#I am sold now

[tawus]

HE'S SO FUCKING CUTE I CANT

[makerandbean]

this thing is getting. unwieldy. the pattern outright warns you about how heavy this thing gets if you do it beaded (it’s got something absurd like 5,000 beads on it including those beaded tassels) but i. did not fully appreciate how much 5,000 beads weigh.

[author-morgan]

Title: Rise by the Birdsong Pairing: Daemon Targaryen x fem!Reader Rating: M Summary: In which you soothe Daemon's wounded ego and pride after he loses in a tournament. Warnings: Typically Westerosi shenanigans.

HE SUMMONS YOU to his chambers in the hours after the tourney and feast —the taste of defeat still bitter on his tongue. Hubris cost him the victory. He had the Merryweather boy cornered. It should have been easy, yet he was forced to yield the champion's title and purse. Daemon Targaryen drapes his arms over the side of the tub and thinks of who he would have named as the Queen of Love and Beauty had he won. Certainly not Rhea Royce —the old bronze bitch. He’s more apt to name one of the sheep before her. The thought fades when the doors creak open, his guards letting you pass into the prince’s chambers.

Steam fills the room, as does the scent of Myrish oils. Your skin prickles with heat for reasons that have nothing to do with the warmth of the air when your eyes settle on Daemon at the center of the room. You wondered where he’d gone so quickly after the feast. His eyes flash open as your footfalls echo on the stone floor until you stop beside the tub and kneel. “My prince,” you greet. He’s always liked how you say his title, sweet and taunting, nigh like a songbird. Glancing away from his face, your gaze follows the line of his arm and the planes of his chest. He’s all lean and lithe muscle, sculpted from years of training and battle —the most seasoned warrior in all of the Seven Kingdoms.

Daemon takes your hand, reclaiming your attention. His fingers curl around yours, then he shifts and leans toward you, head dipping down to press a soft kiss to your knuckles —a knightly and unexpected gesture. He lets your hand go and settles back in the tub, and the look of an arrogant prince reclaims his expression. “Take off your dress,” Daemon demands, flicking the surface of the water. Ever the dutiful lady, you rise and reach for the ties of your nightdress —shedding the pale linen, baring yourself to Prince Daemon Targaryen.

He's been soaking for nigh half-an-hour, and the water is still warm —fire cannot harm a dragon, he told you once whilst he held his hand above a candle, toying with the flame. You sink into the water and find the space he’s made next to him, head half-resting on his shoulder. Daemon drapes his arm around your shoulders, and wordlessly, you begin tracing mindless patterns on his chest. “You fought well today,” you tell him after a while, thinking of how handsome he looked in his dark steel suit emblazoned with the sigil of House Targaryen and decorated with rubies.  

“I lost,” he reminds you, no lack of bitterness in his voice. He’d find a way to best the Merryweather boy, somehow.  

You reach for his hand, and he lets you take it, curious brows raised. “Yet they all speak of how commendable your effort and skills are” —your fingers find the scars on his knuckles, the calloused pads of his fingertips. “Reputation is its own victory,” you tell him, placing a kiss to the center of his palm before he retracts his hand. 

Daemon looks down at you. “Trying to mend my broken heart?”

You trace a curving line over his breast and up his neck, caressing his smooth and sharp jaw. “It’s I who am heartbroken, Daemon,” you say, smiling. He cuts his eyes at you, something dangerous lurking in his stare. “You told me you’d gift me a crown of roses upon your victory, and here I am, crownless.”

His lips quirk upward. “Dare speak to your prince with such impertinence?” His touch against your cheek is gentle, but you can still hear the slightest hint of a laugh in his voice. It’s the look in his cool eyes that speak of danger, though —he’s always been as wild and unpredictable as his dragon. You hold your breath as you look at him, expecting his kiss when he careens forward in the water, and when he leans in to meet your mouth, you’re struck by how desperate it feels in comparison to all the other times.

