a caress along your lower lip before he reached up and dried the couple of tears that had managed to escape from your pretty eyes. At the closeness, you could begin to see through the mask he always carried, hiding his emotions. “You can't let yourself look like this in front of your enemies, it will make you appear weak.”

“I can't let myself look like this in front of my future husband?” his dark eyes lowered to your lips as you modulated the question, pupils dilating slightly. You swallowed as you saw desire and lust darken his orbs even more when you referred to him as your husband. You sniffed, feeling suddenly embarrassed by your outburst of emotions. “I'm s—sorry. You shouldn't see me like this, my lord.”

“Don't apologize.” He again reprimanded you in that passive-aggressive tone of his, like a hiss of a snake, shaking his head a little. Even after he wiped away your little tears, his hands remained in the same place, cupping your face, each of his thumbs resting on your flushed cheekbones.His fingertips were surprisingly gentle against your skin, sending shivers all over your body beneath their path. “You can be like this only with me, you understand? You can trust me, I want you to trust me.” His fingers took a lock of your hair and pulled it away from your face, running it carefully behind your ear. “But I really don't like to see you cry, my wife-to-be.”

After barely a second of silence with his azure eyes again flicking down to your parted lips, he spoke again, muttering, his raspy voice indicating that perhaps it hurt his throat to talk like that. “Pretty girls like you should cry out of pleasure only.”

He studied your face once more, not missing the way you blushed at his open flirtation and suggestive words, how you bit your lower lip, pupils expanding in thick blackness. You weren't used to so much attention, let alone men saying those kinds of words to you, it was evident. You were so innocent that it provoked a rare feeling of tenderness in Feyd-Rautha.

Perhaps it would be the closest thing to an act of consolation you would get from him and it was likely the only time in his life he had ever done that.

Promptly, you managed to make him smile again. “You Atreides are so strange and delicate... but then again, you will soon be Harkonnen, the prettiest na-Baroness, my pretty little wife.”

From his voice, his careful choice of words and the way he was looking at you, you expected him to kiss you right there —perhaps that was what you wanted, amidst all the tumult of emotions that shook your little heart, beating in rumbling noises inside your chest, pumping fiery blood through your veins.

But after a few seconds, he pulled his hands away from your face and backed away from you, taking a few steps back and offering you a look that you managed to perceive as soft rather than harsh. You knew that he was controlling himself well in maintaining a good demeanor, perhaps because his uncle had ordered him to do so; to do his best to make a good impression and not bring shame to the family. And also because he wanted you to have a good image of him, he was a prideful man, he was used to boast of his virtues and his power, and he was above all, protective of his own person and his glory.

He made a short gesture with his head pointing to the open balcony door, his hands clasping together behind his back pragmatically, as if he were presenting himself in front of a superior. “Now come, pretty girl, I'll show you the palace myself. You're future home.”

You walked towards him, a little smile curving your lips, the first smile on your face during the entire conversation, and he admired it in all it's glory.

“You don't have to be all stiff when you're with me, Feyd.” You eyed his posture with light eyes as you passed him and made your way inside the guest room with graceful steps, him following close behind.

He wasn't very fond of being addressed by name directly, of having his name used so freely, but the way you pronounced his name made him so utterly proud to be called that, he suddenly was wishing you would just call him that, in that tone of voice, tongue savoring his name as if it were the most delightful thing to say.

You turned to look at him for a few seconds, your tone of voice becoming reassuring, something he wasn't quite used to, yet he heard and savored it as if it were the sweetest thing in the world.

“If you can see me cry, then I can see you relaxed. It is only fair, no?”

Feyd-Rautha received your words positively, causing him to deepen his breathing into a snorting chuckle, eyes sparkling with amusement now behind your back.

“I'll try for you.” His response made you smile once more.

[ghelgheli]

In contrast with professional drag queens, who were only playing at being women onstage, [Esther] Newton learned that the very bottom of the gay social hierarchy was the province of street queens. In almost total contrast to professional queens, street queens were "the underclass of the gay world." Although they embraced effeminacy, too, they did so in the wrong place and for the wrong reason: in public and outside of professional work. As a result, Newton explained, the street queens "are never off stage. Their way of life is collective, illegal, and immediate." Because they didn't get paid to be feminine and were locked out of even the most menial of nightlife jobs, Newton observed that their lives were perceived to revolve around "confrontation, prostitution, and drug 'highs'." Even in a gay underworld where everyone was marked as deviant, it was the sincere street queens who tried to live as women who were punished most for what was celebrated-and paid-as an act onstage. When stage queens lost their jobs, they were often socially excluded like trans women. Newton explained that when she returned to Kansas City one night during her fieldwork, she learned that two poor queens she had met had recently lost their jobs as impersonators. Since then, they had become "indistinguishable from street fairies," growing out their hair long and wearing makeup in public-even "passing" as girls in certain situations," in addition to earning a reputation for taking pills. They were now treated harshly by everyone in the local scene. Most people wouldn't even speak to them in public. Professional drag queens who didn't live as women still had to avoid being seen as too "transy" in their style and demeanor. One professional queen that Newton interviewed explained why: it was dangerous to be transy because it reinforced the stigma of effeminacy without the safety of being onstage. "I think what you do in your bed is your business," he told Newton, echoing a middle-class understanding of gay privacy, "[but] what you do on the street is everybody's business."

The first street queen who appears in Mother Camp is named Lola, a young Black trans girl who is "becoming a woman,' as they say'." Newton met Lola at her dingy Kansas City apartment, where she lived with Tiger, a young gay man, and Godiva, a somewhat more respectable queen. What made Godiva more respectable than Lola wasn't just a lack of hormonal transition. It was that Godiva could work as a female impersonator because she wasn't trying to sincerely live as a woman. Lola, on the other hand, was permanently out of work because being Black and trans made her unhireable, including in female impersonation. When Newton entered their apartment, which had virtually no furniture, she found Lola lying on "a rumpled-up mattress on the floor" and entertaining three "very rough-looking young men." These kinds of apartments, wrote Newton, "are not 'homes.' They are places to come in off the street." The extremely poor trans women who lived as street queens, like Lola, "literally live outside the law," Newton explained. Violence and assault were their everyday experiences, drugs were omnipresent, and sex work was about the only work they could do. Even if they didn't have "homes," street queens "do live in the police system."

As a result of being policed and ostracized by their own gay peers, Newton felt that street queens were "dedicated to "staying out of it" as a way of life. "From their perspective, all of respectable society seems square, distant, and hypocritical. From their 'place' at the very bottom of the moral and status structure, they are in a strategic position to experience the numerous discrepancies between the ideals of American culture and the realities." Yet, however withdrawn or strung out they were perceived to be, the street queens were hardly afraid to act. On the contrary, they were regarded by many as the bravest and most combative in the gay world. In the summer of 1966, street queens in San Francisco fought back at Compton's Cafeteria, an all-night venue popular with sex workers and other poor gay people. After management had called the police on a table that was hanging out for hours ordering nothing but coffee, an officer grabbed the arm of one street queen. As the historian Susan Stryker recounts, that queen threw her coffee in the police officer's face, "and a melee erupted." As the queens led the patrons in throwing everything on their tables at the cops-who called for backup-a full-blown riot erupted onto the street. The queens beat the police with their purses "and kicked them with their high-heeled shoes." A similar incident was documented in 1959, when drag queens fought back against the police at Cooper's Donuts in Los Angeles by throwing donuts-and punches. How many more, unrecorded, times street queens fought back is anyone's guess. The most famous event came in 1969, when street queens led the Stonewall rebellion in New York City. Newton shares in Mother Camp that she wasn't surprised to learn it was the street queens who carried Stonewall. "Street fairies," she wrote, "have nothing to lose."

