#listen i KNOW that they didn't have the budget for it or whatever but it's ridiculous that after the meleys roar at the coronation

[tankgotstuckinthecircusgate]

i know that when carlo suddenly decided that he needs to marry guy made a whole list in his head n like had a deadlines n shit. like it was some kind of a task he needed to do

[navree]

Do you have any headcanons for our golden boi sunfyre ? 🥺

Sunfyre my beloved I'm so sorry all this happened to you in my perfect world absolutely nothing goes wrong with him whatsoever and he gets to live a long and happy life being the prettiest boy in all of Planetos.

I think it's, like, basically canon but technically not confirmed, that Sunfyre is a hatchling from Dreamfyre, given the name similarities and the fact that Dreamfyre is much older (my pet theory is that Sunfyre's egg is Thee Egg that Rhaenyra chose for Baby Baelon and that Daemon subsequently stole).

Sunfyre was not a cradle hatchling. It appears that none of the (on screen) Hightower-Targaryen children had cradle hatchlings (given that Helaena claimed an already old dragon between episodes 6 and 7 and Aemond of course claimed the oldest dragon), either because none of their eggs hatched or Alicent just wasn't placing eggs in their cradles for it. Around when Aegon was two or three, still very young, he somehow got his hands on Sunfyre's egg, and soon after Sunfyre hatched. Sunfyre has never known a life without Aegon in it, and Aegon barely remembers a time where he didn't have Sunfyre. They practically grew up together, though Sunfyre at a much quicker rate.

Seeing as dragons are meant to have an intelligence level on par with humans (even tho ASOIAF and all related media kinda seems to forget that and has relegated them to the role of "cats" but with nukes attached), Sunfyre is aware that he is The Hot Girl. Sunfyre is ridiculously vain, any time he's flying with Aegon on him to command him, he's primping and preening and deliberately flying into as much sun exposure as he can so everyone can see the glint of gold off his scales.

Sunfyre and Aegon are ridiculously close. Far closer than any other dragon and their rider that we've seen in the entire franchise. Yes, even closer than Dany and her children (Dany would have won out but being the first person to raise dragons in over a century means that she clearly doesn't have the right tools for it which is why the kids get rascally in ADWD in a way we didn't see at the Targaryen peak). Like, however close you think they are because of the canon stuff (Aegon's grief when he died, Sunfyre literally dragging his broken body to Dragonstone because he sensed Aegon was there and needed him, all that horrible stuff), that's the tip of the iceberg. They're close not just emotionally but honestly to the point where it's almost like they have a psychic bond. It's rare that Aegon even needs to speak commands verbally, he and Sunfyre know each other incredibly well, almost as if they can literally just sense what's in each other's heads, feel each other's emotions incredibly keenly (that thing dragons and dragonriders have where they can physically feel each other's pain, but multiply it by one thousand). It's borderline mystical, especially when factoring in that both Aegon and Sunfyre only seem to start really recovering from their respective Rook's Rest wounds after they've been reunited on Dragonstone, as if they literally needed each other's presence in order to heal.

Stolen from Twitter (can't remember which account but I saw it and I wept like a baby): Aegon sings to Sunfyre sometimes. Sunfyre really, really likes it. Like, basically turns into a huge overgrown kitten when that happens, tries to get all cuddly even though he knows that Aegon's too small for it now that he's gotten big.

Sunfyre does have a certain amount of affection that extends to other members of Aegon's family, his mother and siblings in particular, and even to their dragons. Yes, even Vhagar. Doesn't matter that she's ancient and bigger and dragon mee-maw, he'll still go into attack mode if someone attempts to fuck her up. Also, a bit cracky considering we don't technically know the full mental faculties of dragons, but he's closest to Tessarion, given that they're closer in age and also Daeron's apparently a natural sweetheart and that temperament might extend to Tessarion as well. (Addendum to this: Sunfyre spent a lot of time flying with Aemond and Vhagar when Aemond was recovering. Not even just when Aegon was babysitting and making sure Aemond wasn't at risk, but literally just if he was out around the same time as Aemond and Vhagar, he hovered a lot, just to be sure. Aemond has never talked about it but he thinks of it sometimes, when he sees Aegon drunk and wet eyed and feels that twinge of disgust and envy that he tries to push down, when he remembers there's more to Aegon than seen by the naked eye)

This is less about Sunfyre himself and more about his relationship with Aegon, but the bond Sunfyre and Aegon have was Aegon's first real taste of feeling unconditional and requited love. The bond with Sunfyre was the first time in his life Aegon felt that the love he was giving out was being returned to him, and that he wasn't at risk of losing it, the way he's afraid he's done with his siblings and with Alicent. It's why, even above everything else they share, Sunfyre is so important to him, and why he's gutted and griefstricken to the point of kinslaying when Sunfyre dies.

Aegon calls Sunfyre almost primarily by pet names, even when giving verbal commands. And like, really intimate pet names, the kind of pet names you save for, like, your kids. He calls him "sweetling" and "my darling" and "golden boy" and things of that sort all.the.time. Why do I think this? Because my brain spat "Sunfyre sniffs at the blood in the air. Aegon knows now is when he says the word, the fateful word, but he cannot speak through his heart pounding in his throat. Kill her, beloved, he thinks. Kill her for what her ambition did to us. To you. Even to me. Sunfyre shifts, and a keening growl rumbles low in his ruined chest." out at me and I have not known peace since.

When Sunfyre was still small enough and Aegon's siblings and Hell, even the Strong kids were still little, they all adored Sunfyre. They coddled him relentlessly and basically cooed over him 24/7, and both Aegon and Sunfyre were absolutely thrilled with it. Even when down in the Dragonpit with them, before shit started going sideways when some people had dragons and others didn't and the bullying and all, Sunfyre would still put on a bit of a show (as I said, vain) before Aegon would make him behave, which was Aegon's own version of his own show in displaying the bond and mastery he and Sunfyre have with each other.

Aegon had Sunfyre's skull prepped to line the walls of the throne room in accordance to House Targaryen traditions. Aegon III did take it down eventually (obviously, given the memory association), but he only took it down after Alicent Hightower had died and that last shredding of her children's legacy wouldn't hurt her anymore.

[twig---verginix]

swear to god i'm just gonna stop watching the endings to shows i like. good shows need to get cancelled on cliffhangers forever

[tachvintlogic]

The Pitstop

It was a normal day at the Justice League Watchtower Satellite. Heroes were milling about, Batman was monitoring Earth from the deck, there was an astronaut tapping on the glass, Flash was joking with Martian Manhunter...

What, what was that 3rd thing?

Batman looked up and saw in front of his view of Earth was an astronaut, wearing NASA's latest suit design. He stood up which alerted Flash and Martian Manhunter to the strange sight.

He tensed as the astronaut began to phase through the walls and entered the deck. Batman was able to activate the intruder alarm when the astronaut removed their helmet.

The astronaut was a caucasian male approximately in his early forties. There were bags under his blue eyes like many of his own cohorts, and he had black hair as well.

"We need to dock."

"Excuse me?"

"Who are you?" asked Martian Manhunter.

The astronaut's face brightened immediately upon noticing Martian Manhunter. "Oh! I'm part of the manned Mars mission! We just launched and were on our way, but something is making a weird noise, and we don't know what it is. Since we're so close, can we just dock one of your garages so we can figure out what it is and fix it?"

Batman recalled that NASA had launched less than a few hours ago.

"How did you get through the glass?" asked Flash.

"I'm the token metahuman crewmember. So can we dock or not?"

"Of course," said Martian Manhunter, looking at Batman. And what was Batman supposed to say? No?

In the parking garage, Martian Manhunter was talking the other crewmembers while the Watchtower's engineers and the metahuman astronaut, who they learned was named Danny Fenton, inspected the space shuttle and tried to figure out what was making the strange noise.

Batman watched from the sidelines as the others bustled about. They had been at it for an hour, and Batman wondered if he should ask Tim to come by and help. He had informed Tim of the development while the astronauts were docking. After all, he had been involved in some of the designs of this particular spacecraft that were done by Wayne Aerospace.

He was doubtful that Tim could help that much. After all, in all likelihood it wasn't something he designed that was the problem.

Then, one of the engineers fiddled with something and Batman suddenly heard loud rattling.

A crewmember who was listening to Martian Manhunter startled and their eyes widened. "That's it! That's the sound!"

"What it that?" asked Batman.

The engineer pulled out a piece of equipment that had the Wayne Enterprise logo on it. "This module is broken," she said, "it could be repaired but honestly," she inhaled sharply, "this thing is a hot mess."

Mr. Fenton jumped and landed on the ship like the artificial gravity didn't affect him. When he saw the logo on the broken equipment, he shook his fist at the sky.

"Of course it's something by Wayne Industries! We give them half our budget hoping they're share some cool alien inspired technology like whatever they did to build this satellite and instead we get half-assed garbage!"

Batman made a point to not share the latest gadgets with the US government (he didn't trust them), but he wouldn't call their products that weren't built using alien tech garbage. That seemed a little harsh.

"Seriously, was the person who designed this sleep-deprived when they made this?" Suddenly Batman found the walls and floor to be incredibly interesting and looked away.

"Oh that's par for the course when it comes to the stuff they give us."

"I am so sorry."

As they discussed how to improvise a replacement for the equipment quickly enough to avoid drastically altering the astronaut's flight path, Batman got a text from Tim.

So I'm free now. Did the astronauts figure out what was wrong or do they need me? - RR

He texted back.

They figured it out. The engineers have it handled. - B

[fioiswriting]

Unholy

Summary : During the prestigious Targaryen family's annual charity gala, your boyfriend's stepfather decides to make you pay for the consequences of your actions. Perhaps you should have been more careful before entering this little game.

Rating : Explicit, 18+ MDNI

Pairing : Daemon Targaryen x Jace’s girlfriend!reader (reader appearance isn’t specified)

TW : p in v sex, dom/sub, oral (m receiving), daddy kink, unprotected sex, size kink, spanking, inappropriate use of the word kepus, cheating, age gap (!!), fingering, mirror sex, pwp, (light angst at the end), modern AU, Daemon being Daemon, not proofread 

Words count : 9379

AN : hi everyone!! I hope you are all doing well! So. Sorry it’s just a 9000 words concentrate of filthy smut. I’m ashamed. But enjoy anyway.  (I need to write for Aemond again but my gf is a Daemon girly so blame her for this smutty thing <3)

Also English is not my first language, so sorry for the grammar mistakes !! 

Enjoy 🖤

The Targaryen family's annual charity Gala promised to be particularly grandiose this year. More spectacular. More lavish. More ostentatious than ever.  The budget had been spent on decorations, that was certain, and it was only a matter of time before guests began to stream down the stately aisle leading to the reception hall.

It was an annual event that no one could avoid, despite the tensions that were tearing the family apart from within, a kind of routine that had set in year after year. 

And this Gala pissed Daemon off.

He had better things to do than smile at a bunch of assholes, listen to a bunch of idiots talk about their uninteresting lives and pseudo-successes that he couldn't give a shit about. Not to mention the fact that the mere thought of being in the same room as Otto Hightower made him break out in hives. 

Rhaenyra had explained to him that it was for their image, but Daemon thought that was completely stupid. Since when did his reputation and his family's image have to depend on fake polite smiles and superficial bows?

Everything pissed him off, starting with Otto fucking Hightower, with whom he had to share his table for an entire evening. Rhaeyra had slipped away for a moment to prepare to give the opening speech at her father's side, like the heiress of Targaryen Corp that she was.

The interior of the building was large. Well decorated, illuminated by large chandeliers whose light enlarged the room. The designer - Alys Rivers or something like that - had good taste, Daemon had to admit. Waiters circulated among the guests, offering glasses of champagne or cocktails to the wealthy families who had gathered. Prestigious guests, certainly, but most of all a bunch of hypocrites, according to Daemon. He could feel all eyes on him. Spying on his flaws. Spying on his every move. Every scandal that might make the headlines in the morning.  Like he was going to honour them with such a spectacle. He wasn't that stupid. 

It was already scandalous enough that he had married his niece. He didn't know if he could worsen his case.

His older brother's tired voice rang out. His speech, full of the values promoted by the company; family, solidarity, benevolence and all that crap everyone pretended to believe in. After all, a bit of scandal might have spiced things up, a bit of chaos in this ocean of smiles and hypocrisy.  Daemon liked the idea.

He found his daughters in the crowd. They were beautiful, as always, the spitting image of their mother. He took advantage of the end of the speech to compliment them, kiss them on the cheek and take a family photo that would delight the journalists. Proof that he was a good father, or whatever they would write in lines he wouldn't even read. 

