#would that benefit or harm the story being told?

[prompt-master]

I feel like lately a lot of online criticism of media has emphasized a lack of world building as a flaw, but world building does not inheritly make a show good or bad. A show can have a complex well thought out fantasy system/world and still be bad and a show can not focus on the details of their worlds rules and still be good

[snifferish]

Never in my life did I think that re-tweeting resources for SA, and supporting victims would be considered problematic or performative.

I should not have to bare this, but I'm going to tell just one of my stories, because I need you to understand where I'm coming from. TW // Sexual Harassment

--

When I was 15, I had my wisdom teeth removed. I wanted to avoid using the pain medication they prescribed. I struggle a lot with sensory issues, medications and substances made it worse.

However, my surgery was for impacted teeth, and only two days in one of my stitches fell out. I was in so much pain, and couldn't eat solids w/ out pain for up to three weeks.

So, a week into my recovery, one of my friends invites me to their house. They were having our friend group over, it was just a little bonfire get together kinda thing. I took my pain meds a few hours prior, and only half a dose, but I was out of it to some degree, and somehow still in pain.

I was sitting on a lawn chair outside, when one of my close friends came over and asked to sit on my lap. Honestly, I said yes at first, because this was my childhood friend, someone I trusted, and I thought our relationship was incredibly platonic. Then he started to shift/grind about in my lap, and I started to feel things of theirs I did not want to. They made a noise that deeply unsettled me, and I told him to get off, they didn't. It was only when I told them that he accidently triggered the emergency call shortcut on my phone (it was in the pocket of the lawn chair, yes they were moving that much and I was moving trying to push him off) that he finally got up.

I was bewildered, and a bit confused, and also embarrassed that my phone nearly called 911. I claimed I wasn't feeling well, and went home early.

That was the first time someone touched me in a remotely sexual way, but I didn't dare to label it until I talked to my therapist. It made me dwell on a lot of experiences with this person as well. How obsessed they were with being taller than me, how often they'd grab me and force me to see if they were stronger than me. At the time, I was in a friend group of predominately non-men, and they were all friends with this person.

However, when I told them about this, when I expressed the discomfort it brought me. I was brushed off. "He's just like that!" oh "He probably didn't mean it" etc.

I didn't feel comfortable in the same room as this person. My friends would continue to invite them to hang outs. One of my other friends told everyone about what happened without my permission. I started having breakdowns in my classes with him. I had panic attacks all the time. I felt as if I had to continue this façade of being nice to him, or else I would lose my friends of years and years.

I was happy when covid started, because for the first time I had breathing room, but by then so much of my trust was dismantled.

Due to my friends association with this person, and the fact that not being their friend excluded me. I eventually got over it, and told myself I'd grown past it.

Three months ago, this same person admitted to me they hold extreme grudges against me, that they projected their "mommy issues" on to me, and quite literally said the words, "Yeah yeah, you're a woman who's outspoken and challenged me and that bothers me yeah yeah." in regards to that. They said it with sarcasm, like it was something they knew, and their mother was reminding them for the 12th time.

--

I bring this all up, not to make you feel guilty, but to discuss the harm of not supporting victims, not listening to them. It puts them in a position of isolation, and in a position to potentially be hurt again.

So yeah, I'm gonna be a little upset when people say I'm being "performative" about supporting victims of sexual harassment and SA. I'm not doing this because it benefits me, in fact it's caused a lot of backlash, horrible dms, and very triggering memories.

I'm doing it because I was once not heard, and i've sat with Caiti behind the scenes for months watching her lose passion for something she loved (content creation).

I didn't do this because I'm secretly sniveling behind the scenes tapping my fingers praying on peoples downfall. I'm not a Disney villain dude lmfao.

Honestly, this narrative that is being pushed, that people are doing it "because it benefits them" is quite ironic, considering most of the people talked about within the last 72 hours were under Wilbur's weird ass apology doing just that.

I hate it, I hate it, I hate it, I hate it. I hate how people are okay with this narrative, the misogynist undertones of it. I've seen people admit that they didn't like me or my friends the entire time, while simultaneously "calling us out" about this, so I ask you,

Are you calling us? Because it benefits your motives? Your feelings?

[flowerandblood]

The Fall from the Heavens (23)

[ canon • Aemond x Strong • niece female ]

[ warnings: masturbation, sexual tension, smut, angst, manipulation, blackmailing and threats ]

[ description: A cool distance turns into friendship and more when two children see that they can find refuge and understanding in each other. However, naïve dreams collide with the reality in which every event has consequences and what once could have been love becomes a dark, newly painful obsession. Angst, sexual tension, obsession, violence, madness, very dark Aemond. ]

The story in this series is an alternate reality from the oneshot Stay and love, leave and die, in which Aemond reads the letters his niece has sent to him over the years. They are the same characters and it shows what would have happened between them − I have changed the background story from their childhood slightly for the sake of the plot.

Characters & Series Moodboard Lady Strong Moodboard Aemond & Lady Strong Moodboard Aemond & Lady Strong Childhood

* English is not my first language. Please, do not repost. Enjoy! *

Next chapters: Masterlist

_____

Alys had always known that, like any bastard child, she could only rely on herself. Her existence was merely an unfortunate accident to her father and brothers, with which they nevertheless came to terms, and she, in their minds, should be grateful for being allowed to stay and serve in Harrenhal.

Indeed, she never considered herself to have been significantly harmed by fate.

Compared to women who had to sell their bodies for money in order to survive, her function as herbalist and wet nurse completely satisfied her.

Milk filled her breasts along with the baby that one of the guards had put inside her. When he pressed her against the wall and lifted her gown, panting that he had desired her for a long time she did not stand up to him, even helping him by bending over and spreading the folds of her womanhood before him so that he could more easily hit the right spot with the thick tip of his length.

This particular man never aroused her desire, however, he supervised her chambers, and since she allowed him to enjoy the pleasures of her body, he closed his eyes to when and where she went out, giving her more freedom.

His wife, however, was not comforted by the fact that her husband had a mistress.

She could not conclude that her husband was a good lover; his hands only clenched greedily on her firm breasts, his thrusts violent, fast and deep. She knew that as he chased his fulfilment hissing that he would fill her with his seed, it did not even cross his mind to touch her between her thighs or ask what would give her pleasure.

She did not, however, resent him.

She recognised that this was how men were.

Although she tried not to think about it, the sight of his wife, one of her father's servants, filled her with remorse, for although she knew that this woman did not love him, she humiliated her every time she took away what belonged to her.

She had nothing to justify it, but she knew that if she told him to stop she would arouse his anger and his behaviour towards her would change.

He might want to take revenge on her for rejecting him.

She couldn't allow this to happen.

What he didn't know was that he wasn't the only man she allowed to sink between her thighs for the benefit; it was easier and sometimes even more enjoyable than trying to bribe them with money, which she didn't have much of anyway. What she was able to do perfectly was to observe people from the sidelines − their reactions and desires, coming to her own conclusions about what they needed and wanted.

Usually these men wanted not only sensation and elation, but also reassurance, a warm word and understanding; they lay with their faces cuddled between her breasts, muttering for her to stroke their heads, and she did so, allowing them to turn from men into innocent children for a moment.

The women in the fortress began to whisper among themselves that the ease with which she seduced men and with which she maintained her beauty despite her age was due to the fact that she was a witch.

She smiled piteously as she strolled through the corridors of the fortress, overhearing their conversations from afar, hearing about the potions she gave to poor, unaware men so they could not forget her, that she bathed in milk and blood to keep her face young and bright.

She did not deny the accusations, because she derived satisfaction from the fact that they feared and avoided her.

Fear, however, also tended to provoke interest and curiosity, and the young, newly arrived servants who were just learning their trade could not tell what they thought of her.

When she needed a break from the men's sweat and their aggressive, deep thrusts she sought peace and solace in the arms of young girls, much more gentle and understanding when it came to the nature of female fulfilment, their sweet moans and surprised expressions as she caressed them made her feel a pleasant pulsation between her thighs.

Although the prospect of becoming a mother did not fill her with particular joy, when she woke up one morning, feeling a pool of wetness under her thighs and saw blood, the squeeze in her throat and the tears she felt under her eyelids were proof that some part of her hoped she could love this innocent creature that was growing inside her womb.

This did not happen, however, and she, not wanting to waste her milk, from which her breasts had already swollen, decided to feed the children whose mothers had too little nourishment.

She considered her life quite prosperous and peaceful until her father and half-brother died in a fire.

Until Larys became the Lord of Harrenhal.

Everyone, including her, feared him.

He was like a writhing viper, tightening slowly around the necks of those who aroused his suspicions, his gaze black and completely blank, as if he experienced nothing, felt nothing inside himself.

He could not be seduced, appeased, pleaded with, persuaded.

He was like a stone, merciless, cruel, taking satisfaction in domination and power.

She never got in his way.

One evening, however, he summoned her to his chamber, and she feared what he desired.

When she stepped inside he was sitting at the table, having just eaten his evening meal. He smiled slightly at her in a way that made her feel the cold sweat on her back; his eyes remained indifferent, glowing mischievously in the firelight.

"Sit down, sister. I wish to discuss something with you." He said softly, and she swallowed hard, keeping an indifferent, satisfied face, looking at him from under half-closed eyelids. She sat down opposite him in one of the chairs, spreading out comfortably in her seat, sighing quietly and nodded for him to speak.

"We will have guests of honour. Prince Aemond and his wife will be arriving here within two days to spend the night here and then head off the next morning to meet Princess Rhaenyra and Prince Daemon." He said calmly, putting a few pieces of cake from the tray onto his plate, with a hand gesture he encouraged her to eat as well, but she shook her head, analysing his words quickly.

She had heard of them.

Prince Aemond had married and taken his niece's maidenhood on the same night he chose Maris Baratheon as his wife.

His brother the King, to save the situation, married them in the eyes of the Seven before an enraged Borros Baratheon could arrive in King's Landing demanding justice.

There would not have been all the commotion if Prince Aemond had taken her as his second wife, but he clearly only wished to have one, therefore, Maris was sent away with only a dowry and humiliation.

Her half-brother continued, seeing the lack of response on her part.

"I want you to host them well. Both of them, if you understand what I have in mind. Myself and his grandfather do not believe in the success of their mission. Like most of the kingdom we know how it will end: with a war. A war we wish to win. However, our Prince, if I may say so, does not think with his mind now, but rather with what he has between his thighs. He gives in to his wife and her persuasions to bring about a reconciliation. I know you are well acquainted with human nature and will surely win both her trust and his heart."

She chuckled under her breath, shaking her head in disbelief as she looked at her fingers, trying to hide the horror and squeeze in her stomach she felt.

He wanted to expose her, to put her head under the Prince's sword if it turned out that her attempts would only enrage him, and he could wash his hands of everything.

"In any case, in a few days' time the matter of the succession will resolve itself with the help of my birds in the Eyrie. They know what to do. Of course, I'll let our Prince believe that his decision matters, however, everything is already arranged. I hope this should settle the matter. With the help of the gods, the girl might try to take her own life for the second time. Let us raise our cups for that." He said lightly, as if indeed such a course of events would please him the most; she looked at him in disbelief, thinking that she had not even noticed when he had become such a disgusting creature.

A monster that, like a black, empty hole, was consuming everything around him, destroying it and crushing it.

She wasn't in a position to refuse, and he knew it.

That was why she walked out with him to greet their guests, thinking she would simply do what he ordered her to do.

She blinked as the figure of a petite, pretty girl jumped down from the shimmering blue and silver dragon, her long, dark hair of a shade similar to hers tied into a braid, its unruly strands dishevelled by the long journey through the skies.

She stepped out in front of them, breathing heavily, her eyes big, full of curiosity and uncertainty, her gaze warm, kind, her cheeks all flushed from exertion. She stopped in front of them and forced herself into an innocent, almost childlike smile, from which she felt a squeeze in her gut.

Gods, have mercy.

"Your Grace. What a joy." Said her brother. The girl blinked, not knowing for a moment what to answer, shifting from foot to foot.

"My Lord Strong. Thank you for being willing to host us." She muttered at last, clearly tense − her was voice pleasant, melodious, soft, the kind that gives comfort with ease, brings peace of mind.

They all turned their faces towards the approaching figure as they heard his footsteps; Prince Aemond in his long black leather coat and black eye patch indeed looked like someone menacing, commanding, as powerful as the great dragon he was riding.

What immediately caught her attention was that as his gaze traveled over their faces he stopped at his wife, assessing her figure from afar as if quickly examining whether she had suffered any damage after such a long journey and whether she was well.

He must have evidently concluded that she was, for his gaze turned after a moment towards her brother.

"Lord Strong. Take us to our quarters."

The Prince and her brother moved first, followed by his wife, looking around the interior of their fortress with genuine curiosity, not even listening to what her brother was saying.

She didn't even notice that her uncle was glancing at her out of the corner of his eye, checking that she was near and in no danger.

She thought he would sooner stab her in the heart than take her to his bed.

Her brother opened the door of the chamber that had been prepared for him, the largest in the entire fortress, not coincidentally located close to hers. The Prince, however, did not look impressed; his lips pressed into a thin line in disapproval when he heard that Lord Strong had assigned his wife other quarters.

"No need. My wife will spend the night in my chamber." He said coolly, as if the very suggestion was offensive and insulting to him.

He had kept her with him the whole time, she thought in disbelief, glancing out of the corner of her eye at the girl standing next to her.

She stood, gazing at her uncle as if she were looking at a statue of one of the gods; her bright, shining eyes large and filled with affection, devotion, longing, even though, after all, he was standing in front of her, at her fingertips.

She realised, swallowing quietly, that he had not taken her by force the night he married her or any night after.

How long had they looked at each other like this?

"As you wish, my Prince. However, I will leave the rooms I spoke of at your wife's disposal for her own convenience. I have also assigned her a servant to ensure that while we men are conversing, she will have company. There are several matters I would like to discuss with you." Her brother replied.

Prince Aemond then looked at his niece with a gaze as if he was about to explode − his wife pressed her lips into a thin line, immediately understanding what the expression on his face was meant to convey to her, her look of understanding and sigh was meant to add to his patience.

His gaze softened and after a moment he nodded, letting her go.

The girl looked at her, so she smiled quickly and pointed with her hand the way they should go to her quarters. Before moving behind her she looked at her husband, the Prince leading her away with a cold, sharp gaze.

Overwhelmed by this revelation, no longer knowing herself what she thought of it or what she should do in such a situation, she simply followed her into the room, closing the door behind her. She watched quietly as the prince's wife walked to the window, placing her hand on the glass, and smiled slightly, noticing something outside.

Had she been like this all the time?

"Do you desire to change into something…more comfortable, Your Grace?" She asked finally, recognising that she needed to start any light conversation, to try and understand who was standing in front of her.

The girl shuddered and blinked, as if forgetting her presence for a moment, turning to face her. She nodded, forcing herself to smile, unsure and embarrassed, playing with the fingers of her hands in a nervous reflex.

"Yes. What do they call you?" She asked lightly and kindly, willingly shortening the distance between them, which surprised her.

Usually women of her ilk took satisfaction in calling her Lady Rivers, reminding her every time that she was a bastard.

But she, even if she was married to the Prince, was also one.

She was her relative, her brother's daughter.

She swallowed hard at that thought, feeling a squeeze in her throat.

"Alys, Your Grace."

She lowered her gaze, as if pondering something for a moment, and then her bright eyes looked at her again.

She thought with pain that she was like a small flower, a daisy or a forget-me-not, which one picked to weave into one's hair, to feel as innocent as a little child again.

"I would not wish to… misunderstand who you are and what you have in common with Lord Strong, Alys." She muttered with some sort of embarrassment, from which she involuntarily burst out laughing.

Good gods.

"I am not his mistress. I am his relative, though I do not bear his name, as any bastard would." She said softly, amused; her gaze shifted, her brow furrowed in concern and curiosity.

She knew what she was going to ask her, she could feel it in her bones.

"Did you know my father?"

