#my humble fic opinion

[getinthehandbasket]

My dearest fanfic writers,

The only character that should say the word “quim” and it remains sexy is Loki Odin/Laufey/Friggason. Or one that is, canonically, Elizabethan-ish.

Pretty please.

[f1ggotry]

do YOU want to read emotional transgender vampire sex? yes of course you do.

galex // 3.1k // explicit // pwp vampire sex. except theyre grossly in love and dont know it // yes george is transfem and has transitioned and still drives in f1 this is MY universe and i write the rules

[lukedjarinsblog]

anyone else got a bit confused as to why din couldn't fight well with the darksaber until they remembered "oh wait, that thing about luke helping him to control it was on damn AO3, it didn't happen... yet" or is just me

[longeyelashedtragedy]

taking a risk and posting the very first section of the threesome (which STILL has no title? very odd for me). it is an xxxtreme first draft so some of the language is rough/worded weirdly (i do this so i can just get an idea out onto the page without getting stuck on the wording and then forgetting what it was). that first paragraph has too many tenses in it on purpose--i'm trying to figure out which sounds best! sorry that it starts with a sort of disembodied handjob!

There are so many things Frank won’t think about as he walks up to the carefully placed ball.

For one, the nails painted a bright electric blue.  Cute, thoughtful, flattering.  Thoughtful.  Flattering.  Flattering.  The gaffer said: nothing strenuous.  Not even my hands!  Can’t even use my hands!  Can’t touch you tonight!  Uh-uh, call Roberto up now if you don’t believe me!  Here, take my phone, call him up!

Looking down and watching the nails that decorate the long fingers wrapped around his cock.  It was not a lazy hand; she stroked him firmly.  But lovingly.  Teasing the tip making him moan and say her name out loud despite the sudden embarrassment of this.  The chin digging into his neck and the soft hair draping over his shoulders and the nipples pressing against his bare back through the thin shirt she wears to sleep.  If he closes his eyes there’s a moment of safety.  Everything is alright.

He thinks of sucking the Chelsea-blue fingertips clean with his eyes closed so she can admire his eyelashes.  He knows well what he tastes like on her fingers, thighs, stomach.

With his eyes closed his mind tells him it’s the taste of John.

He won’t look into the bursting blue and white stands to meet her eyes.  Then he’ll have to think about this: how there’s no girlfriend with his name on her back—never has been, she doesn’t do that, has never done.  She’s not like the others.  When he sees her in the stands she stands out.  She’s different.  And it worries him sometimes.  If someone thinks—If she’s different than maybe so is he—

He thinks about John—John is there too, John in his kit.  John trapped in a stadium seat because of being what she’d called a bit of an idiot over dinner or because of what he’d thought of as passion but in private, in the depths of his heart, he has to agree with her.

It’s why she makes a better fiancée than he’d thought life would bring him after he’d made a mistake the first time.  They’re often of the same mind about the day-to-day things.  If they got deeper, there’s a lot she surely wouldn’t agree with about how he feels about John Terry.  So Frank spends the time poised, tense, making sure they don’t get deeper.

 Stop thinking!  John should be doing this with him.  He can’t bear to not have John when he’s supposed to have John.  Stop thinking!

Then he’s back to himself, Super Frank, the captain today, not a leader, maybe a legend, and captain all the same. He sets the example and he works hard enough to tune out the distractions. He’s strong, focused, a good example of a man for others.  His footsteps vibrate though him.  He hears them thump in his ears.  The adrenaline flows, and his view of the world narrows to nothing but the pitch ahead of him and Manuel Neuer.  He doesn’t hear anything.  This is one of the moments he’s been training for all his life.  He doesn’t think of how Dad was the one who first prepared him.  These moments are the ones he lives for.  When it all leaves his mind.

His foot meets the ball with that calm, steady, controlled force.  Up and over Neuer’s arms, cleanly into the top of the net.

*

The team the staff the entourage soaked in champagne and sweat and screams. 

*

The families are loaded onto a different coach.  The first team hanging out of the seats, hooting and spilling things and faking grinding on each other in the aisles, soaking in more champagne and sweat and screams.  It wouldn’t have been out of the ordinary for Frank and John to share a victory kiss.  Shouldn’t have been, anyway.  What kind of world is this, that’s designed things so that they can’t?  It’s Dad’s tired 70s, 80s, 90s holding the 21st century hostage.  Frank is tired of Dad’s world.  He was captain.  He should get a victory kiss.

