#did this for shits and giggles

[idontgetanysleep]

501st user banners

212th, wolffe pack, and bad batch uploaded as well!

tried to include as many clone as i could, make sure to check out the others i uploaded as well since i did them in separate posts.

also surprise clone included in my bad batch upload ;) make sure to check it out

like and reblog to save a graphic designer’s life <3

[williamofpumpkinspicefrabrezz]

Walltamatone

[brainrotcharacters]

makes me giggle to think of X2 Logan meeting dp&w Logan when this is a thing

[violent138]

I feel like the Robins probably watched horror movies to really up their game, taking notes on the gestures and body language that would creep you out. "Criminals are a superstitious lot", so yeah the guy in full body armour that could beat you up would suck, but a small child, somewhere in the dark, with an echoing laugh all around you as you fire off a hail of bullets, somehow dodging everything and gleefully messing you up. That's psychological warfare.

[yourlocalabomination]

I am not immune to toddler goat propaganda.

[innocet]

There’s a move that RTD has been doing recently that I don’t really have a Judgement on, like I can’t say if it’s Good or Bad, but it is FASCINATING to my specific dr who preoccupations

He is (selectively, only sometimes) bringing racism that has always been present in dr who into the diegesis. I first noticed it with the Toymaker; instead of being a racial caricature in the same way his ‘65 appearance was, the 2023 toymaker is a character who poorly appropriates the signifiers of real-world cultures as part of his style of Play. He’s not just an East Asian caricature non-diegetically played by a white man. He is, within the diegesis, a white man who intentionally disrespects earth cultures by imitating and parodying them. We only see him directly do this to white/western cultures (the German, French, American, and British accents he takes), but he’s clearly textually racist to characters of color in the episode.

Racism and racial stereotype are some of the Games the toymaker plays. They’re not erasing racist production/narrative decisions. They’re placing them in a new context.

“Dot and Bubble” is the same; it recontextualizes previous adventures with all-white casts, not by reimagining them as more diverse, but by making that lack of diversity diegetic. I’ve seen some point out that previous episodes had, unexamined in the narrative, few characters of color either as a critique of “Dot and Bubble”. How can RTD expect us to notice that the cast is all-white as something with narrative significance when we’ve seen the exact same not ten years ago portrayed as a completely normal state of affairs? But I think part of the specific narrative moves that this episode is doing is that we can also examine those past episodes through this same new context. That the white Doctor, and his white companions, were not forced to encounter the circumstances that made the situation they’re in all-white, and so they did not at all engage with them. This is not to say that these previous episodes were intentionally saying anything at all about racism; they were the product of racist writing and casting, and that can’t be changed or ignored. But fan analysis as a school of thought is often far more concerned with the watsonian than the doylist, and RTD is aware of this as someone who grew up in fandom. This provides a watsonian path to exploring the racism of the show’s history, without sugarcoating or ignoring it.

It’s worth noting when he doesn’t do this as well; he seems far more willing to engage diegetically with racism than ableism, for example. Davros does not get any sort of redemption or examination as one of the only wheelchair users we see in the vastness of time and space; instead, he is simply no longer a wheelchair user. I think we should be paying a lot more attention to what gets folded in narratively and what doesn’t because it seems very clear that RTD is intent on continuing doing this and it’s something I’m keeping my eye on. Again, I don’t know whether it’s Good or Bad that this is happening, but it sure as fuck is interesting

[localgardenweed]

One last kiss before he plummets to earth to die or whatever

[graveyard-society]

tell me what possessed me into making this

[ghost-bxrd]

On a scale of 1-10, how tragic is it to be greeted by the sight of your family having the time of their life with your perceived Replacement after you just crawled your way out of hell trying to get back to them?

