#when a story about a house may not be about a house

[mermaidchansons]

Warm In December

Terry Richmond x Black Reader

Story Summary: You convince your husband, Terry, to slip away during your annual Christmas Eve party.

Words: 2500+

Warnings: SMUT, 18+ minors do NOT engage (you’ll be blocked), pre-established relationship, married reader, cursing, unprotected sex, P in V, fingering, squirting, slight mentions of breeding kink if you squint a little, breath play, good ole fluff

Author’s Note: Short and sweet. Dedicated to my sweet little bby @megamindsecretlair 💕. It’s still Christmas in my heart! - Ashanti

Christmas time at the Richmond house was always a big celebration. As soon as Thanksgiving dinner was cleaned up, Terry was out gathering the decorations from the garage. It always tickled you how quickly your love of the holiday season had infected him. When you first met your husband, he never had much of a yearning to celebrate. But that all changed when you first confessed your love to him at a local tree lighting ceremony. Every year since, Terry added the tree lighting ceremony onto his evergrowing itinerary of holiday related events. Driving around to look at the lights, gingerbread house competitions, and of course, tonight’s main event; the annual Christmas Eve dinner party. 

You waltzed between your guests dancing in your colorful living room. Terry’s friend Mel was DJ’ing a set of black holiday hits, coaxing folks out of an incoming case of the itis. A few people stopped you on your way to the kitchen; waxing about how delicious everything was. An invite to a Terry x Y/N dinner party was coveted amongst your community. You were practically a young Ina Garten in your own right; pulling off elaborate 3 and 4-course dinners with the likes of curried oxtail, whole fried tilapia, and king crab gumbo. Some of your friends would change their entire flight schedule to eat at the Richmond house on Christmas Eve.

“Ooo T, if these folk keep gassing me up, my heads gone get too big,” you said as you balanced a few empty glasses. 

“Let ‘em gas you. You really outdid yourself this year, baby.”

Going all out was expected of you, and Terry was determined to match your fly this year. Eight months ago, his therapist suggested he take up baking as a way to spend time with his thoughts. And now, he was ready to show your guests what he had been perfecting all this time. You leaned against the door frame and watched your gentle giant pull a pan of steaming hot cinnamon rolls out of the oven. He placed the pan down with cautious hesitation, making you bite back a giggle. 

Although you loved that Terry had cultivated a hobby that worked for him, you couldn’t help but still be tickled by it. Your 6’3, former marine, no-nonsense husband was a home baker. And he looked mighty fine doing it too. He wore his nice fitted polo that hugged every part of his muscle lined frame. He stared down intently through his gold-rimmed glasses that sat at the bridge of his nose as he whipped frosting in a bowl. Placing your tray down, you wrung out your hands; biting your lip as you watched his biceps flex with each whip of the whisk. Flashbacks of your quicky before the party popped into your mind. You’d shown him your dress for the night: a short black dress with dusty pink feathers lining the bottom. He must have liked it, the way he made quick work of hiking the dress over your thick thighs; commanding you to watch yourself in the mirrored ceiling while he greedily lapped at your pussy on the staircase. Jolting back to the present, your middle pooled with desire. Terry spread the cream cheese frosting over the freshly baked pastries and you practically moaned at the sight of it. God, I wish that was me.

“If you finna ogle me like that, you may as well give me a hand.” He playfully shook his head under your stare. It wouldn’t be the first time he feigned disapproval at your lust for him. You were sure it wouldn’t be the last.

Hastily, you crossed the kitchen to press your chest against his back, hugging his waist. Your gold-adorned hands roamed his chest as you hummed along to the music floating in front of the living room. Terry chuckled and the depth of his voice was like honey in your ears. The wine from dinner made your body hum with lust. Probably should have stopped after the second glass. Red wine always made you horny. Your clit was beginning to hurt from how badly you wanted him. With dinner finished, your hostess duties had been mostly completed. Who would notice if you slipped away?

“Here, taste this,” he commanded.

Terry held up a frosting covered finger and you wasted no time in wrapping your pretty pouty lips around it. Nutmeg and cinnamon danced on your tongue as you sucked down to the base of his knuckle. You watched as his bottom lip raked between his teeth, his stormy eyes flashing with desire. 

“Baby, you’re gonna get in trouble playing around like that.” Terry’s Adam’s apple bobbed up and down as he swallowed a groan. Releasing his finger with a pop, you looked up at him with your brown sugar eyes and pulled him in by his belt. 

“You promise, lover?” You bat your eyelashes wistfully, causing him to take a precautionary look around. Making a show of ensuring no unsuspecting guest was in eyesight. 

Terry practically melted when you smiled at him, your multi-faced grill illuminated by the warm lights. You were irresistible and you knew it. Perching on your tippy toes, you puckered your lips at him, causing him to smirk. He leaned down and gave you a small peck, much to your dismay. Greedy.

“Terryyyyyyy,” you whined, dragging out the syllables in his name. He leaned down with his lips to your neck, planting an open mouth kiss right where you liked it. His large hands gripped your thick hips, sending a shiver down your spine.

“Y/N,” he whispered into your ear, “you know we have guests. Don’t start something you can’t finish, princess.” His cologne mixed with the smell of the pastries, making you woozy with lust. He was a cinnamon, citrus, and coconut dream. You just wanted a bite.

“I could say the same thing to you. You talking all this shit when I know you’re hard for me.” Straightening back up to look at you, his eyes met yours. You watched as a flash of deviance glazed over those blue-gray eyes. Terry spun you away, pressing his hardened groin against your plump behind. 

“This what you wanted? You wanted to feel this fat dick against that ass, huh?” You could only nod in response, feeling light as air from your husband’s touch. The bass of the music mixed with your ever-quickening heartbeat, filling the spaces in your ears. His touch only worsened it, every caress and squeeze set your skin ablaze. You couldn’t go on like this. You desperately needed friction and he knew it. 

“Mhm, I see them wheels turning in that pretty head. Go set these out and meet me upstairs.” 

“Yes, sir.”

You picked up the glass pan of treats with glee before turning to your husband with your lips puckered. He chuckled deeply and pecked your lips; spinning you around with a smack on your plump behind. Your giggles filled his ears as you walked out. Terry grabbed a jingle bell stirring stick and headed to your shared room. 

After worming your way out of conversations downstairs, you kicked off your feathered heels and hastened up the stairs. Once you entered the room, the sounds of Boyz 2 Men wafted in from below. You bit your lip in anticipation and you stopped to slide down your panties. They were soaked beyond recovery, a usual dilemma that occurred around Terry. Your husband had just wrapped up his teeth routine when you walked in. Already shirtless and ready to please. He made a spinning motion with his finger and you turned with a quickness. Unzipping your dress with one hand, he slipped a thin rod into your right hand. It jingled when you shook it and you rolled your eyes. This game became a tradition ever since your honeymoon at the Christmas markets in France. But with everything that happened this year, you’d almost forgotten about it. A strong hand wrapped around your neck, bringing your attention to the mirror. Your eyes met his and you could have come right then and there. 

“You better keep your eyes straight. You know the rules; every time you come, I need to hear that bell. Understood?” 

“Yes, Daddy,” you cooed. Terry made quick work of sliding the dress over your pretty hair, working carefully to preserve all your hard work. He hoisted you onto the cool counter and sighed as he opened your legs. 

Leaning down, he took your bottom lip between yours and lightly sucked. You couldn’t help but moan against his mouth as he kissed you with vigor. His hand slid up from your plush tummy to your chest, kneading and grabbing at any and every part of you. He loved every bit of you. He always had and it drove you crazy; being desired by him was euphoric. 

Breaking the kiss, he put two fingers in your mouth. You sucked them with excitement, making him stifle a chuckle. You couldn’t help it. Your poor pussy was dripping with want; squeezing around nothing. He popped his fingers out of your mouth and slid them inside your dewy walls with no hesitation. You both let out a drawn-out fuuuuuuuuck in unison. 

“I’ve been thinking about this pussy all night, baby. So damn gorgeous in that little dress, working the room. I’m tryna work you.”

“You play too much- oh!” You giggled in between your moans as your husband slightly bent his fingers inside of you. He watched you intently as he worked you into submission. The building tension in your tummy made you clench around his two digits.  Terry smoothed his hand over your breast before squeezing and twisting your left nipple. Your back arched away from the cold mirror as much as it could without inducing a cramp. 

“Look at this pretty pussy gripping me. Let me see it, baby.” Grabbing your face with his large hand, he turned you to the side. You watched your reflection in the mirrored cabinet, with Terry’s thick arm pumping his fingers in and out of you. Your ears grew hot as you watched with your mouth agape. The sight of it made the coil in your middle tighten before snapping completely. You came with stuttered squirts, moaning out his name.

“Good girl. Go ahead and ring that bell, princess.” 

You weakly shook the stick and his mouth covered yours once again. The sound of the jingling bell mixed with the clanking of his belt. He pulled you to the edge and lined up his hardened member with your entrance. You cradled his chiseled chin in your hand, staring into his eyes as he worked himself inside of you. Your pussy stretched willingly to accommodate his size, just as it did before the party. He rolled his hips at a painfully slow pace, making you feel every inch of him. 

“Fuck, I missed you. You good, Y/N?” Terry smirked at your face contorted in pleasure. You bit down on your lip and nodded wildly, failing at holding back the oncoming orgasm. 

Just the stretch alone was enough to get you there. With just a few pumps into you, the jingle bell echoed in the bathroom. It was astonishing to see how quickly the man could make you come. An evil chuckle bubbled out of his chest as he adjusted his hold on you. Hooking his left arm under your knee, he closed in the space between you. You raked your hooded eyes over his body and sent a quick thank you to the ancestors. God, was he pretty. His pace quickened and he wrapped his free hand around your throat, lightly pressing the sides. 

“Yes, just like that Terrence,” you yelled, turned on from the lessened airflow. 

“Just like that, baby? Just like that, huh?” Your eyes rolled back into your head while you nodded. All sense had gone out of the window as he fucked you dumb. Guests be damned. Both of your moans mixed with the muffled singing of Anita Baker and the cacophony of clapping and lewd squelches. He playfully timed his strokes to the beat of Sweet Love and a mixture of giggles and groans erupted from you. 

“Ease up, Y/N,” Terry groaned stiffly, shutting his eyes tight, “if you keep squeezing me like that, I’ll come.” What a silly man. That’s everything you wanted. You craved the feeling of him filling you to the brim with his seed. The man had you fantasizing about carrying his child for Christ's sake. 

“Come for me then, daddy.”

His thick brows furrowed and you shook your head, giggling more. The tables had turned and you weren’t about to let up. Watching your 6’3 husband writhe from your touch was so much more than satisfying, it was a drug. You craved seeing him in utter ecstasy, watching it overtake him. What a sight to behold. Gripping the edge of the counter with one hand, you steadied yourself and rolled your hips against him. Terry locked eyes with yours and moaned your name, overtaken by the feeling of you wrapped around him. You got lost in his stormy pools as he quickly rutted into you, chasing his undoing. You squeezed around him once more as an orgasm ripped through you. 

“Fuuuuuuck, Terrence,” you groaned out, ringing the bell sloppily. 

He fucked you through the orgasm, overstimulating you until tears pricked at the corners of your eyes. His hips stuttered to a stop as he came, white-hot strands coating your insides and filling you up. Fuck’s and I love you’s trailed into the air while you both caught your breath. You gave the bell rod one more shake, sending the both of you into a fit of laughter. Sharing a peck or two between smiles. He slipped himself out of you with a contented sigh and moved to clean you up. 

Once you made yourselves presentable, you headed down the stairs to rejoin your party hand in hand. Guests were slow dancing to the velvety voice of Samara Joy in the light of the Christmas glow. DJ Mel shot the two of you a knowing look and Terry shrugged before hugging you close to him. 

“We grown, Mel,” Terry said, eliciting a shrug from them. You could only smile and shake your head at the man’s antics.

“We throw a good party, baby. Maybe too good.” Spinning you slowly, he pulled you into him. You pouted while you watched him gently kiss the tops of your manicured hands. 

“Way too good. All the cinnamon rolls are gone and I didn’t get one,” you whimpered sadly and laid your head against his hard chest. He rubbed your back as he swayed you to the music. 

“Mhm, that’s why I made you another batch,” he hummed, the bass in his chest vibrating against your ear. You looked up at him with stars in your eyes and he kissed your forehead. You brought your hand up to caress his face and he pressed a kiss against your palm.

“You’re so real for that, Terrence. Merry Christmas, baby.” A soft smile took over his face when you squeezed his waist with all your might.

“Merry Christmas, princess.” 

Thanks For Reading!

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[4chensungs]

don’t kiss and tell

brothers best friend!jisung x fem. reader

after the incident of your brother finding out you hooked up with one of his friends, you promised to yourself to never look out for him anymore. but who says he’ll give up on you that easily?

wc. 2.8k

warnings. smut (mdni), jisung is down bad, body worship like crazy in here, tit sucking, fingering, ass slapping, unprotected sex

part 1 for context here <3

IT HAS BEEN one whole month since you last talked to jisung. one month since you saw him probably for the last time in a hot minute.

the last few weeks have been extremely unusual; you keep questioning yourself how was he doing, if he's even ever going to appear at your house again to hang out with you brother, like he always did. he's probably not.

and fuck jaemin, fuck him for screwing your bond with him. it's useless, pure jealousy and he's so stupid!, stupid for being this mad with one if his best friends of years, simply because he thinks you're still a child.

on the other hand, jisung is being not so subtle in the way he still wants you. he keeps liking the pics you post on your instagram stories, sometimes even replying to them. and it's the sad fact you're not giving him a single reply.

his mind wanders to the thought of you being already completely over him, wanting to distance yourself fully right now, thanks to your brother.

but your heart knows that's not what you want, and it keeps giving you a warning that the next time that you see him, these feelings will come back stronger than ever.

you miss him. so bad, thinking about him makes you sick.

you're laying in bed, scrolling quietly through your phone when the damn notification appears. why does he keep trying? you sigh out loud.

the__and.y liked your stories.

you ran your hands through your hair, turning off your phone to stare at the ceiling to collect your breath. you can't, your brother is still furious with both of you.

jisung ♡: why do u keep ignoring me in every existing social media

is he really going to do this? at this late at night?

jisung ♡: i miss you

you kept reading his messages and not replying. you didn't contact him for a month.

maybe, just maybe, things may have gotten lighter with jaemin. perhaps he's not really remembering this whole thing, yeah?

you: i'm sorry jisung

you: idk if this is right i really don't know

you: im confused

you turn off your phone again while waiting for his reply. let's give it a try.

jisung ♡: why wouldn't it be right

jisung ♡: jaemin can't control your life, you can do whatever you want

hm.

you: i felt bad that day and he's still so mad with you

you: idc if he's mad with me, he's my brother at the end of the day

you: i worry about you and how hes fucked up your friendship

jisung ♡: baby you know what's fucked up

jisung ♡: you trying to convince yourself that you don't want this because of him

jisung ♡: say to my face that you don't want it

you want this so fucking bad. to be in his arms again, and the thrill of being with him behind closed doors. god, that's all you want in every way.

you: ji

you: i want to see you

jisung ♡: that's right

jisung ♡: i've waited for this princess

jisung ♡: waited so long

you: i need you

you: i don't care anymore

you really don't give a fuck - your brother can hold his protectiveness instinct for himself, he actually can. you can't control what your heart aims for.

and it screams for park jisung.

"you can't ignore him forever, you know that?"

"who says I'm ignoring him? I texted him yesterday saying he should come this weekend." jaemin huffed, acting oblivious to the fact that the only reason why he invited jisung over was because of the boys' annual end of year party.

chenle deadpans at him with his stare, letting out a chuckle, "if you didn't invite him I would've done it myself." he paused, turning his head to look at the man, "that would be bullshit."

bullshit. jaemin swore he almost threw chenle out of the car in the harshest way possible - clicking his tongue in pure annoyance, "yeah, it was just fine when he fucked my sister behind my back."

"i'm pretty sure they did not fuck."

if you didn't then why were you both half naked. in his car. at your backyard?

"i'm telling you, I saw it. she was literally on top of him and she was fucking moaning his name, chenle. that's fucking wrong." your brother spat while still not looking at his friend - eyes focused on the road.

chenle keeps going, "cut this off, jaem. you can't see her as a baby anymore. let her live."

jisung is indeed coming to your house again - sooner than you thought. but it did take some days for you to find out, tho. you brother wasn't the one who told you.

in the same day, the last messages jisung sent you before you went to sleep.

jisung ♡: dress up prettily for me tomorrow

jisung ♡: will you?

you: what??

you: you're coming???

jisung ♡: jaemin told me to go and yeah i didn't expect it as well

jisung ♡: dreaming of you again

jisung ♡: kissing your sweet lips holding you so close to me

jisung ♡: it'll be all mine princess

you: go to sleep ji

you: silly

jisung ♡: i'll show you what's silly tomorrow

—

the sound of the boys laughing and loud pitching talking in the living room did quite mess with your head, anticipating the moment when he comes. it's crazy how you got so dolled up for him only, he's the reason why you're even going out of your room this night.

if it wasn't for jisung, you'd probably just greet the guys and come back to your own quiet place, drowning in your thoughts, alone. just like you always used to do before he appeared in your life.

a knock was heard on your door just right after you finished your makeup. unexpectedly, you meet a very tipsy jaemin.

"what the fuck is this outfit?" he spats, crossing his arms in front of his chest - his body unbalanced. for a split second, you closed your eyes and thanked all the existing Gods under your breath. he's drunk.

you smiled, "felt pretty today. you smell like beer, don't talk to me."

"hey, hey, hey." he grabbed your arm before you could close the door and kick him out, "come say hello to my friends. don't be rude."

you fixed your hair and outfit and went to the living room, being find with chenle, jeno and donghyuck's figures sat around the big table, nestled with all the different kinds of drinks and alcohol.

your breath hitched when jisung was nowhere to be found.

after greeting the guys, you decided to wait in your room - not sure on how, or when will jisung get there and you'll finally get to release all of your wants. show him how much you miss him and vice versa.

not much time had passed before another knock was heard on your door. you were sprawled on bed, dim lighting decorating the ambient.