Jules Gill-Peterson, A Short History of Trans Misogyny

[helslastangel]

RANDOM ASTRO OBSERVATIONS #10

Nobody's safe. That's it. That's the disclaimer.

Libra Jupiter in 11th house can indicate having many opportunities in life that come through friendships and connections with others. People with this placement can often get very far in life simply because they talked to the right people at the right times. This is especially true if they also have Libra in their big 3 or Libra mercury.

Capricorn suns with Sagittarius mercury are surprisingly chill compared to the usual stoic reputation of Capricorn and energetic rep that Sagittarius has. My favorite friends and colleagues have this combination of placements and they are quite easy to get along with and fun to be around.

Very much like Virgo suns with Libra mercury, they can appear quiet and reserved at first, but become lively and chatty once they know you and have decided they like you. However unlike Virgo sun/Libra mercury people (who usually censor their words/tone and think out loud or form their opinions by talking through them first), not only are they a lot blunter (or straightforward, when older), they are more sure about where they stand, or certain of what they want to say on a topic before they say it.

Libra Mercury in the 11th house can have a lot of friends or just make and keep acquaintances very easily. These are the people who always "know a guy" or can say "my homegirl does that!" almost no matter what problem or need you have. They just know someone who can fix it. They are popular people, or at least seem that way to others.

They can sometimes appear to have a much larger network of friends and connections than they do, which is why many of them tend to either keep their friend/friend groups separate or may prefer to maintain superficial/lightweight connections with others over deeper and more intimate connections that would reveal more.

Capricorn Venus in 8th house people can go through a lot of one-sided relationships before landing the right person. They are probably the most caring and attentive of all the Venus sigs, but from my observations they are taken advantage of a lot and often treated very poorly by the majority of their partners.

My childhood friend has this placement (as well as a few of my relatives) and for over a decade I watched her pour so much love and care into men who ended up treating her like an afterthought. I never understood why, as she was very much what you'd think most males would consider wifey material.

She cooked, baked, was organized, and very clean. Motherly instincts intact, had a good job in healthcare and her own place. Knew how to kick back and have fun but could also be appropriately authoritative in the sense of managing a household. Like you could just tell she would be a firm yet loving mother, or even if she did not have kids, you could tell she would be the kind of wife where the husband could hand her his entire paycheck if he wanted and not have to worry for a second that she would blow it on anything foolish. Very capable and responsible woman. I used to get so angry at the way men would come into her life and enjoy all the things she would do for them, including having her manage their money. It was a bit surprising for me how quickly and easily men would put their finances in her hands, only for them to abruptly leave - usually for a woman who was chaotic and stressful too. I did not understand it then, and despite hearing all the talk about how men go for who they are passionate about even if they are the least productive, responsible, or capable person ever, I still don't get it now.

Capricorn in the 8th house can lead to a lot of situations where the native ends up handling other people's money because people can sense their stable energy and innate responsibility. But it can lead to the person feeling like they are nothing but a personal assistant or sentient savings account to others, and over time they can become (100% understandably) bitter if they do not meet someone genuine and kind in time to avoid this.

Aquarius in 6th house can have unusual or eccentric daily routines, or little quirks in the way they go about day to day tasks and responsibilities. I knew someone with this placement who could only brush his teeth in the morning and shower at night. He couldn't really bring himself to do it the other way around and would simply not do the thing at all that day if something disrupted that routine. He also had a job where his # of hours was consistent but his actual shift times weren't and he liked it that way "for the variety." He hated the thought of a schedule where he would have to arrive and leave at the same time every day.

Cancer Lilith in 1st house women can often run into situations where men string them along for a very, very long time. These men sense the stereotypical "nurturing/motherly" essence of Cancer but Cancer Lilith women display a unique twist on this essence where it is very clear to onlookers that her individuality and sense of self cannot be watered down or blended out into others.

Cancer Lilith 1H (and to a lesser extent Taurus Lilith 1H) women are the type who can have a husband, kids, work and manage the home without losing a single ounce of who they always were.

From my observations, they usually don't experience the fate many women meet, where they wake up one day and realize that they haven't even heard their first name in weeks because they're only remembered and referred to in terms of who they are to someone else ("Mom," "John's girlfriend," "Mr. Jones' wife").

Unfortunately, this rubs some men the wrong way, who will then subconsciously try to hang on to the parts of the Cancer Lilith women they like, while searching for other women who don't trigger their fear of women who retain their personality after marriage/children.

Gemini Sun Virgo Rising people can appear put-together and organized in public but could have very messy rooms or just have trouble keeping things in order at home.

People with Pisces in their 7th house might feel torn between going after people they are genuinely attracted to and people they perceive to be a better match, for whatever reason. They could also end up confusing the sense of security they feel with someone for love, or feeling more secure with someone than they should because of love.

Gemini Mars in 10th house does not mind going out of their comfort zone to further their career. They may even set aside their own values and morals if they believe that doing something will produce a good return on their investment (of time, effort, money, etc.).

Taurus Mercury in 9th house enjoys talking to people from other cultures about the foods they eat and what their daily routines and special/holiday ritual are like. They enjoy learning about other cultures on a more down-to-earth level, so they might be less interested in other philosophies and more into sensory differences.

Cancer Moon in 11th house identifies VERY strongly with their friend group and can become depressed or ill if there is too much discord between themselves and their friends, or between their friends with each other. They do not take kindly to any kind of abandonment from friends, real or imagined. If they decide you have left them or betrayed them one too many times, they will simply never speak to you again.

Virgo Mars people can be extremely picky when it comes to partners. One of my childhood friends has this placement and despite being a Sagittarius Sun & Mercury (along with having Venus in 9H), she barely has a romantic interest in anyone. She's not aromantic or asexual; she just gets the ick so easily that it is difficult for her to like anyone enough to date them for long. She didn't go into detail most of the time. She was the furthest from the kiss-and-tell kind of person, she would barely tell anyone even the name or age of anyone she was interested in, much less give details about her specific icks.

I tend to attract Virgo Mars people platonically and romantically quite often though, so I have other examples of the same trait.

My ex-husband is a Virgo sun with Virgo Mars and Leo Venus and the smallest things would throw him off. Like if I made scrambled eggs and all the pieces weren't perfectly yellow (if any got slightly browned, he would consider the entire pot as "burnt" and would ruin his day). If I did laundry and did not strictly separate the colors (I will wash black, dark grey, and bold colors clothes together. He will separate them all. I will wash off-white and very light grey or beige with white clothes. He would look at me crazy and ask me to just do a different household chore and leave the laundry to him. Hea

He also apparently got the ick from my frugality? Lol. I had cheap sneakers and dollar-store headphones when we first got together. A few weeks later he asked where I was and I told him I was at the mall with a friend. He showed up and wordlessly gave me brand-new Samsung Galaxy earbuds before driving home lmao. Then a couple weeks after that he bought me new AirMaxes and made it a point to tell me that my existing sneakers were so cheap. And that he got good ones for me in a style that "makes your feet look smaller." I guess my foot size was not to his liking. Lol. I'm almost 6 feet tall and wear size 9.5/10 women's shoes (for males reading this, that is around 8/8.5 in your sizes, so don't start, pls

A previous ex of mine (Cancer Sun) also had Virgo Mars (and Venus) but he had the opposite ick - he didn't like that I always wore nice jeans and blouses even if we were only going to Walmart or his friends' houses. Apparently, it was "off-putting" for him that I was "too fancy, never just dress down and look comfortable, even in the house." I was like... but I am comfortable? And he would be like, "Nah you're so fancy all the time, it's kinda weird, like do you even own any sweatpants? Your hair is never messy? It's like you're never just relaxed."