You’re impatient for more —always more— feeling his smile growing as he kisses you again, and you’re happy to give the Rogue Prince whatever he wishes. He always brings out your worse impulses. Sighing against his mouth, his tongue brushes against yours. He tastes like the spices from dinner, warm and enticing, and there’s still a hint of sweet wine lingering on his lips. Not even a maiden could refuse Daemon Targaryen after a single kiss like this —you hadn’t been able to either, but now all that is in the past. His fingers run along your neck, tilting your head to deepen the kiss, and the little moan you make is music.

“Who else would keep you on your toes if not I?” You question, breathless. Daemon hums his agreement against your neck, lips trailing further down your pulse.

He pulls you close against him until you’re nearly in his lap —his cock twitches against your leg, but he brushes you off when you try to reach for him. He’d not summoned you tonight for a quick fuck. Daemon’s hands trace along your ribs to cup your breasts and feel your nipples stiffen in his palm, and his slight hum of approval makes your thighs squeeze together instinctively. Tonight, he’s more interested in having his hands on you instead —reparations for his failure to give you a rose crown.

“Open your legs,” he orders, a hot whisper at your ear, and you do so without a second thought. His hand slips between them, teasing briefly over your inner thighs before he’s touching you. Your voice is a breathy whimper as you feel him stroke slowly over the folds of your cunt and up to circle your clit. He doesn’t enter you yet, not until he can get his fill of watching you squirm and shudder from such simple attention. “What would Lord Mooton say if he could see precious his daughter like this?” Daemon relents to your soft pleas and slips two fingers into you. You shudder against him as he works in and out of you, breath catching. Your father is the last thing you want to think of with Daemon’s fingers buried in your cunt. “You like this?” He asks, well aware of how quickly he has you rutting into his hand for more stimulation.

“Yes, Daemon,” you insist, wrapping your fingers around the back of his neck to draw his lips down to yours. His thumb rolls across your clit, and your head falls back.

His kiss is less fierce this time, deep and slow until your lungs ache. You can sense his mood improving as he fucks you with his hand, relishing all the little noises you make for him. “You’re mine, little dove,” he breathes in your ear, and you can’t disagree when your cunt is already squeezing so tight around him. He brushes over your clit again, and you lean your head forward to his shoulder this time. “I won’t let you wed another.” You know he speaks true.

You whimper when he nibbles at your earlobe. Cautiously, you move to touch him and slowly trace down his stomach and past his navel, earning you the smallest laugh of amusement from him. Permission enough to touch him. You take his hard cock in your hand, and he lets out a pleased sigh as you begin to stroke him. Watching him is mesmerizing, his movements as graceful as ever even as he rocks his hips into your touch, though his own rhythm between your thighs stutters momentarily with distraction. “Yours,” you agree between long kisses. The Seven and the Old Gods be damned, you’d made your bed among the dragons and intended to lay in it.

Both of you stay like that for a while, enjoying the feel of your bodies as you work to get each other off. He’s better at it than you are —this Lord of Flea Bottom— and it doesn’t take long to have you panting hard with every brush of his fingers inside you. He can tell you’re close from the way you’re clenching around his fingers, his tongue muffling greedy moans.

“Let me see you,” he says, and you’re powerless to deny him when you lift your head from his shoulder. His thumb brushes over your clit harder, and the tension in your body snaps, your arms wrapping around his back and holding him to you in a desperate need to ground yourself as you come on his fingers. Daemon’s fingers keep moving inside you, teasing you through your orgasm until you’re a dazed mess for him. You give yourself several long moments to recover, breathing in the perfumed steam of the bath to slow your frantic heartbeat. He withdraws his hand from between your legs, and you can’t hide your disappointment at the newly empty feeling inside you.

Daemon rises from the water —his cock hard and straining against his belly— and offers his hand to help you out of the tub, leading you over to his bed. You lay back as he wishes, and he parts your thighs again, rubbing along the wetness he finds there and lifts his fingers to his lips to taste you. The noise Daemon makes is a promise of next time, but you’re given no time to dwell on the thought when he crawls over you and settles between your legs, the head of his cock just pressing into your cunt —unexpected, he usually takes you like a bitch in heat.

