#and get fucked sideways but that’s baseline for me

[aboyshapeddog]

WIP ⚠️

Staci “No Survival Instincts” Pratt’s Night Out

Relationships: Staci Pratt/Jacob Seed

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: Dom/Sub dynamic, Smut, Alchohol Use, NonCult Au, Jacob is a Creep, Rough S*x, BDSM, Bondage, Biting, Age Difference (duh), Knives, Toys

Spending his off nights in the local bar had become more of a routine than an outing. Less getting dressed up, more finding the cleanest shirt left in his hamper not too threadbare to wear in public. One beer into his solo pregame, after catching his reflection in the admittedly dirty mirror, it struck him. Staci Pratt was too young for this shit, to be throwing his night away like he’s got nothing better to do. 

So he straightened out, showered, spritzed on a little too much cologne, and combed back his hair so it curled neatly behind his ears. Tonight the very off-duty Deputy would allow himself a real night out; a night in some thigh hugging jeans, and an appropriately too tight t-shirt, even if it meant Joey spending half the time ribbing him for it. So, he was back on track to the Spread Eagle, but decidedly not to mope and nurse a glass whatever they had on tap for the next hour. 

It was dingy and dark when he arrived, the air had a permanent heaviness from smoke, and the smell of stale beer. The nostalgia almost let him disregard the way his shoes would stick to the floor in some areas, from the copious amounts of spilled drinks that found their way to the old wood. Joey had somehow convinced the Junior Deputy, and Sharky Boshaw to come out with her for a night of real partying, perfect. Staci was three drinks in before he agreed to some old fashioned two stepping with his fellow deputies, four before the banda music started sounding like a personal call to action, and five before right now; feeling the rhythm beating in his chest, Staci attempted some kind of lasso move with the just as inebriated Deputy Hudson- then boom.

They were both slingshotted in opposite directions with enough momentum to send Joey into the loving drink-filled embraces of Rook and Sharky, and Staci into- Huh, that wall he bumped into was interestingly placed . . . and moving, oh man. Even swaying on his feet, Staci did his best to reflect the character of the friendly neighborhood Deputy, “Oh I’m real sorry, Sir I did not see you there”, his face was hot from the drinks and embarrassment, his drawl becoming much more pronounced with each.

This was new, there weren’t many people in the county that Officer Pratt wouldn’t immediately recognize, it just came with the territory of living and working in such a secluded area, and here was this big, big, man, fiery hair, thick beard to match, and ice cold eyes, this was a face he would’ve remembered. The Deputy lifted his hands in a no-harm-done gesture, drinking in the sight of the massive man now looming above him, who didn’t seem to react. The stranger stood still, looking the younger man up and down very slowly, before grunting an acknowledgement. Staci blinked a few times, deciding the interaction had indeed ended, turning back to his party. “Jesus Stace, next rodeo they’re hosting I’ll have to tell them to forget the bull and just call you.” Joey snickered, egging a round of laughter from the group. “Oh ha ha, Joey. While you’re on the phone, why don’t you call up Whitehorse and report the illegal construction of the Splash Zone you’re cultivating over here." The tense energy of the situation seemed to evaporate immediately, each of them feeding off the other’s excitement.

Alright, not gonna ruin his night! Well, it wouldn’t have if he wasn’t so damn clumsy. It had been close to another hour before Staci made the mistake of running into the stranger again, almost literally. A bit too much commitment to a save in the alcohol fueled “Hope County Sheriff’s Department Ping Pong Tournament” (with celeb serves from Sharky) sent him stumbling straight into the same guy as before, was this karma? 

Time seemed to move a second faster than his brain could catch up with. The man grabbed him by his shirt collar, large hot hands closing their distance fast, “Are you looking for a fight, kid?” he growled and it showed his sharp white teeth. For a second neither moved a muscle, piercing blue eyes locking on to his own; Staci could feel the other man's breath on his face, smell the alcohol, his cologne, and skin. Their noses could have touched, and the closeness made him shiver. Joey immediately made a move to step in, always the protector, before Staci waved her off with a quick nod and a sheepish smile. His heart was beating out of his chest, “No Sir, listen I’m real sorry about that-” he was interrupted “Yeah, you said that.” The man’s previously full whisky glass had found itself empty, dispersed between the bartop and his freshly soaked t-shirt. “Hey listen I don’t mean any trouble, really.” Staci reasoned, offering a charming grin as he pressed both hands to the man's wide chest for leverage. “You seem like a, uh, reasonable man. My place is five minutes from here, how about we grab you a new shirt, and-and I'll grab you another drink alright? Sounds square to me.”

The larger man considered it for a moment, visibly relaxing and releasing his hold, “Yeah. Alright.” he grunted. Thank God for small favors, and of course work mandated de-escalation training. Staci smiled again, this time with genuine ease “Alright alright, my cars on this side of the lot, Mr. . .” he paused, turning around to look at his soon to be house guest as he led them both to the door. “Jacob.” he said curtly, “And you’re not driving, even if you weren’t tripping over your own ass just a second ago.” Ouch. He scoffed “Well, we might as well walk then, I just saw you with a drink in your hand just a minute ago, didn’t I?”. Jacob was just as quick on his feet, “Well Columbo, due to some unforeseen circumstances I didn’t really get to drink it.” Oh. Right. Staci was red again.

The Deputy waved quickly and gestured toward the door for Rook, who gave him a comically serious salute, and went right back to riling up Hudson and Boshaw with more trash talk. Joey’s voice echoed through the bar as the two strangers made it through the door “You take that back you son of a bitch or this paddle’s going right up your-” They’d probably be going home together tonight.

 Staci had sobered up a little by now, thanks to the glasses of water Hudson had practically force fed him throughout their game, and the icy night air outside the bar. “Alright big guy, looks like you’re driving. I’ll just direct you, it's not too far down the main road.” Staci could see his breath when he talked. “Good.” Staci turned to look at the man- turned to look at Jacob and found his gaze already met, those shiny white teeth on display again. Something twisted warmly in his stomach, he smiled back and let out a short uneasy laugh. The Deputy couldn't help but feel like he caught a fox about to sneak into the hen house, “Yeah. Good, alright”.

 It was a short drive, but between the passing beams of headlights Staci still had enough time to think about how stupid it was to give big, violent, strangers armed with 6-inch hunting knives your home address. “Yeah and just a right down here.” Oh well. His house looked smaller from the windshield of the truck, glowing under the headlights’ beam like a beacon in the surrounding woods. “Here we are.” Staci chirped, hopping down and out of the vehicle. He took a few seconds with his keys, practiced hands maneuvering around his loaded key ring like a pianist. “Home sweet home” Staci said more to himself than his guest, “I wasn’t really expecting company so it’s uh- well it is what it is.” 

Jacob allowed himself to be silently herded through the entryway to the kitchen, taking in the organized chaos. “You’re welcome to anything in the fridge, drinks, um yeah. I’ll be right back with something that’ll fit you.” The host excused himself politely. He rummaged through his drawers as quickly as possible, he thought of Jacob’s curled arm holding him in place, his shoulders, biceps, everything were huge . . . Not exactly the point Staci back on track, what did he have with such forgiving sleeves? He walked out of his bedroom talking, “Sir or uh, Jacob, I hope you’re alright with this. I don’t think I’ve got much in your size.” His voice trailed off as he re-entered the kitchen, eyes landing on two faux crystal glasses sitting on the countertop and his cheap bottle of bourbon next to them. 

He didn’t have a minute to consider the offer before Jacob was removing his shirt; light cotton stretching over taut muscles and skin. Staci short-circuited. “Wa- hold on a minute-”, his pleas fell on deaf ears. He watched as the red-head finished removing his still damp t-shirt, and reached out for the fresh one; which Staci could have handed over if he wasn’t occupied charting the map of the other man’s torso. “See something you like?” Jacob teased sarcastically, but he was right. “I get it, most people haven’t seen scars this big before.” the older man reasoned, pulling a tight top from the Deputy’s loose grasp and over his chest. Staci stumbled to close his mouth and find his words again. “No. I mean, Ye- I don't mean, uh, I’m sorry it’s not polite to stare, you're just ripped.” Fuck his big mouth, he couldn’t play it casual if his life depended on it. There was a beat of silence and Staci contemplated leaving his own house out of embarrassment. Staci took a breath, “What I mean is-” Jacob interrupted him again, thank God “What you mean is, you invited me under false pretenses, Deputy.” Yes. Wait, No. What? “That’s alright sweetheart, you’re a pretty little thing I’m not bothered by it.” Jacob reasoned.

“Sidling up to me at the bar, inviting me back to yours to get my wet clothes off, I should’ve seen right through that good samaritan schtick.” The stranger needled at Pratt, watching him get more flustered with every word, he didn’t even remember telling this guy he was a deputy. “Now you hold on a minute, I was just trying to-” Jacob was right in his space again, looming over him, filling all of his senses, it made him shy under the scrutiny. “I just wanted to make up for giving you a hard time at the bar.” he said, creating just enough space between them to get a good look at Jacob, “Not that I’d mind sharing a drink with you.”. They were still close, barely a foot between them, the sound of each other's breaths becoming the loudest thing in the small house. 

The scent of Jacob’s cologne felt more intoxicating than anything Staci had sampled earlier, he stepped closer. “And uh, I’m a pretty little thing?” Staci preened a little under the praise that had been doted on him. “Oh sure.” Jacob took Staci’s chin in his hand, “Well, when you’re not spilling a drink on me, you’re so sweet you make sugar taste like salt.” Staci scoffed at that, and went to turn his head away. Jacob’s grip tightened slightly, holding Staci where he was, holding their eyes on one another’s, Staci let him. “Tell me, Is a drink all you wouldn’t mind sharing with me?” Jacob’s voice was so low in his throat it could’ve been a growl, and Staci’s body reacted like it was one; starting at the nape of his neck, every little hair oh him came to stand on end.

The younger man’s cheeks flushed, now he was trying to think of a single reason he should say no. In the place of an answer, Staci leaned in slowly, studying Jacob’s face some more before pressing a soft plush kiss to his lips. Then another, and another, slightly parting his lips as he moved to the corner of Jacob’s mouth. The older man stood still, staring down at Staci as he moved from peppering soft kisses to his cheek to his knuckles, then the inside of the palm of the hand that had just been pressed under his chin. Jacob struck then, like a viper; in one fluid motion removing his hand from Staci’s, and squeezing his cheeks between his thumb, middle, and index fingers.

Then, as quickly as Staci recognized their change of pace, he felt a hot tongue lick across his open mouth. “dios mio” he breathed. Jacob had already pulled back, admiring Staci’s flushed pink face and wet lips. He gripped the younger man tighter, “Is this what you want, I don’t play gentle, kid.” Staci felt faint, like he was falling under hypnosis “uh, y-yeah.” His heart pounded in his chest. “Good.”

Jacob was on him like a wild animal, biting into kisses, sucking his tongue, and the air from his lungs. Staci gripped Jacob’s (actually his own) t-shirt to keep him steady, nearly losing his balance as he was ravaged by the larger man before him.

His trance was only broken as Jacob pulled his wet lips away to focus on unbuckling his belt from his pants; as Jacob leaned back he watch a strand of saliva connecting their mouths snap in the air, it made him dizzy. Staci’s eagerness forced him to reach down to help undo the belt; his hands were batted away just as fast, and he was turned around. “I’m in charge, you wait.” Jacob’s voice brooked no argument.

So Staci had none when the belt made its way around his wrists, or when he was lovingly hostage walked down the hall to his bedroom with Jacob breathing down his neck.

“Bend Over.” the older man commanded, placidly, like he was saying ‘Hello’. Staci felt himself being pushed into position on his bed anyways, like a dog learning a command by force. With a firm hand Jacob then yanked down the deputy’s tight jeans, revealing lacy pink panties. “Oh, Staci. They must’ve sent you from heaven.” Jacob sighed, sliding a finger under the lace lined elastic and pulling it back to snap it against the skin, then moving to caress his ass like it was the world in his hands. “Ya know, kid,” Jacob started, groping the younger man as he spoke “I’m a little surprised you’d let a stranger tie you up like this.” His large hands moved around Staci’s waist, smoothing over the soft skin there and settling just above the brunette’s hips. “A big, mean, stranger.” The red head pulled the hips in his hands flush against his own, hard, smiling as Staci’s muscles flexed beneath him. The smaller man could no doubt feel the sizable bulge pressed between his cheeks. “I could do anything to you.” He growled.

The words processed in Staci’s mind a moment later, lost in the sensations, there was that hot, uneasy, feeling again. “Oh- oh yeah, and what are you gonna to do to me?” he asked, shifting his hips backwards against the larger man, and Jacob seemed to consider.

The silence hung heavy in the air between them, Staci waiting waiting waiting, listening to the rustling of clothes behind him. Then the skin of teeth pressing gently to the back of his neck, his body jerked at the contact, Jacob blew out a laugh. “I’m gonna..” a kiss was pressed to his neck, “Huff” kiss “And puff” kiss “And blow your house down.” Staci squirmed as the hot breath condensed on his neck, and belly laughed. “What the fuck man, you are so weird.” Jacob rumbled a laugh behind him, but when he tried to turn around, his head was pressed back into the mattress.

Jacob’s rough hands spread his legs, squeezing the bulge in his panties. Staci’s legs folded beneath him, moaning at the contact, God it had been a while. Luckily Jacob was holding him steady, moving to smooth the heel of his palm down over the expanse of Staci’s back. “But first.” Staci’s ears perked up at the sound of his voice, “I’m gonna eat you alive.” This guy was such a creep. Jacob rolled him over then, Staci’s brows were knitted but a smile sat lazily on his face.

Jacob held his eye contact, slowly kneeling in front of the smaller man, and slotting his bearded face between muscular thighs. He kissed there too, hot and open mouthed to Staci’s clothed dick, then chaste and delicate, focusing entirely on the smooth skin of his inner thighs. He covered them in hard sucking kisses, nips, then bites, and licks to soothe them over. Staci’s legs spasmed, pink and purple bruises blooming on the sensitive skin while all he could do was pant, whine, and shift his weight so he wasn’t crushing his own fingers. “Fuck Jacob” he panted, and bit his lips closed, embarrassed by how needy he sounded.

The older man didn’t seem to mind, taking some pity and pulling out his massive hunting knife. He caught Staci’s eye as he sliced through the thin fabric of his panties in one motion, exposing him to the cool air of the bedroom. Pratt panted harder, heart racing, and cock jumping as Jacob ran the cool flat end of the knife from his base to his tip. The reflective silver glinted in the moonlight, entrancing the deputy in the same manner as Jacob’s blue eyes and shiny white canines.

Jacob hummed, sliding the knife back into its sheath and taking one hand to slide Staci’s shirt up, his skin rough against the deputy’s soft belly. Then back down, slowly, slowly, to the tip of his cock. Jacob pressed two fingers against the wet head, hooking a thumb around him and rubbing hard over the precum forming delicate pearls on the tip. Staci keened loud, cutting himself off with a gasp, when Jacob gave a wet kiss to his member. Then he licked slowly up the length to suck on the tip, hard. “Jesus Christ, Jacob.” Staci allowed his head to fall back and mouth open, desperate noises flowing out of him with every movement. The larger man bobbed up and down, sucking and swallowing all the way. “Oh God.” Staci whined high in his throat, straining to lean upwards and watch Jacob as he worked. Jacob was the same, he drank in every twitchy noise, every shift of his hips for more, more. He fed on the helplessness of it, poor thing stuck on his back with tied hands, then he pulled off of Staci’s cock.