But it wasn't them he was looking for. Nor his stepsons.

He scanned the room with his eyes, and finally. Finally he found what he was looking for. The very one he was interested in. Who had aroused his curiosity.

He grabbed two glasses of champagne and approached you like a predator towards his prey. You were alone. That was easy. "Has Jace abandoned you?" he asked in his raspy voice as you turned, obviously surprised to see him. He handed you a glass, which you accepted with your fingertips. He was close to you. Almost too close.

"He went to look for Cregan," you replied, frowning suspiciously. You were on your guard, but Daemon knew you'd be easy to tame. He'd noticed the way you looked at him when your boyfriend Jace brought you home, and the way you strutted by the pool just before his eyes in nothing but your bikini. You'd asked Jace to put sunscreen on your back, but it was him you were looking at as your boyfriend rubbed your back, him. His stepfather.

The dress you wore hugged your body perfectly, revealing the lovely curves you hid underneath the fabric. He had no problem imagining that all the men in the room were probably mentally undressing you. He'd be lying if he said he didn't. 

But the idea that other people, that other men could imagine your body, could picture your shape, could have inappropriate fantasies about you, irritated him to no end. The very thought made his blood boil and every muscle in his body tense.

He couldn't really explain why. 

Or, if he had to be honest, he knew why ; he had an idea in the back of his mind and he was desperate to act on it.

"Don't worry about me, darling," he replied, "I wasn't looking for my wife. Not tonight." He added, lower this time, leaving a deliberate mystery over his words. He saw you hesitate for a moment, your eyes widening before a slight smile curled the corners of your lips.  "'By the way, you look gorgeous,' he continued. "What a pity my stepson decided to leave you alone on an evening like this. There are some ill-intentioned men out there who might take advantage of the situation."

He saw you take a step in his direction, lowering the volume of your voice to make sure no one around you could hear what you were about to say. He also saw you look him in the eye with a kind of self-assurance that proved you hadn't said your last word yet. Fuck, he loved this game. And he was determined to win.

"I'm not afraid of ill-intentioned men, Daemon. I'm not a little girl anymore." Your voice purred against his ear, and he wondered if you really knew what you were doing, if you knew what you were getting into by pretending to be a big girl. 

Men like him could make a meal of fragile little things like you.

So he slowly leaned towards you. Who cared if anyone saw him? At least it would give the paparazzi something to write about in the morning. Daemon didn't give a fuck. They could say what they wanted, only idiots read the piles of shit those so-called journalists wrote in their rags.  "Don't be so sure, little one," he whispered in your ear as he tucked a lock of hair behind your ear. "You don't know what these bad men are capable of." His gaze lingered on your collarbone, the exposed skin of your throat and your cleavage that hinted at your breasts. 

Jace had good taste. You were simply divine.

"Then show me," you retorted, and Daemon's eyes locked with yours again. He had that usual smile, enigmatic and arrogant. But he said nothing. He let out an insolent chuckle, his fingers still wrapped in a lock of your hair, before turning on his heels. 

For once, maybe the Gala would be something other than a meeting of fake smiles and endless, falsely polite conversations with people he didn't even like. For once, maybe the Gala would be exciting. 

The meal had been delicious, and the dinner had gone as politely as Daemon could remain. Despite Rhaenyra discreetly kicking him under the table every time he was about to hurl an insult at Otto Hightower, that omnipresent parasite as tenacious as vermin, he had managed the feat of not provoking a diplomatic incident.  But Otto Hightower wasn't the only thing he was angry about. At the other end of the table, out of the corner of his eye, he could see you and Jace talking, your hand on his, and the thought irritated him. Which was hypocritical of him. But he saw his stepson whisper something in your ear, he saw him slide his hand under the table as you giggled, and a little later he saw him ask you to dance. You had accepted, with your eyes glued to Daemon, and you knew exactly what you were doing, he was sure of it. 

For as you walked past him, you let your fingers brush his shoulder. You knew what you were doing. You knew what you were doing, and you knew he couldn't make you pay for it, at least not in public, not now, not in front of everyone. 

His hand tightened around his glass, and when Rhaenrya asked him if everything was all right, he grunted, barely answering. You wanted to provoke him. You did it on purpose. You were trying to provoke him, like a little spoiled brat, and Daemon was going to show you what happens to girls like you. But for the moment he could do nothing but watch, his gaze clouded with possessiveness and jealousy, as Jace spun you around, as you swayed to the music, as you let your boyfriend press himself against you. 

All the while looking at him. 

And in his head, it was only your name that sounded like an old broken record. He needed to teach you a lesson, to show you what happened to girls who were provocative, to girls who were impertinent, to girls who wanted to tease ill-intentioned men without worrying about the consequences.

He had warned you, but you hadn't listened.

His eyes swept the room once more, but you had disappeared into the crowd. Occasionally you emerged, between two couples. It was like a game of cat and mouse, but Daemon wasn't sure he was in the mood to play any more. He dismissed Rhaenyra with a mumbled apology, and when he saw you slip out of the room, he followed you discreetly.

He found you leaning against the railing with your back to him. Your silhouette stood out in the pale moonlight, and as he approached, the laughter, the loud music and the clinking of bottles mingled like faint echoes in the distance. The fresh air was pleasant. Maybe it would help him think more clearly. Maybe it would make him stop thinking about things he shouldn't. You, you and nothing else.  It was becoming an obsession. 

Without warning, he moved in your direction. He could smell your perfume, a sweet, floral scent wafting towards him. Fuck, he was so close, pressed against you, he could even feel the warmth of your body against his. You didn't move, and Daemon took that as silent approval.  He was behind you. The lower part of his body, pressed against you. Against your lower back. A familiar warmth spread between his loins. You could feel it. You could probably feel the effect you were having on him, and the thought was driving him crazy.

"Daemon."

He didn't back away. On the contrary, he stopped for a moment and slid his hand delicately up your thigh, to the edge of your dress, where his finger traced the hem. It was naughty - you were his stepson's girlfriend. You were much younger than he was.  But he couldn't help wanting more. He couldn't help taking what wasn't his and making it his. 

Fuck. He loved to play with fire, that was for sure. 

Quietly, Daemon withdrew his hand and leaned back against the railing, his gaze resting on you like that of a teacher disappointed with your behaviour. But there was something else beneath his reproachful expression, something else, and it was almost possessiveness - or jealousy - that shone in his eyes. "Look at me," he ordered, lifting your chin with the tip of his index finger, and your eyes landed on him. You didn't want to give in, you didn't want to give him what he wanted, so you looked away to stare at a distant point on the horizon. But he insisted, his fingers bruising your chin. Perhaps he should teach you discipline, since you obviously didn't know what that was. So the two of you stood there for a moment; his dark gaze piercing your deceptively innocent eyes, and he said nothing, his jaw set. When he broke eye contact, it was to study the soft curves of your breasts. His thumb traced the line from your jaw to your throat, then along your collarbones in a sudden excess of possessiveness. His eyes burned with desire. 

He needed to possess you.

"What the fuck did you think you were doing, little one?" Daemon finally asked. You knew exactly what he was referring to. You knew about the pool, you knew about the sunscreen, you knew about the short skirt at dinner the other night, you knew about dancing with Jace, a moment ago, while you devoured his stepfather with your eyes. You knew you were doing it on purpose, and now you were going to pay the consequences. But you weren't ready to give in just yet. You wanted to play a little longer. So you put on your best innocent expression and pretended you didn't understand.

"I don't know what you're talking about.”

He was seething. You were driving him mad. He frowned, but he knew he wasn't going to get you, not like this. His eyes were dark with lustful desire and sheer hunger.

"You know exactly what I'm talking about, don't play dumb," he added again, before pulling a pack of cigarettes from his suit pocket. He put one to his mouth and lit it with a lighter, his hand bent to shield the flame from the wind. You watched as he took a deep drag and exhaled the smoke.

"I didn't do anything wrong." You bit your lower lip. Deep down you felt almost ashamed, like a little girl caught with her hand in the cookie jar, but it was a paradoxical feeling - you adored the effect you were having on him. You weren't stupid, you knew jealousy when you saw it. But after all, you hadn't done anything wrong, that wasn't a lie. You had just danced with your boyfriend. With Jace. 

And Daemon was a married man.

"I was just dancing with my boyfriend," you said, putting the emphasis on that word. “You know, Jace."

Daemon handed you the cigarette, which you declined. He turned to face the horizon, leaned his elbows against the railing, his arms almost pressed against yours. He knew he had no right to be possessive with you. He was a married man.  He was a married man and you were young enough to be his daughter. It was hypocritical of him - but who doesn't need a bit of fun? The Gala was a bore.

"You were dancing? Really?" He paused. "Or tell me, are you so desperate for an older man's attention that you'll do anything to get it?" His words cut through the air like a sharp knife. He took another drag and turned towards you, blowing the smoke towards the horizon. Then he crushed his cigarette on the railing, nonchalant as ever. You remained silent for a moment. You stared at him. Who did he think he was?  Who did he think he was, talking to you like that, with that patronising tone, when you were Jace's girlfriend?  With calculated slowness, his fingers found your chin again and he forced you to lift your head towards him. He moved forward, pushing his body against yours until you were pressed against the iron barrier. He didn't care if the metal scraped against your back. He didn't care if it hurt. For the moment he wanted to be in control, and he wanted to remind you of your place.

All that mattered was the closeness of your face to his. 

Your breath grazed his face, light as a feather.

He grabbed your wrist, his thumb squeezing against your skin where he could feel your pulse racing. Fuck, he loved feeling the control he had over you; it made him harder than he already was.

Suddenly you felt bold. Raising your face to his, you let your lips linger on his for a moment without ever sealing the kiss. His whole body tensed, as if he had to restrain himself from tightening his grip on you. "Are you calling me a whore?" you asked in a calm voice, your provocative smile showing your teeth. "You're married, aren't you? I don't see why it bothers you so much what I do with my boyfriend." You'd hit a nerve. But Daemon hated being wrong, he hated being reminded of his mistakes or the hypocrisy of his behaviour. He tightened his grip. Your wrist was so small, seemed so fragile between his broad fingers. 

You had the feeling he could break it at any moment.

Daemon snorted. Now the big words. You played the innocent, you played the model daughter, but he knew exactly what was hidden behind your too well-behaved facade. Maybe he was insane. Wanting to claim you, wanting to keep you for himself, wanting to protect you from other men's eyes.  The sight of someone else's hands on your waist drove him mad. And yet you were just a passing distraction; just a way to add a little fun to his dull days and his dull marriage, just a way to satisfy a burning attraction, a primal need he couldn't satisfy any other way. 

Fuck. You were an impertinent girl with a sharp tongue, but once you were alone, he had no trouble imagining other uses for that divine tongue of yours.  You, kneeling before him, worshipping him in the most sinful way.  It was simply unholy.

But again, he wasn't a pious man. He was nothing but the devil. He didn't want redemption.

"And what about you little games?" He didn't look away, searching your face for a new trace of insolence - or perhaps a trace of sincerity, anything that would betray what you were really thinking. "I know what you're trying to do. When you deliberately bend down in front of me with that short skirt," his voice grew hoarse, covered with a veil of desire. "When you asked me to tie up the top of your swimming suit."  He could go on and on; reminding you of all the times you'd deliberately, innocently provoked him. The sound of his voice in your ear made you shiver. He let go of your wrist, his fingers moving up your body to play distractedly with the strap of your dress, his eyes roaming over your breasts. You let him, the touch of his fingers against your skin raising goosebumps all over your body.  He couldn't think of anything else but how divine you would look once that dress fell to the floor. "You're fucking asking for it," he concluded, turning his gaze to you.

"And?" You asked, your eyes lifted to his, peering out from under your long, curved lashes. You were indeed going to drive him mad. You bit your lower lip discreetly. He said nothing, the silence hanging over both of you for a moment as he pierced your soul with his icy gaze. Shadows of desire danced in his eyes. "You like to play, don't you?"

That was the spark that ignited the explosion. Something had changed, something in your dangerous games. In testing the limits again and again. In bending them, crossing them just enough to taste the intoxicating forbidden before stepping back behind that invisible protective barrier. You wanted to cross the forbidden line as much as he did, and the tension that had built up between you and him had no alternative but to explode. 

His grip tightened around your wrist, and he pulled you to him, against him.

Fuck the party.

Fuck propriety.

Fuck everyone.