She named him as her father even though she was officially Laenor Velaryon's daughter.

She admitted to her that she too was a bastard without a grimace of embarrassment.

"Yes, Princess."

Her whole body tensed, her hands clenched into fists.

"His death wasn't an unfortunate ordeal, was it?" She asked in a trembling voice, and her lips involuntarily lifted in a dangerous smirk at the thought that her directness was surprising her.

Was this how she spoke to her husband?

Was this how she forced her way into his heart?

"There are no such thing as unfortunate ordeals, Your Grace."

A silence fell between them filled with the weight of their words and what they meant; she licked her lips involuntarily, feeling that she was incapable of denying herself the pleasure of having to see her reaction to her words.

To see if she was right.

"After the word has reached us here all the way from King's Landing, I have been looking forward to our meeting with impatience, and while I will admit that it is not what I expected, I am beginning to understand your husband's desperation." She said with amusement, feeling a tingle in her fingertips and in her lower abdomen at the sight of her flushed cheeks.

"What do you mean?" She mumbled quietly, embarrassed; however, it was not shame feigned and exalted, but more an expression of genuine surprise and excitement at her words.

"Men are easily driven to desperation, though it usually takes time. They like to gain and take pride in what they have conquered; the greater, in their mind, the value of what they enclose in their embrace, the less they are willing to let it go." She said calmly, turning her head away, immersed in her own thoughts.

"Your husband follows you with his thoughts even when he is not looking at you. His head, even when he is not speaking to you, is directed towards you so that he can see you out of the corner of his eye. When he feels discomfort, he involuntarily seeks your face to experience understanding and comfort."

She looked at her, wanting to see her reaction, and sighed almost imperceptibly, feeling heat in her lower abdomen at the sight of her parted, plump lips, her dreamy, hot gaze.

She knew that she had felt something at her words, that it had taken deep root in her heart and made her return with her thoughts to her husband.

Was this how she had looked at him when he made love to her?

She could not imagine that he could take her maidenhood brutally and cruelly, that he would allow her to cry beneath him in pain.

No, she thought − he surely took her with slow, lazy thrusts of his hips, letting her get used to his shape deep inside her, assuring her in a whisper that just a little more.

She felt a strong throbbing and tickling between her thighs at that thought and licked her lips, looking up at her again − her gaze lowered meekly to the stone floor, a soft, thoughtful smile on her face.

She decided on second thought, helping her change into one of her gowns, touching her soft skin, smelling the wonderful scent of vanilla in her nostrils, that she would braid the most elaborate hairstyle she could think of on her head, just so she wouldn't have to leave her chamber before supper.

She knew that her half-brother expected her to then take the opportunity to venture into the Prince's chambers to make sure he was not missing anything.

Therefore, she began to braid her soft, long, dark hair, creating a beautiful, complicated hairstyle surrounding her head.

She escorted her to the proper quarters and bowed, Larys gave her one impatient look.

She felt a cold sweat on her back, leaving immediately.

He was not pleased.

She thanked the gods that the Prince's wife had summoned her herself, wishing her help with her bath, giving her another reason not to head to her husband's chambers.

She thought that if she went on like this perhaps the situation would work out in such a way that she simply wouldn't have the opportunity to do anything, though even if she did she wasn't sure Larys would believe her.

As she walked into her chamber she saw that she herself was trying to untie her bodice, so she approached her, undoing the tangles with ease, looking at her face with curiosity.

"Was the Prince pleased with his wife's appearance, Your Grace?" She asked softly, noticing from the corner of her eye that the girl had lowered her gaze, ashamed and saddened.

"Yes. Though he expressed his opinion that he prefers it when my hair is loose." She said with resignation, and she couldn't stop the smile that appeared on her face.

Of course, she thought.

The sight of her loose hair reminded him fondly of how it had been spread in disarray around her head, shining in the darkness of his chamber as he fucked her greedily.

"Oh, that's understandable. He surely associates it with your intimacy and closeness, as any man would. The entwined curls and braids are for those around you, meanwhile the softness of your hair, the smell of them, the sight of them spread on the bed is something meant only for him." She replied lightly, for some reason wanting to lift her spirits and comfort her; she heard her move in place, the sweet blush appearing on her cheeks again.

She was embarrassed, she thought with disbelief and tenderness, as if she were looking at a small child.

She was so innocent.

Was that what attracted him to her?

The idea that he was surrounding her with himself like a dark cloak, devouring her again and again?

"You know a lot about men…don't you?" She heard her uncertain, curious voice; she looked at her in the reflection of the mirror, noticing that she immediately lowered her gaze, as if she could not bear the intensity with which she was looking at her.

"Yes, Princess."

"Have you seduced many yet?" She asked intrigued, and she smiled again involuntarily.

"Yes."

When her gown finally fell to the floor she saw her girlish, pleasing curves peeking through from under her nightgown. She watched as, with a light, confident step, she walked over to the bath and bore herself into the hot water, tilting her head back, sighing in relief, her head still adorned with the braids she had woven herself.

Such a pretty little thing.

"I would like to … make my husband happy tonight. I know he needs relief from what's about to happen tomorrow. However, I can't do it, at least for now, in the way I usually do." She mumbled out at last, looking at her with those big, warm eyes of hers, seeing in her apparently her guide, someone who could help her with these complicated and intimate matters.

She felt a pleasant squeeze in her lower abdomen at the idea that popped into her head.

"The easiest thing to do in that case would be for you to use your mouth." She replied amused, drawing out of her exactly the reaction she wanted − her cheeks turned scarlet, her gaze fled downwards, her tiny long fingers clenched into small fists.

She was wonderfully embarrassed, so sweet that he would have gladly shown her everything, step by step.

"I'm…inexperienced in these matters." She confessed with shame, and she involuntarily licked her lower lip with her tongue, feeling the throbbing between her thighs at her words, her nipples hardening under the material of her gown.

Gods.

"I see." She muttered, feeling her heart begin to pound like mad as she moved slowly towards her, her surprised gaze lifting to her as she knelt right next to her tub, cupping her wrist in her hand.

Her skin was as soft as silk.

Her gaze escaped involuntarily to her breasts, now perfectly visible through the wet material of her shirt clinging to her bare flesh; she felt a tickle in her swollen lips at the thought that she longed to lick and caress them.

She was sure that as he teased and sucked her nipples she moaned sweetly beneath him, begging for more, and he always, always gave in to her.

Because how could he refuse her?

"I can show you how you should do it, if that's what you wish, Your Grace."

She saw her pupils dilate in disbelief, her lips parted as she swallowed hard, her chest beginning to rise and fall in accelerated breaths.

"…How?"

She couldn't stop the smirk that appeared on her lips, nor what she did next.

She heard her sigh quietly, surprised and thrilled when her lips ran over her pointing finger, enveloping her skin with her hot breath.

"Imagine that this is his manhood. Men don't say it out loud because pride won't let them, but they adore it when a woman shows them with gentle, tender caresses." She whispered, running her swollen lips up and down her finger leaving a sticky, warm trail of her saliva on it, surprised at how wet it made her between her thighs, how wonderfully arousing it was, how obscene it was.

She heard her draw in a deep breath without moving away, but as she guided the tip of her finger between her lips, teasing and licking it lightly with her tongue, out of the corner of her eye she noticed that her thighs clenched in some helpless, subconscious reflex.

What other reactions could she draw from her?

"− and then − when he begins breathing faster − when you feel he's completely ready −" She sighed quietly as she suddenly slipped her whole finger deep into her mouth, feeling her swollen folds pulsate hard again and again as she began to suck it in slow, steady movements with the quiet click of her saliva.

She heard her gasp on the verge of a moan as her tongue began to trail over her skin with her low murmur of satisfaction, her free hand involuntarily sliding down to the material of her gown, wanting to slip under it and bring herself to fulfilment with her own touch.

She slipped her finger out of her mouth with a loud plop and looked up at her − her face all flushed, her gaze dreamy, hesitant and warm, as if she herself didn't know what she felt or why.

Something in her gaze made a pleasurable heat spill over her lower abdomen as she dug her own fingers into her fleshy folds, all sticky with her moisture, pulsing aggressively with her every stroke in pleasure.

"− you pretty little thing − it’s usually him taking care of you, isn’t it? − he can’t deny himself − I can’t blame him −" She whispered, trying not to move her hips so that she wouldn't notice anything; she lost the battle with herself as she felt herself getting closer and closer to fulfilment, pushing against her own slit with the tips of her fingers.

Unfortunately, it turned out that her husband was more vigilant than she thought.

When he burst into his wife's chamber she barely had time to remove her hand from under her own skirt and let go of her, standing quickly and bowing before him.

"My Prince."

"− get out −" He growled, and she walked out obediently, grateful in spirit to the gods that he hadn't stopped her to question her, that he hadn't noticed the glistening wetness on her fingers.

Or he saw it and it infuriated him, she thought with amusement, feeling her heart pounding like a mad in her chest.

She finished what she had started in her chamber, bringing herself to fulfilment with sure, swift strokes of her fingers, driving their tips into her sensitive, fleshy womanhood, able now to afford to moan and rock her hips, imagining her body peeking through from under her wet nightgown.

She imagined that she knelt before him to lunge and soothe him, that she barely fit his fat cock in her small mouth, all swollen from the desire she had always aroused in him, that this proud, dark, cold man whimpered before her like a small, innocent boy when he finally gave in, thrusting again and again deep into her warm throat.

She came with a low moan of relief, panting heavily, hugging her face into the pillow, rocking her hips for a while longer, slowly coming down from her peak.

She was sure that as she lay half asleep, feeling a blissful, pleasant peace, she heard their moans in the distance and grinned involuntarily.

Of course he forgave her.

He always did.

She often had dreams whose meaning she did not understand; she saw people she had never met before, observing events that might as well have happened in the future or in the past. That night, however, her dream particularly troubled and worried her, as she had no idea what it actually meant.

Two streams of blood finally merging into one, flowing like a river, which then, however, became a lake that reminded her of a dragon's head in a crown, only to spill over after a while, and she saw nothing but red.

Was this what was about to happen?

Would Princess Rheanyra and Prince Daemon be murdered and another dragon's reign begin upon their blood?

She swallowed hard, thinking of that young, cheerful girl, of how obvious it was that she was not aware of anything, that whatever her uncle-husband knew, he had not shared it with her.

She thought that if he betrayed her, she would wilt like a flower, fade like the sun in a setting sky.

She stood up and headed for his chamber.

His gaze expressed nothing less than disgust and rage at the sight of her. He reached for his tunic, dressing it hurriedly, tense and pale, knowing full well what was to happen if the negotiations did not bring the results he hoped for.

She wondered if he realised that even if he didn't give the order, they would be murdered anyway.

"You will betray her." She said indifferently, and he threw her a quick, horrified look, his nostrils quivering in disbelief.

He knew perfectly well what she was referring to.

She thought that sometimes all it took was a gentle push, putting a mirror in front of someone's face to make them think carefully again about whether they were ready for the consequences of their choices.

"You will betray her at the moment she trusts you the most. You will break her. You will achieve victory, but she will never let you touch herself again. You will come back here to face your nephew and you will take me, because you will decide that I am similar to her enough to satisfy your pain and longing. You will put your child inside me, your bastard son, who will rule Harrenhal after our death."

She said and grinned, seeing that he shuddered all over, that his mask had cracked, his lips parted as if he wanted to groan in despair.

She knew he saw it in his mind, felt it in his heart, and she left his chamber without a word.

She let out a loud breath as she walked down the empty corridor, thinking with some kind of hope that her words, the vision she had invented to break him would terrify him enough to make him fall to his knees before his wife and confess everything he knew.

And if he doesn't, if in fact he betrays her, it will prove that he was never worthy of her.

She had come to her summons when she wished to clothe herself; she saw, crossing the threshold of her quarters, that she too was frightened and anxious, only for completely different reasons.

She wished for them to come to an understanding.

She believed it was possible.

She felt a squeeze in her throat at the thought, at the realisation that she was alone in a world where everyone but her craved war, craved power, craved the throne.

She did not look at her face, at the clear command of her husband not allowing herself any closer proximity to her, which she accepted with understanding.

After she had fastened the buckles of her leather coat, however, she allowed herself to take her soft hand in her own, stroking it with her thumb.

She hesitated and furrowed her brow, but before she could move away, she began to speak, forcing herself to whisper, fearing that her brother's servants might have heard her.

"Do not return here. Fly from the Eyrie straight to King's Landing. I saw in my dream a river of blood taking the shape of a dragon's head wearing a crown. I saw red flooding everything around me." She said quickly, feeling a squeeze in her throat.

She thought in disbelief that she pitied this girl.

"This warning, these words, are my gift to you. Look after yourself. Trust no one."

[sophie-frm-mars]

Queer Culture is an orphan culture

Queer people aren't normally born into families of other queer people, so the way that for example the culture of racialised people can pass down intergenerationally, this doesn't happen for queer people. The advice for surviving as queer doesn't pass down to queer kids the way that advice for surviving white supremacy passes from racialised parents to racialised kids or advice for surviving patriarchy passes from mothers to daughters. The way that elders in racialised communities can guide the resolution of conflicts or harmful patterns or older women can advise younger women, we don't have that. We have an orphan culture.

Immediately we will say that this is what queer elders are for, and this is true, but it isn't the same. We aren't raised in families with any kind of consistent framework for what it means to be us, in fact we're often raised by families that try to actively stop us from being ourselves. There will never be as many elders (who are actively engaging responsibly in their roles as community elders) as younger queers and even if there were they can't be in those younger queers' lives in the way that a parent ideally is from birth.

I'm not saying this to undersell the value of found family, or the ways that found family relationships can be robust and long lasting and bigger than interpersonal turbulence the way family is supposed to be. If anything, I want to stress how important the role of queer elders is, because in a lot of smaller queer communities elders just don't exist. A queer elder isn't just a queer person who has been around a while, they're someone who chooses to take responsibility for the younger people around them by sharing the lessons they've learned and providing the benefits of greater life experience to others.

In smaller queer communities, older queers may choose not to act as elders because if they did they would be seen as responsible for everyone. There has to be a critical mass of older queers before all of them feel safe to engage with community as queer elders. I was outlining this to a friend in Seattle, talking about how barren of elder queers most UK queer communities are, and she said "oh yeah I live down the road from an LGBT retirement community. I know a bunch of queers in their 40s and 50s." In more queer friendly areas of the US, communities aren't just bigger: they contain more of our collective gathered knowledge and history.

In some places the orphan culture is more pronounced, and in some places it is partly remedied by the presence of elders. For many queers, we either learn the lessons about the patterns that shape our communities by reading about them in books and online, or we learn about them the hard way - by repeating them.

My dad had a brain tumour that was diagnosed when I was less than a year old. The effects of the tumour and the surgery to remove it completely transformed him as a person. Growing up I got to know about who he had been through stories that people told me. I identified ways that I was similar to him not by seeing him being like me, but from those stories. Seeing social media dissections of transmisogyny, advice columns from queer authors, endless discourses about mental health in queer communities, I feel the same way I felt learning stories about my dad before he was sick.

I think young queer people cling to queer people of note they see in the public sphere in that same way. It isn't an adequate substitute for a parent who can teach you about who you are, but it's often all we have. Even if those publicly visible queers aren't focussed on queer politics, even if they don't give the kind of support that elders provide to communities, even if they have no experience to draw from and no advice to give, they will inevitably be looked up to by a tonne of young queer strangers, because we're all orphans trying to raise ourselves and each other at the same time.

[starlazergazer]

Pinky Promise

Pairing: Anakin x Reader

Request/Summary: One bed trope! / The reader follows Anakin into a dangerous warzone making him upset that she would put herself in harms way like that

Warnings: Some swearing

Word Count: 5k

A/N: I know the request was just for a simple one bed trope but for some reason I made this super angsty so I hope y’all still like it! As always let me know what you think and I greatly appreciate everyone reading these! I love you!!

 You sat across from Anakin in the cafeteria, fork, along with your appetite, long since abandoned on your too full plate before you.