“You got any lube?” he asked, voice rough with wanting and use. “Uh- yeah yeah.” Staci stuttered out, breathing heavy and trying again to sit up before settling on his back, “It’s um, I have some on the nightstand over there.” He directed with his head. Jacob lumbered out of view, and the deputy craned his neck for a moment trying to keep him in a line of sight, before deciding he could wait. “You have any dildos?” Jacob asked, again rough, but almost deadpan like it was the most mundane question he’d asked all night. “Yeah, yes.” Staci paused, feeling exposed, embarrassed, and still achingly hard; now red and spit wet against his own stomach. “Uh it’s in the top left drawer of the dresser, but uh-” then Jacob was rustling through his drawers.

The older man let out a low whistle, holding up another pair of panties, even skimpier than the last; Staci hid his face in his shoulder, “Very nice, Staci.” Jacob mumbled to himself, bringing his spoils back to the edge of the bed. The larger man pumped some lubricant into his hand, warming it between his fingers, before inserting two. Staci moaned, arching his back off the bed, and spreading his pink bitten legs wide to accommodate the intrusion of such big fingers. “Fuck.” He sighed again, trying to relax himself into the slow rhythm of his partners fingers, as they sunk deeper knuckle by knuckle. After adjusting, the deputy began to slowly push back on the other man’s hand, forcing his thick fingers to rock deeper in and out of himself with every thrust. “Atta Boy” Jacob whispered, and Staci almost lost it in the obscene sounds of his generously lubricated fingers squelching in and out of his hole. “Please God, Jake-uh just fuck me.” Jacob moved slowly, twisting and curling his fingers in the tight heat, monitoring Staci’s every twitch and movement. He hummed “Whatever you say sweetheart.” Finally, pulling out his fingers and wiping them on Staci’s tender thighs.

The older man admired the sight in front of him as he lubed up Staci’s dildo “A little small isn’t it?” He asked. “N-not really?” Staci mumbled; if this was small what was he packing? It was a similar length to his own dick, matte black, thinner, but it got the job done. “Hm.” Jacob grunted, lining up with Staci’s hole and fucking him slowly, first pushing in through tight twitching muscle all the way to the hilt, and pulling out until just the tip was covered. “Look at you.” Jacob praised; free hand rubbing up and down Staci’s chest, massaging his exposed skin, and moving down to his neglected dick. He pumped both at once, building a rhythm and picking up speed as he slid up and down the deputy’s cock and twisted in and out of his ass. Staci’s body was singing, hips stuttering, and arms flexing tight against their bonds. “Please, Jay. Can you. Dios Mio. Faster.” Staci’s breaths were heaving, his stomach and hips moved involuntarily, contracting and relaxing, as he tried to piece together a sentence. “Hmm.” Jacob feigned consideration, furrowing his eyebrows as he continued to work Staci like he was weighing the pros and cons of some arduous dilemma, before clicking his tongue in a sort of tsk. “I don’t think so, Staci. l like the look of you like this veeery much.” He smiled. Bastard. Staci was layed out on his back; arms restricted and flexing under his flush and glistening body, writhing under Jacob’s every touch, it crossed his mind only then that that edge was exactly what Jacob wanted, it was torture. Jacob, equally sweaty; devoured every moment like a three course meal, eyes dark and hungry, thick veins protruding from his fingers to his elbows, straining under the perpetual motion. He kept Staci on the edge like that, so much stimulation, so much blinding pleasure but just enough to keep him on the precipice.

It felt like an eternity before Jacob pulled the dildo out of him again, running a rough thumb over his wet, gaping, hole. It made his body go limp. “Yeah you look ready for it. You’re ready for it aren’t you sweetheart?” Staci whimpered in response, he felt so tender everywhere, like he’d already cum and this man was just using his over sensitive body. Jacob continued to thumb his hole roughly, slipping in and out just to watch Staci swallow him up, and the younger man flex and twitch on his fingers. His other hand, unzipped and pulled himself out of his jeans, throbbing. He was still fully dressed down to his boots, and Staci’s t shirt, it was a lovely juxtaposition in his opinion. The larger man sucked in air through his teeth as he worked the cool lubricant up and down his hot cock.

“Now you’re gonna help me take care of this aren’t you, Peaches? .” Jacob prefaced his movements, and Staci nodded feverishly in agreement like he could do anything else at this point, but take exactly what he was given. Then his cock was flattened against his stomach, and legs pressed together and positioned against Jacob’s shoulder. The older man rubbed appreciatively down the length of his tanned legs, caressing his hands down the sides of the deputy’s thighs, and hooking them around his hips to position his body right over the edge of the bed.

Jacob lined himself up and slipped his head in with ease; Staci blew out a shaky breath through his teeth, even with the excessive prep Jacob was much larger than his dildo. He didn’t waste any time, pushing himself deeper and deeper until Staci was completely full, and then until their hips connected. “Fuck Jacob. You’re- hmm so big.” Staci babbled, he could feel the stretch inside himself, it burned and curled hot in his stomach. Jacob moved slow again at first, watching for Staci’s expressions as he moved minutely in and out, catching when his eyes seemed to go blank and he’d let out a brainless “Uhnn.” That was it. “That’s right Staci, just like that.” He picked up his pace, fucking harder and faster, rutting into Staci’s tight heat and stimulating his prostate. The younger man’s legs shook, even from where Jacob had them pinned, he knew exactly what he was doing. “Jake-Jacob I’m uhn.” He couldn’t take it, Jacob kept his pace, hitting that same sweet spot as Staci drooled onto his bedsheets. “Mierda. I’m gonna-” Jacob fucked his fist fast on Staci’s neglected dripping cock, “Good boy. That’s it, cum for me.” And it was instant, shooting sticky ropes over stomach and chest, coating Jacob’s fingers and the bottom of his t shirt. The older man milked every drop out of him, squeezing slowly from base to tip over and over as Staci begged for reprieve. “Oh God. It’s too much. Please it’s-uhn.” The last spurts coated them both, and Staci layed back boneless, still twitching with aftershocks.

“Sorry Darlin’ you’re not done yet.” Jacob almost sounded apologetic and he continued to fuck deep into the deputy’s used hole, stretching Pratt’s limp body wide over his thick cock like a sex doll. Every thrust pushed an abused whine out of Staci, still nailing his prostate and overstimulating his wrecked hole. Jacob pressed a delicate kiss to Staci’s calf on his shoulder, as he rolled his hips in to thrust deeper, another quiet apology. Then the older man was sliding one large hand up his chest, pushing his cum stained t shirt up with it to expose his heaving bust.

Jacob groped him while he fucked, wetting fingertips with his tongue to pinch his hard nipples. “Jacob, Please.” Staci begged, he didn’t know what he was begging for. “Oh honey, I told you I play rough. This too rough for you?” Jacob tutted condescendingly, before picking up his speed, and gripping both of the deputy’s hips. “Fuck you’re so tight. God damn.” He sighed between grunts. The wet slapping of their bodies and the deputy’s high moans grew louder and louder, Staci was worried his neighbors might hear. As if hearing his concerns, Jacob spoke up again, “Don’t worry, you’re almost- hmm finished. Now where-“ Jacob had to pause his chatter to catch his breath, pistoning in and out of the younger man like a machine, “Where do you want it.” It took Staci a second to comprehend the question. It was such a dirty question; dirty like a man tying you up and fucking you with a dildo, dirty like cumming from a stranger calling you a good boy.

“Cum in me, please.” So dirty. He sounded like a chick in a porno, but he couldn’t help it, he wanted Jacob to fuck him full of it. It had the same effect on his partner, his brows furrowing and eyes falling shut, moaning and grunting loud with every thrust. “Fucking cum in you.” Jacob whispered to himself half in disbelief, “Fuck. Yeah, yeah I’m gonna breed your little hole like I own you.” Staci’s cock jumped again, standing up to half mast between them and Jacob’s fist was around it like lightening. “Is that what you want, hmm?” Staci didn’t know what he was asking but he wanted it all. He nodded fast, biting his lips to quiet himself. The deputy could barely think straight, brain fuzzing around the edges.

“Yeah of course you do, you’re fucking perfect. Perfect, taking all that for me. Such a Good Boy for me huh?” Jacob lathered him in praises, grunting louder between every phrase, kissing up and down the deputy’s pointed legs. Staci whimpered every breath away. “So. Fuck-“ Jacob’s breathing became shallower, hips falling out of rhythm, “So fucking tight.” He moaned leaning over Staci, practically folding him in half. His thrusts became shallower as well, only pulling out enough to ram his tip against the deputy’s most sensitive nerves. Then “Fuck.” Staci’s hips were in a vice grip, bruising purple thumbprints into his tender flesh as he was held, Jacob as deep in him as possible. The older man’s mouth hung open, eyes closed as his cock twitched, spurting load after load of white hot semen inside of Staci.

They stayed there for a minute, Jacob balls deep and panting heavily onto Staci, before slowly, slowly pulling out to the tip. His cum dripped out with every inch, glazing Staci’s thighs as he finally popped out completely. The deputy whimpered at the loss, already aching and sore. “Shit, kid.” Jacob sighed, unceremoniously wiping himself and tucking himself back into his jeans. When he looked again, Staci’s brows were still furrowed. His stomach was tight and cock once again flush. “Greedy little thing aren’t you?” Jacob chastised, “That’s alright, I’ve got you.” Staci didn’t even want to think about it, so used and over sensitive, if he could even cum again. Jacob didn’t seem to think of it as a question. He moved onto the bed behind the younger man, sitting him up and untying the belt from his tender arms; Jacob smiled to himself, admiring his handiwork, that was gonna leave a mark.

Staci’s relaxation was palpable, he groaned with appreciation, flexing his arms and wrists, and leaving backwards as Jacob supported his weight. “I’ve got you.” He repeated as he hooked his arms under Staci’s and went right for his cock. One hand held his freshly bruised thighs open, and the other pumped and twisted over the head, savoring the wet sounds it produced sliding through his fist. Staci’s moans were music to his ears, loud now, not caring about neighbors or dignity; Staci cried out in wanton, whiny, needy bursts, overtaken by the sensations, he could still feel Jacob dripping out of his hole. It didn’t take long to get him to the edge again, hips stuttering and jerking into Jacob’s fist, mouth hanging open near silently as the Staci hid his face in the older man’s neck. Then “Oh fuck fuck fuck.” He was shaking, shooting all over Jacob’s fist again, fucking through it as he lost control.

Jacob wiped his fingers on his (actually Staci’s) shirt, taking it off and cleaning down Staci’s stomach, and delicately down his cock. Jacob got up then, laying his partner down carefully as he made his way to the edge of the bed. He rubbed the cotton over Staci’s hole, gently again, then pushing down on the deputy’s stomach and forcing the semen inside of him to squirt out. Staci whined and covered his face, and Jacob wiped up the rest; staying another moment between his kiss bruised, cum shiny, thighs.

“Fucking- take a picture it’ll last longer.” Staci quipped, half annoyed and half turned on by this man’s odd infatuation with every part of him, “Can I?” Jacob asked, ignoring the joking tone, admiring the view. “Wh- fuck no.” Staci closed his legs, fully embarrassed, drawing himself up and pulling his rumpled t shirt back into place. The older man smiled up at him, “Fair enough.” He walked closer to where Staci’s head lay, breathing deeply and leaning down to hold the younger man’s chin “Ya know you’re really cute when you’re angry.” Staci’s eyes could’ve rolled out of his head, tearing his face away to push himself up out of his prone position, fuck he was sore. “Yeah yeah, I’m a catch all around. Where did you put my jeans.” Jacob laughed at that, finding the crumpled up denim hidden in a corner on the floor.

Jacob grabbed them and held them out to Staci, who stood up to meet him. When Staci grabbed ahold of them, the larger man yanked the crumpled fabric to his side closing their distance. “You sound pretty cocky kid, you wouldn’t be ready for a round 3 would you?” his voice was a low growl again, it made Staci flush all over. He could barely stand as it was, he felt himself shrink a little in shame, running a hand through his tussled hair, and leaning down to pull his jeans up “Uh no-not tonight, I don’t think.” Jacob laughed then, a belly laugh, and it embarrassed Staci further knowing it was a joke. “Well” Jacob smiled that smile that twisted his insides “I’ll just have to have you another night.” Staci tried not to let it shake his confidence this time, leading his guest back to the kitchen with pride like the guy hadn’t had him begging and drooling over himself minutes ago. “I guess you will.”

As they made it to the entrance, Jacob loomed over him, taking up the doorway. “How about your number so we can do this again?” Staci couldn’t help but feel charmed by him. “Sure.” He said, reaching for his phone and typing his number in a bit too fast to appear nonchalant. Then setting his first name to ‘Staci Pratt <3’ and his last to ‘Bar’. “Now you’re not trying to pawn me off with a wrong number here, are you?” Jacob teased. Staci pushed him out the door smiling, “Hell no. Now would you get to your damn truck, or do you need a chaperone?” Jacob smiled too, looking Staci up and down “I might.” God this guy. Staci grabbed his hand and walked him up to the truck, butterflies curled in his stomach and he felt like a schoolgirl, letting go as they got to the drivers side door “Goodnight Jacob.” he sing songed, and he felt a hand on slide up his shoulder. Jacob was mapping his face with his eyes, landing over and over on his lips, Staci did the same. Jacob leaned down then and kissed him, pulling him close and taking his breath away; then pulling away, leaving him reeling, and panting in the driveway. “Goodnight Staci.” GOD this guy.

Staci watched the truck pull away, bewitched. He carried himself back to his home, getting undressed once again, tidying up and taking a quick hot shower, too exhausted to preform any other steps of a nighttime routine. Staci curled up in his sheets, incredibly sore, and ready to feel worse the next day, when his phone buzzed.

UNKNOWN NUMBER:

Made it home. I may have a few things of yours.

UNKOWN NUMBER:

(a photo attachment of his stained t shirt Jacob had borrowed laying out on a bed, and another of his panties hanging from Jacob’s fingers)

Staci Pratt <3 Bar:

you stole my underwear ??

UNKNOWN NUMBER:

They must have slipped into my pocket. They’re very pretty, Staci.

Staci Pratt <3 Bar:

pervert.

Staci Pratt <3 Bar:

i’m free this friday if you want to bring them back

UNKNOWN NUMBER:

It’s a date.

#jacob x staci #jacob seed x staci pratt #staci/jacob #ns/fw #nsft #staci pratt #jacob seed #god i am exposing myself with this shit #like can you tell touch is one of my love languages or whatver #but THIS is the big oneeee i’ve been writing for a while #i hope it’s good i wanted to do more traditional fic writing + create a little au for staci to party in #and get fucked sideways but that’s baseline for me #is this something ?? #⚠️

[toxicanonymity]

red dress (pregnant)

1.8k / horny!Joel x pregnant!reader / joel fics

Warnings: P in V sex, pregnancy, mild body insecurity, use of "daddy," Joel is really horny but it's bc you're so beautiful and he loves you. Pre/non-outbreak, I8+. thank you @xdaddysprincessxx for your pregnancy help.

Happy mother's day, y'all 💐 | it's this couple.

Pregnant with twins.  It was an offhand comment, an empty promise Joel made in the heat of the moment. But here you are with four months to go.  You put on a flowy dress for dinner and you’re looking at yourself in the mirror, turning to the side, cradling your belly and trying to wrap your head around how big you feel already when Joel comes out of the closet with a different dress. He’s only fastened one button of his shirt so far, and he’s not wearing an undershirt.  The open bottom of his shirt exposes his little belly, the product of your own cravings, which turns you on in its own way.  Khakis, no belt, no shoes.  The dress he's holding is fire truck red, low-cut, soft and stretchy. Pre-pregnancy. 

