#in my whole adult life I have only ONCE for like a year-and-a-half

[weswardstars]

whelp, turns out the really insulting low-ball counter-offer pay I got from HR last week was actually from my boss and his boss (the one who asks for loads of extra projects from me) and... like I know that whole "your job won't love you," and all that, but still... that fucking hurt to hear...

[aletterinthenameofsanity]

Y'know, there's this gripe I've had for years that really frustrates me, and it has to do with Love, Simon and people joking about it and calling it too-pg and designed-for-straight-people and all the like. (A similar thing has happened to Heartstopper, but that's another conversation.)

I saw Love, Simon in theaters when it came out my senior year in high school. I saw it three times, once with my friends/parents on opening night, once with my brother over spring break, and once with my grandparents.

On opening night, the air in the room was electric. It was palpable. Half the heads in there were dyed various colors. Queer kids were holding hands. We were all crying and laughing and cheering as a group. My friends grabbed my hands at the part where Simon was outed and didn't let go until his parents were saying that they accepted him. My friend came out to me as non-binary. Another person in our group admitted that she had feelings for girls. It was incredible. I left shaking. This was the first mainstream queer romance movie that had ever been produced by one of the main five studios, and I know that sounds like another "first queer character from Disney" bit but you have to understand that even in 2018 this was groundbreaking. Getting to have a sweet queer rom-com where the main character was told that he got "to breathe now" after coming out meant so much to me and my friends.

But also, from a designed-for-straight-people POV (which, to be frank, it was written by a bisexual author and directed by a gay man, this was not designed for straight audiences), why is it a bad thing that it appealed to the widest possible audience? That it could make my parents and grandparents see things in a new light? My stepdad wasn't at all interested in rom-coms but he saw it with me because it was something I cared about and he hugged me when we came out of the theater. My very Catholic grandparents watched it with me and though my grandpa said he still didn't quite understand the whole 'gay thing,' all he wanted was for me to be happy and to have a happy ending like Simon did. My Nana actually cried when Simon came out and squeeze my hand when his mother told him he could breathe.

And when Martin blackmailed Simon, my mom, badass ally that she is, literally hissed "Dropkick him. Dropkick him in the balls" leading to multiple queer kids in the audience to laugh or smile. Having my parents there- the only parents, by the way, out of my group of queer and questioning friends- made multiple people realize that supportive adults were out there. That parents like those in Love, Simon do exist in real life.

When people complain about Heartstopper not being realistic or Love, Simon being too cutesy, I remember seeing Love, Simon on opening night. I remember my friend coming out and my stepdad hugging me and my mom defending us through this character. I remember the cheers that went through the audience when Bram and Simon kissed and the chatter in the foyer after the movie was over and the way that this movie made me understand that happy endings do exist.

Queer kids need happy endings. Straight people need entry points to becoming allies. Both of these things can come together in beautiful ways. They can find out about more queer culture later, but for now, let them have this. Let them all have a glimpse at a better, happier world. Let them have queer joy.

[joelscruff]

feelings on fire (joel miller x f!reader) 18+ PART ONE

"trying to play it coy, trying to make it disappear"

⚠️ new series alert! ⚠️ and also my 1k follower celebration!!! (altho it might as well be the 2k celebration now considering how fast my following has grown. thank you ;-;) i polled my followers a little while ago to choose between 3 different fic premises and this one was the winner! it was originally meant to be a stand alone but i'm actually more interested in making it a brand new series, so i hope you guys enjoy! i'm not exactly sure how many parts this will be yet, i'll let you know when i do. title and lyrics are from 'bad liar' by selena gomez.

summary: you're back from college for the summer, staying with your devout catholic parents in your childhood home while they order you around and try to keep authority over you. as an act of rebellion you ask your new neighbor mr. miller to teach you how to play guitar, but it turns out there's a lot more he wants to teach you. (no outbreak, no use of y/n) rating: 18+ explicit (minors, do not interact) warnings: (for this fic in general) age difference (reader is in her 20s, joel in his 50s), innocent/inexperienced reader, dirty old man joel, corruption (but it's consensual), praise kink, dirty talk, general smut, mentions of religion (reader's family are very catholic) -- (for this chapter) wet dreams, mentions of masturbation. word count: 5k ao3

The sun is warm and pleasant on your bare skin as you lay out in the freshly mown grass of your backyard, absorbing the heat and smiling languidly despite the humidity. You're grateful for your family's wealth on days like today, knowing that at any moment you could take a few steps and dive headfirst into the cool water of your pool, fresh and inviting. It's been about a month since you returned and you've spent almost every day outside among the green grass, the chlorinated water, the burning Texas sun. It's been heaven.

The backdoor suddenly swings open and your father's voice booms out into the backyard, "Family meeting," he states, loud and serious, "Five minutes."

Or hell.

With a groan you slowly sit up, hands digging into the thin towel laid out beneath you. You know better than to ignore an order like that. Being back from college for the summer has certainly had it's perks; no annoying roommates, no loud parties, a large backyard and pool to yourself, but having to deal with your parents again certainly isn't one of them. You'd thought coming back after three years might have softened them a bit, lowered their guard, made them less strict. Instead, it's almost had the opposite effect.

You slide into your flip flops and walk begrudgingly inside the house, making note of your mother standing anxiously by the stove with her arms crossed. What's the issue now? At least once a week your father calls these "family meetings", which always pertain to you and only you, seeing as you're their only child. Last week they'd spent half an hour berating you about forgetting to put the garbage out, the week before they'd tried to explain the importance of an early bed time to you, like you were seven.

You're a grown woman, a full fledged adult. Sure, you're only twenty one, you're unemployed, you're currently in the process of obtaining an arts degree that probably won't secure you anything tangible in the real world, but you're an adult nonetheless. You only have one year left of school before you can leave all this behind and start fresh somewhere else. You'd thought coming back home for one more summer would bring nostalgia and happiness, a few months of normality before life exploded in front of you.

Turns out your parents had pictured something different.

Your father gestures toward the kitchen table, urging for you to sit. You hate when they do this, make you feel small and childish while they both stand above you and reiterate rules they've had your whole life, rules that apparently you'll never grow out of. You wonder what rule you've broken now.

"We've noticed that you barely leave the house," your father begins, voice deep and authoritative, "We were under the impression that when you came home you'd be spending time with old friends, doing some volunteering again."

"Going to church," your mother adds beside him, a frown permanently etched on her face, "You've only gone twice since you've been here."

Call the cops, you think to yourself, forcibly holding back an eyeroll. Ironically your father is a police officer, and you highly doubt he'd ever come if you called.

"Instead, you just spend all your time in that backyard," he continues, nodding along with your mother, "We didn't invite you back to simply laze around all summer, there have been clear expectations you're not meeting."

You take a deep breath, feeling a hint of anger and stubbornness burning in the pit of your stomach. You shove it down, back to that secret hiding place you've cultivated throughout all these years of having to deal with them.

"I'm sorry, dad," you say, trying to sound as earnest as possible as you look to him and then your mother, "Sorry, mom."

"Sorry doesn't cut it, we need to see action," your father replies quickly, brow furrowed, "No more lounging around in the backyard on weekdays, that's a weekend activity from now on, we clear?"

You nod, "Clear."

"We want you to get involved in something," your mom takes a step forward, places her hand awkwardly on your shoulder, "Why don't you call Bethany? She's always looking for more helpers at Sunday School, or maybe Alice? I hear she's been volunteering at the soup kitchen for the summer."

You haven't spoken to either Bethany or Alice since you left for university three years ago. The thought of calling them, let alone having to work with them in either setting, makes you feel ill. You nod again, pretending to agree.

"That sounds good, I'll call them tomorrow morning," Both of your parents smile, appeased, "I think I'll go for a walk now, if that's okay. Clear my head, think about things I can do to improve."

"That's the spirit," your dad says, wrapping an arm around your mother, "Remember, be back before dinner or the door will be locked."

"I know," you nod, forcing a smile, "I won't forget."

--

Well, that's it, then. You'll have to leave.

It sounds dramatic to say that your parents telling you to get off your ass is enough to send you packing, but it goes so much deeper than that. You've spent your entire life doing everything these people say, nodding and smiling when you're meant to, apologizing for everything, doing anything you can to appease and impress them. You'd spent your high school years in youth choir, church group, organizing fundraisers, studying your ass off, tutoring, joining as many extracurriculars as possible until you had no free time. And even then, nothing ever seemed to be enough for them.

When you'd left for college they'd both cried at the airport, held you in their arms and told you with sincerity that they'd miss you so much. Your mother had kissed your face and held your hands and your father had hugged you for the first time since you were eleven years old. And because of their sudden burst of emotions, of affection, you'd actually missed them once you left. You remember you'd cried on the plane, scrolling through pictures of them on your phone until the battery died, thinking to yourself that maybe they weren't the horrible, authoritarian people you thought they were.

They called you once a week while you were at college, asking for updates, telling you they missed you, giving you neighborhood gossip that made you laugh and feel nostalgic for home. Being away from them, it was like they suddenly became two entirely new people, bonded together by their suddenly empty nest and seemingly trying to do right by you now, even if it felt a little too late. You'd thought about coming home a few times for a visit, but the memories that triggered the anger in the pit of your stomach kept you from doing so. You'd kept them at arm's length until you felt ready to come back.

And now you're back, and nothing has changed. They're the same people they always were, expecting too much of you, thinking they can control you, never quite believing that you're trying your best. You'd told them before you came that you just wanted to relax this summer, spend some time at home, maybe meet up with some old friends - keyword being maybe - and they'd seemed totally on board with the idea. There had been no mentions of keeping busy, no mentions of Sunday School or soup kitchens or rules. Then you'd arrived and realized how stupid you'd been to believe that they could ever change.

Your entire life you've been their perfect girl, their A+ student who volunteered and read bible verses and tutored the neighborhood kids, sacrificed your happiness more times than you can count for the sake of keeping them satisfied. But that's the thing: they're not satisfied, and they never will be.

Your flip flops smack against the concrete of your suburban street, sun beginning to set in the distance as you think about how exactly you're going to escape this hell. Yeah, you could just walk out the front door without a word, but it's not like you have anywhere to go or the money to do it. You have your plane ticket for your return flight back to school, but it's not 'til September and it's under your father's name. Your family might be wealthy but none of that wealth has ever gone directly into your pocket, and you doubt it ever will if you just bail on them in the middle of the night with no warning.

Your thoughts scatter when you hear someone call out your name nearby. Your head swivels and you see one of your neighbors, Mrs. Lillard, waving from her front porch. You wave back, give her a small smile.

"How's college treatin' ya?" she calls to you, taking a sip from a bottle of beer, "Got a boyfriend?"

Your cheeks warm immediately and shake your head, "Not yet!" you call back.

"I bet you're battin' 'em all away," her voice is slurred and you're sure that's probably not her first beer of the day, "Nobody's good enough for ya, huh?"

"I guess," you say awkwardly, continuing to walk and hoping she won't ask you to join her for a beer, "How's your husband?"

"Pain in my ass," she responds with a grunt and takes another swig, "Bet you can't wait to have your own white picket fence, perfect as you are."

Her words make you uncomfortable but you just give her your signature fake laugh and flip your hair, waving again, "Bye, Mrs. Lillard."

Your face falls as soon as you turn around, anger burning again. You've spent so much of your life being the picture perfect little suburban girl, doing everything your parents say, saying your prayers and reading to the elderly, killing yourself to get straight A's and only speaking when spoken to. Your reputation is widely known around the neighborhood; the sweet little girl, the pure and innocent God fearing angel. You've portrayed yourself as that girl for so long that you almost don't know which part of you is real anymore.

You keep walking down the street, eyeing the sunset as you go and wondering what would happen if you just didn't go back home tonight. As your father had said, he locks the door every night after dinner; you don't have a key, you've never had a key. You're only allowed into your house on the basis of trust and good merit. If you just refused to go back tonight, how would they react? The thought of doing something like that sends a warm flush of rebellion across your skin, eyes bright with intrigue. But where would you go?

You turn the corner and your nose is suddenly hit with the delectable scent of a barbecue, smokey and delicious. You slow a bit, closing your eyes and breathing in the warm air, stomach growling. You suddenly realize that if you don't go home tonight you'll also miss dinner. Another rule broken. You keep walking, trying to follow the scent like some kind of bloodhound. Maybe you know whoever's cooking and they'll invite you to eat with them.

A few houses down you start to hear the sound of music. There must be a party going on, a birthday or some other special occasion. It's only as you get closer to the sound that you realize it's not being played from a speaker or stereo, but from someone's front porch; a real guitar, live and acoustic.

You approach the house in question and see a man sitting on his front step, guitar in hand as he strums a steady tune. He's looking down, watching his fingers, monitoring his movements, but you see dark brown curls with hints of grey peppered throughout, a stubbled jaw line and curved nose. You slow your speed, furrowing your brow as you try to place him. You're not sure you've ever seen him before.

His music is calm and inviting, a plucky sounding tune that seems vaguely familiar. You're suddenly filled with intrigue, trying to place the song and slowing to a complete stop in front of the house without meaning to. You watch the man's callused fingers pick away at the strings, fast and professional, like he's been doing this for years. He probably has.

You're still trying to place the song, biting your lip and swiping through songs in your mind like an invisible rolodex. Johnny Cash? Bob Dylan? It sounds like one of those songs your parents would forbid you to listen to as a kid, the ones with devil worship in their lyrics, sung by bad men who didn't believe in God. You'd always questioned this logic, wondered how songs about living out in the country or falling in love could be inherently against your religion. They didn't even listen to it, just blindly told you it was against the rules.

Suddenly the man stops playing and you realize the song has come to an end. He looks up then, notices you standing there at the end of his walk with your furrowed brow and flip flops. His eyes are brown, expression startled at first but then fading into something softer as he gives you a small smile.

"Been there long?" he asks, voice crackling slightly, like he hasn't spoken much today.

You shake your head quickly, "I'm sorry, I heard you playing and I-"

"S'alright," he replies strumming his guitar absentmindedly and giving you a shrug, "I don't mind an audience."

He's southern, definitely a Texan, but you're sure you've never met him before. His face and voice are unfamiliar to you, but certainly not unwelcome. He's older, probably in his 40s or even 50s, but he's handsome and slightly boyish in a way despite his greying hair and freckled skin. He reminds you of one of those men on album covers your father had slammed down one day in the record store when you were nine, yelled at you in front of everyone that the men who made that music were filthy sinners. It hadn't stopped you from listening to them, though, curiosity getting the better of you.

Is that who you're looking at now? A filthy sinner?

"You okay?" he asks slowly, tilting his head. You realize you're just staring at him, gathering your thoughts.

You shake your head again quickly, feeling yourself blush under his gaze, "Sorry," you repeat, "I'm uh, I was just passing by and I heard you playing that song. It sounded really familiar."

He gives you a crooked smile and a nod, "Tangled Up in Blue, Bob Dylan."

"I knew it was Bob Dylan," you say, a satisfied smile spreading across your face. That song was from one of the albums you'd listened to in secret, one of the only times you'd had to delete your browser history. You feel pride swell in your chest at the smile you elicit from the man in response, like he's recognizing a fellow music lover.

"Good ear," he continues to lightly pluck at the strings of his guitar, "You play?"

"Um, not really." It's a half truth but mainly a lie, you've never played in your life. You feel slightly disappointed in yourself and you're not sure why; it's not like you've ever felt any kind of urge to learn, especially considering your parents would've made sure you only learned appropriate songs. When would you have even found the time between all your extracurriculars?

"Well, it ain't difficult," he starts playing the song again, slower this time, "Pretty repetitive chord progression, room for some adlibbin' here and there once you get the hang of it."

You nod like you understand what he's talking about, suddenly lost in the way his fingers pull at the strings, make the music come to life out of nothing. His hands are big, fingers long and thick as they curve back and forth, up and down. It's hypnotic to watch. He stops again and looks up, catches you staring.

"How old are you?" he asks, raising an eyebrow.

You swallow, unsure what exactly the right answer is. Part of you wants to lie, tell him you're older than you actually are so he doesn't just see you as some bright eyed kid. This is the first person you've encountered since coming back who doesn't know who you are, doesn't know about your reputation. You could tell him anything, be anyone, and he'd take it at face value.

"I'm twenty five," you lie, but it sounds unnatural in your mouth.

He looks you up and down, eyes raking your body in a way you're unfamiliar with. Like a man. Like the way your roommates back in college get looked at, sensually and flirtatiously, being eyed up by drunk guys at the bar who only have one thing on their mind. You feel your heart begin to thrum quicker in your chest; is that really how this man is looking at you? This grown man, not a high school crush or a college fratboy, a real man?

"Sweetheart, we both know that's a lie," he says with a chuckle, eyes coming back to rest on your face, "I'd guess twenty."

You make a face, "I'm twenty one, actually."

He laughs again, putting his hands up in surrender, "My bad, twenty one."

You watch as he starts to strum once again, something new and unfamiliar. You listen for a few moments, eyes trained back on his fingers, watching him play.

"You wanna come in for a bit?" he asks, voice nonchalant, like he's asking you something completely casual.

And maybe he is, but the words make your eyes widen, your breath catching in your throat. The way he'd looked at you just then, laughed at your words, wanted to know your age... now he's inviting you into his house? You've never actually been flirted with before, not when it mattered, and you're not entirely sure if that's what's happening. But it feels like it, even though you can't imagine how someone like him could see anything sexy about a girl like you.

"...Why?" you ask quietly.

He looks up at you with another smile, still plucking the strings, "If you need to ask then maybe I read you wrong," he chuckles again, eyes trailing down your legs and taking in your short dress, the way it stops at your knees, "Now that I really look at you, maybe I'm talkin' to a good Christian girl."

"You're not," you say it too quickly, "I mean, I'm not. I'm not a good Christian girl."

"No?" he smirks, "Don't have a good southern daddy waitin' for you to come home? Momma waitin' with a pie in the oven?" he's not being serious but you feel your skin flush at the accuracy of his words.