“You’re really being sent to Orto Plutonia?” You asked the same question for what had to have been at least the fifth time since he had told you of the mission, still unable to fully wrap your head around it, still unable to fully accept it.

Anakin, however, barely spared you a glance as he took another bite of his food, shrugging slightly as he spoke “yeah It’ll be pretty cold but I think I can handle it”

And a part of you wanted to hate him for how nonchalant he was being about it. How he seemed to look the danger, the imminent threat to his life in the face and shrug. Another part of you, however, knew it was a façade erected fully for your benefit. Distracting your worry with a joke, an all too Anakin Skywalker think to do. “You know that’s not why I’m worried”

His eyes met yours briefly as his fork froze midair, a brief second passing as he took in your features before dropping the utensil and pushing the plate of food to the side, a soft chuckle as he shook his head “I’ve been in active warzones before Y/N, it’ll be fine”

You rolled your eyes at his attempt to brush you off, a small sigh escaping you as you crossed your arms defensively over you “I know but the Talz are known for their brutality, back home they’re the myth you tell stories about to scare children-“ and you paused as you watch him listen to you, watched the concern sink in but not for his upcoming mission, rather for you “Just be careful okay?”

A soft smirk grew over his lips as he chuckled “hey I’m always careful”

And you couldn’t help it but laugh back, Anakin’s laugh never failing to pull a similar one out of you “Every story Obi-wan has ever told me speaks contrary to that fact”

He scoffed dramatically at that, a hand coming up to his chest in mock hurt as he leaned back slightly “and you would believe Obi-wan over me?”

“Any day Skywalker” you smirked back at him, picking a piece of food off his plate and tossing it into your mouth.

He pretended to object at your theft of his food, but the way his eyes cut down to your own full plate showed the façade for what it was. He was just glad you were eating, even if it was his food. “yeah that’s probably fair”

And with that you let the comfortable silence fall between the two of you, eyes dancing back and forth between his for a moment before you couldn’t help yourself, hands coming forward to rest on his, pulling all his remaining attention (not that any of it was really straying) back to you “I’m serious Ani, please be careful”

His smile never slipped from his lips as he nodded, his voice dropping to a quieter tone as he said earnestly “I’ll be careful, I promise”

Finally deciding to believe him you raised your hands from his, raising one pinky and offering it to him with a raised brow.

Anakin laughed softly but nonetheless obliged, taking his own pinky and wrapping it around yours, whispering softly over the top of your hands “pinky promise”

-

You weren’t surprised that Anakin was the first one to greet you when you landed, no doubt he had identified your ship the moment it broke into the atmosphere. You weren’t even surprised at the confusion on his face as the dock slowly lowered, the slight panic that took over his features, something you had told yourself was bound to come as he recognized you, as you descended onto the planet’s surface.

“Y/N what are you doing here?” His voice was strained slightly, eyes flitting around to each of your companions as if they could explain what he was seeing.

“My job” you answered simply, keeping your head held high as you marched past him, Anakin’s shock freezing him place for mere moments before he jogged ahead, coming to a stop before you, effectively blocking your path.

“Y/N this is an active war zone” he stated it as if you simply hadn’t known where you had landed, as if you hadn’t been the one to give him those same words of warning just days ago.

“I know” you answered calmly “I’m here to negotiate” and again you tried to push past him.

This time, however, a hand at your elbow halted your movement, holding you in place in front of him “no you’re not” his tone here this time did surprise you, the finality in it, the slight edge of a threat he pushed into it. For the first time in your life you truly felt like you were talking to the jedi Anakin Skywalker and not your friend.

“Yes I am” you insisted, trying to pull his grip off you but he held on, squeezing not hard enough to hurt but hard enough to make extracting yourself from him difficult.

“Go home Y/N” the condescension in his tone had you gritting your teeth, as if you were a child he was punishing, as if he had any authority to tell you what to do.

Looking up at him through your lashes you clenched your jaw, seeing that he was already doing the same, standing firm in his position “I’m here as the senator of Pantora now take your hand off me General Skywalker and let me do my job”

“Your job is back on Coruscant-“ Anakin took a step closer as he spoke, his voice dropping slightly lower, though you stopped listening after just a few words, your eyes flitting to the horizon more than happy to recognize a familiar face just a few yards off.

“General Kenobi it’s good to see you” you called loudly over Anakin’s shoulder, relishing the way he froze slightly at the sound of his master’s name, the soft curse the left his lips as you felt his fingers slip from your elbow allowing you to push past him, careful not to look up at him as you did so, keeping your eyes on Obi-wan as you extended a hand out to greet him.

“Senator Y/L/N it’s good to see you as well” Obi-wan greeted you with a confused smile “I wasn’t aware you would be joining us”

“I was sent here to negotiate peace with the Talz” you explained in what you hoped wasn’t a too insincere smile, something that became harder to force as you heard the thinly vailed anger in Anakin’s voice from over your shoulder.

“Pantora has no jurisdiction over this planet”

You grit your teeth as you tried to keep calm, not even bothering to look in his direction as you answered “As the only other inhabited planet in this sector the senate decided I could serve as negotiator on this matter”

“Well we’re glad to have you” Obi-wan broke in before Anakin could get off a word, sending a small glare over to his former padawan as he addressed you “the sooner we can resolve this peacefully the better, I’ve already lost enough men”

“I completely agree general” you nodded at him before casting your eyes off into the distance “I here chairman Cho is here I would like to speak with him-“

Anakin cut you off before you could finish, his voice sounding closer than before “Senator could I speak with you for a moment?”

And for the first time you spun around to meet Anakin’s gaze, not missing the malcontent fire that raged beneath the surface ‘I’m afraid I really must speak to chairman Cho” you offered with a sickeningly sweet smile.

“It will be quick” he insisted firmly.

Leaving you with no more to really say you nodded reluctantly, giving Obi-wan a small smile as you followed him off to the side, Anakin waiting until he was out of earshot before turning on you. “really? There was no one else who could’ve come?”

“Did you miss the part about Pantora being the only other planet inhabited in this sector?” You countered, matching the barely held rage he had in his voice.

“You were the one that was just warning me about how dangerous it was to be here” he exclaimed, gesturing vaguely to the sounds of blaster fire over the horizon.

“And you came anyways because it was your job, and now my job has brought me here too same as you” you crossed your arms defensively over your chest.

“So you pretend to be sick, or you give any sort of excuse to get you out of this trip because anyone could’ve come here to negotiate. Chairman cho is even already here as a negotiator” he countered in exasperation only making you shake your head.

“And you see how well that’s been going, how many of your own clone troopers have you lost already to this fight?”

You could practically see the rage boil up inside of him, hands coming to his hips as his intense gaze broke from yours, a loud exhale sounding from him as he took a step back, shaking his head before he looped back around to stand in front of you, hand coming up to pinch the bridge of his nose “you can’t be here Y/N it’s not-“

“I am here general Skywalker” you broke him off sharply “I’m here to do my job and I’m not leaving till it’s done, now if you excuse me I’m going to speak to the chairman”

Anakin caught your arm before you could move, holding you in place once again as his gaze bore down into your own, a soft plea edging into his must softer tone as he spoke “Please Y/N”

And admittedly you felt the fire within you die at the sound, your chest hollowing as you looked up at Anakin, never finding it easy to say no to him. “The sooner I do my job the sooner we can all get out of here”

Again there was a flicker in the muscle of his jaw as he clenched it, his eyes hardening slightly as he recognized your resolve in the matter, giving you a loud, long exhale before releasing your arm with a small nod. Clearly not agreeing with your decision to stay, but at least finally recognizing he could do nothing about it.

Without saying anything more you returned the nod before turning around and heading towards the main encampment, Anakin never more than two steps behind you.

-

By the end of the day you were practically dragging your feet towards the inn the squadron had rented a few rooms in to stay for the night.

Your day had been spent in meetings entirely with the republics side so far and Anakin had been right at your side for each and every one of them, offering one hell of a glare to anyone who so much as mentioned meeting with the Talz.

He made it beyond difficult to focus as with every step he was always just a bit too close, looming over you at every corner, anger radiating off of him in massive waves, making it abundantly clear to not only you but everyone you met with that he didn’t think you should be there thereby undercutting your authority at every opportunity.

You had at least thought you could get some sort of break from him for the night but upon reaching the inn you learned that you were to share a room with two beds, meaning not a single moment since you landed on this planet could be spent outside of Anakin Skywalker’s disappointed glare.

Nevertheless, you sucked it up as he followed you up the stairs to your room, knowing that any argument from your side could set him off again, could have him yelling at you to go back to Coruscant, and right now you’ll take stoic anger over animated yelling any day,

Without so much as a word in his direction you stuck the key into the door of your room, pushing it open with your hip and coming to a dead stop as you looked inside, your eyes landing on the one massive bed taking up the majority of the space in the room instead of the two it was supposed to house.

You spun around on the spot before Anakin could come in any farther, planting one hand on the doorframe physically baring entry “you’re finding another room”

He gave you a brief confused look before casting his eyes above your head, surveying the furniture with a small, annoying smirk “nice try”

“absolutely not” you tried to stop his train of thought before it could get any farther “go bunk with obi-wan or something”

And in response you saw his jaw clench just as it had countless times today, his arms coming up to cross over his chest, telling you he was ready to put up a fight “I’m not leaving you alone”

“It’s for 8 hours while everyone sleeps” you argued back, feeling the anger flicker like hot fire in your chest.

“and what would the council think if I left the one senator on Orto Plutonia completely defenseless for 8 hours?”

You could have laughed in his face at the question, your response coming back without any real thought necessary “and since when have you ever cared about what the council thought?”

“Since it came to your safety” his answer came back just as quick, just as reflexive, making your own anger die in your throat.

“Do you realize what you being here does to your safety” he seemed to demand an answer more than ask, though instead carried on without waiting for one “both sides want a war, you have to see that”

“That’s why I’m here” you cut in angrily, crossing your arms over your chest “to negotiate peace and stop that”

“You’re here as the perfect target” he shook his head, breaking down his thought process as if he were talking to a child “if either side can get the other to take you out they can mark that as an unmotivated attack and declare war, blaming the other for starting it. You being here paints a massive target on your back.”

“So-“ you started to shoot back but he cut you off, stepping forward just enough to tower over you.

“So that’s why I’m here, that’s why I’m always two steps behind you, and that’s why we will be sharing a room tonight even if I have to sleep on the floor” and he pushed past you as if you hadn’t been standing in his way, grabbing one of the pillows from the bed and throwing it onto the ground at the foot of it.

“So I should’ve just stayed on Coruscant?” you asked him as you shut the door behind you “just let them go on bombing each other until one eventually surrenders”

“Yes” he answered simply, not even bothering to look at you as he took off his cloak and laid it on the floor next to his pillow.

“You don’t really believe that” you scoffed “those are your men out there suffering the consequences of this ongoing violence, someone needed to come out here and put an end to it”

“And did that someone need to be you?” His head snapped up to meet your gaze as he raised his eyebrows slightly, silently daring you to say otherwise.

You scoffed and rolled your eyes at the same question he had asked earlier, shaking your head slightly as you started to make your way to the bed, ready to let him brood on the floor for the night if that was what he wanted.

“No look at me” His serious tone froze you in place, not missing the way his voice had softened, even if his posture remained as rigid as ever. “I’m serious tell me the truth, did you need to be the one to come out here to negotiate or did the republic just want to send a senator”

And all you could do was clench your jaw in response, bite down the words that sprang forth. The lies and the truths because at this point you weren’t sure any more which would be worse.

Anakin, however, read your silence like a book.

He deflated slightly on the spot, his eyes closing as he shook his head, his hand coming up to pinch at the bridge of his nose “damnit Y/N”

“You were here!” you objected quickly “what was I supposed to do just abandon you out here?”

“Yes!” He broke in quickly, matching your volume as both of your voices raised “I can handle myself. You were the one warning me about being here why the fuck would you think it would be a good idea to come here yourself?”

“You were the one that brushed off my warning” you pointed out “you acted like my fears were unfounded that being here was no big deal”

“Because I didn’t want you to worry”

And you let that statement hang in the air for a moment, let its ridiculous nature ruminate a little as you watched Anakin’s chest rise and fall rapidly with his pent-up anger.

“You really think that would be all it takes to make me not worry about you?”

He rolled his eyes at your response with an exasperated sigh, turning away from you deliberately and sitting down on his makeshift bed on the floor, trying to physically shut down the conversation.

“No you’re angry right now because I’m putting myself in danger, because you’re worried about me, how do you think I feel every time you leave?”

“Just drop it Y/N” he tried to shrug you off, laying down on his pillow on the hard ground.

But still you pressed on “Every time you run off on a new mission, putting yourself on the front lines of some battle you think I don’t worry just like this? You think I’m a stranger to exactly how you’re feeling right now?” You scoffed “I’m so sorry that for once it has to be you worrying about me”

Anakin sat up suddenly, turning to face you, his jaw clenched so tightly you could see the muscle through his skin “the difference is it’s my job. I’m a general, I’ve been trained to be on the front lines, to protect myself, to fight battles. You’re a senator, your job-“

“-is to negotiate peace and advocate for those who can’t speak for themselves” you broke in before he could answer, eyebrows raised silently daring him to say otherwise “which is exactly what I’m doing here”

With a bitter chuckle he shook his head, twisting back around to lay down “fine then you do your job, let me do mine”

“fine”

And with that you turned back towards the bed, getting ready to climb into it when you looked down at Anakin, laying without a blanket on the hard floor, arms wrapped pathetically around himself as he faced the wall.

And even though you were still reeling from your fight a bit of guilt started to creep into you. Because even though you still thought he was going overboard and being ridiculous you had been telling the truth when you said you knew firsthand how he felt.

You’d spent too many nights staying up waiting for any info regarding his safety, waiting for him to finally land on Coruscant, waiting for him to be okay. You knew his anger was coming from a good place, even if it still didn’t give him the right to be a jerk about it, and even more you knew exactly what sleeping on the hard floor all night would do to him.

Stalking over to where he lay on the floor you gave his feet a soft kick “come on there’s enough room on the bed for the both of us”

“I’m fine” he shrugged you off, not even bothering to look in your direction.

With a roll of your eyes and a frustrated groan you stalked over to the bed and grabbed a pillow off of it, throwing it to the ground making sure it made a loud thump before sitting down next to it.

Your display had the desired effect. Shortly after Anakin was pushing himself up to a sitting position and spinning around to look at you, a very unamused expression gracing his features. “what’re you doing?”

“You don’t take the bed I don’t take the bed” you answered simply, making a show of fluffing your pillow.

“You’re being ridiculous” he groaned, rubbing a tired hand over his face in exasperation.

“Oh so you are aware of the concept” you goaded him with a raised brow, fighting the smirk off your face as he glared back at you.

“You’re gonna wake up tomorrow with a sore back, just take the bed”

“And you know some magical way of sleeping that won’t make yours sore tomorrow?”

“Y/N-“

“You think it’s your job to protect me then why would you risk a sore back on something as stupid as sleeping on the floor” you cut him off before he could continue, crossing your arms over your chest, knowing you had trapped him.

And to your delight you watched him clench his jaw in response, watched a deep breath rack through him before he stood, marching across the room towards you, fierce gaze never straying from your eyes as he did so. You fought the urge to shrink from it.

Wordlessly he took your pillow from the ground and threw it onto one side of the bed, pausing for one moment to look down at you still sitting on the floor before making his way back across the room to grab his own pillow and bring it to the other side of the bed before silently sliding onto the mattress, back pointedly facing you.

And though a million passive aggressive comments flowed to your tongue you bit back each, knowing when to accept your victory. You pushed yourself to your feet and crawled into bed next to him, careful to make as little movement as possible as you did so lest you set him off more.

A heavy silence filled the room as you stared out at the wall, unable to even think about going to sleep after what had just happened. Luckily, it would seem Anakin had the same predicament.

“I don’t just think it’s my job to protect you”

His voice didn’t hold any of the anger, the malice you would have expected. Rather it was soft, sad even. A voice that was begging to by listened to.