[ratatatastic]

"how many mouthguards does matthew tkachuk chew through every season?" "3 maybe? 2 or 3 a season?...but in playoffs i actually switch each and every round"

CBS News Miami | 6.28.24 (x)

THATS A 1 ROUND MOUTHGUARD???? THAT WHAT HIS MOUTHGUARD LOOKS LIKE AFTER A SINGULAR SERIES????? (x)

the more matthew denies it not being about "chewing through" his mouthguard the more it makes it seems like its because he chewed through his mouthguard like that is a maintenance issue THERE IS A HOLE IN THERE???? HELP???

also him mentioning that he likes his equipment fresh for playoffs and changes it every round which is so prevalent because THIS is what he had to say about the mere notion of new skates when asked on media day before the 2324 season started...

survey says that all cats who were asked (and shown) agreed they could not stand the idea of never getting new skates and went for "never be able to get a new pair of gloves"...matthew being the only one to go for "never be able to get a new pair of skates" (x)

youre telling me despite how much he obviously hates the physical discomfort of the cinch of new skates he still elects to change them because playoff superstitions (its not about about superstitions! he says...as if he also hasnt said on camera that the oldest piece of equipment he has is his jock and will in fact NEVER change it like that doesnt reek of sibney-isms...the way this man has influenced a whole generation of children...)

[sugoi-writes]

Alastor with a reader who tries on his suit jacket and mimics him in a mirror ( I feel like this nut has a closet filled with the same clothes) and gets caught by him? I’d have to shoot myself if this happened to me but I want to feel the embarrassment radiating off the reader. (He finds it cute tho—phew!)

🍻D runk Danny Asks 🍻

Ahah, same warnings as before!

❤️❤️❤️

You poised in the mirror with your hands on your hips: Superwoman style. You heard that this was a pose that could actually boost confidence if you repeated this action daily... some sort of positive-reinforcement via brain chemistry. But, your train of thought was cut off as you did a giddy little twirl.

You fanned out the longer coat tails of Alastor's coat, marveling the split that made room for his fluffy tail. You squirmed at the thought of seeing it wag, but you controlled yourself. You grabbed a hair brush off of Alastor's nightstand, posing like you had a microphone to your lips.

"Salutations~ Good to be back on the air!" You attempted in your best transatlantic accent. You snorted, fanning your face as you shrunk in on yourself," Hells, that was bad!"

You pretended to lean on your imaginary cane, a hand to your chest as you belted out," Alastor, pleasure to be meeting you sweetheart, QUITE the pleasure! Have you heard of my podcast~?"

"As a matter of fact, I have~" You froze as a slow clap came from the doorway, a shit eating grin on the Radio Demon's face," Dare I say, I'm a huge fan of yours~" He perfectly mimicked your voice, a slight static over the intonation of your cadence. You squeaked as Alastor strode towards you, eyes filled with a prideful glee.

"Dear, if you really wanted to impersonate me... you should really do something about this posture!" Back to his normal tone, you nearly shrieked as Alastor's hands grabbed your hips. He angled them back slightly as he kissed the crown of your head. His hands slid up your body, making you gasp and writhe between them and their wake. He took hold of your wrists, hands loose but firm in their grip. The both of you looked into the mirror, your face warm at the sight of Alastor towering over you.

"Much better, dear... much better~" he practically purred in your ear, your breath becoming a distant thought. You had effectively forgot how to breathe. And Alastor would have been content with the teasing... if your hips didn't meet his own.

"I wonder... how do you sound when you moan my name...?"

You gasp as Alastor ground against your ass, a shocked mewl escaping you.

"Let's find out~"

[maplemaplemaplemaplemaple]

misc redraws lalala

[jowobaby]

Stuck in never seeing Ice Adolescence hell

[mitraclueless]

WHB HELL'S EMPEROR!MC AU

MC: Hell's emperor?

Satan: Yup

MC: How am I an emperor?

Satan: You rule the 7 countries in hell

MC: Woah- but how am I one?

Satan: Idk man, ask your grandpa

*After asking Solomon*

MC: I asked him and he said that he asked God for it

Satan: Damn right

MC: If I'm an emperor, and you're a king, does that mean I'm above all the kings in hell?

Satan: You're asking the obvious

MC: I'm literally in shock rn

MC: Does that mean... My job starts today?

Satan: You got it

MC: An office worker like me, work as an emperor?

Satan: Denial is a river in Egypt-

MC: I'M NOT IN DENIAL

Satan: You need to face it, my guy

MC: I'M NOT READY

*Several hours of convincing MC later*

MC: I'm ready

Satan: That's the spirit

Satan: To Gehenna we go!

Satan: Welcome to my castle

Sitri: Your majesty...

*Sitri bowed*

MC: Ayy, who's this pretty boy?

Satan: My right hand man

Satan: This is Solomon's descendant, MC

Sitri: Welcome to the castle of Gehenna, your majesty MC

Ppyong: Solomon's descendant? The kings of all hell's kings?