John takes a break from swigging the Dom Pérignon to do what he always does.  To be on the same wavelength as Frank and yet crushingly not.  “You’re such a fucking star, Lamps,” he yells over the horrible music someone is playing.  “I’m so fucking proud of this lad,” he says to Petr, who’s fully aware.  And then back to Frank.  “Too bad you’re not some pretty girl.  I’d give you a kiss, wouldn’t I?”

*

They don’t get to the Mandarin Oriental until three in the morning.  They’re already playing what one of the younger lads identifies as Justin Timberlake in the hotel ballroom.  Nobody will sleep tonight.

[outofmymindbebacklater]

I have a great percabeth apocalypse AU written out but I'm not a story writer so it's point form and I just have to imagine it when I go to sleep at night i guess

[paimonial-rage]

My favorite works in no particular order:

Tipsy Tales (Anemo Boys)

Symbiosis (Ayato)

What Destiny Has Brought (Fischl)

Hello How Are You (Gorou)

Follow the Wind II (Kazuha)

Of the Same Coin (Mika)

Songs of the Wind (Venti)

Nothing Lasts Forever (Yae Miko)

Sharing a Drink They Call Loneliness (Zhongli)

Of Hopes and Prayers (Zhongli)

[familyofpaladins]

Yes he needs to be whumped more I will break Raph lol

YEEESSS!!

He needs to be whumped more in canon and even in my own mind. because, like. Leo tends get whumped in my brain the most because he's a fav and its SO EASY to do.

Bjt while raph is also a fav, I think it's harder to whump him because I dont think (physical) whump really bothers him all that much. Like yeah he'll be grumpy while he heals and probably irritated that he got hurt, but he'll grin and bear it and brush it off.

So that leaves the more emotional whump/angst route, (which I personally dont like as much as the physical whump sometimes).

So most of the Raph whump scenarios in my brain are more like "hey raph, wouldnt it suck to be hurt enough that you cant help your brothers when they need you? That if you'd been okay you could have helped them, could have saved them? But you were hurt and couldnt fight the pain long enough to save them? Wouldnt that be terrible >:3 ? (Raph: YES?! WTF)

But yeah I think him losing his brothers or being unable to help them would be worse than any physical injury he could get.

[actual-changeling]

Hi, I'm here for the fic where they have sex for a week?

This would be such a funny ask to receive out of context but luckily I do know the context and have an extensive bookmark list so-

Here you go!

Fever Pitch

Summary:

Just less than a year after the Ritz, Aziraphale and Crowley are living together in the South Downs, blissfully happy with their relationship and the shape of their new lives together. Things couldn't be better. So why is Aziraphale suddenly daydreaming about a different kind of relationship altogether? “I have an… affliction,” he said, trying very hard not to let the teacup rattle in its saucer. “An illness, you might say. It comes around now and then, and I’m afraid I very much need space and, and quiet to deal with it.” “What do you mean, an affliction,” Crowley said, relentlessly. “You’re an angel. You don’t get sick.” “I do, in fact,” Aziraphale said testily. “Not very often, and believe me, my dear, I’ve always made certain never to do so around you. But I can assure you that every century or so I come down with… these symptoms, and I know quite well by now what I need to do to recover.” “And you want me to leave?” Crowley said. “While you’re vulnerable? Just up and go--” “To London, yes. I’ve booked you a nice hotel, plenty of amusements. It really will only be a handful of days, a fortnight at the most, and then things can go back to normal.”

[angelmichelangelo]

do you think Mikey's would inspire any family members or acquaintances to start exploring different gender/pronoun options?

potentially! i mean if it’s anyone, it’d be leo lol - it’s always pretty heavily circulated in fandom that he’s The trans turtle in every shape and form which i dig. but it is actually a very comforting thought to imagine leo watching mikey be so happy and free in his identity and for him to approach him and talk to him about how own feelings (bonus ouchie points if it’s during his angsty ptsd arc)

[starimusprime]

OpLita but they have a healthy, functional relationship.

That is all.

[yellow-faerie]

Immortality AU

There’s a woman standing at the edge of the cantina. She has a drink in her hand – something the colour of a Felucian flower – and is smiling, softly, as she taps her foot to the beat of the music. Her eyes are a pale blue – so pale that it is noticeable in the dingy lighting and from such a distance – with laugh lines creasing at their edges as she keeps her avid attention focused on the singer.