He pressed his lips to yours in an urgent, desperate kiss. His hands moved to either side of your cheeks to keep your lips pressed to his. Like a man gasping for breath, he relied on your mouth, his tongue seeking a passage between your lips. You put your arms around his neck to hold him close. There was no tenderness, no love, just passion and an uncontrollable need to be pressed against each other. The kiss was rough. Unlike Jace, who kissed you tenderly as you lay on his bed, snuggled against him, Daemon wanted to assert his dominance. He wanted to take. He wanted to possess. He wanted to control. 

"We should stop," you whispered between kisses, panting, but it was a lie, you didn't want to stop. Trying to silence you, he slid his hand along your waist, down your hips, his fingers hesitant to slip under your dress - he was already imagining you soaking wet, just for him. You rubbed your thighs as the familiar sensation stirred, sending waves of heat through your core. Daemon caressed the black lace of your panties where your thigh met your centre, and you stifled a moan between his lips.

Anyone could catch you. Jace was nearby. Rhaenyra was nearby. If anyone turned their head, squinted their eyes, decided to get some fresh air on the rooftop, they could catch you by surprise. At any moment. 

People could talk, scandals could break out.  But Daemon didn't care. About his marriage. About the others. About being the centre of attention.

He had no morals, and he did the things he wanted just because he wanted to. 

You broke the kiss to catch your breath, your forehead pressed against his, your lips only inches apart. You knew what you were doing was wrong. You didn't want to think about Jace now - you didn't want to hurt him, but you were in his stepfather's arms and you weren't sure you could put an end to it. For you were like two magnets, inexorably drawn together. 

"We can't." You breathed against his lips, still brushing yours. His eyelids were closed, probably lost in desire, savouring the moment. Were you the only one with a moment's lucidity? Wasn't he supposed to be the most responsible ? He was twice your age. "We shouldn't," you tried to add as Daemon tried to capture your lips again. Behind your facade of trying to push him away, Daemon knew what you really wanted. He could feel it under his fingers; the wetness of the lace on the lingerie you were wearing betrayed your true feelings. 

And he was going to prove it to you.

"They're going to talk -" you began as Daemon pulled you by the wrist across the car park of the luxury downtown hotel. "Then let them talk," he replied coldly, tugging at your wrist to force you to move faster despite your high heels. 

You would be spotted. 

The press would create a scandal; him, cheating on his wife, cheating on the heiress of the Targaryen Corp. 

With you. You, Jacaerys Velaryon's girlfriend.

"Are you afraid?" he sneered, and you rolled your eyes at his immaturity. But you decided to play along. "I'm afraid, with your advanced age, you're not really able to keep up." He didn’t quite find that funny, because he gave you a dark glance. “You’d better watch your fucking mouth, young girl.”

Throughout the ride he had kept his hand possessively on your thigh, playing with the hem of your short dress without ever exploring too far. You bit your lower lip, barely moving your hips, subtly, seeking the warm touch of his fingers. The contact between you was electric. Your attempts at daring earned you the tightening of his grip on your thigh, squeezing your flesh. You had to put an end to it. You had to tell him to stop, to be reasonable, to turn around and take you back to the party before anyone noticed you were gone. But all you could see in Daemon's eyes was coldness and hardness.

You were already too far away. There was no turning back.

And the electric tension between you hadn't diminished - it had increased as the lift carried you up. As soon as the doors had closed, Daemon had you pinned against the wall, your legs wrapped around him, your dress pulled up, to devour your lips. One of his hands was pressed against the wall next to your head, the other firmly gripped around your waist.

Daemon hadn't done things by halves. He'd chosen a luxury hotel, a five-star place that had welcomed only prestigious guests since its opening. But the idea was as exciting as it was indecent; he was going to fuckyou in a suite that offered a panoramic view of all of King's Landing, a private spa with a Jacuzzi, and a bottle of champagne worth thousands.  And above all, in a suite that offered the peace and quiet to spend the night as he wished, with no one around to hear you scream his name.

He had chosen the best for you, nothing but the best. Perhaps that was an exaggeration. All this for a girl half his age, whom he wanted to fuck like some expensive prostitute. But why deprive himself when you, the spoiled brat that you were, were only asking for it? You had some kind of hold over him, some kind of mysterious power that made him lose his mind, but fuck, he loved it. He loved the adrenaline that came with danger, the adrenaline that came with the indecency of taking what wasn't his. 

"So what now?" He heard you mutter. You had regained your insolence as you entered the room, your arms crossed over your chest. What now. As if you didn't know what was coming next. You played innocent, but he knew that underneath your angelic exterior you were anything but naive.  He let out a deep chuckle.

What now? 

Oh, but now the fun was about to begin. Now the evening would take another turn - the one he'd been waiting for. He was going to ravish you.

He approached you with a predatory look on his face. He stood behind you, stroking your shoulders and throat with his fingertips before gathering your mass of hair to one side to free your back and neck. He pushed you forward into the room, close to the large mirror opposite the bed.

"Now you're going to undress." Daemon said, mirroring the words you'd just used in a tone that left no room for argument. He let his fingers slide down the skin of your back to the zip, which he played with, sending shivers down your spine. His lips planted kisses on the nape of your neck and slowly - very slowly - he began to pull the zip down. "I want to see you," he added. His eyes, burning with desire, met yours in the mirror. Each of his words were carefully chosen. Cold and calculated. Authoritative and paternal. You couldn't resist him, and as you slipped the straps from each shoulder, the fabric fell to the floor in a pool of satiny black. 

"You wouldn't want to keep kepus waiting, would you?" You didn't know the word - it was that ancient language for which the Targaryens had a secret. But you could imagine all sorts of meanings, given the context. A whole lot of meanings that sent waves of heat between your thighs, making you wetter than you already were...

You swallowed.

Desire pulsed through your core. It wasn't fair for this old man to have such a powerful effect on you with just a few words.

You shivered. Whether it was the chill of being almost naked in the room or the realisation that you were now at Daemon's mercy, you weren't sure. Because he was in control, he was the master of the situation, and you were now playing by his rules.

In your lingerie you were divine. The black lace hugged your skin to perfection - embracing your rounded breasts, revealing your darker nipples and rounded buttocks. A perfect mix of debauchery and innocence.  It was becoming difficult for Daemon to resist. But he had to make it last. 

Teaching you a lesson in patience and obedience was his mission for tonight.

In the reflection of the mirror, you saw his hands brush against your ribs, coming to rest on your hips. Behind you, he stood a good head taller than you. He was taller, wider too, as if to remind you of your place. What he wanted you to be. An object of his personal desire. One of his fingers slipped lower, playing with the elastic of your lace panties, never venturing beneath the fabric - never soothing the place between your thighs that throbbed too wildly. You moved your hips. You wanted more. More contact. More sensation. His fingers against your bud. 

"Stay still, little one," he replied, holding you in place, a mischievous smile stretching across his lined lips. His deep voice vibrated in the hollow of your ear. His fingers were slow, light. Painful. "I didn't say you could move." You struggled to maintain eye contact, to watch your own reflection, so vulnerable, lost in his arms, with his hands on your body, mean and possessive, when you weren't supposed to belong to him.  "Look at you," he whispered in a soft breath that made the hairs on the back of your neck quiver. Your naked body stiffened against his, still clothed.

His fingers slipped lower. You held back a moan. He stroked the spot between your thighs, finding wetness through the fabric. "Do you need kepus here, little one?" His hungry smile widened. That damn word again, that damn word you didn't know - but which seemed dangerously out of place in this situation.  You closed your eyes, and as if by reflex, your hand closed around his wrist to keep him there. You couldn't utter a word or form a coherent thought. "Looks like you lost your tongue, huh?" he added sternly.

"Shut up, old man," you manage to say in spite of everything - without answering his question. You didn't want to give him that privilege. You would have liked to come up with something else, a clever retort, or something that was so characteristic of you - just to show him that you weren't afraid to bite. But you were so lost in your pleasure that the words died in your throat.

"Old man, really?" He frowned. His fingers stopped moving. He held them against you - his forefinger through the fabric, against your entrance. Forbidding you to make the slightest movement, to move your hips, to search for friction. Forcing you to look at your own image, your reflection that proved you'd been caught playing your own game. "Then use your words like the big girl you are and tell me what you want."

Leaning forward, he let his lips brush your shoulder, one hand pulling the fabric of your panties aside to slip his fingers underneath. He wasn't going to give you what you wanted right away - not when you'd called him old man, not when you'd been insolent. His trousers had become ridiculously tight and his pulse was racing with excitement even as he tried to remain calm.  Then his fingers caressed the side of your folds - running over the soft, tender skin, carefully avoiding the little knob at the top of your thighs that would give you so much pleasure. He traced your slit, gathering irrefutable evidence that you desired him. 

You held back a moan. 

He didn't look away from your reflection as his fingers spread your folds, as he collected your wetness on his middle finger, as he finally let his thumb rest against the small hidden pearl. He could feel you weakening, your legs giving way, but he held you up with his arms, to force you to stay firmly on your feet. He wasn't finished with you. Not yet. He hadn't told you you could sit up or lie down. Nor had he told you that you could look away.

And as long as you continued to misbehave, he'd have to be the one to put you in your place.

"Eyes on me." His sharp voice echoed through the room, between the wet sounds of his fingers against the most intimate part of your body and the moans your full lips gently released. Daemon was merciful; he gave you time to obey. And it was only when you opened your eyes again, when your angelic, pleading gaze met his once more in the reflection of the mirror, that his fingers became bolder. He pressed his index and middle fingers against your entrance, tracing a few small circles before plunging inside you.

You clenched beneath him, against him, around him. 

"Look at you," he murmured, punctuating his sentences with hungry kisses that were sure to leave a purple necklace the next morning. "So wet for me. And I've only just started using my fingers." His other hand slid the strap over your shoulder, then deftly unhooked your bra to explode your chest. You felt his thumbs run over the roundness of your breasts, causing your nipples to harden. Then he withdrew his fingers from your warm den, his thumbs hooked under the elastic of your panties, and the piece of fabric that still separated him from your body fell to the floor. He admired you for a moment, before he found your crotch again, pushing his fingers inside you, curling them against the spot that made you see the stars. Just as you were about to look away, Daemon's strong hand closed around your jaw, holding your face up to your own reflection. " Do you see how well you take my fingers inside you ?".

The image reflected in the mirror was one of debauchery. You, panting, desperately trying to keep your balance. Him, behind you, fully clothed, with his fingers deep inside you.

Daemon relished the flush in your cheeks, the shudder that ran through your body, the sighs that escaped your parted lips. You had that innocent, angelic, look that he was dying to tear apart. 

Looking innocent was your weapon. A weakness you used against him, he knew it.

"Look at you, the model girl acting like a whore." He stared into the reflection where his fingers disappeared between your glistening folds. Your walls tightened - you were close, much too close. The wave of pleasure was about to overwhelm your body, and as you felt the release coming, you threw your head back to welcome it.

Your whole body convulsed.

But Daemon didn't give you time to catch your breath. 

"You're so fucking wet," he whispered as he removed his fingers from your warmth and brought them to your own lips. He spread your wetness all over them, pushing his middle and index fingers against your tongue so you could taste yourself. "So wet, just for the old man I am." 

It was naughty – perfectly naughty. The taste of your own essence permeated your taste buds as you wrapped your tongue around his fingers. 

Daemon lifted you up to throw you onto the bed, face down on the mattress, a little more roughly than he would have liked. His eyes shining with anticipation, he placed a hand on your bottom to caress the curve of it.  He wondered what would happen if it turned red.

You were still trying to catch your breath. To come to your senses after your orgasm. 

You couldn't form a single coherent thought.

"Tell me, young lady. Do you think you've been obedient enough tonight?" he asked as he sat down beside you, his hand stroking your chin in a fatherly way. "Or do you need to be punished as a reminder?"

You widened your eyes. Punished. A ball formed in your stomach - a mixture of anxiety and excitement. 

"I don't see what I did wrong," you huffed, defying him with your eyes. "I always behave well. I'm a good girl."

Daemon raised his eyebrows. "A good girl, really?" He lifted your chin, as if inspecting your face for any trace of genuineness. He seemed to hesitate for a moment. Reflecting. As if thinking about the punishment he was going to give you. "Even when you came without my permission?" He paused. "I don't fucking care how good it feels, you'd better not come until I tell you to."

Oh. For that too, you needed his permission. You looked away, embarrassed. But the answer Daemon was waiting for didn't come fast enough. You felt like you'd been swimming underwater for too long - but Daemon was in no mood for patience, not tonight.  He tightened his fingers around the firm flesh of your bottom as if to signal what would inevitably happen. For whatever the answer, Daemon knew there was only one possible outcome. 

