#oceanic airways

[heronroseeros]

super incredible personal life-changing vital to me that Storybrook's clock tower is set to 8:15 aka Oceanic Airways Flight 815 in the Once Upon a Time pilot. Adam Horowitz and Edward Kitsis deserve a fun treat for that.

[seniouesbabes]

Lily Maymac 🌸🍒💋🌸 Lounge in queen seat @qatarairways 🤩

[g0dlyunsub]

not enough.

spencer couldn’t be there to help you during a case, and he thinks that he’s not deserving of your forgiveness.

pairing :: spencer x fem bau!reader

warnings :: mentions of fire, burns and injuries, hospitalization, reader gets injured, angst, descriptions of blades, hurt/comfort, fluff, medical inaccuracies

word count :: 1.8k

author’s note :: i have not written in a while but here's something that's been sitting in my drafts :3

accompanying song :: breathe by lauv

"kid, you need to go."

"no, i'm not leaving you. i'm not-" spencer coughs as the dust mingles with the air in his lungs. "-i'm not leaving her."

"reid, go!" derek shouts over the roaring flames.

you can hear their desperate exchange, but you can’t say anything. 

everytime you swallow, it feels like a razor blade's sliding down your throat; it makes jagged cuts in your parched throat. 

all of your tears have evaporated from the surface of your eyes due to the scorching heat, and it hurts to blink. 

you don’t even realize that your trousers are literally on fire until spencer’s patting at the flames with his bare hand, all the while trying to get the restraints off of you.

“i can’t- i can’t get them off!” spencer heaves, and you can hear the panic in his voice turning into hot anger.

“reid, just take the other guy and go!” 

derek’s shouting, but he’s barely audible next to the unrelenting fire.

"please, let me-"

you feel spencer tug with all his might, pushing and pulling against the ropes, but they’re too tight. the ropes aren’t made of special material, but the heat’s completely melted and fused the knot, making it near-impossible to rip apart.

you can barely keep your eyes open, but you can still see spencer frantically whipping his head back and forth, glancing at you and the last hostage in the room.

derek gives spencer a knowing look, one that you know all too well. 

reluctantly, spencer looks down. 

he can see the flames reflected in your eyes. 

he can see the pain seared into your skin.

a lump starts to form in his throat.

you’re mouthing the word go.

greasy tears well up in his eyes, and spencer splutters a cry. 

“sorry.”

he adds another sorry. and he adds another, until all he’s murmuring is an incoherent stream of apologies. 

you watch as he slings his arm around the hostage’s waist and drags his feet to the exit, and you watch until all you can see is the wavy outline of his figure, distorted by the heatwaves.

your eyes flicker between open and closed.

“y/n, stay with me. no, no, no,” derek shakes you while he continues to saw through your strings with a dull object, “don’t you give up on me now.”

the smoke’s rolled up to cover the ceiling, and an amber glow coats the entire room.

with the cacophony of the roaring flames, expletives spluttering from derek’s mouth, and the back and forth of the rounded blade, the sounds of your restraints loosening barely make it to your ears.

“come on!”

derek hastily tears the fraying restraints and pulls you away from the blazing rod that you’ve been tied to.

you take a desperate gasp for air at the sudden relief, but only choke on dust and the fierce heat. 

it’s too much — too much grime, grease, toxins coating your airways. you stop trying to breathe.

you hear derek groan as he takes your limp body in his arms and lifts you up, and the sudden change in position has you seeing stars.

as derek hauls you out, you see a brief flash of the sky. you could’ve sworn it was a shade of blue clearer than the ocean before you entered, but now it’s a beat down shade of jaundiced yellow.

huh.

it’s burning so darkly.

—

when spencer sees you come out of the burning building, tucked in the arms of derek morgan, he thinks he’s looking at a fallen angel.

dark smoke and dust pepper you head to toe, and your parted lips are making such a desperate effort to stay open.

you’re not breathing.

he breaks into a sprint. the calls from hotch and rossi fly behind him, as do their attempts to grasp him back. he runs to you, and not a single person can stop him.

he drops to his knees next to your unconscious body on the ground with derek, and his heart instantly falls. 

his brain starts to perform an instant diagnosis of your condition – he sees the burn marks scattered over your arms and legs, and he can almost feel your pain, like your nerves are connected to his.

the medics surrounding the scene yell out orders to stay back so that they can start chest compressions, but spencer won’t move.

he’s with you when you jerk back out of unconsciousness, when you’re still too weak to process all of the visual and auditory cues around you.

he’s with you when you’re lifted onto the back of the ambulance.

you can hear him raising his voice at the medics.

“we need to administer aerosolized unfractionated heparin with albuterol and check for hypovolemia, she needs oral and mivf immediately upon admission-”

you phase out once again.

—

when you open your eyes, you realize that you’re not in an ordinary hospital room.

you’re inside the intensive care unit.

generally, only family members are admitted as visitors in the icu, but the man laying his head over the side rails of your bed isn’t your family member.

spencer had to break some protocol to get here.

as you shift your bandaged arms over the blanket, spencer starts to stir slightly, until he realizes that it’s you moving beside him.

his eyes widen as he raises his head.

“how do i look?” you weakly mutter and force your lips into a smile.

his lips quiver, and he’s about to reach for your hand before he realizes that you probably can’t even handle his touch.

“so-” his voice cracks, “so beautiful. so incredibly beautiful.”

your heart does a flip at his words.

“you don’t have to lie.”

he looks away for a brief second, before shaking his head. “i’m not. i swear. you’re the most beautiful woman i’ve ever met — that i’ve ever seen.”

you let out a pained chuckle. “would you look at that, my skin’s blushing.” you turn your arm to the side slightly and loosen your bandages to reveal the pink cuts in your flesh. 

spencer’s brows knit together in a pained expression, and you cringe at your own joke.

you inhale slowly. “spill it, spence.”

“spill what?”

“you did that thing where you look away. it’s your giveaway.”

“no, i-”

you turn your head to look at him with a pleading face, and he succumbs instantly.

he pulls his hand. “i- uh…”

he looks at you once and you raise your brows, an encouraging sign to continue written all over your face.

“i don’t deserve you.”

you blink slowly.

“you deserve someone better,” he continues, looking down ashamedly.

you can't possibly be hearing him correctly. “someone better?”

“someone like morgan.”

“morgan?”

“yeah. derek morgan. he’s the one who stayed with you, who carried you out of that crumbling building. i couldn’t protect you. i failed the one thing i promised myself.” 

“spencer, i wasn’t the only one- you had to save the other guy stuck in there.”

“the worst part is-” spencer chokes, “even if i traded places with morgan, i don’t know if i would’ve gotten us out in time.”

your eyes start to water. “no, spence, don’t say that.”

“i’m not strong enough. i’m not strong like morgan, and i’m not strong enough to protect you. i let you down. i failed you.”

you shake your head. “no, spencer. no. you’ve never failed me, do you hear me? you never failed me and you never will fail me. because-”

you take a deep breath.

“you broke protocol for me, the entire time. i heard what you said to the medics in the ambulance. and you’re here. right now.”

this time, he shakes his head. “it’s the least i can do. it still doesn’t change the fact that i couldn’t take the bullet for you.”

“spencer-”

you lean forward, a strangled grunt leaving your lips, until you’re a mere inch away from spencer’s face.

“maybe,” you start, flickering your gaze left and right into his sunken eyes.

“maybe i want to take the bullet for you too. maybe i want to protect you too. maybe i want-” you smile, “-to fight to stay with you.”

he pulls back, and glassy traces of tears coats his entire face.

again, you smile. “because if you don’t deserve me, then i don’t deserve you either.”

and it’s your goddamn smile that absolves all of his worries in an instant, that makes spencer forget that you’re bundled up in layers of gauze and bandages, that makes him think you’re an angel with a golden halo that’s lighting up the entire room.

it’s only when you let out an disgruntled sigh that he realizes you’re not an angel in a dress but a patient in a hospital gown, and the guilt latches back onto him like an inseparable magnet.

spencer’s eyes soften with concern and gloss over your entire body. gently lifting the edges of the blanket, he brushes his fingers against yours.

“my arm – it’s itchy,” you explain, and close your eyes to restrain yourself from picking at your scabby skin.

“i’m sorry,” spencer returns, an empathetic expression sweeping his face. “the bandages have to stay on, unfortunately.”

“my face-” you start, and spencer’s now looking at you with an expression crossing between serious and disturbed.

“your face? does it itch? where?”

he leans over, and cups your chin in the palm of his hand. slowly, he moves your face to the left and right, until you meet his misty brown eyes in the middle.

“my mouth.”

“your mouth?”

“yeah,” you scrunch your lips in a pained expression, but smile. “i think a kiss would help.”

spencer raises his brows in surprise, and a coughy chuckle leaves the back of his throat.

he can’t fight the excitement bubbling in his heart when you say that, when you’re so adorably bold in front of him.

how could he ever deserve you?

“you asked for it,” he murmurs quietly, before leaning in and bringing his lips to yours. he caresses the side of your face as his soft lips give you a taste of his desperation, though it’s too short to quench your desire.

he pulls back and cocks his head to the side to stare at you with admiring eyes. “is that better?”

you return a contemplative look, pouting your lips slightly. “it’s still itchy.”

he shakes his head amusedly and places a hand on the cushioned mattress, before leaning in to make your heart flutter with another kiss. it’s deeper than before, but he still draws himself back to not deprive you of your air.

once again, he pulls back and graces your eyes with a shy smile. “how about now?”

you tut disapprovingly. “nope.”

a wide smile curves the corners of spencer’s mouth, and he reaches to hold your hand affectionately in his. 

your feverish cheeks light up with a hot glow when your lips intertwine with his in a slow rhythm, when spencer slowly moves his hand behind your head to tousle your strands of hair flowing through his fingers.

he doesn’t ask any more questions.

[hans-wh0re]

SKZ HYUNG LINE AND CHOKING

Warning: non con, extreme (kinda) breathplay, all of them are mean

Chan:

"The only sounds I wanna hear are you choking on my cock," Chan snarls as he tightens his vise-like grip on your throat. His hips snap forward with cruel force, burying his thick length into your spasming cunt to the hilt. You gurgle helplessly around the oxygen deprivation, eyes rolling back as he sets a punishing pace.

"F-Fuck… take it slut, just like that," he grunts, other hand threading into your hair to yank your head back at an obscene angle. Drool leaks from the corner of your parted lips with each savage thrust that knocks the air from your lungs.

He loosens his hold briefly to give you a split second of reprieve and your body instinctively bucks with a ragged inhale. But Chan is immediately squeezing again with wicked dominance, smile twisting viciously as your airway is cut off once more.