"Babe, that's gonna be way too tight," you frown.  He puts both his hands in it and pulls them apart to show how stretchy it is.  

“You said it yourself when we were trying,” you call over your shoulder. “You said I’d be waddling.”

"Never gonna live that down, am I , sugar?” He smiles.  “Can ya try it on just for me?" 

He lays it on the bed, then comes up behind you, sliding his hand along the underside of your belly with one hand and groping an engorged tit with the other.  He kisses your neck lightly and his cock hardens against you as he rubs your swollen belly and massages your aching tits which aren’t quite as dwarfed by his massive hand these days. 

You were already wet, but now you’re dripping.  It doesn’t take much these days to make you horny as hell.  Your baseline is horny to begin with, and Joel can hardly keep his hands off you long enough to go out in public. 

“Ugh,” you groan.  “Just for you, daddy.”  His cock presses against you as he inhales and his hands make their way to your hips. 

He begins to gather the skirt of the dress with his fingers, the hem rising higher and higher as the fabric accumulates in his hands at hip-level.  

When he has all of the skirt in his hand, he lifts the dress over your head and you help him take it off.  His fingers spread and his palms snake around you again, feeling every curve of your naked body.  “You’re gorgeous,” he murmurs over your ear.  “So damn sexy. . .you’re gonna look so hot in that dress”  

“I'm gonna cry if we can’t get it on.”

“You’re not as big as you think babe.”

“But I will be soon. . . then what?”

“Then I’ll love every inch of you,” he kisses your jaw. “as much as you love every inch of me,”  he grinds his arousal into you for effect and a bolt of desire weakens your knees. 

-

He gets the dress from the bed and you’re still a little hesitant, but you’re persuaded by the  bulge in his khakis as he brings it back. 

He holds it over your head and helps you put it on.  He’s right, it’ll fit. He pulls it down over your tits and belly almost effortlessly.  It’s form fitting, but not at all restrictive.  

He backs up to look at you and his eyes go wide.  “Jesus, fuck,” he whispers. 

You swallow thickly, projecting that he must be remarking on how huge you look.

“You’ve never looked sexier,” he says, his chest rising as he gets closer again and clarifies,  “In clothes, I mean.”  

Your breasts swell over the edges of the plunging neckline. The form-hugging fabric leaves nothing to the imagination, emphasizing the perfect silhouette of your belly.  Not the best choice for dinner with his parents. He's thinking with the wrong head.

Joel gets behind you again and turns you toward the mirror so you can both see your sexy curves.  

His hungry mouth latches onto your neck, his eyes straining sideways to stay on the mirror as he palms your breast where it overflows.  He slips his hand inside the neckline and massages your breast as his other hand slides down over your belly and he  moans at the sight of you so swollen with him.  His hand reaches your mound, then you spread your feet slightly.  His large fingers press the fabric of your dress between your legs as he ghosts your clit and puffy lips.  He's hard as a rock, slowly pressing himself against you as he stares at you in the mirror, entranced.  

“Gonna have to have you right now, sugar” he murmurs in your ear. 

“Dinner’s at-”

“Don’t care if I ever eat again.”

“Your parent-” 

“Don’t care if I ever see ‘em again.”

“I-” You cut yourself off with a sigh as his tongue drags against your neck and his teeth bear down gently while he maps your curves with his hands. 

-

He’s feral,  and you’re gushing wet.  Your eyelids feel weak.  Your body hums for him.  His fingertips on your hips gently turn you around.  He grabs your ass as he ushers you to the bed and sits down on the edge.  You stand between his knees as he pulls your panties down to your ankles, then hikes your dress up just enough to cup your swollen, dripping pussy.  

Then he gently hovers his hands under yours, grazing your fingertips, and says "c'mere," begging you into his lap. You hesitate, not wanting your belly between you.  He senses your hesitation and scoots back on the bed, moving all the way to the pillows, not taking his eyes off you.  He stacks two pillows under his head and unbuttons his pants, chest heaving under his half-buttoned shirt as he unzips his pants and slides them off, along with his boxers. 

“C’mere, sugar.”    He looks tormented with his cock in his hand, thumbing a bead of precum.  “Don’t make me beg.” 

The dampness of your panties is cool against one foot as you step out of them and leave them on the floor.  You kneel on the bed, your dress still hiked up.  You walk on your knees toward Joel and he looks at you though half-lidded eyes, wetting his lips.

“You’re so beautiful, baby.” His deep voice breaks with arousal. 

You keep making your way toward him.  When you’re hovering over his feet, he can’t help but gently slide one up your inner thigh, but you stop his foot before it hits your dripping seam.  You’re always so wet these days, and he can never get enough of it.  Your combined horniness makes for some late mornings in bed and unplanned nights in.  But you’re especially wet right now.

He sharply inhales, then can’t wait anymore.  He sits up and takes your hands in his.  You come a little further, hovering over his knees, and he embraces you, nestling his head between your ample breasts, inhaling, licking, sucking, kissing your beautiful ripples and lines. He removes a breast from your  neckline and groans at the sight.  He takes your nipple into his mouth.  You’ve told him how sensitive they are, and he’s careful as he circles his tongue, then plants wet kisses.  He groans, unable to wait another minute to be inside you.  His hands slide around and down to your ass and he grunts as he squeezes, beckoning you forward.  

-

He lays his head back down on the pillows as you position yourself over his stiff, aching manhood.  You take his cock from his hand into your own and tease him, dragging the tip through your wet folds and rubbing your clit with it several times.  His eyes follow the swell of your belly as your hips tilt up and down, using the weeping head of his cock as a toy, then you nestle his tip at your entrance.  

“You look like a dream, baby.  Feel like one, too.”  

It’s been a while since you’ve ridden him, but the look on his face and the softness of his voice leaves no room for you to feel self conscious. 

“Need you, daddy," you whine. 

You sink onto his stiff member, and he groans as you slide down to the hilt, your swollen lips meeting his soft public hair.  You tilt your head back with a long sigh as he lifts his hips and bottoms out, groaning “ugghhh.”

You don’t think he’ll mind if you keep the dress on.  He interlaces his fingers with yours, and you begin to rock your hips, his big cock nudging your g-spot. He’s already breathing heavily.  The chain around his neck slides on his chest, calling your eyes to the smooth cleavage of his  perfect pecs, exposed by a sliver of his half-buttoned shirt.  His cock fills you up so perfectly, and the way his eyes rove your body make you feel beautiful as you roll your hips into him and he gently lifts his back in a perfect rhythm that fills you to the brim each time and rapidly builds your climax. 

You ride him at a slow rhythm.  His cheeks flush pink and his neck blotches red as he moans.  You lean forward and your belly meets the soft flesh of his, the softness of his happy trail making your insides swell closer to climax.  

“I love you, baby,” he whispers.  “So damn much.” 

“Love you too, daddy,” you say as you sit up a little and ride him a harder.

“Fuck, you’re gorgeous,” he breathes.  “Gonna be a pretty mama.”  His eyes dart back and forth at your tits, looking almost confused at how perfect you are.  His brow furrows. He clenches his jaw, then takes a deep breath, which tells you he’s close.  “Come on, sugar.”

“Yeah,” you pant.  “Fill me up, daddy.” 

You’re close, too. He moans as you plant your palms firmly on his belly and slowly lift yourself up and down on his cock, the dress hiked up enough for him to watch as your insides pull on his cock.  Then a buzz rushes through your body, tightening your overflowing breasts with goosebumps, puckering your sensitive nipples, Making your thighs clench down on him. You moan as it seizes your core and your walls clench around him.  

Joel’s hips lift into you and he shudders as he erupts inside you, each massive pulse of his cock intensifying your pleasure.  He continues to gently move his hips as his balls empty and you gush around his cock.  

When he’s empty, he sits up and lightly caresses your belly through the red dress.  You carefully get off him, more of your juices falling out with his cock,then he kisses you long and deep.  He spreads his legs around you and coaxes you into lying back against him, getting your combined spend all over the dress.

Then he calls his parents to cancel dinner.  Another unplanned night in.  

-

Thank you guys so much for all your support, reblogs, and comments. I love you all!!!

-

All joel: @ethanhoewke @silkiers @eiviea @evyiione @xdaddysprincessxx @queerly-anxious @chernayawidow @ambassadortotrilliusprime @not-a-unique-snowflake-blog @jasminespringtime @romanarose  @fandomsfallnomore @djarinxore @lokanda @blackvelveteen1339   @manazo @wolvesandvampires  @taeslarityy @str84pedro @kyloispunk @filthfairy @fieryglutenfreechickennoodles @harriedandharassed @moonlightdivine @worhols @fan-fiction-floozy @cutesyscreenname @weddingfairy

#joel miller x reader #joel miller smut #joel miller fic #pedro pascal smut #pedro pascal #joel miller x you #joel miler fanfiction #pedro pascal fic #toxicanonymity ☠️ #tw pregnancy

[sapphire-writes]

Holiday In The Hamptons

Part 3 of The Campaign

pairing: modern!Aemond x Reader

summary: You join the Targaryen-Hightower family in the Hamptons, determined to get back what Aemond took from you.

word count: 7.2k

rating: 18+/explicit (see details below the cut)

warnings: p in v (explicit sex), oral (fem-recieving), edging, overstimulation, blindfold, restraints, fingering, rough s*x, degradation, begging, kissing, pussy slapping, choking, hand kink, finger sucking, alluding to some Daemon/Rhaenyra targcest, language

note: it's been a while! I have no words-- i was inspired and here is the monster I created, I hope you enjoy!

You’d secretly hoped Rhaenyra would throw out the idea of a family outing after the debate with Aegon went sideways. She’d been graceful, smooth, and calculated as always. And Aegon?

Well, Aegon was Aegon. 

You suppose Otto Hightower had attempted to prep him. But it didn’t stop him from being a pompous asshole through the entirety of the debate. Interrupting, laughing, and dismissing all of Rhaenyra’s arguments with baseline claims of his own. It was hard to watch. 

And yet the public was eating it up. 

Funny, they called him. An arrogant, egotistical, narcissist. But funny. The media was far more forgiving of Aegon than Rhaenyra. You suppose that’s why Aegon made a better frontman than Aemond. He was awfully charismatic. 

Though you just know it was killing Aemond inside to not be the one behind that podium going head to head with Rhaenyra. A battle of wits is Aemond Targaryen’s idea of a great time. He wouldn’t have needed Aegon’s cheap tricks to win the debate. He probably could have bested her (though that killed you to admit). 

“Shrieks Through the Keep,” she read the headline on her phone as you sat in the back of the limousine on the way to the Hamptons, “Rhaenyra Targaryen snaps at Aegon Targaryen during last night’s debate, her reaction reminiscent of her predecessor Maegor Targaryen. Fucking ridiculous.”

Luke sits beside her, Joffrey beside him lost in his Nintendo Switch, furiously pressing buttons and cursing under his breath. Jace and you sit across from them, knees pressed together. You’ve been stiffer around him lately, ever since----

“You did wonderfully,” Daemon had insisted, squeezing Rhaenyra’s knee, “Bunch of stupid cunts.”

Rhaenyra clicks her phone and the screen dims before leaning her head back and closing her eyes. Luke reaches forward, placing a comforting hand on her shoulder. 

“It’s only the first debate,” Daemon insists, “The others will be better.”

Rhaenyra lets out a pitiful laugh dropping her head into her hands, pressing her thumbs right under her brow bones. You’ve seen Aemond do the same thing when he’s stressed. Seven save you, can you stop thinking about that asshole?

“Can we talk about something else?” Rhaenyra asks, “Anything else.”

Joffrey pays no attention, his dark curls falling into his eyes, the faint sounds of his game echoing in the small space. Luke’s leg bounces nervously, his eyes darting to you, begging for some help. 

“What’s your favorite memory of Summerhall House?” you ask her, eager to change the subject to something else as well. 

The side of Rhaenyra’s mouth ticks upwards in a small, sad smile. She straightens up, leaning back against the leather seat. Her eyes look past you, searching for a memory. 

“My father brought me here when I was a child,” she tells you, “Every summer we’d come. Just the three of us.”

Daemon watches Rhaenyra carefully as she speaks; his violet eyes never leave her face. You wonder where Daemon had fit in on their family holidays. 

“My father hated the beach, hated it,” Rhaenyra continues through a chuckle, “But my mother loved the ocean. We’d spend hours at a time going back and forth. Swimming, drying out on the sand, going back to the water. Father would watch from the deck, always holed up with his models.”

Daemon takes her hand. You watch a pink blush begin to form on the apples of her cheeks, but she doesn’t pull her hand away. Your throat tightens. Aegon had his fair share of gossip present in the tabloids, but so did Rhaenyra. 

Not a rumor you hope has truth behind it.

But it’s hard to deny when it's happening right in front of you. Still, you remove your gaze from their intertwined hands and rest your head against Jace’s shoulder. 

“You miss him terribly,” Daemon says, thumb stroking the back of Rhaenyra’s hand, “I do as well. He’d be happy that you’re doing this. He always wanted the family together.”

Rhaenyra nods at his words, violet eyes glancing up at her Uncle’s face. He smiles at her softly before turning his head toward you and Jace. You meet his eyes for a brief moment before averting your gaze, heat rushing to your cheeks. 

When you look up, he’s still watching you. You force a tight smile which Daemon Targaryen does not return. He knows you know, your mind teases as a weight settles in your gut. You close your eyes, pressing your face against Jace’s neck inhaling the scent of his cologne. You feel his arm tighten around you. 

“Not long now,” he murmurs, and you hum in response. 

Though you pretend to be asleep for the remainder of the drive, you can feel the fiery gaze of Daemon Targaryen burning through you. 

When you arrive at Summerhall House you’re greeted with laminated itineraries and Alicent Hightower-Targaryen waiting at the front door. She holds one out to you, her brown eyes warm and inviting, auburn curls hanging freely down her back, dressed in an emerald green silk dress that falls just below her knee. 

Though it's been half a year since the death of her husband she doesn’t look the part of a grieving widow. In fact, she appears more radiant than ever. The death of Viserys Targaryen suits her. Her eyebrows crease together as Daemon brushes by her, ignoring the handout. Her eyes move behind you, eyes searching for someone else.

“Where’s Baela and Rhanea?” 

Daemon stops at the decorative table, eyeing the bowl of fruit in the center. Ruby red apples lay piled atop a bed of pears, and fresh mandarins. He reaches for an apple, taking off his sunglasses while inspecting the shiny outer flesh.

“Baela is galavanting around Europe. Last I spoke to her she was in Greece,” he says, biting into the apple, “Rhaena is much too busy preparing for her LSAT to be bothered with this farce.”

Alicent prickles at that, her jaw clenching, and her shoulders straightening. 

“I’m tired,” Daemon announces.

“We’re supposed to have dinner,” Alicent calls as he begins his ascent up the staircase. Her words fall on deaf ears as Daemon continues down the hall until he is out of sight. She sighs, trying to hide her frustration as she turns back to you, “Can I get you anything? Something to drink? The espresso martinis are fabulous.”

Rhaenyra smiles politely, reaching out and squeezing Alicent’s forearm.

“None for me, I’m afraid I’m rather tired as well,” she admits, smiling bashfully, “I think I’ll tuck in for the evening.”

“Luke and Joffrey will share the beach room,” Alicent tells her, “Jace and…” she looks at you, as though remembering you’re present, “Y/N….you’re in the room at the farthest end of the second floor.”