Um, as a Scorpio Venus/Jupiter, Libra Mercury person, messy hair will never be in the same room as comfortable for me but we are broken up for a reason, LOL.

Yeah Virgo Mars are just really, really picky. Idk how else to put it. They might be bothered by very different things, but they're all bothered in general! Love 'em regardless, they're also attentive and will know what you like and also what you need.

Leo Mars in 2nd house can have a hard time feeling satisfied with what they own or with their level of skill in certain areas. They don't usually express envy outwardly though. They will happily gas up their friends and colleagues, but implode on themselves in private.

They can have frequent pity parties or episodes of extreme self-loathing that only their closest friends or partners ever witness. It can be difficult to pull them out of these moods as they tend to feel like they either don't have enough or are not enough in some way.

Aquarius Eros men and masculine people are often attracted to women and feminine people with strong or eccentric personalities. They lust after the kinds of people who didn't even bother rocking the boat and jumped out to swim upstream and chill somewhere else.

However, unless they have Juno in Aquarius, Aquarius 7H or some other placements that support long-term relationships/marriages/longevity with unusual people or non-traditional elements, they eventually abandon such love interests for someone who fits better into societal expectations. Ask me how I know. :(

[woso-dreamzzz]

Pipsqueak's Halloween

Ellie Carpenter x Daniëlle van de Donk x Child!Reader

Summary: The seventh of my Halloween-centric fics

When Ellie first found out how seriously you and Daan took Halloween, she hadn't expected this.

She'd expected some trick or treating, of course. Maybe some horror movies, child appropriate obviously. There may have been pumpkin carving but Ellie hadn't ever considered she would be sitting in the car by herself.

She drums the side of the steering wheel, eyes narrowed as she leans forward to check through the windscreen.

All the other families she spies aren't you and Daan.

It wouldn't be difficult to spot either of you.

You're both wearing very stupid Teletubby onesies that makes you stick out from a mile away.

But, yet, you're both nowhere to be found until maybe half an hour (and two packets of skittles) later when Ellie spots one red and one green furry onesie come sprinting up the road.

Daan's yelling something that Ellie can't hear, mouth moving.

Ellie frowns, trying to lip read.

You're yelling something too.

You can't quite keep up with Daan's pace, you're still a kid after all, but Daan's half tugging you along, a tight grip on your hand.

In the end, Ellie loses the lip reading battle and just rolls down the window, sticking her head out of it.

"What?!"

"Start the car!"

"What?!"

"Start the car!"

"Huh?"

"The car!" You interrupt, opening Ellie's door and clambering in, climbing over her to go tumbling into the back," Start it!"

Ellie barely has any time to react as Daan also uses her now open door to climb in. She hauls herself over Ellie's body, slamming the door shut at the same time on her way to the front passenger seat.

"Start the car!" You both snap at her as you spy someone else come running down the street towards you.

"Okay, okay," Ellie says," We're going. We're going."

She throws the car in reverse, backing out of her parking spot as the man who ran after you yells and shakes his fist.

"Did-Did you two do something to him?" Ellie asks," He looked pretty angry."

"I don't know," Daan says," Some people just have those kind of faces. It was nothing."

"Really? He was pretty angry."

"Some people just don't know how to take a joke, Ellie," You say from the backseat.

Ellie frowns, angling her rear view mirror to look at you properly.

You've got the same innocent, butter wouldn't melt in your mouth smile that you wore when Ellie found all of her bras hidden under the sofa cushions and her phone chargers in the back of the fridge.

"Alright," She says, slamming on the breaks," What did you two do? Huh? What did you do this time?"

Ellie isn't used to being the voice of reason of the family.

That's normally Daan, which is another surprising thing for people outside of the family to realise. But Daan's been your mother for years now and she's used to all your tricks and even though she can be a bit childish herself, she's still trying to raise you as a functioning member of society.

So, usually, Daan is the voice of reason in the family.

Especially on occasions where she catches you and Ellie attacking each other with Nerf guns in the early hours of the morning.

But there are times, like this one, where Daan's childish side comes out and Ellie comes to the startling realisation that two Van de Donks is maybe two too many.

"Ellie, you're in the middle of the street," You say, still smiling innocently at her," You can't park here."

"There's no cars coming," Ellie says," And stop deflecting. What did you do?"

"Ellie," Daan says, wearing a matching smile," Why do you think we did something?"

"Because men running after you down the street, you demanding I make a break for it, all on Halloween means you were up to something."

You giggle. "You're so silly, Ellie. Turn right here."

"Are you really giving me orders right now?" Ellie deadpans," We're not moving until you tell me what happened."

"That's fine," You say," We can walk."

Ellie switches on the locks.

"We egged his house!" You say instantly and Daan groans.

"You weren't supposed to tell her!"

"You egged his house?!"

"Yes," Daan says," She just told you that."

"You-You can't go egging people's houses! It's wrong! It takes ages to clean up and-and that man had a right to be angry with you!"

From the backseat, you shrug.

"Yeah and people shouldn't be getaway drivers for people who egg other people's houses. I guess we've all been incriminated here."

[genderqueerdykes]

thank you both for this, i was literally in the process of writing a post about this as i saw these.

i came out as bisexual when i was about 19 or 20 years old, in 2011 - 2012. this was such a difficult thing because everyone around me suddenly had very pointed opinions on me. suddenly i wasn't queer anymore, i was a straight person. i asked people why and they said well bisexual people are half straight, which makes you straight, which means gay people don't want to be around you. i was told nobody likes bisexuals because they're too straight to be gay and too gay to be straight

i had a literal personal dilemma because i didn't feel like that at all. when i was realizing i was bisexual i was realizing i was attracted to all genders in a queer way. i did NOT feel like my attraction to men, women or genderqueer people was straight in any way, shape or form. i've always fit in much better in both gay and lesbian circles. those have always been my home, and my community

in the early days of my transition, when "genderqueer" wasn't even remotely heard of, i had to try to transition into being a man to be seen as trans at all. i went from being forced into lesbian spaces to being forced into gay male spaces. nobody let me pick where i was existing. i was being pushed around. i liked both lesbian and gay male spaces, but i was being told when i could and couldn't occupy the spaces. and then when it came out i was bi everyone called me a traitor and said i was a straight person

my best friend at the time came with me to pride meetings and when her mom found out about that, and that i was bi, she told my friend she couldn't come to those pride meetings anymore, and that i was turning her daughter into a lesbian. her mother would not stop calling me a lesbian all throughout my life. from early childhood, she thought me and her daughter were dating because i was butch and she was femme and we were very close. her mom carried this belief into adulthood, asking her outright if we were lovers. her brother thought we were, too, and taunted us about it.