"Love listening to you try and breathe while i'm choking you," he growls, sloppy sounds of his brutal rutting filling the air. You feel yourself teetering on the brink of blackout, shuddering convulsively around the jackhammer pace splitting you apart.

Just when you think you're about to pass out from the dizzying rapture, Chan's grip shifts, closing off your throat entirely. You seize and buck beneath him with garbled, strangled wails as your entire world whites out into an overwhelming release. Through the delirium, you feel thick spurts of cum flooding your battered pussy in time with your own gushing orgasm…

Minho:

"Yes, that's my fucking girl," Minho croons as you writhe beneath his firm chokehold, nails digging crescent moons into the wrist constricting your breath. The filthy sounds of his thick cock pistoning in and out of your dripping slit accompany your feeble grunts and wheezes.

He slows his punishing thrusts momentarily, dragging the swollen head in maddening circles around your abused entrance before sheathing himself fully once more. Delirious with oxygen deprivation and the merciless stimulation, a pitiful whimper gurgles past your parted lips. Minho's eyes darken at the submissive sound.

"What's that, slut?" he sneers, grip tightening incrementally as he rolls his hips with agonizing languor. "You want more of this cock inside your worthless little fucktoy hole?"

You can only respond with another broken noise, desperation contorting your face as he withholds the breath you so crave. Smirking viciously, Minho releases your neck just long enough for you to drag in one desperate inhale before cutting it off again. He resumes pounding into your brutalized cunt at the same devastating pace, ignoring your garbled shrieks of overwhelmed rapture.

"M gonna keep you right on the edge like this," he pants harshly, damp hair clinging to his forehead with exertion. "Stuffed full of cock and just shy of passing the fuck out from how badly I'm choking you. What a lucky little fucktoy..."

Changbin:

"That pretty little face is gonna look so fucked when I'm done with you," Changbin growls, thumb digging cruelly into the hollow of your throat. His pelvis snaps forward with punishing force, burying his girth into your abused slit to the hilt as you choke out a gurgling wail.

You're drooling helplessly in your struggle to take air into your compressed airway, all rational thought obliterated by the fireworks detonating behind your eyes each time his cock splits you open. Pounding relentlessly, Changbin tightens the circle of his fingers around your neck, cutting off breath entirely. The oceanic rush in your ears grows louder as you convulse beneath him, mind blanking into euphoric white static.

Just as blackness begins creeping in at the edges of your vision, he finally deigns to loosen his hold. The oxygen flooding back into your lungs draws a shuddering wheeze of relief that's abruptly swallowed by another hoarse cry as Changbin's thick shaft slams home again. Your battered walls flutter around the brutal intrusion, gushing more of your grool to mingle with the mixture of your arousal already coating his pelvis and thighs in a sticky sheen.

"Fuck, you're gonna milk me dry, aren't you?" he pants, greedy gaze drifting between the sloppy mess your joined sexes have become and the punished, drooling 'o' of your lips struggling for air. "Go ahead, cum all over this fat dick stuffing you stupid, slut…"

Hyunjin:

Hyunjin's dark gaze burns with unrestrained possession as he tightens his grip around your delicate throat. The vicious squeeze elicits a gurgling, strangled cry as he sheaths his aching length fully inside your helpless, convulsing cunt.

"Look at you," he rasps, voice dripping with cruel dominance. "Such a depraved little fucktoy, gagging and choking on my cock like the thirsty set of holes you are."

He draws out with agonizing slowness, the lurid sounds of your arousal thick and obscene. Breathing raggedly through your teeth, you manage to roll your hips in a desperate bid for more friction against the delicious stretch of his girth. Hyunjin watches with darkly amused eyes before abruptly slamming back in to the hilt, never releasing the bruising squeeze cutting off your breath.

Each punishing thrust rips a strangled, gurgling wail from your swollen lips as you writhe and buck violently beneath him. Drool and streaks of your mixed arousal smear between your gasping mouths - you delirious with white-hot euphoria, he coldly focused and ruthless in his domination.

Without warning, Hyunjin shifts his grip, fingers curling around your throat in a vice that fully cuts off oxygen. You seize with a sobbing shriek of rapture as your entire body is set alight, an orgasm of earth-shattering intensity tearing through you like a shockwave. Spots of blackness encroach on the edges of your vision. Just as you start to go limp, hurtling helplessly toward that blissful abyss, Hyunjin releases his grip.

The gasping inhale you manage to wheeze as stars explode behind your fluttering lids is abruptly choked off once more as Hyunjin resumes his merciless pace, maniacal fervour coursing through his frame.

"I haven't given you permission to pass out yet, slut," he snarls, voice edged with insane menace. "Gonna keep you right on that brink, stuffed full and denied air until I've properly bred your slutty womb..."

Overwhelmed shrieks and garbled pleas spill from your abused throat as Hyunjin relinquishes and reinstates the breath-stealing clutch at cruel, calculated intervals - keeping you pinwheeling in the vertigo of orgasmic delirium. He shows no signs of slowing, ruthlessly extending your torture of euphoria into a realm where rapture and agony have blurred indistinguishably...

A.N: Not me writing this at work and praying that nobody walks into my office without me noticing 💀💀

[rabbitcruiser]

International Civil Aviation Day

In 1901 something was accomplished that hadn’t happened in the history of mankind, a man flew upon a glider and covered a respectable distance in a manmade device that was not held aloft by lighter-than-air gas. The skepticism that greeted this event was profound, with people all over the world saying the Wright Brothers were more liars than fliers, a claim that would be refuted by a demonstration of what would be the most important aeronautics event in the world. International Civil Aviation Day celebrates the science, art, and sport of aviation that grew out of this initial glide, and the men and women who push the frontiers of it today.

History of International Civil Aviation Day

Civil Aviation is incredibly important to the world we know and love today, and touches all of us in ways we can’t realize. When you order a package overnight from Amazon, odds are good that it’s being transported from their warehouse to your front door in the hold of a cargo plane. When you travel across the country or even around the world to join friends and relatives for vacation or holiday celebrations, you’re traveling on a craft that got its start in the minds of Orville & Wilbur Wright.

But air transport can be perilous, and the International Civil Aviation Organization focuses on the safety, efficiency, and regulations that surround the entire industry. ICAO organized International Civil Aviation Day in 1944 and began a campaign to have it become an officially recognized UN holiday, a campaign that would finally see it’s fruition in 1996. Civil Aviation includes everything from sports fliers to large commercial aircraft traversing the sky with the essentials of daily living.

How to celebrate International Civil Aviation Day

Celebrating International Civil Aviation Day can happen in a number of ways, from the simple joys of ordering a package the night before and opening it up the next day with the appreciation that it was carried in the belly of a great cargo plane, to booking a flight to an exotic location to celebrate the speed and efficiency with which we can cross the globe. Throughout the country, there are also museums dedicated to aviation, and there’s some great history to be learned by strolling those august halls. So get out there on International Civil Aviation Day and see what the plane has brought to your life!

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[delilahsturniolo]

baby daddy!chris and pregnant!reader, reader is in labor and the birth doesn't go as expected, but in the end you meet your son

white ferrari - c.s

in which: Y/n goes into labor, ready to bring her and Chris’s son into the world. But, the birth process doesn’t go as planned.

this story contains: baby daddy!chris, crying, comforting, not being able to breathe, sorta angst, fluff at end.

written by: @delilahsturniolo

____________________________________________

“i care for you still and i will, forever.”

____________________________________________

Chris held my hand and rubbed my shoulder supportively as I breathed heavily. I went into labor not too long ago, and now I was giving birth to our son.

“You’re doing so good baby, keep going.” Chris reassured me, his own eyes getting teary as he watched me and the nurse who was guiding me through everything.

I shut my eyes, and before I knew it, it was over. Chris looked over at the nurse holding our baby.

I opened my glossy eyes, smiling as the nurse cradled our newborn baby. I caught my breath, looking over to Chris.

“That’s our baby.” I whispered. Chris nodded, holding my hand.

“You did it.” Chris smiled.

Suddenly, I heard something I never thought I would hear.

“The baby isn’t breathing.” The nurse said, before I could say anything, machines began to beep and doctor’s began rushing in.

“Wha-What’s happening..?” I panicked, sitting up in the hospital bed. My heart sank as I watched the doctors place tubes into the baby.

“Yo! What’s going on?” Chris called out, trying to follow the doctors. A nurse stepped in front of him.

“He’s having some trouble breathing, we’re doing everything we can.” The nurse explained.

I breathed in and out rapidly, my heart racing as I tried getting up out of the bed. A doctor grabbed my arm, holding me still.

“Miss, you need to stay calm.” The doctor told me.

“Calm!? How am I supposed to stay calm?” I practically shouted.

Tears streamed down my face quickly, blurring my vision. I faintly saw doctors pushing Chris back. There was nothing we could do.

Chris came over and covered my eyes so I didn’t have to watch them try and save the baby, he hugged me tightly. “He’s gonna be okay.” He whispered sweet reassurances into my ear.

A few moments later, things calmed down. Our baby was able to breathe again. I opened my eyes.

He was hooked up to tubes to help him breathe. It broke my heart.

A doctor came up to me and Chris.

“Hi, I’m Doctor Smith. I wanted to let you know that your baby is well and breathing, his airways were blocked and he wasn’t getting enough oxygen. He’s okay now, he’s hooked up to a tube that will help him breathe. Are you guys okay?” The doctor informed us.

Chris nodded, not letting go of my hand.

“We’re okay, sir. Do you know why he couldn’t breathe?” Chris asked. I couldn’t keep my eyes off of our son, who laid down peacefully with a tube on his nose.

“There’s a lot of reasons, it could be because the mother’s blood pressure was either too high or low. Or he was just born with breathing problems.” The doctor explained to us. I nodded my head.

“Can I hold him?” I whispered, wiping my stray tears. The doctor nodded, one of the nurses gently picked him up, keeping the tube in his nose and handed him to me gently.

I held my son in my arms, looking down at him lovingly. Chris put a hand on my shoulder, holding our baby’s hand.

“Hey little guy..we’re glad you’re okay.” Chris spoke softly to our son, I immediately felt relief flow through me.

“He’s so precious.” I whispered, gently caressing his cheek.

“He definitely looks more like me.” Chris insisted, I chuckled.

“I’m so proud of us.” I said, Chris gently cupped my face, tears of happiness streaming down his face.

“I’m proud of you. You’re so strong, you just pushed a whole human being out of you. That’s not easy. You’re going to be a great mother.” Chris smiled sweetly as he looked into my eyes.

I gave him a kiss on the lips, watching as our son laid peacefully on my chest.