"come in."

you said that because you thought it was your brother. jisung carefully opened the door, eyes peeking first to check on you.

that scene truly felt like a movie. you slowly got up, a smile starting to pop up in your lips as you walked to him.

your voice trembling, "hi, ji."

you opened the door fully for him to enter your space, he wasted no time to step in and pull you into a hug.

a mess was happening in your head, so ridiculously dizzy from him - the masculine smell of his cologne filling your nostrils, his hands holding your body flush to him while yours gripped his black t shirt, so simple and casual but yet made him look so attractive.

or maybe that’s just because you miss him a lot.

jisung leaned away from your embrace, gently taking your hair out of your face while holding eye contact - hands flew to your hips.

"you look gorgeous. more than ever."

your arms secured their hold around his neck, feeling your cheeks burning red from his words, "just for you." you announced.

he nodded, "all for me."

you both smiled like two idiots in love as he leaned down to kiss you, mouths melting so sweet at first - tongues brushing here and there, hums being heard throughout the kiss, "so pretty in this dress." he mumbles in between.

his back hits the door as he closes it, left hand leaving your hips for a mere second just to lock it.  making absolute sure that no one will be able to interrupt.

jisung grabs a hold of your thighs to help you walk further into your room, so familiar to him.

all the times you've sneaked out, when jisung slept by and left jaemin's room in the middle of the night when he was in a deep sleep. all behind his back with so much carefulness.

when he lays you down he's quick to trail his wet kisses down to your neck, firm hands caressing your whole body, going up and down in motions.

you arch into him, playing with his black hair strands as his face rests on your chest, meanwhile his lips keeps smooching your hot skin.

you sigh in contentment, knees pressing together - trying to give him a sign that you're needy, so painfully needy for him.

"jisung i want- mhhm" your words get cut off by your own whine when his hand grabs the top of your dress to pull it down, hanging it just below your bra.

"don't want to take your dress off.. youre looking too beautiful like this." his deep voice quietly said.

you smile at his sweet comment, holding back all your whines combined with the feeling of his fingers messing with the lace of your white bra, throwing your head back with no shame when he pulls the fabric down to expose your breasts, still not taking it off your body.

"so pretty, princess. i could admire you all day."

cool air is fast to hit but it's soon replaced by jisung's hot mouth, circling your breast with his tongue, hand massaging the other while his mouth does wonders on your soft flesh.

when he reaches for your nipple you whine even louder, his saliva pooling and soaking your whole breast when he sucks it into his warm hot mouth, humming nonstop.

"you're crazy ji-jisung."

"should i stop?" he teases, leaning his mouth away from your nipple and replacing it with his finger, rubbing it.

"no for fucks sake.. but I'm trying so hard to keep quiet." your voice trembled slightly.

jisung looks at you then laughs, “they’re so wasted right now, no one’s conscious in that room, love.”

you pout at him, he softly traces your bottom lip with his thumb before kissing you again, “I promise you, it’s okay. but I need you to tell me it’s okay with you.”

his soft and caring voice did turn you on even more, it shouldn’t, but it made you wetter. eyes holding so much love and appreciation looking at yours - “I want this. I want you, ji.”

jisung smiles one more time, giving you a nod and resumed his work, mumbling a deep “fuck” under his breath when he tested the waters, hand went under your dress to feel your core.

he pulled the ends of your dress up to your stomach, your thighs ridiculously pressed together. you should be ashamed of how wet you were, but you’re not, not even a single bit.

he gives your thighs a caress, “let me spread them, hm?”

your breath hitches when he brings your knees to your chest, spreading you all open and full for him. jisung mentally coos at the scene in front of him.

just like your bra, white lace panties with a wet dark patch decorated in the middle, like a gift for him. it drove him crazy.

“did you miss me that much, princess?” you can only moan as response when he touches the wet patch with his finger before pulling the lace to the side, holding it in place with one finger, while his middle finger travels up and down your cunt.

wet, so fucking wet, “fuck. love, i might cum just by looking at this.” he cursed and cursed again, eyes wide open and looking straight at your puffy displayed cunt, so wet just for him. he knew that and so did you.

“oh fuck baby i can’t-“ jisung’s fingers spread you open to admire you better - in love, genuinely in love with how your pretty pussy shines for him, glistening and begging to suck him in.

he leans down fast enough to give your clit a quick kiss, “can’t stop thinking about how beautiful she is.” still caressing your core.

you moan his name desperately at his nasty but sweet comment, tons of whines and “jisung” ‘s leaving your mouth.

“ji please. want your fingers.” you manage to say.

“of course, gotta prep my beautiful girl.” he smiles, an expert finger circling your clit before diving down into your entrance. covered with slick, your cunt invites him just as soon.

experienced fingers pumping in and out continuously, you whine with your eyes closed at the sound of wetness.

jisung’s in complete awe, stoping his staring at your hole to kiss your face, first at the corner of your mouth, then at your lips, shutting your whines off.

“you’re perfect.” he leans away to say.

nothing’s more perfect in this world than the sensation of his long and thick fingers inside you, scissoring you and reaching the deepest and most sensitive spots ever. you’ll say that to him later.

you try to smile but you soon harshly bite your lip when he curled his two fingers inside, you yelped, “jisung! oh my god-“

he kisses you again, and again, until he’s satisfied and thinks you’re ready to take him. jisung’s fingers leave you empty, and you let out a cry - his eyes make their way to between your legs to see how you’re pulsating.

“never seen my princess this wet..” deep cocky voice says.

you reach out to take off your dress, “i’ve missed you.”

when your dress was discarded to the floor, he was quick to unbutton his jeans as they went to the same destination of your clothes.

you could see his erection through his boxers, and as much as you want to such him off right now, you’re needing him inside. now.

your panties were about to be discarded before jisung grabbed your hand and shook his head, “want them on, baby. s’ pretty. keep the bra too.”

knowing how he likes it with you, you turned around and pinned your front to the bed, arching your back and your ass in the air.

“fuck, just like that.” he pumps his cock at first, cooing you while you wait for him.

jisung’s hands flew to your back to arch it even more, then to hold your hips. he rubs the head of his dick on your entrance, how your pussy almost sucks him in just from the rubbing.

when he enters you, you let out a little too loud moan. hands clutching the sheets and tears filling your eyes.

he’s completely focused on how you keep clenching around him - the amusing view of your cunt sucking him all the way in, then out again.

your hips were pressed to his shaft, feeling him so fucking deep into your womb.

jisung coos again, “you don’t know how I’ve been dying for this.” he slaps your ass.

“jisung! jisung fuck, jisung.” you whine like a baby, lost in the pleasure. ass stinging from his big hand slap and cunt begging to be filled until you get sore.

“my love.” another slap, “fucking made just for me.”

his cock is so big and it leaves you like a babbling mess, so big that it almost hurts from how good it is, hits you in all places.

you both were getting closer, his thrusts started to get sloppier and messier, slower as he pulled away to release at your back.

your own release dripped down your pussy and thighs, while his hot cum painted your back down to your ass cheeks. what a scene.

“want them all to see this mess.. jaemin needs to see how you’re good to me.“ he admires the sight of your cunt clenching and unclenching around absolutely nothing but the air, “can’t believe you’re mine and no one can ever change that.”

you tiredly laid back on your back again, trying to fix your hair. jisung’s sweaty body joined you after tossing the dirty sheets aside, he breathes heavy, but still with that cute smile on his lips.

“do you think they heard something?.” you look up at him, voice low.

jisung thinks for a second, furrowing his brows, “i honestly don’t think so, baby. but you need to change these sheets..”

“of course i will, ji.” you laughed fondly. there’s still some questions hanging in the air, with what face will he come back to the boys?

“and if they ask you where were you this whole time and what were you doing…?”

“then i’ll just say that i was fucking the prettiest girl in the family and i don’t regret it.”

—

© 4chensungs

[yoursweetheartsrevenge]

When You Were Mine

Summary: You are Madam Sylvi’s daughter, the proprietor of one of the most frequented pleasure houses on the street of silk. On Prince Aemond’s thirteenth name day, you strike up a friendship that is everlasting, developing into something far more sweeter as you grow into adults.

Read on Ao3

Warnings: smut (p in v sex, oral- f receiving, female masturbation), mentions of sex work, loss of virginity, angst, talk of character death, MINORS DNI, 18+

Word Count: 8K+

Author’s Note: First time writing in second person. I always felt a little unsettled on how Aemond lost his virginity. This is a more tender take on it. This also got a little away from me, so the length is just a bonus. I may write again in this world if anyone is interested! 

Dividers done by: @firefly-graphics

You are the daughter of the madam. 

Everyone in the pleasure house has respected the presence of your tender life running about the house asking for sweets and spinning about in your silk dresses. You have many mothers here who dote on you. You are a prize, a little sweet prize pulled from your mother’s womb when she was just aging out of tending to the needs of the gentlemen in this place of pleasure..

Your mother makes sure you are in bed before anything truly lewd begins during the evening, but as the years weigh on she can not keep you still. You are too curious about the work she does. Of course she keeps you safe in her chambers. Her services have not been called on for many many years, whatever that is to mean. 

You play alone at times, though the younger girls seem to be keen to keep you company between their little dances and performances. Your mother checks in on you making sure you are fed and well taken care of. That you have enough toys to play with or sheets to color on. 

You are brushing your doll’s hair under your mother’s bed. Sometimes the candlelight is too bright and warm. Underneath the bed feels like a little cave for you to hide yourself. 

The curtains flutter, you can see it from your cozy position. You can hear the soft music drift through. The curtains expose the darkness outside your mother’s room. Part of you wishes you could watch what happens outside these walls, but you know it isn’t safe. 

She has said it is not safe. 

The boots are heavy on the ground, dragging like the steps of boys. Your mother’s delicate laced up flat sandals also peak through, stopping steadily in the room.  

“I shall return soon, my prince.” You can see her lean close to the black clad leather studded feet. “Please make yourself comfortable.” 

The curtains flutter again as your mother’s quickened steps leave. You are left alone with the shifting boots and the prince attached to them. You lay on your stomach tucking the doll with pretty knotted hair close to your heart as if shielding her from the dirty feet. You try to control your breathing so as not to alert the boy who now is pacing back and forth at the side of the bed. He settles on the bed, close to you swinging his legs nearly hitting your forehead. 

You give out a small whimper when he does make contact with your curious skin. 

He stops. 

He settles to the floor. 

He looks under the bed lifting up every silken sheet. 

He is a Targaryen prince. 

He is the very definition in the stories the young women have told you when your mother is busy entertaining and you require a bedtime tale. 

He has pale freckle peppered skin. His hair is a blinding white blonde that is nearly silver. You can see one eye, a lucid liquidly blue, but the other eye is covered with a brown leather eye patch. 

This is Prince Aemond Targayen. 

“What are you doing under here?” He demands in a voice most princely. 

You are annoyed by how he is treating you in your home. 

“What are you doing here?” You hiss with narrow eyes. You hold your doll closer. 

Immediately you see him flush. His face reddens bright as the summer sun. He stammers, but can not seem to muster words that make sense. His grip on the sheets speaks for him. 

He is nervous. 

“Come under here. You can hide from her.” You say pulling at his shirt feeling only a little sorry for him. 

He folds into the suggestion quite quickly. 

You suspect he does not want to be here. 

He perhaps would like to be anywhere else in the world. 

The young Targayen prince shifts closer to you under the bed. His breath is hot and bothersome. It smells like cake, sweet strawberries and strong vanilla. It makes you wish you were a princess. They must get all sorts of sweet treats every day. 

“I didn’t want to come. He made me. My brother.” He nearly pouts, tucking his hands under his head as he lays on his side looking at you. “Is the madam your mother?” You merely nod. “Did she forget you were here?” 

You look over the prince. 

The young prince is your age. 

Perhaps twelve or thirteen years of age. 

You smile as you shake your head. 

“She knows I’m here. She never brings anyone here.” 

It takes a moment for him to realize what it all means because he does not know your mother as you do. 

He is meant to be your friend. 

“Hold, Nymeria.” You thrust your dark haired doll at the prince as you crawl further under the bed. 

There is a small stack of tomes you have kept here. You pull one forward tickling the well worn pages full of colorful illustrations about war, love, and dragons. You pull it to the princeling who is running his fingers through the doll’s knotted hair.

 “Will you read to me? Or better yet teach me to read for myself? I want to know what’s in these books.” 

His eye brightens, exchanging the doll for the tome. He struggles to open it under the bed, but manages. He thumbs through it as you watch with rapt curiosity. Many of the women that work here do not know how to read and make up tales from the pictures inside. You know this because the stories are different then when your mother opens the tomes. 

She can read quite well. 

“Yes, of course.” He looks over the words and begins to open his mouth. He squints at the page. “It is dark down here. Perhaps,” He looks upward then to you with a small glimmer of happiness in his bright eye. “We can read by candle light. Above?” 

The question is one of asking. He wants to know if it is safe to return to the world outside your secret cave. You are so desperate to hear the stories your mother has not told you yet that you scurry to leave the darkness and head into the light. 

You both settle on top of the bed. 

Sometimes you forget how hard the floor is when you are on the dipping mattress. The princling takes off his boots slowly, careful to put them side by side. Before he settles on top of the bouncing bed as you eagerly await him and the tome, he pauses. 

“I am Prince Aemond Targaryen.” He holds his hand out to you very formally. 

You shake it stating your name. When he hears it he smiles. 

Perhaps he would like a friend as well. 

He crawls to the bed, settling the book heavy between you, spread out wide in yellowed dog eared pages. He runs his fingers over the words indicating to you that it is a table of contents meaning it is a list of all the stories within the book. He reads out all the story titles to you, making sure you see each word and letter. He speaks slowly as well, not in a way that is to make you feel inferior, but a way to ensure that you may soon be able to read along. 

He is teaching you. 

He is allowing you to select a story to read, together. 

“That one!” You declare when he reads out a title about an ancient warrior queen. Your mother always told you that tale was too violent, but you always secretly looked at the pictures. They were red soaked images featuring bodies being ripped apart or drowning in sea battles. 

“I thought you may like that one.” He smiles as you hold your doll close to your chest, the namesake of the tale Prince Aemond is about to tell. 

He turns to the middle of the book. The pages are heavy, but he seems not to struggle. Perhaps he reads all the time. He seems very good at turning pages and reading the words on each page. Even the most difficult ones you do not know the meaning of and ask about each time. He seems to have an explanation ready at hand. He seems very happy to explain the words to you. 

You decide you like Prince Aemond very much when he does not mind explaining to you the meaning of ancient words for different weapons. You even grab some paper to allow him to draw what they look like. He seems very engaged and elated to draw you a morningstar. You decide that if you were going to go into battle that would be your weapon. It is very pointed. 

Page after page you are taken over by the story and transported to ancient times with long fought battles. The prince interjects his own insight as he has begun to train himself. You are convinced he will make a fine warrior someday. He down plays himself saying he is still learning. 

“I will not be as grand as Nymeria.” He flushes a bit running his fingers over the beautiful illustration of the fair and fierce queen. 

“But you have Vhagar.” You point out. “The largest, oldest dragon, nothing would stop you in battle. You have fire at your command.” 

He blinks at you swallowing. 

You wonder if you have said something wrong. 

Perhaps he does not want to be reminded of the dragon. Maybe he is afraid of the beast. She is quite large and fierce. She can not even be contained in the confines of the dragon pit; she is so cumbersome. 

You think that could easily be a lonely life for her. 

“Does Vhagar get lonely?” You ask tilting your head so your hair falls sideways. “Like us?” 

“I am not lonely!” He starts to close the tome, but you stop him. 

“Wait, apologies, my prince.” You pull the cover open. He does not stop you. “I didn’t mean to think you were lonely, I was merely wondering if . . . well . . . Vhagar is different. She is large, too large for the dragon pit so perhaps she is sad without other dragons.” 

“She has me.” The princling confirms pressing the pages flat. “And I have her. We are not lonely because we have each other.” 

You think that is sweet. That a dragon and a boy can find comfort in each other. You look to his eye, the one covered in leather. There is a rumor that the Gods took Prince Aemond’s eye and replaced it with a dragon. 

“Do you miss it? Your eye?” You are thirteen and do not care if you are asking too many questions. You are truly curious. 

“Sometimes, yes.” He shrugs. He runs his fingers over the bottom of the patch, over the reddened scar. “Hmmm,” He looks at you. “You won’t be scared I think.” 

You are not confused by what he means. You immediately know. He holds the patch itself. The prince hesitates as if thinking better of himself, but then continues. He pulls it off revealing the scar fully. It travels through the eye socket in a red meaty scar. In the eye’s place is a perfectly reflective blue sapphire. You blink, a smile spreading across your face as you shift closer. 

You do not think it grotesque as many maidens would. 

Instead you think it -

“It’s beautiful!” You say it louder than you meant to. Your heart warms at his tender and relieved smile. 

“You really think so?” Prince Aemond asks so tenderly you are sure they are the sweetest words any boy has ever formed together. 

“Of course. It suits you.” Your fingers twitch to feel. 

“Yes, please, go ahead.” His words stumble out. 

You are unsure. You suddenly remember yourself in this moment. 

You are Madam Sylvi’s daughter. 

You are not meant to intermingle with princes. To ask to be taught to read. To listen to his perfectly crafted voice. You are not meant to demand things like seeing his worst moment etched in a devilish scar. You are not meant to be so taken by the placement of the sapphire in his missing eye you feel giddy. 

You certainly should not be touching his face. 

But he asked. 

He begged you to touch his scar. 

So you do. 