my own mom weaponized lesbianism against me. she hated how butch i was. she hated that i "looked and acted like a lesbian". she called me a butch and a bulldyke hatefully. she told me not to dress or look certain ways or else people would assume i, and her by some proxy, were lesbians. my mom was insanely butch so i don't really know why this was being leveraged against me but either way when i became a young adult and my mom was trying to force me to learn to drive (something i am terrified of doing due to having 2 dissociative disorders), she asked what kind of car i would ideally like. i said a truck. i was standing there in a purple plaid shirt and she just sighed and went "I knew you were a lesbian." she pointed out my shirt. she was weaponizing lesbophobic and butchphobic stereotypes against me, but either way, reinforcing that i was a lesbian in one capacity or another

i got so tired of my friends harassing me for saying that if i was bi that meant i was straight and i needed to stop calling myself gay because i wasn't, and that it was an "insult" to the gay community. note that nobody gave a singular flying fuck about the bisexual community at all. i was literally bullied out of identifying as bi, because my straight cishet male friends hated it, and my lesbian identifying GF was uncomfortable with it because it made me sound too straight.

the thing is, none of these people asked what being bisexual meant to me.

i actually liked the lesbian community a lot. i really love other lesbians. i have always been attracted to lesbian and butch identifying people for as long as i could remember. i loved seeing strong butch women on TV, even if there were rude jokes. i loved the idea of being a masculine person who is sometimes a queer masculine woman. i loved the idea of being with femmes, i loved queer women and people who took femininity to the next level. i also loved seeing gay men when and wherever they existed. i always felt like i fit right in, and like i was seeing a reflection of a part of myself i needed help discovering.

i have almost always, as long as i can remember, identified as a gay man, and a lesbian, at the same time. my attraction to men, women, and people of all genders is queer no matter what gender of mine is involved. it doesn't matter. i have never felt "half gay half straight" which is why people weaponizing heterosexuality against me as a bisexual forced me to strictly identify as a gay man for almost a decade. it was painful to ignore my butch lesbian side, and to stop identifying as gay, because people would criticize how attractive i found women, and other people

if people had let me exist and explain what bisexuality means to me, they could've understood that bisexual is an inherently deeply queer attraction no matter what genders are involved, but NOBODY cares to listen to the bisexual. everyone LOVES to speak for us because we're just "straight people invading the queer community."

we've had it. bisexuals are queer. even if they DO identify as "half straight" they're STILL queer. let bisexuals define bisexuality. there is no one size fits all form of bisexuality. every single bisexual defines it differently and that's the point. it's a very complex identity with many layers that often relate to gender and presentation as well as attraction.

let bisexuals define bisexuality.

[alicentflorent]

The scariest thing about viserys is that he, and men like him, do appear to be harmless on the outside. He’s soft spoken, seems to be a bit clueless and naive, he’s generally nice to people and may even seem like a “family man” but behind closed doors you finally get to see his true colours. He has a violent side but he hides it very well. We don’t see his ugliness very often but when we do his actions are clearly abusive.

Viserys showed aggression multiple times behind closed doors, he was misogynistic in the way he viewed women and yes that includes Rhaenyra who he only really started to indulge to ease his guilt of killing her mother. He used aemma as a broodmare and put her through multiple miscarriages and stillbirths before pregnancy killed her, she was pleading with him not to put her through another pregnancy after this one then when she was dying in childbirth he didn’t even allow her to die with dignity, in the way she wanted to. Publicly, He showed love towards Aemma and cried over her death. He allowed Alicent to have some power by letting her have a seat on the council, only after years of rape and forcing her to become a mother of 4 because he was attracted to her teenage body. Both Rhaenyra and Rhaenys reference Alicent as prisoner of her circumstances in both her early years and late years of marriage. He is shown as a doting father and grandfather to Rhaenyra and her kids but ignores the children he forced Alicent to have. Their son loses an eye and he’s only concerned about “rumours” spread about his grandsons. “Look at me” he screams in the face of 10 year old Aemond who just lost his eye and is in severe pain. Then he moves on to scream in 14 year old aegon’s face. Alicent begs him “please Viserys, he’s your blood” and in this scene it’s important to note that the boys did not incriminate their mother when their father was yelling, trying to incite fear into them, they didn’t want their fathers wrath redirected towards their mother. His favouritism of Rhaenyra overshadows his early treatment of her, ignoring her and underestimating her as a worthy heir until daemon mocked his dead son. He always indulged her and never went back on her being heir. He came off as a loyal, loving father who made his daughter a queen in her own right.

Viserys could have represented a certain type of terrible man, the kind that hides behind his harmless good guy image. The show could have addressed that he is just as bad as his brother daemon but with more self control and enough denial to think of himself as a better man. Deep enough in his own deception to convince us that he was the good brother when he’s just another brand of bad. They could have addressed the damage he did to his wives and children. They could have told the audience that yes you also fell for his act and the deceptive portrayal we gave you because men like viserys will have you fooled in real life. Instead the show, which claimed to be a feminist retelling of martins work made this weak king and horrible man be praised as good husband, father and king. Never allowed his suriviving wife or daughters or even his sons be angry at him or dare to blame him.

[darilarostarg]

day two, creampie + breeding kink

Day Two - Thursday 3rd October - Creampie + Breeding Kink

Pairing: Cregan Stark x female!reader 

Words: 2.2K

Warnings: SMUT, this got a very slow burn vibe for my smut?,  dirty talk, rough-ish sex, implied size difference, breeding kink, creampie, nervous reader, spit, sex w/ a condom

Summary: Day Two of Kinktober - you can view the masterlist here.

This is all odd. Very, very odd. 

If she had to describe their marriage in one word it would be uneventful. Cregan was quiet, a solitary man that didn’t speak much if there was no cause for it. They spend most of the days apart, him carrying out his duties and her doing the same, briefly meeting for lunch at midday, before going their separate ways again. 

He would call her to his rooms two, sometimes three nights a week, quickly get his duty over him before returning to his role as the young, stern Lord of Winterfell. Not that she minded, she was treated better than most of her sisters were by their husbands. He ensured she didn’t want for anything, he was polite when they did speak and he was not aggressive in the marriage bed. Never once had she felt uneasy or frightened in his presence. Until now. 

He had never called on her this late, nor after a feast. He had asserted that after a long night of eating, drinking and entertaining his vassals, bedding would be the last thing she would desire. That was his plan for this evening, once the winter feast was over, he would walk her back to her chamber, kiss her hand and leave. Like they had done, time and time before… but then she picked up the babe. 

Lady Umbers’ latest boy. A squealing, happy little thing that caused her arms to tremble slightly under his weight as she picked him up onto her hip. Cregan hadn’t noticed at first, too engrossed in political talk with Lord Umber himself.  But once Lord Umber excused himself to briefly speak with his wife, Cregan’s eyes following him to where she sat beside the Lady, gently holding his little arms in her soft hands as she blew into his stomach, smiling brightly as the boy wiggles and giggles hysterically in her arms. And for a moment he imagined it was her babe. Their babe. He imagined her sitting at the next feast, proudly showing off her own chubby babe to any Lady that would give their ear to her. He imagined her wrapping them gently in the countless blankets she spent her evenings embroidering. He imagines her swollen belly poking out from under all her pretty dresses and her waddling around the Great Keep. Then his cock twitches violently in his breaches, and he is gripping the table until his knuckles turn white.  