Despite all the obstacles we went through, it was all worth it in the end. We were officially parents, and I knew our son was going to grow up to be an amazing person.

comment on this post to be apart of the taglist! 🪽🤍

AUTHORS NOTE 💌

this is def not my best writing..i’m sorry that this is so short and rushed!!

taglist:

@babyalliah-777 @stopdropandroll1 @h3arts4harry @sturniolossluttybitch @sturniooolos @gwennybenny @jetaimevous @vtaraa @doctorreid187 @ivysturnss @strvnolin @sturnzsun @sassysturniolo2008 @blahbel668 @jamiesturniolo @sabsturned @wiidfi0wer33 @bitchydragonparadisee @ofc1ofc @z03ey @pixie-sticks-are-good @elsxz1 @rafecameronsbitch @mariasturniolo @miss-tyummy @emmavzlsblog @mattlovesfall @slutforsturnioloss @itsfloriii @stvrnmc @sturnsxplr-25 @sturnobsessedwh0re @kierra-holland @itzzmfjade @ilovecats0402 @lizzymacdonald06 @0kt0 @sturnstvr @sturnn372 @emely9274 @nicksloverrr @ariologyy @memea32221 @lushjunkie @mylove4lana @alyrasturnz @diasturnsth

© delilahsturniolo

[natalievoncatte]

Few moments in Alex’s life would stick out like this one. There was a rising panic in her throat, pulsing against her airway. Panic and grief gripped her like icy hands, working to strangle, and she wasn’t sure if what she choked down was a sob or vomit. Her hands trembled as they held the paper. She hadn’t thought of this.

The letterhead read simply, PAST DUE- FINAL NOTICE.

With everything going on, she’d simply forgotten about the matter until she swung by the loft. She should have sent Kelly, should have set up something earlier to deal with this. Kara was six months behind on her rent and she was going to be evicted if she didn’t pay.

Which she never would.

Alex had quietly accepted, about a month ago, that Kara wasn’t coming home, that all their methods had been exhausted, that her sister was lost in an infinite, shattered Phantom Zone, never to be found. She’s finally gotten the martyrdom that she’d been unknowingly seeking since she arrived on Earth.

She was keeping it bottled up, because the others still believed, even Brainy, who had to know the odds.

Alex seethed with a towering rage. There were some nights when, lying awake in Kelly’s arms, she’d fantasize about how she’d punish Clark for failing Kara, or what she’d do to Lex Luthor if she got her hands on him. Sometimes it would even be J’onn she raged at, or Lena.

She saved them all so many times, threw her life and body and soul in front of all them as a shield and took on their misery and suffering on top of her own, and though it was like drops cast in the ocean of Kara Zor-El’s grief, she felt every blow, every loss. Alex’s falling tears stained the letter as she thought of every time Kara paced this apartment, excoriating herself for her failures whenever she couldn’t be in five disasters at once.

Alex didn’t want her to be a superhero. She didn’t want that need to throw herself between others and their own suffering to consume Kara’s life, but it had.

Not for the first time, Alex wished that Kara had just stayed on the ground and let her plane crash. It was a selfish, hateful impulse. Kara would never have let it happen and even if she had, something would have prompted her to put on that red and blue costume and fly. It was what she was for.

Alex raged anyway. Fuck that little shit Wynn for making her a costume. The little pervert probably just wanted to make her try shit on to see her half naked. Fuck J’onn for recruiting her, fuck Clark for abandoning her… and… and…

The paper crumpled and so did Alex, sobbing. This was all her fault. If only…

“Alex?”

She hadn’t heard Lena come in. She’d long ago given up heels. Hell, shed given up. She was a wearing a hoodie that Alex knew was Kara’s and her hair was in a loose ponytail at the base of her neck, and if asked when she last ate or sleep, she’d have lied. Alex already knew the answer: she ate when someone remembered to feed her and she slept on a cot in her lab as she tortured herself.

Lena was the only one that Alex couldn’t rage at because Lena was already punishing herself. Kara would be furious if she knew how they were letting Lena treat her health.

Without a word, Lena gently grasped the letter and Alex released it.

Lena read it, frowning.

Then she pulled out her phone.

“Jess, I have a task for you. I’m going to send you a pic of an eviction letter. I want you to pay off the back rent.”

“Lena,” Alex began.

Lena waved her off.

“I want the building. Set up some shell companies. No one can know it’s me. Try to negotiate so it looks legit, but they can name their price. I want it done by tonight.”

Lena hung up.

“This is her place,” Lena said, softly.

“You didn’t have to do that,” said Alex.

“Yes, I did. This is her place. She deserves to come back to it,” Lena dropped onto the sofa beside her. “I will never give up. I don’t care if I’m still trying to bring her home when I’m old and gray, it’ll be worth it to see her one more time.”

Alex felt a wave of grief overwhelming her.

“Besides,” Lena forced cheer into her voice. “I spent a billion dollars so I could hang out with her at work. What’s an apartment building?”

Alex jolted. It was as if she watched a wine glass, which had toppled and shattered and cast its contents across the floor, leap back into position. As if the shards of crystal returned to their proper places and the cracks sealed, and the wine splashed back to its proper place, not a single shimmering golden drop lost. When the understanding snapped into place, it was like a lightning bolt. She felt too large for her skin, and the fine hairs at the back of her neck stood, as though bearing a charge.

Holy shit. Holy fucking shit. Lena was in love with Kara.

She could see it now. The love radiated from every pore of Lena’s skin, undulled by the grief that draped her like a nighted cloak, as gold shimmered untarnished beneath dust. Alex’s heart was about to break again.

“I have to get back to the lab.”

“Why are you here?” Alex said, softly.

“I was… I’ve been spending the night. I should have asked. I’m sorry.”

“Kara would want you to.”

Kara would want you to move on, Alex thought. She would want you to find someone and be happy and think only of her in fond memories. She would gladly martyr herself for you, too. You above all. She never stopped defending you even when…

Now there were two wine glasses, side by side, almost touching but not quite, promising a toast unsaid.

Oh.

Oh God.

Alex launched off the couch and threw her arms around Lena, holding her tight. Lena recoiled a little; she seemed to dislike hugs, almost like she didn’t understand them, even as she’d melted in Kara’s embrace dozens of times.

How had she been so blind?

“We’ll get her back,” Alex said.

“We will,” said Lena.

Later, Alex stood off to the side, her veins singing with unbridled joy after Kara released her from a full on, no-powers bear hug. She watched as the others embraced her and slapped her back and welcomed her home while Lena stared at here like she couldn’t believe she was real.

Limping, haggard, Kara suffered their joys with quiet reserve, pushing a little closer to her ultimate destination with each one until she stood in front of Lena.

The hug was awkward, tentative, but Kara thrust herself into it after a hesitant moment and Lena molded against her, the pair standing cheek to cheek a beat too long. Lena pulled back and Kara pulled after her, leaning in, only to dance back and do that awkward little shift.

“Kara,” Alex blurted. “For fuck’s sake, just do it.”

Kara looked at her, wide-eyed and a little betrayed. Kara was beyond honest to a fault: Alex knew that after Kara nervously told her about the infamous “I flew here on a bus “ incident. Kara was honest to the core of her very being, sickened by the act of lying.

To Alex’s surprise, it was Lena’s hands on Kara’s shoulders that turned her away. Kara looked back and her and Lena brought her hands to Kara’s cheeks, resting her palms against the abnormally pale skin of her face. Kara froze for two heartbeats and then gently put her hands on Lena’s sides and pulled her in, there bodies slotting together as their lips found one another, Kara leaning over Lena a little more with the added height of her boots as Lena collapsed into her, tears glittering on her cheeks. The kiss carried on until Alex cleared her throat.

Everyone in the room was stunned save Alex.

“Guys,” she said, “let’s give them a little privacy, huh? We can celebrate later.”

As the others filed out of the room, Lena raised her head from where it had lain on Kara’s shoulder and mouthed a silent thank you.

[arabellasleopardcoat]

Clad in sea (Daemon Targaryen x Reader)

Summary: It is not Harrenhal, what drives Daemon to the Gods Eye. It’s the memories of you and your daughter.

Warnings: ANGST. Suicide. Canon levels of violence. The afterlife. Guilt, suicidal thoughts. Harenhal’s induced nightmares ™

A/N: It’s angst but with a happy ending (Sort of) Come with me into a deep dive into Daemon’s mental torture. You only need to know the reader really loves the sea, and watch closely. Pay attention, everything has a reason.

As a young girl, you had always dreamed of the sea. There had been nothing you loved more than walking to the docks, and looking at the waves crushing under you, extending into the horizon.

It made you feel small, in the good sense. As if you were insignificant in the great scheme of things. The sea had been there when you had been born, and it would be there when you died. It would go on.

At night, you could still feel the waves under you, rocking your body. Sundrunk and deliriously happy, you always fell asleep in peace after spending your days in the beach.

The memory soothes you as you place your baby in front of you, watching her small body be rocked by the waves. She had felt so cold in your arms, and you had not dared embrace her in her last seconds, only hold her hand. Her stomach had been pierced by a sword, and moving her too much felt cruel.

You had never wanted your daughter to know pain. You had known it was an inevitable fact of life, but you had hoped she had more time.

Daemon had left. He had done something horrible, the men had said. Killed a boy. So now, they would kill the two of you and present your heads to him.

It sickened you, to imagine your beautiful daughter wandering the earth without a head. Of these animals desecrating her body, perhaps doing unspeakable things to you because of a war you had no interest in.

So you had picked her up and ran to the only place you had ever felt safe. And as the ocean welcomed you into her arms, turning you as cold as your daughter was, you could finally embrace her again.

You did not regret it. Not even as saltwater crushed your airways, and your lungs filled with water. Not even when you emerged, voice raspy with salt, and your daughter held against your chest, full of righteous fury.

There had been a girl once, with hair as dark as ink, and eyes full of constellations. Her lips had always been chapped, for her land had suffered a drought so long, they didn’t have a word for water. Instead, they called it Life.

The girl had a gift. Somehow, she always managed to find Life, wherever she went. It was no causality, her mother told her. Their God was taken with her, and gazed at her every time he could. Through the small ponds, the droplets of dew, the very waves crashing on the shore. She had to be careful because no matter how useful her gift, if she looked too much into her reflection, he might pull her in.

“Are you afraid?” Daemon had whispered, as the two of you laid in bed one night. The sheets were sticky with his spent and sweat, but both of you were too lazy to change them. Instead, you were carefully laid on your side, body curled against his, careful not to touch the pool of seed.