And he loved the idea.

His member throbbed with anticipation in the tight confines of his trousers, but he ignored it. His toothy grin reflected the pleasure he felt at being in control, at being the one who determined the events of the evening and their pace. He was the one who would mark you, who would make you yield, who would make your whole body sore and red and tired until you couldn't take it anymore.

"Well?" Daemon added, allowing you the kindness to catch your breath. "With your words." Perhaps he was being too soft on you. Too lenient. But in any case, you could be glad for the brief respite he gave you. Because soon you'd be whimpering again, all weepy and begging. He had a prospect he was looking forward to: reveling in your tears of pleasure and overstimulation.

You had tried to provoke him? Now you had to face the consequences. And Daemon hoped you would be able to.

"I have been exemplary. All evening." You replied, turning your head over your shoulder to look at him with your wide eyes. "And after all, you're not my father. You don't get to punish me."

Daemon's eyes fell on you, his hard face still set in sternness. His gaze still burned with the same intensity of control and danger. But behind that lustful glow, he had his usual look, the one he wore when he was pissed off. It didn't bode well for you.

"You haven't been exemplary." He hissed. "You wanted to act like a whore. So I'm going to treat you like a whore." With that, Daemon stood up. He left you there, on the bed, the product of your desire smeared on your inner thighs. Completely naked. You watched him walk away towards the vanity at the other end of the room in a heavy silence.

You were confused.

You weren't sure you understood what had happened, what was going to happen, but the danger excited you.

Once in front of the vanity, he took the time to slowly unfasten the watch from his wrist and carefully place it on the marble tabletop. He took the time to remove his wedding ring from his finger. He took the time to take off his suit jacket and place it on the back of the chair. He took the time to open the bottle of champagne in the ice cube tray and pour himself a glass. He took the time to do all this - slowly, meticulously.

As if you didn't exist.

Of course, he could feel your gaze on him, your big eyes following his every move with incomprehension. But he wanted to play with his prey, like a cat with a mouse. And it was simply delicious to feel you so unsettled, to feel yourself losing your footing, to see you become a mass of hesitation and insecurity. He was in control and that was a feeling Daemon loved more than anything.

He returned to the edge of the bed and sat down, facing the mirror. He rolled up each sleeve of his shirt over his muscular forearms and finally, he turned his attention back to you. "Come, little one," he said, patting his thigh to entice you to come closer, a ravenous smile stretching his lips. "On kepus' laps." You gulped. You moved forward slowly, like a frightened animal. "Girls like you need to be taught a lesson, don't you think? 

You felt desire grow between your thighs - the familiar tingle at your core. "What lesson, old man?" You countered, your tongue flicking out of your lips as you settled into his laps like a little girl who deserved her punishment.  But wasn't that what you were; a little girl playing in the big leagues?

Daemon took the time to trace the full shape of your ass with a warm gentleness that contrasted sharply with the act he was about to perform. His fingers explored your skin, sliding lower, between the folds that still glistened with the essence of your desire. He let his fingers roam the most sensitive part of you, of your body, gathering the evidence of what you were feeling to soak his own fingers.

"You're going to count with me," Daemon whispered in his hoarse, urgent voice. " Up to ten. You can do it, can't you?"

You mentally prepared yourself for what was about to happen, your body tensing against his. You had lost all your repartee, all your wit. You were no longer the confident, bold young woman who had provoked him all these days - you were a little girl lost in the laps of a man far too old for her. 

You took a deep breath. And the first blow came. The palm of his hand struck the skin of your bottom with a slap that broke the silence between you. "One," you murmured as he stroked the skin he'd just bruised, his fingers lingering between your folds again. You stifled a moan. "Such a good girl," he whispered into your ear. 

And then again. The touch of his palm against your skin. The pain, red and hot, delicious too, spreading through you.  Two. And again. Three. And again. Four. And again. Five.

The red that now coloured your buttocks made him even harder than he already was. It was always that feeling of control, always that feeling of dominance, always the idea of teaching you a lesson that turned him on so much. He must have been completely sick in the head, but who wasn't, in his family?

He was no ordinary man, he was a Targaryen, and he was above the ordinary people. 

He paused for a moment, his fingers venturing once more into the space between your folds to catch the dripping wetness. "Tell me, is it the thought of being punished that makes you so wet, young girl?" he asked, wiping his fingers over your thigh. You held your breath. 

Your moans grew louder, closer, as his hand met your ass once more, and Daemon knew you were struggling to stay focused. You were losing control of your mind and it was all because of him. It was perfect.

"Up to ten, I said," he pointed out with a mixture of firmness and softness in his voice. "So? How far are we?" You searched for words. How could he ask you to think, to count - even to 10 - when you were incapable of thinking clearly with his fingers there? You were too drunk with pleasure to form a coherent thought. 

But Daemon demanded that you finish the count.  Two more.  Two more, and you had to use your words to count them out loud.

"Your words, girl. Don't make me tell you twice," Daemon repeated as his fingers traced the outside of your folds before parting them, stroking your slit, applying a little pressure to your entrance with the flat of a finger before withdrawing his hand.

But there was no answer, and Daemon sighed. Silly girl, making no effort, weren't you? Perhaps he should be more patient. After all, you had endured your punishment so well, with diligence. "So demanding, and for what?” He asked, his condescending tone seeping into his every word. "Be a good girl. I know you can do it, dear one. We were at eight."

You started counting again, with difficulty. Daemon gave you the remaining two slaps to complete your punishment, and he looked at you with pride.  You had taken them, all of them, with docility. He stroked your cheek. You would no doubt have a mark the next day, judging by the pink colour that now adorned your skin. But such a sight, coupled with the sight of his essence that would soon be dripping from your entrance, was something Daemon was determined to imprint under his eyelids.

"See, it wasn't so hard after all, was it?" he asked, his voice honeyed as he caressed your lower lip with his thumb. "I'm proud of you." Your eyes were brimming with tears - of joy or pain, you couldn't really tell. Probably a bit of both. You felt exposed, you felt like a hot mess, and yet you would have gladly taken more if Daemon had asked. 

You let Daemon guide you into a sitting position, your legs falling to either side of his muscular thighs. Hiding a wince of pain, you wondered for a moment whether to curse or thank him. You couldn't form a single sentence, couldn't utter a single word. So you wrapped your arms around his neck to bring your bodies together and your lips found refuge against his. The feel of his tongue against yours was comforting. Underneath you could feel the fabric of Daemon's trousers rubbing against your bare core. It was too much and not enough at the same time. You weren't satisfied with what he had given you. 

You needed more, you needed him. Inside you.

Daemon tightened his grip on your hip, his jaw clenched. He could feel the pressure building, like a storm ready to break. He wanted to grab you by the shoulders, press you against the mattress beneath him and take what he wanted from you. Without remorse. Without a thought for you, without a thought for your own pleasure. It took all his self-control to tame his impulses. As the kiss grew more passionate, the flat of his hand settled against the nape of your neck. His hand was so large compared to your face. He was so big compared to you. Your hips moved in a long, slow motion and you looked so vulnerable, completely naked against him, spilling your wetness all over his expensive Hugo Boss trousers.

He wondered if you could feel the effect you were having on him, the growing bulge trapped in his trousers.

When you broke the kiss, he gently tucked one of your curls behind your ear. Something in him had softened, maybe a little too much. Fuck. Since when had he become soft? Since when had he become anything other than a harsh and selfish man who cared only for his own pleasure? Deep inside, an inexplicable feeling made him doubt. It was paradoxical. And it irritated him to the bone.

Keeping control had always been a way of protecting himself.

Something sparkled in your eyes, he could barely make it out - but already you were sliding to your knees, in front of him, at his feet. You were already undoing the buckle on his belt to free his hard, angry member. "Let me show you how good I can be," you whispered against the tip of his reddened member. Your fingers wrapped around his cock. It was warm in your hand, heavy. You struggled to close your grip around it. Fuck, he was large.

You brought his member to your lips, the salty taste spreading across your tongue. You traced a vein on the underside with the tip of your tongue. "Am I doing well?" you breathed as you placed a series of kisses along his hard length. It was his turn to have lost all possibility of speech - or thought - as you felt his hand digging into your hair, hardening, forcing you to take him into your mouth, and you grinned. You let him guide you. You let him encourage you to take him deeper into your throat, feeling yourself drool around him. The act was messy, filthy, but delicious. He was heavy on your tongue, and the salty taste became more pronounced as his member throbbed.

Daemon couldn't help but think that this was your place. That he wanted to keep you there for all eternity. "You're doing well," he agreed. "But if you are as good as you say, you will have to take more of it," He paused, and as if to reassure you, he placed a fatherly hand on your cheek, his thumb caressing the space where he had disappeared between your lips. "You can do it, can't you?"

But he wouldn't last long. The feel of your lips, your wet mouth around him, the sight of you on your knees would be enough to make him come. 

"Look at you," he growled. "On your knees, where you belong. Sucking kepus' cock like the whore you are." It was getting harder and harder for him not to just spill out on your tongue. He was close. He would not be long.  But he didn't want to end now, not in your mouth, not when the night was just beginning.

So he grabbed your hair and pushed you back, letting you catch your breath for a moment. You had done well. But he wasn't done with you yet. You stood up timidly, hesitant, and Daemon took his time to study your naked body. You were beautiful. Beautifully young.

"Now, on the bed, young girl," he ordered, "before I change my mind." You complied. A thick tension hovered between the two of you, the result of a forbidden game that was becoming increasingly dangerous. But Daemon loved it. He loved this game. And judging by your reactions, he wasn't the only one.

He stripped completely before joining you. His body was sculpted to perfection - and you couldn't take your eyes off him. With a tap of his index and middle fingers on your thighs, Daemon told you to spread them, which you did. 

You felt even smaller under him. 

"I'm going to enter you and you're going to take all of me." His hand caressed your cheek briefly - always that contradictory combination of softness and firmness that drove you crazy - before wrapping his hand around his own member and rubbing it against your pearl. He didn't seek to penetrate you right away. He teased you. Moving back and forth between your swollen folds. Slowly. Too slowly.

And finally, he pushed into you. The intense feel of him washed over you, stretching your opening nicely as he sank into you. He filled you in a way no one else had - he was wide. He was deep. You closed your legs around him, subtly undulating your hips to let him dive deeper. The sensation was divine.

"Such a tight little cunt," he growled. Your nails dug into his back and he grunted into the hollow of your neck, his pelvis thrusting forward to bury himself further between your walls, to split you open. To go deeper. To hit that spot inside you again and again. "Made for my cock only." You swallowed the rasp that escaped his lips, your hands searching his hair, his skin, every inch of his body.

Suddenly, Daemon emerged from your warmth and deftly flipped you onto your stomach. "On your hands and knees." Moaning, tearful, you tried to cling to the sheets with the desperation of a castaway trying to escape drowning. "Please," you begged, rolling your hips back. "I need you. Demon, please."  He chuckled.

From behind you, he lifted your chin. "Open your eyes," he ordered again, and you obeyed, finding yourself facing your own reflection. "What do you see?" he asked as he plunged into you again, his hands gripping your hips. 

The vision before you reflected nothing but lechery - Daemon moving inside you, from behind, inflicting punishing thrusts. You wanted to look away in embarrassment, your cheeks flushed, but you knew that would be disobeying Daemon's orders. 

So you watched as he ruined you.

"U-Us," you replied with a groan. You wouldn't last long. "Us," Daemon repeated. But your answer wasn't enough - wasn't good enough for him.  "And what are we doing, little one?" 

Your cheeks were on fire. Your whole body was on fire. The words he was waiting for couldn't pass your lips. It was too much. Everything was too much. "We are..." The words were confused. They jumbled in your head. "You're - you're...fucking me," you stammered. Daemon rolled his hips harder, deeper, while his fingers sought out your little bud to accompany his thrusts. "Such bad words for a pretty mouth like yours," Daemon reprimanded you, emphasising his words with a particularly brutal thrust. You closed your eyes.

You were about to –

"No, young girl. Not yet. First, I want you to look at yourself taking me so well." Your eyes met his in the mirror. His movements became jerkier, your breathing more panting. "Daemon, please," you begged, not really knowing what you were asking. You felt his fingers. You felt his member inside you. You felt his warm chest against your back. You felt too much.