"Maybe," you mutter, hand going down to touch your dress nervously, "But maybe I don't wanna go home."

He nods and stops plucking, licking his lips and thinking to himself. You have to admit, there's something about him that draws you to him, something masculine and new. He's much, much older than you but not in a way that creeps you out or makes you want to run away. You find yourself hoping he'll ask you to come inside again so this time you can give him the right answer, the one he wants to hear.

"You probably should," he finally says, then stands up on his porch steps and slips his guitar onto his back. The strap digs into his broad shoulders, accentuating his size as he suddenly towers over you on the step.

"Sh-should what?" you ask breathlessly, and you wonder if he can tell your heart race has picked up, see the thumping of your pulse in your exposed neck.

"Go back home," he says with a shrug, "I mean, if they're waitin' for you..."

"They're not," you say it with firm finality, shaking your head, "I'm twenty one, I do what I like."

He walks down the steps then, getting closer and closer to you until he's suddenly standing directly in front of you. His eyes cast downward, assessing your expression; you swear he looks at your lips and licks his own again.

"So would you like to come inside?" he asks again, peering down at you with a dark sense of desire that makes you swallow roughly, feel a light and steady thrum between your legs, "Let me teach you how to play that song?"

Here's your chance. Just say yes.

"N-no," you gasp, taking a step back from him, "Um, n-not today."

He smirks, almost like he knew that would be your response. He hitches his guitar up his shoulder and gives you one last smile before turning around and walking back up his steps.

"Well, I'm here if you change your mind," he calls back to you, reaching for the doorknob on his front door and peering at you with another side glance, still assessing you, "Would love to teach a pretty thing like you how to use her fingers."

You feel your lips part in surprise, an unfamiliar tingling sensation flooding your body as he gives you a wink and walks into his house, shutting the door behind him. You've still got that steady throbbing feeling in your underwear, something you've only felt a handful of times. You know what it is, you're not completely clueless, but you can't remember the last time it happened.

You take another step back slowly, heart still pounding in your chest as you stare at his closed door. Then you turn on your heel and speed walk back the way you came, flip flops slapping against the ground aggressively. You revel in the way your thighs rub together as you walk, soothing that ache.

Any thoughts of not going home have gone from your mind. You need to ask your parents who this man is. As soon as possible.

-

You get home right before dinner, giving yourself just enough time to formulate exactly how to ask your parents about the man with the guitar. You're slightly afraid that you might seem too eager, too curious, and that they'll see right through you; you can't imagine how they'd react to knowing their perfect little girl is getting butterflies over a middle aged man.

But that's what you have: butterflies. In your tummy, all over your skin, between your legs. Being talked to the way he did, being looked at the way he did, it's making you feel hot all over, itchy and uncomfortable but in a good way.

The last time you felt this way was during your first week of college, at a party you'd gone to with your roommate. You'd seen him across the room, tall and blonde, watched as he licked his lips and looked you up and down. He was gorgeous, an angel you were convinced God had placed at this party just for you. You felt that tingle between your legs, swallowed down the nervous lump in your throat and imagined what it would be like to be kissed by him.

Then he'd approached and you realized he'd been looking at your roommate the entire time.

Your mother is just beginning to plate the meal when you slip into the kitchen, taking a seat at the table beside your father. She serves you both with a smile and sits, then extends her hands to both of you.

"Bless us, O Lord, for these, Thy gifts," she begins quietly, and you quickly hang your head and close your eyes as she continues, "which we are about to receive from Thy bounty. Through Christ, our Lord. Amen."

"Amen," you and your dad echo, then begin your meal. Just the same as always.

"How was your walk?" your father asks.

Here goes nothing.

"It was nice," you say, nodding thoughtfully to yourself and hoping you sound nonchalant, "I said hi to Mrs. Lillard."

"We've been praying for her," your mom interjects immediately, "She's an alcoholic, you know."

Your mom stays on top of all the neighborhood gossip, part of the reason you feel she might know something about the mysterious man. With a nod of your head you continue, "And then I saw someone else, a man playing guitar on his front porch, but I've never seen him before."

"Oh, him" your mom rolls her eyes, "Mr. Miller. Piece of work."

Bingo.

Your eyebrows raise, intrigued, "How so?"

"Kindness, dear," your father says with a disapproving nod to your mother, "He's done nothing to us."

She sighs and shakes her head, "You're right, I'm sorry."

The conversation is definitely going somewhere but it's already taking a turn into dangerous territory; you're not one to question, to interfere or interject. Pressing them further might make them suspicious, but you have to know.

"What did he do?" you ask, trying your best to sound casual, "If you don't mind me asking?"

Your mother is about to speak but your father gives her a look, almost a warning. She closes her mouth and sits back in her chair, waiting for him to answer you instead.

"He didn't do anything," your father explains, "Your mother invited him for dinner and he declined, that's all."

"It's the way he declined," your mother sits forward again, voice curt and irritated, "He was very rude."

"Rude?" You can tell your mom wants to talk about it, dredge up something she hasn't been able to discuss for a while; you're surprised she hadn't already told you over the phone while you were at college.

"This isn't appropriate conversation for the dinner table," your father says sternly, and you're not sure if he's talking more-so to you or your mother, "End of discussion." As usual your mother folds in on herself, picking up her fork and starting to eat again.

"Your father's right," she says, though you know she doesn't really believe that, "Let's just eat."

You wonder what the man - Mr. Miller - could have said to make your mother react this way. It's not unusual for her to get stiff and bothered by people - it's pretty easy to push her buttons, actually, but the list of things that offend her is long and detailed. He could have said pretty much anything to set her off. The specifics are lost on you.

You resign yourself to defeat and eat your dinner, sincerely glad that the tingling sensations in your body have subsided. You do not need to be feeling like that with your parents in the room.

-

You dream about him.

It's muddled and confusing, taking place simultaneously back at college and in your childhood bedroom, but he's there. In both places, somehow. You're back at that first week of college party, but instead of the blonde boy it's him standing across the room, eyeing you up and down. But this time he doesn't go for your roommate, he walks over to you and looks deeply into your eyes, gives you that delicious smirk and brings his hands down to touch your waist. He's so big compared to you, so much older. He pulls you in with a strong grasp and holds you to his broad chest, runs his hands down your back.

Then you're both transported from the college party to your parent's house. You're on your bed, sitting next to him atop the covers and watching him play guitar. You watch his fingers, long and thick, hypnotizing you with their movements. He stops playing and brings one to your chin, tilts your head up to look into your eyes again.

"You're not a good Christian girl," he whispers in that southern drawl, breath ghosting across your face, inching closer and closer, "You're all mine, aren't you?"

You wake up with a start and immediately feel the dampness in your underwear, the butterflies back again with a vengeance as your pussy throbs and pulses. You've never felt anything like this before, grasping your chest and reaching for your bedside lamp in the darkness. You sit there in bed for a few moments, catching your breath and waiting for the feelings to vanish again, for your aching core to stop reminding you that it's never been touched, not once, even though you know it's absolutely begging for it.

With shaky hands you reach down and run a finger through your wet folds, shivering at the soft touch. You've never masturbated before, never had sex or anything else you've learned about from your friends at college. They'd looked at you with disbelief when you'd told them you'd never even had an orgasm; one of them had gone so far as to ask if she could give you one.

"No," you'd said curtly, "No thank you."

Now you sit on your childhood bed with your legs open and a finger pressed lightly against you within your underwear. You're not even sure what to do, where exactly to touch, how to bring yourself to completion. You're twenty one years old but you've spent your entire life being the good, pure, God fearing girl waiting for marriage like her parents taught her.

"Enough," you whisper into the darkness, "I'm done waiting."

You yank your finger out of your panties and lay back on the bed, switching off the lamp and closing your eyes again. You've already decided before you drift off that you'll be paying Mr. Miller another visit tomorrow, as soon as possible.

He told you he wanted to teach you how to use your fingers; you intend to make sure he does.

[targaryenrealnessdarling]

The Green Prince | Bluebeard!Aemond x Wife!Reader

-Based on the Fairytale 'Bluebeard'- Halloween Special!

Summary: Six wives before her mysteriously disappeared, and someone in Dragonstone calls for her once her new husband entrusts her with his master key | Word Count: 8k~ | Warnings below the cut~

Links to my Taglists: General Taglist | Aemond Targaryen Taglist

Warnings: dub-con, arranged marriage, victorian england setting, era-typical sexism, murder, uxoricide, blood, toxic behaviour, apparitions/ghosts, manipulation, threats of violence

She's heard only tales of Aemond Targaryen.

The Green Prince of Dragonstone. A wealthy gentleman who often stayed within the confines of his estate.

When she abandoned the frills and wide smiles of girlhood, thrust into the pomp and practice of womanhood, that is when the stories began.

She had never seen him. And she began to believe, that the people around her who spoke of him never had either.

They were of a decent background, her and her family. Not overwhelmingly rich. But well-off is what her father always said.

Enough to employ a small army of servants.

Enough to never have to worry about the troubles of daily life that so often would hinder an everyday individual.

She doubted Aemond Targaryen ever had to worry about that either.

One fact that simply could not be frayed, was that he was royalty.

Only in the sense that he was utterly untouchable.

He had this elegance about him, they would say, a sort of curious exoticisim from the way his long, silver hair would drift down his back, to the way his inhuman purple eyes would glimmer, half lidded and looking straight ahead, as if he were piercing a knife through the individual with his gaze alone.

Though they were technically neighbours, she saw very little life pass through the iron gates of Dragonstone. His estate so vast, that by foot, she would have to commit a whole hour to simply brush by the border of what she deemed was a forbidden land.

There seemed an aura of darkness over it, that she could not quite comprehend. But one that intrigued her all the same.

Last year, at the same time as now, she had been considered a child. No better for company than being banished upstairs to dwindle about her books and writings, out of the way of adults and their serious business affairs.

What had really changed in 12 months, that they now considered her a woman?

She felt age had little to do with it.

She felt that she had been grown in her mind for some time, and had actually changed very little from the age of three and ten.

But now, at the tender age of nine and ten, there was still a girlish nature about her face. A brightness to her eyes, and a plumpness about her cheeks. One that her mother had once commented that men would find appealing in a wife.

And so here she was.

Dressed in her finery, a glass of wine in a crystal glass delicately placed in one hand, she stood beside her eldest brother, who had torn himself rather blatantly from a woman he himself was courting in favour of supporting his sweet, youngest sister.

"Do not, for the love of our mother, allow yourself to be approached by Mr Gardner. He has had five servants in as many months. I am sure you can understand why", her brother mused with a contented chuckle.

She did not know why. Nobody had told her plainly.

Sometimes she wished people would just be honest with her. And not assumed she knew the inner workings of people's minds, after years of being shut away upstairs by her parents and brother alike.

The foyer and adjoining rooms alike were filled with people, all pretending to make pleasantries with each other. And as the night dragged on, several well known bachelor's having tried their hand at impressing her, she found her glass of wine was not as endless as she thought.

When a servant had spotted her, appearing at her side to refill her glass, she had turned her body sideways and locked eyes, finally, with him.

The one people affectionately named, The Green Prince.

Like most of the men tonight, he was dressed in a suit with a long overcoat that covered his dark green waistcoat. So dark were the colours of his outfit, that they almost appeared black, like the rest of it.

His hair was loose, with a few strands falling to the front over his shoulders, and as her eyes trailed up to his pale collar, where a tie was loosely wrapped about his neck, she saw that when she met his gaze, he was already looking at her.

He held his glass in a manner most unbecoming. Hanging at his side, his long fingers grasping the edges so delicately, she was sure for a moment it was floating in his hold.

His finger, she noticed, tapped idly at the side of the room, as if deep in thought as he looked upon her.

She saw his gaze drop to her outfit, one that her mother had chosen for her. A red, almost burnt tea coloured dress, with very little flounce and fancy to it. The collar hung delicately at her shoulders, the bodice tight and the only detail of any colour was in the stitching of her skirt, which he noted was a shimmering gold.

When he lifted his eyes, he took a sip from his glass, still almost filled to the top, his burning lilac gaze hovering over the brim. She sucked in a breath, her own eyes flitting over his face. And to the patch that covered the left eye.

She didn't know why her chest felt tight, and why she hoped suddenly for the appearance of her brother. Or her father perhaps. He was staring at her so unabashedly, that for an unmarried woman such as herself, she would be looked upon with immense judgement if she were found to be staring back at him in the same manner.

Knowing his gaze was burning at the back of her head, perhaps tracing the intricate pattern of braids her hair had been styled in, she decided to ignore him, until he had the decency to approach and introduce himself to her properly.

As any good gentleman would.

She meandered through the menagerie of figures, careful to keep her wine close to her so that she wouldn't repeat the same embarrassment as last year when she spilled the entire glass down Mr Bray, whose wife near lost her voice with incessant shouting.

Her father, ever cheerful, as rich men so often are, materialised at her side, grasping her elbow and tugged his daughter close to him. His breath smelled like red wine as he whispered to her.

"It appears you have captured the special attention of Mr Targaryen, daughter"

Her father chuckled when her wide, terrified and yet curious eyes met his.

How could she have captured his attention, when she had done nothing at all? She thought.

She did not yet know, the charms that the appearance of a female body could offer. And how it could transform a respectable man from a pillar of society, to a hungry, lustful beast at a moment's notice.

"I shall introduce you to him" her father insisted, leading her along at his side, despite her quiet protests.

"But father-"

"Hush now. Remember your manners".

His tone of voice was enough.

She had not experienced it as a mere female. But she had seen first hand what her father did to her brother when he disobeyed. Finding a sort of punishment worthy at the end of his cane as it cracked against her brother's palm.

Her brother still wore gloves often. That was his shield.

She had yet to find her own.

Perhaps hers was in her mind, she thought. That she might be able to protect herself with her ideas and opinions, twisting the minds of men, as her elder sister had said once, to suit the needs of the women they owned.

She often had to remind herself, she was property. And could easily be bought and sold, and kicked to the roadside if she had done something to mar her family name.

She was thrust into a sort of social assassination once again once stood before the famed Mr Targaryen, who nodded his head in greeting but said nothing.

"My Targaryen. What an honour it is to have you here. Please might introduce my daughter"

He bent somewhat at the hip, his hand moving to grasp hers, the skin soft and feminine.

"The pleasure is all mine, Miss"

His voice was like the purr of a cat. And though terrifyingly intriguing, she couldn't find it in herself to look away.

"And to you, Sir. Many thanks for the invitation" Aemond turned towards her father, giving another barely existent nod of his head, his expression flat and almost bored.

"It is no problem at all, Mr Targaryen. Please accept my condolences on the passing of your wife"

Late wife?

She felt rude to ask, so said nothing.

Aemond seemed to understand her curiosity, and gave a light smirk in her direction, though she was on his blind side.

"Thank you, Sir. It was a great tragedy indeed"

"Indeed" her father repeated, leaning forward as if to emphasise the size of his empathy for him, "I understand she was quite distressed for some time, was she not?"

She almost passed her father a warning glance. Thinking it rather rude for him to say such things about his late wife. Whether she may have been mad or not.

But Aemond merely nodded.

"Indeed. I am afraid, however, it was an inevitable accident"

Accident.

She of course, remembered hearing the gossip, and hearing her father read the newspaper every morning. An update about the mad Alys Rivers at the top of the page every time.

Alys Rivers, the Lady of Dragonstone, found dead in God's Eye Lake. A wound to the neck spells suicide.

A wound to the neck was a kind description.

Her pale skin was said to be slashed open on one side, everything visible within. And once the water had got to her, she was swollen, pale and blue, completely drained of blood. Almost entirely unrecognisable.

It was just as well she had no family. They would not have wished to see how she met her end.

The article found it necessary to articulate, that her body had been returned to her husband.

Across the room, another gentleman called for her father, and she felt the hot whips of panic at the back of her neck at the thought of being left alone with Aemond.

"Do excuse me" her father said quickly, disappearing into the sea of black and grey.

She herself turned back to Aemond, not wanting to be rude, and tapped her fingernails on the crystal glass nervously.

"I am very sorry to hear about your wife"

Aemond hummed, one of his hands behind his back like he had a secret.

"Thank you, Miss"

There was a long period of silence between them. And for a while, she wondered if she should be the one to break it.

Aemond laughed lowly, leaning down to her face as he caught something interesting in his sights.

"See your brother?" He murmured. And her face turned as well, not realising at first how close their faces were, but she could not very well pull away without offending him.

All the same, he smelled of sandalwood.

Her eyes followed his, to her brother on the other side of the room, where he was thoroughly embarrassing himself by laughing too widely with the woman he had been courting for several months.

"He is awfully close to that woman, is he not?"

She swallowed, raising her chin to appear more confident as she spoke, "She is to be his intended. It is only natural they speak freely with one another" she reasoned.

Aemond did not move away, his shoulder brushing against her side. It made her shudder.

"He is certainly doing something freely" Aemond hummed deep in his chest, a tone which sent a dull ache through her body.

Her brother leaned in close to the woman. And she watched her blush and throw her head back with a demure laugh, her brother leaning close to run his nose along her neck, grinning against her skin.

It felt forbidden to watch them be so close.

And yet he was so brazen about it.

"She seems to be enjoying herself, at least"

She couldn't find it in herself to reply.

For the woman did appear as if she was enjoying herself. And briefly, stood beside Aemond, his breath softly batting against her neck, she wondered herself, how it would feel if he did the same to her.

She wondered if he was thinking the same thing as her. Sneaking into her mind like a whisper, as if he were being a locked door, and was peering through the keyhole to uncover her darkest thoughts and desires.

Her brother leaned towards his intended, planting a kiss to the column of her neck. And she felt herself parting her lips as the other woman had, not only at the shameless behaviour of her brother, so consumed in wine that he felt no need to appear reasonable in front of other people, but also because she felt Aemond’s slender fingers at her forearm.