“Of what?” You had looked up at him, and Daemon had been distracted by your beauty. In the soft light of the eternal sunsets of Essos, you looked otherworldly. With your face shining with a light layer of sweat, and your neck and chest covered by his marks, you had to be a goddess.

You took pain like the best of his men. You looked much more beautiful than any of them had ever done.

“What?” You insisted, poking his ribs.

“Of dying?” He felt sick for even mentioning it. You were so alive, so vibrant in his arms, so full of life. As if aware of his thoughts, your hands went to cradle your stomach. Your pregnancy was still fairly new. It didn’t show yet, but his child was growing inside of you.

Daemon pressed his own hands over yours. You let him help cradle your child, and leaned back against him. The thought of you facing the birthing bed made him anxious, and he had to squeeze you to make sure you were still there.

His last memory of Westeros had been Aemma’s death. And while Essos had more advanced healing arts, and you were no Targaryen, he feared his seed might make the pregnancy harsher on you.

“I am of the sea, Daemon.” You had smiled at him, so happy it hurt to even recall it. “I was born from her, foam and blood. And to her, I shall return when I die. I do not fear death. There is no end in a circle.”

No end in a circle, you had said. But an Ouroboros died regardless. Daemon clutched the letter until it tore.

You had made truth of your promise. Somehow, while grievously wounded, you had managed to carry your daughter to the sea. In the soft sand, your footprints had never faltered. The two of you had made a path towards the foam, and disappeared into the water. Perhaps, sensing that if you left your bodies behind, they might have been desecrated. Or perhaps because you were a woman of your word.

The Gods knew what anguish you had suffered, watching your girl die. It was a pain no mother should have to withstand, and yet, you had had to because Daemon had inflicted it in Helaena to avenge the one inflicted on Rhaenyra.

A circle has no ending. He cursed the day he had thought stepping foot outside Essos was a good idea. Daemon should have never left you. The world was not a safe place, not with the reach of the Hightowers. You had not stood a chance.

They had come into the night, and made you watch as they murdered his daughter. Then, they tried to injure you. But somehow, you had managed to escape.

Broken. Bleeding. With a dead toddler in your arms, and perhaps a babe in your belly. Daemon could not recall the last time you were in your moonblood, before he left. Perhaps you had gotten it after. He would never get to know.

No one had been able to stop you. Not even the men who had hurt you so. They had been unable to find your bodies, lost in the waves. The sea had raged that night, mourning the loss of her daughters. No one could have survived that.

Still, hope blossomed inside his chest every time he thought of it. The feeling was paralyzing. It didn’t allow him to grief normally. He kept thinking the two of you may be alive somewhere, lost in the sea. That a fishing boat might have picked you up, and helped you hide.

Because if you were truly dead, Daemon would have felt it. He was certain of it. Caraxes, who had always been finely attuned to his sister, this other sea goddess, would have felt it too. He would have cried in the manner Syrax did, when Rhaenyra took to the birthing bed.

His dragon had a connection to you. He knew your touch, your voice from all others. Both of you had been born out of the sea. You had ridden him as many times as Daemon himself. At least he would have known.

But not a peep had been heard from Caraxes. Ever since they had arrived at Harrenhal, he seemed subdued, as if preparing to hibernate. Sedated. He no longer wanted to fly, no longer wanted Daemon near.

Daemon thought he would have known, but perhaps, he had been unworthy of it. And Caraxes sensed it. He knew it was all his fault.

Were you laying down, lulled to sleep by the songs of the seashells or alive somewhere mourning your daughter, it was all his fault. Daemon had not been aware that the price to pay for a son would be this steep. His two girls.

But that was the thing, wasn’t it? They really thought women were worth less in Westeros.

The lack of Life had never been so intense. The drought had gotten worse, the crops withered, the few animals died. Desperation filled the girl. Her mother was getting old, and she was no longer able to partake in the long walks in search for a droplet of dew.

So one day, she walked to the shore and sat by, watching the waves. She breathed in, found her courage, and said: “I wish to speak to you.”

Daemon tosses and turns, fixing his pillows. The room is gloomy, no matter how many candles he has lit, and there is a strange draft that not even the brightest fire can fight.

He closes his eyes, feeling a sudden warmth behind them. If you were here, you would embrace him from behind, playfully pinning him into the bed. You would press your lips to his temple, and sing of lands long forgotten, a city underneath the sea. A city so great, the Gods had punished it by sinking it.

Your soft voice would soothe him into sleep, your arms holding him tight. Daemon can almost feel the weight of them against his waist, the warmth of your body against his. A sob gathers on his chest, but dies in his throat.

He has not cried since getting the news. Instead, he has been cursed with the easiest sleep of his life. Harrenhal is damp and gloomy, and Daemon doesn’t like at all the looks the witch gives him, but every time he closes his eyes, he is out like a light.

Your absence is not so acute, in a bed not his own. He can pretend you are home, safe. Or that you have gone out, siren that you are, for a midnight walk along the shore. In those nights, when the sea had been at its most violent, you had roused your daughter and took her to watch the sea.

“The sea gives and takes.” You had often said, standing in the docks with her, from enough distance that the harsh tides wouldn’t hurt you. “We must respect her. Remember that.”

You had taken her on other nights too. The two of you would roll around in the sand, play in the waves, until you exhausted yourself and both crawled into bed with him, hair still wet and smelling of salt.

Daemon swears he smells it — now. His daughter’s soap, and the sea, clinging to her hair and skin, her little toes cold, and pressing to his calves.

But when he opens his eyes, nothing is there. Just the lingering smell of saltwater.

These phantom touches both comfort and torture him. He can pretend both of you are there, or safe at home, but every time he opens his eyes, you are not.

Daemon dreams of the both of you every night. They are not nightmares. He is aware he is dreaming when he is in them, and getting to see your faces is bittersweet. He knows he will never see you anywhere else. The sea you had so loved has taken you, and he has nothing to mourn. Not a body, not a painting, not even your bones.

The dream is the same every night. It resembles a story you had once told him, and makes him wonder why his subconscious has chosen it, out of all the sea tales you had shared with him.

In the dream, you stand on the shore of Dragonstone. You are naked, with your hair loose over your shoulders. You hold your daughter, but she is not the age she had been when Daemon had left. Instead, she seems to be a baby again. Daemon cannot be sure because what you hold is a bundle of linens that you rock back and forth, and her face is never seen.

Your eyes are fixed on the horizon. You do not seem to notice him at first. The rocks that make up the beach dig on your bare feet, and the sea rages, hitting against your ankles with such strength you should fall over. You do not.

It makes Daemon nervous.

“What are you doing?” He always tries to convince you, not a night goes by where he doesn’t. “Come here, love. The sea is too dangerous tonight.”

There is a steel band around his chest, and it tightens when he sees you take a step further into the sea. He has this feeling something terrible is about to happen, that the next wave will hit you and drag you under, that it will drown you and his girl. That it will be the last.

But every night, you refuse to listen. You continue rocking the baby, eyes stubbornly set in the horizon. Your face gets the same pinched look it had gotten in life, when the two of you argued, and you refused to back down.

He had learnt to grovel by your side. He tries that, next.

“What are you doing? Please, love.” Daemon gets more desperate then because he tries to get closer to you and never quite manages. He had never been as fearless of the sea as you had been, and in the dream, the mere sight of the water caused him intense terror. “Please. What is it? We can talk about it, I can help. I can protect you.”

Daemon knows it is a lie. He has failed at that once, already. And you seem to know it too because it is to the promise of protection that you turn.

“I can’t.” And your voice sounds old, full of wind and salt. It shatters his soul. You are slipping through his fingers once more. The thought is unbearable. “Our daughter needs to eat.”

Your arms open, and a miracle occurs. The island, so dry and so infertile, the jagged rocks that make up the ground, the sulfuric smell, they all disappear. Suddenly, the world is brighter, there are trees and flourishing bushes, the crops are thriving. The air smells of fruit, and sun, sweet as the first days of summer.

It only serves to terrify him further.

“I’m afraid.” Daemon admits, voice pitched low. It’s not something he would ever say while awake, but he fears so much for your safety, it slips out. When it does, he finds the bravery to rush to your side. “I don’t want anything to happen to the two of you.”

“Don’t be scared, silly.” You laugh, and turn to face him. Daemon reaches forward, attempting to take the babe from you. The blanket opens in the process, but instead of a baby, a rush of seawater falls out.

When he lifts his gaze to meet yours, horrified, you disappear under his hands in the exact same manner.

And Daemon screams, but no sound comes out. Tries to hold on, but water slips through his fingers every time.

Her mother sees it all. Her girl leans in, as if to kiss her reflection, and tips over. The water swallows her whole.

She runs, then. But when she reaches the pond, her fingers only grasp water.

No one in the village believes her. They forget the girl easily, busy with their newfound prosperity. The place blooms with new life.

There has to be something in this place. Perhaps it’s the witch. Perhaps it’s the curse. Daemon had never believed in ghost stories, and he had once mocked Rhaenyra’s concerns over Harrenhal, but now he has the same doubts.

His grip on reality feels flimsy at best. He had spent an entire afternoon chasing his daughter through the halls, convinced he could hear her laughter and footsteps in the corridors.

Simon Strong had jerked him out of that one, asking him to hear the inane disputes of the rest of the Riverlands. His perplexed face at Daemon’s insistence he could hear a child running around had vexed him to no end.

Another day, Daemon had been in a meeting with the lords when he had heard you singing. It was that damn story again, about the girl, and the ponds… He had been lost into his own thoughts, and ended up insulting them because he couldn’t focus.

The witch has taken to looking at him with pity. Does she walk through dreams, too? Can she see you, haunting every body of water near?

It’s late at night, and Daemon cannot sleep. He keeps hearing footsteps, and laughter. Water runs near, an intolerable murmur. He gets up, without bothering to put on his robes, and decides to investigate.

Harrenhal’s corridors are dark and empty. His footsteps echo, explaining the noise. Someone must be walking somewhere. But the water? There is nothing beyond a leak in the roof.

Daemon has a terrible headache. The infernal noise water makes is constantly in his ears, even when he plugs them. It chases him, flowing and ebbing, but never disappears.

Perhaps some fresh air might do him good. He doesn’t dare ask Alys for any further concoction, less she is the one poisoning him. He walks to the courtyard, instead.

As he crosses the dilapidated training grounds, Daemon sees you. His heart lurches. You are as beautiful as the day he married you. You wear your Valyrian robes, and hold your daughter’s hand. She is clad in a miniature set of the same robes.

Daemon rubs his eyes. It cannot be. You are not supposed to be here. Why would you be here, dressed like that? There are runes traced in blood in your forehead, and in your lips. You are fresh out of a wedding.