Your fingers run softly like a ghost, a whispering wind over his brow. The wound is deep. It is healed in ridgid places feeling like little bumps and tears. The skin feels cool under your fingers. Your pads are about to fully trace the dip to his socket when the curtain flutters. 

Your mother says your name with a shout. 

“You should not be touching the prince!” Your mother pulls her robe tighter around herself marching to the bed. 

“I asked her too. She was only obeying me!” The prince is quick to defend you. 

His new friend. 

Your mother looks between you then at the book on the bed. There is a ghost of a smile that comes to life fully at seeing you and the prince behaving as children should. 

“Have you found friendship in each other?” Your mother sits in front of you on the bed looking at the pages of the story you should not be reading. You flush in apology, eyes downcast. “I am not mad. You are thirteen. You will know of violence in this world. That I can not shield you from my precious dove.” She plays with your hair, sharing a soft private moment with you. 

“Prince Aemond was teaching me to read.” You say fluttering your lashes innocently. Your mother continues to stroke your face, contentment on hers. 

“Is that so?” She asks and gives you, her precious daughter, a sweet kiss on the forehead. “It is the young prince’s birthday. He is now thirteen. His brother believes him to be a man today.” 

You see your mother purposely not looking at the prince, but you do. You see him look down shifting uncomfortably. He plays with his fingers, lacing them then unlacing them, together then apart. 

“Is that why you smell like cake?” You ask with a tilt. 

It seems to melt his nervousness. 

“The maids made me strawberry and vanilla. A small one just for me. Mother forgot I do not like chocolate. Aegon likes chocolate.” He is ready for an explanation. 

“I like strawberries and vanilla too.” You declare exchanging a smile with the prince. 

“Madam Sylvi?” The princling asks lacing his fingers together. 

“I will tell your brother lies. You only need to confirm it.” Your mother says. 

He nods. 

You are unsure what it all means, but you know you will understand this someday. 

“I shall stay with you two a while longer to keep up appearances, but please, my prince, continue to read to my darling daughter.” Your mother brushes her fingers through a chunk of your tangled hair. “She has a sharp mind that is not meant for this life.” 

There is a sadness in your mother’s voice as she looks upon you. 

She has always told you she wishes for a better life for you. 

She wants you to read, to explore, to be doted on by someone special who loves you. 

“What shall we read next, little dove?” Prince Aemond shifts closer to you. 

You smile at your new friend as he smiles back proudly showing his unclothed eye. 

“Read me a tale of dragons.” 

Aemond is a frequent visitor of your mother’s house of pleasure as the pair of you grow into adults. His brother thinks he has clung to the taker of his virginity when in truth the middle prince has not lost it. 

He did not lose it that night to your mother like so many whisper over. He does not lose it anytime he comes to the pleasure palace. The prince remains chaste and a gentleman. Instead he comes seeking a different kind of pleasure. 

He comes seeking you. 

His little dove. 

At first he would bring books and ancient tomes from the library in the Red Keep. He would read you stories about ancient battles and prophecies. He would teach you how to read out the simplest words aloud and sound out the more difficult titles. When you have mastered the skills of reading he listens to you read aloud. He is prone to putting his head in your lap as you play with his growing long straight strands. Most nights he falls asleep listening to you name dragons and their riders aloud sometimes sleepily listing them along with you. 

When you have mastered the common language, he begins to teach you High Valyrian, the ancient language of Old Valyria. It is a difficult language to learn especially since it takes you so long to learn how to roll your tongue with the exotic words. He has squeezed your face so many times to assist you in the language that your jaw has begun to hurt. 

You began to learn a few words and even some phrases.

Every time he hears you speak in the ancient lanaguage he swells with pride. 

It is much like every time you read a story to him. 

He has taken to removing his eye patch every time he enters the room, your mother’s room which she keeps you hidden away in. It has become your hide away with Aemond. He has only recently insisted you drop the prince title when referring to him. 

“The whole world sees me as a prince, little dove.” He touches your face as he says this. “With you I wish to be Aemond. Only Aemond if it pleases you.” 

You are not sure he knows, but it does please you. 

It pleases you greatly to be his friend.

It pleases you greatly that he wants to share his singular name with you. 

While Aemond has grown into a talented, well educated and well trained noble prince, you have developed into a lively beauty prone to intelligent conversations and feeling music enrapture you. Your body is now well settled from growing your lush curves and bountiful bosom. You know yourself greatly and have confidence in your looks. It causes some patrons to ask your mother for you. 

“My daughter is not a whore.” Your mother tells them. 

They keep asking hoping for a different answer. 

One day the prince hears someone ask for you. 

They offer a hefty sum, a giant coin purse. 

“She is mine.” Aemond tells the man asserting himself forward in a way you have never seen him.

He pulls you quickly into the privacy of your mother’s quarters. There is bubbling rage that makes his fists open and close. It is similar to when he was a boy, lacing and unlacing his fingers. 

“Aemond.” You call out settled on the bed. 

“No man will ever touch you.” He says through gritted teeth. 

He is pacing. The anger makes your body hum with gratitude. He has protected you. With his declaration he has ensured that no one will ever ask to bed you again. You are still pure. Your mother has made sure of that and now so has Aemond. Your prince. 

“Someone will touch me someday.” You inform him. 

His head snaps to you. His eye is wide with sudden realization. You are not an innocent little dove anymore. You are a woman grown. A beauty that is sure to bring a kind and gentle man to your door. If not your beauty, your beautiful curious nature is too sweet not to have a man falling in love with you so surely he would do anything for you. 

“Do you want to be touched?” He looks you over. There is a shiver that runs through your body to your core. 

You want to say you want him to touch you. 

“I want you to touch me, Aemond.” You were never good at keeping your thoughts to yourself. 

It is like the first time you met. 

You forget yourself. 

You are Madam Sylvi’s daughter. 

You can not demand to be touched by -

“Where?” You see him. You truly see him now. His living eye begins to tear. The joyous kind of an echo of a tear reflects in his eye. His sapphire eye nearly comes alive as well as he kneels before you. “Where do you want me to touch you?” It is a near panic as if you will change your mind. 

Your heart is caught in your throat as you hear his needy question. 

You do not know. 

You do not know the answer, yet it floods out of you like a possession. 

“Everywhere.” 

The panic rolls off of him still. He does not know either where he wants to touch you. You part your legs for him wearing a lovely white silk gown that looks nearly grey in the fiery candlelight. He slots his head and torso between your thighs. Aemond’s hand moves the soft fabric on your right thigh up to reveal plush dips and curves of your skin. 

He runs his hands over it squeezing you gently before he dips his lips to kiss you. 

There. 

On the softest part of your legs you feel a prince’s lips, your prince’s lips tickle you. 

They are wet. 

You are wet. 

“Aemond.” You say his name as his kisses trail upwards. He is giving your thigh open mouthed kisses as he kneads your flesh, hungry and thankful. 

“Ñuha jorrāelagon.” You are taken over by how good his kisses feel running up your thigh. It pierces straight to your core that your mind struggles to translate the phrase. 

My love.

It is not right. 

But it seems so very right. 

Feels so very right. 

His fingers tease the crease between your thigh and pelvis. He is so very hot and heavy in breath, licking at the peak of your mound. Your small clothes cover you there. You can not think if you prefer them clothed or if you would rather Aemond peel them away from your sweat drenched body. 

“Ñuha dārilaros.” My Prince.

Your pronunciation is not quite right as you feel so many emotions and physical sensations right now your High Valyrian pronunciation is the furthest thing from your mind. You are trying to stop from falling back to the bed, legs spread like the whore your mother claimed you not to be. 

Perhaps you are only a whore for Aemond Targaryen. 

“Renigon nyke.” It is better. It is desperate. 

Touch me. 

“I would spend the rest of my days obeying that order.” He says smoothing his hand on your upper thigh. He peers up at you. He watches you try to catch your breath. He watches how much you want him. How much you have always wanted him. 

You realize that now. 

There has been a growing infactuation starting from that very day he peered under your mother’s bed. It started out as simple friendship. Two lonely little children misunderstood by the overarching world. With the years, with understanding each other, it has churned into more. It has become something grand and wide spreading, a warm feeling in your chest that is now spreading between your legs. 

“Hmmm . . .you are wet.” He hums. 

“I am sorry -” You flush embarrassed but his lips are on your soaked small clothes suckling before you can respond. 

Instead you shutter and feel like someone has taken your breath from your body. 

You have never had so many goose pimples in your life. 

“Wet is good.” His fingers are now palming your core through the fabric of your small clothes.. “Wet means you enjoy what I am doing to you.” You nod. 

You remember a book he brought to you about bodies, sex, and arousal. You had been too nervous to read it in front of him, but he had kept it close to his chest. You realize now he probably studied it for a moment such as this. 

“Would you like to kiss me?” Your heart flutters at the question on your lips. 

Surely a prince would not like - 

He kisses you before you have a chance to change your mind. 

You never would. 

He holds the back of your neck threading his fingers through your beautiful locks. His lips are so soft and inviting. Your lips part in a little gasping breath. He moves his lips, opening and closing them to take you in. He’s so warm. His other hand remains on your trembling thigh as he kisses you with the need to never stop. You welcome him trying to meet his passion tenfold. 

It is not a prince you are kissing in this moment. 

It is your friend. 

It is your Aemond. 

Yours and yours alone. 

In that moment you belong to each other and nothing else matters. 

You welcome his small touches. 

The pair of you are not as intense as the night he claimed you as his, when he kissed your thigh and kissed you with such need and fury it made your lips ache and burn red. Both of you had kissed so hungrily that night your lips were too sore to do anything else. You and he just laid side by side watching each other, giggling at the giddiness of the moment. 

You hold hands as you read to one another. He takes care to stroke your cheek gently when he looks upon you. He whispers words you do not know but begin to learn in High Valyrian. 

Gevie. Beautiful.

Ñuha prūmia. My Heart.

Ñuhon. Mine.

You wonder if he has always been this taken with you. 

He tells you truthfully when you ask. 

“I have always loved you a little. It has grown so deeply since that first day.” 

Perhaps you understand this more than anyone. 

He leaves you in small chunks of time when he is overtraining his body to show off to his nephews who are to return. The nephews who belittled him and gifted him a pig as a dragon. You have not ever been teased, but can imagine his pain. You see his pain in the form of a missing eye. An eye one of those nephews took from him. 

You understand his desire to be as sharp as a knife. 

He wants his body to be ready should they ever try to belittle him again. 

You are happy to give him over to the training. 

But so very sad when you do not see him for months. 

You are more sad that you are missing his touch. 

Instead you experiment for the first time. You attempt to touch yourself as he touched you. You start by journeying up your thigh. You trail soft kneading touches. You imagine they are his hands. 

Where else would you want him? 

Everywhere. You remember saying

You can not fathom him on any other part of your body that would feel better than his lips sucking on your small clothes. Perhaps maybe on your core directly. You blush thinking as you stroke over your small clothes. You bring your fingers to your lips sucking on them. It will make it easier to pretend it is his tongue on your core. 

You dip your fingers under the fabric on your core laid back spread on the bed missing your friend, hoping the next time you see him you can ask for more. You stroke yourself, finding the wetness of your fingers causes you to sigh. You find a small bud between your core and tease it gently. 

You arch your back at the feeling it gives you. You leak wet hot arousal between your fingers. 

Your mother shouts your name entering through the curtains. 

Your face flushes embarrassed as gravity settles you down from your high. 

You wipe your wet fingers on your dress and squeeze your thighs together hoping it will ease the pulsing you still feel. 

It helps very little. 

“Do not be embarrassed of pleasuring yourself, daughter.” This perhaps makes you more embarrassed. “It is a natural thing to wish to feel pleasure.” 

You look down at your fingers slightly pruned from your desire. The release you felt was incredible and exhilarating. Perhaps she is right. Feeling good, as good as this, is a marvel. 

“I have come to share some news. Your prince is looking for Prince Aegon. He was just at the door now. He said he would visit soon.” She pauses looking at you, taking your hands softly. “There is a rumor the king is dead.” You feel saddened. Aemond did not speak much of his father, but the loss will surely devastate him in some way. “They speak of putting Aegon on the throne.” 

You slip your hands from your mother’s. You know what this means. There is to be a war. The king’s firstborn would not stand to see her half-brother on the throne. 

Battle lines will be drawn. 

Houses will be fought for. 

Marriage pacts . . .

He was not betrothed. 

Young, dashing Prince Aemond Targaryen was a free suitor.

A pawn to be used should houses need a push from one side to the other. 

It is not the thought of Aemond going to war that frightens you, but the idea that he may share a bed with another woman. 

That he may take a wife. 

“Oh my sweet girl.” Your mother wipes tears that you did not know were there from your face. “Come here, my little love.” She embraces you as silent tears fall from your sweet innocent face. “It is troublesome to fall in love with a prince.” 

You think this is true. 

Days after King Viserys’ death, Aemond arrives on a stormy night. 

You are on the bed propped up with pillows. You read through a book on Aegon the Conqueror considering how he took two wives, both sisters. He arrives in your mother’s chambers, to you, soaked to the bone, water running off his leathers and through his long flat hair. His eye patch is already abandoned, the sapphire reflects the flickering candles. 

“Aemond.” You whisper closing the book. 

You have known him too long not to notice the sad confusion in his face. 

“I did not mean it.” It is the boy you hear. The one who laid with you under your mother’s bed. The one who taught you how to read. That boy is scared. 

“Come here, my love.” You shift to welcome him onto your lap. He crawls onto the bed in damp clothes. 

“I did not mean it.” He grabs onto you as an anchor. The soft part of your thigh is so warm and welcoming that he nuzzled his face there. 

“What didn’t you mean? Tell me, ñuha jorrāelagon.” You are done chasing away how you feel about him. You love him, it is too plain to see. You stroke his hair in the most loving way you know how.

“Lucerys.” 

You already know what has happened. 

You already know blood has been drawn in such a short time. 

You do not pause as you pet his damp hair. He nuzzles you close. 

“It is alright. It will be alright.” You assure him. You must assure him. Not because it is your duty as a smallfolk to bluster your prince, but it is your honor as his friend, his love. Whatever he is to you. 

Your heart. 

“It will not be.” He holds onto your thigh as though you might stop your sweet embrace as he speaks. “I am to be married.” 

This causes pause. 

Lucerys’ death was not devastating to you. He had hurt your prince so you felt nothing for the boy but disdain. It is no matter to you that he is dead. 

But a marriage . . . 

Your heart grieves for a future you were never meant to have. 

“I do not wish it.” He says snuggling you close. He breathes in your scent. He clings to you for comfort in this miserable moment. You ease him. It is what you know how to do. It is what you want to do by petting his soft hair and pulling him closer to your body. “I want you. I only ever want you.” 

Out loud he appears to be a grieving boy in need of physical affection. 

In your heart, you hear it differently, you hear true undying desperation to have you. 

“I want it to be with you.” He turns to lay on his back looking up at you. “My first time. I do not want it to be with the Baratheon girl. I want it to be with you, ñuha prūmia.” He reaches up to stroke your face. His thumb trails over your lower lip, plump and ready for him. 

You could never deny him. 

You will never deny him. 

You are his heart. 

He is your heart. 

You reach down and kiss him. His lips are wet with need and hunger to finally take you as he wants. You want him too. You have envisioned this moment in your deep sleep. Dreams of Aemond nude and wanting before you make you wake with your hand between your aching thighs. He pushes upward, entangling his hand in your hair and one hand at your waist. 

You whisper his name, eyes floating over him as he kisses you lightly then deeply as if his survival depends on making you feel so incredibly good. He strokes your hip, lifting up the side of your pale green layered silk gown. His hand strokes your backside feeling the wide curve of your ass. He presses flush to you against the soft mattress and propped pillows. 

It is when you feel him. 

Between his legs is a sword at the ready. 

“You. Are. Hard.” You say each word with small gasps as he kisses your neck laying on top of you. 

“I am.” You can feel his lips curve into a smile at your collarbone. “It means I desire you.” 

You feel your body shiver at this thought. 

He wants you. 

You find his hand at your hip guiding it with yours to your aching core. It is as soaked as his heavy leather coat. 

“I want you too.” You show him. He strokes you there and you feel too much pleasure soaking you more. “Let me undress you.” 

His coat falls to the side. Your fingers slip against the buttons of his tunic. He helps you in frustration, nearly ripping them off in a harsh pull. You stifle a laugh at his eagerness. He lavishes you with kisses, open mouthed and needy. You feel his tongue slip inside your mouth. It is so hot and so is his skin. It is as if he is burning up from the inside with desire. 

“I need you, my darling dove.”  

Your hand palms his hardness through the leather pants. You admire his torso for a moment stroking the length of him. He is well toned, muscular. His wide pecs and deep abs make you gasp. He leans forward threatening to kiss you again, but you lean back marvelling at the site knelt before you on your mother’s bed. 

“You like what you see then? I have been hoping that when we were ready to make love that my body was to your liking. It is another reason I have been training so hard.” 

You feel a deep devotion to him in this moment. 

That he would spend so much time on his body to please you. 

Just you. 

“You were sculpted by the Gods.” You trace your fingers over his abs stroking along the dips of his hips. 

“I was sculpted for you and you alone, my little dove.” He cups your cheeks seeking your kiss again. He is sweet and well practiced now with how to kiss you. 

He is so happy now after being so taken with guilt over the death of his nephew you wonder if he is truly okay. 

You feel selfish kissing him back. 

You feel wrong for wanting him to never stop wanting you even if he is to marry another. 

“Say you want me ag-”

“I want you. Jaelan ao.” He says before you can finish. 

You press down his trousers. He stands to reveal his naked body to you. You have never seen a nude man before, but you are sure no other man looks as Aemond Targaryen does. He stands proudly as if he knows his body is a work of art. You have already been admiring his torso. 

Why not admire the rest of him? 

You sit on the bed letting your eyes fall to the part of him you had been too bashful to lay eyes on. You are in the midst of exploring him fully. You must look at that part. His hardness stands straight, long and thick. You see he is smooth at his base where his balls hang low. He strokes himself proudly, smirking. The tip of his cock is leaking. 