Satan: You heard me

Ppyong: It's an honor to meet you, your majesty MC!

MC: Please tell me being an emperor isn't hard

Satan: Nah, your subordinates the ones who finished your paperwork

MC: Who?

Satan: The kings duh

MC: What should I do then?

MC: Sitting and doing nothing?

Satan: You can walk around the countries in hell if ya want

MC: Can I get everything I wanted here?

Satan: In that case, you should ask Mammon

MC: Aww man

Satan: What do you want?

MC: Sitri

Satan: What

MC: I want him to be my wife

Satan: He's a man?

MC: Did I stutter?

Satan: You can't have him

MC: Why? Is he your wife?

Satan: No, but-

MC: Then I'll make him my wife

[lullaebies]

summary:

It was not forced, and not offensive. Davos can be a terror, his hand choking any opponent in a spar; he’s not beyond such tactics at all, but then he held his nape, and dug his fingers onto his brown hair. They were mere seconds from a tussle over a misunderstanding, but their gazes met midway, green eyes to black ones and that had been the first time he felt understood.

And it was robbed of him, cruelly so, when Davos ran away the moment Aeron tried to reciprocate. He should’ve slapped himself, for being such a fool, and he should’ve killed Davos, for making him act like one.

Aeron finds himself with Davos once more after their first kiss cemented the distance between them. Blackwood and Bracken, push and pull — that distance never lasts long, and they wouldn't have it differently. aeron/davos fic | 3k words | smut | no warnings | read on ao3

“So you are afraid of me now, huh?” 

Davos’s grating voice came from the other side of the hallway. They were at Riverrun, for the annual tourney Lord Grover held. The old paramount lord had been blind as a bat in his elderly and ailing age, and Lord Elmo had been a rather stern host in his stead, but the streets of Riverrun had still held cheer worth visiting for. 

“I did not realize you would be here,” Aeron answers. He had paid for a private room for himself and his party. His older brother had said he and their cousins will join him soon. Raylon had been stuck on a gambling game in the streets, and after seeing his bastard brother lose thrice, Aeron opted for a reason to leave before Raylon asked for more coin from his pocket. “Fuck off.”

Davos flashes a grin at that. He looks somewhat inebriated, chuckling in a manner more laid-back than forcefully purposeful. “I paid to be here too, and before you,” he says and lifts a half done bottle of Arbor red, his fist clenched around the neck of it. “So I stay!”

Aeron exhales. Perhaps I should’ve stuck with Raylon instead.

“All by yourself?” he asks mockingly. He hadn’t seen any of his cousins or friends within the tavern, but he guesses it shouldn’t matter to him. He huffs and goes to the room he bought. If he wants to be a pitiable imbecile for all to see, he can be my guest.

“Only if you keep hiding,” Davos says, making long strides over to him. The Blackwood has the most audacious habit of coming up to his face, ever since they were children. The first time he ever talked to him almost resulted in headbutt, and then Davos had tried to be friendly. This time, he isn’t; but Davos’s forehead does end up touching his. “You’ve been running from me all day.”

Aeron pushes him back, frowning. “ You are the one that fled first,” he tells him, properly upset. Blackwoods are haughty and idiotic, but he had been special amongst his murder of crows; last time they met in such circumstances, Davos kissed him. Davos kissed him, and ignored him for the rest of the festivities. 

The most embarrassing part of it was how bothered Aeron had been about it. He hadn’t had anyone to tell of it; his half-brother and cousins always found his lack of care for women an odd point in him, and even if he did tell them a Blackwood had kissed him they’re likelier to assume it had been a perversion hailed from Raventree, forced upon him. 

It was not forced, and not offensive. Davos can be a terror, his hand choking any opponent in a spar; he’s not beyond such tactics at all, but then he held his nape, and dug his fingers onto his brown hair. They were mere seconds from a tussle over a misunderstanding, but their gazes met midway, green eyes to black ones and that had been the first time he felt understood . 

And it was robbed of him, cruelly so, when Davos ran away the moment Aeron tried to reciprocate. He should’ve slapped himself, for being such a fool, and he should’ve killed Davos, for making him act like one.

“I am here now,” Davos says in a whisper, his hand squeezing on his arm, the same time the tips of their noses touch. “Do it again.”

He breathes in deep, trying to control his beating heart. Fucker. Aeron knees his leg. 