You smile tightly.

“Thank you, Alicent,” you tell her, heading upstairs. As much as you want a drink, you’d rather not be stuck with forced polite conversation with Alicent. 

The following morning is lights, camera, and action. Playing the role of a happy family is non-negotiable today. You meet everyone at breakfast by the pool, under the shade of the veranda. Mimosas, fresh fruit, omelets, and croissants greet you. You sit across from Daemon and Rhaenyra, as Jace pulls your chair out for you, reaching for a chocolate croissant. 

Otto Hightower sits at the head of the table, his gaze icy. You can tell he’s watching Daemon out of the corner of his eye, his tension palpable. 

“Aemond arrived rather late last night,” Daemon says, taking a bite of his omelet, “Though I’ve yet to see Helaena. Where is my niece?” 

You can’t help the rush of stupid warmth that rolls through you. He’s here. Absent at the family breakfast though. Dickhead. 

“Helaena should be joining us this evening,” Alicent says, sipping her mimosa, “I must’ve dozed off, was Floris with Aemond when he arrived?”

Alicent’s eyes are bright, lit up with curiosity. 

You wonder if they get along. It appears Alicent likes her, by the look in her eyes. Through the grapevine, you’d heard that mummy didn’t approve of Aemond’s previous fling. That ended rather quickly. Jealousy creeps through your veins; icy tendrils weaving up your spine. Jace meets your eyes smiling.

“D’you like your croissant?” he asks, his grin lopsided.

“Love it,” you tell him, returning his smile with a much colder one. 

Jacaerys Velaryon is nice. That’s about all there is to him. An easy man to have on your arm. Easily influenced. Easily manipulated. He has potential, for sure. You’d gotten the same look of approval from Rhaenyra that Floris undoubtedly got from Alicent when Jace had brought you home. 

“Believe he said something about her taking the next flight out?” Daemon says, eyebrows cinching together as he tries to remember, “Weather wasn’t cooperating. Something like that. We didn’t engage in further conversation.”

You bite your tongue so you don’t ask where he is. Luke is the one to broach the subject. 

“He coming out today?” he asks, referring to the yacht party planned later that afternoon.

“He’s resting now,” Otto informs Luke, “But everyone is expected to be there. On their best behavior.” He says the words pointedly, through gritted teeth.

You reach for your drink taking a long sip of the tart beverage. Rhaenyra cocks an eyebrow at Otto’s pointed tone, reaching for the water glass beside her plate and taking a sip. 

“Can I have one?” Joffrey asks, eyeing your mimosa.

“In your dreams,” Luke scoffs, causing the younger boy to pout. 

The majority of the morning is spent lying by the pool. You’d put on your swimsuit as soon as breakfast ended, heading back down to get some sun. No sign of Aemond. He must be holed up in his room doing gods knows what. You can’t help the feeling of anticipation that curls in your belly. 

The yacht party is meant to happen that afternoon, and as time creeps closer you decide to take action. The intimate family gathering is not one you need to participate in any way, not like the upcoming party later in the week. There’s unfortunately no way out of that event. 

“I don’t know,” you tell Jace, “You know I get seasick, baby.” You don’t. 

“I don’t want you to get lonely,” he insists, “I’ll stay behind-”

“You go ahead,” you insist, “I’ll be alright. I have a couple of calls to make anyway and I can lounge by the pool.”

“You’re sure?”

“Positive,” you tell him, placing a kiss on his cheek, “Seriously, have fun! Bond with everyone.”

Jace is reluctant but doesn’t argue. You wonder if he cares at all, deep down. 

Helaena greets you when she arrives, clad in dark green slacks and a white tank top, a cigarette hanging from her red mouth. You’d only been introduced once before, though you remember her vaguely, a year ahead of you back in school. She’d changed her hair recently, it was cut in a retro shag style, bangs in front of her eyes.

“Jace brought a friend,” she comments, walking towards you, hands in her pockets. 

You turn your head, still spread out in your chaise lounge one foot propped on the seat, an arm thrown under your head. 

“Surprised I’m still around?” you ask, noting the unashamed way Helaena’s eyes drag across your body.

“Nah,” she says, pulling her cigarette from her lips, “More surprised you’re still putting up with him.”

“Hmm,” you hum in response, “You bring anyone?”

“Why, you interested?” she teases, with a grin, “I’m not getting anyone involved with this shit show. You’ve the right idea, staying behind.”

“I don’t like boats,” you tell her.

Helaena drops her cigarette, stamping it out under her foot.

“Mhmm,” she says, eyes unconvinced, “Enjoy your alone time.”

You don’t answer as she retreats back into the house. You hear the muffled voices as everyone begins to leave for the party. Aemond doesn’t come outside, and doesn’t ask why you’re staying behind. You try not to let that vex you, but can’t help it. Sighing, you close your eyes as the sounds of distant voices fade, along with the car engines in the driveway.

Suddenly, an idea strikes as the sun begins to dip below the horizon no longer offering the heat from earlier in the day. Getting up from your spot, you throw on your cover-up and tread into the house. It’s silent, beside the gentle sound of the central air system. 

You need to find your necklace. The one Jace had given you. The one you’d so carelessly left behind during your last rendezvous with Aemond. Jace hadn’t stopped asking about it, and you just knew it gave Aemond some sick sense of power, holding that over you. 

You hurry up the stairs, padding down the hallway until you reach Aemond’s room. You’d heard Alicent mention last night which room he and Floris would be staying in. Taking a deep breath, you open the door. 

Aemond’s room is neat; just as you’d expected. His two suitcases were closed standing side by side at the foot of his bed. White pillows are fluffed to perfection; you doubt Aemond was the one to tend to it. His bedside table is bare save a lamp and a dog-eared book without a dust cover. The title remains a mystery. There’s a matching table on the opposite side with an empty silver dish and a small lap. 

Moving further into his room you stop in front of a large floor-length mirror, trimmed with gold, and spare a moment to shamelessly admire yourself. The Hamptons look good on you. From the afternoon spent in the warm summer sun, your skin already has a luminescent sun-kissed glow. You tilt your head, parting your lips slightly. 

Should’ve brought your phone with you; a selfie in this mirror would be worth a thousand words. You don’t suppose anyone will be back for hours. You can come back later for a little photo shoot. Your mouth quirks into a small smile at the thought of Aemond scrolling through Instagram and seeing you in his room. 

You know exactly how you’ll do it. On your knees, a hand toying with the strings of your bikini bottoms, plush thighs on full display. Your sheer cover-up dangling off of one of your shoulders revealing a delicious amount of skin your bikini top barely covers. Lips curved into a perfect pout.

You just need to find that necklace. 

That would be the icing on the cake. 

Peering into the attached bathroom you note all his hair and skincare products lined up in a neat row across the marble sink. You raise a brow at his perfectionism. 

Anal prick. 

You rummage through the drawers under the sink, most of them practically empty. A hair straightener, a hairbrush, a thin-toothed comb. 

No necklace. 

You growl in frustration slamming the drawer shut. Sitting back on your haunches you place a hand against your forehead. Maybe he didn’t even bring it, I mean, why would he?

You remember the look on his face, the stolen glances. That stupid fucking smirk. Your cheeks flush, warmth creeping down your neck.

He brought it. It’s here somewhere.

You tap your fingers against your knee, hand bouncing nervously. You need to keep looking. Rising from your spot on the floor you make your way back into the room, glancing around. Flinging open the closet doors you paw through suit jackets and trousers letting your hands dip into the pockets of each one. C’mon, it has to be here somewhere---

“What are you doing?” a cool, calm voice asks, sending a shiver down your spine like you’d been dosed in ice water.

Slowly, you turn, meeting the blue and purple eyes of Aemond Targaryen as he leans casually against the doorframe. 

He’s not supposed to be here. 

Yet, here he is. Dressed in gray slacks, and a black button-down pressed to perfection with not a wrinkle in sight. Green tie around his neck as though he’d just come from a meeting. He’s holding a legal pad in his left hand, a pen pinched between his thumb and forefinger. His silver hair pushed back out of his face, rounded glasses resting on the bridge of his nose. You roll your shoulders back and keep your chin up.

“Where is it?”

“Where’s what?” he asks, entering the room. He tosses the legal pad carelessly on the side table before reaching into his back pocket and removing his phone as well. Your eyes narrow as he rolls his sleeves up.

“You know what,” you tell him, tapping your foot against the floor.

Aemond releases a hum, still not answering. He lifts his glasses off of the bridge of his nose, letting them rest on top of his head. 

“Where is it?” you repeat, becoming more impatient with each passing second. 

Aemond doesn’t meet your gaze, instead, he takes a step forward. The bed is the only thing that separates you. He looks up at you then, violet and blue eyes staring into yours intently. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he tells you, nonchalantly, “If you’ve misplaced something how is that my problem?”

“It is your problem,” you say through your teeth. Aemond brings his hands in front of his chest, the veins on the back of them prominent. You watch as he slowly removes a ring on his left hand, taking time to twist the silver band from his middle finger. 

Your mouth goes dry as he repeats the movement, twisting the metal that rests on his ring finger. That ring he wears nearly every day, stamped with the Targaryen family crest. He resumes his movements, focusing on the ring that remains on his right hand. A small silver band around his thumb. When it's free, he holds his hand out across the bed. 

An offering. 

You’re not sure what compels you to reach forward, holding your palm open-faced under his. He uncurls his fingers, rings falling into your awaiting palm. He hasn’t touched you and yet your whole body feels flushed. 

You close your fingers around the cold rings, pulling your hand away. Aemond jerks his chin, motioning toward the nightstand beside you. You turn, placing the rings haphazardly in the small empty silver dish. They clang loudly against it and Aemond stares at you disapprovingly.

“Are you going to give it back, or not?” you ask, crossing your arms over your chest once more. 

“Why are you here?” he asks, ignoring your question and walking to the edge of the bed.

“I get seasick,” you lie to him as you did to Jace.

Aemond merely chuckles, his tongue poking the inside of his cheek. He reaches to the top of his head, removing his glasses, and placing them on his dresser. A lock of silver hair falls in front of his eyes as he turns back to you, mirroring your pose.

“I find that hard to believe.”

“Believe what you want,” you snap, “What are you doing here?”

“I had work to finish,” he says with a shrug. Aemond’s hands drop to his belt, and he begins to undo it. “So I decided to stay behind.” 

The hairs on your arms stand up and heat rushes to your face, and the top of your chest. You suddenly become very aware of how trapped you are on this side of the room. You’d have to climb over the bed if you wanted to leave. 

You glance at the door as Aemond pulls his belt free of the loops of his slacks. A sharp whine echoes in the room as the leather rubs against the fabric. 

Your attention turns back on Aemond, you watch as he tosses the belt onto the bed. You swallow the lump beginning to form in your throat. 

Aemond takes a slow step, rounding the corner of the bed. You don’t say anything as he walks closer, nor when he brings a large hand to rest against your outer thigh. He’s barely applying any pressure, you can just feel the heat of his large palm against you. Your lips part slightly at the sensation. 

“What are you doing here?” he asks again, letting his fingers trail up your thigh, “Hmm?” His fingers curl under the strap of your bathing suit bottom, snapping it against your hip. You flinch slightly at the light sting. 

You inhale a deep breath, looking up at the chiseled features of his face. 

“I want my necklace back.”

The perfect pout of his lips curl at the edges, a satisfied smirk appearing. 

“Well then you’re going to have to work for it,” he tells you, his voice rough and commanding. 

To your despair, heat rushes to your core at the authoritative tone of his voice and the feeling of his hand still on your upper thigh. You hate admitting it, but you’d been thinking about that afternoon in the hotel ever since it had happened. Getting off to the memory of it, nearly every night. 

“We’re not doing this again,” you tell him as his opposite hand finds your waist. He swipes his thumbs against your hip bones, squeezing into the soft flesh. He’s so close, your crossed forearms graze against the fabric of his button-down. You shake your head, “I hate you.”

Aemond tilts his head back, not releasing his grip on you. Your arms uncross on their own accord, and you bring your hands to his tie. Your fingers work the knot, loosening it and removing it from his neck. You toss the green fabric onto the bed, moving to the buttons of his shirt. 

“Say it again,” he murmurs, fingers digging into you hard enough to leave bruises. He pulls you closer, his nose bumping against your cheek. 

“I hate you,” you breathe, working through all the buttons. Aemond chuckles darkly as you tear open his shirt, revealing the hard planes of his chest. 

You drag your fingers down between his pectorals, tracing in between the muscles of his abdomen. They flex under your soft touch. Aemond releases your hips to shrug off his shirt, abandoning the material on the floor. 

You watch it pool at his feet, before his hand finds the back of your neck, pulling you flush against him, capturing your lips in a punishing kiss. It’s brutal; all clashing teeth and tongues as he keeps one hand securely on the back of your neck, the other tearing at the thin material of your coverup until it falls to the floor. 

His free hand drags down your side before settling on your ass; it’s so large he encompasses the cheek nearly entirely, squeezing the soft flesh harshly and dragging a gasp from your throat. He backs you up toward the bed, kissing you all the while. You can’t think when he kisses you, all you can focus on is the feeling of him. It’s nothing but hot, burning need pulsating through your veins. 

Aemond pushes you, none too gently, onto the bed before climbing on top of you. His hands roam down your body, your back arching at his touch. 

He leans back on his haunches, reaching for the belt. You can see evidence of his arousal straining against his slacks, his eyes hungrily raking over your scantily clad form as you gaze up at him through your lashes. 

“Wrist up.” 

You breathe heavily, before doing what he asks, placing both your arms above your head. Aemond loops the belt around your wrists, binding them to the metal rod of his headboard. Your heart is beating wildly in your chest, and the ache between your thighs grows. Aemond’s eyes flicker to your face as he tugs the bindings. The smirk that appears on his face says one thing.

You’re not going anywhere.

“You need me to stop,” he says, as he moves away from you, “You need to be untied. You want this to be over; you say keligon.” 

“What’s that mean?” you ask, your voice sounding breathier and more desperate than you’d have liked it to.

“It’s High Valyrian,” he tells you, “You say that, I’ll untie you. I’ll stop.” Aemond returns to you, grasping your chin in his hand, “What do you say if you want me to stop?”

You stare into his eyes, surprised by his seriousness. “Keligon.”

“Good girl,” he says, lightly tapping your cheek with his fingers as he releases his hold. 

Aemond reaches for his discarded necktie. He smoothes the material in his hands before bringing it to your face. Your eyes widen as you realize his intentions, but you make no move to stop him. You allow it. 

You want it. 

The tie sits perfectly against your eyes, blocking any semblance of light. All your other senses feel heightened, your skin feels electric. You can’t see him, can only feel the bed shifting from his weight as he moves above you, making sure it’s tied snuggly around your head. Suddenly, you feel his slender fingers, dragging down the strap of your bikini top, taking his sweet time before he reaches the knot that sits in the valley between your breasts. 

“Cute suit,” he murmurs, fingers fiddling with the knot, “You bring this one just for me?”

You can feel the material give, your breasts releasing back to their natural state as the knot comes completely undone. Aemond drags his fingers over the material lazily exposing your tits to him. He hums appreciatively as the cool air makes your nipples pebble. 

“I have a boyfriend,” you tell him, earning a chuckle. 

“You do?” he murmurs, dragging his fingers down your sternum, over the sensitive skin of your stomach. You take your lower lip between your teeth, skin erupting in goosebumps. You already want to pull against the restraints, wriggle, and thrash away from his teasing hands. 

“My poor nephew,” he muses, tugging at the straps of your bottoms, “He fuck you like I do?”