You think it is because his body needs you so badly it is weeping. 

On instinct, you spread your legs. 

He watches you nearly panting. 

“Would you like to see me?” 

It is a question you know the answer to. 

You watch his cock twitch, up and down as if an invisible force is causing him to stir. 

He steps forward eager, but cautious in case you are nervous about revealing yourself fully. You are nervous. You have never been naked in front of a man before. You ease yourself looking to his sapphire eye. He has exposed himself time and time again to you. 

Surely you can show him your tits and not flush? 

You stand and turn away from him. Your neck bends forward as you shift your hair exposing the clasp around your neck. You feel the pads of his fingers there. It is there you realize he is trembling. Uneasily with a few fumbled tries, he undoes the clasps letting the bodice of your gown fall forward exposing your tits to the cool air. 

Your nipples peak to life in the coldness. You instinctively go to cover them, but he stays your hands. He is easy with them, a gentle kind of ease. He moves to knead your breasts. You say nothing because his hands, while cold from the rain, are so good squeezing at your fleshy fat before rolling your peaked pink buds between his fingers. 

“Aemond,” You sigh, leaning back into him. You touch his face from behind bringing him closer as he rests his chin on your shoulder. “Take the rest off.” 

He kisses behind your ear, a lingering beautiful kiss. 

His hands move from your well massaged breasts down further. He glides them down your torso to your hips. They still hug the silk dark green dress with little gold lace. He pulls it down over your wide hips. He pushes himself at the curve of your bottom and you feel that he is harder than you remembered. 

The dress pools to the floor. 

You are as exposed as he is. 

You are the same in this moment.

You feel his face from behind you as he continues to kiss your neck and hold your body to his. 

“I want you to be my first too.” You tell him. It is a secret you have kept close to your chest. “I dream about you, Aemond. I . . .” You can not bring yourself to say it, but you do. If you do not say it now it will fester inside you until you leave this world. “I love you, Aemond Targaryen.” 

He does not stop kissing you. 

He only whispers. 

“Avy jorrāelan tolī.”

You turn in his arms. Tears edge his bottom eyelid. You kiss them away holding his face. You repeat the words in High Valyrian, the same tone and cadence as his confession. He leans forward kissing you. He can not stop telling you he loves you, in either language. 

“Make love to me.” You instruct him feeling that his kisses are suddenly not enough. You hold his face seeing how his desire matches your own. “I want you inside me.” 

He lays you down gently on the bed. His kisses press to your lips. His tongue continues to explore your mouth. Yours is eager to explore his. You are eager as you spread your legs for his member to slot between your thighs. You feel the leaking head caressing your core. 

“Will it hurt?” 

You do not like pain. You know that your core is tight and his thick throbbing length is supposed to fit inside you. 

“It may be uncomfortable.” He strokes your hair softly. “If you need to stop, just say so. I would never do anything to hurt you, my little dove.”

You believe him.

You nod feeling ready for him. 

“I . . .” He pauses looking down at your face, your body, your cunt. He teases you with long lithe fingers, stroking your slit making you whimper. “I should like you a bit wetter before I enter you.” 

His face moves downward trailing feathery kisses between your breasts then further down making you shudder with anticipation. He looks up from kissing your belly as if asking for approval to journey further. You bite your lip and nod. It takes all your power not to push his face where you need him. 

He is at your sex. 

He is between your legs. 

Aemond licks your slit long and slow. It has the desired effect. You grow wetter letting out tiny pleased gasps. Your sex pulses with need. He kisses you there where he is needed most. His tongue pushes past your folds letting his lips suckle and drink you in. The slurping noise is quite lewd, but it makes your body soak around his lip. Your hips dance upwards as his hands grip your thighs in place. He presses little circles on your soft inner thigh. 

“Aemond . . .” You grip the sheets never wanting him to stop. You have never felt this good or loved in your life. You fear you will never feel this good again. “Don’t stop.” You want to beg him to keep his tongue inside you, but instead he finds that bud. 

Your body quakes. The tip of his tongue swirls around the bud. You can nearly feel it throbbing. It needs friction. He wraps his lips around the little pearl suckling. 

You can not see. Your eyes screw shut. 

The pleasure. 

The pleasure rides through your body, from core to toes to head. You cry out to the Gods. You cry out in undeniable euphoria.You feel yourself come undone and back together again. Your legs shake. Aemond holds you to the bed, grounding you as if you might float away to the heavens. He continues despite the unending pleasure you feel. 

“You enjoyed that.” He is smiling proudly, his tongue still lapping against your core despite how you feel yourself coming down from the euphoric high. You simply nod. “I am glad. I believe you are ready for me.” 

You shift to rest your head more firmly on the pillows. Aemond helps. He fluffs the pillows and makes sure you are comfortable. He strokes your core making sure you are slick and continues to kiss your lips alternating between sweet and searing passion. 

You are ready. 

You want him.

You need him. 

His tip brushes the hairs at your core clustered wet in your arousal. You sigh feeling the girth of his tip. You know it may feel uncomfortable, but there is nothing more you have ever wanted in your life then Aemond Targaryen’s cock rutting itself to completion inside you. 

“Hold me for comfort. I am here for you always. You are mine. Ñuha jorrāelagon.” 

He is careful when he enters you. There is much discomfort, but no pain. The stretch is easy with how wet he has made you. His tip squeezes inside your core making you gasp with perfect desire. You hold under his pits to grasp his shoulders as he continues to push inside you. 

He watches your face to make sure you are alright before pushing in further. 

You feel him. 

Gods, do you feel him. 

He can not help, but ease himself further until he is flush with you. His magnificent well defined torso is crushed against your soft womanly figure. You hold him for dear life. He nuzzles his nose into your hair and neck. He bottoms out inside you. 

You feel all of him now. 

You nearly cry with how good it feels to smell him, to touch him, to taste him, to have him inside you. 

“I love you.” You say again. “Always.” 

“I love you.” He says looking upon your sweet face, innocent and in love. “I wish to move. To truly make love to you. Tell me if -” 

“Yes, please, fuck me.” Your words are not sweet, but desperate. 

You want him to know he can be a bit rough if he likes. 

You think you may want him to be. 

His thumb wipes across your bottom lip, a loving gesture. 

He begins. 

Aemond moves inside you thoughtfully. Out half way then easing back in. His eye is settled on your face, watching for any signs he should stop or signs of true pleasure. You know all he sees, all he hears is your pleasure settling inside you. His breath is soft and needy against your neck as he slowly fucks your cunt. 

Your hips rise to meet him. 

Want him. 

More. 

He takes the sign. Aemond begins to rock his hips deeper. His cock is moving at a much quicker pace. You stretch. You feel yourself expand around his cock. It feels like nothing else you have ever felt. You hold him close as his hips begin to snap, pounding into you. You can feel you may bruise, but you do not care. His breath is heavier now, panting as he fucks you. You cry out louder moans of pure bliss. 

“Yes! Please!” Gods, he feels good. So very good. 

His cock twitches inside you. 

He is moaning now. 

It is as if he has silenced himself this whole time, but now can not control it. 

“I am there.” He calls out with a grunt. 

You feel your core pulse pulling him in deeper. 

“Fuck, you are milking my cock! I can not hold on. I can not hold on!” He grunts out snapping his hips like the beating wings of a dragon. 

You cry out hearing him let out a loud noise, a mixture of your name and cries of passion.  

He spills his seed inside you. 

You feel warm as you rake your fingernails across his back feeling the wetness spill from you. You call out his name as you feel undone underneath him. 

His name is like a prayer. 

If you say it enough he will be yours. 

He tenderly says your name against the shell of your ear as you feel him grow soft inside you. 

You lay as one, he deep inside you. 

You draw circles across his back in comfort. 

He nuzzles against your hair. You can feel his wet lips against your neck in small kisses. 

“You are mine.” He whispers to you. “Even if I am to marry another. You will always be mine.” 

You think that is true. You think that has always been true. 

You have experienced something special with him. You have taken the virginity of Prince Aemond Targaryen. He has taken your flower. You will never forget this moment. 

As you lay there in each others’ arms you know soon you will part. Perhaps he will never return to your bed. Perhaps he will constantly return to you. He is to be married. He may be. He may break off the engagement. 

It is a future not yet set in stone. 

You know that you will savor this moment in time. 

When you were his and he was yours.

[delusion-is-back]

supernatural but Sam and Dean find out there's a quite popular true crime podcast about their "crimes" all over the states, being referred to as the Demon Brothers — the irony is not lost of them — they are in the top most wanted criminals of America.

At first Dean is getting a kick out of it of course, he plays it in the radio of Baby while they're on the road to Sam's annoyance. He thinks it makes them sound badass being the criminals that have eluded police for so long, but he quickly sides with Sam that this podcast sucks ass when the girl narrating their lives —or at least, the public records available of them— starts to get it all wrong, accusing their father of somehow bring involved in the mysterious death of his wife, saying that the traumatic experience of losing their mother and being raised by an abusive alcoholic may have contributed to their depravity and devil worshiping, Dean refused to keep listening after that and just mumbled that it's a stupid podcast, Sam doesn't fight it on that.

You'd think that would be it right? Of course not, nothing is that easy for the Winchesters.

Some supernatural shenanigans make it so Sam and Dean are called over to a case in a nearby city, and oh how irony works that the girl being tormented by a vengeful ghost is none other than the author of their podcast.

They don't recognize her at first since she uses a fake name online, but she definitely recognized them when they came knocking at her down dresses as a repair man to check on a "gas leak" at her house, because had they listened a couple more episodes of the pod they may have heard were she went into detail about their MO of pretending to be government / city workers to get into the houses of their victims.

So she, understandably, freaks the fuck out.

She screams bloody murder and starts throwing things at them like her life depends on it — because it kinda does — until the commotion is so big the neighbors get involved and the brothers are forced to flee.

Now the brothers have to regroup and think of how they're going to solve this case when the authorities have already been informed that these extremely dangerous criminals are lurking around.

Dean feels tempted for a second to just leave and let her deal with this on her own, since she's made a living out of shit talking them online, painting them as these horrible sadistic murders when all they've done — all they've sacrificed — has been to protect the innocent. Sam and Dean always knew theirs was a thankless job but this time it was hitting closer to home than before.

In the end the brothers decide to do the right thing and find a way to help this girl whether she wants it or not, and it takes them sneaking into her house in the middle of the night, when they know the vengeful spirit of going to strike, and almost getting shot at by the girl —because america, she for a gun— and Sam being tossed around like a rag doll by said spirit before the girl starts to understand they're not what she needs to be worried about in this situation.

By the next day there's one vengeful spirit less to be worried about, another case solved, another live saved and maybe even a friend and ally.

The girl apologizes profusely once she understands the nature of their job and the reality of their actions, the brothers laugh about it a little, they can't blame her for being afraid, they know how it looks like from the outside, they only ask her to get her facts right before she starts misinforming the public about them in her podcast.

They know they can't change the way the world sees them and they're made peace with it, but it's still a nice surprise when a couple weeks later they can't find that true crime podcast of them online anymore, instead the girl starts a new series about supernatural beings and how to handle them. It's labeled as 'fantasy' as not to be taken too seriously but it seems to be an even bigger success than the true crime stories and it gets a laugh out of Sam, specially because this time she actually got her facts right.

[thefirstknife]

Go off! It's the Cinemasins Effect. There is no literary analysis, just listing of facts like you're reading a Wikipedia summary. Devoid of accounting for personality traits, external influences, basic human (or alien) contradictory nature, unreliable narration (always present in Destiny), multiple points of view that are clashing (because that's how the world works), etc., these facts tell us little about the actual story so it's easy to misinterpret obvious solutions.

A listed fact might say "Eramis endangered her own house by opening the Vex portal on Europa" and then whenever Eramis talks about caring for her people, someone who engages with only the list might think "That makes no sense!" And it does, if we go deeper and account for her desperation and corruption and how much she did not understand what was happening to her. She desperately tried proving that she has agency, but it was the exact opposite; while fleeing from the Traveler claiming not wanting to be its pawn, she was actually the pawn of the Witness. She was used by the Witness to get us, the real target, to be tempted with stasis and the moment she lost (no longer worthy of being a part of the final shape), she was discarded. However, not entirely, because she still had to remain a pawn potentially to be used later when the Witness needs a convenient and desperate soldier to enact its plans under a threat of a total annihilation of her people; because that's what the Witness does. She literally commented on this, how the Witness is "punishing her" by turning her friends into Scorn.

But we never see even a fraction of this kind of analysis in the most popular circles and "lore masters" will always prioritise just listing events and doing "Ending EXPLAINED!" videos with zero character motivations or analysis mentioned. I won't even go into how much of Destiny story is obviously constricted by technical elements and the type of game it is, which is something people forget all the time and expect Destiny to suddenly have a singleplayer RPG level of game design which simply will not happen. A lot of the perceived faults in the narrative are almost always of technical nature and writers themselves have spoken about this. I feel like that has to be included in any analysis worth a damn because Destiny's story is trapped within the confines of the genre of media it is in (first person looter shooter); while the story is a major part of the game's essence, gameplay comes first, always. If the story has to be constrained for gameplay purposes, it will be. If it has to be constrained because there's not enough time or resources to add more dialogues or cutscenes or to expand the scope of every character or to create a more complex narrative, it will be. Given all of this, I think the team has done a great job for Eramis over the years and kept her arc as consistent as possible which made this ending easy to predict and satisfying because the arc has concluded as it was intended.

At the end of the day, I don't even mind if people have a personal reason to think "Actually I would never have forgiven Eramis." I'm sure there are characters in-setting who think that; either because of a lack of knowledge about her (if you're just some random citizen, you don't know the details of her corruption or her internal feelings) or because you were personally victimised by her (a lot of Eliksni fled House Salvation because of what she did on Europa that endangered their lives; they may never be ready to forgive her or accept her). That's completely fine. As a matter of fact, I expect it! It adds depth to the story.

The issue is that these people usually go about it by blaming the writers and saying that the writers told their own story wrong. That this decision was objectively incorrect or somehow bad for the narrative or a retcon or out of character or whatever. And it's just not. We, the players, who have all information and everyone's internal feelings presented in the story and lore books, know that this was the intended character arc for Eramis since the moment she didn't get killed at the end of Beyond Light.

Eramis Executors are up in arms that our favorite, bitter, lesbian crab didn’t receive a bullet to her head to no one’s surprise. What happened to the overarching themes involving forgiveness and mending the wounds of the past to build a better future for everyone resonating with people? Does the Traveler and what it has been representing for 10 years mean nothing when it comes to Eramis? Were we supposed to abandon the power of friendship? Is punishment with no consideration the only way of dealing with those who have committed wrong acts that people know of?

[stellar-solar-flare]

What Makes A Home

ex-soldier!Ari Levinson x neighbor!Reader | 2,385 words.

Themes: friends to lovers, idiots in love, competency kink if you squint, neighbors, cozy community.

Reader is female, no Y/N, no description of appearance. Nicknames 'dear' and 'honeybun' are used by Ari for Reader.

My blog is for people 18+ only, minors DNI.

Story Content Warnings: implied smut, Ari being a soldier mentioned, Ari having guilt over his past, some very minor hurt/comfort (the love is requited, they're both just idiots).

Notes: This is a made-to-order fic for the amazing @bigtreefest - I hope it brings you joy and fulfilled your prompt! Full disclosure; I wasn't able to get my hands on the movie, so I had to piece Ari's character together from his scenes on YouTube. My utmost gratitude to @steviebbboi for character consult and helping me be confident about the decisions I made in the planning stages of this fic (all mishaps mine, of course). It is also my first time writing Ari. I hope you enjoy, and all feedback is very welcome!

I do not own anything The Red Sea Diving Resort related. This is an unofficial fan work. No copyright infringement intended. This is a work of fiction. Any similarity to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events, is purely coincidental.

The house that you inherited from your great-grandaunt — who apparently despised you less than her other relatives —is definitely what a realtor would describe as ‘having plenty of potential’. But it really does have good bones, so to speak, and with the current housing market, you definitely aren’t complaining.

And the neighborhood isn’t half-bad, either. The community is close-knit, if a little nosy, helpful to the point of overbearing.

And so, they didn’t miss it when a new moving truck arrived at the house next to yours. The gossip has gone wild — the names of different special services are thrown around in the whispers like candy, even though no one can reasonably know anything about his history. Especially if he has a history as some overseas covert operator, like Mary at the end of the street keeps claiming, he certainly will keep that information to himself.

You are yet to run to him, and so you’re operating on second-hand information about him — which is mostly focusing on the fact that he’s tall and bearded and looks like he could bench press a school bus.

Curiosity may have killed the cat, but you reason that a simple welcome visit isn’t going to end with your untimely demise. You pick a nice Saturday afternoon, check that his truck is on the driveway, and make your favorite snickerdoodle recipe. With a plate of still-warm cookies under aluminum foil, you go ring his doorbell, not entirely sure why your heart is beating so hard. It’s just a decent thing to do.

It takes a few moments for him to open the door, and when he does, you are proud that your poker face holds.

“Hi,” you say to the giant at the door. “You must be Ari. I live in the house next to yours, and I thought I’d come to welcome you to the neighborhood; they did it to me too, when I moved in a few months ago. I brought snickerdoodles.”

You extend the plate to him, and he takes it. He leans one shoulder on the doorframe, and you do not swallow when you see the muscles of his arms move. His hair reaches behind his ears, and he has a nicely trimmed beard. Even in a simple — tight — white shirt and jeans, he does look like a soldier. Not violent but like there is an alertness to him, despite the amusement in his eyes.

“Hi,” he says. “Yes. I’m Ari. And you are?”

You give him your name, chuckling at the fact that you left it out in the first place.

“Nice to meet you. And thank you for the baked goods. Would you like to stay for a cup of coffee?”

He moves aside, gesturing for you to step over the threshold.