A flash of jealousy makes him clench his fists. Have you betrayed him? Faked your death to marry another lover? You have come to taunt him, surely. You had survived the attack, and so had your daughter, and this was a way to punish him for leaving you unprotected.

Burning with rage, he walks after the two of you. You seem calm, talking to your daughter in a low voice, and making her giggle. The two of you walk, carefree, through the Godswood.

You look so normal. Like you always did. Solid. There is nothing in you of the vengeful sea goddess that haunts his dreams and disappears under his hands. He doesn’t dare call out either of your names, for fear of alerting you he is on your tail. Daemon wants to see the bastard that you are meeting.

He has suffered all these nights, thinking you dead, and here you are, alive! You dare flaunt yourself, after taking his daughter and causing him immense pain.

“You bitch.” Daemon mumbles under his breath. He follows you outside the castle’s walls, noticing you seem familiar with the terrain. You do not pause even once, while he has to stumble over branches and dried leaves that cover deadly holes made by horse’s hooves.

Once you reach the hill overlooking the Gods Eye, you pick up your daughter, and do not hesitate to make your way down to the lake. Daemon curses under his breath. He doesn't’t dare do the same. His footsteps are nowhere near as secure as yours are while carrying a toddler down a hill.

Instead, he hides behind some trees and watches. Will your lover meet you here?

But no man steps out of the shadows. You set your daughter down and undress her, tenderly. You fold her robes, and remove yours. Then both of you walk into the Gods Eye, until the water swallows you whole.

Daemon rushes to the shore then, nearly twisting his ankle in the process. There are no robes and no footsteps in the mud. There is only the pale moon, winking at him from the surface of the water.

The girl is now a woman. She walks out of the sea one day, carrying her daughter in her arms, and hugs her own mother tight.

“I have come to visit. I wish to meet my friends too, but she is too little to take with me. Would you mind staying with her?”

Her mother, enchanted by the return of her daughter, cannot help but agree. She imagines the afternoon, spent coddling the new granddaughter.

“You have to promise me something.” The woman begs of her. “No matter what happens, no matter what you hear, you must never unwrap her.”

Daemon waits for thirteen days in Harrenhal before his nephew comes face him. He marks the passing of each day through carving a mark into the heart tree at sunset.

You loved sunsets, when alive. You loved to feel the warmth on your skin, and the light reflecting on your face. Your mood had always improved when spring began, and Daemon had fond memories of days spent rolling in the sand, kissing each other until it was difficult to tell if you were flushed because of the sun or the kisses.

Aemond shows up on the fourteen day, after a moon spent terrorizing the Riverlands. His nephew had turned into a petty King, using fire and blood against anyone who stood on his path.

How plebeian. To think he had in his grasp the last beast that had seen the conquest, and he used her to burn fields and peasants. It showed the boy was still green, drunk in his newfound power.

His behavior was unbecoming of a Targaryen Prince. He treated Vhagar as if she were a mere weapon, and not the source of their power. Dragons deserved more respect than that.

Aemond doesn’t come alone. Behind him rides Alys, the witch of Harrenhal herself. The witch’s belly is swollen with child. Daemon wonders if she is fulfilling her own prophecy. Why else the fierce woman he had met during his first stay at the castle remain by his nephew’s side?

Perhaps, she knows she has to be his so the Prince who was promised is born after the extinction of the dragons. It shall not come from his line, but maybe from the one that starts with the babe in her belly.

Daemon has come to understand that he has his own destiny to fulfill too. He was never meant to have you, he realizes. You were a daughter of the sea, made from blood and foam. Daemon, instead, had been born out of fire and blood. Water and fire never mixed, and in another lifetime, they might have never had.

He had been meant for Rhaenyra, Alys had told him once. Made of flames, to burn together. But his love for you had been so strong it had allowed to defy his fate.

Aemond circled twice around Harrenhal, and then brought Vhagar down in the outer ward. Caraxes, as if sensing his rider’s unease, hissed a few flames. Daemon patted his flank, trying to soothe him. It wasn’t time yet. It couldn’t happen here.

Alys got down from Vhagar’s back, aided by her lover. When she was safely away, Aemond turned to face him.

“Nuncle, I hear you have been seeking us.”

“Only you.” Daemon had never been seeking Alys. He liked the witch enough to spare her, despite the rotten seed that had taken residence in her womb. A bastard babe was no threat to him. “Who told you where to find me?”

“My lady,” Aemond said, proudly. “She saw you in a storm cloud, in a mountain pool at dusk, in the fire we lit to cook our suppers. She sees much and more, my Alys. You were a fool to come alone.”

The witch had probably come to see if he fulfilled his destiny. It was important to her, to keep balance between the threads of fate. Daemon doubted that Aemond knew the witch was weaving with his thread too. In bringing him here, Alys had doomed him. She knew as Daemon did that both of them would die today.

“Were I not alone, you would have not come.” If Aemond was anything, it was a Hightower rat. A coward. He would face his death scared, unlike Daemon. He had made his peace with it a long time ago. You were dead. His daughter was dead. He had no further reason to live.

“Yet you are, and here I am. You have lived too long, nuncle.” Aemond tells him. Does he see, too? This twisted mirror of himself, thirty years his younger, and yet, he knows it. Men that defy fate never live too long afterward.

“On that much we agree.” Daemon smiles, wryly. He had led a good life. Nine and forty years, and he had known it all. Even love. Especially love.

Grief never took it away. It only made the tendrils wrapped around his heart into spears, that dug in deep, and never let go.

Daemon purposefully didn’t chain himself to his saddle, so it would be easy to jump. He took the higher ground, pushing Caraxes upwards. His beloved beast. He hoped that this gave Caraxes a fighting chance.

Vhagar was much slower, due to her size. She flew wide, taking her rider over the waters of the Gods Eye.

It was a perfect summer day. The sun was setting, in the manner you had so loved in life. It tinged the water a soft gold. The usual violent currents were calm. Everything around Daemon looked warm, and inviting. The golden hour, as you called it, was upon them.

Vhagar didn’t see them, but she was rapidly approaching. Daemon ordered Caraxes to dive by Aemond’s blind side, slamming against Vhagar with such force he feared he might fall. His dragon let out a piercing shriek, and the old whore answered him with her own.

The two dragons battled against each other, throwing flames and bites. The heat was unbearable, and Daemon had to duck nearly parallel to Caraxes so he was not burnt by Vhagar’s flames.

It was as he leaned in that he saw it. The water. It showed both of the dragons grappling against each other, falling while locked on a deadly embrace. It showed the fire, and the abundant blood falling from them. But it also showed you.

You, radiant in your wedding robes, swimming lazy circles. You, with your arms extended, as if hoping to catch something. Catch him, Daemon realized.

He looked up. Alys was a small figure in the highest tower of Harrenhal. It should have been impossible to see anything from this distance, yet Daemon could swear he saw her smile.

At that moment, he understood. All of it. A circle.

Daemon jumped from his saddle.

As soon as the mother opened the wrapped bundle, a rush of seawater came out. If there was once a baby, she was now gone.

Yet, miraculously, a young woman appears from the sea, fully grown. She is naked, covered only by her hair, and of a beauty so exquisite not a single mortal would dare gaze upon her.

“Fear not, grandmother.” She says, kindly. Her hands against the woman’s cheeks feel wet. Salt from the sea, and the old woman’s tears. “I am not a child any longer, that’s all. But you will never lack for drink as long I live.”

And the young woman faces the setting sun. And slowly, she begins to dance.

Lady Shella walked the halls of Harrenhal, in silence. It had been a long time since there was anyone here she could talk to. Her husband was dead, and her daughter long married. She hardly ever visited anymore, busy with running her own household.

The servants never made for good company. They rotated far too often for her to grow attached to any of them. They always complained of footstep and laughter in the hallways, and mysterious pools of water that no one knew where they came from.

Shella knew. She wasn’t about to tell them, of course. What was the point of owning a haunted castle if you couldn’t use it to scare others?

She made her way to the highest tower in Harrenhal. Her liege lords, the Tullys, had declared for the King in the North. They were kin to him. Shella remembered little Catelyn Tully, with her copperish hair. In her youth, she had been stunning, but Shella knew she must have lost all her luster by now.

If not from having five children, from widowhood. It had sucked all the beauty from Shella, after all. She deeply missed her Walter. They hadn’t been a match of love, but of convenience. She had grown to love him regardless. Years do that, she supposed.

Shella didn’t want to lose Harrenhal. It was the last tie she had to her husband. Inside this castle, they had made their home. They had raised children. They had been deliriously happy.

But Shella had little choice. Her scouts had seen Lannister banners less than half a day away. If she didn’t surrender the castle, they would take it by force. She didn’t have enough men, or time to ask her liege for help. Resisting would only mean death.

She wanted to see it one last time, though. One last sunset. One last trip with her ghosts.

Shella made her way to the window, and waited for the sun to start lowering. As the Gods Eye turned gold, laughter began to be heard in the hallways. Rushed footsteps turning corners, little bells ringing.

“… Daemon! Don’t!” The woman laughed.

“Higher, Daddy, higher!” A girl shrieked, voice pitched high with happiness. It made Shella’s heart ache. She reminded her of her girl.

“Come on, the two of you. We are late.” The voice was deeper, more commanding. And they were. A bit late, perhaps because spring was just starting, and the days were turning longer.

Nothing could be seen, beyond slight depressions on the grass. The marks of boots running alongside bare feet.

But for a second, as the sun turned the Gods Eye an angry orange, Shella saw them. A family of three, their little girl held between the parents, jumping into the lake. All shrieking in laughter.

Prince Daemon Targaryen, his lady wife and his daughter, reunited in death like they weren’t able to be in life. Yes, Shella thought, she could not wait to see what Tywin Lannister made of these ghosts.

.

.

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A/N: Hello! If you are chilean like me (I really should shift to spanish for this, and I will) Si son chilenos como yo, la historia que usé para dividir el fic es una que reconocen. O al menos ligeramente. Es la historia de la Huenchula y el Millalobo, papás de la Pincoya, con un poco de adaptación para que sea fácil de entender y calce con lo que estaba escribiendo.

[ahhhwomen]

You can say no?

Vampire Empire

Part 6

Pairing: DarkVamp!Wanda Maximoff x DarkVamp!Natasha Romanoff x Fem!Reader

A/N: This is not my best-written chapter I won't lie, but it will still hurt if you are looking for a little angst fix... Yeah no, this hurt a little... I won't lie. Also, peep the tags, I had to make a change for this one...

Disclaimer: English is not my first language. All mistakes are my own.