"Now you're going to be a good girl and keep everything I'm going to give you inside you," Daemon grunted, between erratic movements that became more and more slippery. Your intimate walls were squeezing him perfectly and he wished the feeling would never end.  “I wonder what your boyfriend would say –“

As your climax washed over your entire body, you collapsed onto the mattress. Daemon quickly followed, pulling your hips up against him to bring your pelvis against his, and he poured himself into you, his hot seed flowing between your warm walls. He lay still for a moment, savouring the bliss of his own release.

You winced as he pulled out and lay back on the bed beside you. "You've made a mess," he said as you felt the combination of your fluids running down your thigh to the sheet. "And whose fault is that, old man?" you grumbled as you instinctively lay down next to him, seeking comfort in snuggling up to him, curled up against his chest. "Yours," he replied.  He put an arm around you to keep you close. 

"Daemon, I wanted to tell you -" you started, but you could feel that he was somewhere else. His body was tense, his jaw clenched, his head full of thoughts that eluded you, and you wanted to ask him what was wrong. 

What had caused this change in his demeanour? 

He'd had you in bed. He'd ruined you. He'd fucked you unholy. He made you feel things even Jace couldn't.

So why did he suddenly seem so distant?

The comfort you sought was short-lived. Daemon was already reaching into his suit jacket to grab his pack of cigarettes. Throwing his shirt over his shoulders, he walked over to the window and took a deep drag. You looked at him, your heart sinking. It was stupid. It was stupid what you were about to say and you immediately put it out of your mind.

He was married and you were young enough to be his daughter, what interest could he have in you other than a forbidden one-night stand?

Daemon didn't look back. He tried to reassure himself that it was just a void he was trying to fill. A fantasy he had fulfilled; corrupting you. He wasn't the romantic type. He wasn't the type to fall in love - his marriage was proof of that. He tired of people easily.  He wasn't a good person.

But perhaps the game between you two had gone too far, and the idea frightened Daemon more than ever. He'd thought he could just take what he wanted - be satisfied with that and then send you back to your routine. But when he saw you in bed, naked between the sheets, his heart skipped a beat. He hated the idea.

Because he wasn't sure he was in control of the situation anymore.

[lightwing-s]

𝐈'𝐋𝐋 𝐒𝐇𝐎𝐖 𝐘𝐎𝐔

pairing: jason todd x female! reader;

summary: jason loves you, always have, but you've always loved someone else. and even when he finds you broken, even when he could just put himself first and finally try to make you his, he decides he'd rather help you be yourself again over getting you in your lowest. he'll heal you up, then make you his.

word count: 1,7k warnings: swearing, quite a lot; depressive thoughts(?)

a/n: i didn't mean to write this, and neither that i'd make it this long. this was supposed to just be be writing something while trying to make myself sleep lol hope you enjoy it while i'll do my best to have part ii of "i want to k__ you" up by sunday ♡.

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that was low. that was the lowest, most painful thing someone had ever done to you. yet, why were you still crying because he left?

years of you life dedicated to a relationship, to somebody you thought was your world. who held your world in his hands. you spent years showing up when he needed it, making sure to be present in all of his greatest accomplishments. you were now living on a tight budget for the past few months and still for god knows how long, because you when fuck it, fuck traditions, you were going to propose to him. only for him to show up tonight, at your favorite restaurant, on the eve of your anniversary, with another girl in his arms, telling you that whatever you two had was now done for.

and you knew you shouldn’t have done it, that you should’ve been a better person, but all logic went past by you, and you begged him, you begged him to stay. you got on your knees in front of who knows how many people, and asked him to not throw it all away. but all he did was look at you, not even in your eyes. he just looked in our direction, with the single most disgusting expression of displeasure, turned on his back and left.

left you a mess, left you broken. left you feeling like the floor you were once standing on, that gave you stability and peace, was suddenly removed from beneath you and you started to fall. fall into god knows where, but somewhere deep, somewhere dark. somewhere you couldn’t imagine ever finding your way out, or ever find happiness again. a place where everyone, every single person, looked at you as those in the restaurant looked at you now, with that look that made you sick.

they were sorry for you, they felt pity. you hated pity. it made you feel stupid.

but oh god you were stupid. you threw the most shameless public display of desperation over a guy who must have clearly never even loved you. a guy who never, for almost five years, asked you how your work had been, or if you liked that movie or that meal, if you were alright. a guy who just waisted your time. you were stupid, pitiful, dumb, an idiot. you deserved those looks and the humiliation. you didn’t deserve shit.

you should have read the signs. you should have listened to your friends. you should have listened when your best friend told you, all the damn time, he treated you like shit. who always told you he could treat you better.

if he saw you, in this state, he’d be so disappointed. he saw you as someone strong, independent, but that was all a lie. all those years you were so dependent, emotionally and physically, on a guy who traded you as quickly as one did a car. honestly? even cars received better treatment by their owners. you were so afraid that jason would find you this way, afraid of what he was going to say. and you knew, whatever it was he voiced out, would be the utmost truth.

so, when you opened the door to your apartment, after letting out what may have accounted for the entire amazon river’s water from crying, and found him there, mouth full of the food you had left in the oven. and then, you felt all the emotions you had been trying so hard to contain, make their way back into your mind.

“y/n, finally! where did you put the hot sau��” Jason started asking, but then he looked at you. “y/n… what happened at your dinner?”

his voice was so soft, so careful, as if he was dealing with a delicate object he could break at any moment. but that was exctly how you felt. and in that moment, you broke. you couldn’t hold it anymore, and dropped to the floor, him rushing after you immediately. you could never lie to jason. never. you couldn’t face him and tell him you were fine, that it was nothing, you couldn’t hold your crying in front of him. your relationship, after all those year, was always so real, so full of trust, that lying to him was a locked possibility.

face buried on your knees, arms holding yourself tight, your body shook and you let out loud sobs that left him terrified. whatever happened, wasn’t some silly thing that had bothered you at work, wasn’t some foolish fight you had with your asshole of a boyfriend. it was big. it had you crying, and you fucking never cried. brainstorming all thee possibilities he could only imagine something bad had happened to a family member, or… what day was it today?

“y/n…” he called you, once he felt you body calming down a little. “what did he do?”

you could hear the anger on the way his voice trembled while he spoke his question. you could feel it in the way his jaw clenched on top of your head, and how he held you even tighter in his arms. “h-he found someone else”

no he didn’t. that piece of shit didn’t dump you on your fucking anniversary, did he? jason’s anger was up the walls. he was off of killing people but he could make an exception. just for you. he just need one word, one nod of your head, and that idiot would be gone in less than a minute. nobody, not a single fucking soul in this world, who have the privilege of living if they ever hurt his girl. but who was he kidding, you were never his.

you followed your answer with silence, letting your own words sink in. letting the fact that you were now all alone, fill you up. it didn’t feel real. it shouldn’t be.

“he’s just out of his mind” you tell him, abruptly standing up. “he’s just… he didn’t, he wouldn’t”. you tried to think of excuses. something that would explain his actions. he was bewitched, or his parents forced him. they never seemed to like you now that you think about it.

“y/n…”

“i just need a shower. i’ll be alright” drying your tears, he watched you run to your bathroom still from the floor. he knew you were in denial, that it’d take long for you to fully understand what happened. your life had always been crafted out with perfection, dating all your life’s accomplishments on your own personal timeline, and now part of it was ruined. the part that included building a family, having kids, all ruined because of an selfish son of a motherfucking bitch that had decided he was too good for you.

nobody was too good for you. you’re the one that is too good to anybody. not even him. no, he could never deserve you. no matter how much he loved you, all those years in secret, he could never be enough for you.

jason couldn’t begin to explain how much he loved you and how much seeing you in this state brought him so much pain, so much hurt. so much anger. it was like his heart was the one breaking, his own life that had been shattered. he was sure he’d never felt this much pain in his life, and he had fucking died before.

but he couldn’t tell you he loved you right now. not when you were in this much pain, and so vulnerable. he didn't want to take advantage of your situation, nor he didn't want to confuse you even more. and yet, he felt so desperate to tell you anything, like he was going to combust if he didn't do something.

throwing his common sense away, throwing everything he thought sensible out of the window, he busted into your bathroom.

the foggy glass that lead to you shower made only your silhuete visible, yet he could see your head hanging low as you stood under the warm water. carefully, he got closer and saw your shoulders shaking, and the quiet sniffing sounds of your cries. you're clearly not going to be okay.

you didn't notice him enter your bathroom. nor did you notice it when he slid in the shower box with you. you only noticed his presence when his strong arms wrapped around you bare waist and held the nape of your neck. wrapping your arms tightly around him in return, you bury your face on his soaked t-shirt, muffling the sound of your cries, stopping them from getting any louder.

you are thankful to have him by your side. jason must’ve been the only person in this world that made you feel a hundred percent comfortable with yourself, be it wearing comfy clothes and no make up around him, be it crying over the last puss in boots movie, or being a naked mess crying into his chest. you shouldn’t have been afraid of his reaction, but you aren’t anymore. as he caressed your hair and blew small kisses behind your ear, you let him help you forget. you let him try and take the pain away. even if, deep down, you know that right now, you won’t go so far.

jason was the best friend you never would've guessed you deserved. he was always there by your side. he held you up when your couldn't keep standing anymore. and he soothed your cries and calmed your heart.

“he didn’t deserve you” jason stated, whispering in your ear. “he never deserved ever laying his eyes on you. or touching you. he never deserved”.

"i don't know" you cried out.

"you will" he said against you hair. "i'll teach you".

jason was ready. now he was ready to wait days, weeks or months. hell, he’d even wait years. he’d wait a life time for you to heal.

he'd collect all the pieces of your broken heart, and glue them all together for you. he'd teach you to love yourself again, that you don't need anybody else to be happy with if you have yourself. and him. he'd help you, teach you, to be yourself again.

and then, once you’re healed, once you’re back to being the you he always love and cared for. then, he'd try to make you his.

.

alright this was unexpected lol

[cuubism]

imagine you get a new job at a massive powerful company, and you go in on your first day and go to your predecessor's office which is now your office, and your predecessor's assistants drop a 50 thousand page binder on your desk, 'just to get you up to speed'. and you look at the old financial statements and goddamn what the fuck is going on at this place. "we had a few rough quarters," say the assistants, "but we're sure you can fix it!" and ok this is starting to get a little concerning but the company's work is really cool and you already signed your employment contract so. you're like "ok well. yeah i guess we'll fix that five billion dollar budget deficit eventually haha." then you're like "so... how many people am i managing then?" and they're like "oh weren't you told? you're the ceo. we have about... 2 million employees. here's your calendar!" which is already just back-to-back meetings and tasks 6am - 11pm, who even scheduled this? and this is all starting to feel like some kind of sick joke or a nightmare or something and you're suddenly realizing that the hiring process for this was kind of weird... are you experienced enough for this? surely you should have had more than one interview. the pay is definitely abysmal for whatever this is. and finally you're like "listen i know he left and all but is there any way i could talk to the old boss and get his advice?" and the assistants are like "oh didn't you know? he jumped out his office window."

so imagine you're daniel hall

[keigologies]

sick heart, sick body, s. spiegel

syn. you both got some healing to do.

gen. romance, sick fic.

warnings. canon typical spike banter.

word count. 2.1k.

note. this was posted on ao3 forever ago and i said it was cross-posted here, but i ... clearly never actually did that... until now... oops (?)

spike has known you for most of his bounty hunting career. you came on the team a year after he himself joined jet, proving yourself to be not some wayward hitchhiker they'd have to take care of on their own dime, but a genuine asset: budgeting skills like no other (which the bebop crew really needed help with, though they would object to if questioned), ways of drawing out bounty heads into false senses of security (without causing a fire fight, something spike could really learn from, according to jet), disciplined in all the ways that matter. you're a quick learner; given the time and patience, you'd been able to pick up on his fighting style and you'd learned enough about mechanical engineering to help him and jet in repairing things on the bebop and the other spaceships on board.

all that to say: you're strong and spike has never known you to be anything else. you're smart, quickwitted, a powerhouse bounty hunter with all the skills that matter. you may be a little quiet, a little meek at points, but you're strong, almost untouchable.

so it surprises him when you come down especially hard with a severe case of the flu. it sounds so... primitive, he thinks, just some stupid earth sickness that honestly can't compete with some of the (quite frankly) awesomely-titled sicknesses that have come to be since the colonization of other planets; really, he justifies to himself, venus sickness sucks, but it is a cool name.

he cringes when he hears you cough for what might seriously be the hundreth time tonight and then mentally punches himself for taking the piss out of what you're going through right now. jet had said you'd contracted it while you guys were hanging around in tijuana and spike had been off tracking bounties; it was just coughing and congestion at first, but apparently, it eventually morphed into something way more severe. you'd quarantined yourself immediately to keep them safe, which spike has respected since he got back earlier in the day, but he shares a bedroom wall with you and damn him if you think he's going to allow you to keep suffering like this without him interfering.