You haven’t slept with Jace. It’s not really part of your arrangement. Not that Aemond needs to know.

“You fuck Floris like you fuck me?” you challenge. Aemond’s hands pause their movements.

Just like earlier, a wave of jealousy rolls through you. Envy churns in your stomach, and you clench your jaw. 

“Floris and I are colleagues,” Aemond says slowly. He sounds as though he’s choosing his words very carefully. 

“You don’t have to baby me,” you lie, “I’m a big girl, I understand this world.”

Aemond is silent for a moment, and you wonder if he’ll push the subject more. He’s still for so long you nearly tap out, keligon on the tip of your tongue when suddenly he finishes removing your bathing suit bottoms. Completely naked before him, tied up like a summer holiday present, your body trembles with anticipation. 

Stop being jealous, you tell yourself, feeling him move on top of you once more. It’s just sex. Fucking good sex. That’s all it has to be. 

Aemond trails wet, hot kisses down your neck, his greedy hands digging into your thighs keeping you spread open so he can rest between them. He’s still wearing pants, you can feel the fabric against your thighs, and pressing against your bare pussy, the sensation driving you insane. 

His mouth trails lower, settling on your right breast, his tongue circling your pebbled nipple. Your back arches off of the bed, hands pulling against your restraints. The leather tightens against your wrists, digging into them painfully. 

Your lips part and a breathy moan escapes your lips as he sucks on your breast. Your legs wrap around his slender waist, desperately trying to get some friction to relieve the ache between your thighs. Your clit drags against the front of his slacks, grinding against his bulge sending sparks of pleasure dancing through your body. You’re nearly pulsating with need as he releases your tit with a wet pop, humming in satisfaction. 

Aemond drags his lips through the valley of your breasts, before repeating his attentions. He moans-fucking moans---as he bites at your tender nipple, ripping a cry from deep in your chest. 

“Look at you grinding against me,” he comments, as your hips buck upwards attempting to meet him, “That wet little pussy is making such a mess on me right now.” 

Your face burns at his comment, but you can’t see what he means. You can only feel how desperately wet you are, the slickness coating your inner thighs. You thrash against your restraints and hear him click his tongue.

“Poor baby,” he says, with mock sympathy, sucking harshly against the side of your breast. He brings his free hand to play with your unattended nipple, tweaking it harshly. 

You’re not sure if it’s the extra attention he’s giving your tits or the blindfold, but you can feel the tension in your gut growing tighter, heat building in your core. You bite your lip, whining desperately, back arching. Aemond lets out a breathless laugh, never stopping his ministrations with your nipple, capturing the other with his lips once more. 

“Are you gonna cum?” he murmurs against your breast and you curse at the vibration it causes, “You better not….you hear me?” Aemond drags his lips over your breast, trailing them up your neck and just below your ear.

His hand leaves your opposite breast, finding its way under your head and tangling in your hair. He tugs the roots harshly, pinpricks of pain and pleasure trickling down your neck as you whimper. Aemond’s breath is hot against your ear as he speaks. 

“You better not fucking cum, you hear me?” he growls, “Not until I tell you to. You can do that, can’t you?” His hand tightens in your hair.

“Yes,” you gasp, “Yes-fuck!”

“That’s a good girl,” he praises, rewarding you with a kiss, “Fuck, you have no idea how beautiful you look right now.”

Your cheeks flush, heat rushing to your face at his words. You twist against your restraints as he kisses down your torso once more. 

“I should’ve been more specific,” he muses, kissing right below your belly button, “You’re not cumming unless I’m feeling generous enough to let you.” He kisses the top of your hip bone, squeezing the other side. 

“Is that clear?”

Nothing feels clear, your whole body is on fire. The embers of your previous denied orgasm burn brightly in your throbbing center. Aemond moves lower, pressing your thighs back against the bed. You can feel his breath fanning on your soaked center. 

A sharp slap stings against your dripping pussy and you cry out.

“You’re not nonverbal yet, are you?” he asks with mock concern, “I’ve barely scratched the surface.”

“No,” you tell him, “I mean, yes. Yes, I understand.”

“Good,” he says, pressing a kiss on top of your mound before dipping his tongue lower, spreading through your silky, wet folds. 

Aemond moans at the taste, dipping lower and letting his tongue tease at the opening of your clenching pussy. His tongue just breaches the tight muscle of your entrance, nose brushing against your aching clit. 

“Fuck,” you mewl as he presses his tongue further inside of you groaning as you clench around the warm, wet muscle. 

He murmurs something, even though his face is buried in your pussy and you can’t even attempt to understand him. All you can do is tug against the restraints and moan pitifully as he has his way with you. Your legs tremble, thighs aching as he presses them back further into the mattress. He decides to release them, bringing his hands under your ass and lifting you slightly off the bed to press even further against your core. 

Aemond removes his tongue to your displeasure, placing an open-mouthed, wet kiss on your pussy, dragging his lips and tongue to circle your clit with slow, calculated strokes. 

“Seven--fuck!” you cry, legs shaking around him as he gently caresses your sensitive button, another chuckle leaving him at your desperation. 

“Oh baby,” he says softly, pressing two long fingers inside of you, “You look so pathetic when you try not to cum.”

“Fu-uck,” you cry as he curls his fingers, beginning to fuck you with them. The wetness between your thighs, paired with the words he’s speaking to you make you flush with humiliation. 

You’ve never been this wet before, not for anyone. You can hear it, hear him fucking you with his fingers. The gentle squishing sounds of your soaked pussy fill the room. 

“You’re so fucking tight,” he comments, rubbing against your g-spot. Your spine arches, mouth dropping open, a wanton cry leaving your lips. “Oh, that’s such a good girl.” 

“I think you can take one more, what do you think?” he asks, “C’mon, beg me. Use that big brain of yours, find the words.”

“Yes, yes please,” you beg, “Please give me another, I need another--” you’re cut off as Aemond slips a third digit into your pussy, fucking you with his fingers relentlessly.

“Please let me cum,” you beg, feeling him sit up as he continues to finger you. 

“No,” he says sternly, placing a kiss on your stomach. 

“Please, plea-”

“I said no.”

A frustrated, guttural moan leaves you and Aemond keeps going. You’re terrified for a moment, legs shaking uncontrollably, knowing you won’t be able to stop the wave of pleasure cresting inside of you. Luckily, by some saving grace, Aemond slows his movements, before carefully removing his soaked fingers from your fluttering cunt. 

Disappointment courses through you at another ruined orgasm, followed by the relief of not going against Aemond’s wishes. You can feel tears leaking from the corners of your eyes, dampening the fabric of the makeshift blindfold. 

You feel his soaked fingers press at your lips, parting them as they dip inside your hot mouth. You moan at the taste of your arousal, sucking the lengthy digits much like you did that first night inside the coat closet. 

“Gods you’re so perfect like this,” Aemond croons, his opposite hand moving some sweat-coated hair from your damp forehead, “So eager to please.”

Defiance prickles under your skin and you fight the urge to bite down on his fingers; not hard, but enough. You feel Aemond stiffen as though he can read your thoughts, and feel his hand yank the blindfold from your eyes. You blink, adjusting to the light as he pulls his fingers from your mouth. 

He reaches up, fiddling with the belt, releasing your wrists. Arms sore, you bring them to your chest, hugging them against your breasts. You can’t help but pout, and Aemond watches you carefully, eyes narrowing. 

“Tell you what,” he muses, taking your wrists in his hands and massaging them gently, “I’m feeling rather generous today. Even though you broke into my room, and went snooping through my belongings.”

You watch him carefully, chest heaving. Aemond continues to massage your wrists, eyes glued to your breasts, watching them rise and fall with each breath you take. You swallow, eyes dropping to his erection that strains against his slacks. Your cheeks burn as you notice the wet patch on the front, no doubt caused by you grinding against him. 

“I’ll give you the necklace,” he says, letting go of your wrists and curling his hands around the meat of your upper thighs, “Or I’ll let you cum. Your choice.”

You clench at his words, clit throbbing desperately between your legs. You want to cum so badly that it's nearly painful. You whine pitifully as he squeezes your thighs. 

“I’ll let you think about it,” he assures you, that stupid smirk reappearing on his face, “On your hands and knees, get that pretty pussy in the air.”

Aemond releases you sliding off the bed and undoing his trousers. Shaking, you turn over, propping yourself on your hands and knees. You feel Aemond’s hands once more as he maneuvers you on the bed, fisting your hair and yanking your head up. 

Your eyes meet your reflection in the grand mirror, Aemond naked behind you, his well-endowed cock fully hard and weeping. He brings his lips to your ear. 

“I want you to watch,” he whispers, releasing his grip on your hair. 

He moves instead to spread your ass cheek, opening you wide for him. You feel his cock press against you, the fat head sliding through your soaked folds, dragging it teasingly from your center to your clit. 

“Aemond,” you whimper, “Please--”

Slowly he sinks into your wet heat; the girth of him stretching you out deliciously. Your whole body trembles, your head falling forward as he bottoms out; your walls pulsating around him. Aemond runs his hands over the swell of your ass, down your sides before taking both wrists in his large hands and pulling you backward. The force drags your head up, meeting his eyes in the mirror once more.

“I told….you….to….watch,” he says, punctuating each word with a hard slap of his hips against your ass; cock sliding easily in and out of your soaked pussy. 

Small mewls leave your lips as he continues to hold you, never losing the rhythm of the brutal pace he’s set. 

“Why’d you want that horrid thing back anyway?” Aemond asks, sounding displeased, “I gave you a necklace the last time we saw each other.”

Your eyes are wide, tears threatening to spill over from the pleasurable current roaring in your belly. Aemond smirks at your lack of response, releasing your arms. They fall limply to the bed, and you force your shaky forearms to keep yourself propped up. 

“Don’t you remember?” he asks, fingers digging into your thighs, “You ungrateful little slut.” 

You do remember, how could you possibly forget? You’d had to take another shower to remove his warm, sticky spend from your neck and chest. 

“Perhaps you’d like a new one,” Aemond muses, leaning on top of you, and wrapping his hands around your neck.

Not one, but both of them rest comfortably around your throat, flexing along the sides. His cock continues to slide effortlessly in and out of your tight, wet heat; cockhead rubbing incessantly against your sensitive walls and bullying your sweet spot. 

You try to say his name, try to find any words, but they come out a garbled, breathless moan.

“Do you like it?” Aemond asks, flexing his hands against your throat, “Don’t you look so pretty?”

His hands---gods his hands---look fucking perfect around your neck, as tears spill freely down your cheeks. His veins are prominent on the back of his hands, even more so when he flexes them, slightly cutting off your air supply. You’re too light-headed and cock drunk to answer him with anything other than a wanton, breathy moan. 

“Thank me,” he murmurs, rutting against you. The coil in your gut winds tighter and tighter.

“Wha--” you manage, mind clouded by lust.

“Thank me for your gift,” he says, flexing his fingers for emphasis. He tightens his grip momentarily, before releasing some pressure, allowing you the opportunity to answer him. 

Aemond lifts a brow expectantly, slowly rolling his hips against you. 

“Thank you,” you gasp, “Thank you, Aemond.”

Aemond hums appreciatively, fucking you with renewed enthusiasm. You close your eyes, squeezing them shut, trying to stop the roaring of blood rushing in your ears, your orgasm speeding toward you at full force.

“You’re close aren’t you?” he grunts, “What’ll it be, baby?”

“Please, please I wanna cum,” you whine, “Please let me cum, fu-uck!” 

Aemond pulls you up flush against his chest as soon as you say the words, fucking up into you. He keeps one hand on your throat, the other dipping between your legs to rub circles around your clit. 

“That’s it, fucking cum all over my cock,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to your cheek, “That’s a good little slut, there you go.”

Your body tense, legs shuddering as you’re thrown into your release, the coil in your gut snapping as you clench around his thick cock. You’re crying from the intensity, a desperate sob escaping you at the prolonged release. As your high subsides, Aemond releases you, turning you on your back.

Your whole body tingles as he climbs on top of you, sliding back into your fluttering pussy in one smooth motion. You gasp as his cock rubs against your g-spot, as he lazily begins thrusting into you once more.

“Aem-mond,” you moan, as he slings one leg over his shoulder, spreading you wider.

“Don’t look at me like that,” he scolds, smirking as he slings your other leg over his shoulder, making himself a necklace of his own, “You wanted to cum so bad, you can do it again, can’t you?”

Your mouth is open in a silent scream, watery eyes looking up at him, drinking in the satisfied smirk he wears. Your whole body tenses, the beginning of another orgasm building in your abdomen. 

“This is what you wanted, isn’t it?” he taunts, “C’mon don’t stop now. You’ve been such a good little slut for me, you deserve it.”

“Please, please-”

“Yes you do,” he croons, “There you go. I feel this little pussy tightening around me. Squeezing me so good.”

Your nails dig into his shoulders, a strangled cry leaving your lips as his thumb brushes against your swollen clit, sending you over the edge once more. Aemond doesn’t slow his hips, he keeps fucking you into the mattress as you’re pretzled over him.

“That’s a good girl,” he sing-songs, balls slapping against your ass as he increases the pace of his thrusts, “Don’t stop now, it feels so good doesn’t it?”

A sharp cry leaves your lips and you force yourself to nod, unable to formulate words in your blissed-out state. Euphoria pulses through your veins and floods your body with warmth. It’s like you’re burning with pleasure, your entire being aflame. 

“I can’t,” you moan, though your body betrays you. You can feel the tightening sensation in your gut, the tingling feeling of another orgasm building. 

“Yes you can,” Aemond insists, “C’mon you wanted it so bad, you greedy little thing. Take it, c’mon fucking take it.”

Your thighs shake around his neck, and Aemond’s jaw slacks as you clench around him. 

“Yes, oh fu-uck, yes!,” you whimper, and Aemond’s cock twitches inside you as you’re thrown over the edge once more making your vision go white. 

Aemond thrusts a few more times before you feel his cock pulsate, and warmth blooms deep in your abdomen. He lets out a grunt as he finishes, followed by an elongated moan that sends a shiver down your spine right down to your core. His head falls against your shoulder, peppering the damp flesh with soft kisses. 

He stays like that for a moment, before moving off of you. 

“Don’t move,” he says, walking toward the bathroom. 

You couldn’t if you wanted to. You hear the water run and watch as Aemond returns with a damp washcloth. His cock sways as he walks toward you, glistening with your release. Gently, he cleans you up, taking care to avoid your abused clit. 

After several moments, you find your bearings. Reality hits you, and you grab your swimsuit, throwing it back on hastily. 

“This can’t happen again,” you insist, though your trembling legs betray you, “Not with everyone here-”

“You’re not really in a position to make demands,” Aemond says, matter-of-factly.

“Excuse me?”

“I like this arrangement,” he tells you, “Both you and I are in relationships that benefit the family. That’s fine, dutiful even.” Aemond brushes a lock of hair from your face, letting his hand rest on your cheek, “That doesn’t mean we need to deny ourselves.”

Your breath catches in your throat. You can barely think with his hands on you. You bring your hand up quickly, slapping him away. Aemond gives nothing away; no flash of hurt or rejection is evident on his chiseled face. 

“I’m not denying anything,” you tell him, the lie bitter-tasting.

Aemond only stares those blue and violet eyes of his boring into yours. His gaze reignites the fire in your belly, the primal want aching deep in your bones. 

Motherfucker. 

You hate him. 

You hate him.

Yet you want him all the same. 

“I don’t believe you,” he says softly.

“Believe what you want,” you tell him, “Jace is good for me. He’s a good person.”