AU Warnings: Human pets, abuse, violence, possessiveness, probably incorrect vampire lore, angst, panic attacks, hurt/comfort, kitten play (?), death, alluded rape/non-con Minors DNI 18+

Word count: 1.8k

Taglist

Your hands weave through cold water, their damaged nerves trying desperately to hold on to something, anything. Waving against unfamiliar territory, you paddle and struggle against heavy waves, they push and pull, and you heave for breath between the swishing walls.

The water is chilling and gloomy.

The expansion of the ocean, vast, and intimidating.

You never realized it until now, with your feet kicking and struggling against the currents, but-

you don’t know how to swim.

There was a woman, long before Master entered the picture.

She was the only one to take an incline of pity on your small shaking frame as she dished out the punishment for eating before you were given permission.

Your chest struggles against the hammering of your heavy heart as the older woman looms over your small frame, sitting in the chilled freezer, your hands clamber around the rough wool sweater she instructed you to put on.

“Here.” Her voice is estranged and lost within time, but you remember the way she would hand you a little flashlight and a painting she had observed your eyes drift toward while you stayed with her.

Even at your young age, there had been something about that painting that drew you to it. The delicate brush strokes were perfected over time. You could almost see the progress of the artist within their work. Some lines were thicker, and rougher, as if they were made with an inexperienced hand. Yet, toward the end, the last final touches among the petals were as beautiful as could be.

The first painting she ever brought inside the cold metal box was your favorite. It helped fend away the thoughts of your stiff, shaking body, inside the locked freezer.

It was a field of sunflowers.

You claw against gruff hands as he holds you under the freezing water.

The cold hits you and you can’t help but try and gasp for air, the only reward you're given is water forcing its way into your lungs and dragging you down even lower.

Your vision darkens and you know.

There is nothing you can do.

As you squint up at the man, the water obscures the view, it morphs and moves, and his blond hair almost reminds you of the sun.

Your airways close as his hands tighten, despite the ice-cold water, blood pools inside your head, heating you up from the inside out, as your body numbs.

His horrid vanilla perfume penetrates your senses much like the chilling liquid that surrounds you.

You never tasted vanilla before… this may be the closest you will ever be to it.

In a blurry of delusion and hallucination, you dream of the beach. With the real sun, instead of his blond hair, peaking over the horizon.

And as you lose conciseness you picture a warming light and delicious ice cream with real vanilla.

The forceful grip of chill has been both a friend and a foe over the years. When you woke up that morning, you didn’t think it would be different from any other day. And you didn’t really care, even if it was.

On one side, the cold numbs you and lessens your senses until you can’t feel the burning pain of a harsh hand or even harsher canines.

Yet, on the other hand, with the lack of mobility, you can’t protect yourself. It’s not like you ever had much of a chance against your masters, to begin with, but that one night.

You curl into yourself, your muscles are weak and tired, but you try to hide from the outlash of thoughts and memories.

If you weren’t so damned cold, maybe it would’ve played out differently.

Maybe you could have spoken up before she had them remove that ability altogether.

“HOW DARE YOU!” You whine and turn as two hot weights settle you back in place. Something strokes your side in a gentle up-and-down motion as searing flashes of the past bombard your senses.

“YOU ARE A PET!” Army boots are the only thing you can focus on as she forces you down to your knees in the snow.

Your leash is wrapped around one of the boots, the weak material fraying around the edges as her heels dig into the ground and force you even lower. With your face flush with the dead grass that is layered with frozen water, she stares you down.

“YOU ARE A SLAVE!”

The last leverage of your knees is quickly kicked out from under you, and you fall with a heavy thud. Your eyes force themselves closed as the snow invades your nervous system.

“YOU DON’T GET TO SAY NO TO ME!” The harsh breathing of the older woman is slurred and hissed. Which is how you know her sharper teeth are out.

Your eyelids slowly peel open, and with a determined turn of your head, you stare up at her in wonder. What did you do?

“DID YOU TELL HER NO WHEN SHE DID THIS TO YOU, HUH!?”

Did you tell her no?

You can say no?

Before the vision can continue, you startle as soft whispers sneak past your eardrums. The words are hard to make out between the intense tone of the blond woman and the horrid chill of the surroundings.

You can only make out parts as the gentle strokes return to your side. A warmth, unfamiliar to you, presses itself closer to you as you can feel their grip tighten against your flailing body.

“Hush, it’s okay…”

Is it?

“You’re okay baby.”

You?

You are, okay…?

Aren’t you drowning…?

Yeah.

You are drowning.

“Shit, she’s getting worse.” Wanda curses under her breath as she closes the distance between the two of you even more, even going so far as to pull Natasha closer by the arm wrapped around your midsection.

Both she and the other redhead lay on their plush carpet in nothing but underwear as they clutch you close while the fireplace burns and crackles to the left of you.

After Natasha had carried you into their home, earlier that day, the vamped-out redhead had quickly ordered her wife to strip down, her voice harsh yet monotone. At the time, Wanda had been riddled with confusion, Natasha had never spoken to her in such a manner before, much less with a demand like that.

The way her words had drawled over each syllable, the air hissed against prominent canines as her tongue clicked at the roof of her mouth. It oozed authority, a clear disrespect toward the older vampire.

There are ranks within the vampire world and rules to follow such ranks. Wanda was the Wanda Maximoff, clan leader of the Maximoff clan. As far as the vamp rule applied, Wanda was at the top of the food chain.

Natasha is strong, always has been, but if she were ever put up against the command of a clan leader her free will would cease to exist. Of course, the powerful redhead would never do such a thing to her wife, but that didn’t mean a vampire´s rage was something that could be stopped.

And Wanda should be angry, she should be outright offended that a lesser vampire would ever speak to her in such a manner. Had Natasha been someone else, Wanda would’ve ripped her head off already.

Yet here they were.

Natasha laid you down gently in front of the fireplace, her hands were already moving to start the fire before she could register what she was doing. Strong, orange, flames licked her upper body as the wood caught ablaze. The heat sizzled and the wood groaned. Previous charcoal that had laid forgotten on the ashpan glowed and flourished with the newfound heat.

Then much like she expected Wanda to do, she stripped down to her underwear. It’s as if she couldn’t get the clothes off fast enough, with every glide of expensive fabric that loosened and fell, she just became more irritated. She doesn’t know how long you have been like this, but the window for action was closing by the minute.

The scent of blood from your scratched elbow drifted through the mansion, yet it was the last thing on the redheads’ minds.

Crawling over to the couch Natasha pulled down every blanket she could get her hands on, and in a jiffy, she was back at your side.

Wrapping you both up like a burrito as she buried herself under the blankets with you.

An audible hiss could be heard as Natasha first laid her front flat against your bare back. Your skin could rival a piece of paper for the bleakness. But it wasn’t just that, you were beyond cold. If Natasha didn’t know any better, she would think you were a corpse.

The thought made her shudder, in a moment of need for a distraction, her eyes started their journey toward a hotheaded redhead.

Natasha knew the significance of demanding anything from her wife, to be frank, it had just slipped, and as her eyes connected with her lovers, she was expecting to see anger flaring within them.

Instead, when her eyes disconnect from where they had been staring at your greasy hair, they glance up to see Wanda stripped down and standing protectively over the both of you.

So, after being let into your little burrito, they both wrapped themselves around you and waited with bated breath.

There was an unspoken understanding amongst them. You were special, whether they wanted to believe it or not.

Close to an hour later, you started whining in your fever-induced sleep.

It all went downhill from there.

(On the other side of the city)

Carol huffs as yet another problem arises, she could never get any peace.

Walking out she can finally breathe as the cold city air flows into her. Her lungs expand and contract as her eyes slip closed for a second. If she wasn’t so fucking angry, she may have enjoyed the silence that hung in the crisp air.

Pulling her phone out she goes to check your location, she hadn’t planned to run off like that, but one of the idiot goons had started trouble with another clan. If she hadn’t stopped it then and there, they were all as good as dead. It had been an ally of the Maximoff clan after all.

“Urgh” pinching her eyebrows Carol groans in frustration. She is going to get an earful from Thor once she gets back to work.

If her mood wasn’t sour before, it most definitely was now.

She was only half-heartedly checking your tracker, too busy wallowing in self-pity, that is until she saw the house, or more like a mansion, where your collar now resides.

Glass shatters, small pieces of melted sand, scattering and clinking as a mastered craft meets asphalt.

She is going to kill you.

Taglist:

@thinking1bee @tobiaslut @esmeseasle @skittlebum @tia-thesimp @maximilfsworld @leenasayeed @scarlethexelove @itsalwaysskorpioszn @observeowl @tekanparadiae @alexawynters @adelareys @anqyuicka @ichala @thalia-is-not-ok @lovelyy-moonlight @wandamaximoff-simp @opossumking03 @confidant-thoughts @delivery-bird @esouliie @geydumbbetch @dorabledewdroop @mousetheorist @herwagonempathkid @mommysfavouritegirl @auroraromaximoff @roman0ffsheart @morganna-la-faye @kaosrsing @marvelwomenarehot0 @lizzieswife101 @og-kxsh-420 @chibilauren @sgm616 @cyber-juipter @falloutboy-lover @xxxtwilightaxelxxx @likefirenrain @cole2907 @rahhhha @taliiiaasteria @mommysfavouritegirl @dehydratedcoffeeaddict @viktoriaromanovaa @julz2000

[newobsessionweekly]

Look at the stars

Main masterlist | 9-1-1 masterlist

Evan “Buck” Buckley x firefighter!reader

Fandom: 911

Summary: You get hurt on a call and you boyfriend, Buck, tries to keep you distracted from the pain.

Warnings: mentions of injuries, not proofread work ?

Requested: no

Words: 1k

Gif not mine, credits to the owner!

It was a dark and chilly night, with the wind howling through the air. The 118 Unit was called to rescue a man who had fallen off his boat and was struggling to stay afloat in the ocean. You swiftly readied yourself and approached the restless ocean.

Buck kissed your forehead before getting off the truck. He gently held your hand and caressed it, as your mind flew back to the night before. You and Buck cuddled in his bed, your head resting on his chest as you counted his heart beats while he asked you to move in with him. And after the shift's over, you will.

As you arrived on the scene, you could see the man frantically splashing in the water, his arms flailing as he tried to keep his head above the surface.

“Y/n, Buck, I need you to go out there, grab that man and come back safely!” the fisherman was not that away from the shore, but you can hear the wind intensifying and with every blow, the waves are becoming more ruthless. “Eddie, take the boat and be ready to retrieve the man. Hen, Chim…” Bobby's voice echoed in the distance as you neared the ocean.

Without hesitation, You and Buck grabbed your gear and quickly made your way towards the man. Eddie stopped the boat near the man's and you jumped in without waiting for Buck. You know your boyfriend is right behind you.