It would be difficult to tell how old she is, just from looking. She’s almost definitely human, so the wrinkles and her almost-white hair would put her on the older end of the spectrum, but there’s still the soft curve of early adulthood to her.

So late thirties, maybe early forties.

Her name is Meetra Surik and though she does not look it, she is nearly four thousand years old.

None of this does Qui-Gon Jinn tell Padmé, the young handmaiden who had insisted (on the Queen’s demand) to accompany him on this mission, for he had told her they were coming here to see if they could source an alternative form of transport if they couldn’t fix the ship.

And in a way, they were, but Qui-Gon was never sure how Surik and her less agreeable companion worked. There was every chance that they would make vague conversation until Qui-Gon admitted defeat and they had to work out another solution to their problem.

Damn immortals.

“Master Qui-Gon,” Surik greets as he gets close enough to hear her, although she doesn’t take her eyes from the singer, “aren’t you meant to be orbiting Naboo? Negotiations with the Trade Federation, wasn’t it?”

Qui-Gon can feel Padmé’s surprise in the Force, likely that he knew anyone on this Force forsaken rock. “Do you keep tabs on everyone, or is it just me?”

“Can you blame a woman for looking out for her lineage?”

“You know each other?” Padmé asks, intervening. Either it is her diplomatic skills coming out, breaking up a potential argument before it starts, or – and this was much more likely in Qui-Gon’s opinion – she was curious and couldn’t help herself.

“I trained his Master’s Jedi Master,” Surik says pleasantly and finally takes her eyes away from the performer. “Master Meetra Surik, at your service.”

“Padmé Naberrie.”

There’s a flash of amusement in her eyes. “I take it that you have got caught up in whatever went wrong with Master Jinn’s recent mission?”

“I’m the Queen of Naboo’s handmaiden. And it wasn’t Master Jinn’s fault, the Trade Federation didn’t even let the negotiations for our planet begin before they tried to kill him and Padawan Kenobi, and invade our planet.”

Surik’s smile falls into something more serious. “A planetary invasion? That’s a bold move.”

“It is,” Qui-Gon agrees quickly, not feeling quite comfortable to discuss the issue so publicly. “The escape was not kind on our ship, we need a way off planet so that the Queen may speak in the senate.”

At that, Surik’s smile returns in all it’s slightly lopsided glory. “Luckily for you, we have a ship.”

“And what about ours?” Padmé asks. “The one we came in?”

Meetra shrugs. “Do what you want with it: sell it, leave it for scrap, find a way to repair it. Just comm us when you’re ready, we’ll do a pick up.”

The singer has stopped now, to muted applause from the otherwise self-absorbed clientele of the cantina, and stepped down from the stage to get her money from the bartender.

“Then we shall meet you then,” Qui-Gon says quickly and Meetra’s smile grows.

“Are you sure I cannot tempt you to a drink?”

Qui-Gon looks at the singer, returning a few credits for a drink an even brighter colour than Meetra’s, and thinks that now is not a time to talk to Revan.

In fact, it is never a time to talk to Revan, but especially not when Obi-Wan is not there to be a buffer.

“Another time, perhaps,” he says smoothly, putting a hand on Padmé’s back to gently guide her out of the cantina, “we have a ship to sell.”

[ladycatofwinterfell]

Devotion

Summary: He loves his wife so dearly and still he has loved Robert for as long as he can remember. He despises Robert for knocking on their door so late at night and yet he follows him outside

Did someone say nedbert fic? Did someone also say nedcat fic? Probably not but that’s what I have for you. Enjoy!

Catelyn’s skin was so soft as he kissed it. He could feel the smell of her hair as he nuzzled her nose into the crook of her neck. The sweet, somewhat flowery scent. The scent of his lady.

The way she flushed red as he kissed her, it never grew any less lovely. Starting at her cheeks, travelling down her neck and over her chest. It rose and fell with every breath she took, increasing in speed as her breathing quickened. Quick, shallow breaths escaping slightly parted lips. Perfect lips.

Her eyes gleamed as he opened her robe, let his lips run down her chest. Gently he kissed every inch of her that he could reach, ran his tongue over every mark and line that bearing their children had left on her, listened to the way her breath hitched as he hit a spot she liked particularly much. He lingered there until her hands in his hair forced him lower. She had only so much patience.

He placed a kiss just beneath her navel before standing upright again, looking into her eyes.