It was not at all like the way her father had pulled her to him, in ownership.

Aemond tugged her towards him in a sort of longing, his nose pressing into the plaits of her hair.

“I am going to ask your father for your hand” he whispered, “and he will say yes. And you shall be mine”.

She listened with her fingers wrapped around the wooden pillars of the staircase as her brother shouted obscenity after obscenity at her father. Every now and then her mother would insert her little, sweet voice that was inevitably crushed by the low boom of the two males in the room.

With her gaze planted firmly in her lap, tracing the patterns of the lace of her nightgown as she listened, she thought with a sort of sadness that the offer of marriage should be a joyous and happy occasion. And now in her household, the prospect of her being tied to the Green Prince himself was so offensive to her brother, that he felt the need to fight on her behalf.

Perhaps knowing his sweet sister had no choice in the matter.

“He is barely half a decade older than her and has had six wives in as many years, father!” he boomed, and she could tell by the way his voice bounced off the furniture that he was pacing and throwing his arms around.

“To give her away to that brute. It is unthinkable!”

“Be quiet!” her father roared back, “the wedding will go ahead as planned. We will not get a better offer than this!”

While she was happy, that her brother was trying to stick up for her, it was no use. He nor her had a choice in the matter.

Her father had said it himself.

We will not get a better offer.

Not she.

She was property. Something to be sold and given in exchange for goods or reputation. What she wanted, was of no consequence.

And she couldn’t help but think of her mother, several decades younger than her father, and how she must have felt at her tender age when confronted with the prospect of marrying a man much older than she.

In a way, she felt connected to her mother in that way. But also in a way that she resented her, for dressing her up, plaiting her hair and pushing her out into the rich man’s world, ripe and ready for the taking.

Passing her the torch of a woman’s anguish.

The wedding felt clinical. More akin to a funeral than a union of two people. 

Her brother stares dagger into the back of her intended for the entire ceremony. All while her mother cried softly into her handkerchief and her father sat, stoic and silent, his chubby fingers caressing the sculpted ornament on the top of his cane.

She remembered his hands as they were bought together and the officiator had placed a sort of sacred cloth over them as he muttered his prayers. Binding them lawfully and before the eyes of God, for their whole lives.

His hands were large, his palms completely dwarfing hers and his long fingers wrapping around hers like tight vines. And at that moment, she had never felt so small in her life.

And noticed that his side of the wedding chapel, where his family members were supposed to sit and witness their union, was completely empty.

Six wives in as many years.

That is what her brother had said.

She knew Aemond had been married multiple times prior to her, but was her brother merely exaggerating?

In contrast to his hands, where the blood swam warmly through his limbs, his lips where the officiant asked them to seal their union with a kiss, were cold, and not forthcoming. As if he had not asked her father for her hand in marriage, but that this entire affair was so useless and merely for looks, that he’d rather be somewhere else.

That said. She could not escape the intensity of his gaze.

He seemed to focus solely on her, much to her discomfort, to the point where it seemed like he was not listening to a single prayer or hymn that was uttered in the chapel all afternoon. And though her eyes were elsewhere, to try and place the feeling that bubbled in her chest somewhere else, she often found his lilac eye drifting to the details of her necklace, to face, and pausing where she wet her lips nervously.

If he hadn’t possessed such a domineering, strong presence, she thought he would be devilishly handsome.

Perhaps a fact he already knew.

It was unlike her family to have celebrations, so they didn’t.

She gave each of the servants, some who she knew for most of her life a final embrace, thanking them for their hospitality and care where she did not receive it from her parents. And as her luggage was packed meaningfully in the back of Mr Targaryen’s carriage, with two large horses at the front, she gave her brother a tight embrace as well. Inhaling and savouring the musty smell of tobacco on his coat.

He looked saddened, but for the sake of appearances, forced a smile onto his face.

“Good luck, dear sister. Remember you may write to me, even though you are a married woman” he smiled, teasing her softly with a nudge to her shoulder.

She gave a softer hug to her mother, who usually was not keen to shower her with affection. But she supposed, she was the youngest daughter, so it was only natural.

Her father, after having busied himself in an idle chattering session with Aemond, merely tipped his hat, and did not shed one bit of emotion as she climbed into the carriage before her husband. Aemond's hand helped her up the step, watching as she disappeared inside.

The smell of his sandalwood perfumes on his coat was stronger as he sat beside her on the cushion, instructing the handsome, olive-skinned driver to move forward and away from her home.

She only waved to her brother. And watched as he had wet eyes, stepping forward a few paces like he was about to break into a run after her.

The carriage was much nicer than anything she'd seen in her young life, and though they were for all intents and purposes, considered neighbours, it was still a half hour ride to his estate.

Dragonstone.

Her skin prickled at the mere thought of it.

She'd never seen it before. Nor had any of her family.

All she knew was that it was often clouded in fog, that when you stood at the front gates you could barely see the arching towards and dark brick in the distance anyway.

All she had heard was what people said.

That it was a frightful, maze of a place. With winding corridors and crooked doorways, and barely any servants.

He was a rich man, why not employ more?

He did not say a word the entire way home. He only sat, cross legged, and fiddle with his fingers like he was nervous. Turning them over in micro-movements.

Don't speak unless spoken to.

As Dragonstone came into view once they crossed the boundary of the iron gates, she felt her breath taken away.

And it was only when Aemond assisted her with a hand as she stepped down from the carriage that she could really appreciate the sheer size of his estate.

It was so big it was beyond comprehension.

She briefly wondered if she would get lost in such a place.

"Cole will bring your things to our room"

Her heart started to flutter, and pitter patter all at the same time.

Our room.

She had almost forgotten her one wifely duty she was to fulfil this evening.

To appease him.

The thought made a sort of tightness in her belly, though she was unsure why. Of course, her elder sister had divulged her own horror story of her wedding night. Though her sister was twenty and she herself only five and ten at the time, the nitty gritty was of great curiosity to her.

"For several hours the poor thing just cried and it rather spoiled the mood. Turned out that he had…pleased himself the morning of the wedding so as not to become too excited when the evening rolled around.

Oh well, no matter. Instead, when he had a rather excited visitor the next morning he crawled atop me and breathed heavily into my neck while he tried to get it inside me. 'Twas over in an instant dear sister and I did not feel a thing".

Though the anecdote was funny, although awkward seeing as she sat next to her brother-in-law the next morning and tried not to giggle, right now, it did little to quell the gnawing inside her.

Aemond did not seem as quiet and unsure of himself as her brother-in-law was. She doubted a man of his standing would have any issue fulfilling his role as a husband.

As he had done, six times before.

Which triggered yet another question.

Why no children? Surely all six of his previous wives could not have been barren?

Did they commit suicide? Ashamed of themselves for failing to fulfil this task? Were they all mere accidents? Or did someone break in at night to steal his plethora of fine jewels and artefacts and run into one of his unfortunate wives along the way?

It seemed entirely impossible.

She watched Aemond walk confidently to the front doors, where a couple of servants stood to greet the new Lady of Dragonstone. His coat fluttered around his thighs as he turned, the ends of his silver hair hung like they were floating.

"Wife. May I introduce you to the staff. Anything you so wish, please do not hesitate to ask them"

The two servants stood, hands clasped, looking entirely scared stiff. One was a middle aged man with an apron dirtied at the edges, and the other a maid, barely five and twenty, who offered her a polite curtsy.

She simply smiled at them, "a pleasure".

They said nothing.

There was something melancholic. Ancient. And crushing about Dragonstone.

She felt the weight on her shoulders the moment she passed those gates. Did they feel it too?

Did Aemond?

This was the only moment he seemed to smile, as miniscule as it was with a darkened gaze, was when he turned to look at his new wife and nodded.

"If you will forgive me, I have some business to attend to. I will see you tonight for supper"

His expression never wavered, even as he bent at the middle to press his lips to her hand, above the ring he had placed on her finger not a few hours before.

The servants quickly scuttled out of her sight and so she thought to amuse herself by exploring her new home. Out of habit, she started upstairs, going straight to her bedroom to inspect.

There was a large four poster bed made of what appeared to be walnut in the middle of the room, with various ornaments strewn about, but very little to suggest that he actually relaxed in here.

There were no mementos, keepsakes, and she thought briefly she couldn't get a grasp on his personality this way either.

She blushed and felt that tightness again at the thought of sharing a bed with him, of what they might have to do.

The rest of the house was indicative of the first room she ventured to. Lacking a certain personality she was sure existed in her new husband but one he refused to show.

The estate was cold and empty, with flagstone floors stretching along the long dark hallways.

There were so many doors it was difficult to know what on earth could be behind all of them. She'd so far discovered the Library, the Dining Room and even happened upon the scullery rather by accident.

And then, one room…

It had a oxblood red door, worn around the edges and the colour faded somewhat. She noted the scuff marks around the handle and the hinges, as well as the stone beneath the door where overtime, footsteps had worn it down.

So she was doubly surprised to find the door locked.

Curious.

Her skin prickled, and she was sure for a moment that she saw her own misty breath. Like that feeling that someone is watching you but you are too afraid to move an inch. The tips of her fingers suddenly felt numb.

She felt it on her neck, an iciness.

But when she turned, her breath stuck in her chest from panic, she could only see nothing but the empty corridor.

And all was silent.

There was a heaviness in her chest which seemed to pass through her like trying to walk through honey, trying to pull your feet up just an inch to step forward.

And as quickly as that feeling came, it was gone and she turned back in panic once she heard soft, careful footsteps behind the oxblood door.

She clenched and unclenched her fists in fear, trying to reason with herself.

Undeniable footsteps, ones that had started at the threshold and we're now walking slowly away from her.

The blood rushed warmly back into her fingertips, and she rubbed them painfully against her navy dress, trying to will a feeling back into them.

Footsteps…

She only heard her own as she hurried down the corridor again, her shoes clocking against the flagstone.

So desperate to get away from that heavy, morbid feeling that she nearly hurtled right into the young maid.

"My Lady!"

"I do apologise" she uttered immediately, her chest pushing against her bodice with her hurried breath, "I was not looking where I was going".

The maid curtsied, as if she'd forgotten to and straightened, "Supper is to be served, my Lady. May I-"

"What is that room? Down the hall?" She asked.

The maid raised her eyebrows, "Which one, my Lady?"

She turned her head down the hallway once again to point to the one she meant, and her words died on her lips.

The door moved.

It was unmistakable.

The shadow where the door was leant ajar quickly disappeared, and the frame was filled once more by the large wooden slat against it.

There was no click of a lock to be heard.

She was so afraid she lost herself for a moment. Going all pale. So much so the maid had to prompt her.

"My Lady?"

She shook her head, looking back to see if the door would move again, and drift open as it had before.

But it never did.

And the thought that as she was running away before, the door was slowly inching open, scared her beyond belief.

"It's nothing, I apologise" she said quickly, "Supper, thank you".

There was nothing of note for the rest of the evening.

Supper was quiet. And the table was so long with husband and wife sat at either end, that they may as well have been in separate rooms while they ate.

It was nice enough food she was grateful for that. A selection of soups and meats, and breads to fill her belly between courses.

He did not speak.

He barely moved any other muscle than his arm to fork the meat into his mouth. She watched him every now and then, over the barely dancing flame of the candelabra, otherwise the room would be completely dark.

So she drank her wine, and stayed silent. Waiting to be spoken to.

The only thing he said was right at the end.

"Shall we retire for bed, wife?"

And she could not very well say no.

She made brief eye contact with the maid as she followed her husband to the grand staircase, each step feeling heavier and more nerve-wracking than the last.

Her husband was tall, broad and she had no doubt be enjoyed the domineering aura he gave off. Judging by the dark colours of his waistcoat and trousers, as well as the leather eyepatch over one eye, he enjoyed inhabiting darkness.

She thought with some amusement that the only bright things about him were his hair and eyes.

Things he could not change.

He was certainly a marvel of a man. And truthfully, she should count herself lucky that he is at least somewhat close to her in age.

Aemond closed the door softly once they were both inside. The curtains were now drawn, and the room was filled with an amber glow from the candles the maid had lit for them.

She needn't ask him for help, for her new husband immediately stood behind her, and began to unlace her dress as if they had been married an age.

His movements were so sure. And she felt with jealousy of some kind that he had done this with six other women before her.

No wonder he was practiced.

There was no room for romance when to him, it was all just a matter of duty.

She stood only in her chemise, having pulled her hair free of her braids, feeling his gaze the entire time.

"Are you intent on remaining silent, wife?" He asked, and she heard him pull off his waistcoat with every pop of his buttons.

"Or might you become more vocal in the marriage bed?"

She felt her cheeks flush and thickness in her throat. Inadvertently pressing her legs together where a sort of excitement was blooming.

"I could not say…" she answered.

And chuckled lowly, pressing his front to her back, dragging his nose up the side of her neck, just as she had seen before.

She felt something hard press against her backside, his hips pushing it against her and moving softly, creating just a tiny bit of friction.

"Tell me" he muttered, his lips tickling her ear, "tell me what a good wife does"

She was suddenly nervous, thinking about what other people had told her.

And it was increasingly difficult to think, with his large hands pulling her chemise off her body.

"A good wife…is loyal to her husband" she recited, her breath coming in short pants, "she is…loving"

He blew air from his nose, like he was amused.

"..and she is obedient"

"That's it"

Aemond peeled the chemise off her, letting it drift to the floor.

"A good wife makes herself available to her husband"

She gasped and he revelled in it, as he pushed her newly naked body onto the bed, her body sinking into the mattress and watching as her husband bared himself one button at a time.

"Of course. There a many other wifely duties" he grinned.

His fingers moved to his trousers.

"But for now, I only care about this one".

Being touched all over was strange. There was a dull ache in her core when her husband touched certain areas, a feeling that she didn't recognise.

Her confused and somewhat distressed face at the whole ordeal was endearing to him.

Her young, plump face looked up at him with gleaming eyes and shame arched in her eyebrows.

It hurt. Not as greatly as she thought. But it still did.

"Close your eyes. It will be over soon"

She did as he said, turning her face away. But it was not over soon.

His member throbbed inside her, and she thought she'd never felt more full in her life. Since closing her eyes, she could not see the way his hair began to tangle around him, as his hips chased hers and came against hers with a soft smack.

The pain gave way to another feeling still.

That same ache she felt when he'd touched her.

Aemond smirked when he saw the confused, ashamed expression on her face. At the way she pressed her lips together.

"I think you are enjoying this" he murmured lowly, pushing harder into her like he was intent in piercing her stomach, "if I did not know any better, you would almost be moaning".

She didn't want it to feel good.

Or did she.

It felt wrong.

And yet she couldn't deny when he raised her thighs, his fingers wrapped into her flesh, it did feel good.

"Look at me" he whispered, never stopping, "Look at your husband, who is giving you pleasure"

Some excitement sparked inside him, when she didn't do as he asked, her warm embarrassed face pressed into the sheets as much as she could. Her eyes closed.

He laughed when she refused.

"Yes - you feel it, do you not? No need to act all coy. I can feel your body's response"

Shame crept into her body, her limbs going all tight just as he'd said. Feeling herself hit that irreplaceable point, she simply whimpered and felt his length throb once more before he spilled inside of her, releasing all he had to give.

She thought with lewdness, that his spend was warm inside her.

Aemond seemed to take great pleasure in making his wife shrink into herself with embarrassment and shame every time they coupled. He loved that doe eyed look she gave him, as if he did not have his cock buried between her legs every night he could since the wedding.

He would have her any way. Fully clothed if the moment presented itself.

There was something erotic about taking something that looked so innocent and filling her with his spend. How she would act all coy, with it dripping down her thighs.

He delighted in the fact that he had managed to kidnap this sweet young thing, and use her for himself and his pleasure any moment he was able. And the month that passed since the wedding, he could not think of a time that was sweeter.

So it was with great irritation that he was called to King's Landing. Some business with his brother that apparently couldn't wait.

He did not want to leave her.

He spoke firmly, stood before the oxblood door in his travel wear.

"While I am away, you must not enter this room. Do you understand?"

When she nodded without asking why, he smiled in pride and placed the master key in her small palm. Entrusting that she would do as she had promised in his absence.

He thought he'd reward her when he returned, by fucking her in the comfort of their bed sheets, until she was pink in the faxe and begging him to stop. Just as he liked her to be.

As soon as her husband left, she felt even more that she was being watched. All the little hairs on the back of her neck pointed upwards.

The maid kept clear of her, which was nothing unusual. But it was almost as if she was escaping rooms before she herself knew why. As if she knew what invaded the invisible space within them as soon as her back was turned.

Did she hear the voices too? See the dark figures and closing doors?

Anytime she passed the long dark hallway to the oxblood door, she felt her curiosity grow tenfold. But also a sense of dread, heavy in her gut, tugging her back to this wretched place.

What could be behind the door, that her husband wished not for her to see?

In the Library, the fire crackled comfortably as she turned the faded pages of her book. The maid busied herself collecting the dirtied saucers and teacups beside her, humming to herself gently.

The air suddenly went cold around her neck, and a breeze passed, evident by the dangling of her earrings. It was not only her imagination.

"A golden key. Oxblood door. Give the six souls rest, sweet child"

She looked up at the maid, "I am sorry, did you say something?"

The maid straightened and shook her head quickly, eyebrows arched in confusion, "No, my Lady"

Why did the maid always flee like that? Like someone was chasing her? With their claws at her back like an animal in the forest?

The key was ornate, with winding patterns and several notches at the top. And when she held it in her small palm, it felt hot to the touch like an iron rod.

Aemond would punish her.

How? She did not know.

She slotted the key into the door, without the energy to turn it. And her limbs felt heavy, and her knuckles cold, like someone was pushing on it. Forcing her will.

"That's right. Insert the key into the keyhole, and turn…"

A voice echoed off the stone.

A low, sweet, mature voice.

Click.

The oxblood door gave way to light, torches lit at every corner, illuminating the oxblood colour of the floor before her.