your next coughing fit sends him up and out of the comforting warmth of his bed. it's not like he's angry with you or anything - sure, the coughing is getting on his nerves, but he knows you can't help it and he's not that much of a heartless asshole to be mad at you for keeping him from sleeping specifically because you're ill. really, he finds himself wanting (needing, maybe) to check on you, to make sure you have everything you need so you can rest easy and recover faster.

he realized a long time ago that he'd become jaded about the world. with everything that happened in the before the bebop era, it was clear why he'd become so disillusioned and nonchalant about things. with his past, things just didn't matter as much; he still had life to live, but he'd decided to be a little more reckless about things. he didn't want to waste time worrying about things that didn't concern him, now or ever: whatever happens, happens.

your being sick isn't really any of his business because outside of him having to listen to you cough all night for as long as you're ill, it doesn't concern him in the slightest. he means, it shouldn't concern him because it really shouldn't, but there's a part of him that's... open to the idea of being concerned for you and your wellbeing, which is strange to him because he shut himself off from ideas like that decades ago, it seems like. it's not that he's incapable of it, of caring for another person, but rather that he feels it's more of a betrayal. he'd given his heart to another and he'd never truly gotten it back.

though, in the five long strides it takes him to cross from his door to your own, he thinks that maybe he had gotten it back, years ago even, and he was too afraid to admit it to himself. so many things he'd held himself back from for years, all in the name of a woman who had disappeared into the ether without so much as a trace. she was gone; dead or alive, julia was gone and she had been for a long time. it's been time for him to douse that torch for a while now.

and when he comes to this conclusion in those five strides, he thinks that you getting sick might be a blessing in disguise, at least for him, because he's realizing now that he's been taken with you for quite some time. he's not sure when it first started, this infatuation with you, but it certainly isn't recent. he supposes it doesn't matter, however, because he's realizing it now, on his way to rescue you from an earth virus that definitely had a way lamer name than other sicknesses, which is a comment he's sure you'll laugh at and agree with him about if he brings it up.

once he finally raps his knuckles on the sliding metal door leading to your bedroom, he hears the beginning syllable of "come" before it's interrupted by a ragged cough. your voice, rough and almost whispered, struggles to say "come in," but you finally manage it and he opens the door just enough to slide in, ducking under the door frame.

"you feeling alright?" he asks, closing the door behind him. "you've been hacking up a lung all night."

you do your best to laugh, but it's a sad attempt, barely there and hoarse. a piece of him wilts at the sound, sad to hear you in such a bad condition. "better than i was yesterday."

"sure doesn't sound like it," he answers, turning towards you. he withers a little more.

you look so small in your bed, under what he can only guess to be every single available blanket on the bebop. you have dark circles under your eyes, your cheeks sunken and your skin pallid in accordance. you look like you have one foot in the grave.

"jesus," spike says, crossing the small room to your bedside and sitting on the edge. "you look awful. have you been eating?"

somehow, he's able to recognize your shrug under fifteen different blankets. "we're almost out of food. didn't wanna bother jet about it or throw the budget out of sorts."

"are you being serious right now? fuck the budget. you have to eat when you're sick like this." he genuinely frowns and presses the back of his hand to your forehead and then cheeks. "and you're burning up. did you just decide to forgo medicine in the name of the budget too?"

you shrug again.

"you're the worst." 

but you can tell he's joking because if he really thought that, he wouldn't be here at all. he stands and when he turns to look at you, you've got a questioning expression on your face.

"oh, don't look at me like that. i'm not just going to come in here, berate you for being stupid about being sick, and then leave. i'm going to go see if i can track down some medicine."

"it's not gonna be any of that weird shit you keep in the first aid kit, is it?" you ask, a grimace clear on your face.

"okay, first off, that weird shit is home remedies and they work just fine. second, no, i'm not stupid. that stuff isn't going to cure what you have, so don't worry your pretty little head, alright? the newt stays in the kit another day."

the last comment makes you laugh and this time, it's not as hoarse as it was a few minutes ago, which makes him smile to himself. with you being in the state you are, it's nice to hear a few seconds of your cool, clear laugh. something about it anchors him to this moment in time, reminds him that he's not as cold and as standoffish as he's always presented himself to be in this new life of his; no, he's capable of caring for people like this, of loving someone like this. he's got something good here with you and he's always had it, he's just never let himself think that it was his to actually indulge in.

"i'll see what i can find. in the meantime, start deconstructing that 'money is more important than my pressing health needs' mindset you apparently have going on, okay? i mean, really, you were worried about the budget? you know jet would agree with me here, as much as he complains about not having money. plus, shit that you can't account for happens."

"okay, okay, i get it." you accompany your words with an eye roll, but the smile is clear on your lips, which are cracked from dehydration. "can we save the lecture for when you get back? or just save it for jet altogether since i know you'll end up snitching to him about this eventually anyway?"

spike scowls, but it's obviously playful. "don't go catching an attitude with me. i'm generously playing nurse for you right now when i could very well just let you suffer here alone."

"oh, this is you playing nurse? then you really oughta work on your bedside manner, spiegel. it's atrocious."

he shakes his head and begins backing away from you, arms crossed over his chest. "keep acting like that and maybe i'll feed you that newt after all."

"yeah, yeah, yeah. i think jet's been hiding chamomile tea somewhere in the living room. make some for me, please?"

"you're real lucky i'm in the mood to be compassionate," he jokes, finally turning to open the door. "you want honey with it?"

"if we have any."

"you got it. don't fall asleep before i get back or i'm ratting you out to jet about this tea too."

he hears your hum of affirmation as he steps into the hallway and when he closes the door behind him, he allows himself to assess the whole interaction. if this had occurred at any point before now, he would have felt entirely disgusted with himself, but at present, he realizes he doesn't really mind. you've taken care of him an innumerable amount of times since joining him and jet, serving as the defacto nurse on the bebop, and this could easily be just him returning the favor, but it feels like so much more than that. 

because it is. if it was anyone else, if was any other time, he wouldn't be feeling this way: soft and warm on the inside like heat without his trusty cigarette. when he'd left the syndicate and faked his death, he'd sworn off love and adoration and affection. they had been his downfall once, they would not ruin him a second time. sure, he'd come to trust jet more than he'd trusted anyone before, but he kept even him at arm's length, afraid of what might happen if he let him come too close to orbit. 

and while it worked for the most part, spike has been learning (for what he assumes is quite a long time) that cutting those kinds of human connections of out of one's life isn't the way to go about healing, especially when the person one wants to love has proven time and time again that they're worthy of being trusted. there is no life without love because life without love and companionship is a sickness of the heart and he's let it fester for far too long.

so when he comes back to your room with a hot mug of chamomile tea with honey, a few pieces of hard tack he scrounged up, and some generic medicine, and he finds you asleep? he doesn't find himself all too annoyed with you like he threatened he'd be. no, instead, he feels a little bad when he has to wake you up to drink and eat and take the medicine he had to go digging through too many drawers for. and when you apologize for keeping him up with your coughing, he tells you you're the worst next door neighbor for it (a joke), but he's glad he can help you (not a joke).

and when you ask him if he'll stay for a while (just to make sure i'm not going to die in my sleep, you reason), he agrees and lays under your fifteen blankets with you until your breathing evens out and you're fast asleep, and even then, he stays just a little bit longer than he needs to, relishing in the feeling of sharing a bed with another person again.

he figures you've both got some healing to do, so you won't mind if he falls asleep with you. 

© keigologies 2023. do not translate, copy, or repost my work on any site.

[canonicallyobserving911]

"Edmundo the Protector" makes a comeback in 7x6 for the other T.K.

I've already posted about the similarities between Taylor Kelly and T*mmy Kinard (linked here) and now more than ever, they're unmistakable because T*mmy is just like Taylor except he's a man. He slyly tries to belittle Buck the same way she did.

The sneak peek of Buck, Eddie and T*mmy at the pre-bachelor party from 7x6 is not the first time T*mmy made a nonchalant, uncaring and just off-putting comment to Buck. Initially, I clocked his attitude towards Buck in 7x4 (the first scene at Air Operations) and I posted about it after the episode aired because I noticed his behavior (linked here). Dudes like T*mmy are arrogant, jealous, obnoxious and only want to be with a person they can treat like they're in control. Which is the reason why I believe he calls Buck "Evan" instead of Buck. He's trying to "kid" him just because he's older.

Be clear, T*mmy's not the least bit interested in Buck! It's an ACT and he's just along for the ride because he wants what Buck has (his apartment, his life and his family status with the 118). If you don't believe me, go back and watch 7x4 and LISTEN to the things he said. As soon as he walked into Buck's loft, he saw how nice it is and he made a comment about how he's working at the wrong station. But everyone should remember T*mmy's been a firefighter longer than everyone at the 118 (except Bobby who was already a captain in Minnesota) which means he makes more money than all of them. Also, he got a promotion when he went to the 217 and he flies helicopters and airplanes for a living. Therefore, he should be making at least $250,000.00 per year without OT compared to the rest of them. He's a low budget Wal-Mart or Dollar Tree dude who wastes money on toys like car lifts, helicopters and Bull$hit but he couldn't spend any money to buy a costume to show the guy he's dating that he's interested? I call BS because he could have, he just didn't want to.

Edmundo the Protector

Eddie clocked T*mmy's attitude in 7x6 when he gave that lame ass excuse to Buck about why he didn't dress up and he didn't put in any effort at all even though Buck asked him to.

Eddie is protective of Buck, hence his legal name "Edmundo" which literally means wealthy protector (linked here) and he'll do whatever it takes to stop T*mmy from brushing Buck's feelings to the side. I do believe Eddie's trying to let Buck realize how T*mmy's not right for him on his own the same way he did with the first TK (Taylor). Reminder, she was verbally unkind to Buck too when she told him to his face he was needy in 4x8. Also, Buck finally did figure it out (almost a year later) that Taylor wasn't good for him but this time there's a major difference because T*mmy's a man.

In 5x11 Eddie gave Taylor the "Maybe you should go home" face but since T*mmy is a guy and they both know Muay Thai, it means Eddie can kick his ass.

[dapper-dinosaursblog]

Convo Between Bros

//SPOILERS FOR LIKE, ALL OF MY HERO ACADEMIA//

------

Denki: Woah, dude. Since when do you eat cup ramen?

Kat: Shut the hell up, what I eat doesn't concern you.

Denki: Except it does because we work together, and I'm going to be the one who has to deal with you complaining about how you feel like shit tomorrow.

Kat: Listen here, you vocaloid reject I-

Denki: Oh! I get it now. You're broke.

Kat: MY FINANCES DON'T-

Denki: 'Don't concern you,' whatever. How on earth are you of all people low on cash? You've been working nonstop since we made our official debuts!

Kat: Just because I work so much doesn't mean I'll just have money to spend like a loser. Some of us actually budget our money, so we don't end up on the streets.

Denki: Yeah, but you've been taking on almost every call that comes in, dude. Even if you were focused on your bills, you could easily afford to- oh. Oh.

Kat: What're you 'oh-ing' for, you sound stupid.

Denki: Who is it?

Kat: Hah?

Denki: Whoever you've been spending your money on; who is it? Is it someone I know?

Kat: What makes you think I'd spend my hard earned money on some extra?

Denki: You literally dropped a few hundred for Midoriya's birthday one ye- IT'S MIDORIYA, ISN'T IT?

Kat: SHUT YOUR TRAP, PIKACHU!

Denki: Sero owes me so much money.

Kat: Why would he- never mind. I ain't spending shit on Deku, so get that thought out of your head.

Denki: You can't lie to me, Kats. I'm pretty smart, ya' know?

Kat: Didn't you fail the practical portion of our finals in first and second year?

Denki: Didn't you die that one time because you thought you could take on you-know-who by yourself?

Kat: Woah, too soon.

Denki: It's been eight years, get over it.

Kat: You can't just get over something like that.

Denki: Fair. But you know what you can get over? It's actually a river in Egypt-

Kat: I will blast your ass out of here so hard, that you'll be shitting ash for weeks.

Denki: This isn't the end of this.

Kat: Get the hell out of my kitchen.

Denki: You were the one who invited me over!

Kat: Yeah, a lapse in judgement. Now, get out.

Denki: Fine, but remember, you'll just have to see me at work tomorrow.

Kat: *after Denki has left* why the fuck am I friends with him.