“I do love that stomach of yours” he told her.

The lines that had turned almost silver since Rickon’s birth never ceased to strike him as the most beautiful thing. He loved how soft all their children had turned her, how one could tell she had given him heirs.

“So put another child in it” she said, smiling. “It would be even more beautiful then.”

She took his hands, slowly backing towards the bed with him following. Never did she look away from him, never did her smile leave her lips.

As she sat on the edge of the bed he kneeled before her. For a moment he turned his face up, drank in the sight of her. Stronger than any wine he had ever tasted. Her hair falling over her shoulders, gleaming like fire in the light of the heart. Her flushed cheeks, her soft smile.

“My love” she sighed. “You are going awfully slow.”

“Am I?”

He placed a quick kiss on the inside of her knee. Barely had he leaned away again before she had woven her fingers into his hair once more. He expected her to bring his mouth to between her legs where she so clearly wanted him to be, but instead she leaned down to kiss him.

“Make love to me” she whispered as they parted. “Please.”

As he stood up and began to undress she shed her robe and threw it to the foot of the bed. Taking one’s clothes off required no large amount of intelligence, but his hands seemed to grow worthless as he looked upon his wife.

Though soon he was in her arms, settling between her legs. Was there a sweeter feeling than the pleasure of their bodies joining? Was there a prettier sound than Catelyn’s soft moan as he pushed inside her? Was there a more beautiful sight than seeing her tilt her head slightly backwards, her lips parted and her eyelids heavy?

The thought barely had time to disappear from his mind before someone knocked on the door.

“My lord, the king–“ began a soft voice.

Desmond was interrupted by a banging on the door so hard Ned for a moment feared it would fall of its hinges.

He heard how Catelyn drew a sharp breath beneath him, though not from pleasure. When he looked at her he noticed she had turned her eyes towards the door, looking at it like a frightened deer.

“Ned!” shouted a man on the other side.

There was no mistaking Robert’s voice. If only Robert had not been king. If only he had been the man Ned knew in his youth, the friend he had grown up alongside. If only he had been simply Robert.

“I know you’re in there!”

Catelyn had pushed him off her before he had time to move himself.

“What an honour to have the king knocking on my door” she muttered as she reached for her robe again. “I wonder whatever reason he could have for it.”

Ned had to walk naked through the chamber to take his own robe from the wardrobe. After having wrapped it around himself he threw a glance at Catelyn to make sure she was covered. She was once again sitting on the edge of the bed, that time with the robe completely covering her body and a rather disgruntled look on her face. Her hair was still somewhat messy from the pillows.

“Good evening, Your Grace” Ned said as he opened the door. “How come you knock on my wife’s chamber door so late at night?”

“I want to speak with her husband.”

Despite that it was so late at night Robert did not appear to be drunk. There was not even a slight slur as he spoke, he didn’t sway on his feet. During the king’s time in Winterfell he hadn’t been sober once, at least as far as Ned was aware.

It was strange to see him so calm after he had almost beaten the door off its hinges. Maybe he just didn’t know how to properly knock. There was so much force in him.

“Can we not speak on the morrow?” Ned asked.

He would rather go back to his bed and his wife. Most nights he spent with her he made sure they knew he would rather not be disturbed. Not always because there was something to interrupt the way Robert had, but because he enjoyed having a calm night with his lady. At that very moment all he wished was that Robert had respected what poor Desmond told him. It had been almost two weeks since he and Catelyn had last found peace enough to lay with each other.

“I’m the king and I want to speak with you now.”

“I’m sure my lady wife–“ he began, only to be betrayed by the lady wife in question.

Catelyn had left the bed and moved to stand beside him. He could feel her place a hand on his lower back.

“He’s all yours, Your Grace” she said.

Her hand on his back said something else. Though she had little choice. Robert was a king. Ned could protest because the king was his friend, she could not. He wished she had let him talk Robert out of it.

“Might he dress first?” Ned asked.

If he was to leave the chamber he wanted more clothes than a robe.

Robert looked at him for a moment, his eyes turning downwards as if he hadn’t really noticed Ned was wearing nothing but his robe.

“In this seven times damned cold you’d freeze your cock off if you didn’t. And we wouldn’t want that, would we, Catelyn?”

Ned was surprised at the chuckle that came from his wife at that.

“No, it would pain me” she said.