Your hips rut up towards his impatiently, and a moment later, he’s inside you. He hisses sharply but can’t stop the roll of his hips, pushing his cock deeper into you. It’s a newfound boldness you do not wish to relinquish. “Behave,” Daemon scolds, but there’s none of the usual annoyance or ire in his voice. His mouth eager on yours as he guides your arms up to pin your wrists above your head. “Stay still.” You do. Relaxing into the down blankets and pillows while he laves your neck and breasts with affection.

His thumb brushes over your nipple, and he hears how you stutter out his name, and it only spurs his need to have you like this. “What a good little dove you are.” Daemon smirks, and you have to look away, almost ashamed of how red your face turns at his praises, but you squirm beneath him as he strokes along a sensitive spot inside of you.

You feel his lips ghosting over your closed eyelids, and you peek one open to watch him. There’s the faintest flush across his face as he stares down at you with such raw hunger it feels like you’re going to burn up from the heat of your bodies —like Caraxes has bathed you both in flames. You want to touch him, to run your fingers through his silver hair and down the toned muscles of his shoulders and back. You flex them impatiently but keep your hands obediently where he’d placed them.

He pinches a nipple between his fingers, and you jolt, letting out a shaky moan that has his cock throbbing inside you, and it rips a harsh groan from his lips. You reach for him without thinking, dragging your nails across his scalp before he takes your wrists and presses them harder into the bed. You wriggle under him and only earn a quick nip to your earlobe. “Told you to behave,” he reminds you sternly, but his scolding only makes you clench around him tighter. Daemon curses and his next kiss is hot and demanding, and you part your lips for his tongue without a moment’s hesitation.

“Please, Daemon,” you whimper, and he knows what it is you want and gives a small nod of agreement. You reach for him again, going for his silver locks to bring him back down into another kiss. You hold tight to him when he tries to separate, keeping his chest flush against yours, whispering and whimpering his name like sacred prayers as he presses himself deeper into you —his pelvis grinding against your clit.

He thrusts into you harder while stroking your clit, and you unravel for him, tension running through you like dragonfire until you’re unable to do anything more than shudder beneath him. “Daemon,” you whimper, muscles twitching uselessly as he teases you through it. You’re too focused on your blood pounding in your ears to fully appreciate his reaction to you, his breaths ragged, and pupils blown wide with his own arousal at how you spasm around his aching cock. It’s a sight you’re not like to see again —you very well may never see your prince like this again.

You try to wrap yourself around his waist and pull him further into you —wanting to help him find his release— but instead, your legs are pressed firmly into the bed. “No,” he says through rough kisses, the last one nipping sharply at your bottom lip. He groans, feeling his cock twitch in anticipation of release. 

Daemon pulls out of your cunt and leaves you empty. You almost complain, but he shushes you by dragging your hand down to his cock —slick and throbbing from all your efforts— and you follow his lead without instruction. His fingers are warm around yours as he guides you. He looks tragically beautiful when he comes, his head tilted back and mouth slightly open in a sharp gasp at the shiver running through his body. His cock twitches in your grasp, coating your hand and stomach in his sticky seed —he won’t risk a bastard child.

He moves to lay beside you, more relaxed than he’s been in a fortnight. You roll onto your side and look him over. This is far from your first time entertaining the prince in his bed —even being of noble blood, you know how this works. All the Seven Kingdoms know you are his mistress, even true love perhaps, but he is already sworn to another, and you must act as though the whispers and rumors are lies. It always hurts when you must leave, but you’d been foolish enough to cast your heart to the son of the dragon, and now you must suffer the price. “Do you require anything else, my prince?” You query.

Daemon turns his head to look at you, flushed and glowing. “Mmm” —he reaches for you, fingers trailing along your cheek and back into your hair— “stay.” The request surprises you, but you’ll indulge him and your own heart. A comfortable silence lingers until Daemon shifts, gathering you up in his arms to lay you down on the bed properly and offers a rag to clean yourself with as he does the same. When he returns to your side, Daemon rests his head on your breast and lets you hold him, humming sweetly as the songbirds, to an age-old lullaby. We'll sleep when the morning comes, and we'll rise by the sound of the birdsongs. And the morning will come too soon.