“You don’t have orders to be my bodyguard” you responded back, careful to keep your tone even and your voice low “Obi-wan out ranks you here and I know he’s given no such order so if anything he would be”

“I don’t care about orders” his response came quickly, desperately “I just want you to be safe”

You took a beat to let his words sink in, to mull them over, to formulate your own response, before you turned onto your back, not fully facing him but a half truce.

“My job isn’t any less important than yours”

Your words were met with silence, clearly a response Anakin hadn’t been expecting.

“Other senators could’ve been sent but these are my people, or if not my people than my neighbors. I’m the only one with skin in the game. I’m the one with the best chance to end things before too many people end up dead.”

“And if you end up dead?”

You were surprised to see how quickly and naturally your answer came to you “then at least they can say I died trying”

Another silence blanketed the room, not quite as tense as the last but nonetheless uncomfortable, before you heard Anakin shift positions from his side of the bed. A look out of the corner of your eye telling you he was lying on his back too, the both of you staring up at the ceiling above you. It wasn’t much but it felt like a start, and for now that could be enough.

-

You woke slowly the next morning, too much light filtering into the room drawing you back to consciousness but stubbornness kept your eyes closed, refusing to let go of the last remaining bit of sleep.

The bed beneath you was soft and warm, pulling a content groan from your lips as you shifted your position slightly, pulling the blanket up to your chin and digging your shoulder a bit deeper into the mattress, deciding to give yourself another few minutes before getting out of bed.

That was until you heard another soft groan echo yours. Your eyes shot open as you finally registered the unnatural extra weight draped around your middle, the hard body radiating heat pressed firmly against your back, the long legs intertwined with your own.

The arm draped around your waist tightened its hold, drawing you deeper into Anakin’s sleeping form, a content hum slipping past the jedi’s lips as you felt his breath tickle to top of your ear. “5 more minutes”

The low grumble of his morning voice had your cheeks heating up as you hid your face further into the blanket, taking the opportunity to tuck yourself even further into him, relishing the way his warmth fully encapsulated you. “5 more”

The hair around your ear stirred softly as the sharp exhale of a chuckle left his lips making you smile as well.

“I’m sorry Y/N”

Those words crashed you back to reality, pulling you out of the comfort of the present moment, of the security of Anakin’s tight hold on you, out of the strange familiarity of the present moment, and forced you back to the fight last night, to his reaction when you had landed, to the idea of being the subject of Anakin’s ire.

You rolled over onto your stomach, feeling Anakin’s arm reluctantly slide off you as you did so but pointedly not holding you in place, propping yourself up on your elbow to better look at him only to see his alert gaze already trained on you, one elbow propping himself up slightly.

You said nothing in response, waiting for him to expand, to prove that he knew what he did wrong, to prove that he truly meant the apology. And for a second he said nothing, blue eyes bouncing slowly back and forth between your own before he took a slow deep breath.

“I didn’t meant to imply that your job was less important than mine, or that you weren’t allowed to make your own decisions” he sighed softly, one hand coming out to you, soft fingertips just barely skimming over the skin of your cheek as he tucked a piece of hair behind your ear, hand sliding down to rest in the base of your neck for just a moment before retreating “I just liked it better when you were back on Coruscant and I knew you were safe”

You opened your mouth to reply but he shook his head softly.

“you showing up here with no warning, with no extra protection, with no apparent regard for your own safety…it scared me”

And looking up at him you could see the sincerity in his statement, it was in the soft draw of his brow, the slight pout of his lips, the desperate look in his eye. Reaching forward slightly you grabbed his hand and pulled it into yours, giving it a soft squeeze “I know but I needed to be here”

And a heartbeat passed, then two, a small silence starting to settle in a way that you knew meant he had brushed you off again, before he spoke. “I know”

A part of you was embarrassed by how much relief came from just those two words, a simple acknowledgement, but a bigger part of you knew better, knew the weight those words held, the unspoken understanding that had just settled between the two of you, and rejoiced in it.

You gave him a soft smile, bringing the knuckles of his hand up to your lips and pressing a soft kiss into the skin “thank you Ani”

He chuckled back down at you, the hand you held in yours coming up to give your cheek a soft pinch before he withdrew it, pulling you along with it, pulling your head to rest comfortably on his chest as he wrapped an arm around you, pulling you into his side.

“Is this really how you feel every time I go?”

And you wanted to laugh at the ridiculous question, at how that could have never occurred to him. Instead you tried putting yourself in his shoes.

“I know you trained your whole life for this, and I know you can handle yourself, I fully trust that you can handle any situation you put yourself in” A soft sigh, a slight hiccup in Anakin’s breath as he waited for the inevitable ‘but’ “but of course I worry, of course I don’t want you to go. It kills me every time to watch you fly away to the next warzone”

“I’m sorry Y/N”

“Don’t be” you shrug him off without a second thought “it’s your job and you’re doing important work. I just need you to give me that same attitude when I have to do something dangerous for mine. You don’t get a monopoly on stupid, dangerous decisions”

You could hear his heart beating through his ribs, could feel his hand come up from your back to play softly with the ends of your hair, a low rumble reverberating up through his chest before he spoke again “If I promise to stop making stupid, dangerous decisions when I don’t have to will you do the same?”

You snorted at his question, craning your neck up to meet his gaze as you raised a brow “I’d like to see you try Skywalker”

He scoffed in mock offense “I could make smart, safe decisions”

“Sure” you chuckled, your gaze coming back down to rest your head in a comfortable position on his chest “do you even know how to properly use a ship’s landing gear?”

“I’ll have you know in many situations it was actually the safer decision to crash land the plane” he challenged back but you could hear the smile in his voice.

Shutting your eyes and burrowing your head further into him you hummed softly “sure name one”

His chest shook slightly as his laugh ruminated through his body but he offered no defense, letting the silence hang in the air for a moment before you saw his hand beside him move slightly towards your head, the pinky alone extended in your direction.

With a soft chuckle you shook your head softly, pulling your own pinky up to wrap around his, whispering the promise into his chest.

[everliving-everblaze]

So, I know that most of us would agree that Fitz isn't actually "overrated" because a lot of the fandom dislikes him. But I always find the perception that he's overrated interesting because it plays so much into his character. His entire character is about chasing perfection, about trying to be the perfect elf.

But more than that, I think it's wild to call him overrated when so few people actually understand his character and how critical it is to the story.

Fitz's character is about privilege. It's about being raised to believe in systems, and it's about how systems of oppression hurt even those who are most privileged. He thinks that he can have control; he was told that he would have control. And he's angry because he's realized that he doesn't have control, that society isn't the way he was told it was, and that the way it is is bad.

In fact, all of the characters play a role in the story that relates to privilege and being a part of a corrupt society. Marella plays a victim of ability-related oppression; Sophie plays someone who was born outside the system and can see its flaws more clearly; Tam and Linh play victims of twin-related oppression and show how parents' bias is particularly harmful. Keefe and Fitz are especially interesting because they play complementary characters. They show how two different people could be born privileged, benefiting extremely from systems, and still be victims of it. Keefe is a victim because he doesn't want to participate in it, and Fitz is a victim because he falls for the system and has to unlearn his whole bad belief system.

Fitz's character is akin to every one of us who grew up believing we lived in a good world and then realized we didn't. Fitz is those of us who realized that we didn't have the control we thought we did, those of us who had to unlearn our biases, and those of us who were mad about that.

It's wild just how twisted around his character gets, when I think he should be one of the most relatable characters to Gen Z! Like, I know this is a whole lot of theming and allegory and symbolism packed into a series that jokes about butts, but that's part of the brilliance. KotLC takes these complex concepts about society and oppression and brings them into a story that an eight-year-old can understand. And I think that's a big reason so many of us are attached to the series despite our age—it's so much deeper than it looks on the surface level. There's always something more to uncover.

I love this series. I love Fitz. And I really think that dismissing his character as "the worse love interest" (same with Keefe's character!) means that you will never understand the series in the slightest.

[matan4il]

Daily update post:

Navigation apps in Israel were instructed not to sure traffic jams anymore, so Hamas and Hezbollah terrorists won't be able to aim rockets at them.

The Minister of Defense made it clear that every benefit, support and compensation for the bereaved families of the Oct 7 massacre will apply to same-sex families, too.

Among Hamas' victims in the massacre are 235 people with non-Israeli nationality, an additional 74 are categorized as missing (meaning it's still unknown if they've been murdered or kidnapped), and they come from 41 countries. This includes at least 30 people murdered from Thailand, 10 from Nepal and 6 from China, at least some of them were beheaded.

Please explain to me how does beheading a student from Nepal help liberate any Palestinian, or why were non-Israelis butchered if the massacre was supposedly "resistance" against Israel?

The Israeli president revealed that among the documents recovered from Hamas terrorists were instructions from Al-Qaeda on how to build a weapon with cyanide.

This demonstrates how Hamas has been learning from other extremist Islamist organizations. They also adopted ISIS' use of the drug captagon to prevent a sense of fear in the terrorists, heighten their feelings of rage, as well as keep them going for longer. All of this (together with multiple reports that Hamas brought weapons for far more than just one day of slaughter) indicates that, while the massacre is the worst to have happened in the history of the Israeli-Arab conflict, what Hamas had in mind was probably even worse.

Israel screened today for foreign journalists 40 minutes of raw footage showing the massacre, most of it from Hamas terrorists' body cameras. Here is the full thread of one journalist, about some of the horrors seen in it. I'll share just one part of the thread, because I think #8 is really important:

The Israeli army has been releasing aerial photos showing how Hamas intentionally places its rocket launching sites next to civilians, so that either Israel is deterred from firing at these, to stop the rocket launching at civilians in Israel, or so that civilian Gazans will be harmed when Israel does act against these targets. For context, the Gaza strip DOES have uninhabited parts, where rocket launching would not endanger any civilians at all.

Today, Hamas has sent two attack drones and Hezbollah has sent one. The latter was flown and attacked from the direction of the sea.

An Israeli lawyers NGO has filed at the Hague to put Hamas and the Palestinian Islamic Jihad on trial for crimes against humanity.

Another personal story, this time of Atallah, a little Arab Bedouin boy whose father was told that, for being Israeli Arabs, they're more Jewish than Jews (and therefore legitimate targets to Hamas):

(for all of my updates and ask replies regarding Israel, click here)

[sarahowritesostucky]

📖"Temporary Custody"

Rating: Explicit

Pairing: Steve x ofc x Bucky; Steve x Bucky

Word Count: 4861

Tags: Dom/sub, bdsm au, dom Bucky, sub reader, hurt/comfort, enemies to lovers, gay sex'n'stuff, straight sex'n'stuff, Steve being a literal Golden Retriever, mental health issues, dub-con, forced submission, referenced childhood abuse and resultant mental health issues, bakery au, m/f/m, gentle domination, total power exchange

Summary: The stigma and shame of being a submissive has kept Mary unfulfilled and in the closet her whole life, until an inciting incident leads to Bucky and Steve taking her in and giving her everything she was always too afraid to ask for.

Trigger warnings: This story contains themes of eating disordered behavior, body image issues, childhood abuse, self-harm, mental illness, and alcohol abuse.

Wait! I haven't read an earlier chapter of this fic! Story Masterpost

10. S'mores

It’s the “sex play” (God, that term is so cringe) thing being on the table that builds the tension in the apartment, all of them knowing about it but none of them talking about it. Mary sure as shit doesn’t have the guts to break that ice, and now Bucky’s always deep in thought and quiet around her. And Steve, well.

Steve is like a big, mopey golden retriever who knows its humans are upset but doesn’t know how to help besides headbutting things affectionately.

Mary’s feelings for him only grow when she realizes that he really hasn’t told Bucky about that night in the kitchen: the things she’d confided about the razor and her nightmares and sneaking out to the gym. Knowing that Steve’s stuck by his word like that makes her like him and trust him a whole heck of a lot more. 

But it doesn’t solve the underlying problem. 

There’s a court hearing in front of a judge next month to revisit the custody arrangement—Next month. And one afternoon while Bucky’s out of the apartment, Steve gently informs Mary that Dr. Linda is recommending the order be extended. Jesus fucking Christ. 

And then the results to that test Linda made her take, the “Submissive Sexual Interests and Tendencies Assessment”, arrive in the mail (addressed to Bucky, because of course they would be), and Mary gets her hands on them after Bucky and Steve read them, and she’s mortified at what it says about her.

Tendencies: Passive aggression (reactive aggression in lieu of submission), emotional outbursts, low self-esteem, impulsive sexual promiscuity, self-harm, alcohol use disorder, possible co-morbidity (OCD, EDNOS, BDD). Dynamic Preferences: single dominant authority figure, structured domestic routine, service, discipline, monogamous relationship, emotional bonding. Recommendations: Following assessment review, patient is most likely to benefit from continued domestic control in a consistent (24/7) environment. Transfer of custody not recommended. Continued therapy sessions and educational courses at CDP highly recommended. Most beneficial therapeutic modalities include limited corporal discipline, sex play, and reward-based service routine.

There’s a ton of infuriating psycho babble bullshit packed into those results that she could get upset about, and she does, but Mary’s eyes track over that one, most-horrible phrase over and over again: 

“Transfer of custody not recommended.”

Fuck.

She loses sleep over it, sneaks out of the apartment in the middle of the night and does cardio at the gym until she’s exhausted enough to head back home and pass out. It pisses her off that this is such a thing now. She doesn’t want to be special needs, she should have the right to choose whether she even wants treatment or not! She resents the hell out of Bucky and Steve for having custody of her the way that they do. They’re clearly expecting her to blow up or something, after the news from Linda and the SSITA results come in. It’s so obvious that they’re walking on eggshells around her, Mary halfway wishes they’d just do something. One way or the other, it’d be better than this.

Linda claims that they’ve expressed “positive feelings” about a sexual dynamic, but if they have, they sure aren’t expressing it to Mary. She suspects that most of that positivity has come from Steve, and probably only because he’s a golden retriever in human form who just wants to do what’s right and good, not because he or Bucky are particularly attracted to her.

While she has managed to clean herself up quite a bit since moving in with them, Mary isn’t delusional: she realizes that Steve and Bucky are very attractive men, whereas she’s just average. She tries to tell herself she’s fine with that. She knows Bucky and Steve could probably get like, a supermodel to sleep with them if they really wanted to. Mary’s not in their league, and that’s okay. 

But if they’re not attracted to her that way then they should at least have the decency to just say so! At least then she could find someone else, get back on Tinder, or even sign up for one of those ProDoms that the CDP has. Darcy said Thor was good, so maybe Mary could request him? The way that Darcy had described the guy, he sounds like he's a hunka hunka burning Nordic god. Mary could go for that.

She brings it up casually over dinner, framing it lightheartedly, and Bucky literally crushes his water glass in his prosthetic hand. “What?” he snaps, frowning down at the mess he’s just made. “No.”

Mary huffs and goes to fetch the desserts while Steve gets the waste bin and begins scraping the broken pieces of glass into it like it’s just another Tuesday. “I don’t see why not,” Mary complains from over at the counter. She’s pulled the plates out from the fridge and grabs the butane torch for the meringue.

“Jesus,” Bucky exclaims when he sees the industrial sized torch she's wielding. “Where’d you get that?”

Mary purses her lips as she focuses on achieving the perfect amount of toastedness. “Hardware store,” she mutters. “So why can’t I go see one of the ProDom’s again?” She purposefully over-torches Bucky’s meringue, because she can tell that this isn’t going to go her way. “Sounds like a win-win. You don’t have to deal with me, I can meet new people, and insurance pays for it. What exactly is the problem?” She’s trying to force him to admit that he doesn’t want to Dom her sexually, trying to get him to see that something’s gotta give and he’ll have to let her use one of the ProDoms eventually if that’s what the severity of her “condition” requires (gigantic ‘Ew’). 

But frustratingly, he refuses to engage with her on the topic. “It’s a no, Mare,” he tells her sternly. “Pros are for people who have more experience. You don’t.”