So here she was, standing in just her thin, lacey lilac nightgown, all shy eyed and confused, his grey eyes staring intensely as he sits on the end of the bed, naked chest heaving gently as he tries to maintain his composure. Men have urges, my mother said. Maybe the ale has gotten to him tonight. She shuffles slightly, bare feet cold on the slate floor, jumping slightly, head turning towards the door when the guard that was sent to get her closes it behind him. 

“Take it off.” Her head whips back towards him at a low sound of his voice. He is still sitting at the end of the bed, eyes not moving from her. Her mouth opens a little, as if to speak, before closing again, thinking better of it. She shuffles her weight again, slowly raising her hand to the tie at the front of her dressing down. Her fingers tug on the soft silk of the tie loosening it, the fabric dropping slightly. Just do what he wants, he has been nothing but kind to you. Just do what he wants. Cregan’s eyes are still locked on her, face unmoving and emotionless. Her cheeks flush softly as her hand moves to the strap of her left shoulder, pushing it down her arm, before doing the same to her right, allowing the soft silk that was covering her frame to fall to the floor, puddling at her feet. Cregan’s already painfully hard cock twitches again against his clothing as his eyes fall to her breasts, nipples peeking instantly under the cool air of his chamber. 

“Come here,” He hums, voice rough. She pads gently towards him, slotting herself in between his spread thighs. She looks down, unable to look to his face, swallowing harshly when her eyes spot the straining bulge in his breeches. Gods…

Cregan hands reach out to hold her waist, coarse hands running down to her hips, before ghosting over her flat stomach. He grunts softly as his thumbs run along the smooth skin, hips jutting off the bed a little as he feels her stomach move up and down softly with her nervous breaths. He leans in slowly, softly placing wet kisses where his thumbs just left. He closes his eyes as he thinks about it, her stomach swelling with his seed, getting large and heavy, before letting out a huff and moving away from her, standing up. 

“On the bed,” He says, not unkindly. Her eyes flick up to his face for a moment trying to get a read on what he wants, but she gets nothing. His blank face staring down at her. She looks down again, face flushed and uneasy, soft body brushing past his as she moves towards the head of the bed, to lie her back down, head against the plush pillows, “No. Not like that.” 

She’s not even made it to the end of the bottom of the bed when his voice stops in her tracks. Her head remains in the direction she was walking in, not daring to look back around. The removal of routine has thrown her off. She does not know what to do. She jumps softly when his warm hand incases her elbow, gently pulling her back to the end of the bed, positioning her so close her thighs are pressed up against the mattress. His hand removes itself from her arm, quickly finding its way to her lower back, knuckles running up her spine gently before his hand splays out in the middle of her back and pushes her forward. She moves with his hand, stomach flattening against the cotton sheets, arms flat at her sides, heat rising to her cheeks at the new position. Oh…

Cregan huffs softly as she flattens herself against the bed, using both his hands to direct her to lean on her forearms, propping herself up a little. Once situated,  he moves one hand to her hip, forcing her to stand straight on her feet as the other hand pushes softly down on the centre of her back, causing her back to arch for him. Once his puppeteering was complete, he stood back slightly, admiring his work. Admiring her. Her long smooth legs, the round of her ass, sweet like cunt that he can see has a small, wet sticky spot that is forming. Ready to take him. Take his seed. Desperate to be filled up and swell with his child. His hands move to his breeches, thick fingers clumsily fumbling with the laces, so needing to be in her after hours of picturing it in his head. 

She wiggles her ass softly, not so much out of desire but more out of nervous tension, as she waits for him to do what he has planned. She closes her eyes, expecting the usual. A gentle prod of his fingers on her cunt, testing if it’s warm and ready for him. If it isn’t, he will spend some time playing with her pearl until he unlocks the sweet honey, fingers diving in once produced, gently prepping her for his cock that soon followed. It was the same every time, performed quickly, dutifully and without much fuss. A kiss was placed on her forehead and she was sent back to her chambers, her handmaids cleaned her up and she went to bed. 

She thinks about the routine of it, comforting herself that tonight will be no different. He just wants you in a different position, that's all. The other way has gotten stale. Boring. She is snapped out of her thoughts when something wet hits the top of her cunt. Did he just? Her eyes open wide as she feels his spit drip down between her cunt slowly. Her breath hitches when the head of his cock follows in the opposite direction, catching on her pearl as he runs it along to reach the wetness both provided by both of them. 

“Want to put a babe in you tonight,” His voice murmurs behind her, free hand resting on her hip as he runs his thick cock up and down her cunt. She lets out a breath at his words, pushing her flushed face into the bed as he pushes his head into her hole, a soft squeak leaving her as he pulls it back out again and runs his length along her cunt once again. The hand on her hip slides around to her stomach, pressing his hand against it, whispering as he pushes his length into her completely. “Want to make it swell here with my seed.” 

Cregan’s hips start to roll, with each thrust his cock nearly leaving her before plunging back in, pounding harder and harder, bottoming out each time. After a few moments, once the shock had worn off, a constant string of moans and softly little grunt began to leave her mouth, wide and pressed to the bed leaving a little wet patch of drool beneath her.  Both his hands move to grip her hips, gripping so tight the skin under his fingers begins to lighten. 

“Perfect girl, will let me fill her up with my seed, won’t she?” She immediately clenches tightly around him at his words, never herding such filth leaving him. Her tightening cunt earning her a harsh grunt from his chest, one of his hands moving to her ass cheek, engulfing it as he grips it softly, pulling at the flesh so he can get a better look at himself splitting her open.  “You want that too, don’t you, hm? Want to be full of my seed? Carry my pup?”

“I–,” She cuts herself off with a low moan as his other free hand reaches under her to pinch at once one of her nipples. She can’t form a coherent sentence, only moans and gasps  leaving her mouth, too overwhelmed by all the new simulation and pleasures. His moments slow slightly as he bends over her, head coming down to rest on her shoulder, grunting as he places a wet kiss on her shoulder. 

“Would you like that?” He whispers against her skin, slowly dragging himself in and out of her, as his heavy body pushes down on hers, one hand still playing with her nipple, the other now sliding to her stomach. He holds it flat over the soft skin, imagining how soon it will start to swell and get harder under his touch. He groans lowly. “Would you like me to fuck a babe in you?” Yes, yes, yes, yes….

It was a hypothetical question, they both knew she would be taking his seed either way. Not waiting for a response, he rises from her, his thick fingers shift down from her nipple to rub quick circles on her swollen pearl,  the other gripping her hip. Silky wet walls clamping tightly down on him, tears beginning to fall down her redden cheeks, soft squeaks and moans leaving her dry mouth as his pace picks back up, driving his cock into her with no restraint. 

Then her cunt begins to clamp in quick succession, loud gasps and moans leaving her, pushing herself pack against his cock as her orgasm rips through her entire body, back arching up and her toes curling, fisting the cotton sheets below her so tightly she may rip them. Cregan continues to thrust into her squelching cunt, fucking her through her orgasm, loud groan leaving him as her cunt tries to milk him. 