Catelyn had never been ashamed of particularly much, merely proper. Aware of how she presented herself without being dismayed at most everything. His sometimes rather bawdy lords had taken a liking to her quickly after she became their lady. And still Ned was taken aback by her reaction.

“Not more than it would pain me” he told her.

Robert laughed at that. His laugh was as loud and booming as ever, even as he wasn’t drunk.

If he had to choose there were other parts of him he would rather lose to frostbite. A couple of fingers he could do without, he’d like to keep his manhood.

“I’d have to dress in black for mourning” Catelyn said.

Once again Robert laughed. Ned could feel himself smiling, somewhat against his will. Catelyn gave him a look that tattled on just how satisfied she was with herself at the moment before drawing back into the room again. As he looked at Robert again he heard how she opened a drawer of her dressing table.

“Black never was my wife’s colour so to spare her from having to wear it I’ll get dressed” he told Robert. “I shall be with you shortly.”

“I’ll be waiting for you outside the keep.”

He only had time to close the door and turn back to face the room again before Catelyn’s lips were on his. One hand in his hair and the other opening his robe again.

“What are you doing?” Ned managed to get out.

“Twice he’s taken you from me, and soon he’s doing it again” Catelyn said rather firmly. “He can wait a little while, it will not kill him.”

“You want me to go south with him.”

Even before Lysa’s letter she had urged him to go, told him it was necessary. For the future of their house, for all it could give them, he had to go south. And after the letter it was to protect Robert and uncover the truth.

“I wish he had never come here, but I know you have to go. You couldn’t refuse his offer.”

He leaned down to catch her lips in another kiss. They had already spoken about it, he felt no desire to do so again. And it would be unwise to keep Robert waiting for too long. Catelyn seemed to agree with him.

The sense of urgency took the enjoyment out of it, at least for him. And he noticed as he tried to make Catelyn reach her pleasure with a hand that it took much longer than it usually did. The frustration was apparent on her face even after he managed to touch her in a way that made her come undone. As she pushed him to his back and straddled him it was hard to think of anything but that she didn’t look very satisfied.

“Catelyn, we don’t–“ he began.

If she didn’t want it he didn’t want to do it.

“No, I need it.”

He couldn’t remember it having been so bad since they grew close with each other. Since it had been so much more duty than pleasure. His body told him it felt good but his mind seemed to be of a different opinion, he had to focus to be able to come at all. Even as she seemed to use every trick she knew.

They stay joined for a moment after he had finished and Catelyn seemed to soften then. As she leaned down and kissed him before moving away. He was glad for that kiss.

Ned was silent as he dressed, his wife was just as silent. She pulled the furs over herself and turned her back to him, he would have believed her to be asleep if it hadn’t been for that her breathing was wrong. It had started so good, he had liked it so much, slowly taking in every inch of her. Then it had all been ruined. He felt somewhat filthy for a reason he could not say.

“I will not object should you wake me upon your return” she mumbled just as he was about to leave. “If that is your wish, of course.”

Usually those words would have him seeing the beauty of it before him. His mind spinning, dreaming of how he would come back to find her still wet and wanting for him, how he would take her again. He would most likely feel it later. When he came back knowing what she had promised him.

“Hopefully I won’t be long.”

The sky was clear above them, the moon and the stars watching over the castle. The clear nights were the coldest, whatever reason could Robert have for wanting to go outside? He had done nothing but complain about cold and summer snows since he arrived there.

Robert stood and looked up at the starry sky with a member of his king’s guard next to him. Only as Ned came closer to them did he see it was Ser Jaime. One could never escape the damn Lannisters.

“Robert” Ned said.

He had meant to call him by his royal title, but his name was what had escaped. It seemed he would never get used to it.

“Leave us, Ser Jaime” Robert said instead of greeting Ned in return.

“Your Grace, it is my duty to–“

“Ned, when was someone last murdered within your castle walls?”

Then Robert looked down at him, his eyes could have been stars. He had been so handsome once, what had happened? Was it the throne that had made him so or had it been inevitable? Was it grief over what had happened during the war that had made him resort to drinking? Or had he always been to fond of the pleasures of life?

“Hasn’t happened during my time as lord” Ned responded. “Not in my lifetime, I believe.”

Not that he could remember. Though there had been no kings to visit in his lifetime.

“And do you believe your people to be loyal to their king?”

He knew the people of his castle, almost as if they were his own blood. They wouldn’t harm a king, even a southern one.

“I do.”