Mary seriously doubts that. “Linda didn’t say that,” she argues, carrying the plates over to the table and handing the nice one to Steve and the burnt one to Bucky. 

He pulls it closer to himself and raises an eyebrow at it. “Linda’s being diplomatic,” he mutters. “I thought you said you were making s’mores?” 

Yesterday, Bucky had been talking with Steve about how much they both missed their old camping trips they used to take. The two of them must’ve waxed poetic over campfire s’mores for ten whole minutes. So Mary thought this would be an excellent way to butter them up. Apparently not.

She sniffs and picks up her fork. “They are s’mores. It’s a plated dessert, Bucky. An interpretation. It’s not literal.”

He grunts and peers at his portion, poking it dubiously with his fork. “What’s it made of?”

Mary heaves a sigh and snottily recites: “Honey Sablé, 70% Valrhona cremeux, cold-smoked Italian meringue, torched ‘mallow, Graham crumb streusel, and tempered chocolate stick for garnish." Both Bucky and Steve stop poking at their plates and just stare at her for a second. 

“Sounds good,” Steve chirps, and digs into his.

Mary stares Bucky down, until he too, deigns to eat the apparently too fancy for him version of a  s’more. “Oh, damn,” he says after the first bite, looking taken-aback. “I can taste the smoke.”

Mary preens, then asks again about the ProDom. “Well if I’m not getting it there then who the heck’s supposed to fuck me?” she winds up blurting out of frustration.

When that direct reference doesn’t elicit any response from Bucky besides a barrage of bossy instructions for after-dinner cleanup, Mary loses a bit of the hope she’d been holding onto that maybe Linda was right about them being attracted to her. She just gave him the perfect fucking opening, and he didn’t take it. She gets the kitchen cleaned up from dinner, resigning herself to another evening of platonic domination that doesn’t quite hit the spot. 

Nightly drops are nice. Not as nice as they were in the beginning, the effects having waned quite a bit from what they once were, but still better than no drops at all. 

Mary sits on her pillow on the floor, head on the couch cushion next to Bucky’s thigh, listening vaguely to the sound of the television while she enjoys the feeling of his fingers carding through her hair, lightly massaging her scalp. It’s been a while now, and she doesn’t think she’s going to get any deeper. It’s late, already they’ve watched two full episodes of their show, and Mary’s got work tomorrow. It’ll be bedtime soon. 

A big yawn works its way up in her throat, and Bucky chuckles when it finally breaks free. “Tired?” he asks.

“Mmhm.” She inhales deeply and sits up, sleepy and squinting. It takes a moment before her eyes adjust to the darkness of the room and Bucky’s form sitting right in front of her. Wow, she’d been really close to him, hadn’t realized just how close. Had she been … hugging his shin? God, she hopes not. Not like she hasn’t spent whole evenings fantasizing about rubbing her face all over his thighs and his— Nope. Not gonna think about that when he’s sitting right there. She tears her eyes away and forces that train of thought to stop right in its metaphorical tracks. 

“You good, Hon?” Bucky asks, his soft voice drawing her attention back from her own head. She looks up and sees his fond expression, his relaxed posture. Wonders if he’s in Domspace at all. Probably not.

Then her eyes land on the line of his cock at the front of his pants. 

He’s hard. Not very, but some. Underneath his sweats his dick is chubbed up enough that it creates a slight bulge against the fabric. Mary freezes, staring for too long before she’s able to tear her eyes away. When she does, and she looks up, Bucky’s watching her with an inscrutable expression. Her breath catches and her mind goes absolutely dumb.

Does he want ..? Should she ..?

She looks back down at it, at the relaxed splay of his thighs. She wets her lips and thinks about reaching forward and sliding her hand over it, what it would feel like, if it would twitch, if Bucky would shiver or make a sound. She wants to touch it, and seriously considers doing so, but when she looks up at Bucky again, he doesn’t look like he’s excited, or anticipating her touching him. He looks … resigned. 

“Tired?” he asks kindly. "Do you maybe ... Do you need anything else tonight? From me?"

Mary's lips part, heart leaping at what that might mean ... but then Bucky looks over at Steve with visible yearning in his eyes, and the two of them share one of their silent conversations, brows pinched and expectant. 

Oh. Right. Bucky’s just horny and eager to get Steve into bed, wants to wrap this up. Mary wonders if he really can’t tell that she's not far down like she used to get. Maybe he thinks this is all she needs and he really isn’t going to take Linda’s advice seriously. Mary should be happy about that. After all, it’s what she wanted. Isn’t it?

She balls up the hand that she’d been imagining touching Bucky with and nods. “Yeah,” she says. “Yeah, I’m tired. Think I’m gonna … go get ready for bed.”

She glances over at Steve, but he looks mopey and eager to get out of the room just like his husband does, cementing the notion in Mary’s mind that they don’t want to be with her that way. No doubt they will if push comes to shove, because Linda’s told them Mary needs a sexual dynamic, but it’s not something they’re excited about. Mary knows men: They’re not the sort to sit around and wait for a girl they like to make the first move. And certainly not a man like Bucky, of all people. 

She tries not to be hurt by it, but still gets a little weepy while brushing her teeth, the unintended rejection stinging more when she’s down in the tingly, vulnerable throes of subspace. She spits, rinses, flosses, rinses. Grabs the mouthwash that she hates to use but that Bucky has ordered her to always use after brushing her teeth at night. 

She says goodnight to Steve and Bucky through the safety of her closed bedroom door, and despite her voice being warbly, neither one of them knocks on the door to see what’s up. That drives the point home, and Mary tucks herself into bed with the mindset that she’ll let them know they don’t have to sleep with her just to be nice or to help her or whatever. She’ll just find a way to convince them that she really is fine with going to one of the ProDoms, and that it really is a better arrangement.

Better than a pity fuck, at least.

It’s disappointing to know that Mary prefers the ProDom, that she doesn’t want to make their relationship sexual, but Bucky gets it, and he knows that he shouldn’t be surprised. He’s not exactly an easy person to get along with, after all. He’s prickly as fuck, grumpy, bossy, selfish. And aside from her natural submission, Mary’s personality clashes with his horribly. Steve is essential, but he just isn’t enough to successfully buffer between the two of them—not enough to make her want them that way, at least. 

Bucky can see the profound disappointment in Steve’s eyes that night, as Mary doesn’t react the way they were both hoping, doesn’t take the offerings Bucky puts out.

They have to let it be her choice, of course, having planned it out and discussed it between just the two of them. It's all anybody ever talks about in the D/s community these days: making sure subs are the initiators at key moments like this, not letting domination creep in and become manipulation-so easy to do with how naturally vulnerable and people pleasing submissives are. Gone are the days when Doms like Bucky were encouraged to guide new partners in the "right" direction. That leads to too much trauma, too many subs in situations they don't really want. Mary has to be left to make the choice on her own, it's her right.

But it's still the hardest fucking thing for him to do, to just sit there and wait passively. And it still stings when she looks straight at his erection and declares that she’s ready for bed. Well, if it wasn’t clear before.

Steve looks like a friggin’ kicked puppy, as he stands outside of Mary’s closed bedroom door and bids her goodnight. Bucky nudges him in the direction of their own room and murmurs, “Come on, Sweetheart.” 

In their bedroom, they each get undressed. Steve continues to mope, so Bucky goes up to him and places a hand on his shoulder and rubs. “Hey. Don’t sulk. You’ve still got me.” Steve’s mouth twitches in a small smile and Bucky’s heart flares with fondness for him. “You wanna play a game?” he offers, leaning in and kissing him once on the lips. “Mm?” He looks down pointedly to both of their boners that haven’t completely lagged since tv time ended.

“Okay.” 

Bucky hums and turns, putting his left shoulder out. “Lend a guy a hand?” Steve obliges. He removes the prosthetic arm with practiced motions. Bucky moans quietly at how good it feels to get the heavy weight off. “Fuck.” He rolls his shoulders, cracks his neck each way with a blissed out groan. “Yes.”

“You’ve been wearing it more than usual, lately,” Steve points out, going over to set it on the table at Bucky’s side of the bed. “Why?”

He already knows: Bucky can tell from the way he asks it. He grunts and looks away, refraining from answering. He normally only wears the arm to work and to the gym, skipping it around the house or when he’s just got simple errands to run. There’s a surprising amount he can do just fine without the use of two arms, and he’s been confident about being seen in public without it for a long time now, thanks to Steve and their friends at the V.A. Being self conscious about it again after all these years isn’t something Bucky wants to admit out loud or think about, but Steve isn’t stupid. He can put two and two together. 

“Babe,” he says softly, walking back over to stand behind him. He wraps his arms around Bucky’s waist and noses into his neck. “It’s nothing to be ashamed of.”

Bucky inhales deeply. “I know. I’m not.” Steve makes a sound that clearly says he doesn’t believe that. But Bucky doesn’t want to talk about it, so he reaches back with the only arm he has to grab playfully at the side of Steve’s ass. “Go in the bathroom. Get the water going how I like.”

Steve groans and thunks his forehead against the back of Bucky’s neck. “Not that game,” he complains, though there’s no conviction to it. He slinks off towards the bathroom to go do as he’s been told. “I hate that game.”

“Fuck you. You love that game.” 

Steve shoots him the finger from over his shoulder, but something about his naked body and tight little ass being on display strips the gesture of its animosity. He disappears into the bathroom and Bucky walks over to their bedroom dresser to grab a hair tie, still snickering. He sobers when he takes one from the valet tray and realizes that he’ll have to have Steve tie his hair back. That’s one thing he never could figure out how to do one handed. He stands there and looks in the mirror above the dresser, studying the left side of his body in a way that he rarely does anymore. 

He’s gotten so used to it: his life with Steve, whom he knows down to his bones accepts him unconditionally. He’s almost forgotten what it feels like to be self conscious about his body. Bucky hasn’t known how to talk about it, and Mary hasn’t asked. She’s seen him with his sleeves rolled up to the elbow, or in tee shirts at the gym, but that’s all so far. Sometimes he’ll catch her looking, but he’s got no clue what she’s thinking. He considers his reflection, looks at the scars and puckered skin, the implanted base of the arm where his stump used to be. He doesn’t like the uncomfortability of being critical of his body again. In a way, he almost resents Mary for it, for making that feeling come back after all these years. Silly, he knows. 

“Babe?” Steve’s voice calls out from the bathroom. Bucky’s ears register the sound of rushing water. “You coming?” 

Bucky inhales deeply and decides it doesn’t matter anyway. Mary wants a ProDom, not them, so he doesn’t have to stress over what she thinks about any part of his body, let alone the one part he doesn’t have.

“Yeah.” He turns his back to the judgmental mirror and heads towards his very non-judgmental best guy.

“Okay. Stop clenching.”

Steve exhales shakily, but he does obey, body slumping back against the end of the tub as he relaxes his muscles. “Fuck,” he breathes, overwhelmed.

“Hand too, Baby.”

His hand abandons his dick in the bathwater. “Ungh.”

Bucky smiles lazily and rubs the side of his foot against Steve’s hip in praise. “Good boy.”

They’re in the bathtub together, opposite ends, legs tangled. Their combined bulk displaces the water all the way up to above their shoulders, but that’s part of the game: they’re not allowed to splash on the floor, so they can’t jerk off very hard or fast. First one to splash water on the floor is the automatic loser and has to bottom the next time they fuck (Bucky added that little caveat because he’s very good at not splashing, whereas Steve is hopelessly clumsy and overeager ). “How you doing, Sweetheart?” he asks, drinking in the sight of Steve with his lips parted, chest heaving, squirming. He’s pink from temple to tits, flushed from the bathwater and arousal both, and Bucky loves it. “You’re not close already, are you?” he tuts, grinning. “So sensitive.”

“Buck,” Steve croaks, heated eyes dragging over Bucky’s body at the other end of the tub where he’s still gently jerking himself off. “Please.”

Bucky affords himself another toe-curlingly good swipe over the head of his dick before he nods. “Okay. Slow. Just like me”

Steve huffs and wraps his hand back around himself, stroking his dick in slow, measured strokes, just like Bucky said. Bucky’s guts warm and another heady rush of dominance swirls low in his belly at watching Steve do exactly as he says. “You can start workin’ it again, too,” he says.

Steve moans gratefully. “Thank you. Fuck.” His abs start clenching, his body straining again with visible tension as he works the Aneros that’s seated up inside him. Under the water, his knees move in and out in that instinctive motion as he tries to rock it just right. But it’s hard to do it with the water so high, and more than once he catches himself and holds back at the sight of the bathwater sloshing precariously close to the lip of the tub. At one point he gasps and his eyes slam shut, and Bucky figures the toy must’ve shifted to press even more directly against his prostate. 

“Ooh, does that feel good, Stevie?”

Steve peeks his eyes open, glaring across the way at him. “You know it does.”

Bucky does, in fact, know exactly how good it feels—because he’s got another of the exact same toy inside of himself, right now. “I don’t know why you still agree to play this game,” he taunts, grunting from the effort of holding back his own moan as his prostate gets a firm prod from the head of the toy. “You—nngh—you always wind up losing.”

“Yeah, well …” Steve’s throat bobs as he swallows heavily. “Maybe I don’t mind you coming out on top, sometimes.”

“Sometimes,” Bucky scoffs, but he’s breathing heavier than he was thirty minutes ago, his composure slipping the longer he works the toy inside himself and jerks himself off agonizingly slowly underneath the water. In fact, he’s not even sure it even counts as jerking off at this slow a pace.

Edging is something he’d introduced Steve to early on in their relationship, as soon as he’d realized how delightfully sensitive his new boyfriend was. And Steve, the big idiot, had worried Bucky wouldn’t like it, had actually thought of it as a negative! An absurd notion that Bucky promptly disabused him of. Watching his ungodly sexy blond behemoth of a husband whine and squirm and struggle to hold himself in check is one of the fucking hottest things Bucky’s ever seen—and he’s seen a lot. He’d been a bit of a manwhore back in his heyday, racking up the bodies as he fought to find himself as a Dom and accept the body an IED had left him with.

Steve, his overly-sensitive, glorious hunk of a then-boyfriend, had helped him to do both. And it’s times like this where Bucky remembers just how goddamn lucky he is. Having Steve to love and fuck around with feels like the best gift in the world. 

At the other end of the tub, the water sloshes as something he’s done to himself makes Steve’s breath hitch in another helpless moan. He tosses his head back for a moment, eyes clamped shut as his expression crumples beautifully and he whimpers. Bucky’s ass clenches down hard in arousal at the sight, which only makes the toy in his ass rub over his prostate that much better. His cock throbs as his pleasure flares dangerously high. Fuck, he wants to come. 

Licking his lips, he decides it's time to end this. His balls are pulled up too close to his body, taut and full and aching for release. Trying to school his breathing into something resembling nonchalance is a lost cause, and his face feels almost as flushed as Steve’s looks right now. Bucky decides to call it, because even though he’s the automatic favorite to win this game every time, he is capable of losing, if he gets too caught up in ogling Steve’s body and reactions and doesn’t focus enough on playing his cards right. “Okay,” he finally says, smirking when Steve’s head jerks back to attention, his irises visibly flaring in excitement. “Yeah, Baby. It’s time.”

“Fuck.”

“You ready for the home stretch?” He waggles his eyebrows and lets his head rest back against the tub, spreading his legs wider and keeping his eyes on Steve. “Gotta keep up,” he instructs, even though Steve already knows how this goes. When Bucky tightens his hand and speeds up the pace of how fast he’s jerking himself off, Steve copies him. That’s how it is at the end of this—totally-rigged-in-Bucky’s-favor—game. They both jerk off at the pace that Bucky sets, and the first one to splash water on the floor or come is the loser. It’s not very fair, but Bucky never claimed he was a fair guy. He is, in fact, selfish as fuck. 

Lucky for him, Steve’s into that.