[sageistri]

Wow so it looks like RM is getting a high budget promo this time around. Do you think he'll do really well? I already see jjks bringing up seven so I know they'll compare numbers

Do y'all actually know how seven pulled those numbers? You think it's because of posters or actors being present in music videos?

Jjks always do that to make themselves feel better. I'll listen to whatever they have to say when another member gets multiple combined versions, a number 1 placement on tth, radioplay, autoplay, ads, CDs for remixes, a promotion period that spanned the second half of the year and all the other stuff their fave got.

Until then they need to shut the fuck up. They act like we didn't all witness what happened during their faves debut

[just-a-random-dead-thing]

~Lost and Found~ (Larissa Weems x Student!Reader)

The reader is 19 in this fic!!! The show makes it clear they have students well above the age of consent.

My undying love for this woman and her actress mixed with the honesty concerning lack of fics for her character has finally compelled me to publish something. This fic is completely self indulgent and probably not worth your time but if you for some reason feel compelled to read on, thank you and enjoy!

Chapter one (1k words)

Be warned this is very shitty angst and do not expect it to get better as I continue on. If anything expect it to get worse. Nothing for this chapter but please be warned moving forward this fic will discuss some triggering topics which will be made clear at the start of each chapter they appear. Also eventual smut you have been warned...or teased?

Finally thank you to my friend who edited this because it's the only reason it is semi-readable, they're the best <3

The rain drops raced down the cold slabs of glass, through which I watched the students running late to their classes. They sprint across the courtyard with books above their heads, sacrificing their notes for the sake of keeping themselves dry.

I hear a faint ringing. Noises blurring into high pitched radio waves as I tune back in, slowly coming to the right frequency to hear the disgruntled voice of my teacher calling my name. I say nothing in return.

Dragging my attention to the front of the class, where my teacher is writing something on the board pertaining to- werewolf procreation? Vampire sex ed? I can't keep up with the 50 different (and equally boring) lectures this man gives.

Once again I find my mind wandering off to far away places. Anywhere but this grey box, which traps me within its walls like a glass traps a spider. I have given up on any hopes of understanding today's topic of useless information, so instead I retrieve my book from my school bag and begin to read. The Outsider by Albert Camus, ironic and meaningless when you're in a school for outcasts.

I am half way through the chapter when my teacher's grating voice once again bursts any sense of joy I am experiencing in his class. This time I just can't be bothered listening to the lecture on the importance of whatever the fuck he's teaching so I get up and walk out. He continues to get louder the further I get out the door, so I flip him off for good measure. Come on, seriously! How are you that bad at your job I can't figure out the topic of today's lesson even when I put the effort in to try? If I require this much to even figure out what to put as the title of notes then your teaching certainly isn't important enough, and you aren't good enough at your job to keep me in that room any longer.

I slowly make my way through the empty halls of the academy, continuing to read as I venture back to my dorm. Thankfully, I don't have to share a room. If I had a roommate, they'd probably be dead within the week. Probably not on purpose, but you never know - I could have just been having a really bad day, and thought a light spot of murder would cheer me up.

I bang into something large, falling over my feet onto the cold stone ground. I reach to pick up my book, but before I can reach it, it’s plucked from the ground by a hand, which my eyes follow up to a very disapproving Principal’s face. Oops? What am I meant to say, sorry? It was an empty corridor, she could have easily walked around me.

She's always needlessly difficult for no reason.

"Y/N..." Weems says seething, scowl firmly fixed on her face. God, the annoyance is really seeping into her tone and body language today. Normally she at least keeps the plastic smile up, while passive aggressively giving you a lecture on how you've disappointed her, harmed the school community and destroyed its image. Hmm... the board must have cut her budget for the semester.

I meet her eyes, nearly breaking my neck in the process since she's over a foot taller than me. I smirk as I address her. "Headmistress...I didn't see you there, out for a morning stroll?" She scrunches her nose briefly at my coy attitude before replying, her words like venom.

"No Mx/Mr/Miss L/N, I'm actually coming to find you because once again you've managed to piss off the teaching staff, and I have to deal with the repercussions of them complaining about you."

Honestly, I only processed one thing she said, and that was Weems swearing. She's never done that before. Hot... definitely hot.

I chuckle with a reply. "Well looks like I've out done myself this time. I've got you in such a state that the perfect facade has fallen and you're even swearing, that's not very school appropri-"

I am interrupted part way through my gloating by a sudden sharp pain in my back. I come to realise I have been slammed against the rough wall of the corridor, causing the air to leave my lungs and leaving me helplessly gasping for air.

She leans in close with an almost deadly expression as she whispers, "This is my final warning. Make light of this situation again and I'll have you in detention with me every lunch, free, and evening for the week on top of whatever I am going to have to arrange for your other grievances.

“Skipping class and disrespecting the teaching staff - not to mention, myself - with your snarky comments and nonchalant attitude when it comes to your studies. You refuse tutoring despite being seriously behind on control of your powers - do you even know if you have any? You certainly haven't displayed any thus far throughout the two years you've been at this school.

“Sometimes, I seriously question why you chose to transfer to this school, and why I even accepted your application. It had nothing Nevermore looks for in a student and you've clearly shown you don't intend to work on that."

Listening to her words as they become increasingly more personally, tears prick the corners of my eyes but I do not allow them to fall. I refuse to show weakness towards this woman who knows nothing about me. My brief sorrow turns to anger, as I respond with possibly my last words whilst I'm alive, "Go. Fuck. Your. Self."

I desperately try to escape her grip, but just like a fly in a spider-web, it is hopeless. She is a foot taller than me and twice my weight. Her arm presses harder against my chest, air struggling to get in and out as the carbon dioxide begins to drown me. Blurred darkness slowly eclipses my view of her.

I mean, there's worse things to see in your dying moments.

[spunkytomboybeat]

Long post about Makoto x Elena from Street Fighter

Once more I am thinking about Makoto and Elena from street fighter and i am debating on making a youtube video on my thoughts about me shipping the two.

I had my old post on here reblogged and it got me thinking about how Makoto x Elena is a rarepair for some reason, sure there's some fans about it (I've slowly been finding people who take interest/like it) but it's somehow the least common one when talking about the street fighter 3 gals. It is significantly more common for me to see Ibuki x Makoto, Elena x Ibuki, or even Elena x Makoto x Ibuki somehow. I'm not saying any of these pairings are bad, I do like them (I am somewhat mixed on Ibuki and Makoto for a handful of reasons but this isn't about them) and I love seeing art about them, what I am confused about is that the one with the LEAST art of talk about is Elena x Makoto.

These two have been on my mind forever. A taller than average bubbly capoeira PRINCESS is dating a shorter slightly grumpy tosan karetake tomboy is so funny to me. These two are just the polar opposites and yet despite it all they are dating? Incredible.

Like through the games and side media it's fairly obvious the writers and artists commonly pair the two together now on whatever they're doing.

First it was on sf3 where despite Makoto being a new character (and even having a special intro with Ibuki), Elena was the ONLY person to have a conversation on their own arcade ladder with Makoto (Makoto has a convo with Ryu since she was trying to find him to fight). And thing is Makoto wasn't even the most welcoming at first (dialogue below)

Makoto: What's wrong with you?! Stop smiling like that! It's creepy! Makoto: I'm here for a serious fight! I'll punish you if you make fun of me! Elena: I just want to be your friend! Elena: That's the reason why we fight! So let's enjoy the battle! Makoto: Friend?! I don't think I could ever understand you. [Dialogue ends.]

And it's honestly funny that Makoto of all people underestimates Elena, a capoeirista (I'll give her the benefit of the doubt since Makoto isn't the most knowledgeable of the world and doesn't know that Capoeira is arguably one of the scariest fighting styles to have on a tall person). Girl wanted to have a new friend and up for a friendly spar on her travels around Japan and Makoto assumed she was just here to make fun of her (And I assume they either went on a draw or Makoto lost the fight since I do believe Elena is stronger between the two). But even what Makoto said, Elena is unphased and knows she didn't mean any harm, Makoto is just someone who is very direct with words and is honest about what she says even if she's not the best person at communicating. Elena likes her friends and Makoto is her friend and is there to listen, be her with a grumpy face or not, Elena isn't here to make fun of you on purpose and would rather laugh with you.

Before 3rd strike Elena was normally paired with Ibuki (Even if Ibuki was being paired with chun since she was the most famous of the 2) because she was one of the 2 girls on sf3. But after 3rd strike something shifted and suddenly Elena was being paired with Makoto more often than not, and when they weren't it'd either be the sf3 girls trio, Elena was paired with Narumi (i wish we had more Narumi content) or Makoto was chilling with Ibuki. But other than that a lot of comics and official art just had Mak and Elena enjoy their time together and i think it's really cool we have more content of them, I really want the two to interact with each other more in SF6. Capcom please put me in that writing's room when you do decide to do a cutscene story mode for sf6 that isn't world tour (I like the mode I just wish it was the real characters interacting more with each other since we finally have a proper budget and can experiment more)

I really enjoy that I've been seeing more content of the Tall goober and the short goober kissing though, really lovely stuff :3

Like imagine being a Tosan girl with barely any social experience because majority of your life you were secluded because everyone didn't care about you or your dojo's history after your father died and dressed like a tomboy and did karate so much to the point you make your hands, which are bigger than that of a common girl, bleed and also one of your interests is woodcarving and then suddenly this foreigner capoeirista taller than your doorframe (and taller than you by two heads) comes up to you smiling saying they want to be your friend because you looked like a fun person to talk to even if your past wasn't the most superb thing ever to look up to. She doesn't mind what happened to your past and isn't here to make fun of you or to shun you away because you worked all your life for a goal that you set yourself to do for years, even if it was alone, she was here because she liked you as a person and found you cute and would yell at the world that she's your friend and would go out to eat, watch movies, do work, train, spar, debate fighting styles, study and just relax with each other. And then suddenly a year passes and you're in her bed and shes sleeping soundly next to you and you call her your girlfriend that you love very much and you don't know how to react. And then the next morning she picks you up because she found it funny since she's still significantly taller than you but you love her since she's someone you care about for all this time, giving you a kiss on your big forehead.

I like these two a lot, I really do.

[adviceformefromme]

Hiii,

I would love to have your insight on my issue or crisis.

I'm now living alone. I moved out (I used to live with a family friend, but she has an awful character, and I always get sick there due to being stressed out/overworked, I worked for her because she owns a business, and she isn't paying me enough, she pays me a quarter and even less from everyone else), and I was supposed to have a job, I applied, get hired and all that but it didn't turned out well. So, now I'm unemployed, and I'm looking for a job again. But it's been over a month, and my anxiety is skyrocketing. I'm so worried over the next few weeks because I might run out of money, and I have pills to pay, food, and everything else. I am budgeting what's left to fit all my expenses. I am so worried. I don't have anyone I can confide to, ask for help, or anything. I feel so alone and miserable. I really don't know what to do anymore.

I'm still currently applying for a job, hopefully I'd get hired as soon as possible. But as of the moment, this situation is really taking a toll on my well-being. I can't sleep, and I'm constantly worrying about what might happen to me tomorrow, the next few days and weeks. I'm so stressed out. I really don't know what to do anymore.

Thank you for reading this. Would love to have your advice on this one. Love lots, and take care always xx.