The water was cold and rough, and the waves kept crashing against you as you made your way towards the man. His panic hindered your and Buck's approach.

“Sir, I need you to stay still, ok? We'll get you out of here, but you must calm down for me!” you urged. Unfortunately, the man was too scared to listen.

Just as you reached the man, a massive wave crashed over, pushing the man further away and knocking you off course. Submerged in darkness, caught off guard, and unprepared to hold your breath. Your lungs aches as the water made its way through. The wave carried you even further down and as you felt an unbearable pain going through your head, your vision darkened.

Buck quickly swam towards you as blood darkened the water. Eddie rescued the man by jumping into the water, grabbing him, and swimming back to the boat safely.

Buck grabbed you with his shaky hands and made his way to the shore. Your head was bleeding, your eyes shut still and your breathing stopped even before he got the chance to carry you to the surface. Checking your pulse, Buck unzipped his jacket that was holding him back to perform CPR, and pressed his hands rhythmically on your chest.

Your eyes fluttered open, and you winced in pain, clutching at his arm. Buck's heart ached at the sight of your pain, wishing he could take it away. You coughed, the water filling your airways making its way out now.

“B-Buck—“ you tried to speak, you tried to stand and wanted to jump in the water again to save the man, but your boyfriend pushed you back on the sand.

“It's fine, babe! The man is in good hands now. Hen and Chim are taking care of him and they'll come check on you, ok?” Buck kissed your head as your breathing was unsteady. You had a pain in your chest growing with every inhale.

He tried to keep you calm and conscious, talking to you and babbling about the fun you're gonna have once you move in, trying to keep your mind off the pain. But you were still in a lot of pain, and Buck panicked with every moaning of agony.

Buck held you close, feeling your shallow breaths against his chest. He could feel the fear in his heart, the fear of losing you. Once again you counted his alarming heart beat, but it didn't calm you down this time.

That's when you looked up at the clear night sky and noticed the stars shining bright. You forced Buck to lay down with you on the sand.

You turned to him and whispered, "Look at the sky, babe!" He hesitated, then looked up, breathless. The stars were shining bright, a beautiful array of twinkling lights, and Buck couldn't help but admire their beauty.

You smiled at him, relieved to see him relax. "Don't worry about me, Buck," you said, squeezing his hand. "I'll be okay. Just focus on the stars and breathe."

"See that one over there?" he asked, pointing at a bright star. "That's Sirius, the brightest star in the sky."

You gazed up at the star in awe. "Wow, it's beautiful."

"Yeah," Buck said with a soft smile. You lapsed into a comfortable silence, taking in the beauty of the night sky. Hen and Chim were making they way over, when Buck's voiced stopped them. His voice was soft as his hand caressed your hair.

He then pointed to a group of stars forming a distinct pattern. "And that one over there," he pointed to the stars, "is Orion's Belt. The three stars in the middle are the belt, and the two stars on either side are his shoulders and feet."

You looked at the constellation with wonder. "I never knew that. It's amazing how everything up there has a story behind it." your eyes grew heavy, making it difficult for you to keep them open.

Sleep was taking over you, as you turned to Buck and smile as much as you could in that moment, "Thank you for showing me all of this, Buck. It's really special."

“I'll take you on a proper date to see the stars. What do you think?” your heart swelled with love as you nodded your head and smiled back at him. "But you need to stay awake for me, ok?"

“Ok, Y/n. Let's make you better for that date. Don't make the man wait too long for that!” Hen laughed at the two of you as her and Chimney checked your vitals and injuries, preparing to transport you to the hospital.

[how-serene]

In Your Eyes

Pairing - Dwayne (Lost Boys) x Neutral!Reader

Summary - A night on the boardwalk with Dwayne.

Word Count - 775

Warnings - fluff, mentions of smoking, no use of y/n, pet names

A/N - Billy Wirth, you absolute beauty.

Santa Carla’s cool breeze washed over your face. Behind you, the shrieks and laughter of friends broke through the crashing of the waves. They danced wildly around a bonfire, Mötley Crüe booming through a radio speaker. Despite the night bringing a cold chill, hoards of people still strolled along the boardwalk. Even from your place on the pier, you could feel the public’s infectious excitement. 

You leaned against the rickety railing, a cigarette held loosely between your fingers. Summer’s full moon hung high, reflecting off of the rippling waves of the water. Stars blinked down at you, against the sky’s black canvas. The pungent smell of the ocean invaded your airways, mixing with the bitter smoke. 

A pair of leather cladded arms snaked around your waist, startling you. 

“Hey, baby,” Dwayne purred, breath fanning against your ear. His hands traveled down to rest on your hips, squeezing at the flesh. 

“You’re late,” you pointed out, fighting back a grin. 

He merely hummed at your words, instead choosing to leave faint kisses on your shoulder. Even through the thick fabric of your shirt, his lips still managed to leave your skin buzzing.

Dwayne trailed his lips up, til he met the shell of your ear again. His rough hands turned you to properly face him, the railing pressed into your back. 

“Got caught up with something,” he explained, dark eyes shining down at you. 

From the faint ruby stain in the corner of his lip, you understood very quickly what that something was. You brought your thumb up, to swipe at the red smudge. The corner of his lip quirked up, carefully watching your movement. 

“You’re cold,” he noticed, leaning into your touch. 

“”The pier isn’t exactly the warmest place on earth.” 

“How long have you been waiting?” 

“Thirty minutes, give or take.” You shrugged, letting your hand fall back down to your side. 

Dwayne sighed, dark brown eyes drifting past you to stare out at the ocean waves. The wind had picked up, now faintly brushing against his thick black hair. He seemed lost, caught in a whirlwind of thoughts you couldn’t begin to decipher. 

You tucked a loose strand of hair behind his ear, effectively getting his attention. His eyes softened, sweeping over you. 

“Wanna know what’s been on my mind all night?” You asked, brushing the tip of your nose against his. Dwayne’s sweet mouth was only centimeters away from yours. His hands slipped up the back of your shirt, the cool silver rings he wore ghosting over the skin.

“What is it, doll?” he muttered, lips grazing the corner of your mouth. Patiently waiting for you to speak. His unshaven stubble scraped against your chin.

You planted a firm kiss on his cheek, before pulling back. 

“Winning that giant stuffed panda I saw near the balloon darts.” 

The pier was alive, as bright neon lights illuminated the boardwalk. The flood of patrons rushed past you, of kids dragging their parents by the cuff of their sleeves, or friends huddled together like packs of wolves. All vying for that last ride on the Ferris wheel, or an overpriced corndog before the park closed for the night. 

You walked, with Dwayne’s arm slung over your shoulders, and a stuffed Panda lovingly held in your hands. 

“Since when were you so good at darts, mister?”

Dwayne sheepishly smiled, glancing down at you, “Just one of my many talents.” 

You snorted, bumping your hip with his. It was odd, at times you realized. Dwayne smelled of cigarettes, and cheap booze most likely snagged from the victims of bonfire parties. His mouth tasted of mint, and nicotine when he would kiss you. There was always something beyond it though, a metallic taste your mind would block out before you could process it. 

Even though you knew. 

He appeared so human at times, it knocked you back. It was almost easy to brush off the strange coolness of his skin, or the carnivorous look in his features when a hoard of people would pass by you two. 

Then there were moments when the human-like quality of Dwayne overshadowed everything else. Moment’s like now, when he pressed you into his side, grinning as he peppered kisses over your hairline. You giggled, leaning back away from him, your heart thudding in your chest. Up ahead, his pack was gathered around a picnic-table, lazily leaning against it. Their ravenous gaze met yours, locked on your approaching form. Marko, with an infectious toothy smile and unkempt golden hair, waved at you. Dwayne grumbled, muttering something under his breath.

You were reminded that monsters lurked on every corner. 

In Santa Carla, at least. 

[moonlight-prose]

✧ THRILLS ✧

a/n: day one of kinktober!! i am extremely excited about this year, simply because i am intent on actually finishing this list. honestly i'm a little nervous for it to begin since i'm still speed writing week two. but we're here! and what a better way to kick everything off than with this man? i hope y'all enjoy this month! it'll be fun.

day one - hair pulling + choking | kinktober 2023

summary: "he sought you out in the darkness of your shared home and found what he knew would keep him from dipping beneath the surface again. and you let him."

word count: 0.9k+

pairing: joel miller x f!reader

warnings: EXPLICIT SO MINORS DNI, rough sex, hair pulling, choking, p in v sex, a tiny bit of praise.

He wanted to drown in you. Suffocate beneath the warmth of your love, but he couldn’t find his own way out of his head. As if the pain in his mind kept him trapped in a cage he had no way to unlock. It taunted him. Whispered his worst fears in his ear, claiming they would happen eventually.

So when the door creaked shut, silence enveloping the both of you, he clawed his way to the surface. He sought you out in the darkness of your shared home and found what he knew would keep him from dipping beneath the surface again. And you let him. You welcomed him with open arms, crooning words of love to combat the darkness.

You became his anchor amidst the ravaging ocean in his head.

“My pretty girl,” he gasped, his fingers digging into your hip to leverage the strength of his thrusts.

“Oh—fuck,” you choked out, mouth open and spit drooling into the pillow beneath your head.

“Look at you.”

He grinned, teeth digging into his bottom lip at the sight of you. On all fours, face pressed into the bed, as he brought you over the edge again and again. If he had his way, you’d be like this all night. Unable to discern what time of day it was simply because he’d fucked every thought out of your head.

“My pretty fucking girl,” he murmured, leaning over to kiss up your spine, his hips slamming into you roughly. Taking what you offered with a smile on his face and love in his eyes.

He wanted to consume you. Except Joel knew the truth. You were consuming him. Dragging him beneath the depths of pleasure with each garbled moan and cry of his name—sweetly suffocating him in your warmth. And he relished in it. Needed more, because you were the only thing keeping him breathing at this point. The only reason he survived this fucking world when everything else wanted to kill him.

Grunting, reached forward and gathered your hair in his hand, yanking it back until you back bowed—head falling back. A hoarse shout of his name echoed off the walls, your pussy clamping around his cock and drawing out a growl from him. A sound that shot through you.

“You like that?” he whispered in your ear, shifting his angle slightly until he struck gold. Ripping a high moan from your throat as the head of his cock rammed repeatedly into your g-spot. “Yeah you like that.”

“J-Joel!” you gasped, hands scrabbling along the sheets to hold yourself up, trying to meet his thrusts. But his hold on you kept you in place, allowing him complete control over your entire being.

“C’mon darlin’,” he grunted, watching as your mouth parted even further, spit trailing down your chin. “Cum on my cock. I know you need it.”