A step down.

The floor rippled like liquid.

"Our souls…"

Her shoe was slick with something oily that clung to the suede. Irreparably staining them.

Her skin prickled. Vomit bubbled at the back of her throat.

Six torch-lit figures reflected in the blood on the flagstone floor.

Hung, wrists bound over their head. White skulls in various stages of deterioration, with strings of what was once luscious hair drifting past their bony shoulders.

She saw with dread, they were still wearing dresses that hung off their ivory skeletons.

She was sure she collapsed with grief, a scream echoing around her that did not feel like her own. The only sound she registered was the clanging of the key as she dropped it in shock, blood of Aemond's ex-wives enveloping the brass.

Her throat felt sore.

She watched their empty eye sockets. The dust over their bound hands and their feet as they dangled inches off the floor.

Breath hot in her lungs like she was clinging to life as she knew it, she scrambled for the key and pulled the door shut behind her with a mighty boom.

Darkness crawled up her skin, now that she knew what was behind it.

Was this her fate?

If she displeased him, would she be their successor?

She was sat, with head in hand, in a state of complete distress with sweat on her brow and neck as Aemond returned.

She had paced the room for hours she felt, wringing her hands, as if to find what she might say to him on his arrival. He'd see it on her face.

He would know she had seen the corpses of his precious wives on her soft, innocent features. Scarred forever by death.

His tall, broad form filled the doorframe. And he dropped his coat onto the bed with a tired huff, but said nothing.

She almost wished he would say something. To spare her this horrible anticipation.

But she watched as he took two careful steps in. His one eye flitting over to the key he'd left her on the bureau.

The blood had not lifted from the brass. She could not wash it. No matter how much time she committed to it, it would not become clean.

Her husband looked back at her like she was something to eat, his eye half open with only half his iris visible.

She sobbed and cried when he advanced and held her to the wall by her neck with ease, slamming her small body against it.

"You thought you would get away without punishment, hm?"

She sobbed like a child, her tears wetting her cheeks and neck, to his fingers. Her own tried to pry his away, feeling that he was hurting her effortlessly with his grip around her throat.

"Please…husband…"

He could have laughed.

"Now is no time for begging. Tell me, how should I punish you, wife?, he grinned widely, his tone low and condescending as he spoke to the small woman before him.

"Please…you may do as you like with me - just first, let me pray-" she begged with a hoarse, tired voice. Never feeling that she could be scared of him in this way.

He pulled his head away, looking down at her past his nose, his lips tight.

She felt his grip loosen, but the places where his fingers had been were sore and red.

"I shall do as I please. But since you asked so nicely to pray. I shall let you"

She felt herself breathing like she was swallowing fire a she stepped out the door, allowing her privacy to pray before he inevitably drove a dagger through her, or something of the like.

She rushed to the master key and locked the door with a quick slam and click, locking her husband out and flinching when his palms pushed with urgency on the other side. Rapping on the wood like an animal who couldn't see their prey.

She had no intention of praying.

"Open this door! Now!"

Her eyes scanned the room anxiously and with urgency. She felt her fingers shaking as he pushed the window open, looking down at the great height she would have to jump to escape him.

A sure death.

She clambered over the bureau, her knees knocking painfully on the wood as she advanced in a panicked state towards the ledge.

Her brother.

If she could just escape to him.

He would save her.

A clang of metal rattled against the floor as her husband, as strong as she was, sent the door flinging off the hinges. His large arms wrapped around her waist as she writhed, fearing her life. Expecting a blade to her neck. Or perhaps to be dragged to the oxblood door, to never return.

"Husband - please - have mercy-"

"It is too late for 'please'. It is time for you to feel the consequence of your actions"

She struggled so much, he tackled her to the floor, holding both her forearms behind her back in one hand, pushing her front to the cold stone floor, her warm cheek moulding to the pattern of it.

"I beg you - have mercy and kill me quickly-"

Her tears wet her face entirely, feeling his body over her back, pressing his hips into her backside, letting her feel his wrath.

"Mercy?" He chuckled darkly, "why would I show the likes of you mercy?"

"You who I have treated with care and respect. You who has disobeyed me"

"My Lady shall learn this lesson now"

His voice was dark and low, and it scared her more than the whisperings of the paranormal and the sight of what was behind the oxblood door.

She panicked with a warm face as he rucked up her skirts to her waist, flinching when she felt two of his thick fingers swipe across her hot centre while he continued to hold her down.

"I do not often take pleasure in teaching my wife a lesson. But, for you, I shall make an exception"

She pressed her lips together, not wanting to anger him with her whimpers and whines as she felt him slide his trousers down and rub his hot, throbbing member, ready and waiting for her, against her cunt, collecting her wetness on his length for ease of entry.

He sighed longingly, his breath tickling her neck, his eyelashes fluttering against her jaw.

She choked on her breath as he slid into her, his fingers holding her hips desperately to widen her legs to accommodate him deeper inside her.

"None of them were worthy - fucking none of them -" he breathed, his breath hitching with each soft smack of his hips against her, stretching her walls to the shape and size of him and groaning at the way her hot insides parted.

"Do you wish me to give you a child, hm? None of them - fuck - none of them could give me what you do-"

She whimpered, feeling his length fill her repeatedly and bully the end of her, each blow against that rough spot inside increasingly making her shame and despair at his use of her body ebb away into a forbidden and unknown feeling.

"If you do not behave, you will not be allowed that pleasure" he muttered, his breath coming in short bursts, his thrusts as well becoming sloppy and unconfident.

Her gut warmed with his length piercing her insides. And she felt as though she was missing something he was telling her in his own way. Eyebrows arched in confusion.

Even now, while he fucked her on the floor, she felt afraid for her life.

"Oh, little one, I am almost disappointed that it took so long for you to realise that I do not intend to kill you.”

Her wet eyes cracked open to turn her head in discomfort to him. Her cheek rubbing against the stone floor as he pulled her hips up to fuck her deeper.

"No. You shall give me children. Many of them if you wish to please me"

She tightened around him completely out of instinct, and Aemond groaned loudly above her, pushing his chest so hard against her back she felt she might break.

And her hands clenched into fists, absentmindedly pushing her hips back to him to chase the remnants of that sweet rapture she was sometimes awarded when coupling with him.

A sweet escape from this prison.

He laughed, when he realised that she was quite resigned to her fate.

That she, compared to his other wives, was finally worthy of giving him children. Of satiating his desire to dominate a woman so easily. How he enjoyed watching the look of shame and pleasure on her face, as she battled with herself to submit to him or not.

He slammed with a wet squelch back into her again, filling her with his warmth with a long, shuddered groan. His grip so hard around her forearm, she was sure blood did not reach her hands.

He continued to move shallowly into her, pushing his spend as deep inside her as it would go. As if, whether she wanted to or not, he would fuck his child into her and watch her grow fat and round.

And then, once she had one, would fuck yet another into her.

Her breath came fast and hot from her swollen lips as she trembled around him, unknowingly prolonging his pleasure inside her.

His lips brushed against her ear.

"No other words before I begin?"

It was difficult with her head pushed against the floor, but she nodded softly in confirmation. Relief flooding her as she saw her husband's smirk rise to his lips, both his hands dropping to her hips to tug her back onto his length.

"Then let us begin"

General Taglist: @aemondsfavouritebastard | @bellstwd | @blairfox04 | @hb8301  | @jamespotterismydaddy | @mochi-rose | @nenelysian | @natty2017 | @randomdragonfires  | @risefallrise  | @theoneeyedprince  | @thelittleswanao3 | @tsujifreya  | @urmomsgirlfriend1  | @valeskafics  | @watercolorskyy

[ashdreams2023]

Hello again! I was wondering if you still do requests and if so, can I request a Severus x reader but platonic? Like we've all read Sev being like a guardian of sorts to students but what if reader is like the prof that cares for Sev when he was a student? Like Severus' favorite teacher is reader cause not only is she smart and teaches well but she has a soft spot for Sevy and is one of the profs that punishes the marauders every time she catches them bothering Snape. Snape can see her as a mother figure that even up to the point that Sev actually became a teacher he still goes to her for his problems and she just babies him lol. (Reader was once the youngest teacher to teach in Hogwarts before Snape took that role)

Alright alright gonna do this now!

Platonic Severus snape x fem reader

All my respect

Severus had a rocky relationship with adults from a very young age that’s for sure, his home life and neighborhood left little in his faith for grown ups.

It was a rocky two first years when he couldn’t even trust his head of house let alone another professor, he felt uncomfortable if he had to seek his head of house for help, he preferred to suffer in silence, even if it meant having to sit in aching bruises from his bullies until he learned how to brew a cooling balm.

No one did a thing to genuinely help him, no one, he hated how everyone overlooked him, how They saw him just as a weird kid who others avoid for no reason but that they didn’t understand him.

That continued until his third year, after a brutal beating from Sirius and his wand almost snapping in half, he remembers it very clearly he was sitting in the hall feeling the entire world was against him.

Then you came, young looking and worried, at the time you were only 28 years of age, he knew you were the new hired substitute professor for charms.

He expected to be scolded and sent to his dorm but instead you kneeled down and without even asking a question tended to his injuries self, he flinched when you first touched his face but that didn’t stop you from applying some healing balm and checking his medical chart with your wand.

He was speechless to say the least, no one ever cared this much about him…even his mother…

"Tell me who did this to you and I don’t want any lies little boy" you tried to sound firm but he could tell you were still panicked about his state and what you saw on his medical charm, he was a scrawny malnourished boy "you can tell me, you’re not gonna be in trouble I promise"

Next thing he knows points have been deducted from the lions and he’s all healed up. Although that still didn’t make him trust you that easily.

But it kept happening, you stopped whoever was bothering him, looked out for him when he seemed a little off and much more, you didn’t rest until you got the marauders suspended from hogwarts for a whole semester because of that idiot and deadly prank.

You scolded him still but always with a gentle hand checking if he’s hurt or hiding an injury like he sometimes did.

"One of these days you will kill me with a heart attack!"

"They started it!"

Heck you even helped him get some rare plants for his potion making and recommended him to higher education, even after he messed up and used that awful name, you believed him, you saw the good in him and stood by his side.

He can thank you a million times but he still feels like it isn’t enough, even now at 35 of age, you’re 50 and still working in the same school.

He comes to you for guidance, he has tea with you every other day and you sit there smiling fondly as he complains and rants about his day, just like the little boy you once knew.

"With all my respect to you mother but these kids are insufferable" it takes him a minute to realize what he just said and he blushes crazily but you chuckle.

"Oh please, you’re the son I never birthed"

Severus sighs still blushing slightly from embarrassment "Isn’t it too late for me to call my professor mum?" He used sarcasm to hide his embarrassment.

You sipped your tea and leaned back on your chair "I remember when you were just a little lad, sneaking around to brew your outrageous potions and getting burned then coming back to me with a pout and tear stained eyes demanding I give you my cooling balm"

He smirked crossing his arms "I can make it myself now, I don’t need to be babied anymore"

"Oh? So you don’t your favorite tea cup?" She laughed softly.

Severus frowned dropping his arms, his tea cup, the one you bought specially for him because the design reminded you of a cauldron, it was childish and looked out of place in your neatly organized cabin with all the good China sets.

But he still went for it, he wouldn’t pick that one round tea cup and take it for himself, you would tease him about needing a grown up one but he would defend himself saying he would do just fine with this one.

"Well, good to know some things just don’t change sevy"

"Don’t call me that I’m a grown adult! I’m taller than you!"

"Whatever helps you sleep at night sevy" fighting you was useless, he should’ve known better but he always felt light, he breathed out and let a small smile creep on his lips.

[cheriladycl01]

I cant do this anymore - George Russell x Wolff! Reader Part 7

Plot: You are the daughter of Toto Wolff team principle of Mercedes-AMG Petronas, you've worked your whole life to become an engineer. However, your dad has other ideas for you and doesn't want you to become a race engineer. You start to confide more in the Red Bull Racing Team Principle to help you get an engineering job, and see him as your present father figure.

After Vegas, you came home just like you promised your dad. There were many tears, mainly from Suzie as she pulled you into a hug. You had a huge family dinner before you went into your bedroom.

It had changed throughout the years.

When you were a baby, your dad told you it was white walls with little animal prints all around. When you were a toddler you were obsessed with green so he made your room look like a jungle. As you got more girlie, you wanted it pink, then that was too girlie and you were really into motorsports and you had posters of drivers all over your room.

When you became an adult, it started to look more like a spare bedroom in the house. Not that it wasn't decorated with all your things but the big adult double bed was very different from your cabin bed you donned twelve years ago. And the once colour filled walls were now a subtle pale green. Vines hung all over your room in any nook and cranny your could get them into. Lots of fake plants, and real plants of course.

But this always felt like home to you. Especially when you'd come back from your uni accommodation.

The next day, there were mumbling voices down from the kitchen.

You'd slept in, not having any construct of time by being back in your own bed and not having alarms set for ridiculous times around the races.

"Dad, Mum?" you ask him and Suzie, looking around until you fully walked into the kitchen spotting George at the breakfast table making you stop in your steps.

Toto was your dad, and even though Suz was only your step-mum she was all you had so walking around in a large Mercedes team top and your underwear was normal around them... but not normal around George Russell sat down his fork half in his mouth as he looks over at you.

You flush bright red in realisation before running back off to your bedroom. You walk straight into the ensuite, looking at the state of your hair and face.

Your hair was everywhere, knotted and sticking up in places it shouldn't. You had a red line running down you face from where you'd fallen asleep on your phone cable.

"Oh my god!" you mutter to yourself wondering why you hadn't grabbed a dressing gown or something before you left your room.

You then run around you room, in and out of your ensuite and back into you bedroom, fixing your appearance.

You walk out, fresh faced and in a more appropriate outfit. Smiling at everyone who had clearly not got back to their breakfast since your first interruption.

"Hello..." you say quietly sitting down at the table with your family.

"Hey darling!" Suzie smiles at you, handing you over a glass of orange juice that you take and sip from.

"Y/N, would you take a walk with me?" George asks looking over you. And you look up from the toast Toto had just placed on your plate.

"Erm..." you say not sure. You wanted to talk to him but you were also really hungry and wanted food.

"After breakfast of course!" he says looking down, starting to eat his own eggs once again.

"Yeah, I'd like that!" you smile.

For the rest of breakfast you all talked about Abu Dhabi and your predictions. Max had already won but that didn't mean it couldn't make for an interesting race.

After breakfast you waited at the back door, pulling your wellies on ready to take a long walk through the fields at the back of your family home.

George cleared his throat to let you know he was there and you turned to look at him. A small smile came over you face.

"George" you say and he smiles. He comes up to you wrapping an arm around you shoulder before he leads you out the back door into the garden.

You guys exit through the back gate going onto the muddy tracks behind the house.

For a while, you both basked in each others silence just looking at the nature around you, smelling the morning air and listening to the birds among the trees.

"I- don't really know where to start" he says suddenly making you nod.

"I know, neither do I..." you admit.

"I just want you to know that I'm sorry and ... I never meant to hurt you. I was just so angry... at everything" he sighs and shakes his head.

"I know, I think part of me always knew..."

"Mmmmm" he sighs again, before looking over at you.

"I just want to go back to the way things were" you admit, looking up at him.

"I don't" he lets out the breath he'd been holding.

"W-what?" you ask looking up at him, and it felt like all of a sudden you were back at square one with him.

"I want to be more than what we were. You were my friend for so long and I danced around the idea of pursuing anything with you and I don't want to wait any longer!" he says, holding your cheek looking down at you. You were frozen in shock, not expecting this to be the way your walk went.

"George what are you saying?" you ask in a small voice.

"Can I kiss you, please!" he practically begs you, and all you can do is nod.

"Yes" you smile, before grabbing both sides of his face and leaning up to pull him down into a kiss.

You both kissed, lips mashing together and his hands stayed in your hair, holding you close as if he was worried he was going to loose you again.

George regretted everything that had happened and honesty ... he didn't want this moment to end.

"What does this mean for us George?" you ask looking up at him once you both stop.

"I want you to be mine, ever since I joined Mercedes I've liked you. Please just give me one chance!" he asks.

"I dunno George, you basically called me a gold digger..." you say, trying to fake upset but the small smile that comes onto you mouth gives you right away.

"Oh shush, you know I feel bad about that already!" he groans slightly pushing you a little. The bit you were on was a small incline in the muddy field, your wellies having no grip made a small scream com e out your mouth as you start to fall.

You hand reaches out for George only to have him join you in falling down into the muddy puddle.

"Y/N?" George says looking over you making sure you are all okay.

You burst out laughing seeing the sludge of mud on his face, making you giggle.

Your dad and Suzie, watched from the kitchen seeing the young adults laughing with one another, experiencing young love.

"Do you ever think of how we would be if we met at that age?" Suzie asks wrapping her arms around her husbands large frame.

"No, because I have you now, and that's all i care about" he grins at her as he watches his daughter and George slowly regain that trust they once had and he couldn't help but let a tear fall at the promise of him slowly loosing his daughter to a man...

As he knew George would be one to stick around.

And ... he was okay with that.

A/N: OMG! I think this might be the end!!!

taglist:

@littlesatanicassholebitch @hockey-racing-fubol @laura-naruto-fan1998 @22yuki @simxican @sinofwriting @lewisroscoelove @cmleitora @daemyratwst @lauralarsen @the-untamed-soul @thewulf @itsjustkhaos @purplephantomwolf @chasing-liberosis @summissss @gulphulp @starfusionsworld @jspitwall @sierruhhhh @georgeparisole @youcannotcancelquidditch @tallbrownhairsarcastic @ourteenagetragedy @peachiicherries @formulas-bitch @cherry-piee @spilled-coffee-cup @mehrmonga @bigsimperika @blueberry64857959 @eiraethh @lilypadlover @curseofhecate @alliwantisadonut @dark-night-sky-99 @i-wish-this-was-me @tallrock35 @butterfly-lover @barnestatic @landossainz @darleneslane @barcelonaloverf1life @r0nnsblog @ilove-tswizzle @laneyspaulding19 @malynn @viennakarma @landosgirlxoxo @marie0v @yourbane @teamnovalak @nikfigueiredo @fionaschicken @0picels0 @seomako @urdad-hot @tinydeskwriter @ironmaiden1313 @splaterparty0-0 @formula1mount @styl1shl1v

[scrapyardboyfriends]

Reasons why they should bring Seb back

Now that they’ve gone through the trouble of killing Rebecca off screen (hooray! It’s about time!), it seems only logical that they would do the right thing and bring Seb back, which means I have absolutely zero confidence in them doing so. But here’s my list of why they really really should, as I have been advocating for years now.