“Listen to Lord Stark and leave us.”

The hand that rested on the hilt of his sword seemed to grip a little tighter.

“Yes, my king.”

The bitterness in Jaime’s voice shone through, at least to Ned.

Robert began walking away, seemingly without a clear plan as to where. Ned followed him, but glanced over his shoulder at Ser Jaime. He had moved to stand by the doors to the keep together with the household guards, seemingly opting to not go inside. He had to be cold in that armour, it wasn’t meant for the North.

“Cersei has started asking to return south sooner than planned” Robert told him.

“I’m not surprised.”

While she remained civil at least in front of Catelyn she had also made it no secret that she disliked the north. Too cold, too dull, too stern. Without colour and life. Ned would have taken offence if it hadn’t been for that many people of the south shared her opinion.

“She’s a thorn in my side, the golden bitch.”

“And still you need her.”

Robert might have disliked his queen, but she was still his queen. Her children were Robert’s heirs, the eldest would be king after him.

“I need her family’s money.”

That couldn’t be denied.

“Do you love Catelyn?” Robert then asked.

Was there another word for it? She was his Cat, had been so for years. He appreciated her company more than anyone else’s, didn’t see the appeal in other people’s beds anymore. She was the one he desired, the one he felt safe with. It had been that way for years.

“I do” he said.

After all their years together, after everything they had slowly built, how could he not? They had made children, given each other love.

“You didn’t marry her for love.”

“No, I didn’t.”

He had married her for her father’s armies. The rest had come later. Of course he hadn’t been happy about leaving her behind in Riverrun during the rebellion, she was his wife after all, but he hadn’t really missed her. When he left her to beat back the Greyjoys as she was expecting Arya it had hurt. He had missed her, spent the nights thinking about the day when he could be back in her arms again.

“When did you know it was love?”

Maybe during the Greyjoy rebellion. Maybe when she placed Sansa in his arms for the first time. Maybe when she kissed him after he told her he was to build her a sept. Maybe when he returned from the Greyjoy rebellion and they made love to each other from sunset to sunrise.

“You have an awful lot of questions.”

And Ned didn’t have an answer to all of them. When had he known it was love? He couldn’t say. He couldn’t remember the first time he had thought of that he loved her. He couldn’t remember first time he had told her he loved her. He just knew he did.

“It feels unfair you get to love your wife while mine gives me nothing but hell” was Robert’s response to that.

“You are free to love whoever you wish, you’re the king” Ned reminded him. “And your queen has given you children, they cannot possibly be hell.”

“You get to be happy in your marriage, you don’t understand.”

No, he didn’t understand. He was aware of that Cersei Lannister wasn’t as sweet as she looked, he understood Robert wasn’t happy with her. But the misery of their existence together that he had glimpsed during their time in Winterfell, that he didn’t understand.

“Your marriage to her certainly hasn’t stopped you from looking elsewhere.”

Ned almost believed the whores in Wintertown had grown richer than he was during the royal visit. According to Catelyn both Tyrion Lannister and the king were generous in their payments. She had overheard it from two of the women in the kitchen as she went there to search for Bran and Rickon. ‘Soon we’ll be able to raise the taxes without them complaining’ she had muttered.

“Though I will never share a life with someone worth loving. The fucking Targaryens took that from me.”

In the end everything always came back to Lyanna. No matter where they turned, no matter where they walked, it was always her. And even she was just a fantasy for him. She hadn’t wanted to marry him, especially not after he had his first bastard.

“You didn’t know her like I did” Ned said. “You don’t know what they took from you.”

He braced himself for the anger that would flare up in Robert as he said it, though nothing came. The fury of the Baratheons stayed calm.

“We should have been family, you and I. Not spend the rest of our lives apart from one another. You up here, buried beneath winter snows and I stuck in that city forsaken by the gods.”

As they turned around a corner Robert stopped and looked at Ned once more. A visible shiver went through his body and he wrapped his cloak tighter around himself. It must have been the largest cloak Ned had ever seen. Golden with a crowned black stag embroidered on it. A cloak for for a king.

“When you return to that city I’m coming with you.”

Not because he wanted to, but because he had to. He didn’t want to leave Catelyn and two of his sons behind in Winterfell, he would despise every moment of it. King’s Landing wasn’t where he belonged. Though still there was a small joy in knowing it would mean less of a burden for his friend. He had known Robert since they were boys, loved Robert since they were boys.