You nodded frantically, feeling his hand tighten around your hair as he sped up. Nearly shoving you up the bed with each thrust. Something was missing though. That added pressure that would send you flying off the edge, and before you could beg him for it. He had already given it to you. Wrapping his other hand around your throat, he pulled you up until your back slammed to his chest—your airways quickly being cut off as he held you to him.

Something pulled tight and sharp in your body. Joel’s touch caused you to quickly respond how he wanted—how he knew you would. He understood you so well sometimes it scared you. Made you wonder what happened in your life to where you wound up with him. A man who said less than he needed to, but spoke loudly through his actions. Just as he did now.

Grunting against your throat, he felt you gush around him—your slick practically dripping down your inner thighs and making a mess between the both of you. One he would happily clean up after this—allowing his tongue to explore parts of you he had yet to touch tonight. But for now he was intent on driving you towards that final push.

Digging your nails into his arm, you felt your walls flutter around him. The building sensation finally coming to a heady break as he allowed a tiny bit of air to break through to your lungs. He scraped his teeth against your shoulder, his fingers falling to swirl rapidly over your clit.

“I-I’m gonna—” Your words cut off as you felt the pressure snap in two, a blinding sensation flooding your body. A shout of his name bounced off the walls of your house, his muttered praise pressed into your skin.

Joel continued his ministrations, shoving you even higher until your body bowed into his, your eyes fluttering shut and chest heaving. He palmed your breast, holding it tenderly in his hand as you grabbed hold of his wrist, slowing his movements and eventually stopping them altogether. Your mind was hazy. As if you’d had your fill of the man behind you—a drunkenness overtaking the sense of clarity that no longer seemed to exist.

It wasn’t until he gently thrust back into you did you realize…he hadn’t finished.

“Again?” he murmured, fingers sliding down into your slick. A smile spread across his lips when you shuddered against his body—the overstimulation nearly too much for you to take.

But that didn’t stop you from nodding against his shoulder, your hand releasing his wrist. Giving into his reverent touch with ease.

[justalildumpling]

the fire alarm | ep 9: stupid

wc: 317

Yangyang was the culprit behind a lot of stupid things in their apartment. Most of which consisted of misplacing his poor roommates' and neighbours’ personal items in the most inconvenient places or his habit of doing things on a whim for the sake of the “plot”. 

He believed his last action of skinny dipping into the pitch-black ocean at 2 am last summer wouldn’t be topped anytime soon. However, never did he think that he would be running blindly into a burning building to retrieve you.

The back of his calves strained with each step leading to the 14th floor. The smoke only grew in mass, fogging his vision of the hallway. He lifted the collars of his t-shirt to cover his airways, squinting his eyes as he followed the trail of lights that lit up the floor to your front door.

He fumbled with the keys in his hands before slamming open the front door to run into your room. You were sound asleep on your bed, lips slightly upturned as the blanket enveloped the sides of your face. A rather amusing sight to see considering the situation at hand. 

With a sigh, Yangyang sat at the foot of your bed, shaking at your backside. You stirred in your sleep for a few seconds, mumbling incoherent sleep talk into your pillow. 

Yangyang chuckled, shaking you again, “We need to evacuate Y/N.” 

You opened one eye to observe the scruffy state of your roommate, still in his matching pyjama set that Renjun had gotten everyone for Christmas last year. You flashed him a drowsy smile, rubbing at your half-lidded eyes, “You actually came to get me.”

Yangyang could only grin, ruffling the top of your hair, “Of course I did dummy, how could I forget someone as annoying as you?”

“Fuck off,” You giggled, grasping his hands to pull you out of bed.

“Hurry up stupid.”

masterlist || previous | next

pairing: nct 00'liner x fem! reader

synopsis: knock knock! your favourite debatable group of friends are living on the same floor as you now! all u need to do is hope that they won’t burn the place down, should be easy enough… right?

genre: social media au, college au, roommates/neighbours au, fluff, crack

warnings: swearing

note: THE RETURN IS HEREEEEE🤧

taglist: open! feel free to send an ask or comment to be added :))) ~ @sungbeam @mosviqu @hyucksdarling @positionslab @luvenshiti @chelzinha26 @jenyoonoh @kyuzuberri @yixingtion @ahnneyong @shxnz @h06yck @heavenly-seraphic @pastelsicheng @sseastar-main @igotkpoops @culterycollector @ohmygs-blog @strangevante @sundamariis @bythe8 @tddyhyck @hiraarri @lovnlemun @spacecumslut @nshimura @blackswann-53098 @2baddies-1porsche @crushed-l1ttle-stars @deafeningtyrantmilkshake @ksywoo @90s-belladonna @moon-gyus @daegale @matchalyne @chuutaroo @nanaxwi @wonwootakemyheart

permanent taglist: ~ @xxxx-23nct @maeumiluv @produmads @shwizhies @polarisjisung @dearlyminhyung @wooyoung-a @w3bqrl @daincty @deehyuck @ficrecnctskz @rv7hsua @n0hyuck @neosdaisy @baekhyunstruly @barbkh8450t @cupid-yuno @rum-gone-why @mxnhoeuwu @dinonuguaegi @alethea-moon @klovmasworld @haechansbbg @moonchele @chernabogsbiggestfan @sehunniepot @ujisworld

[amiactuallydoingthisblog]

It’s a week before the finale and so I’m figuring out how the fish aquatic mammals (see my Telchin evolution post for details) can breathe air, freshwater, saltwater, and live on both land and the bottom of the ocean, which are questions I’ve had since we’ve met Ulysses. This post is going to be a bit more biological process/science communication heavy, but I’ve linked my sources where applicable.

First, lets talk about the gills. Gills are tissues that are filled with thin blood vessels called capillaries. As water is passed over the gills, oxygen diffuses from the oxygen-rich water into the oxygen-deficient blood. This works because particles/gasses/etc like to move down their concentration gradient, from areas of high concentration to areas of low concentration.

To have a consistent supply of oxygen, water needs to be constantly flowing over the gills. This is easy to do while the Telchin are swimming, but when they’re not, my thought is that the ear fins flap to push water down past the gills.

In order to live on the bottom of the ocean, Telchin would have to deal with the pressure difference. Marine mammals in real life can dive down to 2,000 feet, and they are able to mitigate the change in pressure using a number of adaptations. The main one which I think the Telchins use is the collapsing/contracting of the lungs and other airways to prevent them from imploding under the pressure. They also would have thicker/more insulated skin to help with the cold that comes with the deep ocean.

The salinity (amount of salt) of the environment is important to any organism, but especially to aquatic animals. Salmon and American eels, however, are two species that travel from saltwater to freshwater over the course of their life cycles. Salmon (and by extension, the Telchin) can do this because of a number of adaptations, most importantly a molecular pump in the cell walls of the gills that pump salt out of the blood when they’re in saltwater and into the blood when they’re in freshwater.

As far as I know, only lungfish breath both air and water. They are almost the reverse of Telchin, having started out with gills and then evolving a primitive sort of lung. Telchin have both lungs and gills, so they can mechanically breath both air and water, but my question is how they change from breathing water to breathing air. My hypothesis is that when the O2 levels in their blood are too low, they switch methods of breathing.

Your body already senses the amount of oxygen (I tried to find a suitable popular source for this and failed, so this is a scholarly article, just so y’all know) in the blood, and responds when O2 levels are low. When a Telchins oxygen levels are low, their body will either lessen the blood flow to the gills and open up the lungs (using the same system that prevents the lungs from being crushed by the pressure) or vice versa, increasing blood flow to the gills and closing the lungs.

In summary: fish can do cool things, and therefore so can the Telchin.

[hwajin]

— i swam a lake of fire, i'd have walked across the floor of any sea

⁺ 𓂋 𓈒 ✦ :: — hwang hyunjin | 4k follower event

genre: fluff, hints of hurt and comfort

pairing: hyunjin x gn!reader

A book on your pillow, your eyes stinging from hours of reading, a playlist looping for the third time since you've played it. Your phone blinked up, vibrated against the mattress.

>> i miss you

>> can't wait to see you soon

Two more weeks. A calendar by your desk, the passed days crossed out in red, Hyunjin's day of arrival marked in a thick circle. A countdown set on your phone, time passing far too slowly, as though it stood still only to seperate you from your lover. You were mad at it, unreasonably so, and yet mad - why was time so very viscious only when least needed, only passing in half the speed when it needed to do the opposite?

You typed a reply - though saying you missed him, too, and very much so was an understatement. Your body felt torn in half without him by your side, as though a part of you went with him when he left and left over was a claffing wound of flesh and blood, burning and hurting in it's place. Your bed felt empty, your days bore, your happiness sunken. Maybe it was unhealthy, maybe dependence on your lover was only acceptable to a point you had long overstepped - but you couldn't be bothered. Not when Hyunjin felt the same across a dozen oceans and a thousand lands, when his messages to you oozed of longing and love, when his calls ended in whispered confessions, in hesitant goodbyes. When you've been all he was dreamig of and when he was the only figure in your own dreams, when the desire for his body next to yours was stronger than any coherence you didn't bother bringing up.

And then your bedroom door opened. Besides Hyunjin no one had a key to your apartment so you jumped, already seeing white before you when you took in his presence, when Hyunjin emerged from the hallway and into your room. And your body acted faster than your mind could. While the logical part within you tried to make sense of his appearance, while trying to figure out if he was a hallucination altogether your hands proved that he wasn't, wrapped around his body tight enough to cut his airways, your chests close enough to melt into one. He dropped his bags and caged you in, his face in the messes of your hair, taking in your smell, letting it infiltrate his senses. It felt ages until he last felt you, touched you, had you in flesh and bone - he'd teared up if he didn't control himself.

Though he didn't need to. Your eyes glistening wet when you found his own, droplets daring to fall any minute though they stayed behind your lids. Your face beaming, your body hot in his hold - oh, how he had missed you, he wouldn't find words for it if he needed to.

"What are you doing here?"

Your voice cracking, barely a whisper, though laced with relief, with final happiness. His palms found the rounds of your cheek and his thumb caressed your skin, noticing the bags under your eyes, wondering if you've had as hard a time falling asleep as he had without your body by his side.

"I'd be crazy to wait another two weeks. I needed to be with you again."

Maybe it were your bodies needing the other, to physically survive. Maybe they lived off each other, only working when the other was near, only pumping blood and and breathing air when the other was doing the same beside, only an arm-reach away. Maybe sleep would only come naturally when it was in the other's hold, not throughout different time zones and landscapes; maybe your bodies, your souls, could only ever be alive if together, connected, by proximity and touch.

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