Section 1: It would break Aaron out of character growth jail. Since Robert went to prison, Aaron has lost so much. He’s lost a husband and a sister. He lost being a married man, owning his own home and owning his own business. And one of the most important growth things he lost was being a father. He’d already lost Seb and Ryan leaving wrecked the surrogacy story. So bringing Seb back would:

1. Allow Aaron to fulfill the dream he had of being a father and having a family. So many characters just get handed unwanted children but Aaron actually wanted to be a dad and so of course he lost out on that. Giving him Seb would allow him to realize that goal again.

2. Allow Aaron to grow up again. Since his return, he’s been angry, mean, adrift, committing petty crime again for no reason. Seb being back would give him purpose and a reason to clean up his act. It would allow him to get to be an adult again, something the character sorely needs.

3. Allow Aaron to have screen time and positive story. Aaron has been off screen a lot, so much so that all of his current relationship story development has taken place almost entirely off screen. Seb being back would give Aaron an actual story to play out, especially if there were difficulties in getting formal custody. It’s also a story that would have a happy outcome, once he gets custody, which is something the show could really use right now in the midst of all of the depressing terrible stories. And Aaron has always had such a miserable time on the show so I feel like people would root for something good to happen to him.

4. Allow Aaron to have new kinds of stories. Single Dad Aaron opens up so man new possibilities for him, being able to take on a parental role, having to think about Seb’s needs and not just his own.

5. Allow Aaron to have a full circle moment looking after a troubled kid the way Paddy looked after him.

6. Allow Aaron to interact with new characters. Single Dad Aaron would have more opportunity to interact with the other parents in the village. It might give him more reason to have a proper friendship with Billy for example aside from silly illegal boxing stories. It puts him into new circles, which can open him up for new possibilities.

Section 2: Seb gives Aaron a permanent tie to Robert. For whatever reason, the powers that be seem unwilling to let Aaron fully move on from Robert (that’s another whole post I want to write) but this would give them real reason for Robert to be a constant presence in Aaron’s life without it seeming weird or needing Ryan back. It allows him to never fully move on. The Seb/Robert connection:

1. Allows Aaron to keep Robert in his heart through Seb. He can bring him up with Seb, helping his son love his father and making sure he knows who he was/is.

2. Allows Aaron to maybe hear from Robert from time to time. Robert might have to consent to Aaron being the one to have custody of Seb and Robert wanting that, would be a nice signal to Aaron to that Robert still loves him and trusts him.

3. Allows Aaron to maybe finally deal with some of his Robert feelings in a more productive way, in a more positive way. And because he’s raising his kid, in a way that perhaps even his mother could understand and allow.

4. Allows Aaron to bring Robert up in any new relationship, not just because the show makes him accidentally sleep with Robert’s long lost gay half brother. He needs to consider Seb’s feelings in any new relationship and part of that can be whether Robert would approve of said new man in his son’s life.

5. Allows for an even more interesting return story should they ever actually coax Ryan Hawley back.

Section 3: Bringing Seb back can be a part of rebuilding the Sugdens. Obviously that was a line they used in reference to bringing John in and we’ve seen what a joke that has been. However, Seb:

1. Is the son of the ultimate Emmerdale Sugden legacy character, Robert. And he’s not retconned in the way John is. He’s someone people can watch grow up and continue the family legacy, especially if they go the full mile and give him his proper name.

2. Allows them to bring Aaron more into the Sugden family. While, yes, Seb would probably get lumped into the Dingles at times because of Aaron, Aaron can also get brought into Sugden family time, such as it is.

3. Allows them to give Vic and Harry more screen time, and use Vic’s obsessive family tendencies to get Seb back, giving her something positive to do instead of just being annoying. It maybe lets Harry become more of an actual character if he has a cousin with story potential.

4. Gives the Sugdens, such as they are, someone to rally around in general.

5. Is actually related to people like the Merricks, unlike Vic, if they wanted to explore that connection as well.

Section 4: Bringing Seb back is the perfect opportunity to use the fact that Danny is good with the kids.

1. Danny is great with the kids on screen and off and the kids seem to love him back.

2. It would be a better way to use some of his more cringe humor.

3. If they actually cast a good kid actor that Danny can play off of well, they could be such a fun little duo.

Section 5: There’s no reason not to do it. There’s nothing stopping them other than their own inability to tell a good or even mediocre story.

1. They’ve already gone through the trouble of killing Rebecca off. What was the point of that if they’re not going to bring Seb back. They’ve already done half the work.

2. It’s not contingent on getting an actor like Ryan back. They can literally cast any red headed or blonde child for the role (hopefully a good one but I digress…)

So in conclusion: BRING SEB HOME!

[thousand-winters]

Something I love about TOH is how it lets adults be wrong and make mistakes and be whole messes that do not have their shit together because... yeah, that's just life. Adults aren't so put together as one believes when they're a child, and of course they can act rashly and fuck up because of their emotions and generally experience the entire spectrum of human emotion.

It would be lovely if the fandom would be less racist about it tho.

It keeps driving me mad to think about because with characters of color, one mistake is taken and generalized as their entire behavior despite having proof that it was a one time thing, a extreme born out of emotion or after many things have happened, while for white characters it's well understood it was a one time instance.

Nobody took Eda's "I'm going to break every bone of your body" toward King (who, mind you, is like 8yo and the kid she raised since he was a baby) seriously, nor said "Eda totally threatens King with bodily harm every time she's angry". It wasn't a serious threat, King wasn't bothered by her because he knew that, and the world kept spinning, nobody made a bigger deal of that than it had to be, despite the fact that it's objectively a horrible thing to say to your kid.

Nobody said either "every time Eda is feeling unneeded, she avoids talking to her kids and ignores them for days and then attempts murder-suicide on the name of good", although the avoidance aspect of it at least IS more in tune with her general lack of coping mechanisms.

Now, Camila making Luz go to camp? Suddenly she was the devil and evil, and Eda should take full custody of Luz, despite the fact Camila was shown as gentle and loving since moment one, and your kid endangering other kids by bringing live snakes and fireworks to school is objectively something alarming that can't be swept under the rug. There was no point at which Camila was depicted as anything but loving and concerned, even during Grom, Luz's fear was about hurting Camila rather than Camila hurting her and yet people insisted she was abusive until Thanks to Them.

Even after Yesterday's Lie. I mean, Luz is 14. I don't know about you, but if I had a kid known for being a bit careless and reckless and act first before thinking, I would be worried sick knowing she's in a land where half the things alive try to eat you and it's also ruled by a genocidal emperor. Hell, even if my kid wasn't reckless, I would be clawing at the walls about it. Camila wasn't being evil for wanting Luz to stay by her side, especially since they only had each other.

Then, of course, there's Darius.

I'm so sick of people being condescending to people who like Dadrius, even in art posts, all like "guys, but don't forget Darius was shitty to Hunter for years", because it's exactly what I'm talking about of taking one event and extrapolating it toward his entire behavior despite the fact the information we have been provided indicates that was a one time thing. Not only we have the Palisman Logs that confirm Darius usually didn't pay attention to Hunter, which, mind you, isn't a crime because he had no responsibility over Hunter and everyone thought Hunter was being treated well by Belos, but we also have the hint of Darius reacting so viciously because of Hunter sewing the Golden Guard's sigil on his cloak and reminding him of his mentor, which is not something that happened every thursday.

I know everyone understands actions born out of emotion in adults, no matter how wrong they are, because of Eda and even some of the other adults who objectively speaking did way worse in the matter of mistakes toward their children, like Gwen or Alador. Yet, people keep refusing to believe that Darius only did that once but nobody ever says "yes, here are the examples and clues that he was this way for years" (because they do not exist) and just keep repeating that he did or that he has the vibes of someone who did (bestie, that's just racism).

It's so strange because Hunter is not stupid. He knew to be on guard of Kikimora and Kikimora was always shitty to him. He can take a clue, he's not a baby. He refused to accept the help of the Owl Fam and the Hexsquad for a good while because they were "the enemy" and in his head he had the idea that he shouldn't trust them even if he wanted to. Hunter's behavior is affected deeply by Belos' abuse, but he wasn't reacting to everyone in the way he did to Belos, excusing their behavior and generally letting them all walk all over him.

If Darius really had picked on him for years, he wouldn't have been so quick to trust him after Any Sport in a Storm, and we got a bunch of little mentions and hints that point to how their bond started to grow behind curtains, which would be really weird if Darius had always been an overly hostile presence in Hunter's life before. Can you imagine him being all chill with Kikimora if she had hypothetically went "oh, well, I guess I was wrong for trying to murder you"? Hell no.

Even Perry and the Parks didn't got spared from this.

Of course their reactions to their kids getting expelled could have been more graceful, but they were evidently not thinking super clearly at the moment and every other moment we've seen them with their kids, they have been loving and supportive. Hell, even in that same episode we saw how the Parks were, if anything, more concerned about Willow's education to the point they were willing to change their whole life to be able to stay to homeschool her.

Adults make mistakes. People make mistakes.

Stop acting like people of color can't make mistakes without being the epitome of evil.

[fishysaltine]

Odd internet discourse but I absolutely think every single of the main NPC’s would peel and orange for TAV/Durge, mostly depending on relationship status.

Wyll would peel an orange for you if he didn’t know you, he’s the Blade of the Frontiers!!! Peeling an orange for someone, let alone his friend or lover with probably a breath of relief from killing goblins/giant bats/gnolls. And he’d be a good orange peeler too. He’d even probably break it down perfectly into the little slices too. He kind of gets a hiccup when Mizora transforms him but he quickly figures out how to put his new claws to use and uses them to cut the peel even better like one of those fancy orange peelers.

Gale probably wouldn’t peel an orange for someone if they were some stranger on the street, but most definitely if you’re his friend or beyond. But if you’re his lover he’d probably make you a magic orange tree that gives you perfectly peeled oranges whenever you want them, mostly bc he’s not the best at peeling oranges (the skin is too tight for him, ok???) and everything HAS to be perfect for his Tav/Durge. God Gale would just be like “you’re just not ambitious enough try harder”, give you a thumbs up, and fuck off.

Karach would totally peel and orange for her bestie, and most definitely for her Tav/Durge. The thing is she’d totally suck at it. I imagine she just bites the peel to get it loose, but then her claws would just cut into the orange and get juice all over her hands (and in her eye), and it’d be a totally fucked up orange BUT she would do her best and yk what? She can just squish it and make Tav/Durge orange juice. (Plus Tav/Durge can lick it off her hands so who’s complaining rlly)

Shadowheart would only peel an orange for you if you were her BEST friend/lover and also if she’s a Selunite. Yk Shar has some sacred law about oranges being some weird metaphor for emotions and she won’t stand for that as a Sharran. She would look at Tav/Durge with that incredulous “okay…?” Look she does and that tone she has when she thinks her dearest is being silly/stupid, but she would do it. She would also be a decent peeler I imagine, but she would leave those annoying white strands on it just to kind of piss Tav/durge off.

Lae’zel would peel an orange depending on how you approach her. I think she’d have to see you peeling an orange first, get curious about it, and eventually break down and ask “wtf is that?” And Tav/Durge has to show her how to peel and orange. Then it becomes some like wild competition to her, especially if you romance her and give her a peeled orange once. Then she just starts peeling oranges and is absolutely awful at it and then gets angry that she’s not good at peeling oranges. So in the end she’ll probably take your orange, peel it for you, go like “chck, see? This is how a true warrior peels an orange.” Just to show off how goddamn good she is at peeling oranges, then give it back. And in the end she is crazy good at peeling oranges. (I imagine Tav/Durge and Lae’zel peeling oranges, then exchanging them while waiting for a sunrise. I also imagine Lae’zel likes the citrusy taste, but not how sticky it is.)

Astarion would only peel an orange for you only if you’re his lover. People who don’t think he would have never seen him interact with Durge or Half-illithid Tav (heavy on Durge in their entirety). And I don’t mean this in a “omg he’s my Prince Charming” I mean it in a way of like, a silent act of service. He would peel an orange for a romanced Tav in Act 3. He’d probably look at you weird, but he’d peel it, being anxious and snarky the whole time (bc let’s be real this man has probably never in his 240ish years of life, peeled an orange. Probably makes a note about how “CAZAdor never had USE for ORANGES”). But he would peel it, and complain about his nails and clothes in that whiny tone that he has when he really doesn’t mind, he’d just taking the piss out of you because you’re an adult and can technically do it yourself. But he gets the point. Kind of. Non-ascended epilogue Astarion is the one who gets it, and isn’t as snarky about doing it as Act 3 Astarion.

Ascended Astarion would peel oranges for Tav/Durge only after they beg him too, he wants/needs to see them pathetic before he entertains the thought of being anything for them just for them. He would also be super manipulative and bitchy about it like “oooohhh look at what I do for you, darling. You owe me so such, my pretty little consort. I treat you sooo well, don’t I?” The whole works.

P.S. Halsin would peel an orange for anyone who asks, and I imagine he’s good at it. He’s Archdruid, which means he gets a +10 to fruit checks. And oranges he peels also just always taste the best too. It’s concerning how good they are.

[bloatedandalone04]

➪the one where anika and chad set you up. (requested)

Warnings: fluff, fluff, fluff

Word Count: 2k | Ethan Masterlist

Do not repost this anywhere, reblogs are fine ♡

Ethan had always thought you were pretty.

During the four years he’s known you he’s always admired your kindness, the way you always seem to turn a good day into an amazing one, and how you always put someone else’s needs before your own. 

Ethan thought you were so pretty when you were young teens, but now that you were both young adults he thought you were the most breathtaking person he had ever seen. 

The way your face had matured effortlessly, your features more defined and sharper, had his heart yearning to see you more often. You were by far the best person in his life, your personality one of a kind and unlike anyone else’s he knew. Your looks were just a plus.

Even now, as you turn to him, Anika and Chad with a panicked expression, he thought you looked beautiful. “What’s wrong?” He asked as you pulled your phone out and checked the time before looking down at the books in your hand. 

“Shit,” you muttered and chewed on your bottom lip as you looked away and towards a building across the Quad. Ethan couldn’t help but watch as your teeth sunk into your lip as your brows furrowed. “I was supposed to return these to the library before class but I completely forgot about it until now.”

Anika sat up from her place on the bench. “When does your class start?”

You look around Ethan to meet her eye. “In, like, five minutes,” you whine, debating on whether or not you would be able to make it in time if you just started sprinting across the Quad at this very second. 

“Do you have to return them before class? Can’t you just do it after?” Chad asked as he flipped through his textbook, only half paying attention to the conversation. 

“No, it closes early today,” 

Chad raised his head and looked at the building before looking over at you. “Damn, you’re right,” he gave you a pitiful smile. “I’m glad I returned mine yesterday.”

“Lucky you,” you tease before your brows once again furrow in worry and you stand up from the bench. “It’s fine, I’ll figure something out.”

Ethan looked down at the books wrapped tightly in your arms, before looking at the building the library was in and then finally back at you. He didn’t have any classes for the rest of the day, unlike Chad and Anika, and since they would also be off to class soon, too, he would be left alone to do whatever he wanted. 

He stood up as well and gently placed his hand on your arm, making you look up at him. For just a second, it seemed as though you relaxed just a bit when you made eye contact. “I can return them for you,” he offers and watches as your brows soften and you hold back a smile.

“You don’t have to-”

“No, I want to,” he says and takes it upon himself to grab the books from you. “I was heading that way, anyway.” He wasn’t, but you didn’t need to know that.

“Are you sure?” You ask once your arm is free from the weight of the books. 

“Yes,” he gave you a boyish grin. “This way you won’t be late for class and won’t have to pay the late return fee.” 

Your eyes trace all over his features before you break out into a smile, standing on the tips of your toes to wrap your arms around his shoulders. You pull him into a hug, a quick “Thank you,” leaving your lips. 

Ethan felt his face heat up as he wrapped his free arm around your waist, his hand pressing flat against your back. “No problem,”

“Here’s my card,” you pull away all too quickly and hand him your library card. Once he took it from you, you waved to Anika and Chad before you were off in the direction of your class, which just so happened to be in the opposite direction of the library. There really was no way you would’ve made it in time, and Ethan felt pride fill him at the fact that he was the one who was helping you. 

Unbeknownst to both you and Ethan, Chad and Anika had been watching the whole exchange with teasing smirks on their lips. It wasn’t until Chad cleared this throat that Ethan finally looked away from your retreating form. “What?” He asked when he saw the smirk on his roommate’s face. 

“That was really nice of you to offer to take her books back for her,” Chad said as he closed his textbook.

“Yeah,” Anika agreed. “Really nice.”

Ethan gave them both a weird look, backing away slightly as they stared at him with knowing smiles. “I’m just helping her out,” he simply says. “That’s what friends are for.”

“‘Friends’,” Anika snorts. “Right.”

Ethan furrows his brows, confused at why they were both acting like they knew something he didn’t. “What?” He asked again, this time more agitated than the last. “Why are you guys looking at me like that?”

“No reason. I wonder if Y/n knows how much you like her,” Anika questions out loud, making the poor boy even more confused. “More than friends should.”

“Yeah, I can’t believe she hasn’t caught on yet,” Chad agrees. “I mean, no offense, Ethan, but you haven’t been subtle about it at all, bro.”