“Fuck,” Steve pants from his end of the tub. He slides down lower, keeping more of his body under the water in an attempt to prevent splashing. It’s a futile effort, though, because he’s doomed to lose anyway with the faster pace that Bucky’s set. Already, he’s going lobster red in the face, brow pinched and desperate, knees knocking the sides of the tub as he compulsively works the toy in his ass. 

The arousal in Bucky’s gut coils tighter at the sight. “Watch my hand,” he warns, when he notices Steve slacking off. “Gotta match it, Baby.”

“I am.”

“Tighter,” he says, eyes gleaming. “And stop avoiding the head. I can see you cheatin’ over there, Punk.”

Steve whimpers, and Bucky knows that he really wasn’t going as tight as he is, because Steve’s hand changes its hold and he starts getting the head of his dick with the same intensity that Bucky is. Bucky grins open mouthed, panting. “Atta boy.”

“You should—ugn.” Steve grimaces. “Should get a penalty, for being cut. I should get an extra, nnnh, th-thirty seconds, at least.”

Bucky laughs, because trust Steve to think of a sportsman’s solution to the inequity of their dicks. Steve being uncut means that it takes less intense stimulation for him to come. They both know this, Bucky loves this, and again: he never claimed the game was fair. “No penalty,” he grunts, speeding up his pace even further. Steve’s eyes widen but he matches it. Bucky grits his teeth. He can hold out long enough. Steve’ll blow in seconds at this pace. 

And sure enough, it’s not even twenty seconds later when Steve is crying out, body tensing and muscles straining gorgeously as he seizes up and starts to come. “Agh!” His knees fling out hard and hit the sides of the tub, splashing water over the lip to the floor below. But he hasn’t even noticed, he’s so lost to his orgasm. His asshole is twitching, sucking on the Aneros as the contractions of his body pull the toy up against his prostate again and again, drawing the pleasure out. He shoves down hard in the water and shouts louder, as though he’s getting a second orgasm on top of the first. “Ohnfuck …” 

Bucky groans as he watches it happen: Steve’s gorgeous face and juddering hips, big hand wringing up hard underneath the head the whole way through. The fucking sounds he makes, Jesus wept. It’s leagues better than any porn Bucky’s ever seen. “Fuck, Baby,” he praises. “Yes. Fuck that’s so hot …” 

Steve’s hand keeps working the whole way through, only abandoning his cock once it’s fully spent and softening, the cloudy ribbons of his cum floating away in the bathwater. “Fuck,” he exhales hugely once it’s done, letting his body go lax and slump so far down that only his face is above the waterline.

Bucky grunts and spreads his legs wider, not heeding the splashing rule now that he’s already won. The water splashes precariously as he shoves his hips down and down and down, squeezing the shape of the toy inside so fucking perfectly. Fuck, it feels fucking good working over his spot like that. “Oghnnn,” he pants, grunting and groaning and jerking his cock hard. “Fuck, Baby. You’re so fucking pretty. Fuck. M’gonna cum …” 

Steve gives a sated hum from his end of the tub. Bucky can sense him shifting in the water, and then gasps when he feels the ball of Steve’s foot gently press up on his balls. His eyes fly open and he looks down. “Oh, shit,” he whispers. “Fuck, fuck.”

Steve grins and rubs his foot against him. And Bucky doesn’t have that fetish, but there’s something so fucking perverse about seeing Steve’s toes up against his balls that it turns his brain to mush anyway and pushes him right on over into orgasm. He shoots off beneath the water, stroking and thrusting and moaning—and probably splashing water all over the floor just as badly as Steve ever has.

Series Masterlist

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[fantasy-relax]

Sweet alpha Dangerous Omega

Part 1 Part 5 Part 6

She knew that her dear Cassandra would make the right decision as soon as her heat ended, however Alcina couldn't kill you, in three months her daughter would go into heat again and she would continue to have them all her life. Mother Miranda had already told her how harmful it was for an omega to go through heat alone, while the company of the family lessened the symptoms over time, they needed a mate, although an alpha was the basic inclination if there was a deep emotional connection a beta or even another omega could be good partner.

But Cassandra had never shown interest in sharing her heat with anyone and Alcina would never force her. When they began to get worse, she turned to Lady Beneviento for medicine, but the mutation that her daughters had accelerated their metabolism, what they took was burned off in a couple of hours if they were lucky or minutes in most cases, the rapid change caused more pain than benefit so it was better not to use it.

Company was the best option, her sweet Daniela brought in a maid who had been favored by Cassandra in the hope that she would be accepted at least as a temporary partner. Five minutes passed before the lifeless body was thrown out of the room, a broken neck fast and effective.

Alcina could only listen helplessly to the grunts and sobs of her daughter for the last three days that her heat period lasted.

That's why she couldn't get rid of you, despite how much it irritated her to admit it, your presence had brought great relief to her daughter and in the same way your absence had seriously affected her.

So, she had to put up with you, your chivalry and obedience when dealing with her pup helped a lot.

“Our Pup needs time and space to make a decision”

“She already took it, this peasant will only be a pet to deal with her discomfort, end of the story”

Ignoring the Beta's comments, Alcina looked at the alpha who was looking at the ground with her head lowered.

“Poor pup”

Frowning in irritation, Lady Dimitrescu speaks firmly.

“Pay attention when I speak to you, beast.”

Your posture changed, but your eyes were still on the floor.

"That was fast"

Alcina rolled her eyes, dismissing the unnecessary concern of her beta, who was too soft on you just because Cassandra's omega was too, both useless instincts.

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

“Pay attention when I speak to you, beast.”

You raised your head and stood firm, keeping your eyes glued to the floor, showing that you were attentive to what was being said to you, but without being impertinent, an action learned thanks to your mother.

You didn't understand why you weren't dead yet, you failed again, Cassandra had been clear to her displeasure, you weren't worthy of being her mate.

You took a deep breath, trying to hold back your tears. It was enough with your alpha's cries echoing in your head.

What did you do wrong?

You just followed the omega's wishes.

Comfort and company were what she wanted, so that's what you gave her.

You took care of her, you gave her everything she asked for, you obeyed her orders and she was never dissatisfied with your actions during the heat.

Still, it wasn't enough.

Why are you never enough?

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

“Because you have proven to be useful for my daughter's well-being, I have decided to employ you, so from now on you will live here as a mating companion for her, you will have a room separated from the other maids, the moment a complaint about you reaches my ears, I assure you that I will make you regret it for weeks, Bela will be in charge of you, out of my sight."

Bela approached you when her mother went back to review her papers on her desk, for a moment she thought you were going to complain, but you remained silent.

“Follow me, I'll take you to your room.”

The medicine had accelerated your healing allowing you to walk without any problem, your nutrition was something that would take longer, you were not starving, but it was obvious that you weighed less than you should, you reached her chin something to be expected since alphas tended to be tall with an ease in developing muscles, there were alphas in the town who were taller than her, but how different was it with women or was it your poor diet that affected your development? What was biology and what was it by circumstance?

Well, there is good place to start her studies.

"Miss Bela?"

"Actually, is Lady Bela or Mistress. Remember that, now what it is?"

“Is there anything I can do instead of uh being a heat partner? I just don't think Lady Cassandra wants my company... she has already been clear with her decision."

You avoided looking at her eyes and even tried to make yourself look smaller, everything about you showed submission. Could it be a learned behavior? Had you really lost all desire for dominance?

“In the town i also worked as a lumberjack and carpenter. I know how to hunt too, could I work like that?”

She thought about it Relia complained about the lack of experienced labor, in addition to the fact that at her age she already needed an apprentice to relieve her and the majority of the workers under her command did not reach her standards, perhaps you could serve, the traps you had Installed were excellent and the cabin you lived in while old was in good condition, she had to admit that you had some skill.

"You will be Cassandra's mating partner, there is no way out or change in that, however, having you do nothing for three months is unproductive, tomorrow I will give you a tour of the castle and I will take you to the groundskeeper so that she can give you work. Rest for today."

Again, it seemed like you were going to contradict, but you kept quiet, entering the room with her.

“Your bed, the closet has some uniforms, but I'm not sure they are your size. Anyway, tomorrow we will also go to the seamstress to take your measurements. You have a personal bathroom. You won't use the communal for obvious reasons.”

Approaching you with one hand she lifted your face, you continued to avoid looking at her.

“You are the only alpha in the castle, there are unbonded omegas and betas, step over the line and you will be punished appropriately, am I clear?”

You nodded and she let go of you.

“I'll come as soon as the sun rises tomorrow you better be ready.”

She left you alone in your new home.

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

“Really, Cassie? You finally find someone that your omega accepts, you have a romantic and intimate moment only to throw it all away seconds after your heat ends, I can't believe it."

Cassandra felt the pain in her head increase as she listened to her sister's complaints as if it wasn't enough to have to deal with her omega's complaints. At least Daniela's voice was silenced by the bathroom door.

“You hurt our alpha, you were cruel and rude!”

“She's lucky I didn't tear out her throat.”

“Alpha did her job well and you despised her again!”

“The cowardly bitch didn't even give me a kiss with tongue.”

“Because it wasn't what we needed!"

“The only thing an alpha is useful for is sex, that's what I wanted but the useless bitch didn't have the courage to do it.”

“WE WANTED COMPANY, WE WANTED SOFT TOUCH AND CARESES THAT WOULD BEAT THE COLD IN WHICH WE HAVE BEEN TRAPPED ALL THESE YEARS, ALFA DID IT WITH FERVOR AND ADORATION AND AGAIN YOU DENIED HER THE APPROVAL SHE WANTED.”

“I DON'T NEED ANY OF THAT, YOU ARE THE WEAKEST PART OF ME, YOU ARE THE ONE WHO CAUSES ME MISERY AND PAIN BECAUSE OF YOUR STUPID NEED TO HAVE A PARTNER”

“WE WISH ONE!"

“IF YOU WANT IT SO MUCH, WHY DID YOU NOT CHOOSE ONE YEARS AGO?”

“EVERYONE WAS UNSUITABLE WE FINALLY FOUND THE ONE WHO IS PERFECT FOR US AND YOU DON'T DO YOUR PART”

" MY PART? YOU ARE WHO-

“Well, what does it matter, it's Bela's property now.”

What?

“What the hell are you talking about Daniela?

"She said that she was interested in her and was going to ask Mother for permission to keep her in the castle under her supervision. Surprisingly, Mother accepted under some conditions, they are talking to her now but in the end is her problem now."

“Like hell she is, she's mine, I found her first.”

“You threw her out, you lost the right, but if you want to fight for your lover-”

“Fuck it, that bitch is of no use to me.”

"If you say so"

She doesn't care, she doesn't give a fuck about you, you are a pathetic starved dog willing to lick the food thrown at the floor, you are only good for a quick fuck but you are such a fucking coward to do it.

Bela can do whatever she wants with you she. doesn't. care.

Now if her omega will stop whining.

[chutkiandchotte]

One more rant time!!! Or more like, Anjali appreciation? Idk take it as anything.

(I feel like I only ever come here to rant, but what can I say? I do love a good rant lol.)

Anyway I've been speed reading through a bunch of IPKKND fics lately (as one does to ~~cope~~) and I just hate how many people just fundamentally misunderstand and negatively judge Anjali's character.

Its really simple when it comes down to it - Anjali loves Shyam with the same passion, loyalty, and commitment that Khushi loves Arnav and Arnav loves Khushi by the end of the serial. Just imagine, if some one came along and told (happily married) Khushi that Arnav is cheating on her, tried to marry someone else, and had her sibling kidnapped and almost killed, would she believe them for a second? No! No evidence would ever convince her of that and vice versa. Its an absolutely WILD story to be told about your pious, sanskaari, soft-spoken, madly in love with you husband who has, thus far in your eyes, done nothing wrong except been maybe a little too busy at work.

Anjali is just as fucked up as Arnav by the trauma they went through. There's a reason she is so quick to harm herself and loses all perspective when viscerally reminded of the single worst moment of her life. What's funniest of course is the people who have immense understanding for Arnav's trauma and pain, don't give a damn about Anjali's. They keep harping on about everything (aka material benefits) which Arnav did for Anjali, while discounting the emotional support she also provided for him through those years. Because only material benefits count in relationships? Emotional IQ is nothing?

Anjali is a good sister! She looks after Arnav, takes care of his needs, monitors his health. She gives him the freedom to make his choices (unlike Nani), but she does advice him as per her understanding. She gently tries to guide him to resolve his trauma and move forward in life, but doesn't succeed probably because its beyond her paygrade. Even in the depths of her depression and confusion, she feels delighted to know that Arnav LOVES Khushi, something she worried would never happen for him (and its clear she was previously worried that their marriage happened only due to uncontrollable attraction gone wrong).

They do have a slightly unhealthy level of co-dependency, but it makes perfect sense when you consider what happened in their childhood. Anjali and Arnav are each other's emotional cornerstone for a reason. And by the end of the show, they have each moved beyond the unhealthy aspects of their relationship.They have a really complex and interesting sibling bond, and ultimately a beautiful one.

Anjali is the one character who suffered the MOST, lost the most, from the entire cast of characters. The pain she went through, that too being an exact repeat of what her mother went through, is unimaginable. And for absolutely no mistake of her own.

[please-someone-give-me-love]

There's always the same debate about Gear 5 and the seriousness of a fight and I can get both point of views. I think it's valid to want Luffy be serious when it came for a fight with enemies but at the same time y'all have to remember that being serious hasn't even being the main point of fights in one piece, Oda has always showed Luffy being goofy around enemies with their respective serious moments but it wasn't always 100% serious, now, with the Gear 5, which Oda choose to focus on an especific theme of joy and freedom, it seems more coherent to be even funnier and goofier.

I don't think he is not gonna be 100% playing, we have seen in some previous chapter how he was able to be serious but the effects in Gear 5 on him are another stuff.

I think right now we are seeing a really key point on tje story on which type of direction Luffy as a character is going on, not only in the storytelling but in his fiction. A lot of characters in anime came to a point when they need to be stronger and when they get to be stronger the work became bland or they purposely got nerfed to benefit the storytelling and I think Oda has come to that key point in which he can't do Luffy being super stronger because it would lose the point of the story and make him some mc more or made him super weaker which will basically make people feel that everything wasn't worth it.

I remember people being upaet because they believed that Luffy got nerfed at the befinning at the arc when he uses the Gear 5 to fight Lucci and now some people are upset he is not getting any harm or looking 'too godly' playing around the elders

I think some people forget that the Gear 5 makes Luffy happier than ever, not only as a fighting method but as a part of himself, Luffy's main goal is to be the freest and the Gear 5 is making him be free as he wants, him fighting Lucci in G5 wasn't as a way to be afraid but to recognize his opponent and enjoy the fight. Gear 5 makes Luffy possible to survive to elders until now and to gave Bonney hope, one of the most impactful quotes that I think it defined certainly what's going on was when Zoro called Luffy out in Punk Hazard, when he told him that they weren't playing around anymore after Luffy being defeated for not giving his 100% effort on his fight.

I think it shows here that Luffy is giving 100% of himself no matter if the opponent could be weaker or stronger, he is recognizing the danger of them and fighting with everything he got.

For other part, while I understand wanting certain seriousness, let's not judge a battle for so little time even that we had got serious moments with the Gear 5, I doubt all the battle is gonna be like serious or goofy.

[otherworldseekers]

Waiting for Your Return

A little bit of Severia x Nero writing that occurs during 6.55 setting up things for Dawntrail.

I wrote it for the prompt "return" sent to me by @gatheredfates for a single word fic drive, but decided to make a separate post for it as it got away from me a bit and then I decided to add a few screenshots.

Severia lay on her back on her bed in the Balsesion Annex and made herself comfortable. Beside her next to the pillow was her Cockwork Novus D*. A familiar voice came from inside it. 

“Hullo, darling. Miss me?”

“Of course I miss you, silly boy.” Never mind that they had seen each other just that morning before she had teleported to Sharlayan to meet with Krile. “Did you get much work done without me there to distract you?”

“At the risk of being premature-”

“You? Never.”

Nero laughed. “You tease. Are you sure you can’t come back for the night?”