[ taglist: @mrsragnarlodbrok @erzsebetrosztoczy @certifiedlittleshit ] if your name is italicized, tumblr would not let me tag you. if you’d like to be added to my Game of Thrones/House of the Dragon taglist, just let me know with this Google Form!

[buggachat]

I am now the proud owner of Adrien Agreste. I have Purchased him

[syncopatedid]

Since the anime's airing, I've also been catching up on the manga of The Apothecary Diaries and I am absolutely smitten with these two. Smitten, I tell you! A low-key simp + high-key romantically-blasé protagonist is the kind of dynamic that will mean we get the whole nine yards of slow-burn development from "antagonists" -> friends -> confidants -> something more? Maomao certainly isn't oblivious to Jinshi's beauty nor his attempts at cringe teasing/flirting with her, even though she has a natural immunity against his shenanigans and remains ever cautious about the whims of people within the palace.

Maomao is also an inspiration as a strong female character who manages to navigate a world that is not kind to people of her class and gender. While it does feel like the story skims through a lot of unspeakable things Maomao had witnessed growing up, to me, it does serve to perfectly emphasize Maomao's "detached" character and her perspective of the world. She is a reluctant protagonist in this story, just trying to survive the best she can given her circumstances. And while she's certainly more educated and street smart compared to other girls in her situation, she's also realistic about her place in the world and knows her own powerlessness, merely finding her own way to co-exist with it and minding her own business (the girl just wants to be left alone with her rare poisons man). Being thrust into palace politics and catching the whims of one Jinshi, however, means inevitably putting herself in dangerous situations. Yet she's also really lucky and very loved and protected by those around her, including those who are in power to effect change, and that is the ultimate power that our Best Girl Maomao wields like a Mary Sue, but a well-written one. Still, her barriers are way up high when it comes to her feelings, and it will take a lot for her walls to come down. It's been 65 chapters into the manga, but the relationship goal post between her and Jinshi feels as if it's moved one step forward and two steps back (*throttles Jinshi with a stale baugette*), but you genuinely do want to root for these two to be more than servant and lord, romantic or otherwise, because their circumstances are a lot more similiar than they are different, as are their complicated feelings about each other. There's also something to be said about this gremlin of a girl who is so desensitized to the world of lust and romance but you know she absolutely owns a PhD in kink studies thanks to her sisters' upbringing. If Jinshi ever learns the extent of her knowledge I think Jinshi.exe will shut down for good and I just want to follow this series and be there for that eventual punchline.

[becauseimanicequeen]

So, Joe sold his soul to the devil for a year. But, on his own terms.

Good for him. Good for us.

[spoondoodles]

I blacked out and more Logince HS AU appeared on my canvas idk what happened (also ty @oatmeal-stans-the-trash-rat for some inspiration sorry it took so long to make a post about Them <3)

[queenlucythevaliant]

Do you ever get so overwhelmed by all the books that you want to read that you're convinced that one life could never, ever be enough?

[slavicafire]

I know everything to be said about idris elba in the wire has been already said. multiple times. by everyone and their aunt. but. but

[absoloutenonsense]

Coming soon…

'cause I want you (for the worse and for the better) by nonsensedarling

When Louis gets invited along to Anne's wedding, Harry is prepared to let people think whatever they want about their relationship. That's what Louis said -- let people think whatever they want. That all changes when Louis sees his ex, who turns out to be Anne's future husband's son. Now, Louis wants to prove that he's an omega that an alpha could want, and Harry wants to get through this weekend without letting his best friend figure out he's in love with him.

Written for the @1daboficfest -- posted here! Moodboard by @dearlou

Read a snippet below the cut!

They walk into the restaurant at 7:02pm, and are promptly guided down a set of stairs into the lower-level party room. 

From the doorway, Harry can see his mom and future stepdad, talking to a couple of younger guys – a dark-haired alpha and a blonde omega from the looks of it. They all laugh and his mom goes in to give one of them a hug while John clasps the other on the shoulder. That must be John’s son and the boyfriend Harry’s heard them talk about. 