“As if I should be grateful to have you come to me with a bottle in your hand and a stink from your throat,” he shoots back at him, and rips his arm from him. His hand is on the private’s room handle when Davos lifts the Dornish Arbor bottle and flings it across the hallway. It breaks loudly and shatters, shards of glass and splashes of red all over the wall and floor. Aeron is flabbergasted, turning to him with a frown. “Are you out of your fucking mind ?” 

“I don’t need that fucking bottle,” Davos tells him, seething. His dark eyes had a sheen of fear in them, of all things. “It didn’t help, not even a smidge. It should’ve, but it couldn’t drown a thing .”

Blackwoods act easily on emotions. An observed habit of all of those making up that wretched family. The way Davos stands in front of him, he thinks he is moments from bursting, but still, he waits, with his beggar’s eyes. Restraint is not his strong suit, not at all, but perhaps he had been trying.

Aeron had felt Davos’s eyes on him for the better of the day, after all.

“What was that noise?” a serving girl rushes over, only to stop in place when she sees them. She seems rather nervous at their sight. “Th-there is no fighting in the tavern,” she says meekly. She clearly already understood she stands before two lordlings.

Davos glares at her wordlessly. Aeron moves away from him, though he can feel his hand tug on his clothes. “It was an accident,” he tells the serving girl. “I apologize. My friend is drunk,” Aerons says, and reaches a resolution. “I’ll take care of him.” 

Relieved, the girl nods and rushes away to safety, but Davos releases his grip on Aeron’s clothes, rigidity in the squint of his eyes. “Friend, you say?”

Birdbrain. His focus is entirely wrong, and it’s positively infuriating. I said I’ll take care of you, can you not hear me? He wants to choose conflict, each time, and Aeron knows this; everything to deflect from the truth. Davos knows what he is, as Aeron knows what he is. 

It’s hard to accept, but it’s even more embarrassing to admit, that Aeron accepted it for him.

“I couldn’t say the pain in my arse, could I?” Aeron answers evenly. “You aren’t brave enough for that.”

Davos nails him against the wall again, eyes gleaming with rage. “And you are?”

Aeron swallows, uncomfortably vulnerable. No, not really. He likes to imagine himself brave, to be able to slay Blackwoods with no fear and and kiss whoever he’d like with no concern, but he finds himself unsure in most things in practice. His dreams make a concoction of those things, having Aeron kiss Davos and winning against him in this war of taboos. Steps beyond that seemed far-fetched, and even frightening. 

Yet still, he can’t help but imagine…

“I was brave enough to kiss you back.”

He looks down, embarrassed still. Davos brings a hand to his waist, squeezing it tight. They share that look again, and he can feel Davos’s lips on his even before they touch him. “Then do it again,” the Blackwood asks him, and the softness of his lips is a strike of lightning against Aeron’s. 

Aeron brings a hand to Davos’s shoulder. “Anyone can see us—” he says between the other’s fervent pecks. His heart is beating out of his chest; dreams are so easy to have, but reality is incomparable. This should be impossible, in every way, and he’s never been a pioneer in a thing. He’s not like Raylon, able to bet on things so easily; he wants, he needs to win. If he is to lose, why should he play at all?

It feels so easy now, but he doesn’t want this stolen away. 

“I don’t care,” Davos says plainly, leaving him no place to breathe. Davos brings a hand to his jaw, holding him to kiss his proper. After pressing a particularly hard kiss onto him, he breathes out. “I’ll kill anyone who interrupts.”

It sets him on fire. Aeron does not doubt that he would, even as Davos’s fingers thread themselves into his hair, parting it in slow wonder. Davos is smiling against him, as if every touch is a breath of clean air coming back to his lungs. The rigidity in black-haired boy’s muscles is all gone as he melts against him.

Davos is a free spirit; too much of one, at times. He has to take care of him, before he becomes too loose a canon. He finds his freedom in this, but Aeron needs control. He would not have anyone take it away from him.

He opens the door to the private room, dragging the black-haired idiot after him. Davos chuckles as the door shuts behind them, ready to pounce on him again, but Aeron pins him against the door himself, knee wedged between Davos’s legs. 

“If you want to keep going, don’t get us killed,” Aeron tells him. He doesn’t let him open his big mouth, shutting him up with a kiss the other can’t escape. Even if Davos tries to flee from the truth again, he will not let him forget.