“That’s the only relief I have” Robert chuckled. “Knowing it will be you and I again. Gods, those were better times.”

“Well, they were certainly easier.”

Everything had been so easy. Spending their days doing whatever they wanted, taking every chance they got to drive Jon halfway to madness. He was sure Catelyn would have been wide eye and stuttering had she got to know half of it.

“Less of a charm to it now that Jon won’t be there to yell at us when we take things too far” he added.

“In his last years it was mostly the other way around, but damn I miss the man.”

And Ned hadn’t even been there when he died. It had been years since the last time he saw Jon Arryn. And now Jon Arryn was dead and all that remained of his youth was Robert.

“As do I.”

Ned looked up at the clear sky above them, at the stars. Did Jon look down on them from one of the seven heavens he had believed in? Did he know? Did he fear for Robert as Ned did?

Suddenly Robert had taken him by the arm and forced him to look down again.

“I’ll never let you leave me again, Ned” he said.

“Was it me who left you? I’m not the one who came out of the war a king.”

“You left me down south.”

“I became Lord of Winterfell, I had no choice.”

“You could have had a seat on my council.”

“And who was to govern the North? My boy of less than a year? My southron bride?”

“I don’t care, damnit, I care about having you by my side.”

“And I will be.”

Many years ago they had walked different paths and Ned had been sure of that he would never be side by side with Robert again. Though there he stood with Robert holding his arm. There was a desperation for in his eyes Ned could not recall having ever seen before. Anger, joy, grief, lust, fear, he had seen it all. But he hadn’t seen desperation.

There were traces of the beauty he had possessed in his youth still left in him. His eyes were the same, clear and blue. His hair and beard black as coal. As Robert held his arm they were so close to each other their breaths became one cloud between them when they looked at each other.

“Like when we were young” Robert said.

“Like when we were young.”

Except for that it was different, so very different. Or maybe it was Ned that remembered it wrong. Neither of them were shaven clean anymore, and Robert’s body against his didn’t immediately feel right. It could have been all the years with Catelyn that made it so. Though they were not so unlike each other, there was a hunger in them.

Robert moved his hands to Ned’s shoulders as they kissed, held onto him as if he would suddenly disappear. Ned didn’t know when he had grabbed the front of Robert’s clothes, burying his fists in the fabric, he just knew he was doing it.

He was the king’s man, was he not? The king’s hand. What was he to do if not serve? If not show Robert his devotion?

Before he knew it Robert’s hands on his shoulders had pushed him down on his knees. Gods, he was strong. Not as strong as he had been when they were young, but still enough for it to be impressive. Strong enough for Ned to be in awe.

It had been so long since Ned kneeled for a man. Since he had wed Catelyn he had stayed loyal to her, even if he in the beginning had been somewhat put off by the idea of her. She was a woman, he had never been very drawn to them. Though he had found that women worked as well as men, at least she did. She was the only woman he had ever been with. The only one he had loved.

Still he didn’t hesitate, moved his hands up to undo the laces of Robert’s breeches. With his gloves on it was somewhat hard, but he managed it. He knew neither of them could take off their gloves in the cold, but he would have liked to feel the roughness of Robert’s hands again.

He was already hard when Ned wrapped his hand around the base of his cock and took the tip into his mouth. The taste of salt as he licked off the fluid that had already spilled from him was somehow surprising. He had forgotten he somehow enjoyed it.

Robert grabbed his hair, forced him to take him deeper. He had to suppress the urge to gag, stopped for a moment to breathe through his nose so that he wouldn’t suffocate. He was rusty.

Though Robert didn’t seem to have anything to complain about. At least as far as Ned could tell from the sounds he made when he began moving his head. Running his lips and tongue up and down his cock.

Robert was rather rough, didn’t seem to consider Ned’s comfort at all, he didn’t care so much. He had always been rough, Ned had never minded. As he came close to reaching his pleasure he began thrusting into Ned’s mouth and once again he almost gagged. For a moment he wondered what it was that made him different from the whores of Wintertown then and there. Could it be anything but love?

“Ned” Robert groaned, tightening the grip on his hair.

Then Ned moved away, sitting back on his heels. He was out of breath as he looked up at the king.

“I’m too old to swallow” he told him.

His knees were aching. Soft snow covered the ground and still it hurt to kneel. His neck had also seen better days. Since last time he had grown old.