Once she is done, he slows a little, removing his hand from her pearl, sure he can last a little longer, planning to let her recover a little before taking what he needs. But then he hears her small little voice, desperate and broken, mumbling softly into her sheets below them. 

“Please… please… give me a babe,” 

Before he can even think, Cregan’s balls tighten, a loud string of grunts leaving deep within his chest as he spills his seed inside of her. He continues to thrust softly as he rides out his own high, once hand to soothing stroke her lower back. Finally he stills within her, sighing softly as he pulls his softening cock from her. With their disconnection she goes to crawl forward, in need of the water jug by and bed and rest, but he tightly grips her hip, keeping her in place. 

“Wait.” 

Cregan’s eyes are glued to her sweet little cunt, all swollen and glimmering with her juices, watching as his seed slowly makes its way out, slowly dripping down towards her pearl. He reaches a finger towards her, connecting with the glop of seed before it can drip onto the bed, causing her to jump slightly at the simulation. He collects it on his fingers running it back up her cunt, gently pushing it back into the hole, pumping his fingers in and out slowly. 

“Can’t let it go to waste, can we?” 

Authors Note:

Day two! They will not all be this long, I was hoping to keep most to under 1K, but I simply just got lost with this one and i'm not even sure i like it that much lol.

Coming up next on Saturday; face sitting with the Realms Delight 😈

Taglist: @ilikechocolatemilkh @velathaheigeros @anthonys-viscountess @multiversemayhemme @bobaprint @madalos24 @ohhdearmargot @vastseamind @halloweenmyst @themoonwithprophets @nebulamorada @gojosgoddess @rainydazesublime @supaheroes @piper570 @yn-jackson

My masterlist can be found by click here!

Add yourself to me kinktober only taglist here.

You can add yourself to my general taglist here or ask in the notes!

[seventeenpins]

bad girl

pairing: joel miller x f!reader

word count: 4.1k

summary: you're staying in your hometown for a couple of months with your mom and relatively new stepdad. he walks in on you masturbating, and is surprised at the sort of porn you've been watching. no outbreak. very smutty. 18+

warnings: ooh god where to begin??, reader is kind of a detached menace but in a fun way?, masturbation, porn watching, infidelity, choking, pussy slapping, pussy eating, unsafe piv, dirty talk, big dick, daddy kink, bit of breeding kink, age difference (unspecified, but reader is late 20s, joel mid-40s or whatever you like really), begging, slight dom/sub vibes, readers mum is a ho, somewhat degrading language (probably other warnings????)

a/n: honestly don't know what happened here. one minute i was working on what i intended to be a lil daddy kink drabble and then it turned into a whole other beast. also--i'm a recently out nb person but feel most of my writing has focused on fem readers. any nbs out there who'd want smut more tailored to us??? doesn't come up in this fic, but in my heart joel miller is bisexual and would make for some gr8 gender play ahhhh

you had only met your stepdad twice before he married your mom, and only a couple of times since, and you could never quite get a read on him. he seemed quiet and gruff. upsettingly hot with his salt and pepper hair, and his biceps, and his little bit of tummy, but seemingly entirely unattainable (how your mom pulled him, you'll never know). your mom didn't have the greatest track record as far as not cheating on her husbands, and you didn't know how much or how little he knew about her past, but you were incredibly curious how long this one'd last.

he's polite. enigmatic. a man of few words. he had two kids, who you hadn't actually met yet, but they were a few years younger than you and away at college--one daughter from a previous marriage, the other adopted when he was a single dad.

you'd only been staying here for a couple of weeks, usually only home for two months out of the year to do some freelance work and catch up with friends, but since your mom got remarried (again) you're adjusting to the new dynamic. you didn't have the best relationship with your mom, but you didn't argue. didn't fight. didn't have enough interest or passion to try and make her angry. you had a mutual understanding--you'd stay here for a couple months of the year, rent-free, and you wouldn't get into it with her about how her four husbands and a dozen boyfriends in between them in the nearly thirty years you'd been alive had simply made you impassive towards most men, knowing they'd never be able to stick around, and instead you took what you wanted and then ditched them before they could ditch you. to say you had daddy issues was just the tip of the iceberg.

there's only been one family dinner night since you've been back, but calling it awkward was an understatement. you were sat in almost total silence, as your mom scrolls on her phone and joel scoops up some mashed potatoes and slaps them onto his plate.

"so, uh-," he begins, clearly not sure how to start a conversation, "how's your work been going? guessing it's pretty slow these months since you're able to take the time away? your freelance stuff going well?"

"sure," you agree, "it does get slow this time of year. freelance has been good. got a couple of projects i'm enjoying working on."

there's another silence.

"your momma said you'd been dating someone you met at your work? how's that been going?"

you laughed, thinking back to one of the only guys you'd mentioned to your mother, less out of a closeness to him and more because you wanted your mom to get off your case, "honestly, that ended a while ago. he was a pretty terrible lay."

joel clearly wasn't expecting that, and you smirked at him as he choked on the beer he was sipping, coughing and trying to cover up any spittle. your mom gently pats him on the back, still staring at her phone, not even listening. typical.

not sure how to follow this up, joel just shrugs and puts on a stoic face. "sorry to hear about that, sweetheart. what a shame."

you'd be lying if you said that didn't make your heart flutter just a little.

you've attuned to the general framework of home again. you've noticed a few other things, too. first, your stepdad seems to be taking a whole lot of evening shifts. second, your mom seems to be out when he's out, too, but always manages to slip in just before he gets home. finally, if there's one thing you know about joel, it's that if he's working an evening shift, you can pretty much guarantee that he's gonna be at least an hour later coming home than he says he'll be. more often than not, two. you've been here for sixteen days, and in the eleven days he's worked late, he's been late late. and this morning, joel said he wouldn't be home till at least 9pm.

it's only 5pm, so you think absolutely nothing of it when you pull up your favorite porn site, careless about keeping your bedroom door closed.

sometimes it takes you a long time to decide on what porn to watch. sometimes you want the release, and just need something that'll get you there quick. and then there are some days where you know exactly what you want. you know exactly how you want it, and you know just where to find it.

you've got an incognito browser up as you scroll through the page till you find the section you're looking for. click open a couple of videos in separate tabs. skip the ads.

place the laptop beside you, choose one to start with, and watch as the scene unfolds.

you need this. it's only been a couple of weeks since you've gotten laid, but you and your most recent fuck buddy have more or less broken up and you are extraordinarily horny, with no outlet besides your hand (and, technically, your trusty magic wand, but you forgot to bring your charging cable and she's only got so much life in her).

you focus on the scene, slowly dragging your fingers along your pussy lips, your other hand pinching and twisting at a nipple. you listen to the moans on screen as you tease yourself, dipping a finger into your tight, wet heat, and then adding another. the friction begins to build, and the pressure you're putting on your clit is just right.

"fuck", you let out a breathless moan as you start finger fucking yourself in earnest. your hips are stuttering and you feel it building so deliciously and you absolutely don't hear the knock on your door and the slight clear of a throat.

and then you register it, a couple of moments later.

you look up from your laptop screen and towards your door and you see your stepdad, cup of coffee in hand, and he's staring at you with an expression you can't parse, one eyebrow raised.

you buffer, taking a moment more for you to react to him, and you manage it in the worst possible way.