“Ah yes, Jacaerys Velaryon. Your conversations must be thrilling,” he says, stepping closer to you, “I know you. Whether you like it or not, whether you admit it or not. I know what makes your brain tick inside that pretty little head of yours. You may fool the press, hells you may fool the rest of the family; but you can’t fool me.”

You don’t answer him. Ignoring the tight feeling in your chest you simply grab your cover-up and throw it around your shoulders leaving his room.

note: as always, likes, comments, reblogs are highly appreciated, but never expected! if you'd like to be notified when I post please follow and turn on notifications for @sapphire-writes-updates in lieu of a taglist!

#aemond x fem!reader #aemond x reader #aemond targaryen #aemond one eye #modern!aemond #modern!hotd #aemond targaryen x fem!reader #aemond targaryen x you #aemond x you #aemond targaryen imagine #aemond targaryen x y/n #aemond targaryen x female reader #modern!aemond x reader #modern!aemond targaryen #aemond/reader #aemond the kinslayer #aemond targaryen/reader #aemond fic #aemond smut #aemond x y/n #aemond targaryen smut #aemond fanfiction #hotd aemond #Aemond Targaryen modern #modern au #modern aemond #modern hotd

[mamawasatesttube]

first, I just wanna say the Kon agonies are making me lose my freaking mind!!!! oh my GOD I’m devouring your writing every single time!!!

second, for my actual ask!! I was wondering how you think timkon’s proposal would be like? If you haven’t already told us, I feel like you have but I’m not sure!

thank you thank you!! i love kon and his issues. he has so many of them. (shameless plug for the kon agonies here again <3)

i love to think abt timkon proposal ideas. many possible ways it could go but i FIRMLY believe the one way it Can't go is "traditionally perfect and cliché and romantic". it has to go sideways at least a little. they're both weirdos with an insane general lifestyle. i have several ideas that i think are all really fun, but the baseline is just that there's no way it goes off without a hitch. therefore, i present:

how DO tim and kon get engaged? (one possibility!)

on a very casual chill date night in, while sharing a pizza while hanging out on the couch in their pajamas and watching star trek, they agree they want to get married. they also both agree it'll still be fun to do a proposal.

yeah each of them is now going "hehehe. i'm gonna surprise him with a nice date and i'll romance him as he deserves and then ask him to marry me and he will be swept off his feet!!!"

so. you know. now it's a race.

one weekend, kon takes tim on a lovely romantic date. by the point kon's got him sitting in his lap way up in the sky, twirling wispy clouds around them both into hearts while he points up at stars way overhead, tim is INCREDIBLY suspicious of what's coming (a proposal) and is SO mad because he was going to propose NEXT WEEKEND.

kon's sappy speech gets interrupted by toyman attacking metropolis and tim is like. oh thank god. i mean uhh... wow... FUCK toyman! i'm SO mad about this! meanwhile kon pouts the entire time he's decimating a small army of toy soldiers with real guns. tim finds this adorable.

kon almost still pops the question anyway, but his vanity stops him. his hair got a little singed by a giant firebomb and he's upset about it. he can't propose like this.

next weekend, tim takes kon on a lovely romantic date. when he goes down on one knee in front of a park fountain under a canopy of string lights (very romantic, kon deserves it), kon starts HOLLERING and pulls his ring box out like NO!!! I DID SO GOOD LAST WEEK IM PROPOSING TO YOU!!!!!

tim: NOT IF I GET THERE FIRST. CONNER KENT YOURE THE LOVE OF MY LIFE—

kon: YOU SHUT THE FUCK UP!!!! TIMOTHY JACKSON DRAKE YOURE THE LOVE OF MY LIFE AND IM GONNA PUNT YOU INTO THIS FOUNTAIN IF YOU DONT LET ME PROPOSE TO YOU FIRST—

tim, yelling over him: —AND I'D BE HONORED TO SPEND THE REST OF MY LIFE WITH YOU—

kon tackles him.

they both fall into the fountain.

they both have to hunt for their ring boxes in the fountain.

passerby are staring.

they are in their nice fancy date clothes. on their hands and knees. crawling around in a big ol park fountain. it's cold. they're a mess. please send help

kon finds his ring box first (tim swears up and down that he cheated by ttking tim's box away every time he almost grabbed it) and tackles tim a second time, sits on him in the fountain, and grabs his face.

tim licks him. kon is, shockingly, undeterred.

"TIM," he says, and squishes tim's cheeks. "you're a STUBBORN ASSHOLE. WILL YOU MARRY ME?"

"I'M a stubborn asshole?!" tim demands. it's muffled because his cheeks are still very squished. "god, obviously yes, but you're the jackass, i planned tonight out so well and you hijacked it—"

kon kisses him. tim kisses him back.

tim's ring box mysteriously happens to brush his fingers then. very convenient, thank you, kon.

they exchange rings still sitting there in the cold water under all the lights. tim's teeth are starting to chatter.

passerby are still staring.

they don't care. they're engaged!

and that's the story of how tim drake gets mild hypothermia and kon fusses and frets over him for the rest of the weekend—uhhh I MEAN, the story of how tim and kon get engaged. yippee!!

#answers #rockstar-robin #timkon #i also think its very easy for ti to be a super lowkey casual affair #and i ALSO love the idea of a world-ending cataclysmic space battle for the pirates of the caribbean style proposal/wedding #but i think the comedy zone is just really fun. i like it when theyre silly #tim #kon #rambles

[incarnateirony]

It's hard to explain what reactions to Lateralus Project tell me about people.

The baseline moral of this thought is, "The nature of the healer; he must first be wounded or slain." That the philosopher comes only through experiencing struggle to teach it to others.

In order to understand the value of the argument of Optimism against the gnostics, one must first be acutely and intimately aware of gnostic nihilism.

That is to say, you don't know what you've got until you say goodbye. And some of us spend our entire lives negotiating saying goodbye to people, projects, or ideas.

Lateralus has a way of showing who's too rigidly stuck in a box; who's too quick to give up listening when it gets hard. Who's been hurt, and who has lived some honestly visceral experiences encapsulated in it in Supernatural. Who's willing to break past the white noise.

It's very expositional. And life does this too. When some shit goes sideways and I get a bunch of tonedeaf DMs to "fix" it, you guys don't get it but like, you're adding to the problem because you're giving away you don't listen. If it's the angle or assumption of question thrown or whatever else.

This is an argument Bobo also had with himself, and it manifested in 15x18's title names.

I often reference Persona in regards to jung, tarot, turning over the cards, and more. But persona 4's key villain says something.

Nobody cares who the real culprits are, they'll just go on talking and living their lives. And even if the next supposed real killer was found, then what? Then the public opinion would change, and everyone would move on using it as entertainment. No one cares about The Truth. And when you accept that, all you have left is Despair.

That's it, that was the whole warning signal. That was the moment his spirit broke one final time. And it was something he was already aware of while he, Yockey et all wrote things like Nihilism, Optimism, and Absence between the other hermetic episodes.

But you can tell who's had these dialogues with themselves or not by how daft they are staring at it. Nobody wants to hear that you don't get it or that it makes you dizzy. We call that life. So figure it out. It makes us all dizzy. You either want to figure it out or you don't. That's the problem. That's the problem with the whole thing.

Nobody can make anybody care, or actually listen. And when you're accutely aware of this kind of philosophical argument, it can be real easy to step into the nihilism, behind a public mask. Just because part of me is happy we Won the World doesn't mean I'm still not sour grapes about all kinds of media or personal bullshit. Doesn't mean I don't watch people every day test that good faith in humanity, by proving over, and over, and over they don't listen. Even ones that swear they do.

I shouldn't get DMs like "how are you feeling?" to bait me to start talking for someone else's apology. They call it a check in, I'm sure they believe it's out of good interest. But it's really more, I'm reaching out to tell myself I did a good thing I need to do. There's not the personal investment there. I can tell you haven't been listening.

How? I mean, I've made it very clear. While I go on rants like this, it's just that. It's rants. 99% of my thoughts, communications and more come by way of music. Maybe it's my music industry roots, maybe it's autism and ADHD, I don't know, but that's it, that's my first language, I fuck up in the Letters Kind one, but I'm fluent in Music.

So if I just dumped out a whole mood vibe of songs on a wall, you should already know. You already should know roughly how I'm feeling. You may want clarity on the details, but if you listen, you know the rough shape of it. But this comes down to things like onus-shift to avoid personal culpabilities.

It's just one of those things to note. Just because I've got the Satanael Daddy Persona about SPN fandom issues doesn't mean that's the only person behind a mask. Or that that mask is untrue, rather than partial. That at all times this place literally forces me to have an argument against my own nihilism, but you find people like this anywhere.

Lateralus project--and frankly just base late SPN/current TW and Certain Incoporated Elements--really tells me. A lot. About people.

And damn is it funny when I can see who's willing to pick apart Lateralus project for 40 hours to find the secret of the deancas kiss or whatever but then can't be assed to click a mood video on my wall and be like, yo how you doing i totes care

nah

Today I'll be honest, I'm sitting in nihilism these days. It's post adrenal. Nothing to fight, nothing to kick. Nothing intentionally at least. Accidentally exploding stuff when I touch it still so I'ma stop that.

Kinda staring down victory itself and realizing that this god damn journey has gone on so long that the Truths that were written like 2 years ago--the things I first started talking to you about. The story shape and intent and all this stuff that became the show. Like the person I was then isn't necessarily who I am now (as even relevant to the show). I can look back at That Person who threw That Boycott and sent off That Idea and didn't give up and go, jesus christ. the SPOONS. I could never.

It's just been interesting watching the dust settle. To see who's cared about what more--ships, personal egos, agendas, authors, rep battles, whatever--it's all in the angle people look at things through.

So yeah. Lateralus Project, and the reactions to it, tell me everything I need to know about a person.

[lifesver]

@poisoneous cont from here

he doesn't know how long he's been running, kiting her and the scarred bastard in the basement. how many dirty crawlspaces and gaps in the brick that he's forced his way through, scraped the hell out of his arms. all in a desperate effort to distract these people away from his friends. ( his friends — god knows where the hell they are, now. if they were even okay — ) the tunnels had felt endless, but finding his way upstairs wasn't much of a comfort, either. his energy dwindles, his open wounds scream with every stumbled movement. worse, he was beginning to feel the effects of the strange dust the woman had blown into his face. it made his head hazy. it made his throat want to close up.

vision swoops; and he can't tell where he is, anymore. taxidermy-ridden hallway tilts sideways on him. or maybe it's just his knees hitting the wood floor. he barely catches himself on his palms, shocks of pain bolting up his wrists. his vision bursts red-green-black, dances and spots out with shapes and darkness. his breathing rattles and labours against bruised ribs.

leland can hear her approaching — the one that had hunted him down so relentlessly. her off-kilter sing-song, her out-of-place friendliness. in contrast to the violent swipes of her straight razor, the woman now crouches before him, cradles his face in delicate hands. almost gentle. but he knew — he knew she was just like all the other monsters here. this whole house. full of monsters.

he wonders if he'll die, here. he knows he will, if he doesn't keep fighting. if he doesn't try to get away from her. he's just so tired. he feels his grasp on consciousness slipping. baseline survival instincts try to ring the sirens in his head, but they're further off now. you can't die here. you can't die. helplessly, he leans into her palm. her voice was so soft, lilted with a honey-sweet warmth that lulls his gaze to unfocus slightly. his blood is on her hands. he can see the red in his peripherals. she calls him sugar. she says she'll take care of him.

stay awake. stay awake — but it would be so easy to close his eyes, wouldn't it?

❝ are you going to kill me?❞ he rasps out, struggling to search her expression. the woman is in double-vision. smiling, smiling at him, like it's all okay. was it? leland's eyes flutter open-shut, weakly; ❝ … please just. please — let my friends go. i'll do... i'll do anything.❞ delirious, whispered strings of pleas, that undoubtedly won't change a damn thing. the last ounce of logic in his head shouts; you're going to die! you're going to die, and you're begging for the lives of your friends. stupid, pointless. if these people gave a fuck about any of you, they wouldn't have done this. they wouldn't be hunting you down like animals.

now he's staring down the blood, as if putting the pieces of the puzzle together in delay. a quick glance down verifies that although the open cuts flared across his chest and arms are numerous, the grisly trail toward the stairs — it isn't from him. it's a messy, dark path, smeared with handprints, scrapes in the wood. someone who had fought. one of his friends. it led to the mouth of that red doorway. those horrible animal skulls on the wall —

suddenly, he's desperate, suddenly his brows furrow in confusion, in dawning horror. burning, wet eyes flick up to the woman's, searching, again, for some kind of answer. anything, anything but his worst nightmare.

❝ w — what the hell did you people do to them?❞

#aw man... good thing sissy is here to help (: nothing bad... will happen. #sorry i hope it's cool i reformatted-- ask replies hate playing nice w reblogs rip #but also feel free to do whatever u wish if u decide to reply! u can kill him or mess w him w/e #poisoneous #( ☆ ) ⸻ THE FILM WHICH YOU ARE ABOUT TO SEE... / ic.

[canon-fcdder]

4 sock!!! from bo !!!

"Oh you've got to be fucking kidding me."

-  ✩   「 @double-knots 」   ✩

「 ☆ 」   Okay. Rude.

Taken off-guard by the displeased— yet not surprised —reaction to his sudden appearance, Sock realizes that his plan of taking a few moments to figure out how to introduce himself isn’t going to work after all. This guy must be paranoid beyond belief to have picked up on the new set of eyes on him so quickly. Part of Sock wants to be impressed by that. But most of him is just annoyed at this lukewarm to downright-hostile greeting.

It’s not as if Bo even knows WHY Sock is here! What he is… How, hopefully brief, their time knowing each other will be. This is Sock’s first assignment and the details given to him had been vague at best. Get the guy to off himself. With that as the baseline for his sketchy assignment, Sock can only guess at what the timetable he’s working with may be. Perhaps he’ll ask later— yet… the thought of knowing for sure settles oddly in Sock’s chest.

A bundle of nerves at losing whatever excuse he may have if he somehow turns out to be horrible at this. It’d be so much simpler if he could just kill the jerk himself.

❝  Well, hello to you too...  ❞  Sock huffs, arms crossed and an indignant twist to his mouth as he studies Bo. Looks about the same as his picture, albeit dirtier. And more tired. And a picture really neglects to capture the ‘ knows how to make a first impression ’ energy that the teen radiates. Cocking his head a comical amount, as if trying to look at Bo sideways, brows furrow and nose scrunches in a couple more seconds of study, before Sock shrugs and floats a bit closer.

❝  Look. I think we’re getting off on the wrong foot. The name’s Sock, and I am here to… haunt you…..  ❞  Voice trails off as it hits him how terrible that introduction actually is, Sock internally grimacing even as he forces an awkward smile onto his face. THIS is why he always hated socializing. Things never sound or turn out the way he intends them to. Never on the first try, anyway. And people tend to vehemently stick to first impressions. Especially when they are of the nature that Sock provides.

Oh well… Not like Bo can get rid of him.