Robert finished himself with a hand as Ned found his feet again. As it was all over he felt cold. He had left Catelyn in her bedchamber only to go and do that. And while he couldn’t say he had not enjoyed it he knew it was all wrong.

“Too old to swallow, but the years have not taken your skilled tongue from you” Robert said, sounding just as out of breath.

“I have maintained it.”

He bent down to brush snow from his clothes. It had already began to melt, leaving wet patches on him.

Catelyn was also rather fond of his tongue and he didn’t mind using it. There was a pleasure in pleasing, in tasting and listening to what it made the other feel.

“I don’t know if I envy you or Cat more.”

Ned was fairly certain of that he himself didn’t envy neither Robert nor Cersei in the least. He missed Robert, he did. Though was it right? What he had done, was it the right thing? Most likely not. But then and there it had felt good.

“Why would you envy her?”

“Your hers, are you not?”

Ned had never known Robert to hesitate about taking what he wanted. Why was he saying that when he had already taken Ned? He was leaving his home, his wife, to serve Robert.

He couldn’t look at Robert any longer, turned his back to him. He waited until the king had laced up his breeches before he began walking back towards the keep. The night didn’t seem so pleasant anymore, the stars must have judged him.

Robert followed him, silent for once. All Ned heard was his heavy steps, the snow that creaked under his feet.

Ser Jaime was still standing by the doors to the keep, Ned didn’t look at him as one of the guards opened the door so he could enter.

“The bear, the bear, and the maiden fair” Jaime muttered as Ned passed him.

“Better that than a kingslayer.”

All the way up until when he was about to pass her door he was certain of that he was walking towards his own bedchamber. He could not join her in her bed after having pleasured the king with his mouth. Though she had to be asleep by then. He knew his wife, she had probably been asleep before he had closed the door behind him. He didn’t want to be alone. It was selfish.

Just as he had suspected Catelyn was asleep when he entered her chamber. Curled up underneath the furs, just as she had been when he left her. Lost in her peaceful slumber, unknowing. His wife, his Catelyn. What had he done?

He undressed as quietly as he could, did everything to avoid waking her despite that he knew she always slept heavily. Ever since Rickon no longer needed her attention at night she had been near impossible to accidentally wake.

He didn’t take her into his arms, merely slipped into the bed beside her and turned his back to her. It would have felt wrong to do so as if nothing had happened. Though of course he had barely settled before she had turned to him in her sleep and laid an arm over him, her hand resting on his chest. He couldn’t bring himself to push her away even as the betrayal hung over him like a sword above a doomed man’s neck. Instead he took her hand, weaved their fingers together, held them over his heart. The familiarity of it was almost overwhelming. How was he to survive leaving her behind in Winterfell?

“Too tired?” she sighed.

It took a moment for him to realise she was awake, that she was not merely mumbling in her sleep.

“Exhausted” he responded gently.

She moved even closer to him, pressed herself against him. Even as she had been beneath the furs she was cold.

“Me too.”

He felt how she placed a gentle kiss on his neck before letting her head rest against the pillows again. A moment later she had drifted off to sleep once more.

She had told Robert Ned was all his, that was most likely not what she had meant.

[earfgoddesss]

my gaang ship rank according to this

1.) zukaang

2.) toko

3.) kataang

4.) tokka

5.) katoph

6.) sukka

7.) suki/toph

8.) zutara

9.) sukitara

10.) ta//ang

11.) zu//kka

[dykefever]

the shape and sound of god

playlist // ao3

                                        PART TWO

                THE WOUNDS THAT BITE THE BONE

Candlelight flickers across the sweeping angles and fine lines of Remus’s face, a shadow puppet show over his skin. It’s a story Sirius tries not to pay attention to but he keeps catching himself on Remus’s cupid’s bow, on the freckle above his right eyebrow, the divot his bottom lip makes when he smiles at Sirius, Sunday-sweet and Sunday-careful.

Shallow glasses separate their hands from each other on the scarred wood table, silty with merlot. The inside line of Remus’s bottom lip is stained wine-red. He keeps pushing it out and running his tongue over the stain. Sirius is bottomless. He’s carved out with Remus’s scuffed dry knuckles and the riverbed veins sketched blue at his wrist.

[lonlonranching]

at what point do you think serizawa’s googling an am i gay quiz

[01zfan]

honestly feel like bike peg isnt even cheating for real…like idk i feel like a fraud saying thats a cheating fic…maybe im a little toxic who knows