Harry takes a deep breath, smoothes out his shirt, and reaches for Louis’ hand, ready to walk in and muscle his way through this weekend.

But Louis doesn’t take his hand. Instead, he grabs onto Harry’s wrist and yanks him in the opposite direction. 

“What?” Harry asks, stumbling a bit as he’s pulled. 

Louis doesn’t say anything, just gets to the restroom area and shoves Harry inside one of the single-room bathroom. 

“Ouch,” Harry says, shaking out his wrist. He watches Louis lock the door and whip around with wild eyes and frown lines etched into his face. “Louis, what the fuck? We’re already lat–”

“Will is here,” he says. 

Harry furrows his brows, unsure what that is supposed to mean. “Will…?”

“Will,” Louis says frustratedly. He looks to the door as he adds, “Will. My ex-boyfriend, Will. Will, who broke up with me after three months because he thought I was too loud and too clingy and too much.” He turns back around to Harry to emphasize, “Will!” 

Harry gasps. Ex-boyfriend Will, who refused to meet Harry because he didn’t like that Louis had an alpha best friend. “Dickhead Will?” 

“Dickhead Will,” Louis agrees. “Fuck. Fuck.” He reaches up and grabs fistfuls of his hair. 

What are the odds that Louis’ ex-boyfriend from Oakland is here in Sacramento now, working at the one restaurant where his mom’s rehearsal dinner is?

“Hey, it’s okay.” Harry steps close, and tries to pull Louis’ hands down from his hair, but they don’t budge. “We can ignore him, yeah? It’s just toni–”

“He was hugging your mom,” Louis interrupts. 

Harry is confused. He shakes his head immediately, ready to say that no, that was his future stepdad’s son – when it clicks.

“William,” Harry says.

“Yes,” Louis says, annoyed, finally pulling his hands down from his hair. “Will is often short for William. Very good, Harold.”

“No. John’s son is named William,” he explains. “He’s John’s best man. They’ve been talking about William and Dimitri – his boyfriend.”

Louis pales. “Jesus Christ.”

“Okay, it’s okay,” Harry says, looking around the room like the sink or toilet will tell him how to handle this. “We’ll just… avoid them.”

The look Louis gives him is unimpressed to say the least. “Avoid them?” he asks, voice filled with mirth. “You –also in the wedding and the co-person of honor with your sister– want to try and avoid another person in the wedding party?”

Harry inhales, his shoulders slowly rising up to his ears as he closes his eyes. “I don’t know, Louis, I’m trying to think of what will make this easier on you. I’m not sure how affectionate they are, but I don’t want you having to see it the whole weekend.”

Harry opens his eyes when he feels hand digging into his shoulders. Louis gives him a little shake, eyes still wild but frown lines mostly unetched. 

“That’s it!” he exclaims.

“What’s it?”

“Affection!”

Humming uncertainly, Harry says, “Affection?”

Louis shakes him again. “Yes.” He looks over Harry’s shoulder as he continues. “That bastard called me clingy, and basically told me an alpha wouldn’t be able to put up with it.” He locks eyes with Harry again. “I can show him I did find an alpha who not only puts up with it, but loves it.”

[jorvikzelda]

Horses and girls, SSOBlrites and SSOBlrinas: the again-new and re-improved Zelda Bowsmith <3 (and her darling horsie Noblestep, of course)

[b4kuch1n]

you’re created with hands circling your wrists. there’s never any offense meant, you must understand - it’s simply that you’re a story, and someone’s come by this desperate need to learn how to let the hell go.

[quaranmine]

always a fun time at work when i have an excuse to engage in my favorite environmental topic (while i was out of the office i missed a presentation on wildfires so now i am watching the recording)

[yardsards]

when characters have poofy messy but otherwise straight hair, i like to headcanon that their hair is actually naturally wavy/curly and they just don't know how to/don't care to take proper care of it. bc irl that is often the case (speaking from personal experience)

[yorshie]

reading this post made me realize I needed some maskless Donnie in my life

[cardboard-queen]

Trans Achievement

A Friend : )