❝  … Surprise?  ❞   「 ☆ 」

#hari don't look #(( hi Bo; here's another Ghost Boi dfjkgnjdkgg )) #canon-fcdder #⭒ ˙ ˖ ✧ — ˗ˏˋ ❝ ᴀ ʟɪᴛᴛʟᴇ ᴅᴇᴀᴛʜ ɴᴇᴠᴇʀ ᴋɪʟʟᴇᴅ ᴀɴʏʙᴏᴅʏ ❞ ¦ 「 Sock IC 」 #⭒ ˙ ˖ ✧ — ˗ˏˋ ❝ ʀᴇᴀʟʟʏ; ʏᴏᴜ ꜱʜᴏᴜʟᴅ ᴅᴏ ɪᴛ— ᴛʜᴇʀᴇ’ꜱ ʀᴇᴀʟʟʏ ɴᴏᴛʜɪɴɢ ᴛᴏ ɪᴛ ❞ ◌ ɴᴇᴡ ᴊᴏʙ ᴀᴜ ¦ 「 Sock 」 #♡ ˙ ˖ ✧ — ˗ˏˋ ❝ ᴛʜᴇʏ ꜱᴀʏ ꜱᴜᴄʜ ᴀ ꜱʜᴀᴍᴇ; ɪ ᴛᴜʀɴᴇᴅ ᴏᴜᴛ ᴛʜɪꜱ ᴡᴀʏ ❞ ¦ 「 Sock and Bo 」 #⭒ ˙ ˖ ✧ — ˗ˏˋ ❝ ʟɪꜰᴇ ꜰɪɴᴅꜱ ᴀ ᴡᴀʏ ❞ ¦ 「 Bo 」 #double-knots #⭒ ˙ ˖ ✧ — ˗ˏˋ ❝ ᴇxᴏᴛɪᴄ ʙᴜᴛᴛᴇʀꜱ ❞ ¦ 「 Answer 」 #⭒ ˙ ˖ ✧ — ˗ˏˋ ❝ ɪ’ᴍ ɴᴏᴛ ꜱᴛᴀɴᴅɪɴɢ ꜱᴛɪʟʟ; ɪ ᴀᴍ ʟʏɪɴɢ ɪɴ ᴡᴀɪᴛ ❞ ¦ 「 Queue 」

[cristinaricci]

your gifs are so lovely!! do you mind giving some tips on how you make them/your process?

thank you! 🖤

I truly do not know many technical terms of photoshop, and I simply do not want to learn 🙃 but see below to see how I quickly color a simple gif.

(It’s not a tutorial because I am assuming you know how to get the media, screen cap and make them? if you don’t the tags “photoshop tutorial” or “gif tutorial” “gif resources” etc. could be very helpful in this area if you need help getting started at all). 

me trying to open photoshop

(This was how my gif looked before sharpening or coloring)

This is my most basic process of what I do/how I color. I do not do anything too complex or creative with my gifs usually. Some gifs require different settings but for the most part I can quickly make a nice gif with these generic steps. (changing colors, brightening really dark gifs etc. would be a couple of different steps)

(I use photoshop 2020, any ps should work)

The most important component is I use 1080p quality with the largest files size possible as much as I can, it makes a noticeable difference. 15gb will get you higher quality gifs than 3gb.   

The quality of my video and caps determines how big I make my gifs. For example, I personally would not make huge 540 x 540 gifs with a 2.5 gb file size. I don’t think I would go over 350 height for poorer quality video. The pixels and quality or lack thereof are really highlighted the bigger the gif size.

I also color each gif individually and for my sets it looks way better than using the same coloring for each gif (unless it is from the same scene). no shade at the people who pull this off, it just doesn’t work for my gifsets.

After I've resized my gifs and flattened the frames into layers:

SHARPEN the gifs

This is the link to my sharpening action I use (upload this into your photoshop if you want to use it) I never adjust anything here, I use the same action for every gif. 

Then I COLOR/Use adjustments

CURVES, LEVELS AND SELECTIVE COLOR ARE GOD

but I start with the BRIGHTNESS/CONTRAST layer

my contrast is always set to 28 for every gif. it seems to be my magic number.

brightness number depends on how dark the scene is (but I use levels and curves for most of the brightening)

next adjustment I use is LEVELS. This is how I actually brighten the gifs. Use the middle and left sliders (where it says 1.00, and 255). The slider above the zero is where i’ll adjust the black point (I rarely go above 4 or 5 at most) and make the shadows a bit darker/add depth if the gif is too bright and washed out everywhere. Play with the sliders and see what looks right on your gif, it is different for every gif I make. 

-After levels I use CURVES. I fuck with curves for sure. go crazy with that little  line on the graph, move it up, down, sideways, see what works for your gif. This also helps brighten my gifs. Where it says RGB, you can click that drop down menu and pick green, red or blue and adjust the colors here. For example the green tint in The Matrix, I would start to fix that here by decreasing the green curve (among other things). 

-Next adjustment I use is VIBRANCE. I LOVE colorful gifs. I usually keep vibrance at zero and change saturation to at least +15. Of course this changes with the gif but that is my usual baseline for all of my gifs. sometimes I do more if there are pretty colors I want to emphasize. (if people are in your gif, this may make their skin look unnatural, you will adjust this in the selective color adjustment)

-After vibrance, I use SELECTIVE COLOR to fix certain colors. For instance if there is a light skinned person in the gif, their skin may have too much redness, here you will go to the red layer and add more cyan etc. If a gif has green grass in it and you want to emphasize the green grass without changing the other colors, here is where I can amp up the color of the grass and add more green (reduce magenta) to make it more vibrant. (you would click the drop down item next to colors and select green, then move the slider under magenta to the left). 

Remember that cyan is complimentary to red. magenta is complimentary to green and yellow is complimentary to blue.

-COLOR BALANCE adjustment is next, I dont always use this one, only if there is too much tint of a certain color, I can easily fix that with this adjustment. If too much red, I move the slider a bit towards cyan etc. etc. 

And that is literally all that I do. it is my usual baseline go to. Sometimes I will go back to different adjustments and mess with them until I like the look. 

I dont know what your settings are etc. so you might have to change different things than I do, but as far as the sharpening and adjustments, I hope this is a little bit helpful!! 

i’m sorry that you asked the least photoshop savvy person on Tumblr, but I see other tutorials and they are changing shit I've never even seen and feel like they get the same quality gifs as me usually? I like my gif style so maybe less is more?

#Kristiana speaks #asks

[crossroadsfossil]

106 degrees

Summary:

Here’s a fun science fact: Birds consistently run at a higher temperature than humans do. It tends to range between 99 degrees fahrenheit up to 112 degrees. Hawks’ own body temperature tends to self-regulate around 106 degrees.

This is important when you get caught in an autumn rainstorm with a villian you don’t really trust.

Also known as 5 times Hawks falls asleep on Dabi

Prompt: For something fluffier, how about Hawks can't stop falling asleep on Dabi because of how hot he runs. Dabi constantly has an arm full of bird and has no clue what to do

Bonus if they still didn’t trust each other the first time it happened

A03 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/31366130

Here’s a fun science fact: Birds consistently run at a higher temperature than humans do. It tends to range between 99 degrees Fahrenheit up to 112 degrees. Hawks’ own body temperature tends to self-regulate around 106 degrees.

It’s something he and Rumi discuss often, if only because Rumi liked to snuggle up to him and comments on it constantly. She has no room to talk since she also runs at a higher temperature. Granted, it’s not much higher than your usual human baseline. She runs about a hundred or a hundred and one, depending on the season.

Needless to say, Hawks is a very popular patrol partner in the winter. Add in his feathers (which are amazing insulation, despite not being meant for it) and the large fluffy jacket he’s never without, and it’s not surprising that he’s almost never alone in the cooler weather, even if most of his companions can’t keep up with him once he gets going.

Neither his feathers nor his jacket are doing him any good right now, as soaked through as they are. His day had gone from bad (a long day topped off with a meeting Dabi ‘forgot’ to tell him about) to worse (an incoming cold front) to absolutely terrible (a storm that was preceding the cold front, resulting in rain, sleet, snow, or all three since this was Japan after all).

As soon as the sky opened up, Hawks insisted they take shelter. He’d herded Dabi towards the closest abandoned warehouse. He ignored the expression Dabi sported as he broke in. He didn’t care what the villain thought or how entertained he was by the action. He was a practical man and it was abandoned. Besides, if he didn’t get out of the wind and rain, he was at serious risk of going into torpor. The gear he was wearing today wasn’t meant for repelling water and it was about as much use as an icepack in winter.

There were a list of things he didn’t want to happen around Dabi, and going into torpor was fairly high up on that list, alongside bullet points such as ‘getting drunk’, ‘getting high’ and ‘running into another hero’. The best Hawks could expect from Dabi was for the villain to light his feathers on fire. At worst, he figured Dabi wouldn’t be the only burnt nugget around after he was finished with Hawks.

“Hey birdie, I’m not opposed to a show but take me out for dinner first.” Dabi said, watching as Hawks shrugged out of his coat and feathers in one fluid movement, catching his jacket before it fell off completely. He let his feathers fall to the ground with a disgusting splat. Laundering those would be less of a hassle than laundering his jacket. He draped his jacket over a nearby box in the vain hope that it might dry a little. It probably wouldn’t, but who knows. Maybe if he annoys Dabi enough, the fire-quirk user might raise the temperature in the warehouse by a few degrees.

“Ha. Ha. Not everyone has a fire quirk, asshole.” Hawks replied, giving what remained of his wings a shake to get as much of the water out. A quick look around the warehouse revealed it wasn’t as secure as he had thought, with great gaping holes in several of the walls. He shivered as the wind blew through them and started looking for anywhere that would provide a barrier between himself and the wind. He watched enviously for a moment as Dabi rolled his shoulders and began steaming slightly, burning the moisture out of his clothes and coat.

He spotted a pile of boxes, with several piled up on three sides to make a small nook and started to walk towards it.

“So, what do you have for me?” He asked, sitting down and scooting until he hit the back ‘wall’ of boxes.

Dabi shrugged. “Nothing. Just wanted to see if you’d come.” He replied.

Hawks stared at him, not quite believing what he just heard. Dabi’s growing grin cemented the fact that he had not, in fact, misheard.

“You’re an asshole. You seriously just called me out here on a whim? I’ve got better things to do, Dabi.”

“What, rescue people? In this weather? I think not.” Dabi said, slinking towards Hawks. Instead of taking a seat on the box directly in front of him, Dabi decided that the best place to sit was practically in Hawks’ lap. He shoved the hero over and leaned against one of the boxes that made up a makeshift wall and smiled at Hawks, daring him to do anything about it.

“Dick. So what now? Are you going to suggest we play Shiritori or I-Spy to pass the time? Since you invited me out for a playdate, we might as well.”

“That is not what I did.”

“You did it on a whim. It sounds like either a playdate or you miiiiiiiiiissed meeee.” Hawks said in a sing-song tone, delighting in the way it made Dabi’s face scrunch up in irritation.

“We could play ‘how many burnt feathers does it take to get to the crispy chicken center’.” Dabi held up a palm, a blue flame flickering to life in the center of it. Hawks looked between the flame and Dabi’s face and, very pointedly, brought his hands up to warm them.

“Thanks. My fingers were getting cold.”

Dabi huffed and closed his fist, snuffing the fire out.

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

When the bird actually showed up in the storm, Dabi wasn’t sure what he was expecting. He certainly wasn’t expecting the hero to stick around, let alone break into a building. Especially not the way he had. In the split second between Hawks looking at the door and breaking in, he’d assumed the hero would use a feather to lock-pick it. It seemed like something the hero would do- sufficiently flashy enough and sounded like the sort of party trick the pigeon would learn. Instead, Hawks had pulled out one of his larger feathers, slid it into the bend of the padlock and twisted it, using the feather like a lever and cracking the lock off with brute strength.

He wouldn’t say it intrigued him, but it was damn close. There were still things about the bird he didn’t know and he was still half-convinced the hero was a spy, but shit like that definitely made him question that assumption.

The hero also annoyed the ever-loving hell out of him. More than Toga or Twice did, so he was hoping the bird would slip up and he’d have an excuse to roast the number two hero.

The storm outside had rolled in completely, throwing the warehouse into almost complete darkness. He and Hawks had stopped sniping at each other almost half an hour ago, the warehouse filled with the sound of screaming winds and hammering rain. He was pretty sure this was a new record for Hawks. If he gave a shit, he’d say something about being impressed. He didn’t give a shit and he was more interested in figuring out what the fuck was making that weird noise. It kept disturbing the quiet of the warehouse; it was almost a peeping squeak, like a chain swinging in the wind, but far more organic.

He lit up one of his palms, peering out into the darkness to see if he could spot the noise. All it did was make the shadows worse and throw the hero into an eerie light. The hero was sitting with his eyes closed, and as Dabi watched, about every third exhale the bird would shiver slightly and let out that peeping noise.

Was that… Hawks’ version of a snore?

Pretty ballsy of the hero to fall asleep next to him. Ballsy and stupid as hell. Slowly, he brought his hand closer to the bird, intent on setting at least one wing on fire.

Gold eyes blinked open, unfocused. Dabi froze, waiting for the bird to react.

Hawks did, but not in a way Dabi had been expecting.

“Fucking hell-” Dabi spat as Hawks leaned against him.

The bird was freezing.

It was like getting hit by a wet washcloth that had been sitting in a freezer, and within moments he could feel the water seeping through his clothes. The bird was freezing and soaking wet.

Then the bird shivered again, almost cuddling into Dabi’s arms. Hawks’ eyes had closed again and it left Dabi with an armful of bird and no good idea how to handle this or how to feel about it.

Logically, Hawks was probably seeking out the warmth, and hell, maybe he was like Spinner. Spinner hated the cold and was about as tolerant of it as Dabi was of the heat. Guess that might explain the sleepy-thing. Spinner mentioned something about torpor once. Dabi hadn’t been listening because Spinner was goddamn annoying.

He brought his legs up, shifting Hawks so that he was sitting sideways and half on Dabi’s lap. One of his hands came up and, against his better judgement, settled on the remaining plumage Hawks had left on his wings. They looked comically small like this, and he had been wondering about how they felt.

Right now, they felt wet and cold.

He tsked and slowly heated his hand up, combing his hand through the feathers.

Slowly, they went from feeling like wet paper to delightfully smooth and soft.

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

Normally, Hawks enjoyed waking up. He had a nice bed and decadent sheets. He usually woke with the sun, and despite having an early shift, that still usually left him with an hour he could spend just basking in the delight of a nice bed. If he left the shades open, he could do so in a puddle of sunlight.

His bed didn’t feel right this morning. Too lumpy and for a moment he tried to recall if he had brought anyone home the night before. There was a hand combing through his hair, so there was a very distinct possibility that he had left the warehouse the night before and-

His eyes flew open at the thought.

He didn’t remember leaving the warehouse and-

“Chill your tits, bird brain. Just me.” Dabi said, giving a light tug on a lock of Hawks’ hair. He ignored the pleasant way it sent shivers down his spine.

“What the fuck.”

“Yeah. That was my thought too. Lemme guess- you go into torpor?” Dabi asked.

“Do I even need to answer that right now?” Hawks’ shoulders slumped and he groaned.

Fantastic. He did exactly the thing he hadn’t wanted to do. Dabi let out a soft huff, almost a laugh but not quite. Hawks leaned back, feeling an arm against his back and keeping him from going too far. Dabi didn’t look peeved, and that raised his hackles. His eye narrowed as he tried to figure out what happened.

“What?”

“You did something.” Hawks stated, running through a checklist in his mind. He didn’t feel any burns. Nothing smelled like ash. The only real change from before he went into torpor was his hair and wings were fully dry and his clothes felt, well, not dry but not sopping wet anymore.

Oh.

OH.

Dabi noticed the grin on Hawks’ face, and started spluttering. “You were just-”

“You preened meeee.” Hawks sang, laughing at the affronted expression on Dabi’s face.

“I did not. You were dripping everywhere.”