And you do.

There were a lot of things you had learned about Ari over the six months since your first meeting, that cup of coffee that somehow hadn’t felt awkward at all. He had a talent for filling moments like that with idle chatter that didn’t feel like it was just there to cover something.

It was just so Ari, how his charm was always on display and yet so inseparably a part of his very being that it didn’t feel like an act. It was just who he was. Of course, he could be a playboy — at least when it came to the charming part, since as far as you knew, there hadn’t been anyone visiting his house besides you.

You were more than certain that a fair number of ladies in the neighborhood harbored a crush. And why wouldn’t they, when Ari was the first to volunteer to any project, cracking easy jokes while he worked and being all charismatic smiles and wide shoulders ready to tackle anything.

It was that restless energy that had drawn him to your house, too. Just like you had turned up to his door that one Saturday, the next week he had turned up at yours, dressed in a flannel and jeans and carrying what looked like a heavy, well-equipped toolbox, pristinely new.

“Those gutters are going to fall off the clips soon. I could attach them better if that’s alright with you?”

Stunned, you had nodded. Sure, there was an endless list of things to attend to, and the gutters had been on your mind but then winter had come and you’d been so focused on other things. You had no idea how he noticed, and when you’d asked, he shrugged it off, mentioning something about how he had to learn how to build and maintain things out there, so you’d left the topic at that.

It was the first thing he fixed at your house, but not the last. He gravitated here, looking to do something of meaning, and he refused to hear your suggestions about paying him for the work he was doing — despite the fact that every project he poured himself into was done with the meticulousness rivaling not only someone not in the profession but with a passion to it.

Like the patio you were now sitting on your knees on, holding the plank in place for him so he could screw it onto the beam underneath from the opposite side. You’d made the mistake of mentioning over a shared dinner that you had contacted a contractor to see how much it would be to replace the deck, and he had turned up the next morning with all the necessary materials, in the exact shade of wood that you’d envisioned.

You weren’t certain that you wanted to know what strings he’d pulled to get all that so fast.

“Ari, seriously, you didn’t need to do this.”

“Nope,” he said. “But I wanted to.”

“At least let me pay for the wood,” you said. “You know, I’m a strong independent woman and I do have my own paycheck.”

“And I’m very proud of you, dear,” he said with perfect nonchalance, and you tried to ignore something twisting in your chest at that. “Just let me pick the next five movies for our movie nights and we’re even.”

You huffed, knowing that you’d be in for some underground art movies no one but Ari had ever even heard of but nodded regardless. It was literally the least you could do.

He finished screwing the plank down and reached for more screws from the box on the side — you’d begun earlier today by laying down all the planks to have an even platform to work with, and now it was just the matter of evening out the cracks in between and attaching them to the support structure. His arms moved, and his t-shirt lifted slightly as he bent to the side, revealing a slice of tanned, warm skin at his waist. You forced yourself not to stare.

The thing with Ari was that he flirted with anyone and everyone — except with you. He made the grannies laugh by asking them at the community nights if they were old enough to drink; he had the cashiers at the local grocery store sighing dreamily after him when he departed with one of his famous smiles. Everyone seemed to understand it was all fun and games, and yet you were certain you weren’t the only one here with hopes when it came to him.

But it wouldn’t be you — his complete and total lack of that kind of behavior around you was the clearest sign you could’ve asked for. He saw you in an entirely platonic light, and so you didn’t want to endanger what was a beautiful and genuinely enjoyable friendship with him by asking him if you could be more than that.

Even if sometimes the question, the why not me, burned your tongue and tried to sneak out of your throat. At least then you’d know the reason why he saw you so differently than others.

“Honeybun?” he said, yanking you out of your thoughts.

You swallowed, hoping that the question would go down too, and met his expectant gaze. He’d said something, and it had flown right past you, and now he was staring. God, you could drown in the blue of his eyes.

You were lucky to have him. He was a good friend, caring, attentive. He made you laugh at the worst of days; he was good at coming up with solutions, especially unconventional ones. You had no reason at all to feel wistful at all the nicknames, derived from different baked goods you’d made for him over the past months.

“Nothing, nothing,” you said, lowering your gaze. “Sorry. What did you need me to do?”

You heard a thump as he set the screwdriver down. He reached his hand, two fingers under your jaw tilting your face back up so that you’d look at him. There was that little wrinkle of worry between his brows and you felt a pang of guilt even as the warmth of his fingers was making your skin tingle.

“Are you sure you’re alright?” he said. “We can take a break if you need a few. You’ve been somewhere far away for half the day.”

You quickly shook your head, knowing that you’d already ventured too far close to the line you didn’t want to end up crossing.

“Just a little tired, that’s all,” you said, hearing the flimsiness of the excuse even in your own ears.

He tilted his head and raised his brow; his hand was still there, under your jaw, lingering where it absolutely shouldn’t.

“I know it when you’re lying, honeybun,” he said, one corner of his mouth rising into a smirk. “Spill the beans. Do I need to kick someone’s ass? I’ll do it, you know.”

You swallowed so loud that it seemed to echo in your head like the creaking sound of thin ice.

“No, there’s no need for that. I was just wondering what’s so different about me?”

A flash of something in his eyes, gone so quickly that you could hardly tell it was there to begin with.

“Different how?” he said, strain in his voice, like he was going for some sort of normalcy and failing to grasp it.

Oh no. You had opened some floodgate and now things would be awkward from here to eternity. The only way to save this was to get it all out, and now that the water was flowing freely, there was no stopping the words from flowing out of your mouth:

“Well, it’s not a big deal, but sometimes I wonder why it is that you have this flirt going on with everyone except for me, and I mean, it’s absolutely and totally fine, you just see me thoroughly like a friend and that’s that but with what we have and all the nicknames and all that, sometimes I wish there could be more and I’m just wondering –“

And then you were wondering about nothing at all.

Ari was on you like a shot, his hands framing your face and pulling your lips on his even as he leaned towards you, and it didn’t matter that you didn’t understand. His kiss was a claim laid, one hand cupping the nape of your neck and the other wrapping around your waist even as his mouth devoured yours. He pulled back with his lips still on yours, bringing you to his lap and he was everything, everywhere, his scent and warmth and the softness of his shirt smelling like spring sun and laundry detergent, the taste of him on your tongue, the feeling of his hands mapping your body. It was just him all around you, and you fell into that just as easily as you’d once fallen into a comfortable, shared routine of friendship.

When he finally let your mouth go, you were both out of breath, and you were straddling his lap, suddenly very aware of how his feelings towards you weren’t entirely platonic at all. There was a hint of pink on his cheeks, and his hands came to cup your jaw, thumbs caressing your skin.

“You were too precious for that, honeybun,” he murmured, eyes fixed on yours. “I didn’t… When you waltzed into my house that day, it was the first time it felt like a home. You were the first time I felt at home. And putting on that face… it felt too cheap for you. And I didn’t… I couldn’t lose you. Not you. So I thought I’d be there for you. Take care of you, make you happy, and find my joy from that. When I was out there… I don’t know if I did enough, if I made a difference. I wasn’t sure I even deserved the kind of peace I felt with you.”

“Ari,” you breathed out, tears prickling in your eyes, unsure what you would’ve said even if there wasn’t a lump blocking your throat. “Ari, I…”

His thumb brushed over your kiss-swollen lips, and he shook his head ever so slightly, his gaze aflame with something that could never ever be just friendship.

“But now that I’ve had a taste of you, honey, I’m not selfless enough to give that up. I want you more than I’ve ever wanted anything in my life. I can’t let you go.”

“Then don’t.”

And just like that, his mouth was back, his hands diving down from your face to map the shape of your body, and the tiny moan he breathed right onto your lips sent a shiver down your back. He was holding you by the hips and you tangled both of your hands into his hair, making sure he wasn’t going anywhere without you.

“I think,” he managed in between pushes of his lips. “I think the patio can wait.”

You nodded eagerly, and he stood up with ease that sent a swooping feel of desire into your core, his hands slipping under your thighs so he could carry you. Your legs wrapped around his waist as your arms clung to him, and he made a beeline for the door that led inside.

It was a good thing that after all the work he’d done at the house, he knew exactly where the bedroom was.

Thank you for reading. Please consider leaving a comment, if you can spare the time and energy.

[anarchywoofwoof]

north korea bad is popping off on reddit again. top post on the CIA-controlled subreddit with 43 million subscribers masquerading as a news community. i was intrigued by the source being NZ Herald but when i clicked on the article, my questions were answered.

now. for those of you unfamiliar. Radio Free Asia is basically a US propaganda organ that masks its intentions by attempting to appear objective.

although many will suggest that they no longer have direct affiliation with the CIA, and that may be true, it does not change the fact that they are funded by the US government and have been spreading blatant lies with literally no source to their extremely over the top claims for many years.

that being said, these perpetual lies happen to include misinfo regarding China's versions of the COVID-19 vaccine.

Some of the RFA articles reviewed lacked key context in describing purported issues with Chinese-made vaccines. This could enable the spread of anti-vaccine misinformation at a time when research suggests that exposure to online misinformation about vaccines can increase rates of vaccine hesitancy.  In one example, a November 10 article on RFA’s Cantonese website, headlined “Clinical trial of Chinese vaccine halted in Brazil after causing serious incident,” lacked important context from local authorities. A serious incident had indeed occurred: the death of a participant in a local trial of the Sinovac vaccine. But Reuters reported November 9 that the death had been deemed a suicide and that an official had denied any link to the vaccine, a detail not noted in RFA’s article.  The article, presented as a news story, also contained editorial comment dismissing China’s approach to vaccines. “This accident not only renews criticism of the ‘Great Leap Forward’-style of vaccine research and development, but also presents a serious setback for China, which is devoting all of its resources to this Covid-19 vaccine competition,”  the first paragraph reads. RFA continued to describe the trial’s suspension as owing to “severe adverse effects,” not mentioning the participant’s reported cause of death, in at least two subsequent articles.

there's a lot more at the source. it's a great read. but there's one more piece to this that is important to understand.

it has also been confirmed that, from spring 2020 to mid-2021, the Pentagon and by extension the US Government itself engaged in misinformation campaigns in Southeast Asia regarding Chinese vaccines.

The U.S. military’s anti-vax effort began in the spring of 2020 and expanded beyond Southeast Asia before it was terminated in mid-2021, Reuters determined. Tailoring the propaganda campaign to local audiences across Central Asia and the Middle East, the Pentagon used a combination of fake social media accounts on multiple platforms to spread fear of China’s vaccines among Muslims at a time when the virus was killing tens of thousands of people each day. A key part of the strategy: amplify the disputed contention that, because vaccines sometimes contain pork gelatin, China’s shots could be considered forbidden under Islamic law. The military program started under former President Donald Trump and continued months into Joe Biden’s presidency, Reuters found – even after alarmed social media executives warned the new administration that the Pentagon had been trafficking in COVID misinformation. The Biden White House issued an edict in spring 2021 banning the anti-vax effort, which also disparaged vaccines produced by other rivals, and the Pentagon initiated an internal review, Reuters found.

what a coincidence that Radio Free Asia just so happened to be engaging disinformation campaigns against the same exact vaccines as the State Department during the same exact timeframe. very strange.

obviously none of this information matters even a little to anyone on the shithole of a website that is reddit. xenophobia is dominating the convo as always. you could post literally anything about north korea on reddit and it will instantly shoot to the top of any decent sized community. but i had to post this somewhere or i was going to lose my mind.

[ravetillyoucry]

THE OVERTURE

hiiiii this is the writing I promised. LMK if you would like a continuation of their Thing because now that they’re Established they are very open to Situations and whatnot. No set story just a sandbox of Scenarios type characters. 😛 the Logic of the shrinking is inspired by The Shrinking Man by Richard Matheson- maybe they’re in the same universe idk we’ll find out later

⋆⁺₊⋆ ━━━━⊱༒︎ • ༒︎⊰━━━━ ⋆⁺₊⋆

The thing that stood out the most about that night wasn't what had actually occurred, despite how impossible and surreal it was on paper, but just how hot the whiskey tasted before Cassidy came stumbling out of that bar and into the rickety old gas station on the other side of the street- that's what he always remembered when he thought back on it. It still burnt the back of his throat as he half-hazardously drove the block back home, almost enough to mask the taste of his stomachs contents as they churned their way up into his mouth, pooling and waiting until he swallowed back down with a shudder. He would've just walked it if he hadn't found what he did- or, found who he did. Drunk driving was one of the few crimes he was adamantly against, not just because of the needless risk it imposed onto the people of the hick town he hated, but because he cared far too much about the Chevrolet C/10 Cheyenne he'd spent a year and a half fixing up after his father died and left it to him. It was far too cold to walk a block home whilst drunk for who he had found, however, so he'd just have to take the risk and pray to God his truck would make it back without a scratch on it.

Cassidy didn't actually know who it was that laid, all shaky and damp like a newly born fawn, on his right thigh as he drove- but what he did know was that if he would have left him out on the pavement, bathing in the fluorescence of the gas station's neon 'OPEN' sign, he would be dead. To put it bluntly, the person Cassidy had found didn't seem to be human at all. He looked like a human, sure- with straggly brown, almost black hair that stuck in strands to his face with sweat, pale sickly olive skin splattered with freckles you'd have to squint to make out properly, arms, legs, eyebrows and eyelashes, an absence of any kind of beard, a nose, both eyes, a mouth and teeth too. Undoubtedly, he looked the part of a human man- or maybe a teenaged boy- but there was one, minute detail that threw Cassidy off entirely: he was no taller, maybe even a little shorter, than his very own pointer finger. The same finger in which he'd used to hold up the little man's head, that way it didn't nearly get taken off as he'd wrapped the rest of his hand around the man's form and taken him into his truck for the ride home. Cassidy had previously been against kidnapping too, but tonight, it seemed paramount to the little freak of nature's survival.

He shivered and he shook like the leaves he was similar in size to that surrounded his little body on the corner of the pavement, but the sight was comforting to the drunken Cassidy that took him home- if he was shivering, he was alive, and that's all he wanted to preserve in his fleeting act of heroism. It wasn't a long drive at all, and if it wasn't for the little man trembling like a wind up toy using every cog and mechanical part in its equally little body just to do as small of an action as take a step, or in his case, the rise and fall of the chest as he took in what shallow breaths he could, Cassidy probably would've found himself nose first into someone's letterbox. By some miracle, he'd ended up back at his house parked as perfectly as he could on the pavement, just fifteen feet from the front door of the little bungalow he'd bought five years back with what little money scraped together after the divorce. Cassidy may not have had his children, or his dog, or even the goddamn goldfish- but he'd say he had done a mighty fine job with the place, with or without them. Despite this, as he laid the tiny man down on a throw pillow of which he couldn't remember the origin of, Cassidy found himself doing a little tidying up whilst rifling through the kitchen for the hot water bottle.

Since the birth of his daughter, Cassidy had taken a vow to never handle a person as delicate as a newborn baby was ever again. He barely trusted himself to hold any of his children, at least for the first month or so, but he was better a man than to let his wife do all the dirty work after child labour. Now here he was, swearing to himself under his breath as he- drunkenly, with one finger at a time- went to cradle the little man in his hand, the most reasonable form of transportation in order to move him onto a newfound warmth. Cassidy hoped that in soon enough time, he would stop the shivering all together and wake up, just as he was when he found him. If he hadn't have been letting out such sounds of pure terror and pain, Cassidy probably wouldn't have found him lying there. He wondered desperately who he was, if a person at all- maybe an alien or some supernatural entity with fairy powers. Being a person seemed to be the most reasonable title for the man, but that left the question of how one person could be so small lingering along with it. It couldn't be true, Cassidy would rather believe in folk tales and conspiracy theories than what he saw in front of him: that a man sort of similar to himself in some capacity could be so incredibly small.

A part of him really, really wished it was all a hallucination- that he was completely wasted and imagining as ridiculous a thing as a thumb sized man fighting for his life atop of a hot water bottle big enough to fit two or three more of him by his side- but there was nothing more real than the dampened skin and hair that tickled against the grooves of his fingerprints, than all the components that made the unreal man so inherently humanoid. Even the laws of physics couldn't deny it- there was a tiny person in his house, and Cassidy had brought him there off of his own volition, his own deep rooted need to be the hero, even for just one night. It was safe to say he didn't plan on spending any sleepless nights with his ass planted on a barstool, neck-deep into a beer bottle, anytime soon.

-

There was nowhere in the world Adam hated more than Hutchinson. Nothing good came out of it, nothing good came into it. There was nothing good about the place at all, and when there was, it'd run away faster than he could catch it. He had decided on the night of his nineteenth birthday, he would run away too. He could chase after the good things, as fleetingly as they came, and be free of the chains that kept him forged to the shit-hole of a town he had lived in his whole life. As a child, he recalled hiding under the blankets and praying to God to make him an adult, to make him twenty-five and living in some place like New York or Toronto, in an apartment with his best friend doing a job he loved, surrounded by people that didn't know or care about who he was or where he came from. That was the plan, even after his nineteenth birthday had passed, and is twentieth, and even his twenty first.

Adam had vowed to himself that he wouldn't get to twenty two if he still lived in Hutchinson, even if it meant leaving his mother to fend for herself against her new, and yet identical to the last couple of hundred, boyfriend. He was sick of taking punches for other people, it was about time he took a few for himself, as long as it meant getting the fuck away from the place he was supposed to call home. So he did. All he needed was a backpack to hold every one of his worldly possessions, and then he was gone.

Three days, that's how long he'd been hitchhiking before something had gone terribly wrong. He'd gotten only two rides in that time, the first leaving him at some motel in Abilene, and the next... Adam wasn't an idiot, that he was sure of, but he'd fallen asleep by accident essentially seconds after fastening his seatbelt and settling into the backseat of the sleek white car. A 1989 Rover 800, he was told- Adam never really cared much for cars, but he could appreciate a nice one when he saw it, especially given how new it was. Surely, a guy driving a car this fresh off the market wouldn't risk getting blood and brain stuck between the leather of the seats just to rid the world of one more sleazy queer hitching a ride for no longer than an hour or two, so Adam felt it safe enough to rest his eyes, even if just for a moment.