Shaking his head, Ethan just backed away again when the two stood up. There was no way they had caught onto how he felt about you. He hid it so well, how could they have found out? “You’re wrong,” he said and turned around. “We’re just friends.” 

“Sure,” Anika called out after him once he began walking towards the library. “Friends who are in love with each other.”

“Whatever,” he muttered under his breath, his face heating up at the thought of you ever finding out how he really felt about you. 

Would you laugh at him? Did you feel the same way? Would the friendship be over if you didn’t? 

The last question was mainly the reason he refused to confess how he felt. He would rather be your friend than be nothing at all, no matter how hard it was. 

So, it was really too bad that Anika and Chad were already coming up with a plan which would surely open your eyes to the obvious crushes you had on one another. 

-

“Anika, the guys are here!” You called out from the entranceway of your apartment as you leaned down to tug on your shoes. 

You hear footsteps approaching you and look up, your smile fading when you see how unusually pale your roommate was. Before you could ask if she was okay, she let out a few coughs before muttering, “I don’t think I can go tonight,” she said then immediately coughed again. “I’m sick.” Her voice sounded hoarse and raw, making you instantly believe her words.

“Oh, no,” your brows furrow as you stand back up. “Are you okay? I can stay home with you, if you want. I’m sure the guys won’t mind-”

“No!” Anika says quickly then clears her throat, her eyes closing in a way that makes her look tired. “I mean, no, it’s okay. Go, have fun. I want a full movie review when you get back.” 

You give her a skeptical look. “Are you sure?”

She grabs your bag that was on the hook next to her and shoves it in your hands. “Yes, I’ll be fine,” she assures you, suddenly sounding a lot better than before. “Go, you’re going to be late.”

You narrow your eyes at her but allow her to push you towards the door. When you open it you become face to face with Ethan and Chad. “Hey, guys,” you greet them as you step out of the apartment. “Sorry, I was just checking on Anika. She’s not feeling well.”

“Awh, really?” Chad asks, leaning on the frame of the door as he looks at your roommate. “That’s too bad.”

“I’ll be fine,” Anika says, her voice now sounding hoarse again. “You guys just go without me.”

Ethan looked as confused as you did, the two of you quickly catching onto how weird your roommates were acting. “Are you sure?” He asked as you moved to stand next to him. “We can go another time-”

“No!” Chad and Anika say at the same time. Both you and Ethan reel back at that, your eyes widening in surprise. Chad quickly puts his hand on Ethan’s shoulder as he pushes him away from the still open door. “No, man, we’ve been talking about this movie all week. We’re going.”

“Okay,” he trailed off, giving you a concerned look.

You shrug at him before waving to Anika. “Text me if you need anything,”

“I will,” she waved back and waited until you were a good distance away before pulling out her phone to ask Mindy if she wanted to come over.

-

You were beginning to regret coming. 

The movie the guys had picked was a horror film, one that was supposed to be the best one of the year, and you supposed it was. Two minutes in and you were uncomfortable, your body slumped in the chair as you held your bag of popcorn in front of your face. 

You weren’t the biggest fan of horror movies, but having Ethan right next to you helped quite a bit. Every time a loud noise sounded throughout the big room you wanted to bury yourself into his side, but didn’t want to come off as a scared little girl who couldn’t handle a horror movie. 

It was about twenty minutes in when Chad, who was sitting on the other side of Ethan, stood up and muttered something about needing to go to the bathroom. That left you alone with Ethan, who watched his friend exit the room with a suspicious look. 

Before he could question it, a jump scare occurred on the screen, making you jump from your place beside. Ethan quickly forgets about Chad as he looks over at you, a small smile on his lips. He leaned over so his mouth was next to your ear. “Are you okay?”

You glance over at him and lower your bag of popcorn. “I’m great,” you replied sarcastically. 

Ethan stayed close to you, his teasing tone gone when he asks, “You’re not having fun, are you?”

This makes you look over at him and you get a clear view of the poorly hidden disappointment on his face. “No, no, I’m really glad I came,” you quickly say and sit up properly, guilt lacing your words. “I’m just not big on scary movies.”

“Oh,” he nodded in understanding. A few seconds passed before he looked back over at you and asked, “So, why did you come then? If you didn’t want to see this movie?”

You refused to meet his eyes as your face heated up. Shrugging, you look back up at the screen. “Because I wanted to hang out with you,” 

Ethan was sure he heard you wrong but didn’t get the chance to ask you to repeat your words when a loud noise sounded throughout the room again and caused you to jump and hide your face in his shoulder. 

Your face heated up in embarrassment when you realized what you had done. “Sorry, I’m sorry,” you mutter and begin to pull away but stop when you feel his arm wrap around your shoulder. 

“It’s okay,” he says quietly and you swallow harshly before settling into his side in a more comfortable position. “Is this better?”

By now your heart was beating loudly for a completely different reason. You nod against his chest, reaching over and taking his free hand in yours. “Yes,”

Both of you were far too giddy with excitement to ever realize that Chad never came back and instead left to go spend the night with Tara. 

[justagalwhowrites]

New in Town - Ch. 9: Second New Year

Ringing in the New Year after you and Joel's first year together. The last chapter of New in Town, found in its entirety on Tumblr here.

Pairing: Best Friend's Dad!Joel Miller x Female Reader

CW: Smut :D. No use of Y/N. Age gap (reader is 35 Joel is 47, not a focus of the fic). Minors DNI, 18+ only

Length: 6.3k

AO3 | First Chapter | Previous Chapter

“Sarah, if you don’t stop fucking with that it’s never going to stay,” you said, glaring at her in the mirror as you drew on eyeliner. 

“It’s driving me insane,” she groaned, leaning so close to the hotel bathroom mirror that she was fogging it with her breath, adjusting the false eyelashes for what had to be the millionth time. 

“Yeah, because you keep fucking with them,” you said. “You have to give yourself time to adjust to them. Or just take them off because I’m not spending half the night fixing them for you, drawing the line in the sand now.” 

“You are absolutely no fun,” she said but she smiled all the same. “It’s New Year’s Eve, I want to look extra good. Plus Nick thinks the long lashes are hot and I am ready for hotel room sex.” 

“I didn’t hear that,” Maria called from the bedroom where she was putting on her dress. 

“Hotel room sex, hotel room sex, hotel room sex!” Sarah called back. 

You laughed, picking up your mascara. 

“I don’t think it works like Beetlejuice where you say it enough times it just shows up.”

Sarah laughed back. 

“Fuck I hope not,” she said. “Really don’t want to manifest hotel room sex in front of my aunt and my mom.” 

She said the last word with a drawn out teasing edge and you had to pull the mascara wand away from your face so you didn’t end up with makeup in your eye from laughing so hard. 

“Swear to God if you don’t stop calling me that I will marry your dad just to spite you,” you said once you calmed down again. 

“You’re basically already married anyway,” Sarah said. “For the record, I would be fine with it.” 

You paused for a second, putting more mascara on the wand and looking at her in the mirror. 

“Yeah?” You asked. 

“Yeah,” she smiled at you in her reflection. “But don’t expect Mother’s Day gifts from me if it ever happens.” 

You snorted, returning to your makeup. 

“Better get a bouquet, box of chocolates, the whole nine for holding your hair when you get drunk.” 

You couldn’t believe it was already New Year’s Eve again. The last year had gone by so fast it didn’t seem like it could have contained quite as much as it did. But you’d spent almost the entire time so blissfully happy that it made sense that the time felt so damn short. 

Things with Joel had been going so well before Sarah found out that it was hard to believe it could really get better, but it did. Not feeling like you were hiding from the most important person in both your lives was like losing a weight you didn’t even know you were carrying. Neither of you were dancing around talking about how you were spending your time now, not being careful about what pictures you sent her and not having to just pretend like a huge part of your life didn’t exist when talking with her. 

When she went back to Seattle after Thanksgiving, the three of you started having weekly FaceTime calls, you and Joel sometimes on your couch or at his kitchen table or even in a hotel room in New Orleans once when you decided to get away for your first trip together as a couple. 

That Christmas had been the best you’d ever had. Not that there was much competition but Joel and Sarah both had completely brought you into all their holiday traditions. The driving around to look at Christmas lights with a thermos of hot cocoa, the annual trip to Mi Tierra in San Antonio so you could properly appreciate the Christmas lights that apparently were up year round. When Sarah came back to town a few days before Christmas, she dragged you and Joel to the mall and made the three of you take a picture with Santa. You got some funny looks in line - three full blown adults with nary a kid in sight - but Sarah whispered something to woman getting ready to take the picture and she smiled and nodded, helping the three of you get arranged for the photo. You sat lightly on one of Santa’s knees, Sarah on the other, Joel leaning against the side of the large chair. Joel insisted on getting the actual printed photo and, when you picked it up, they also handed you a candy cane and a small Santa figurine. You frowned at it for a second.

“First Santa visits should be commemorated,” the woman behind the counter smiled. “Merry Christmas!” 

You looked at Sarah for a second, worried you might cry and she smiled. 

“You have a Christmas decoration now,” she said. “But if you really don’t want it at your place, we can add it to the Christmas village at Dad’s!” 

You just hugged her and she laughed, hugging you back. 

That Christmas, the figurine and the picture sat on the book shelf in your living room, right where you could see them from your couch. The perfect image of the kind of life you’d always wanted to have, one that was filled with people who loved you. 

This year, the figurine and picture were at Joel’s because you were, too. 

Your lease was up in the fall and, by that point, the two of you were having a hard time remembering the last time you’d slept apart. You were wondering how to broach the subject with Joel - did you just ask if you could move into his house? Was not quite a year of knowing each other too soon? Did you just find a new apartment and never mention it? - when he brought it up one night over dinner. 

“Your lease is comin’ up soon, right?” He asked and you froze for a second, a bite of enchilada on your fork half way to your mouth. 

“Yeah,” you said when you remembered how to move and respond again. “Six weeks I think? They want me to decide whether or not I’m staying within the next two…” 

“Have you thought about if you might want to move in with me?” He asked, his jaw tense but his eyes soft. “Only if… you know… you thought you were ready for that. Just figure I’m at yours or you’re at mine most nights anyway and…” 

“Joel,” you smiled, setting your fork down and leaning on the table with your arms crossed in front of you. “Are you asking me to move in with you?” 

“Only if you wanted,” he said quickly. “Not tryin’ to… I dunno… put pressure on you or something. Never tried to do this before so…” 

You pressed your lips together, trying not to laugh. More at yourself than at Joel. Because of course he was thinking what you were thinking. Of course you were in the same place on this. Of course you were both nervous about bringing it up to each other. 

“I’d love to move in with you,” you said once you were sure you had yourself together. “As long as you’re offering because that’s what you really want and not because you think you should.” 

“Oh I want it,” he was smiling now and leaning toward you across the table. “Was considering just taking stuff from your place and moving it to mine, get you in the door before you even knew it was happening.” 

“That what happened to my sexy underwear?” You teased. 

“Nah,” he waved you off. “I stole those to jerk off with when you’re not there because you don’t live with me yet. Can have ‘em back when we unpack the moving truck.” 

You moved in a few weeks later. Joel cleared out most of his closet, his jeans and button downs taking up only a small corner of it to begin with, and built you shelving for your purses and shoes. He made space for your things throughout his home, for your favorite pots and pans in the kitchen, for your decorations in the living room. Setting aside the bits and pieces of his life to make sure it could hold yours, too. If he’d asked you to marry him in that moment, you’d have said yes in a heartbeat. 

“Oh shit,” you sighed, rifling through your makeup bag. “I think I left my fucking lipstick in my room…” 

You went to get your room key from your clutch but Sarah plopped a tube of lipstick in front of you first. 

“Use mine,” she said. “I’m almost ready and I don’t want to waste time with you up down three floors and all the way over to your room before we go to the party. I want cocktails, I want music and I want to flirt with my hot boyfriend while I wear a slutty dress.” 

“Maria is still getting dressed, I’ve got five minutes…” 

“No you don’t!” She called from the bedroom before coming to the bathroom door and turning around. “Zip me?” 

You laughed and obeyed, Maria adjusting the dress a bit before turning back around. 

“Hey sexy mama!” You whooped at her. “That looks like it was made for you.” 

“Right?” She flung her long braids over her shoulder before admiring herself in the full length mirror on the bathroom door. “My pregnancy boobs have shown up but the bump is still in hiding. It’s the perfect dress moment, had to take advantage of it.” 

“Hear that little one?” Sarah said, looking toward Maria’s lower stomach. “You’re making your mom look hot!” 

“Hotter,” you corrected. “They’re making their mom look hotter.” 

You settled for Sarah’s lipstick and the three of you headed for the elevator to go meet up with the guys. 

Your first New Year’s Eve with Joel had been far more low key. Sarah was in town and Joel invited Tommy and Maria over to watch the ball drop. You’d ordered pizza and gotten drunk and played charades with your boyfriend’s family and, at midnight, kissed Joel so deeply that you could taste the champagne on his tongue. 

This year, you had plenty to celebrate. It was Maria and Tommy’s last one before they became parents - you highly doubted they’d be up until midnight next year. Sarah had gotten promoted and you’d gotten her a job at the Austin branch in August. She had moved back to town just a few months before you moved in with Joel and the three of you had found a comfortable - if unusual - dynamic as a family. And it felt like you had finally found everything you’d ever truly wanted. 

Instead of staying home this New Year’s Eve, you all decided to go to a party at one of the nice hotels in Houston. You’d all gotten hotel rooms so no one had to drive and the boys had all gone on ahead to the rooftop bar to hold a table while the three of you got ready to go. 

“Crap, one sec,” Sarah said, frowning at her phone as the three of you went for the elevator. “Left something in the room, wait for me, OK? I don’t want to try to find them on my own!” 

You and Maria watched her run back to her room - where the three of you had been getting ready - and you frowned as she tottered on her high heels. 

“Is she acting weird?” You asked as Maria leaned against the wall. 

“Sarah?” Maria laughed. “She’s always weird.” 

She came back a few minutes later, tugging her dress down as she went and a little breathless when she got there. 

“OK,” she smiled and took a deep breath. “Now we’re good!” 

You were almost giddy as you rode the elevator up to the party, feeling the thud of music through the elevator doors before they opened. 

It was hard to say why you were just so excited. It wasn’t like you’d never been to a party before - you and Sarah had rung in the New Year at a party a lot like this one that your office had handled the advertising for in Seattle one year - but it felt like something new. Like you were stepping into the first year of your life where everything had finally fallen into place. 

“Hey!” Tommy yelled, standing and waving his arm over his head as he saw the three of you leave the elevator. You could barely hear him over the thud of the bass. “Over here!” 

“How many beers do you think he’s had?” Maria asked conspiratorially and you laughed. 

“Probably the same number mine has,” you replied, smiling at Joel as he craned his neck to get a better look at you. 

“Holy hell woman,” he said, getting out of the round booth as you got to the table. He pressed a kiss to your cheek and dropped his voice low. “Not sure I’m gonna take that dress off you later, might need to leave it on.” 

You smiled as he gave you a squeeze and you sat down, Joel sliding in beside you, one hand of his going below the table to the inside of your thigh. 

One thing that hadn’t changed in the last year was just how insatiable the two of you were for each other. You kept waiting for it to calm down a bit, to stop looking at him and immediately start thinking of how to get him alone and naked as quickly as possible. But Joel was still the single sexiest man you’d ever seen and was still far and away the best in bed. You couldn’t help but want to fuck him all day every day. You were just thankful he seemed to feel the same way about you. 

One of your favorite things about living with Joel was your after work routine. When you managed to make it so you left the office around the same time Joel left his job site, you’d join him in the shower, your hair in a knot on top of your head to keep from getting too soaked, Joel still a little sweaty and dirty from a hard day’s work. Sometimes, you just enjoyed each other. You loved the quiet intimacy of it, of being in such a private space together in just your skin, helping him wash the day from his body before he pulled you against him under the water. Other times, Joel pressed you against the cool tile and fucked into you, hard and fast and eager, making your back arch as your leg wrapped around him, the heat of his mouth and the steam filling you when you kissed him. 

The new routines had just given you more reasons and opportunities to fuck, it seemed, instead of sex getting lost in the monotony of daily life. Sometimes it was in the middle of late night TV when you were both getting tired on the couch. Sometimes it was when you were putting away laundry. Sometimes it was when you were making dinner. 

It was just that, sometimes, it required… additional boundaries. 

Sarah had a key to Joel’s place, of course, but she quickly learned that she needed to announce herself before just coming in the door when she wasn’t expected, her walking in the house without warning when he was deep inside of you while you were draped over the kitchen counter was a little too close for comfort for all three of you. 

“I have literally never wanted to know less about your sex life,” she shuddered a few hours later when you were sitting in Joel’s back yard, fully clothed with a beer in your hand. 

You laughed. 

“Never wanted you to know less about it so that works just fine for me.” 

You, Joel and Sarah all had dinner together at least once a week, another routine you’d come to love, and you got Sarah all to yourself most days over lunch, happy for the chance to laugh with your best friend.

You weren’t sure life could get much better. 

“Oh sweet!” Sarah said as the waitress came by the table, tray of drinks in hand, passing a cosmopolitan to Sarah. “Who knew this was just what I wanted?” 

“Happy to take credit for that,” Nick smiled, kissing her cheek and you smiled at him. He was a relatively new addition to Sarah’s life but he seemed promising. You’d never seen her quite so giddy over a guy before and you were trying not to mention it so you wouldn’t jinx it. 

When she finally owned up to being hung up on the man, though, you were going to start teasing her as relentlessly as she’d been teasing you. You were getting double wedding jokes lined up and ready, waiting for the perfect moment to hit her with it. 

But it was a holiday. You’d take it easy on her for a little while longer. Assuming she stopped calling you Mom. 

Joel had been paying attention too, it seemed, and the server handed you a mojito. Appropriate, since you’d just been lamenting the fact that you didn’t have fresh mint at home just two nights before. 