"fuck!!" you shout, slamming the laptop shut and practically flinging it away from you, pulling your hand from under the sheets and not-so-subtly wiping your slick on your duvet, and pulling your top back down over your tits. it's all done in a split second, and it was neither low-key nor quiet. you know your face is growing more flushed by the moment, and you can swear joel is actually smirking.

you stare each other down before you finally speak, "what are you doing home so early?"

"i live here," joel shrugs, takes a sip of the coffee, and then realises he might sound like a bit of a dick. "just- uh. just found out some... shitty news. decided to take the day off."

you almost forget the situation, quick to voice your worry--"are you okay joel? what's going on?"

he snorts. opens his mouth and closes it, as if he's decided better of it, and then opens it again. "just found out your mom's been stepping out on me. well. thought it was true for a while, but my brother just saw her with some guy. guess that's all the confirmation i need." he laughs, wryly, and his smile is dangerous.

"well shit," you say. it doesn't surprise you in the least, but you're not sure if it'd be better or worse to acknowledge that, and then you immediately remember your newest stepfather just caught you masturbating and you're deeply self conscious again.

"i'm really sorry, joel, but you've clearly-" you clear your throat, "caught me at a bad time. is there something i can help you with?"

he looks you up and down for a moment, and you can swear he's looking at your mouth for a second longer than you'd expect.

"well," he says, "i'd come up to see if you wanted anything for dinner. i was gonna order takeout."

there's a long pause.

"but now i'm curious about what i interrupted."

your eyes widen.

"let me see your computer. i wanna know what you were watching that you're so embarrassed of."

you immediately grab your laptop close to you and shake your head. this is something joel cannot see. "absolutely fuckin not," you tell him, and his smile gets sharper.

"i wasn't askin', sweetheart."

there's something dangerous about him now, and even though it frightens you, it's somehow exciting, too. commanding. persuasive.

he puts his mug down, and you barely think about what you're doing when you hand him the laptop, type in the password, and turn it around towards him.

you can't bare to look at the screen at the same time as him. it's fucked up and weird and he'd have every reason to avoid you forever after this, but there's a small (but persuasive) part of you that's telling you that this is a line he's willingly crossing, and there's a charge beneath it, and maybe you could get from him exactly what you want.

you study his face as he scrolls down the page. you hear him click, but no sound starts playing--he must be looking at the other tabs.

his eyes widen, and you can hear your heartbeat pounding as you watch his face.

you want him to say something. you need him to say something.

he hits play on one of the videos and the room is immediately fills with the sounds of slick flesh and moans and cries of "oh, daddy, oh daddy please--"

it's only then that he looks at you.

"well aren't you a filthy girl, hmm?" joel ridicules, "and don't think i don't notice the trend with these little videos of yours."

it's humiliating. you almost expect to die out of embarrassment right on the spot.

"look at some of these titles," joel continues, "stepdaughter gets fingerfucked by stepdaddy, stepdaughter's pussy pumped with daddy's cum ASMR, jesus christ girl-" he laughs, incredulous, "letting my stepdaddy breed my little hole".

joel's staring you down and you still haven't said anything, and that just won't do.

"these the usual kinda thing you like to touch yourself to? or is this a new subject now that you're home, spending time around your stepdaddy?"

"i-" you start, "i don't know, i-"

it's not an act, you're pretty fuckin frazzled, practically cocooning yourself in your covers and you shrink back in shame, and this seems to amuse joel to no end

"how's this, sweet girl," he says, and you realise he's been getting closer and closer to you and now he's seated only inches from your bare legs and pussy, still covered up with your blankets, "you tell me to stop, and i'll leave this room right now and close the door and we can pretend i never saw anything here-"

"no!" you cry out, and then slap a hand over your mouth, eyes wide at yourself while joel starts to chuckle.

"or," he continues, "you can let your stepdaddy make you feel real good."

"yes-" you cry, and not a moment later, the blankets are being pulled back and he's stroking two thick fingers along your cunt.

"there's a good girl," he says, and actually groans as he dips into you, collecting your slick, "so fucking wet for me. it is me you've been thinking about, ain't it?" he asks.

"yes joel," you say, because it's the fucking truth. you've been thinking about him nonstop for a while now, thinking about how his muscled arms look in those stupid threadbare t-shirts, thinking about the sigh he makes when he's had his first sip of a cold beer, thinking about the silver of his hair, the brown of his eyes, and the mere idea of what his cock might taste like. "i've wanted you to fuck me since i first met you."

he lets out a fuckin growl and presses his fingers into you. "such a cute little pussy, already dripping for me, huh?" he moans, and it's two digits pressing into you, but you've been working yourself up for a little while now and you're already swollen and wet and they slip right in. he finger fucks you for a moment before turning back to the laptop.

"which one's your favorite?" he nods at your screen, "which one do you watch and wish it was happening to you?"

you swallow and click back to another tab.

"letting my stepdaddy breed my little hole?", he snorts, "you really are a dirty girl, aren't you? get up off the bed." he commands.

you obey, standing up and kicking off the panties still around your ankles.

"and take that top off," he commands, and you do, pulling your top up over your tits and melting at the sound of his groan at seeing you bare for him.

he sits down on the bed with his legs spread, jeans still on. "you come sit here by daddy's lap," he says, and you do, sitting in between his thighs, inching back ever so slightly until you could feel his hard cock straining against his pants.

he runs his fingertips down your body, down your breasts and torso, dipping into your bellybutton, before drawing little circles on your hips.

'hit play," he says, and you grab the laptop next to you and resume the video.

he copies the video, rubbing one hand along your pussy and the other holding your thighs open.

"that's it," he coaxes, "keep those legs open for me, yeah?"

you're about to agree, when he starts stroking little circles around your already stimulated clit and the ability to speak leaves you. all you can do is focus on trying to keep your legs open, but your thighs are already almost quivering and he only chuckles.

"barely even touched you and you're already stupid."

you tried to nod and let out a sad whimper, tipping your head back and resting on his shoulder. he keeps his thumb pressed on your clit while he pumps his middle and index fingers in and out of you. it's so wonderfully, deliciously wrong. it feels addictive.

"you're doing so good, sweetheart, fucking on daddy's fingers like that," he praises, and it sends another spark of electricity building in your centre. encouraged, you start rocking your hips towards him, meeting each thrust of his fingers. "ready for another one?" he asks, and you nod vigorously.

he takes a moment to hold open your pussy and lean over you to look at it, stroking his fingertips along the outer lips, gathering some of your arousal, and prodding back your hood to get a little direct contact with your clit that leaves you writhing and gasping. he's smirking again, and presses a third finger into you. he curls them upwards, fucking the digits into you so nicely, and you enjoy the sensation as your arousal builds and builds and builds and-- as you come, you white out for just a moment, and as you come back into reality you can hear him speaking to you, "oh you're clenching so tight on my fingers, messy girl, look how you're dripping so nice down my fuckin' wrist. you're a nasty little slut, just like your momma huh? but i know you're gonna be a good girl for daddy, ain't ya?"

you continue to grind on his hand as his fingers stay buried in you, as you ride out the rest of your orgasm. only when you still does joel pull his fingers out of you.

as if hypnotised, he examines the arousal coating them. then, quick as anything, he pops his fingers in his mouth and sucks off your slick, immediately looking sheepish as though this was the only line he'd just crossed.

as quickly as he had become shy, he switched back to overt confidence. "y'just taste so good, sweetheart," he says, and then starts stroking your pussy again. "you're gonna let me have a proper taste, aren't you honey?"

you nod helplessly. it's so fucking good, it's too fucking good.

he scoots out from behind you and you buckle a little, toppling back onto the space he left. he's in front of you now and presses your thighs apart again, dropping to his knees on front of the bed's edge. he runs his tongue up your inner thigh, chuckling at your whimpers as he bites and nips at the sensitive skin. he takes a tentative lick, drawing his tongue towards your clit, circling it gently, and then dipping back before pulling off you for a moment.