If he was half dead and half naked on the side of the street, he'd probably be far less panicked than he was right now. At least then he'd be able to sort of decipher what happened to him, where he was and how he could recover from it- but as he lay, fully clothed yet freezing cold on some sort of endless plain of concrete- he realised he had no idea what could have lead to his current predicament. Adam had no recollection of how he could have ended up here- he couldn't even recall how much time had passed from when he must have fallen asleep in the back of that strangers car to that very moment- but that didn't really matter, not then, at least. No, there were far, far bigger things for him to worry about.

If he was drugged, he didn't remember it, although he assumed he must have been given the sight he saw right in front of his eyes. Out of it wasn't the right descriptor for how Adam felt- he was aware, more so than usual, and he could perceive the depth of the world around him as acutely as he could whilst sober. It was impossible to see what he was seeing, but there was no other explanation- not only were there leaves and cigarette stubs as long as he felt tall at either of his sides, but there was a boot big enough to snub him out just as effortlessly, attached to a leg taller than he could comprehend, attached to a man taller than life itself. Adam couldn't hear for how hard his heart was beating, but he could tell from the dry rawness of his throat after the fact that he was screaming. Who wouldn't have been? He'd never felt such sheer terror in his life- even when faced with boys he once knew from high-school and their newly earned gun licenses, paired with their father's rifles in the back of their pickup trucks- Adam had never been so fearful for his life, until now.

Before he could see much else of the man the leg and the boot branched up to be, Adam had fainted with fear. He was eight years old again, the only thing visible through the patchwork sheet he'd had on his bed since he was a baby being the warm orange glow of the overhead light that he wasn't supposed to have turned on after he was put to bed. Maybe this was it, maybe Adam had woken up to be twenty five, and maybe the corner he had awoken upon was right outside of his city apartment. Maybe he'd fallen down the stairs and hit his head, blacking out for no longer than thirty seconds, having no worse than a concussion, being able to return to the life he'd always dreamed of.

It was apparent that none of the above was his reality when Adam awoke for a second time. At least it wasn't so cold, and at least the surface he laid across wasn't quite as uncaring as the concrete pavement, though not much less. The weight of his body sank into the silicone, forming an indent that did no good for his back, but was comfortable enough to not want to sit up from regardless. He made sure to wait a moment before opening his eyes, to listen to his surrounding, to gauge whereabouts he could possibly be just from every other sense but sight that he possessed. Unfortunately, by the end of his hardly thorough investigation, Adam had concluded that he still knew absolutely nothing about where or when in the world he was, and he'd just have to look and see for himself if he wanted to know any better.

His visual surroundings didn't clue him in much more than he'd already gathered, although they made one thing more apparent than ever: he was small. Not just small, in fact, he was tiny. Smaller than the half empty glass of water beside him, smaller than whatever it was he was laid upon, smaller than the handkerchief draped around him like a blanket, but most importantly- far, far smaller than the man sat in front of him. Screaming was no longer an option, he'd lost his voice by this point, but he could certainly stare up with his mouth agape and his pupils shrunken just as his whole body had become. The man didn't say much at first- for a minute or so, he didn't say anything at all. He just stared with equally as wide eyes as Adam's own, mirroring his expression, except with far more wonder and curiosity than the fear captured upon Adam's fingerprint sized face.

A million different questions flurried through his head- where was he, what was the date and time, was he just really small or was the man from some unknown, mythological giant realm? Now wasn't the time for questions, however. Adam couldn't think straight, let alone see clearly, or speak a word of English. Maybe he hadn't just shrank, no, it could be far worse than that. With how stiff and rigid his body felt, the most logical answer to Adam's new form was that he must be some sort of ornament or action figure. The thought was almost a nice one- that someone would want to keep him up on a mantle piece, pretty enough to be looked at, but too pretty to be touched in case he shattered into a thousand, even smaller glass pieces across the hardwood floor. That must be it- it had to be.

If he was going to be a display piece for the rest of his inanimate life, Adam thought he might as well get to know the house he'd be living in, and who would come and dust him off every now and again when said house called for some spring cleaning. The face of the man in front of him was one Adam recognised. He didn't know him personally, God no, he was certain he was far enough away from Hutchinson to see anyone who knew him as well as he knew them- but he knew what kind of man stood, or, more accurately crouched and bent down, before him. Your average small-town, mid-western, middle aged, pick-up truck owning hick with half of his brain located in his mullet and matching dickies cap- or, alternatively, cowboy hat.

Whilst the man didn't quite have the haircut, or matching sideburns and handlebar looking moustache the kinds of men Adam knew from his hometown sported, he certainly carried himself like a Hutchinson guy. A forever furrowed brow hiding behind strands of unwashed, uncut and uncombed brown-grey hair, a dirty button-up with the sleeves rolled past his elbows, calloused, hairy hands and equally as hairy arms. The type of men that would run him out of bars and off the road if they knew a man like Adam even so much as glanced in their direction for a second too long. Either way, none of what he had left behind in Hutchinson mattered anymore, and the topic soon left his mind when said giant man began to speak.

-

Cassidy thought it'd be best to let the little guy get whatever he had on his chest right off of it in the form of panicked yells and cries of confusion, but the longer he stared with vacant, glossy eyes- as if he were not in this world entirely, completely absent with just his physical form left behind- he decided it'd probably be best to give him some sort of explanation to what exactly he was doing here and who had brought him to this point. He was owed that much. He opened his mouth to speak, but in all honestly, he wasn't sure what he was supposed to say. What could he say? 'Hi, sorry I kidnapped you, you're in my house and I'm willing to help you return back to whatever fairy door you crawled out of once you're back to health'? No matter what Cassidy said, he knew it probably wouldn't be the best, or even the right thing to come out with given just how bizarre the circumstances were. Instead of mulling it over in his head for any longer, he decided he was better off just getting on with it and praying he didn't offend the small man and end up with a cursed bloodline for generations to come.

"Look," He started with a sigh, instinctively moving to shield his face with a thumb driving between his brows. "You're scared, you're in some unknown place with a... Well, fuck. With a fucking- giant you don't know," God. This would've been much easier if he weren't also drunk. "But, listen, I'm not gonna-hurt-cha. Okay? I wouldn't have fuckin'.. Destroyed my kitchen looking for that hot water bottle you're all cozied up on for'ya. If you understand what I'm 'tryna tell 'ya, nod your head."

And by some miracle, after a brief moment, the little man nodded his head. Not only was he a real, living breathing person, but he could understand Cassidy. They could communicate. For the first time in a long time, a rush of some unfamiliar relief and excitement crashed against his body like an incoming wave. It was something worth celebrating.

"So you understand me." Cassidy smiled wide, the small gesture of a nod from the little man bringing as much joy as hearing his own children utter their first words. Now he was sort of grateful he was at least a little sloshed- the highs were way higher this way. "That's great, that's really, really good. You don't know how relieving that is, Jesus Christ, alright. I get it if you're.. too frightened to talk or, if you can't talk at all- that's alright by me- just,"

His head throbbed, a dull, rhythmic pounding causing his stomach to churn and his eyes to water. Cassidy had almost forgotten why he ever decided to get sober.

"I'm gonna go... to the bathroom. Stay there, you've probably caught a cold at the very least with how I found you. Just, don't move. Rest up. It's late enough." By this point, his speech was slurred and his head was reeling. If he didn't take some ibuprofen in the next sixty seconds, Cassidy was sure he'd drop dead right there.

Weirdly, as he rushed off to his own bathroom and locked the door behind him, he felt the same kind of fast bumping in his chest as he did when he was feeling particularly nervous. He had no reason to be nervous at all- he was in his own home, having brought the little man in by his own volition- but nevertheless, here he was hiding out and washing his face by the sink like a teenaged girl on her first date. It would've been more humiliating hadn't he noticed just how dirty his hands were in that moment, the underneath of his fingernails being black with grit and grime he'd picked up throughout the day. Oh God, he'd held the man in these hands, he'd probably dirtied his little clothes and skin with his lack of basic hygiene.

Dampened hands scrubbed at the aged face they belonged to, no wrinkle and scowl line going untouched as Cassidy pulled and squeezed his skin, hoping to sober himself up at least a slight bit before going back out to address the elephant in the room. He didn't notice the droplets of water from his beard as they fell into the sink, he stared back at himself through the clouded, de-silvered glass of the mirror for far longer than he had intended to. This couldn't be a lucid dream, the reflection in front of him was far too accurate, too familiar to be mustered up by his unconscious subconscious mind. Cassidy took a deep breath through his nose, which proved to be a mistake once the water dripping down his face blocked his airways as he keeled over with a splutter, desperately pinching at his nostrils in an unnecessary state of panic. What he really wanted was to pass out on his bed, shoes on and all, but he couldn't. Pushing the stray strands that stuck to his forehead back, Cassidy hoped to God that the little guy did as he was told and stayed put.

Cassidy stumbled down the hallway with newfound clarity- he wasn't sure what specifically he would do in regards to the scientific anomaly sitting in his living room, but he was absolutely certain things would work out just fine. With time, he could learn where the man is from and take him back home to his family, or- in the case of which he didn't have a family at all- he could turn him in to a group of doctors or scientist that would foam at the mouth upon being given the opportunity to study such an impossibly small individual. The latter wasn't Cassidy's favourite option, but he was entirely certain that they would do a far better job at caring for the man than he would ever be able to do, so that gave him some peace of mind when mulling it over.

There would be bumps along the road, Cassidy was fully aware of that, but what he hadn't predicted was that they would come so soon after the journey had just began. Turning the corner at the end of the hallway, one small and yet remarkably alarming detail instantly caught his eye- there was no little man atop of the hot water bottle. He wasn't standing around on the coffee table, or lounging on the throw pillow Cassidy had laid out for him previously- of course he wasn't, the jump from the table to the couch was far too wide for a man of his size- and from what he could see, he wasn't on the floor nearby his feet either.

This couldn't be good, none of this could be good. Cassidy went to call out the little man's name, but he soon realised he didn't know what it was to do so. Panicking wouldn't do anyone any good, the man had probably run off due to being so scared in the first place, ranting and raving and raising his voice would only worsen their predicament. Before making any rash decisions, Cassidy let out a slew of curses under his breath, freshly slicked back hair forming into clumps in his hands as he racked through a series of options he had. He could freak out and scare the poor thing to death, or he could calmly go about finding him across the- what he previously thought to be a relatively small- expansive bungalow floors. The absurdly little legs of the man couldn't have carried him off too far, surely.

-

At first, Adam was going to comply completely with whatever he was told. His body was far from the appropriate state to cause a scene or go into any kind of frenzy, despite how badly he wanted to do either of those things, and it wasn't like he stood a chance against the giant either- he wouldn't have even if he was at his full height and in peak physical condition. Adam wasn't exactly sure what specifically made him change his mind, but the moment the sink started to run in the next few doors over, well, he got up and ran too.

Where he would go from here wasn't something he had thought about, his body overtaken with the fatal combination of fear and adrenaline, causing him to jump straight down from the coffee table and onto the rug below. Falling from an equivalent height at his normal size would've left him with a pair of broken legs at the very least, but as Adam's shrunken figure bounced about a dozen equally shrunken feet across the carpeted floor, he realised he couldn't feel even the slightest bit of pain- at least, not anything he hadn't already felt after waking up. Without wasting a second, he pushed himself up off of his stomach, slightly winded but ultimately unharmed, and began walking towards a goal he wasn't certain of just yet. The fibres of the rug reached about half way up his calf, with each step through the meadow of multicoloured threads being just as painfully difficult as the last. It was like trying to walk directly through a hedge- the microscopic branches, leaves and thorns clinging to the fabric of his tattered pants, creating a clinging static that tried to pull him back down onto his knees every time he tried to move forward.

Adam would always be far more stubborn than sorry, he'd come to realise that by the time his treacherous, tedious journey through the rug had concluded. Having stable grounds to stand on was not something he originally pictured himself being grateful for when planning his getaway from Hutchinson, but by God did he want to kiss the hard wood panelling beneath him the moment his socked feet landed flat against the floor. A moment of bliss, pure unfiltered and unbridled joy. Adam could stand still and straight in this giant world, albeit fleetingly. As short lived as it was, he wouldn't forget how happy he'd felt, even as the ground began to tremble with soft, yet steadily incoming footsteps. So, the giant was the owner of the boots Adam had taken notice of before after all. There was no time to sit and stare at the craftsmanship heading towards him, Adam didn't want to be yelled at- or worse, but mostly he feared being yelled at, at least in the moment- for directly going against the giant's wishes, so he did the only thing he could think of doing in the split second he had to take a thought process into account with his decisions.

The couch was elevated about three inches off the ground, meaning Adam barely had to lower his head in order to run straight under it. He knew all too well of how disgusting the underneath of sofas could get, but he hadn't expected it to hit him so hard at such a size. Dust and grime flew up into the air like sand in a desert as he skidded to a halt on his heel- if he wasn't being looked for in the moment, he wouldn't have tried to hard to hold back the coughs and splutters that sat in his chest.

"Hey, where'd you go?" The voice wasn't nearly as gruff as it was before, and the delivery of each word was surprisingly coherent, even through the layers of cushions and fabric it had to break through to get to Adam's tiny ears.

With eyes shut tight, Adam held his breath, one hand over his mouth, the other rubbing his irritated eyes as they threatened to spill over with tears. Even if it was just due to the dust, crying would be giving in. Adam hadn't cried in years, and he wasn't about to let a little completely illogical supernatural interference change that.

"You're already in bad shape, and I can't imagine wherever you've run off to will do you any favours." Loud creaking in the floorboards followed by brief yet powerful thuds not too far away suggested he was kneeled down now, clearly searching for him. Another thud- a hand, resting right beside the couch. Big enough to encase Adam entirely, yet not too big to slide under and into his hiding spot.

He regretted his choice before, but now- Adam was certain it was the last decision he'd ever get to make. The giant won't have any sympathy for him after such a blatant display of disobedience, surely not.

A grumble. Low and chesty, congested enough to sound almost like a growl to paranoid ears. "I'm trying to help you here. Please. Let me help you, will 'ya? That's all I'm trying to do."

Adam fully expected his words to come out all frustrated and angry, but instead, the giant sounded sort of hurt. He was pleading.

It was around now Adam had forgotten he'd been holding his breath entirely, his body desperately gasping the filthy air of the sofa's underside. He choked on his own breath, a tear rolling down his face, dripping off the tip of his nose as he bent over into a tiny, crumpled pile on the ground. If the giant was speaking, Adam wasn't listening, far too focused on the scratching of his dry throat as he gasped for some sort of clean air. Things were probably better working out this way- it was either get caught now or go forward with the nonexistent escape plan, and the latter of the two seemed so illogical and impossible that Adam would have ended up having died trying. What could he do anyway-? Open the front door and walk out? Scale fifty feet up the wall and drop down from the same height out the window? He was fully aware of his own stupidity, skating through his years in education by just barely clinging on to passing grades by the skin of his fingers, but he thought himself to have at least some amount of common sense somewhere within him.

No matter how badly Adam wanted to crawl out from his hiding place and accept whatever soft comfort or lashings that awaited him, the magnet that was the core of the earth kept him completely still- paralysed and grounded in place with fear of what was to come. What if it was all just an act, a rouse to get him to trust the giant, that way it hurts far more when the real intentions behind Adam's presence here came to light-? He couldn't think about it, especially not when the dust had already sent tears streaming down his cheeks, because now he couldn't tell if he was actually crying or not. It didn't really matter, he supposed, since it all looked the same anyway.

-

There were very rare times in Cassidy's life in which he'd felt so desperately helpless. He didn't like to think of them, he didn't associate with the person he once was, with the person that once felt that way. It was funny in a sick sense, that he was the one on his knees, calling out in a barely disguised frenzy for a man barely taller than his thumb. Holding him may have been frightening, a daunting task that quite literally put his life in Cassidy's hands, but the thought that he might be doing something good here made it worth the nerves. He cursed to himself. Of course, he was shit out of luck when it came to opportunities that proved to even just himself that he could be good. He'd been a terrible host, he ran off from the man about three sentences in and didn't even offer him anything to drink. No wonder he ran off too. Cassidy would've given himself a well deserved punch in the face if his fists weren't occupied, stuck to the ground with the weight of all the pressure he put into balling them up, hoping it'd stabilise every other part of himself by extension.

He'd almost given up entirely- having chalked the man up to being a figment of his drunken imagination after all- when he heard it. Just barely. To his left, a sound no louder than a squeak. It was him. Without wasting a second, Cassidy acted before he could think of the best course of action. He sat up from his knees, lifting the raggedy old couch with a single arm.

"What are you doing under there?" Cassidy didn't mean for it to come out so hushed and whiny, but it did just that.

Now that he could see the little man with the overhead light beaming on him- his own nerves not making him look everywhere but at his face this time around- Cassidy realised how sick he really was. Big wet eyes with even bigger circles beneath them, red nose and cheeks that had become damp with tears, his tiny body wracking with either fear or the cold, Cassidy wasn't sure which it was though.

He let out a low tut, his mouth turning to a line. "If you hadn't gotten sick before, you definitely will have now. I don't remember the last time I hoovered under there, come on out now."

Thank God there wasn't a language barrier between the two, they'd figured that part out already. After a brief moment of silent staring, the tiny man fulfilled Cassidy's request, tumbling out from under the couch with a slight limp. Had he hurt himself? Now wasn't the best time to play doctor, not after Cassidy had been hidden away from once before, not to mention how clumsy he got after drinks. It'd have to wait until the morning. Either way, any injury the man might have sustained didn't seem to slow him, and before his arms had started to ache, Cassidy was able to lower the couch back to its original position.