Davos groans against his mouth. He has no sword on his being but he is clearly deep in his adrenaline, having to hold onto something and in particular, the braid that framed Aeron’s hair. One hand holding it, the other hand wedging under it, all for the sake of holding his head.

Aeron only realizes Davos hardly relinquished any control then; he holds his head to manuever him into his own kisses, and when he tires of that alone, the Blackwood boy bites his lower lip for the halt to take place. He doesn’t depart the lips without a proper suck to them, though.

Aeron breathes heavily from the parting, and Davos looks him up and down. Readjusting himself, he lowers one hand to hold Aeron’s clothed thigh, pressing against him further. “You are so pretty against me.”

Maybe his eyes widen a little, at that. Being named pretty has him provoked most times, but now it gives him the most unpredictable shivers. Inhaling sharply, he tries to dryly retort, flushed as he is. “Is that why you headbutt me all the time?”

“No,” he says, and picks him in his hands; Davos sits him down on the table behind them, the hand on the back of his thigh rises to where his trousers had become tight. “It’s because you are fucking infuriating , keeping your respectable distance.” 

He sighs out at the feeling. Davos’s hand is warm, he can feel it even beyond the fabric. This is exactly why; he feels mad when they’re too close. He wants more when they’re too close, and he knows Davos will be brave to take that step. Davos can’t help himself, and it is so much easier than admitting he himself can’t either. 

Aeron brings his hands to the metal raven clasp on Davos’s collar, all while wrapping his legs around his waist. I don’t give a fuck anymore.

Davos palms him while Aeron opens as much as he can of the Blackwood's shirt. He has tan skin; if Aeron had been sunkissed with freckles, Davos had been sunkissed with depth of color. His black hair is messy silk, but his chest is a sweatied field to feel. He kisses him on his bare throat first, shyer at the attempt. Davos responds to it well, sighing aloud while trying to keep being mindful at his own ministrations.

He hasn’t chosen to do this for Davos to have restraint now of all times, however.

“Undo the lacings already,” Aeron whispers as he lowers himself to kiss Davos’s chest. His hands come on top of Davos’s hand, caressing it in a tease. Aeron could swear he feels the other’s heartbeat against his lips. Davos halts as if nervous, and Aeron’s eyelashes lift from the half-lidded downturn they’ve been in, all to look at him. “Please.”

Davos doesn’t dare to refuse him. He does quick work the tyings of his pants, and soon has his cock in his grasp. Aeron tries to continue to kiss his chest, but Davos hold him firm, and then drags his grasp just right. 

“ Ah— Davos!” he sighs, feeling as if he might crumble any minute. Aeron holds the Blackwood’s wrist, just to give himself a breather. The anticipation alone is too much, the touch itself has his blood bubbling through his veins. He had never reached such a point, even in his mind, and he could never have expected it would have him so weak in Davos’s hold.

Davos presses his forehead to his again. “Do you know how many times I imagined this?” he asks in a whisper. “Holding myself, thinking of what I’d do if it were you..” he says, playing with the slit of his cockhead. Aeron gets teary at the feeling, and he leaks some seed below as well.

Davos swipes his thumb at the white substance, and leaves his cock to taste what his finger gathered, swallowing. He could see the gulp going down his throat, through the exact spots Aeron had previously kissed. 

Aeron thinks he is about to lose his mind. A hot flare of bashfulness runs through him. Knowing he is red as one of Davos’s capes, he exclaims, as compromised as he is. “You can’t— that’s disgusting —”

Davos’s shit eating grin is all he can see before the boy kisses him shut, tongue entering his mouth. He can taste himself on Davos; he can taste Davos’s pride and joy at their mix and match. He can feel his palm returning to stroke him, more languid, yet at a steady, intent pace.

His stomach is doing somersaults and his hands rush to the mop of Davos’s black hair. Aeron doesn’t care if any of it is disgusting, not at all. Even if he feels the filth of earth anywhere else, he feels just right here. Clutching onto raven locks, he kisses him back hard.

Davos quickens the pace of his strokes, and Aeron feels towards the end of his wits. He tries hard to keep himself from climaxing; he didn’t want to finish this so soon. He still wants him to touch more places, kiss him more; he hates it, but he knows it’s true, he will miss him. He will miss him so much when it is over. It feels like he is set to lose with Davos, it’s all about overpowering one another — but rather than winning, he realizes all ever wished for is a chance to play.