"y'taste so fucking nice," he breathes, and his exhale on your slick pussy is exquisite. "i could just drink you up."

he presses the hood of your clit back once more, leaving his thumb there, applying perfect pressure as he flicks his tongue directly on that bundle of nerve endings and you feel like you're on fire.

"fuck, joel, yes-" you cry out, but he pulls back and shushes you.

"shhh," he says, "you don't call me joel right now, baby."

"i don't-?" you say, taken aback by the sudden lack of contact. then it clicks. "daddy-"

he smirks, "that's a good girl, sweetheart. wasn't too hard, now, was it?"

"no, daddy," you agree, and he's already diving back in, pressing his tongue into you in long strokes, letting you grind against his nose, his lips, the scratch of his cheeks, every movement he's making is so fucking perfect.

as he devours you, he presses his fingers into you again, and then you can't help yourself. you rut up on him, totally unable to practice anything resembling self restraint. in between strokes of his tongue, he pulls back and tells you, "i'm gonna need at least one more from you, baby, before you even get to think about sitting on this cock."

you let out a crazed whine, feeling joel's chuckle as he dives back in, eating your pussy like he was made to do only that.

he continues to build you up and up and without warning, you reach your peak again and come all over his face, your wet pussy drenching him and he closes his eyes and eats you through it like a man starved.

"fuck, baby," he says, "you taste so damn good, i could do that all day long."

you're splayed out, totally bare, the slick on your thighs cooling with the lack of contact. joel's looking you up and down, admiring your flushed body as he starts to undo his belt and drop his pants, your stomach flipping at the soft thunk of his belt hitting the floor.

you could feel, through his jeans, that his cock wasn't small, but you sure as fuck didn't anticipate just how thick and heavy it would hang between his wonderfully muscled thighs.

"you'd better get over here and fuck me, old man," you tease, and he snorts, before pulling you towards him by your ankles and landing a smack on your bare pussy.

"watch your manners, girl," he sneers.

"fuck!" you cry as you ride out the sensation, and he moves to slap you again, but your thighs are so slick his hand slips when he makes contact and accidentally presses you just right on your overstimulated clit, and to the surprise of both of you, you come again instantly.

he watches you, wide eyed, as you scream and your pussy clenches around nothing.

"you're just too easy, sweetheart," he laughs, "can't believe that little boyfriend of yours was such a bad lay when you're so goddamn easy. barely have to touch you and you're coming again and again for me."

"he'd just put it in, give it a couple thrusts, groan, and roll over," you snorted, loving the way joel's jaw clenches at your words, "besides, i prefer an older man."

"that's a damn shame, honey," he growls, "but i'm sure we can get ya taken care of."

you both realise at the same time that the video is still playing, as some particularly loud moans come through the speaker. you look over, and you swear you can see joel's eyes dilate as he watches.

that's a good girl, the man in the video croons, taking all of daddy's dick. wanna breed you full of me, fill you full of daddy's cum, you'd like that, huh?

you swallow and look back at joel. he looks ravenous.

"you love watching such dirty shit, don't you, baby?" joel asks, and starts teasingly rubbing your swollen clit again with his forefinger.

"yes daddy, please-" you agree, trying to chase the sensation, "please, i need your cock daddy, fill me up just like that-"

he lines himself up, notching the head of his thick cock at your entrance, and you're practically vibrating with need. it's not a want, it really is a need, if you don't have his cock right now you're probably gonna die and you need it you need it you need it so fucking badly

he laughs, and you realise you said all of that aloud, but you don't even have the capacity to feel truly shameful right now, you just need to feel him.

"c'mon, jo- daddy," you whine, "gotta feel you-"

"uh-uh, sweet thing," he chides, "i think you need to beg for it. you've got no manners, and knowing it's your momma who raised you it's pretty clear why, but you need to learn how to be a good girl. daddy's gonna teach you how to behave right here and now. got it?"

you let out a sharp exhale. "yes daddy."

"now beg."

two words shouldn't have such an ability to wreck you, but they do, and before you know it, you're rubbing your drooling pussy up against his cock head, rutting against him, begging and pleading-

"please, daddy, please fuck this wet pussy, you know how wrecked you've made me, turned me on so good, made me drip for you, made me come again and again on your fingers, i just wanna make you feel good, wanna take that cock, take everything you have to give, fuck me hard and fast and please, daddy, please--"

he cups your chin for just a moment, stroking a thumb along your jawline.

"that's better," he soothes, "what a good girl," and then he's slamming into you.

good fucking god he's huge, and you can swear you can feel every ridge, every vein, the swell of his shaft, the notch of his head, he's stretching you out deliciously.

you tilt your head back, leaving your throat bare, and let out a rough plea of, "choke me, daddy," and he doesn't need to be told twice, wrapping his hand around your neck and putting pressure in exactly the right spot. you can already feel the haziness building, and his thrusts keep coming fast and deep and you can feel the head of his cock brushing against your cervix.

"jesus christ, girl," he whines, and his thrusts start to falter a little, "you're gonna be the death of me. letting daddy use this nice little pussy just so he can feel good-"

his words begin to tip you over, and you know what you want-

"come inside me, daddy," you choke through the pressure around your throat, "fill me up, make yourself feel good, give it all to me-"

that does him in, and he lets out a strangled moan, coming inside you right as you come one last time, walls clenching tightly around his throbbing cock.

he releases your throat, and you both lay there for a minute, both totally fucked out.

after a minute, joel gingerly pulls out of you and lets out a weary groan.

"gonna be the death of me, woman," he snorts, and walks to your bathroom to clean himself up. he comes back a minute later with a cloth. you're expecting him to wipe you up, but first, he takes a moment to examine the cum that's dripping out of you.

"look so pretty like this, sweetheart," he smiles, presses his cum back into you, and then wipes down your slick thighs with the cloth.

"shit, joel-" you say, "who'd have thought you had that in you, old man?"

he rolls his eyes but he's still smiling, and then you sit together for a minute in comfortable silence. joel stands up after a while and grabs his coffee mug. takes a sip that you know must be cold by now, but he seems unbothered.

before he can leave, you stop him. "so-" you ask, "is this a one time thing, or?"

he shrugs, seemingly indifferent. "no reason i need to let your momma know what i know yet. and i reckon there's a lot more fun we can have before that happens."

you let out a breath you didn't know you were holding, and your shoulders relax.

"good." you say, and joel smiles.

"good," he repeats. "now, i know i've worked up quite an appetite and i'm guessing you might have, too. you pick the takeout, i'll go pick it up."

"thanks, joel." you smile, and you're already thinking of the next time as you scroll takeout options on your phone.

that's it. you're fucking addicted, and goddamn you can't wait for your next hit.