“How often are you really gonna muddle mint for a drink?” Joel asked, barely contained smile on his face. 

“At least once in a while!” You laughed. “Come on, we could do a whole herb garden in the yard…” 

“You are not gonna keep a garden alive.” 

“Yes I will!” You protested. He raised his eyebrows at you, incredulous. “If I have the motivation of cocktails I will.” 

“Fine,” he sighed but still smiled, kissing your forehead. “In spring I’ll build you a garden and you can kill as many herbs as you want, Beautiful.”

“Is this supposed to bribe me into you not making me a garden?” You teased, taking a sip of the drink. 

“Baby, I will make you whatever makes you smile,” he kissed your exposed shoulder. “But if I’m saving the lives of some poor, innocent plants by ordering you a cocktail…” 

You laughed and kissed him, the scratch of his facial hair on your skin comforting and familiar. 

The party really picked up not long after you got there and you, Sarah and Maria went to dance while the guys hung back to talk for a bit. 

“You don’t think they’re being too hard on him do you?” Sarah asked, watching the table. 

“Oh I’m sure they’re being super nice,” you said. “Joel and Tommy have never been protective of you, not once.” 

“Oh God,” she groaned but she smiled. 

“Wouldn’t worry too much,” you laughed. “It looks like he’s weathering it well.” 

“Hold on,” Maria smiled and shook her head. “We can get him some help…” 

She started waving to Tommy, who clapped Nick on the shoulder and got out of the booth to join his wife on the dance floor. You looked at Joel, eyebrows raised, until he met your gaze and you saw him sigh and smile before heading your way. 

You put your arms around his neck and kissed him, pressing tightly to him and feeling every line of him through your clothes. His hands went to your waist, pulling you closer. 

“You tryin’ to distract me?” He asked when you pulled away. 

“Trying to get you to play nice,” you teased. 

“Always play nice,” he said as you turned around in his hold, your ass going back against his hardening length. He lowered his lips to your ear, his breath hot on your skin. “Except when you ask me not to.” 

You resisted the urge to drag him back to your hotel room right that second. Instead, you pressed yourself harder against him, moving your body in time to the pulsing, thrumming rhythm. His hands slid to your hips and you couldn’t help but think of how they felt on your bare skin. 

But you managed to keep it together for a few songs, dancing until you were breathless and you really couldn’t take it anymore. You draped yourself around Joel again, pressing your lips to his ear. 

“Order me a water and another mojito,” you said, your hand sliding into his pocket, brushing his half hard cock through his jeans, as you grabbed your phone. “And check your texts.” 

You didn’t give him a chance to respond, just meeting his wide eyes for a moment before slipping into the crowd. You went around to the pool area of the rooftop, far quieter than the bar and the dance floor, the lounge chairs all stacked up next to a storage space that looked like it would provide the perfect cover from the dance floor. You took a selfie with just a glimpse of the thudding party in the background and texted it to him. 

“Come find me.” 

It didn’t take him long, coming around the corner while glancing back over his shoulder, looking nervous. You grabbed a fistful of his shirt and pulled him into you, your back against the storage room. 

“You are up to no good,” he said, pressing you back against the wall, his mouth covering yours, his body warm against the cool night air. “Tryin’ to get us kicked out of the damn hotel?” 

His hand went to your breast, anyway.

“We can keep our clothes on,” you panted against him. “Be very well behaved. Like that time in the bathroom.” 

“Fuck, Beautiful,” he groaned, putting his thigh between your legs, your skirt covering part of his jeans. He rocked his hips against you, his hands going to your waist, the outline of his hard cock against your stomach. “Wanna make me come in my pants like a fucking teenager?” 

“Don’t think we’re making it to midnight any other way,” you were needy, aching as you ground your pussy down on the straining muscle of his leg. 

“Still gonna let me fuck you later?” He kissed down your neck, rutting harder against you, your hands on his shoulders, grip tightening. 

“You think I’m starting a new year without you inside me as soon as possible you’re insane.” 

He laughed a little and nipped at your collarbone before pulling you tighter against his leg, making you moan. You started working yourself harder and faster against him, pulling him tighter to you, your wetness soaking your panties. 

“You’re close, aren’t you, Baby?” He asked, voice dark. Your motions stuttered but you nodded frantically against him. “Gonna come all over my fucking leg aren’t you? Come from just riding my fucking thigh?” 

You were close enough that you’d lost the ability to speak. You just nodded again and he kissed you, hard and messy and deep and you pressed yourself firmly against his leg as you fell apart, the tight coil inside yourself snapping as your clit throbbed against him. 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck!” He gasped as he pressed his cock hard against you and you felt him throbbing there, spilling into his jeans before slumping against you. His nose brushed yours for a moment and you smiled, kissing him lightly. 

“You’re going to kill me,” he laughed a little breathlessly. “More than a year into this and you still want me to fuck you so bad you’re dragging me away from a party?” 

“That’s nothing,” you teased. “Wait until we’re really old and we’re finding ways to sneak around the nursing home.” 

He laughed and kissed you again. 

“Love you so fuckin’ much.” 

It was easier to focus on the party after that. Tommy gave Joel a look when you made it back to the table and Joel told him to mind his own business and you laughed and drank your mojito. 

By the time midnight rolled around, you’d been pleasantly tipsy for more than an hour, draping yourself over Joel at every opportunity when you weren’t dancing with Sarah and Maria. As the countdown started, the six of you crowded onto the dance floor with everyone else, champagne in hand, Joel’s arm around you as he held you to his side. 

“Three, two, one!” 

Joel turned you to him and kissed you before you’d even had a chance to yell happy New Year and you sank into him, almost forgetting about the drink in your hand until some of it dribbled down your wrist, making you laugh against his lips. 

“Couldn’t let a second of the year go by before I kissed you for the first time,” he said, his lips still close to yours. The knot of heat and wanting that had eased after your antics earlier was back with full force. 

“Good,” you said quietly, drinking in the hungry look in his eyes. 

“It’s supposed to be a toast, you insatiable weirdos,” Sarah laughed and you laughed back, separating from Joel far enough to raise your glasses and toast with your new found family. 

It wasn’t long before all of you made your way to the elevators, piling into one with a handful of strangers, you happy for the excuse to stay pressed tightly against Joel. 

“Good luck!” Tommy said, a teasing edge to his voice when the doors dinged open on your floor. 

You frowned at him, confused, as the doors closed and you laughed a little as Joel led you back to the room. 

“Why do you need luck? Is Tommy under the impression that you have to work to get sex out of me?” You teased. “Because it’s sweet that you’d protect my honor that way but we both know that’s a damn lie.” 

“Tommy’s just a dumbass,” Joel replied. “Ignore him, that’s what I do.” 

You laughed, the tail end of your buzz waning. 

“Thinking we should take full advantage of that jacuzzi tub,” you said as Joel unlocked the hotel room door. “And use it to research the investment of a hot tub in the back yard…” 

“You’re insatiable,” he teased, opening the door for you. 

You laughed and were so busy looking at him - his thick, dark hair that was flecked with gray; his plush lips; his soft eyes - that it took you a second to realize there were roses and petals all over the room, a bottle of wine chilled in a bucket on the small table. 

“Joel?” You looked back at him and he just shrugged, smiling. 

You went further into the room and realized that it wasn’t just flowers and wine. There were framed pictures of you and Joel from the last year of your lives together. One of the two of you on Bourbon Street, another from when you decided to actually take those wine tasting classes you’d talked about, one from your second Longhorn’s game. There were at least a dozen, each one making it look so, so obvious that you made each other happy. That you gave each other the lives you wanted. 

You picked up the picture by the bedside, the first selfie you’d ever taken together. You were hiking and you’d held your arm out far enough to try to capture some of the view behind you. You were smiling hugely at the camera, hair grimy with sweat, Joel’s arm around your shoulders. But he wasn’t looking at the camera. Instead, he was looking at you. Looking at you like you were the only thing worth looking at. Looking at you like you made him happier than just about anything else on Earth. 

“What…” You trailed off, looking up from the picture to see Joel, on one knee with a box in his hands at the foot of the bed. 

You gasped and jumped, your hands covering your mouth on instinct, eyes wide. Your feet moved before you really realized what was happening and it seemed sudden that you were right in front of him.

“Joel,” you breathed, trembling hands slowly leaving your face. 

“For a very long time,” he said, his voice assured. “It felt like I’d gotten the only good thing I was going to get out of life. I had Sarah and seemed wrong to ask for more than that so I wasn’t lookin’ for it. Wasn’t lookin’ for you. But then I found you - or you found me, anyway - and I realized just how good life could be as long as I got to live it next to you. 

“You are the single best person I’ve ever met. You’re so smart and funny and creative and kind and the most fun I’ve ever had and I can’t imagine anything better than getting to live the rest of my life with you. Will you make me the happiest man on Earth and marry me?” 

***

Joel wasn’t sure his heart had ever beat this fast. Maybe when Sarah was first born and there were the torturous few seconds of silence before she started crying, not sure how anything about pregnancy or babies worked. Definitely never since. 

But the silence between you seemed to drag on for an eternity even though he knew it could have only been a second or two. That didn’t stop his heart from racing. 

“Yes,” you nodded, your voice thick, tears in your eyes. “Yes, yes, yes, yes yes!” 

You damn near tackled him and he laughed, catching you and holding onto you as he lowered the two of you to the ground on a bed of rose petals. 

Joel, Tommy and Nick had been in here getting everything set up while Sarah and Maria kept you busy in Sarah’s room. There was a brief moment of panic when Sarah texted that the three of you were headed to the party and Joel had to ask her to buy at least two minutes because they were walking to the elevator themselves. 

“I’m so happy for you, man,” Tommy said, clapping Joel on the shoulder as they headed up to the party. “You deserve this, you really fuckin’ do.” 

“She ain’t said yes yet,” Joel said, feeling the nerves all sudden and hot under his skin. “Don’t jinx it.” 

“She’ll say yes,” Tommy said, sounding so confident. “Don’t ask me WHY but that woman adores you. She’s gonna love it.” 

He hoped you did. He hoped you loved the idea at all, that you loved the proposal, that you loved the ring. Sarah had helped pick that part out so he was more confident of that, finding a piece that was elegant without looking dated, something that he hoped you’d like wearing for the rest of your life. 

Because that’s what he wanted. He wanted you, wanted to make you happy, for the rest of your life. 

He slid the ring onto your finger, the diamond catching the light as he did. 

“Are you serious?” You asked, looking from the ring to him. 

“Serious about spending the rest of my life with you?” He asked. “Can’t think of anything better.” 

You threw your arms around his neck and kissed him, hard and needy. He leaned into it for a moment before he pulled back from you. 

“Should move to the bed,” he breathed. “Gotta treat my fiancee right.” 

You just nodded quickly and Joel got up before helping you to your feet. 

He tugged your dress up and over your head - as much as he wanted to fuck you in the sexy little thing you’d been tempting him with all night, the need to feel your skin was too great - and eased you down onto the bed. 

You moved to the middle of it and Joel got undressed, his eyes watching you hungrily, the glint of his ring on your finger making him somehow even harder. You removed your bra and cast it aside before you slipped your panties down your legs and tossed them to the side, leaving you exposed and bare. You were everything it seemed like he’d ever wanted and you were his, the proof of it right there on your hand. He fisted his cock, pumping himself once, twice, as he climbed between your legs. 

He wanted to make this last. He wanted to go down on you and swallow your pleasure until you were screaming with it. He wanted to kiss every inch of your skin. He wanted to tease you with his fingers until you were begging for his cock. But he wasn’t sure he could, not that moment. He had a feeling you wouldn’t be leaving the bed for a few days after this.

“Joel,” you panted, watching him, pupils blown and back arched. He smiled. For some reason, you wanted him like he wanted you. 

“Yes, Mrs. Miller?” He breathed, settling between your open legs, the apex of your thighs hot against his skin. You moaned and rocked your hips up against him, your needy little clit pressing into his skin. 

“Fuck,” you moaned, closing your eyes, fingers gripping his bicep tightly. “Love the sound of that…” 

“You have no idea, Beautiful,” he said, kissing you, grinding his cock against your dripping slit. You moaned, the movement of your hips stuttering for a moment before you adjusted the angle so the tip of him was catching on your entrance with ever pass, just enough for the most sensitive part of him to be enveloped in your tight, wet heat. 

“Need you,” you were almost gasping with it, desperate and wanting. “Please, please, need to feel you, I need…” 

“Always going to give you what you need, Baby,” he said, his cock dipping further into you this time before he pulled back and pushed himself against your clit again. “Always gonna take care of you, always.” 

He pushed into you then, firm but not to fast, your breath catching on your throat as he did. Joel kissed you, trying not to think about how damn good you felt, how it seemed like he belonged right there, deep inside you. 

“Fuck,” your nails dug into him but he held on. “Fuck, you feel so fucking good how do you feel this fucking good?” 

He could only moan in response, fucking into you, feeling you open up to him, your walls gripping him tight. He stayed still inside you for a moment, savoring it, the feeling of you around him while he was over you, the way you held onto him. 

But he couldn’t last that way for long. You - his fiancee. His fiancee, no one else’s, you belonged to no one but him - felt too damn good for him to last too long inside of you and he had to move, he had to. 

So he did, starting a little slower but still firm, pressing his hips into you so your hot little clit was against his skin. 

He could feel you starting to tighten around him, like your body was trying to pull him deeper somehow, your lips messy and desperate when they found his, trialing little kisses over his body when they don’t. 

“That’s it, Beautiful,” he panted into you. “Come for me, can feel how close you are, just let go for me, let me feel you. Need to feel you…” 

You gasped his name and pressed your whole body tight against him as you came around him, your pussy fluttering around him, working his cock, all warm and soft trying to pull him as deep as you could take him. He fucked you through it, hardly able to hold off his own orgasm, the aftershocks of yours still rippling through your tight channel when he emptied himself into you until he didn’t even have the strength to hold himself up anymore, collapsing on you, his head over your shoulder so he could smell your skin and your hair. Fuck, he loved that smell. Fuck, he loved you. 

After a minute, he adjusted the two of you so you were draped over his chest, your arms all soft and pliant, close enough that he could feel your heartbeat on his skin, feel your soft, little breaths on him. You held up your left hand, turning the ring back and forth in the light. 

“You’re sure about this?” You asked, glancing up at him as you fidgeted with the ring. 

“More sure than I’ve ever been about anything,” he said. “Would make you Mrs. Miller tomorrow if you’d let me.” 

You laughed a little at that, putting your hand down on his chest and taking a deep breath. 

“Doesn’t seem fair,” you said softly. 

“What doesn’t?” 

“You’ve given me so much,” you said. “You’ve given me everything I’ve ever wanted - everything. Feels like I’m not holding up my end.” 

“You kiddin’ me?” He scoffed. “You’re so perfect I have to remind myself that you’re real sometimes, that I’m not just imagining you. You make me the luckiest man on Earth every damn day by just breathing in the same room as me. If anything’s not fair, it’s that I got too greedy asking you to marry me. Should know to quit when I’m this far ahead.” 

You laughed and pressed your lips into his chest, looking at the ring again, twisting it this way and that with your thumb. 

“Make you a deal,” you said, adjusting your head so you were looking at him. 

“What’s your proposal?” He asked, teasing. 

“You take care of me,” you said. “Make sure I’m not getting too overwhelmed or overdoing it at work or just getting too in my own head. I’ll take care of you, make sure you take time for yourself, make sure you relax, make sure you know how great you are. Deal?” 

He smiled a little. 

“Deal, Mrs. Miller.” 

You smiled bigger. 

“Excellent, Mr. Miller.” 

He kissed your forehead. 

“Don’t have to change your last name, you know,” he said, giving you a squeeze. “I can always just call you that for my own damn enjoyment without making it official.” 

You laughed a little. 

“No, I want to change it,” you said. “Sarah was right all along. I think I’m going to make a great Miller.” 

A/N: Ahhh! I hope you all loved reading the story of Joel and Sarah's best friend as much as I loved sharing it! These two are so fun and so sweet, I'm so glad I got to give them the happy ending they deserved.

Thank you so so much for being here, for following along with this little story that started as a one shot based on a request that came in after I wrote another one shot as a request. I so appreciate that you're here, that you've spent your time with this fic and these characters and all of your support. This corner of the internet means everything to me and it's because you're a part of it <3 Love you!

Taglist: @fanficismydrug

[thelongestway]

hey no shade but you know dungeon meshi isn't actually based off dnd right? there are definitely some overlapping concepts and it can be fun to analyze it through a dnd lens but really it's its own homebrew fantasy setting. just checking bc i nearly got in an argument w someone over dungeon meshi lore the other day only to realize it was because they were trying to apply dnd lore to it ahahaa

Oh yeah, absolutely, it's its own thing. You don't even have to go far to show how it's its own thing: for one, the whole set-up with the dungeons being what they are isn't found anywhere else in D&D-inspired material that I know. You could maybe reflavor Halaster's Undermountain to something like the Dungeon Meshi dungeons, but that would be another layer of homebrew. That said, I do have the feeling that Ryoko Kui grew up on the same kind of D&D material that I did - stuff like Elminster's Ecologies, or old school Greyhawk materials. Her story genuinely feels like an AD&D game run by an old-school DM, maybe even earlier in the editions (hi, Chilchuck and "I'm a rogue, I'm not gonna fight"!). I don't mean that she follows D&D canon in any meaningful sense--her stuff isn't set in Greyhawk, nor on Abeir-Toril, nor on Krynn, etc. But I do think she's someone who's inspired by old school stuff, even as she makes her work thoroughly her own.

An acquaintance of mine once wrote that long tabletop games gain a quality that she called "being well-trod". This is when the players and DM are so familiar with the world they live in that it becomes, well, lived-in. They don't need to look up rules anymore to extrapolate: they understand the logic of the setting, and they get the same kind of intuitive feel for the world that we do when living in our own world, in real life. A feeling of where the boundaries lie, and how things work.