Hey sweetie, omg I FEEL you! I have been there. I was thrown out and had no were to go when I was 19 and I was literally desperate. I had no money, no job and also when I was 21 same thing. As difficult as this situation is, you have to believe it's literally the moments before your break through, and this is where your task is to trust and lean into faith. I know you have a vision, of where you want to be, i know you are trying your very best to get there, or even just get on the path there so keep focusing on what you want, nothing less. Pour all your energy into where you want to be. Not who screwed you over, not how difficult life is. IGNORE THE 3D. Focus all your mental energy on where you want to be. This is going to require you to be pro-active in thinking positively. Things you can do right now to help yourself. 1] Grab a pen and paper or the notes in your phone. Write down exactly what you want. The vision. Let go of what you don't want otherwise you're dragging more of that into your future. Write about the dream job, where it is, what you wear to work, what time you wake up, what your new boss is like, get into DELULU. Make shit up. Be creative. As long as you write in present tense. I AM. Keep doing this. Time yourself for 5 mins writing (longer if you can). You also want to imagine the phone call receiving the good news. Just keep pretending 'OMG THEY OFFERED ME THE FUCKING JOB AGHHHHHH' literally go there, this is your oscar moment. Let the tears stroll down because you are so happy, the struggle is finally over. Pretend you're on the phone to your imaginary boyfriend telling him the best news about your new job. Imagine getting the keys to your dream apartment. As crazy as this all sounds the most important thing you do is FEEL into where you want to be, and do this as often as you can throughout the day. Become obsessed with your vision. Put hourly timers on your phone, the main goal is to move you out of the darkness you are in right now. 2] Listen to positive music. Let go of the depressing shit, listen to beautiful songs that make you feel hopeful, energised. Binural beats, pop music that uplifts you, harp playlists on youtube, whatever lifts your spirits, use sound to assist you. 3] Go for a run! Running is free. Is allows you to free your mind, shift your energy and realise some of the weight of the world. 4] Stop talking about what you don't want. DO NOT UNDER ANY CIRCUMSTANCES speak from this moment on, about what you do not want. Don't speak on it. Words are spells, make sure you are only speaking on GOOD NEWS. If anyone asks you about your job search, tell them its going well and you're feeling like something good is about to happen. Pause mid sentence if you find yourself speaking negatively. 5] GET PREPARED. Mentally, physically. I'm not sure what country you are in but there are charities like 'Dress for Success' (globally) that help women with free work clothes, my friend used to volunteer there and they have incredible designer clothes they donate to women for work purposes. See what support is available to you and lean into it. 6] PRAY. Speak words to the unseen, ask for a sign, guidance, a job today, some money to come from somewhere, whatever feels natural for you. Lean on prayer for support. There is a GOD available to you, ready to help. Speak to him, ask him for help, don't be shy, if you're mad, if you're upset let him know. He is there for you, and will help and change your life. He has changed my life so much and I trust he can and will do the same for you. When you feel like you have no-one, I promise you, if you lean on God he will change your life like you could never imagine. I hope these points help sweetie. Sending all the love xoxoxox

[onegirllis]

So, about the new LIS trailer

It took me some time, but forgive me for the delayed response. I had to dig myself out of the fandom grave to actually look around and notice what the hell was going on. I spent another moment pondering if I still care, and with the answer "barely," I came here to write this post.

1) For whatever reason DickNein (yes, I didn't miss the scandal, who is the nazi now?) still doesn't understand what made LIS 1 so successful. It wasn't the diversity; it wasn't the same copy-paste lines; it wasn't the murder; it wasn't the superheroes from small towns with different powers. It wasn't even the lesbians (I know, shocking!). There were merely a few elements that made LIS special: - Magical Arcadia Bay with its residents - The rewind time superpower, which was one of the best mechanics in narrative games since the genre was born - Max, Chloe, and Rachel (not necessarily in that order), and you need at least two to make it work, preferably with Chloe at least somewhere there. - the specific art style and saturated colors (butchered a bit in BTS but then going full SIMS 4 for the rest of the games) - and most importantly - the soul Sure, DontNod could get away with alteration, to no fanfare and sometimes to no success, but their experiments came from the right place. This shit ain't it.

2) For whatever reason, Chloe is now a dog. I know. I know. I understand. Listen, my fellow comrades, I know how it feels when the devs pull put shit like, "Oh, they were just friends and grew apart, but now she named her squirrel after the love of her high school life".

3) Max had plastic surgery. She also decided to be entirely anonymous so that she looked like everyone else. Every model looks the same, and I hope they will have their names spelled above them as they walk around. Otherwise, I have no idea who is who. Frankly, she looks a little bit like Steph had a lot of fun with the entire cast of Sims 4 and then had a baby.

4) On top of everything, the new Max, however, probably now goes as Maxine, is teaching her Polaroid skills at a university. Now we know we are in an alternative universe all along. I hope the tuition matches the useful photography skill set you obtain there.

5) For any other reason unknown, she can dress up as Chloe, who can be dead (see the Ultimate edition). I know Max has a long tradition of dressing up as dead people, but I hoped it would go away with her Botox and other plastic corrections. But hey, we survived Chloe dressing up as Rachel and cosplaying as her dad, too, so I guess I shouldn't even be surprised. Not that it's a low-budget movie, and they have a limited wardrobe. It's a video game, but the tradition of having a mental stroke is still strong.

6) Oh no, another murder I gotta solve! I shall use my powers. Why now? Is it another girlfriend who is into printing photos? Or is it her student? Or both? Max becoming Jefferson would be a nice twist, even if not loved among the community, but I don't think it would get anywhere that dark. It just will get stupid.

7) This is supposed to be a fanservice a little too late and on the wrong foot. I know y'all missed Max. I didn't, but I understand the hype on seeing her on the screen. Although following a teenager in Arcadia Bay was interesting, simply by the shot of nostalgia with every step, here we are following a middle-aged single art teacher (or someone who looks middle-aged to the point that they decided on fixing their face). NO ONE WANTS TO FOLLOW THEIR ART TEACHERS WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK.

8) The Nazi problem (well, well, well, the turntables). I know DeckNein had to do some cleanup among their staff. I hope they did, but somehow, I doubt it was done for the right purpose. Therefore, I'm uncomfortable giving them any of my money, now or ever. I know, there are worse studios. I know it's stupid, but LIS was always special, filled with this little genuine spark. It just doesn't feel right.

9) The game has the worst UI in the history of modern gaming.

10) And to finish my rant on something even worse, LIS4 is coming just before DontNod's new game, most likely to compete with it on the market. A bit sus, don't you think?

Anyway, dick move, my friends. All of it. Actually, waving dicks around in the air all along. Despite our differences, this ain't right. And God knows how much worse it could be.

[obsidiancreates]

Taishen's Guide On Being The Best Uncle You Can Be

(Somehow I hit exactly 1,400 words for this. I just wanted to say that because that is a damn satisfying wordcount.)

It takes just about a year after traveling with Gricko and Frost for Gideon to start being called "Uncle Gideon" whenever Gricko mentions him to Hootsie.

"He sure warmed up to us quick," Kremy had said one night, sitting by the campfire and keeping an eye on his roux. "Callin' us family already seems a little much, don't it, Gid?"

"Yeah, but he's a fuckin' weird little guy. Not really surprisin'."

"True."

Truth be told, Gideon doesn't mind it. He thinks Kremy doesn't mind the "Uncle Kremy" title either, because there's always just enough room in the budget to buy Hootsie a trinket, or snack, or new little hat. And sometimes Gideon decides not to go back for thirds of whatever Kremy cooks so Hootsie can have seconds, and sometimes Gideon doesn't even need to hold back because Kremy sets aside extra just for her.

The first time Gideon accepts it aloud, though, is when they're staying in a little inn, and Hootsie is dancing just for fun in the tavern area, and someone throws a tankard at her and calls for the "wild beast" to be thrown out.

The man finds himself thrown out, his throwing arm broken, and the shout of "That's my fuckin' niece, asshole!" haunting his drunken dreams.

"That was very violent, Gideon," Gricko says later as they're all prepping the single room they could get. Hootsie is curled up in the corner, a little rattled still, but Gricko already has his pack set out and is making up a little bed for both of them where she lays. Gricko's tone is scolding, but he mouths "Good job," when he knows Hootsie can't see it.

"People shouldn't be throwin' things at her," Gideon says with a shrug, fluffing up his thin-as-paper pillow as much as he can. "She's just a baby."

"Your little baby niece," Gricko says with a wide grin. "Isn't that right, Hootsie? You've got big strong Uncle Gideon to protect you!"

Hootsie looks up at Gideon with those giant round eyes and hoots. Maybe Gideon's starting to catch some of Gricko's strange brand of cookoo-bananas, but Gideon could swear she looks and sounds grateful.

"Yeah yeah, I'm Uncle Gideon, we all heard me say it." Gideon gets into the bigger bed in the room as Kremy and Frost play a game of cards to determine who gets the other one (card counting versus slight-of-hand cheating, mind-reading versus shadow magic, it's tough to know who'll win) and shuts his eyes. The sounds of shuffling cards, Gricko telling Hootsie a bedtime story, and the bed likely splintering beneath Gideon's own weight lull him to sleep.

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

Gideon walks into a tea shop. He doesn't really drink tea, that's more Frost's thing, but he's here anyway.

He doesn't question it, as is the nature of dreams.

"Finally!" an excited voice rings out in the empty shop as Gideon finds himself sat down at a counter. The golden dragonborn on the other side grins brightly at him as he pushes a cup of fresh tea forward. "I've been waiting so long for you to finally realize you're an uncle!"

"Uh... what?" Gideon takes a sip of the tea. It's actually not bad. He didn't know tea could be spicy.

"That little owlbear has a lot of support, but that doesn't mean you can take being her uncle any less seriously." The dragonborn gestures at an ink painting hanging on the wall, of himself and a younger dragonborn girl. "Mei Li taught me just how important this role truly is, and I'm going to help you be the best possible uncle you can be."

"Hey man, listen. I appreciate the fuckin' thought and all, but, I don't know who the hell you are!"

"You won't remember once you wake up anyway," the dragonborn says, pouring himself a cup of tea and pulling a stool over to his side of the counter. "We've talked a few times, actually. But those were usually extremely upsetting times, and now we finally have something to celebrate!"

"Celebrate with tea?"

"I know you prefer alcohol, but if I can get Skrimm to enjoy tea I can get you to enjoy it as well."

"Well, I dunno why I'd need any advice on bein' an uncle, 'cause it seems pretty fuckin' easy t'me." Gideon knocks the rest of his tea back. The cup is full when he sets it down. "Give her treats, buy her stuff when she wants it, and punch guys who're fuckin' dicks to her."

"Those are all part of it," the dragonborn agrees, "But there's more to it than just spoiling her and protecting her. You have to nurture her as well!"

"I mean, Gricko's her dad, he's the one who's doin' all the raisin' and stuff."

"If you all lived in a town, that might work out just fine. But you're always on the move! You're the only four constants in this young girl's life, so you're all very influential on her as she grows!"

"Aw, man. I gotta be a good fuckin' influence now? I just got outta havin' to watch my every fuckin' move all the time, man."

The dragonborn seems to deflate, suddenly growing weary and ancient. "I'm... very aware. But I promise it's nothing like that. I just mean that Hootsie is an impressionable little girl right now, and it's a good idea to teach her important, valuable lessons."

"... Like... if somebody's bein' a fuckin' dick, she can bite their fingers off?"

"Well, I don't know if I'd encourage it to be that extreme, but self-defense is a good lesson, yes! And self-respect, it's much easier to defend yourself when you respect yourself and your value."

"Okay... I think I get it. And uh... knowin' when somebody's talkin' a load of bullshit."

"Exactly! Not to insult anyone but, you and I both know that Gricko can be... quite gullible. I mean, I understand him, I was very much the same way for most of my life, and can still be now. Oh, I remember Skrimm told me that a certain gesture was a universal greeting-"

"Which one? This one?" Gideon flips him off.

"That's the one! He always managed to find me when no-one else was around and pull pranks on me like that." The dragonborn laughs a little, fond. "Oh-ho, when it was a matter of life or death I was truly distressed, but now it's easy to look back and laugh."

"Alright, so, make sure she knows she can bite people, make sure she knows when she's bein' tricked, and I guess... make sure she knows how to get outta tough situations!"

"That's another great idea!"

"Man, I knew this whole uncle thing'd be easy." Gideon knocks the tea back again and looks around the shop. There's lots of ink paintings like the one he saw before, with these two dragonborn enjoying life. One catches his eye, of the man who sits across from him letting the young girl ride around on his shoulders.

"That'll be easy too," Gideon says, gesturing at the painting with cup in hand and sloshing spicy tea all over the floor- or would, if it ever hit the floor, but the tea just ceases to exist before it makes an impact. "Fuckin' piggyback rides and life lessons, easy as hell."

"And best of all, rewarding. It's an incredible joy to care for a child, as much as it is a serious responsibility." The dragonborn looks around. "And if you see Yorgrim when you leave here, let him know about the piggyback rides you plan to give. I think he'll appreciate a little warning."

"Who?"

"You're right, I'll tell him. I think you're waking up now anyway."

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

Gideon picks Hootsie up and plops her onto his shoulders as the group exits the inn and gets going. Hootsie gives a startled hoot at first, and then looks down. Her face lights up, eyes ghetting as big as possible, and she gives another, more excited hoot as he leans over to watch everything from her new height!

Taishen sighs happily as he watches, and looks up at Yorgrim. "Does that help soothe some of your old wounds?"

Yorgrim huffs a little. "It's... bittersweet."

Taishen reaches up and pats Yorgrim's arm. "I understand. ... Tea?"

Yorgrim is quiet for a moment before sighing and holding his hand out. "Thank you."

"Of course, my friend."