There it was again. Another sound that could've very easily been missed hadn't Cassidy been listening. He spoke, his little voice clearly strained, but one word: "Sorry."

If he were sober, Cassidy wouldn't have found the word quite so entertaining, so satisfying, just so pleasant as he did. The fact the word was an apology didn't matter- Cassidy wasn't mad, he wasn't even annoyed. The only thing left was the satisfaction of hearing his voice, of seeing him- for the most part- safe and sound, still in the house, where Cassidy knew he would end up alright in the end.

"So, you talk." If he were sober, Cassidy would've also felt like an idiot as he manoeuvred from his knees to lying on his stomach in his own home, on his own floor. Even if his face was small, Cassidy could still see the blank look of confusion plastered across it. He supposed he should elaborate on what he'd actually just been told rather than focusing on the obvious.

"You don't have to be sorry. I just don't want y'getting hurt, that's why I picked you up off the side of the street." Cassidy really wanted to reach out in that moment- to give a reassuring pat or something of the sort- but he didn't have the guts. He was far too afraid of his own strength.

Instead, Cassidy watched as the cogs turned in the little man's head. A tiny furrowed brow and open mouth as he processed the words that had just been spoken to him. "Side of the street..? What- what street? Where in the world?"

Cassidy frowned. The poor guy didn't know where he was or how he got there at all, did he? "Uh, Ottawa..?"

The tiny man wasted no time to interject, "Canada??" he asked, wide eyed and, weirdly enough, smiling. So, he was from this world after all. Geographical knowledge was a good sign, Cassidy supposed.

"No, Kansas." Cassidy almost felt bad telling him the truth as he watched the tiny face drop with disappointment. "Canada is a long way away, did you come from there?"

It was certainly a long ride to get there, but he'd feel bad for not offering to take the man home, especially when he was in such a state. It was the least Cassidy could really do for him, after all.

With a sigh and a hand to brush back the hair that stuck to his forehead with sweat, the little man shook his head. "No. I was hitchhiking for a couple of days before, but I came from Hutchinson."

"Oh, that's a relief. I can take you back tomorrow-"

"Please- Don't take me back." The already strained voice sounded so desperate. Cassidy had almost began to wonder just what he'd gotten himself into when it continued, "I don't know how I got like this, or if I'm gonna be like this forever- but, even if I was.. well, how I used to be, I wouldn't be able to go back. Don't make me, I'm- I'm pleading with you."

"Jesus, okay, you can calm down, I won't take you anywhere you don't want to go." Cassidy raised his hands to surrender. There was no way he'd bring the man back to a place that clearly caused him so much panic- he might as well have just left him on the pavement if he would do that- but there were a lot of things to consider before making any set plans. "You weren't always so.. small, then?"

"No." He said it so matter-of-factly, in a way that made Cassidy feel like a bit of an idiot for asking. "I don't remember shit. I got a ride off the side of the road in Abilene from this dude in a white car- a Rover, a new one. I thought, you know, you don't kill people in cars that shiny and new, so I let myself fall asleep for a while."

"And then you were on the side of the street."

"No, actually. I woke up a couple of times, but, like, briefly. We were in the middle of nowhere, just road and.. I don't know- nature I guess, and I stuck my head out of the window for a bit." He bit his lip briefly, looking around as if there were anyone else to hear what he was about to say.

Cassidy assumed he was on drugs, that he was about to be told the man had seen a UFO or something of the sort fly overhead, and that would be when he awoke. He supposed it wasn't too far fetched, especially when looking down at the man in all of his miniature glory.

"If I tell you what happened, can you not think I'm crazy?" he finally asked, quite literally trembling as he had began to pace around the floor. He looked like a little toy solider, going back and forth in his mechanically decided patterns after being wound up and set off.

Cassidy imagined himself from an aerial point of view, hunched down on the floor speaking to a man of such impossible size. It would've been funny hadn't it been his reality. "I promise, I don't think I could perceive you as any crazier than I feel right now."

"Okay." He swallowed. The man was surprisingly audible despite the difference in scale, which made Cassidy think he was probably a very good public speaker before, well, this. He didn't even know his name, but he still allowed himself to smile at the bundle of nerves and personality in front of him. Even in one of the most frightening times of his life, the little guy could project.

"There was a massive cloud out. The skies were clear, other than the one cloud- that's why I remember it. I was probably just delirious after just waking up, but.. I don't know. It- it glittered. When we passed it, I felt my whole body react. It was like one of those itchy sweaters, but it was everywhere- even on the inside, I felt it."

Cassidy didn't really have an answer. He wasn't sure if he believed it to be possible, but it wasn't like there were any other possibilities to buy into. What the hell, sure. A magical cloud made the unnamed man tiny.

"Right." He didn't mean to sound like he didn't believe the story, but.. "I know y'can't stay here forever, but there's no way I'm letting you out on your own whilst you're like this."

Of course, Cassidy didn't realise it at the time, but his words would come back to bite him in the ass a little later down the line.

The part the tiny man seemed the most perplexed about was the part Cassidy assumed to be the obvious, asking with a pitiful level of uncertainty in his voice: "You're really gonna let me stay?"

Cassidy smiled. He hadn't had someone so grateful to be in his company for a long while, if ever really. It was sort of cute, but he wouldn't say that out-loud. "If you tell me your name, sure."

"Oh, right- it's Adam." He didn't look or sound so frightened anymore, that was a good sign.

"Adam." Cassidy tested his name on the tongue. There was something so great about it, so fitting. The first man on earth, the beginning of everything. Cassidy only really started to take ideas of God into great consideration when it was late and he'd had enough to drink, in times like this one now- when he was still trying to swallow down the hot taste of whiskey that struggled to settle in his stomach.

It churned as he looked at the little man- at Adam. A gut feeling that they'd be in each other's lives for a very, very long time. "I- Well," Cassidy cleared his throat, his mind elsewhere when enough time had passed for him to return the gesture of sharing his name. "I'm Cassidy."

Saying his own name aloud always felt so strange. Introductions on the whole had always been awkward, now that he thought about it- especially when said person you're introducing yourself to is all but a couple of inches tall. He went in for a handshake before really considering the impossibility of it, leaving his open hand lingering around in Adam's vicinity, frozen as his brain short circuited on how to approach him. Cassidy closed his hand into a fist with a hiss of embarrassment, discreetly placing it back down beside Adam in an attempt to come back from such a miscalculation.

"I'll set you up a more comfortable place to sleep. Who knows, maybe you'll grow back overnight or.. Something."

Cassidy didn't really believe such kinds of miraculous miracles could occur, and he wasn't at all surprised the next morning when Adam was laid there exactly where and how he'd left him. He could say he didn't expect each of them to play such significant roles in each other's lives from that point onward, but that would be a lie. Adam couldn't stay forever, but God would he make a good go of it.

[8thhousepriestess]

Hello, what are some indicator of being alone your whole life and general experiencing some multilevel loneliness such like feeling of not belonging to both your friends and family? Personally I have cancer Jupiter in the 12th house, scorpio moon in the 4th house and gemini stellium (saturn, mars, venus, north node) in the 11th house and so far I've been feeling this through majority of the time...

Hey fellow Leo Rising 🦁💛! It’s not an easy path when you have a special purpose in life and are literally ruled by the Sun. Finding where to shine your light and where it’s appreciated isn’t an easy task.

Mars retrograde going back into Cancer yesterday in our 12th house can also bring a feeling of extra loneliness, introverted and even more so self reflective. ( I am definitely feeling some of this myself).

[ My sig. other is also a Leo Rising with Jupiter 12th house Cancer. He has always felt like he never belonged anywhere or with anyone. Very, quiet, humble, hides his light under a basket, doesn’t give himself enough credit. Always does for others. He’s very lucky throughout life though and opportunities through others land on his lap even though he barely speaks people just seem to like and want to help him . Just a little relatable story. Anyway… ]

- Scorpio moon 4th house could indicate a mother wound associated with abandonment and emotional betrayal or not feeling safe to fully express yourself growing up within the family environment. Feeling like an outsider and misunderstood. You feel your emotions in the core of your being more so than others so it can be hard to find others who relate and understand such a gift to feel so deeply. Doing shadow work to understand the root of your being can be profoundly healing leading to self acceptance/self love where you then become a source of healing and a guide for others.

- Saturn in the 11th house can bring challenges in forming solid lasting friendships or feeling like you truly belong in groups. You might take social connections very seriously, and others might perceive you as distant or hard to approach. Where Saturn is in the birth chart is where you usually experience delay - but promises success in that area later in life. So friendships may improve later in life as you build deeper, more meaningful connections.

- Cancer Jupiter 12th house - emotional and spiritual growth is deeply tied to nurturing and compassion. However, Jupiter in the 12th house often expresses itself behind the scenes, through solitude, spiritual work, or helping others selflessly. This placement can sometimes lead to feeling “hidden” or misunderstood, as your most expansive and optimistic qualities might not be readily visible to others.

- Gemini 11th house stellium (Saturn, Mars, Venus, North Node)

The 12th house Jupiter and 4th house Scorpio Moon suggest a strong need for privacy/solitude to process emotions and develop inner strength. At the same time, the 11th house stellium wants you to step out into the world and connect with others, even if it feels challenging at first.

Gemini North Node 11th house - Your life purpose involves mastering group dynamics, embracing your individuality, and contributing to the collective. However, the journey toward this goal may feel isolating at times as you learn to navigate complex social dynamics. Focus on building a community around shared interests. Accept that not everyone will fully understand you, but those who do will TRULY value your unique perspective. Finding your tribe is KEY. Online outlets of like minded people may be where you find where you fit. Gemini is about duality so you might find yourself being a “wanderer” jumping from group to group which is COMPLETELY okay… experience all that life has to offer!! Aquarius descent- freedom in relationships to be who you are and wherever you want to go.

• Gemini Mars 11th house (which I also have) - suggests in younger years having conflict within social circles or fighting. As you grow and evolve you will become a leader of your social circle where you feel passionate. Jupiter transiting on my mars here is when I met both my long term love relationships.

• Gemini Venus 11th House - Venus softens some of the harsher energies of Saturn and Mars. Love and/or meaningful friendships can be found when significant transits like Jupiter conjuncts here. I am adamant on the Jupiter transits because Jupiter finds its joy in the 11th house. It may take a bit of work or involve complications at first bc it’s detriment in Gemini.

🤍🫶🏻 What you can do to overcome the feelings of loneliness and thrive….

- Create a sanctuary for yourself where you can explore your emotions without judgment. This will help balance the intensity of your Scorpio Moon and the introspective nature of your Cancer Jupiter.

- With your Gemini stellium in the 11th house, joining like minded communities/groups that align with your intellectual interests can help you find your “tribe.” Focus on quality over quantity in friendships.

- Saturn in the 11th house suggests that your ability to build lasting connections will improve with age and effort. Be patient with yourself as you learn lessons of Saturn that help you mature and master overtime.

- Channel the emotional depth of your Scorpio Moon and Cancer Jupiter into writing, art, or another creative outlet. This will help you feel seen and understood. Also, this will help you develop a relationship with yourself where self love will form. When you develop a relationship with yourself and love yourself ( shadows included ) you will never feel lonely .

I hope this answered your question and helped you understand your placements a little better. Kind of went on a tangent because I can totally relate. Thank you so much for writing to me.

- ☺️💜STEPH

[joces-wrld]

introducing … tomboy! & fratboy! chris

tomboy! reader 🕸️

19. confident. “not in pink”. spiderman + any superhero. no set face claim. education major. small hidden tattoos all over her. hella piercings: both lobes (upper ones too), right industrial, left cartilage, both helix's, belly button, and her nostril. beanies. silver jewelry. dog person!! scared she isn't feminine enough. used to play flute. hidden hour glass figure. bruno mars + tyler the creator + sza + luke combs. “let’s just assume everyone in here doesn’t like me” - flynn rider

fratboy! chris 🕸️

21. dealer. "dont look at me like that". commitment issues. video games. lowkey fw readers music, but will never admit it. backwards hats. king of rolling joints, can do it with his eyes closed. pepsi. kendrick lamar + travis scott + king von. extremely gushy and soft if he gets too high. hates labels. lowkey, highkey, wants a lip piercing. used to play hockey in high school. 2 numbers; a personal one, and one for 'business' purposes. "i got a bitch that text me she dont got no clothes on" - big sean.

how they met ....

it was three weeks after the start of the school year, the air still filled with excitement, however, not for the 21 year old. he was actually pissed off, his frat house had hosted their second party of the year. he had fucked a random girl there and now she had somehow gotten ahold of his personal number, refusing to leave him alone

his mind wandered as he blasted 'Crazy Story' by king von on his airpods, allowing him to forget about the endless messages he had. for now at least

unfortunately, in his music dazed state, chris had actually forgotten to pay attention to his surroundings, ultimately crashing into something, someone.

SLAP!

a stack of papers hits the ground, accompanied by a couple boxes of crayons. 'wonderful' he thinks, 'this day cannot get any better'

"great" he hears, followed by a deep sigh. "sorry man, wasnt looking where i was going" she laughs out, trying to break any tension that may form between the two

chris was planning on ignoring her, not wanting to converse with this rando, when suddenly she looks up at him. "hey asshat, i may have bumped into you, but i apologized, least you can do is pick my crap up"

he smirks, squatting down

he grabs the stack of papers and boxes of crayons, "hello kitty and spiderman coloring sheets, what are you, 5?" he remarks, handing her her things. "nope, but my kids are" she replies, smiling at him, and not just one of those random smiles, a smile you give someone you've known for years, a genuine smile

taking the lollipop out of her mouth with a loud pop, she extends her hand out, "y/n, education major. econ, huh? took that last summer, it actually sucks" she introduces, noticing the book he was carrying. chris flicked her hand away, he didnt do this. he didnt talk to girls, he either, A. fucked them or B. sold weed to them, then left

simple

did she not know who he was? or his reputation? something about her intrigued him, the way she so confidently held him accountable. how she didnt suck up to him, desperate for some dick

as she walked off, adjusting her beanie, he smirked, continuing his way to class, wondering if they'd cross paths again

-

a/n: HIIII please be nice 🙏🏼 i literally do not know how to write, but i really wanted to try sum 😜

pls suggest ideas for this pair cs i have no clue what im doing 🙏🏼

[asmaaamassi]

🛑👇👇Hey you! You should know this.

I am a Palestinian mother of six children from Gaza. My life was enough to make me the happiest person in this world.

My family was enjoy peace, security and stability. A beautiful home that embraces a dream with hope that grows with us that the future is better. We keep our memories that we will remember in the future. In that corner, my first son took his first steps. There, one of them said his first words.

Even my disagreement with my husband about how to build the rooms and where to put that screen or sofa was beautiful.

Everything, no matter how small, was beautiful. The planet was beautiful. The natural feelings of humanity when we believed that we were human were beautiful. Until this war came.

In short, nothing remains. We have become closer to animals. The simplest rights are missing. No food, drink, treatment, education or shelter. My husband and children are sick and suffering. My house is piles of stones with those memories scattered among them in an ugly image. Broken. Neglected.

The past was beautiful.. and the reality is a painful ongoing nightmare.. and the future is unknown..

Yes, when I appeal to you, I speak to you in the name of humanity that is in danger. We are human beings like you.. and you are not better than me when you see this appeal and do not help me.. feel your humanity, before the war I did not need you. Look at your loved ones and at least feel the feeling of loss and the pain of separation, as I said goodbye to my daughter who died due to lack of treatment.. I ask you and my family, wounded, in pain and homeless. In the name of humanity and humankind and all meanings of freedom and justice..

I am here Asmaa from Gaza.. struggling to stay alive.. Be a human being and help me.. let us build our lives. At least feel how we feel when I embrace my children between the walls of a new home instead of a torn tent. The earth is our bed and the sky is our cover in the severe cold in which we freeze and our children die waiting for a morning that may carry within it hope that humanity and humankind are still alive..

😭😭👇👇 Help me and publish my story Donate for my family

@fancysmut-blog @brokenbackbones-blog @just-browsings-world @sayruq @aleciosun @fluoresensitivearchived @khizuo @lesstalkmoreillustration @transmutationist @schoolhouserockk-blog @timogsilangan @aprendizdepoeta @buttercupsticksntricks @say-love-us @malcriada @palestinegenocide @sar-soor @akajustmerry @annoyingloudmicrowavecultist @feluka @tortiefrancis @flower-tea-fairies @tsaricides @riding-with-the-wild-hunt @visenyasdragon @belleandsaintsebastian @ear-motif @kordeliiius @brutaliakent @raelyn-dreams @troythecatfish @theropegeek @tamarvangelder @4ft10tvlandfangirl @queerstudiesnatural @northgazaupdates2 @skatezophrenic @awetistic-things @cameramator @baby-girl-aaron-dessner @nabulsi @synqra @junglejim4322 @heritageposts @chososhairbrush @palistani123-blog @dlxxxvii @illuminated-rush-blog @imjustheretotrytohelp

[windmaedchen-oceanhorn]

Merlinverse Wheel Interactions - Collection Post

I was bored, so I spun the wheel a couple of times. I actually only ignored results I already had, but removed options later on to get more variation. I haven't consulted anyone and just went from vague memory, so lemme know how badly I am off the mark. xDDD

Lavinia attempts to play matchmaker for Zelda

Magister Zelda by @fgfirenation

I believe we had this scenario before, where Zelda is playing matchmaker for Lavinia, when she learned that Zelda actually has en ever so small thing for a certain rabbit. 

But truth is... I think Lavi is a rather bad matchmaker. At least in terms of taking action to get them together. She is much rather having long talks with Zelda about when and how and possibilities of outcomes, never failing to encourage Zelda to do whatever is needed. Although, she might also be one to STOP the magister from doing something entirely headless. Since Lavinia's bound to Holistone in service, she'd not often have the chance to actually meet and talk to Lorsan. But since Lorsan is traveling, he might actually drop by and then when he does, Lavi is definitely observing VERY HARD and trying to see what he thinks about Zelda.