“Well, of course I could, but we’re headed out at first light for the Isle of Hamm and you know teleporting that kind of distance too often wears me out.”*

“I can think of a few ways to-”

“I want to avoid that!” she protested with a smile. “Anyway, tell me your news.”

“I think I’ve made a breakthrough,” Nero said, smugness oozing from his voice. 

“So that puts you ahead of Cid?”

“I’m fairly certain this puts me months ahead of him in research,” Nero bragged. “He’s still struggling to work out the formula for-”

Severia interrupted before he got technical. It was far too late in the day for that. “Have you decided what you’re going to make him do when you win?”

Nero grinned to himself. Her complete faith in him was always a balm to his competitive spirit. “That is the hardest part of this contest.* I need an idea that is suitably embarrassing while also not technically harmful. But I’m sure it will come to me. Now. Your news.”

And so Severia told him all about meeting Wuk Lamat and what the enthusiastic Hrothgar had come to Sharlayan for. “I’d never considered going to the New World before. I haven’t exactly said I would go yet, but I can’t deny I’m tempted.”

“Indeed. From what I’ve read the continent of Tural is quite vast and diverse. There was some talk at one point among the Legati about what kind of resources would be necessary to mount an invasion.”

“Seriously? Garlemald wanted to invade Tural?”

“The Emperor wanted the whole world under him thumb. Of course that included Tural. It was on the roadmap for the future, but it didn’t get any farther than that before you Eorzean savages started giving us too much trouble.”

Nero’s tone was facetious and Severia knew when he spoke that way his tongue was firmly in his cheek so she took no offense. Their former positions on opposite sides of a war was something they often teased each other about. “Yes, how dare they. If only they’d rolled over and taken it you might have ended up lost in the jungles of Tural one day getting hacked to pieces by Mamool Ja.”

Nero scoffed. “Don’t be ridiculous. It would largely have been an aerial assault. I certainly wouldn’t have been trudging along in the dirt.”

“No, I imagine you would have been mowing down the natives in the Ultima Weapon or such like.”

“Possibly, possibly,” Nero conceded. “So what’s this excursion to the Isle about?”

“We’re all going on a hunt.”

“Again, we?”

“Er, me, Wuk Lamat, Erenville, G’raha and Krile. Wuk Lamat wants to see if I live up to Erenville’s stories.”

“She doubts you?”

“I don’t exactly cut the most imposing figure, you must admit.”

“I must admit nothing. You’re all the more intimidating for your adorable size.”

“Well, you have the benefit of having watched me fight a Primal the very first time you saw me. Also you’re biased.”

“I am only biased in how much your incredible talents made me love you.”

Severia closed her eyes and pulled her blanket up to her chin, smiling in contentment. “I love you too.”

“So when will you return?”

“Tomorrow.” It had been some time since they had been apart from each other for more than a day and she had gotten used to the luxury of it. With a pang she considered how long they might be separated if she went to Tural. The sense of loss that rose up inside her nearly took her breath away. “I’ll be home as soon as I can get away.”

“I look forward to it, with all my heart. Goodnight, darling.”

“Goodnight, Nero.”

The following evening Severia walked through the front door of the cottage she shared with Nero in a thoughtful mood. She had all but made up her mind to go to Tural. The prospect filled her with both elation and a dread that she could not reconcile. She wanted to go. She wanted to see new lands, meet new peoples, learn new histories and make new discoveries. But she didn’t want to leave home. Home. A word that had once held no appeal to her had lately become so precious. 

Her ruminations were interrupted when Nero came tumbling down the stairs holding a large duffle bag in each hand. 

“Oh, welcome home, darling.” Without putting down either bag, he gave her a quick kiss and then went to the kitchen and started searching through drawers and cabinets. Every so often he found an item he wanted and carefully tucked it away in one of the duffle bags, which was now bulging with odd corners and bumps. 

Severia watched at a loss. “What are you doing?”

“Hmmmm? Packing.”

“How did you know?”

“How did I know that you were going to come home and tell me you’ve decided to go? Because I know you, love. It’s far too good an opportunity of doing all the things you like most to miss.”

“All right, fair. But you don’t have to pack for me.” Was he that eager to see her go? Was he looking forward to time uninterrupted for his work?

“I’m not,” said Nero, as he weighed two identical spatulas in his hands before picking one and packing it away. “This is all for me.”

“You?”

“Yes.”

“Where are you going?”

Nero gave her the strained look he had when she was being a little slow. “To Tural.”

Severia sucked in a breath of surprise. “You mean…”

“I’m coming with you,” Nero said as if it were painfully obvious. He pointed at her with the rejected spatula. “You don’t honestly expect me to sit around at home once again twiddling my thumbs and waiting for your return while you’re out there having the adventure of a lifetime?”

“I didn’t… I just… I mean, that’s how-”

“That’s how it’s always been,” Nero finished for her and his brow furrowed in irritation for a moment before he released a sigh and relaxed it once more. He set the spatula back down on the counter and went to her, taking her hands in his. “But it doesn’t have to continue that way. Severia, I want to be at your side, you know that.”

“But your work… This contest with Cid…”

“Do you really think those things matter more to me?” He tipped her chin up so he could look in her eyes. Tears were gathering there. He hadn’t meant to make her cry. “Besides, the audacity of you going off on your own to explore an entire continent that may indeed be rife with monumental discoveries none but I are qualified to obtain! No true man of science could allow that.”

Severia laughed and flung her arms around his waist. “I’m so glad. Oh Nero, I wanted to go so much but I didn’t want to be away from you. You’ll really come with me?”

“Naturally. I look forward to sitting on the sidelines sipping refreshing tropical drinks while you slay all the beasties.”

“Absolutely not. You’d better pack your hammer because I won’t save you when you inevitably do something reckless and unleash some kind of great evil on the land. I’ll save everyone else, but not you.”

Nero gave her his best sad puppy dog look. “You don’t mean that.”

“No, I don’t mean it. But adventuring isn't all fun and games, you know. You are going to pull your weight.”

“Whatever you say, my love. Now, when do we leave?” 

“Oh, not for weeks.”

“Hmmm. I’d better unpack the cast iron pans.” He released her and began rummaging again through the duffel bag. 

Severia watched in astonishment as he pulled out an absurd number of cooking implements. “You’re bringing cast iron pans? Are you insane?”

“What? They’re excellent for cooking over an open fire.”

“This is too much stuff, Nero. I prefer to travel light.”

“Can’t you just put it all in your pocket dimension?”*

“Do you think I’m some kind of beast of burden?”

“Don’t be foolish. You know perfectly well anything that goes into that bag of yours is no burden at all.”

“Ugh. Fine! You win. As usual.”

Nero grinned and, still on his knees, pulled her into him for a kiss. “You love me.”

Severia sighed in surrender. “I adore you.”

Notes:

Nero turned the Clockwork Novus D into a long range communication device for he and Severia to use that is more secure and reliable than a linkpearl.

Teleporting large distances too often causes fatigue. A headcanon of mine developed for the sake of narrative pacing.

Nero and Cid have regular contests to see who can solve a specific problem first or make the better device fitted to a client's need. At this point they are tied for victories 11 to 11.

Severia's travel gear includes a pack with a relatively stable pocket dimension inside. A headcanon of mine to account for inventory space and a reference to this post.

[kirbybecomesastarwarrior]

To Lady Celestine, from Magopon

Bonjour, I suppose? I don’t really think I know you yet so.. I was wondering, why not do an info exchange with each other I guess. Though I do know about you and Arthur. I do think it’s cute. So my barrage of questions starts now. First question, how did you get to know each other? Second, what is your favorite misadventure? Third, what do you like about Arthur, don’t think that I can’t see you two being lovey dovey. Well, I suppose I should keep my end. Things to know about me: I was the feared (yet cute) ogre of Kitakami. Next, uh let’s see, umm… Oh! I’m with Meta! And um, probably the easiest to provoke within my group I suppose. Well that’s all, I guess. Signing out, Magolor! -Magolor/Ogerpon

Such wonderful questions~

They don't deserve merely simple answers, how about a story instead

Truth be told my acts of vigilantism weren't for the fame or the glory... it was to atone what had happened to Shiver Star. Had I not told Absolum & Uther my vision...

Shiver Star wouldn't have had an... even worse fate than I had originally seen... Then I started to question everything... I had come to find out that all my visions of warning were ignored (by other Heroes of Yore & the Ancients) unless there was a benefit to them.

They didn't care about people who suffered from their acts, unlike them, I could see them... I could feel their pain too... I couldn't help but think that I had made everyone's life worse...

Until one day I just had enough.... I was done crying over my mistakes... I had to do something!

So the moment Triple Star was created I vowed I'd make up for all the damage I did with my visions. I'd "my future sight" to hunt down Nightmares monsters before they'd even had the chance to do any harm. I'd use my magic & alchemy to fix all the damage the GSA did to civilian planets.

(Basically, she did the same thing of what Edward did here but in secret)

But I will admit I did have my own little fun when I was out there as well...played a practical joke here or there swindled some swindlers... unleashed a hoard of flying pigs every time I played a prank but you get the idea.

My actions did go unnoticed... people could tell that someone in the night was fixing their homes & cities. Someone was taking out the monster even before Uther's soldiers (and Sir Uther didn't like that.) All they knew was a mysterious old mage wearing a blue cloak was helping them.

The people were starting to rely on me... I didn't want that to happen.

I wanted to stay anonymous but with how things were going to be difficult to hide myself for very long... there was another problem I was not long for the world

But that was around when I got Kirby's prediction.

There was a glimmer of hope left in the galaxy... Nightmare terror against the galaxy would end along with the Ancients & Uther's reign would end however there was a catch...

For those of you who haven't read (The Wart of Them All)

My visions were vague in nature but this one carried the most uncertainty.... I had no idea what wild goose chase this vision was leading me on... especially after I saw all my options...

I just needed to find the match; it didn't tell me how they fit into Kirby's prediction, nor what role they played in all this. But I did know this... I WAS NOT GOING TO MAKE THE SAME MISTAKE AGAIN AND TRUST ANYONE WITH MY KNOWLEDGE!

I needed to exhaust every avenue and be sure I was making the right choice... So I had to reveal myself to them as "Merlyn."

Actually, I didn't name myself Merlyn just yet... that'll have to come up in the next part.

To be continued~

Prev. ((The Wart of Them All) -

Next. ("The Start of Something Great")

@kirbyoctournament

Shoutout to @poyoofthestars Thank you so much for giving me such a great question it gives me all the power to lore dump!

I know what it looks like I did this on purpose: (For you those of you who aren't familiar with the Pokemon games: at the start of your journey you are given three choices as you're starter )

Basically, what Celestine was doing was choosing "the right starter Pokemon... to kick start Kirby's journey." But the main difference is that if she chooses the wrong one the galaxy is royally screwed! OUR GIRL WAS UNDER A LOT OF PRESSURE

Also, another fun lore dump Celestine never actually called herself Merlyn... it was actually Arthur who accidentally named her Merlyn.

Hope you guys enjoyed it see you in the next part.

[horizon-verizon]

I think there's a certain irony in the fact that Rhaenicent ended up being the reason why Alicent's character was ruined. In the first season, the writers changed her age, invented a sad backstory, and created a friendship with Rhaenyra, all to make her more of a sympathetic victim. I remember the Team Black never liked this because many of these changes were made at the expense of taking away moments from Rhaenyra or eliminating parts of her story, like her friendship with Laena or her entrance in the black dress, which originally belonged to her in the book.

When Team Black fans voiced their displeasure with these writing choices, warning that they would harm the plot, the Greens (mostly fans of Alicent and Aemond, characters who benefited a lot from these changes in the first season) told them to stop complaining, saying that the show was better for giving more depth to characters who didn’t have much in the book. They claimed that the TB was just angry because their favorites were becoming more likable. In the end, the TB was right. Those changes to Alicent’s character and her friendship with Rhaenyra ultimately harmed not only her character but all the Greens characters as well. Which, in my opinion, is pretty ironic.

Absolutely. People on TB, inclu myself, were not really, expressly concerned w/Alicent's characterization for her own sake I will admit that. At the same time, they/we preferred Alicent to act with the agency she displayed in the actual story and grew more and more disgusted with the disengenuous righteousness of portraying Rhaenyra as "spoiled" to Alicent's "dutifulness", which worked to be a disservice to both women. Their relationship and the dichotomy, even for the change for best friends turned enemies they created wasn't even given the proper development or "explanation" on the friendship side that it should have. You can also look at my earliest hastagged "alicent's characterization" posts where I and others complain & criticize Alicent's character of season 1 for more.

TG has often, for a few years, relied on the whole "complex character" bull crap, and I wrote a Twitter thread back in June abt why/how they use the word. Often enough, though, we call a character(s) "complex" bc they suffer to a degree or type excessively and/or for a sustained amount of time; that is because with suffering, people can tend to build up varied coping mechanisms & defenses that could lead them into self/outer(ly) destructive places. And these can drive a story forward, as the greens provide the central conflict of the Dance/succession crises by being the ones plotting/usurping Rhaenyra. The consequences of their reasoning affects their own relationships with each other as well as their supporters. The greens' shitck is that they are just wrong, both for the sexism and how they think their rulership means for the rest of the realm's lords.

But:

the greens are still pretty static with how the show is written; bc of their goal and how they grew up, they do not have a positive character development...it's more of a constant revealing action from their potential for violence

not all complex characters are credited as such in fandoms bc a lot, or the most vocal, of the audience thinks that character is too unlikeable to really explore or credit their motives as worthy of some grace so much as how it may affect them alone if it was in real life, as to create their own blindspots

a character like Daenerys Stormborn, who is pretty morally sound gets reduced to a future-mad-girl who killed poor slave masters, and her actual psychological journey gets misinterpreted--purposeful and not-so-much--and dismissed...this girl has one of the most complex characterizations in literature/media. Her feelings about leadership formed from her experiences and pondering over the relationship b/t a leader and those they lead, small concessions of the heart for intimacy or big ones for safety, how she thinks of her family's recent and longer history and legacy living through her, her emotional maturity overlapping with many signs of her temper and compassion, etc. Her campaign to kill the masters vs her desire to re-conquer Westeros bc of said relationship and the redefinitions of "duty" and love (love for her people and humanity, what is such a thing and how to realize that?). So "complex" doesn't always mean "morally questionable".

Don't get me wrong, I love me some toxicity or some sort of non-ordinary challenge/high stakes in my fiction. Most of my stuff are, and many provide me with catharsis when it is characters developing healthier ways of community, communication, romance, whatever. I also find catharsis when things don't work out so nice, like Claudia's fate in Interview with the Vampire--not bc I hated her, bc she's actually my favorite--bc the story validates the tragedy/horror/sadness's large significance, motivation, or presence in a human's experience under a safe environment (your couch, etc.), thus affirming a fuller sense of one's "humanity". While still thrilling. Claudia was doomed bc she was a child amongst adults who used her to force bonds between themselves and she was forced to become a monster herself to survive. And was punished for that. I love characters toeing the line between grotesque and safe--it's an adventure.

[the-cat-and-the-birdie]

I had coffee my thoughts are all over the place it's not gonna make sense and I'm probably gonna change my mind about some of the things I said later but here's my ramble.

I'm so mad right now. There's so many things that piss me off with Peter B. I keep thinking about all the mess he keeps pulling throughout the first and the second movie. The fact that he betrayed Miles not once but twice BUT THREE TIMES (typing Miles up in ITSV, not telling him about the Spider Society or that he was an anomaly, CALLING HQ ON HIM BECAUSE HE WANTED TO SAVE HIS FATHER. Technically that's 4 but moving on.)

He refuses to acknowledge Miles as a fellow spider(which is probably why he didn't feel bad about finding Miles was an anomaly now he has a reason to not take Miles seriously.) And he keeps trying to insert himself into a mentor role when he's yet to do a whole lot of mentoring. What also throws me here is how he had the audacity to say the trauma builds character while being a mentor to help guide Miles into becoming Spiderman so Miles' could avoid the mistakes that Peter made.