This is how I feel about Dungeon Meshi and D&D. It feels like a work written by someone who walked the same paths that I did, and whose work is therefore both new and startlingly familiar. That's it in a nutshell, but then I also wrote a bunch of examples, which got very long, so cut for length and spoilers!

I wrote somewhere in the tags on my Dungeon Meshi posts that it's incredibly surreal reading a story that seems to be informed by the exact materials that you base your own homebrew games on. Kui takes her work in a wholly different direction than I did - but the disparate elements of the story would fit in like a glove, because they're based on similar logic. I could quite literally take any of the ecologies elements of Dungeon Meshi and put them into a given module I'm running, and it would need less adaptation than 5e material. And most of the cultural/racial elements of Dungeon Meshi? That, too. Where it's not a one for one match, it would so easily be explainable by "different continent".

Let's take the example you're probably here from: the Canaries and elves in general, and let's take elves in general first. In D&D, there's been a switch in models of elven aging throughout the years: from "they are literal babies up until 60-ish, and then have 40 years of actual adolescence" to "yeah they grow to full adult size at about the same speed as the other races, and are then just culturally considered too young to make their own decisions". I am decidedly not a fan of the second model - I think it takes away from the cool biologies early D&D thrived on. BG3's treatment of Astarion's age of death, for instance, keeps throwing me. Yeah, I get it: it fits in with the edition they're working off, but I hate it. That's not how things work on our Faerun! But then we get to Marcille's backstory, and we see that she has the problems old school half-elves did, and you're like "oh, well of course someone invested in weird cool biology as an author would interpret elves like that." Her treatment of age makes sense to me. She makes the races as alien as possible, and hits that vibe of "D&D-style fantasy is its own thing, with its own set of rules" that I love. In contrast, and unlike any prototypes I know, Kui takes her half-foots in a different direction! They don't live longer than tall-men, they live shorter lives, closer to goblinoids. And I think it's for the same reason: because it's that much cooler to have different experiences of life in humanoid races. This is decidedly Not D&D, but it would absolutely fit into that vein.

With smaller details, I keep joking around here that the Canaries are grey elves, and of course they're not. But then Kui keeps putting in these tiny little details - which can be either nods to existing material, or the same extrapolations that other authors drawing upon high fantasy tropes have made. The white ships that have travelled all the way from Tolkien's Valinor to Evermeet and now to Shima. The fact that the Canaries have basically the right color scheme for grey elves threw me completely: I was not expecting that! Elves being that specific brand of destructive that they are - jeez, the Canaries would be right at home in Myth Drannor, or during the Crown Wars. So I joke around about these specific dolts a lot, and I am having an inordinate amount of fun seeing if my predictions that come from running a Myth Drannor game for a good long while now come true. And it goes on. Marcille doesn't prepare spells, and the magic here is obviously not Vancian. But Mithrun's teleport shenanigans are literally stuff I've done in games. The differences between races in D&D aren't because of wishes made by mortals; they're built in by gods for their own purposes. But the towns that spring up around anomalous spots and that have to deal with the weirdness have the same vibe. Kui draws on a more extensive tradition than just D&D, of course, but she transforms the tradition in a very similar way to old D&D. Of course the elves' magic in Kui's work does weird and creepy stuff with soulbinding and immortality; that's been their dark side since Tolkien and Celebrimbor's work with Annatar, and then it turned into stuff like elves regularly sacrificing their lives in high magic rituals in Faerun. Of course Senshi's backstory is about the dwarves that have dug too deep - but they are, of course, distinct from gnomes, and the gnomes are a peculiar and interesting breed of arcana specialists. Of course Chilchuck is a Burglar - but he works on dungeon delving unions, of all things! It's a familiar transformation, so the world makes sense to me, and I love it. So yeah. Tl;dr: not D&D ofc, but the vibe is there, and I am having fun with it.

Also - can you tell me about the argument? I am super curious, and I wonder if the person you were arguing with was working from 5e material.

[ravennaortiz]

August 2nd is Juice with the prompt "There is a reason I don't celebrate my birthday". Requested by a lovely Anon. As always my stories are 18+

I thought she would like this thought Juice to himself as he collapsed onto the floor outside of your bedroom door. He knew it was unlocked but had decided against going in. You had not responded to his knocks or request to enter. He knew from the way your eyes had shown with tears and your lip had trembled when you entered the house that you were upset.

For the life of him he wasn't sure why though. He had surprised you before with trips and gifts. He figured a house full of friends for your birthday would be greeted with joy and happiness. He had spent weeks planning the perfect day for you. Everything from breakfast in bed to a day out on the water surfing to a surprise party once you got home.

Streamers and balloons of your favorite colors decorated the whole of the house. Your favorite foods, drinks and birthday cake had been made to perfection. He had been sure of it. You deserved to have the best day ever but yet somehow he had fucked it up.

"Aye Juicy boy. Ye want us to clear out?" inquired Chibs quietly as he entered the hallway a few minutes later. Juice sighed as he looked up. "I don't know. Probably. I'm not sure anymore. We were having such a good day.....I don't know what happened" admitted Juice as he rubbed his face with his hands.

Before anything else could be said the door opened and he fell in at your feet. "Could we talk" you murmured as you sniffled. Your eyes red and puffy and your makeup running down your face. Juices heart broke as he looked up at you but nodded as he sat up when you crouched down to sit next to him.

"I will give you two a few minutes" stated Chibs before heading back the way he had came.

"Tell me what I did wrong babe" murmured Juice as he grabbed your hands as he watched you closely. "Nothing. It's silly. I'm an adult and should be over it" you started as you shook your head and sighed. "I'm sure its not silly. Talk to me" encouraged Juice. "There is a reason I don't celebrate my birthday. Well lots of reasons honestly. This is my fault for never bringing it up. I usually just get the guy to break up with me before my birthday so it's never been an issue before" you rambled as you looked anywhere but at the man you had grown to love over the last ten months.

Juice frowned but waited patiently for you to speak again. "So you know how I don't speak to my family anymore?" you asked looking down at your hands. Juice nodded. It was something you had mentioned on one of your earlier dates. The two of you had bonded over your unique family situations. You had been no contact with yours since you turned eighteen.

"My parents and sister made it clear I was not wanted. They called me a mistake and I was left more often than not to fend for myself. My birthday was always treated as a day to tease, belittle and physically hurt me on occasion. Some years they would trick me into thinking things would change but they never did. My sister always got to use my birthday as her half birthday. So while I was being hit, starved and locked in a cage in the basement. My sister was getting presents, cakes and pony rides." you explained keeping your eyes down as tears started to fall again.

Juice could feel his temper started to flare at your words but kept it contained. He would do some looking into your family. They would pay. Right now he needed to reassure you that would never happen. "I'm sorry that happened to you. I promise my only intent today was to shower you with love and show you how special you are not only to me but to others" started Juice as he lifted your chin up gently. "I'm sorry that you were reminded of your past. I promise you that will never happen again as long as I breathe" he added as he wiped your tears with his thumb.

"Wait here. I'm going to have everyone head out and then I'll draw you a bath okay?" offered Juice as he started to stand. "Actually.....I...I would like...to try having a birthday party. If that is okay" you stammered as you laughed nervously at the silliness of it all. "Of course. I'll let everyone know you will be back out in a bit" stated Juice with a grin as he helped you up and gave you a kiss before heading down the hall.

Return to Masterlist

[cynifer]

So one of my mutuals put a bug in my bonnet, and I'm not going to be able to write about anything else until I get this out, so...strap in.

One of the things that stuck with me from yesterday's panels was Jared blaming The French Mistake for why people ask Google if J2 are still friends.

As someone pointed out to me, throughout the run of SPN, there were always fan theories/conspiracies about J2 either not actually being friends or just not getting along. I mean, that is literally why they included it in The French Mistake, right? They added all kinds of nods to the fandom and in-jokes only people who worked on the show would get...that's what they told us. So, yeah, it isn't 'new' to the fandom.

But The French Mistake aired almost fourteen years ago. I promise you, and Jared knows this as well, that no one is Googling "Are Jensen and Jared still friends" because of a repeated line in a fourteen-year-old episode of Supernatural.

You know what is more current? Prequelgate. (Not the best name but definitely one folks remember. And I guarantee J2 know the word.)

With his drunken twitter rants attacking Jensen and Robbie, Jared made sure his rabid fan base was put on alert...and they answered the call. As far as I'm concerned, he helped put a nail in the coffin of The Winchesters before there was even a draft of the first script - yet still painted himself as the victim.

And this was merely months after he very vocally and repeatedly reminded people that in spite of how it affected Jensen, the finale, in his eyes, was perfect because Sam got his. Which is to say, post-finale, Jared wasn't exactly being the supportive friend you'd expect to Jensen after fifteen years of "brotherhood."

So, Jared and Jared's fans, let's not pretend what happened didn't happen. Jared won't bring up prequelgate because he knows how bad it makes him look. He knows that reminding people that Jensen trusted him so little that he didn't tell him about it is a reflection on him, not Jensen. He knows his drunken twitter rants make him look like a thin-skinned, spineless, baby instead of a forty (plus)-year-old adult who has been in the industry half of his life.

So because he can't bring that up, he insults the intelligence of the fans (well, the fans who weren't sitting in that audience eager to lap up whatever bullshit he fed them) by bringing up a fourteen-year-old episode and using it to mock fans who know what happened and know what we saw.

It's just another chapter in the book of how shitty Jared is. And once again, while most of us see him out there with his whole ass hanging out, his fans will cling to it because, without Jared's gaslighting, all they have is a man-child desperate for validation from the guy standing next to him who seems to only give it to him when Jared's fans push him to do so.

And what kind of existence is THAT?

[markantonys]

today's gawynposting topic is: the "gawyn wants to be a hero" fandom narrative

i think it is complete nonsense to believe he still holds this attitude by the second half of the series, and i will fight brandon sanderson himself on it. we all know that sanderson's characterizations should be taken with a grain of salt at best, and at worst dismissed as inaccurate contradictions of jordan's characterizations, and he simply missed the mark on this aspect of gawyn's character. (in my opinion he struggled with the 3 trakand siblings even more than he did with mat, but that's another topic.) and unfortunately, recency bias makes this the general fandom memory of gawyn, even though it contradicts what we saw of him under jordan's pen.

gawyn's actual arc in this regard is more nuanced. to me, he reads as a representation of a young man who's been fed patriotic idealizations of war ever since he was a kid, and maybe at first he's eager to get a taste of real war, but when he actually does, he's given a brutal and immediate awakening as to the true horrors of war. it is nothing like it was told to him growing up, and he doesn't want anything to do with it anymore, but he's already signed up for it and so he has no choice but to keep going.

and that brutal awakening happens aallll the way back in book 4, the tower coup:

Most frightening to Min, with that blood-masked face and half-glazed eyes, with his body tensed almost to quivering and his hand upflung as if he had forgotten it, he never raised his voice or put any emotion into it. He only sounded tired, more tired than she had ever heard anyone sound in her life.

“If anything happens to them,” he said in that expressionless voice, “to Egwene or my sister, I will find you, wherever you hide, and I will make sure the same happens to you.” Abruptly he stalked a dozen paces away and stood with his arms folded, head down as if he could not bear to look at them any longer.

here min is doing what she does best - completely misinterpreting other people's behavior - but to the observant reader, it's obvious that gawyn hasn't turned into some violent, emotionless psychopath all of a sudden. instead, he's incredibly traumatized by what's happened today and has shut down as a coping mechanism. in fact, his behavior here is very very very similar to trauma behavior rand frequently demonstrates. a later line in this scene even describes gawyn as "brittle, ready to shatter at the wrong blow", aka the same analogy used for rand's whole "hardness vs. strength" arc.

as of today, book FOUR, gawyn no longer has any delusions about battle and heroism and glory. for further evidence, let's take a look at some of his reactions to dumai's wells, this time from his own point of view:

Young, as indeed all the Younglings were—many did not need to shave beyond every third day, and a few still only pretended even that—but Jisao wore the silver tower on his collar, marking him a veteran of the fighting when Siuan Sanche was deposed, and scars beneath his clothes from fighting since. He was one of those who could skip the razor most mornings; his dark eyes belonged to a man thirty years older, though. What did his own eyes look like, Gawyn wondered.

the younglings as a whole are meant to represent young men - boys, really - getting indoctrinated with patriotic ideals to make them eager to join up, and ultimately ending up dead or traumatized beyond repair because of it. these are teenage soldiers being manipulated and used by adults & institutions for their own ends, and yet fandom treats them like they're psychopathic monsters who love to murder their own mentors. jordan literally chose to name them the YOUNGLINGS, guys, like, i think he was trying to say something here.

Once he would have felt regret; he had grown up believing that if two men must fight, the duel should proceed honorably and cleanly. More than half a year of battles and skirmishes had taught him better. He put a foot on the Aiel man’s chest and wrenched his blade free. Ungallant, but fast, and in battle, slow was often dead.

Turning his bay with a sigh, he rode back down to see what the butcher’s bill had been this time. That had been his first real lesson as a soldier. You always had to pay the butcher. He had a feeling there would be bigger bills due soon. The world would forget Dumai’s Wells in what was coming.

in both of these passages, we see very clearly that gawyn has long since lost the idealization of war he grew up with. he is very aware of the true cost of war, and the prospect of future battles fills him with grim resignation rather than eagerness at more chances for Glory. he knows by the ACOS prologue that there is no glory to be found in war, only death. but he keeps on going because he feels trapped out of any other path, and because he feels a responsibility to the younglings and to the white tower.

and so sanderson's TOM passage where gawyn muses about how maybe the reason he hates rand so much is because rand gets to be a hero the way gawyn wants to be - total bullshit. as of the coup and certainly as of dumai's wells, gawyn has been thoroughly disabused of any heroic notions and has no interest at all in being a hero or gaining glory. if we think that incorrectly blaming him for morgase's death isn't a good enough reason for gawyn to hate rand for so long, then i can definitely buy that he hates him because in his mind rand is responsible for overturning the world in a way that caused gawyn all this trauma and loss of innocence and that broke his family apart, but i cannot buy that he's jealous of rand for getting to be the big hero despite being a lowly peasant.

that being said, in AMOL gawyn's characterization is more or less back on track, and his stated reason for going after demandred is because it needs to be done for the good of the last battle and he considers himself someone unimportant who can be risked for the task*. the idea that his motive is Wanting To Be A Hero is a fandom invention caused by that wonky OOC scene in TOM which apparently dictated gawyn's entire characterization forever despite 12 previous books of him not being like that.

*on this note, i came across one more line from his ACOS prologue that broke my heart: the inscription on his spyglass from morgase

“From Morgase, Queen of Andor, to her beloved son, Gawyn. May he be a living sword for his sister and Andor.”

a sword for others' use. that's how gawyn sees himself, because his own mother (along with gareth bryne and many others, i'm sure) taught him to see himself that way ever since he was a child. is it any wonder that gawyn is so self-sacrificial in the last battle without stopping to consider how his death might harm others? a sword is only worth anything if it's useful, and no one mourns it if it gets broken in battle.

of course he knows egwene will be hurt by his death because of the bond, but at the same time, he so deeply thinks of himself as disposable and as a sword meant to protect people who are more important than him that when he is put into a situation where he can sacrifice himself for a chance of saving someone more important (activating the rings which will kill him for a chance of helping egwene escape the sharans; going after demandred for a chance of taking out the person doing the most damage to the light's army without needing to risk more important people in the attempt), he's going to take it. he's a LOT like lan and rand in that way, convinced their duty is to die to protect others, but lan and rand got to unlearn that and live, and gawyn never did. and i am tired of people writing him off as a character meant to embody "cautionary tale of a mediocre white man arrogantly assuming he's more capable than he is" because that is so completely not what his character is actually about, and what his character IS actually about is really fucking sad!

[littlethingwithfeathers]

Us that wander here...

DragonCon 2024 was quite the ride. It was definitely not a trip without its issues... there was the whole hotel debacle, having to walk uphill 30 minutes in 90+ degree heat and humidity to get anywhere from our hotel, and because of that just generally struggling to get to do all the things we normally get to do. I barely saw my friends that I only see once a year. Only had a few chances to play Magic. I had to hustle to get places after panels... didn't get to speak to the guests like I usually try to.

There were amazing things too... don't get me wrong. There was Elf Choir on Friday... we had well over 150 people in that hall. I got to help lead the panel on a ballroom stage! A room big enough to have screens with all our faces plastered on them. It was pretty incredible to say the least.

But... on Sunday night, I got to do my favorite part of con every year. Lantern Elves. For those not in the know, there's a group of Tolkien fans who recreate the Elves' journey to the Gray Havens. We walk from one end of the con to the other, singing the Hymn to Elbereth with lanterns in tow. All in costume. All of us aglow. All singing together.

And I'll be honest... every year when we round into the first sky bridge with its cathedral-like acoustics, and we sing that first "O Elbereth, Gilthoniel!" I always get a little misty. People politely stop to watch us pass. Some smiling. Some gasp with surprise. Sometimes there's tears. And for a minute, they all go along for the fantasy with us. It's just... fantastic. For a minute I'm not exhausted, heat-worn, and grumpy. I'm an Elf going home with my kin with my lantern to light our way.

For a minute, Elves are real.

Tolkien had a lot to say about the healing power of the escapism found in fantasies and fairy stories. He was a man in need of much the same himself, spending the first half of his adult life at war and then the rest someplace almost worse... Academia. (I kid...) And he makes a worthy defense of such escapism in his essays and letters, but truthfully, the best way to understand is to come to DragonCon and escape with us for a minute. Come have a little bit of joy in creating a fantasy for yourself and those around you. Make people gasp with delight. Come be a dinosaur. Or a Fremen. Or a Doctor. Or a meme.

Or an Elf with a lantern. Trust me... the world is a little lighter when you have... well... a light for the passing.