So yeah, rather than orchestrating things, she's gotta do the observing and spying and information forwarding. xD

Lavinia learns a new skill from Zelda

Uhm, so the standard answer is, of course, that any Merlin will one way or other, show Lavi how to deal with the left-over Hypogean magic within her. So the definite "feeling" of magic in and around herself, the certain things one can do to ease stress related to that, actual little spells and so on.

On another note, Zelda is such a powerhouse and crazy creature... that I feel like it would be so silly and cool if Lavi learned something as beautiful, delicate and soothing as sand mandala creation. Or like making small pottery creatures. Or making jewellery? xD Anything that's a little unexpected and shows Zelda's warm and caring side. Maybe it's crocheting? Felting? Well, origami, at the least! 

Lavinia playfully argues/banters with Sena.

Magister Sena by @bunnybird-afk

I am not sure what this means, to be honest. It sounds more like teasing to me... and in that case, I gotta move forward in time a little bit. Lavinia and Sena are comfortable with each others presence now, not least due to Valen, and there may have been little squibs from one to the other before. But for more lengthy banters, I think Lavinia's firstborn is the perfect reason. xD

Shall the kid have this or that to wear? Can it have tea and why couldn't it be wrapped up in a sock rather than a blanket? Can it be levitated around the Mystical House and climb up the towers made of books? Bedtime is when again and what bedtime story to read? And so on and so forth. <3

Lavinia teaches a new skill to DK

Magister DK by @gloriousrebirth

Ah, oh no, I don't think Lavi can teach ANY Merlin a new skill. xD At least certainly not in terms of magic. And what other skill might she be able to show to DK? Probably something incredibly boring... like a useful knot for tying things up. Maybe that knot turned out essential later on when DK needed it on Sinbad. xD Or maybe DK likes the nuts Lavi sometimes brings to the Mystical House not knowing that they have simply been soaked in water over night. Or maybe the same memory trick Lavi taught Molpe, given Merlin has an issue with forgetting things. xD

Lavinia compares opinions about .... with Celestino

Magister Celestino by @meepinmeat

Well, naturally the first thing that comes to mind is Valen. And that's not gonna be all too exciting, since they have the SAME opinion about him. xD BUT, given the difference in universe, they would probably be quite interested in the subtle differences of the Valens.

Alternatively, if it's CelVerse Lavi, then she'd be just friends with Valen and the three of them have, given her experience etc, a VERY in-depth discussion about the Heroic Order! And subsequently the Celestials and their role against the Hypogeans and whether they might not also be required to help "Esperian" problems.

Lavinia fights/spars with Celestino

Since Celestino is a Merlin, whether Lavi is from CelVerse or her own, the fighting is training in regards to her Hypogean powers. Not that Celestino would have to really break a sweat, though, it's all basic routine stuff. And yet, sometimes, he might make it extra tough for Lavi, not only forcing her to use her magic but also still the sword to win. And I don't see a reason why he wouldn't be able to drag Dionel into the ring, too. "Must I really, son?" and "Yes, really, or do you want to risk her ending up corrupted and on the other end of your spear for real?"

Lavinia attempts to play matchmaker for Rose

Magister Rose by @afkhowstrange

Not. xD Ahahaha, while they probably have a good relationship and can easily sit together with tea and cookies after training sessions etc, Lavinia is still too impressed and careful in what she does around Rose. Playing matchmaker? I don't think she'd allow herself to. That doesn't mean she'd not be interested and observing from the sidelines, to witness any developments. And if Rose ever confided in Lavinia, she's happily try to help in word or action (although she'd always feel silly for "setting anything up").

Lavinia offers to dance with Rose

Oh boy, you know what? Maybe THAT would be something Lavinia isn't embarrassed to do for Rose in terms of matchmaking. I don't actually know who Rose might have a crush on, but this dance would definitely be the perfect excuse to then go and ask her crush, too! Whether a confession follows, I don't know... but at least Lavi's done something for Rose to have a good time. <3

Lavinia meets the child version of Molpe

Magister Molpe by @mcnana

Aww, that would be so adorable! I don't think there would be anything special about the situation, but Lavinia has a way to pay actual attention to children and thus be perceived as a "nice lady" by them. Or on some cases, a lady to be reckoned with, not unlike Valen. Either way, Molpe probably lost her way or something, and Lavinia takes responsibility as a knight and delivers her back home. Getting her treats along the way, of course, and talking about her favourite games to play. xD

Lavinia offers to dance with Violyste

Magister Violyste by @magister-violyste

Hmmmm, this could be somewhere on the job, of course, a professional matter, if you will. But maybe it would be more something in relation with Hogan. xD Maybe there is no such thing as marriage for them, but let's assume there would be something akin to it, a special celebration, an anniversary, you name it... and since Lavinia is just part of Hogan's family and work, she might be asked to help with that. And then, to help Vi prepare, am sure Lavi would help her remember dances again. After all, Vi can't possible say no to Hogan when he asks, and you bet, he WILL ask. <3

[yzafre]

That's fair enough! It really is kinda a throwaway line. I can't imagine Splinter was eager to go into too many details about that time period, anyways, so they may not know more than "some vague time before we were mutated". In any case I sure hope they're sixteen during that episode after doing that math.

I know that ultimately none of this matters for the story they were telling, but its a bit fascinating to think about, isn't it? I started trying to figure out the timeline of the Foot Clan for world-building reasons, and it just kinda. Spilled out from there.

When it comes to Saki, and the time between him learning his heritage and the attack - the amount to unpack is why I think it would be so interesting for him to have started teaching Bradford then. Just imagining the dynamic of a very emotionally turbulent Saki teaching a younger, (impressionable?) Bradford - I don't know, something about it intrigues me.

Splinter's recovery/move is interesting because - he can't let Saki know he's alive, right? So his time in recovery would have also had to be on the down-low. The moving process as well - and resources! His house burned down, but moving takes money... did he just have a personal bank account, or was there a Hamato clan one? ...would Saki also have had access to it? Did Splinter have to go specifically with his account and not the Clan one because Saki claimed it for the Foot?

Also I'm fully with you on "he had made zero (0) moves towards a Visa before this". So, that had to take some amount of time.

Karai... you can maybe still make "a year and a half" work. Admittedly I know very little about babies, but she seemed less than a year old to me? So like... you could squish his recovery and move into a year, if you really tried. Maybe.

Looking for some TMNT 2012 opinions/head-canons!

It doesn't really matter for the story the show was telling, but for my own world-building I'm trying to create a timeline/apply rough dates to events before the series. It's bringing up a lot of questions like....

Between Tang Shen dying and his mutation, Splinter had to: recover from the fight/smoke-inhalation, get his affairs in order, go through the visa/immigration process, get settled in an apartment, exact. How long would we estimate that took. 6 months? A year? Two years?

The above has implications on Karai's age. Also how old was Karai exactly when she was kidnapped?

Come to that, how old was Splinter when Tang Shen died? Early, mid, or late twenties?

How long was Saki building up the Foot Clan before attacking the Hamato? Combined with the above question about age, that could have interesting implications.

Xever and Bradford. Xever's backstory has Shredder seeming more established when they meet, but did Bradford also meet Shredder post-Tang Shen's death? I'd say probably, but there's some interesting potential in them meeting while Saki was still building up the Foot in secret.

Also how old is Bradford. I saw 33 somewhere online but with no source. And do we think he met Shredder before, at the start of, or after gaining celebrity status?

There's probably more questions I haven't thought of. I know the lack of answers is because it really really does not matter to the story of the show, but I'm doing Foot Clan world-building so I'm chewing on them.

Thoughts, opinions, headcanons?

[doublegoblin]

A story of a "home"

When we think of haunted places we think of the old, the decrepit, the forlorn and forgotten. We think of the home at the end of the road with its shutters slapping in the breeze and door resting on the floor. We think of the old cabin in the woods, the exterior now a vibrant green as it is overtaken by moss and lichen. We also think of the old castle, stone and bricks crumbling to dust slowly. We think of the place where people have been, where lives were lived and lost. We think of the absence.

What is it though, to consider those places stuck in stasis? To the locations never once filled. Empty and hungry. Hollow and yearning.

Cast your mind not to a patch of overgrown farmland, nor country side citadel, or any such places of the old and gone. Cast it instead to a cul-de-sac, filled with the sounds of life.

In this place there is a plot of land. In this plot of land a home is being built. It is a home whose designs were sketched with love and care. Whose materials were bought for their quality rather than their price. A dream made real. The ground is split and flattened. Fresh lumber hauled and raised. Foundation poured and set. Yet this home would go uninhabited. Perhaps the funds ran out? Maybe the creator passed on? Who is to say? This home though, still stands, no occupants other than hope.

This house will sit quietly for a time. Spirits raised as it spies a “For Sale” sign being pounded into place. Even vacant it is maintained. The lawn is trimmed. The inside cleaned. It enjoys the moments of human habitation; brief as they might be. A home is meant to house people.

Then one day the maintenance ceases.

The sign is lifted.

And it stands empty amongst its peers.

It can’t help but wonder,

“Where have the people gone? Those who I sheltered and shielded?”

It creaks and groans as the seasons change to winter.

“Please won’t someone come inside and warm themselves?” It squeals against the biting gale.

“My insides are cold, my power long cut, but I can protect you from the wind.” It calls to the empty streets that are bathed in the orange glow.

The wind echoes through the unfinished spaces, the sad whale song of the home.

Time passes regardless and soon the winter grows brighter and hotter, spring has came.

The home coughs “Please someone, anyone, open me up. The air inside is stale and I yearn to breathe again.”

Yet none come to unseal it.

In the basement a pipe bursts. The strain of winter to spring revealed all too late a fault in construction. It is a slow trickle but without anywhere to go, subpump long dusted over, a puddle grows into an inch, and then three, and soon a foot of water sits still across the whole floor. Perhaps but unfortunate luck the city had now cut the water to the home. So there it sat.

The home gags and wretches, “Anyone help, I’m drowning I’m drowning! The water grows foul inside me. Please why won’t anyone help me!?”

Black mold creeps up the walls. Spots deeper than the home itself. The water has now grown a fetid green as life claims hold. No longer the sweet smell of timber, nor the subtle musk of stone. Acrid rot and decay are the candles of this home.

The home begs and pleads, “I feel something happening, a sharp pain! Oh dear god no, something is digging its way in!”

At first it was only a mouse, no bigger than a thumb. It chewed and gnawed at the walls of the house. It’s needle like teeth ripping and tearing the soft wood and dense drywall. Soon enough the animal entered the home.

“Not you! Out, out!” The home screamed as more mice tore into it.

“I am a home, I am meant for people not mice! You need to all leave this instant! My walls are not built to protect you, to shelter you, you are vermin nothing more nothing less! Get out of me now! You are causing me pain!”

The mice could not hear the home, none could hear the home.

Spring to summer and the dead started to pile up.

Several of the creatures had fallen into the basement and drowned in the water, their bodies bobbing and twitching.

The home cried and screamed and begged, “Please anyone help me! I can feel the water growing more vile and caustic, it is acid deep within me! I feel the mice decaying in my water! Their bodies bloating and bursting, their entrails cascading down. I feel their skin and muscles turning to slurry. I feel the maggots writhing and dancing in their floating feast. Please, I am not well! You all look into my windows, you see the clean floors, you see the dusty banisters, you see everything is well but it is not so! Please God send someone to help me, I don’t know what I did wrong!”

God did not hear the home. Nobody listened to the home.

Quietly whimpering resigned to its fate, the home waited and waited as summer to fall. The leaves turn blood red and sunset yellow. They fell from the trees and a crisp chill kissed the air. No more mice left inside, the water now nothing more than a gelatinous sludge. While sighing and silently weeping the home spies in the dim twilight a pair of figures walking towards it.

“People? Oh, People! Hello yes please come inside! Please I’ve been alone for so long, I have nothing to hide! Two of you only, perhaps there are more? Oh heaven’s me this chance I adore!”

The shutters clapped and the siding curled into a weary smile.

The figures however stood at the door.

They muttered and spoke in hushed tones.

The home strained to hear what they were saying.

It winced as one of the figures kicked in its door.

“What are you doing? Please be more gentle with me!” The house whinged.

“You are guests, you are friends, please make yourself at…home.”

They did no such thing, they couldn’t hear its words. Instead they took to the drywall with hammers and saws. The house cried and shook.

They hacked.

They chopped.

They tore.

Grabbing all of the copper they could get their hands on they made their way deeper and deeper into the home. Heading towards the basement door.

Despite all the pain the house screamed out, “Not there oh please not there! Don’t go anywhere near there! Tale anything else you want, please I beg you. Just don’t open that door!”

They did not listen to the home.

Flinging the door open the stench of hundreds of corpses and mold caused the figures to vomit and slam the door shut, cracking the trimming and wall. They cursed and heaved as they dropped all of their ill-gotten goods and fled the home. A harsh wind closing the door behind them.

Back now to the dead of winter. The malignant mass froze over and for a while the smell and feeling was gone. The home shuddered and withdrew no longer speaking. Not again. It didn’t call out to the homeless who shuffled past, it offered no solace to the squatters and their child. It was as stone now.

Then came the thawing of spring once again.

A young man walked up to the home.

His face was bright and spirits high.

He peered in through the dusty windows and brushed away the vines. Confirming the house number he set the key into the lock and the house fought to keep the door sealed.

It groaned and hissed as the man pushed and shoved.

Eventually the home was too tired and the man let himself in.

During the spring he cleaned up the dirt, he repaired the drywall, and made short work of the damage the thieves had done.

The home waited though in horrible tension, for the day the man would open the basement door.

“Pl-please go a-away.” It whispered.

“I’m not worth repairing, I’m not worth being a home.”

“Nonsense.” Said the man back, the home was speechless.

“You have walls that still stand, you have a foundation not cracked, I’m going to patch up all that you lacked. I’ll clean up the dust, the cobwebs and mold. You’ve been neglected, so I’ve been told. Please let me help you, we can go slow, before that can happen, you need to let me in though.”

The house was quiet and thought He’ll see it and run. I know that’s true, oh God please help me, what should I do?

God did not listen, the house was alone.

“You can work on the upstairs, we’ll go from there.”

The man smiled and shouldered his bag, “That’s fair.”

The man toiled away through the summer and fall. Working through most rooms, not them all. The house grew more comfortable and happy again. But soon the basement, he’d need to be let in. So during a cool autumn eve, the house spoke to the man, to admit and bereave.

“Sir I thank you for all that you’ve done, but now I’m sorry there can be no more fun. You have not gone down, down the stairs in the dark. The basement I know I’ve delayed all this time-”

The man cut it off, “Let me in home, please.”

Standing at the old cracked wooden door the man braced himself and the house did too.

The stench was overpowering as he threw the door open.

The man fled from the home.

Just as everyone else had.

Or so the house had thought.

When the man returned he was not alone. Around him was a small army of people, all dressed head to toe in stark white bodysuits. Together they all plunged down into the depths of the basement. And after days and days of working and struggling. The man waved to the others as they all departed. He then turned and walked inside, closing the door softly. Setting down on his couch he basked in the glow of his fireplace. This house was no longer to be haunted by absence. It was no longer to be empty and yearning. Yes there lingered the stench of the past. But, finally, this house was a home.

[the-busy-ghost]

Me normally: Let people love what they love

Me, after a Test Match Special commentator expresses their belief that the new All Creatures Great and Small is somehow "better" than the 1978 version: This is pure insanity and TMS can no longer be trusted on anything, how can they even be trusted to know about cricket, do they have no TASTE

[catherine-sketches]

Think with me here: it makes sense for a non-book reader?

If it does than the writers were successful in telling a story (if it’s good or bad it’s up to your tastes)

Why is there no food on the city if they can get food from the Reach by land?

The medieval transport of goods by sea vs by land is vastly different (the sea is faster and allows the food to arrive less spoiled) and we see and are told that food IS arriving but is being sent mostly to the palace (hello Criston cleaning your sword with a good lemon while the common people have to deal with spoiled food)

Why they riot in favor of Rhaenyra when she and her faction is the reason for the blockade and their hunger just because she gave some food?

Because starvation does not make you rational. Your royals that you grew up being told are closer to gods than men are warring with each other and you are collateral damage.

You are starving. There is the few fish you can get in the bay but is not enough for a whole city. The prices are skyrocketing because of scarcity and the dragons eat the sheep that you have

The royals didn’t give much of a shit before and now that they are at war they give even less of a shit now

Until the boats

For the starving, any food is worth it

Look how Rhaenyra is generous! Even in the middle of war she thinks of us! (Mysaria was really cunning here)

They throw fish guts at the dowager queen, the only part of the fish they can’t eat

Or maybe it’s a whole fish. Maybe the euphoria of having food finally made someone in the street careless enough to throw food away

After all, Rhaenyra is there to provide what is one single fish?

Why would the people think Meleys head is a bad omen when she killed hundreds of them?

If you see something as a god or god like thanks to years of the Targaryen “exceptionalism doctrine” being feed to you from birth as you live in their backyard, a dragon killing people is just an action of the gods. As the Stranger takes so does the dragons, it’s the natural order of things. People are born, it rains, the sun sets and rises at the same time every day and the giant fire made flesh creatures that fly over your city every day and eat your cows and sheep whole in one gulp have killed someone.

But to strip that creature of it’s divinity and to parede its head around…

You have to think about this as a religious or superstitious person. The head of god is being dragged down the street. This god that gives (the years were Meleys was a protector of the city as the dragon of Princess Alyssa and the years Rhaenys lived in Kingslanding) and takes (the dragon pit incident) is now revealed to be meat

Meat

Not divinity given flesh

Meat

You are hungry, the royal family feasts and their dragons are meat

The head of Meleys is a ill omen because it plants a seed.

You can’t do anything if your gods feast while you starve. They are gods.

But the Targaryens are no longer gods to the people of Kingslanding

The are meat

Just like the rest of them