I WILL NEVER BE OVER THAT CHAIR SCENE IN ITSV. How is it you as a grown man. A grown white man no less took a black teenage boy who you viewed as so much of a liability that you had to tie him up. And I know multiple people have talked about everything that's wrong with this scene but there's still something so haunting about watching him just nonchalantly be tied up kicking and screaming about how he wants to be let go that bothers me so much. And I find it hard to believe that this was just a scene we're supposed to just move on from. Did they do this on purpose? Was this supposed to showcase something about Peter's character that I'm not picking up on? Because I find it so hard to believe that the writers who made sure to explicitly show how Gwen's Peter is Christian because he later turns into a lizard wouldn't understand the implications of this scene.

I also don't think he's a strategic as he thinks he is. What do you think was going to happen when you forcefully tied this boy to a chair? You thought he was going to sit still? Also would you think the boy who's trying to save his father was going to do? Actually listen to your words? Sit back and be like, oh you're right I should just let my father die. (This is me going off my reasoning that he didn't plan out that one scene in ATSV. I think that he thought that because he's Miles' "mentor" he could get through to him in a way others can't. Which pretentious much?) His actions do more harm than good and it just works out for him somehow. (For instance Miles saving them in ITSV because he came late.)

These are my thoughts do with this what you will. All the stars decided to align today ig because I haven't been able to come up with coherent thoughts like this in a minute.

(I really need to rewatch itsv. So if there's anything here that I'm wrong about regarding itsv it's been like 5 years since I've seen it.)

I GET THISS SOOO HARD (I waited until I had coffee to answer this lol)

BUT YESSSSS Because like I can understanding giving Peter the benefit of the doubt, it makes plausible sense for a movie to have a certain amount of wiggle room plot wise.

But with writers who clearly understood punk enough to accurately show it in Hobie's arc, repeatedly put in the work to respect Cockney and Puerto Rican culture, who wrote every one of Hobie's lines with PERCISION - would just overlook the glaring hole in their story that is Peter.

Because we as a viewer are continually told we SHOULD look up to him and we SHOULD trust him - but in doing so they accidentally make him the exact opposite. Like.. It doesn't make sense to me.

The Focus on Jess & The Absence of Peter:

aka GODDAMN I hate Peter B. Parker [yet another rant about 'bad' writing, plotholes, and Peter not showing up for Miles or Gwen.

For example,

Jess is Gwen's mentor, and we see her mentor style is extremely different from Peter's and that's suppose to be a contrasting dynamic between them and the relationship between Miles and Peter. Okay, makes sense.

But by NOT having Peter be Gwen's mentor, the writers are implying that he didn't step up as an emotional mentor when all this given - HE SHOULD. Because he's the only adult that she knows, and she a freshly homeless teen who needs to be around people she trusts, rather than working at a society with an auditorium of adults.

But by trying to show off how much we should judge Jess, the writers have inadvertently given us a Peter who just..didn't take responsibility. That's what they're implying - that Hobie and Jess were the ones who came to get aid. And we're suppose to look the other way. I... can't do that, sir.

"Look at how mean Jess is, why not blame her-" Jess is doing her job. Where's the adult she actually knows and trusts. Can we get some dialogue about what he did for her? Or did he just do nothing?

Did they just forget to include that, or did Peter just forget to help?

For me, that's two points in the bucket. Not housing Gwen, and not being her mentor. He could've done one, the other or both.

But because he didn't, we're left asking "What WAS he doing in the Society?"

Missions, I assume. Cause he wasn't mentoring her, so he must have been off putting in legit work for Miguel, I assume.

If we're looking at the characters as full-rounded - which I would hope they are considering the depth of Gwen, Miles and Hobie, it's not a large jump to ask 'How involved was Peter in Gwen's time at the Society? Why is he not her mentor, or why is she not living with him?"

Gwen..should be staying with him. If you're an adult who knows a teen and they become homeless, and it is within your means - yeah, I do think it's a moral obligation to open your home to them, at least temporarily. If you care about them. But that aside, let's extend the benefit of the doubt. Maybe Gwen didn't want to see him.

But then the ratting Miles out thing. This, I can't get around-

Some may say that it was simply for plot development and that Lyla spoke suddenly as a mistake on her part.

And I gotta call bullshit.

Firstly, because this is the same movie where we're shown Hobie stealing parts prior to learning what the parts are for. The same film that literally animated a fight accurately to Bushwick down to the very street. Let's cut it some slack here.

And moreso - I could understand the justification that it was a mistake on Lyla's part.

If Lyla was human. She's not.

She's an AI, and a very sophisticated one at that. Lyla runs on protocol, because that's AI's do. She's made to do things the way that is mathematically most effective, based on her analysis and her code.

It's easy to see Lyla as just an avatar, and a comedic one at that - but Lyla is literally one of - if not the - smartest 'person' in the multiverse. She's the only one who can track Spot in real time. If Jess and Miguel need aid on a mission or with Spot, they call Lyla. And she's handled every Society mission prior to the chase.

Her speaking out of turn suddenly and giving Peter away is an understandable plot mistake, if she was subjected to human mistakes.

So far, Lyla isn't. It doesn't make sense, based on what Lyla is.

I think Lyla would know better than to give Peter away suddenly by detecting Miles' presence and still speaking out loud.

A lot ask 'What motive does Peter have for ratting Miles out?', but we also should also ask "What motive does Lyla have for ratting herself out?'

It's her goal to find Miles no matter what. She doesn't care, she kinda can't - she's an AI. She just has to find him and send Miles' location to Miguel. Her objective.

So her locating Peter without his knowledge and then giving herself away to him doesn't make sense - especially if Lyla knew Miles was that close, from a human standpoint and definitely from the standpoint of the most sophisticated AI in existence.

So I was under the assumption that - like you mentioned now, that before when he gets Miles alone, he may genuinely be trying to convince him still, but by the time they get into that space, I think that's around the time that it becomes a 'Okay, let's just get Miles back to HQ and talk about this' situation.

He genuinely ratted Miles out. In my eyes.

Because at this point, Miguel hasn't assaulted Miles. That comes later. So realistically speaking, his goal was probably to calm Miles down, and get him back to HQ however he could, and talk to him there.

Peter could've helped WAYYYY earlier.

People give Peter credit like 'Oh but he came over to Miles' side at the end-'

NO. YOU DO NOT GET A COOKIE.

Peter could've helped SO much earlier, and if anything, he was THE ONLY ONE in a position of helping.

Gwen can't do anything, like they physically restrain her when she tries to. And there's no point after they come to HQ that Gwen has the chance to turn around and help Peter.

Gwen doesn't get that chance. Peter DOES.

Had Peter helped Miles HERE, IMMEDIATELY, Miles would've gotten away without being assaulted by Peter.

If Peter had turned around and changed course in this moment, Miles would have been better off.

Fuck Peter B. Fuckkkkk hiiiimmmmm. NAWWWWWW

If Peter had let him go here, or helped him escape - Miles wouldn't have been taking hits up on that train. That's crazzzy.

But he wasn't trying to help Miles escape. If he wanted to, he would've. He could've just said "Matter of fact Miles, I think setting the WHOLE Society on you is a bizarre move and you should probably get out of here until Miguel can calm down and I can talk to him."

But he was like 'Nah, hold my baby. Matter of fact lemme tell you story in this pivotal moment when you're actively in danger. Here, look at me. What do you mean - I'm not stalling? I didn't rat him out on purpose.

Like either you did. And even if you didn't you didn't help him when you were literally the only person in the universe who could. In fact, he got away slower because of you. Lovely.

Peter is a grown man. He's not an idiot.

He knows Miles is in active danger. Why would an adult turn the conversation in that direction - about his baby - KNOWING Miles has no time.

As soon as Miles got his hands on MayDay, Peter is trying to change the conversation. Suddenly he's joking and laughing.

Even though Miles is freaking out. Why is Peter joking? He knows this isn't a joking situation. But here he is wasting Miles time, either accidentally or intentionally.

Because that'd be some good ass stalling.

There was nothing stopping Peter from helping him leave. But Peter was still on The Society's side, so he didn't. If he was on Miles' side, he would've helped him. He should've, but he was still for Miguel, because at this point Miguel hadn't assaulted Peter yet.

Congrats, Peter. Big L. Humbling Reality Spider-man everyone.

Like combine all this. AND THEN THE SCENE IN ITSV.

LITERALLY AND PHYSICALLY PETER IS ALWAYS HOLDING MILES BACK.

You cannot expect me to believe that the writers of a movie I can write 10k+ words about, just so happened to leave these two glaring plot holes for ONE character.

That I'm just suppose to ignore that Peter restrained Miles, a black boy, in ITSV. That he betrayed Miles for months, wasn't very active in Gwen's time at the Society, and he actively hinders Miles escape - if not actively ratting him out.

It baffles my mind.

It doesn't make sense, that these writers can write Hobie, Jessica, Miguel, Officer Stacy, Rio, and Jeff as fully rounded, well-thought characters. But for some reason, when it comes SPECIFICALLY to Peter B. - they just forget how to write. They just stop thinking about him the second they don't look at him.

IN BOTH MOVIES?

I don't buy it.

To have every other character be thoroughly thought through but have one of, if not these most iconic character full of plot holes...

I think the likely answer is they wrote him that way on purpose and he's just a bad person.

I'm sorry, and I'm laughing while writing this but like.

Either Peter is the ONE singular character who has a series of emotional plotholes - or he's just a bad mentor. It's one or the other. And it's open to interpretation.

But I wanna cut the writers some slack and say, No - they thought it through. And No, Lyla did not just randomly speak out of turn, he contacted her first off-screen before she replied to him.

And by waiting till the very end to come around, waiting until the person who looks up to you is deeply wounded to finally turn around - that's the same arc Officer Stacy goes through.

And we're not supposed to clap for him. It's lovely, but he doesn't get an award. And neither does Peter, not at all.

Maybe if had helped Miles escape in that moment. Maybe if he was Gwen's mentor or he housed her.

But as far as we know he spent those months of Gwen in the Society doing fuck all. We've seen no sign of his contribution anywhere.

And in a story about mentorship, that says something.

Anyway. This is long. Again fiosfgihrgirturetuier I'm SORRY

Once again, Fuck Peter B. All my Hobies hate Peter B. (not a typo)

He's worse than Jess.

And he's not worse than Miguel but I like Miguel more and it's not because of the ass that's just a bonus Miguel is cool (but also very wrong. but like personality wise we're cool).

Ummm I feel like I got off track here. Oh well!!

Damn he be doing Miles dirty. SMH

Bye.

[taraljc]

Hey folks, if you can help signal boost (or either, find people who have the means to help) Callisto is in dire need of donations to keep their doors open.

From Maureen Ryan's blog:

Countless times, when people in the entertainment industry needed help, I’ve answered the call. 

I’ve done things behind the scenes and helped however I could more times than I can count. I’ve listened to folks’ stories and told them they weren’t wrong to feel the way they did after they experienced terrible things. For decades, as a critic and reporter, I’ve highlighted not just what I love about what Hollywood makes, but what can be harmful about the way its stories get told and who gets to tell them. 

And of course, I’ve repeatedly answered a very urgent call by writing many, many tough stories about unfairness, exclusion, misconduct and abuse. Then I wrote a whole book about all those things and how to further the process of fixing them. 

Now, for the first time, I’m asking for your help. I’m sending up the Batsignal.

Not for me, but for an organization that really, really needs help — major help, and fast. 

I know it’s the worst time for an ask. A lot of people I know are tapped out, mentally, physically, spiritually and financially. Half my timelines are mutual aid requests and people doing fundraising for themselves, for their communities and for politicians that may help us (narrowly) avoid a Fascist takeover in a few weeks. 

Knowing all that, I’m asking anyway. That’s the kind of urgency the situation demands. 

I’ll outline the request right here at the top, and then explain why I think Callisto deserves help. 

Callisto, a nonprofit devoted to empowering assault survivors and finding serial perpetrators, may close its doors within days if it does not get major funding. If you know of organizations, foundations or individuals that could write big checks very soon, please pass this on or connect them to the Callisto team as soon as possible (development@projectcallisto.org)

Many good things came from the publication of Burn It Down, and one of the best unexpected benefits was getting to know Callisto’s work better. 

In Burn It Down, I mentioned Callisto as a worthy example of how an organization can not only help survivors but also take on a problem that has become, in terms of my Hollywood reporting, my white whale: The repeat offender. 

In most spheres of life, a small number of people commit most abuses (9 out of 10 assaults are committed by serial offenders). It would be transformational to focus more consistently on those people, and that’s a large part of what Callisto does. Callisto was founded in 2011 and at this point, accounts have been created at more than 300 colleges and universities in 46 states. 

Through Callisto, survivors can document their assault, find out of their assailant has hurt others, and even potentially find a way of holding that person accountable. 

Callisto does not report anyone to an HR department, to law enforcement, or to a Title IX office on campus. What it does do is allow a survivor to use Callisto’s confidential online portal to document what happened to them, put information about their assailant into the secure system, and find out whether others have reported that person.  

If there is a match, those survivors then get the assistance of a Legal Options Counselor, who helps people figure out the next steps that are right for them. That might involve going to the press, legal action or criminal charges, a restorative justice process, or simply being in community with others who’d understand what they’ve been through. As a survivor, I know that connecting with others who’ve been through experiences like mine can be transformational.

Here’s the mind * blown part: I learned recently that Callisto is not just a college tool anymore. It’s available right now, to 21 million people in the US and its territories. Those who use it do not have to be on campus or in a scholastic environment. Anyone who still has access to their college email account, even if they’ve left school or graduated, can use Callisto. 

Folks on the lowest rungs of any profession — especially in creative industries, where power diffentials are massive and abuse of power is still too often regarded as “creativity” or “passion” — are most likely to need something like Callisto. And those are the people the most likely to still have access to their college email account (if they ever had one, and of course, that's not true of everyone). But like I said, anyone at any stage in their career with a .edu address can use it.

These days, in Hollywood, there are more resources for those who’ve been abused or assaulted than there used to be. That’s a good thing. There can’t be too many attempts to level that very skewed playing field, in my opinion. If people in Hollywood use Callisto — and if it’s able to expand its services beyond the 21 million with access to it now — what a miracle that would be. I think what it does is revolutionary, and, without question, helpful to survivors. 

If nothing else, if Callisto ends up being one of the tools that reduces Hollywood’s reliance on the old “move the abusive priest from parish to parish” dynamic*, the chances of more people working more of the time in respectful, appropriate and enjoyable environments would increase greatly. I really believe that.

(*Not Fun Fact: If I had a dollar for every time a Hollywood worker had used that analogy in a conversation with me, I could fund Callisto for a year all by myself.)

Callisto hands some autonomy back to survivors and sometimes connects them to each other. I've witnessed and facilitated those kinds of dynamics as a journalist, and being part of those moments – movements, really – can be awe-inspiring. But as I've noted many times, in the main, those stories are grindingly hard to do, and the answer to the massive problems surrounding grave misconduct, abuse and assault in our society can't be "some terrified sources and a dwindling number of reporters burn out their brains and souls in order to hold a small number of abusers and enablers to account, possibly temporarily, if at all." There have to be sturdy, reliable systems that truly help. The need for those kinds of systems and resources is as acute as ever.

Callisto could continue to help survivors in all kinds of places — but only if it continues to exist. So I’ll repeat the call: If you know of any person, organization or foundation that might be able to help Callisto, please send them what I’ve written here, or this post from the Callisto leadership team. If you can’t donate or you don’t know any deep-pocketed types, you could share this call or the Callisto post on your social media, if you care to. 

For free, Callisto has assisted and empowered survivors — and taken on the issue of serial perpetrators — for more than a decade. Heroes aren’t always where you expect them to be, and I didn’t even know this organization existed until I was doing research for my book. 

Having trawled the sewers of Gotham for a long time, I can absolutely say that what Callisto does is heroic. 

I hope that together, this time we can all save the day.