Davos stamps a prolonged kiss on his lips before he demands his victory. “ Yield ,” he says, voice low and steady. Aeron tugs at his hair, feeling Davos weasel his hand under his shirt, squeezing on skin there too. His dark eyes stare into his, swirling with need; a need only Aeron can satisfy. “Yield for me.” 

He climaxes, hot on Davos’s hand. He shudders all through it; he had never felt it so strongly. It feels as if the weight of stones dissipates from his muscles and he himself is no longer grounded in his place, having to hold Davos as he deals with the overwhelming feeling. 

Aeron refuses to let him go for a while, not realizing the desperate embrace he is maintaining. In truth, he does not even care; he just wants to melt into his hold. He yielded; he’s too easy to beat, but he just needs him to stay. 

He isn’t brave enough to speak. He’s only brave enough to reciprocate, kiss, and show Davos that he doesn’t wish for distance. A full kiss for Davos’s full lips. I can match you.

Davos, surprisingly enough, does not rush him to anything else when they part. Aeron realizes he still needs to take care of him, but Davos is in no hurry. He nuzzles his face against him like a pleased, black kitten, ever pleased with the proximity. 

He’s about to ask if he should do anything, when he hears something.

“Aeron?” Raylon’s voice from outside the room, as well as some of their cousins parroting him. “Are you here?”

Aeron freezes. “He’s here. My brother—” he says nervously, suddenly the whole world crashing on him. 

“The bastard?” Davos asks, and Aeron doesn’t even have the time to chastise him. Just slap his shoulder to move. 

“He’s here, and my cousins,” he says urgently. There’s a knock on the door, and he’s mortified to his core. He had been teary from the  touches, but now he feels like he could truly cry; they’d kill him. They’d kill Davos. “They’re here.”

“Aeron, are you here?”

He didn’t mean to play himself like this. He should’ve kept his distance, he knew they would be coming. And yet—

Davos, disheveled as he is, presses his thigh hard. “I’ll handle the horses’ horde,” he says— horses’ horde?! He should slap him— “just wait.”

Aeron swallows, and watches him turn, stepping towards the door. He only opens it enough to peer out of it. Aeron rushes to the side to not be seen, half considering killing him, but listening instead, as he hides on the sofa in the room. 

“Wrong stables, shitheads,” Davos says, with the brightest grin he can conjure. “No hay here.”

“Blackwood?” Raylon asks, and clearly very confused at the state of the man in front of him. “What are you doing here? The owner said a Bracken bought this room.”

Davos huffs. “And perhaps I stole it away from him.He’s not here. Blackwood lands, now.” 

“Huh? What did you do to my brother? ” Raylon exclaims in anger, trying to step in. Davos blocks him. “Seven hells, you smell like shit—”

“I said Blackwood lands ,” he says. “This room and everything in it is mine.”

“Are you fucking drunk?” Raylon asks, appalled.

“Even better,” Davos laughs. “Now fuck off.” 

Davos slams the door shut at Raylon’s face, and turns back towards Aeron with a big smile as cusses are heard from the other side of the door. Raylon and his cousins eventually do leave, and Aeron manages to breathe again.

Davos’s words are not lost on him, and he sinks against the sofa with warmth in his belly. Blackwood lands, his arse, but fuck — he said it. He’s his.

It’s all he truly needed to hear.

“See? Handled the horde.”

Davos is all too proud as he weasels back beside him. Aeron huffs.

“A group of horses is called a herd, you birdbrain,” he tells him. 

“Yeah?” Davos asks, chuckling. He clearly couldn’t leave less of shit.

“You are making it hard to want to help you…” Aeron says, his hand reaching Davos’s crotch, only to realize it was of moist fabric too. “You already?—”

“I told you you are fucking pretty against me,” Davos says, and pulls him on his lap. “I want to kiss you again.”

Holding back a smile, Aeron holds onto his arms. “As long as you know these are Bracken lands, and anything here is mine .”

Davos snickers. “Prove it.”

No separation stones will force them back into distance. Aeron lowers his face to kiss him again, he’ll mark them until it’s abundantly clear; Davos, all of this, is his. No one will rob this of me.

Davos grins against his lips, willing to take the challenge. They’ll have this dispute forevermore, but that is well and good — lay a claim on me, and I will lay claim on you. Bodies melting against one another, forever wrestling for touch—

This is just the right distance.