“Uh-huh. And that included drying my wings… why?”

“....Because they were there. So shoot me if I wanted to know if you had greasy bird feathers.”

“Nope. That the same reason you decided to sweetly comb through my hair? I mean, really Dabi. If you wanted to play with my hair and wings that much, you could have at least gotten me dinner first.” Hawks teased, stifling a laugh as Dabi’s expression went from affronted to a grouchy embarrassment, before then actually lifting Hawks up and dumping him on the ground.

One- Damn. Hawks’ wasn’t heavy but he was mostly muscle so. Damn.

Two- He was just laughing harder now. To think that Dabi got shy about being caught playing with hair. He got to his feet, trying to brush the dust from his pants before giving it up as a lost cause.

“Well Hotstuff, thanks for the preen and playing heating pad. Guess we did get to know each other a little better tonight.”

Dabi flipped him off, sliding off the crates and making his way towards the door they came in through.

“Dabi?” Hawks called out. To his surprise, Dabi stopped, turning to look at him, dubiously waiting for the rest of his question. “For the next meeting, can I play with your hair?”

A moment later he was scrambling away from the fireball Dabi sent his way, despite knowing that it wasn’t a true attack and Dabi was only trying to get him to stop talking and hide his frazzled expression. Hawks watched Dabi make a beeline out the door, wheezing on his laughter as he gathered up his jacket and feathers.

Teasing Dabi was going to be so much fun.

#bnha fic #dabihawks #dabihawks fic #my fic

[dafukdidiwatch]

Eraserhead (1977)

Krusty best summed it up

There are a lot of feeling si have about this movie. Most of them are dread and foreboding. And a HELL of a lot of confusion. I barely understood anything and it was mostly the feeling of cringe to get through.

Ok, to sum up the movie.

Overview: Henry gets scammed into marrying his old-flame to take care of his pencil next Jar Jar Binks child. Then has weird dreams and I think dies. Look this movie is weird.

Like the first scene idk fucking Henry was sideways in space and a laserman from the moon made him shoot a worm out his mouth and we jump back down to normalacy. We don’t actually get any lines of dialogue until 10 minutes into the film where the first line is “Are you Henry?” from the hot person next door.

Like, ok so lets first establish that there is a while ass wense of foreboding and uncanny valley throughout this film. Very bold black&white, distinct shadows covering everything. The music has this constant noise of construction or buzz or something that I can’t quite name but just makes scenes more eerie. Then we get super tight shots to people’s face as the scene plays out. And the scene can linger which adds to the dread of whatever fucked up thing was going on, just because you don’t know when it’s going to end. THIS is the baseline of how uncomfortable the movie is.

NOW! All the scenes that occur IN this context, makes it More Creepy. Ex-flame’s mother is weird as shit being judgemental, odd, then just aggressively necking her Daughter’s BF. (whatthefuck). They cut a mini chicken that was still moving and just aggressively bleeding at diner so. Yeah. And I’m pretty sure Grandma’s dread but she’s only here twice so not like anyone actually cares.

Fucked up baby is fucked up baby. Like it’s decent effects, it does look like a mini pencil necked dinosaur, moving and crying like anything else.Good effects. NO IDEA what it’s problem was. I actually felt bad for it because no matter how fucking gross or weird it was, I didn’t really want it to die. It’s a baby. I was actually afraid that the ex-flame would kill it a few times instead of running away like she did. So minor sympathies there.

BUT YET IT’S FUCKING WEIRD. I have NOOOOOO idea what this plot is supposed to be. Because at this point it was weird scenes of his fucking dreams. And him dealing with more worm sperm things just flying everywhere out of his mouth, out of his wife’s body. Some weird facination with the dirt by the side of his bed. There’s just...a pile of dirt there! That might have a ring or Something??

Then, I guess Henry cheats on his wife in a dream with the neighbor next door where they just...fucking sink in the bed like it’s a fucking swamp portal to Zuzu! And, More Weird Shit. Some lady dancing singing and stepping on worms in the worst possible way. She was singing about Heaven or something hat’s all I remember. Look I’m just going off on what I can remember.

This movie feels like it has a concept, but then like weird things are being associated to said concept. “Man Cares For Fucked Up Baby.” Ok well, Man sees weird worms that look sort of like baby. Man’s Wife hates baby. Wife’s family is as weird as baby. Man keeps just exploding into space. It was weird. This whole movie was weird. Weird and fucking boring. Like, damn son! There is only so much of weird worm shit I can see before my mind goes elsewhere. Can’t you come up with other interesting visuals to show besides foreboding directly into the camera? We watch Henry watch a murder happen on the street. That was something different.

The ONLY moment that actually got a decent laugh from me was in the middle of his dream death scene where a child brings in a head to this store. The clerk just keeps buzzing the intercom over and over again. And the big burly owner comes in yelling “OKAY PAUL!” That was a decent joke.

But I don’t get this movie. I don’t know why it’s a cultural film. Why the fuck is this movie part of the library film of congress. It was nothing! NOTHING! The only thing that I could see is just, the weirdness was so THERE that it had to be included. It inspired a whole generation of weirdness. Only this time the next generation was good.

Overall: I hate this film. It boring and weird, in the worst combination to me. How can I get bored while feeling dread!? These emotions should have never mixed!! If you like weird black&white films, go try it, but I am done/ Goodbye and good night you weird sexual worms.

#dafukblog #Dafuking Films #eraserhead #eraserhead 1977 #eraserhead movie #week 46 movie

[hazard-and-friends]

Month 11

What the fuck. Holy hell buddy.

The focus here will be catching us up with the missed months and then next month I’ll do a 1 year retrospective.

The last time I posted one of these was January 9th. In late February, we moved from FL to WA; at the end of the month we moved into a new, one bedroom apartment. In mid-March I started a part time job which I adore (running puppy camp at a R+ facility! in the next few weeks I’ll start teaching swims and puppy play groups!). So first we did a massive amount of prep for the move, and then we did even more prep for post-move things like “meeting my family” and “oh shit there’s hills now” and in between the two we’ve made huge strides on the cat thing.

The details!

Night time: We have completely stopped putting him in the crate at night. There were two reasons for crating to begin with: 1) We didn’t know where Penny wanted to sleep and didn’t trust them when we were asleep and 2) to create good sleepy associations prior to the plane flight. #2 is no longer relevant and a) Penny wants to sleep Up or in the bed and b) Hazard laaaaargely doesn’t care about her once the lights go off. So he sleeps on the floor, after a VERY exciting 4 nights at the airbnb where he got to sleep in the people bed with the people (Penny slept on top of the catinets cabinets).

Crate in general: I spent 2 months working on the plastic crate not being the actual devil, and he did end up being happy in it. But he’s regressed to thinking that crates in general are prison spaces due to the plane flight, so it’s all to the good that he doesn’t have to go in at all anymore. Regular crate training (for trials) is on the task list.

Medications: He was on trazodone through late March. For the flight itself, I started him on gabapentin (100 mg 3x daily) 24 hours before the flight, and gave him a double dose when we left the apartment. All of this was cleared with his vet first, consult with your own etc. No side effects and the gabapentin definitely helped--but he was still upset at takeoff and landing. One of the reasons I wanted him to see a vet in March was to switch off trazodone and onto something actually validated in separation anxiety. He’s now on Reconcile, 24 mg once a day. At 2 weeks in: No lasting side effects (the first 48 hours were a little weird), and overall anxiety is decreasing.

Anxiety in general: IT’S BEEN A FUN TIME Y’ALL. Because trazodone and prozac (Reconcile) both affect serotonin, he had to come off trazodone for 4-5 days before starting Reconcile. Which confirmed a bunch of things:

Trazodone wasn’t doing very much at all. 90% of the time he was unchanged.

He is WAY more anxious on car rides than anyone realized. Once off trazodone, he started whining continuously on the way out--the way back is fine, either because he’s exhausted, he knows we’re going home, or we’ve already been to the superfunexcitingplace.

Trazodone wasn’t doing SHIT for his separation anxiety, which was unchanged.

He was only slightly more reactive to the cat and no more reactive to strangers. Cool.

Now that we’re 2 weeks into Reconcile: Starting to see big improvements in separation anxiety (more on that later) and cat tolerance is back to baseline (ditto). Car rides are still chatty but rapidly improving. No side effects, still playful and happy and silly.

Separation anxiety: Over a month, we achingly worked our way up to 90 seconds of me gone, or 30 seconds of me gone if I had done one preparing-to-leave thing. And even that was unreliable. That’s not right, guys. That’s the big reason we switched medications. Because keep in mind that all of this is while Jo was in the room with him. Yesterday I left to run errands with no prep and he just watched. I love Reconcile. It took about 5 minutes for him to settle down, but still. Plan is to bust ass and get to 15 minutes with no pre-departure cues and then add them back in.

Cat: Two steps forward one step sideways. While he chases her every other day or so, there are no gates in the new apartment. Sometimes we close the door to the bedroom so Penny can be unmolested, but often she’s the one who wants out, and she’s finding more and more places to chill. Moooost nights Hazard gets tied (harness to longline to my desk) but that’s more so that we don’t have to be constantly watching. At night there’s sometimes scuffles, but those end with Penny wherever she wanted to be and Hazard under the bed.

Weight: Vet had him at 44 lbs but he hadn’t pooped that day. He’s now on diet Hills SD, 1.5 cups, but he also gets around 100 pieces of treats a day so that’s surely impacting things. He’s looking better and better though--nice thigh muscles.

Formal training: I have completely jumped the shark and started teaching rally cues. As soon as the budget balances I want to get back to doing rally with Sydney’s trainer, and he’s picking up the basics really fast. Also, recall?? Is coming along fabulously?? Amazing. Love it when I don’t have to do anything.

I jest, I did a lot. We did a bowl game where I put him in a wait, put food in his bowl, then went to the other side of the room and called him. He had to come to me before going to the food, and that really helped recall click in a way that other games hadn’t.

Handling: After 11 months I admitted defeat and took him to the vet for nails. The vet tech’s verdict is that he sang at her but she got them done in 5 minutes so hey. We’re going back to the very basics and doing it to enthusiasm, not compliance, this time. Sigh.

Good note: I did teach him a chin rest and he now LOVES offering it. Amazing. Love him so much.

Stranger danger: the BIGGEST progress. In the last month he’s met both my parents, my grandparents, one of my siblings, and a friend. 6 people, 3 genders, aged 19-77, and a whole array of builds and heights. They’re all white but you can’t have everything. A growing theme is he’s much better in novel environments than in his home base, so probably we’ll be meeting people outside and then walking them in. But still, seeing huge improvements in his willingness to associate with strange humans and let them touch him.

Walks: 40 min morning/20 min evening, except for once a week when it’s a 50-60 min hike or sometimes we rent the field at my work... It’s hard to be a dog ;) Fitness is less his problem on walks than focus for that long, so the hike is actually easier for him than 40 min along a 35mph road. Still, we’re getting lots of nice perky behavior out and about.

#ELEVEN MONTHS SORRY WHAT #training log #april 2021 #hazard to society

[mauserfrau]

Spiraling To Meet Me - Bordertober

Tonight: Tyreen v. other people.  Framed as her dealing with massive spoilers from Satellite.  Contains: blood, gore, death, referenced suicide, medical stuff and... [see tags]

The first person she ever met, she killed.

He was dying.  There wasn’t anything she could do to save him.  He went into her as a flash of syrup and heat.  She’s never been sure how she recognized him as a he in the brief moment she knew him through her mother’s skin.

He left her dizzy with delight as she sprawled there in Leda’s sandy glass remains and the air coral rattled against the rift of sky in the temple roof.

Troy, too stunned and hurt to cry, rattled too.

*

She told Dad: “I didn’t mean to!”

It was kind of true.  She didn’t mean all of it.  Mama was dying, same as a manta gored in a trap.

That part, she meant.

The little fish just hadn’t realized Leda was dead.  Tyreen got him with the rest.

She hadn’t had any idea before he evaporated in her leech.  

*

Nobody else realized.  There was no crystal clump of sand that gave away what Tyreen had done.  Or if there was, no one noticed while they carried Mama out of temple in buckets and bottles.  She never saw it, anyway.  She just climbed up the toppled stones along the path that one more time, remembering not to eat the very small larvae and worms because they could still become big things, and then there could be more.

She also still licked her lips when she thought about him.  Maybe she couldn’t have touched him, but she could have heard him, seen him, smelled him when he was just born and still wet.

Instead she ate him and he was gone except for this vague sense memory that crawled around on her tongue and the bottom of her own belly.

*

She didn’t stay away from the grave like Dad.  Mama wasn’t there.

She didn’t go to the grave after midnight like Troy.  Troy said Mama wasn’t there.

Sometimes when the storms roiled over the valley, she listened the air coral shuddering in the wind.  Her mouth watered and she balled her marked hand into a fist.  

Having another baby wouldn’t have been the worst thing in the world.  No, that was clearly her trying to prove as much to herself reading books out of the medical suite that made her blush and cringe.

She was supposed to be stronger than blushing and cringing.

She realized though that she might have been biased when it came to what was and was not awful about pregnancy.  She had never not eaten for two.

*

She wouldn’t say she met anybody from her family.  They were always just there, until Mama wasn’t.  Dad tasted rich, Mama stale as recycled air.  Troy held no flavor or sensation outside of his bone-leaf skin and skittering pulse.  

Oh, she tried to eat him too.  Just once with any seriousness.  What if all of her brothers tasted that delicious? 

Tyreen wrapped her arms and her leech around him, pouring herself against his body and begging him to slosh back, fill her instead of the other way around.  

Instead, she drained into him, slow and crystal damp, even though she hardly had enough to share.

“It’s OK,” he told her, gently scratching at her fingers.  “We can go outside again soon.  You won’t have to be hungry.”

Back on the couch, Dad laughed at something on his old video screen.  

*

Troy had put on one of the old, airy tracks that Mama had liked to play after dark in the summer.  He was trying to sing with it and maybe Tyreen had tried a little bit too.  At least, she was whistling along under her breath when— 

“Boy, you shut that off!” And a crash so sharp and musical Tyreen thought at first it must have come from the speakers.

She peered into the front room to find Troy rattling against the wall.  One of the good drinking glasses oozed down the wall.  

Tyreen cleaned it up without complaining and Troy vanished, same as the liquor vapors.

*

She put her marked hand down beside Dad’s head.

He startled awake, stared up at her, tried to smile.

“Throw anything at Troy again I’ll do to you what I did to Mama.”

She doesn’t remember what he said to her, besides calling her Starlight.  That might have been all it was in the end.

Tyreen stalked off.  Her heart slammed in her chest and her joints felt all slippery.

It had taken her days to decide to say anything.  It wasn’t on impulse like hunting or dodging or staying up way too late watching video clips of little fish fetuses kick.  

She guessed she just didn’t care about Troy in that particular impulsive way what would have let her subsume him.  It wasn’t like he was any good at hunting, after all.

When she got to Mama’s grave, she spit up and coughed.  She didn’t cry.  Crying was dumb.

Nobody followed her to ask if she’d shed anymore teeth or eaten anymore brothers.

And they wouldn’t know any of those things unless she told them.

*

Years passed before the one time she almost did.  Troy was in a bad way, feverish and unsteady on his feet.  She half-carried him to the bathhouse and heated the water up as high as it would go while she stripped him since he couldn’t seem to get his clothes off himself.  They climbed into the water together and talked about Keats for a while.  He said she looked different.  Tyreen laughed at him for taking so long to notice.  Then she untied his hair and pressed him against her chest, both of their hearts cranking in the swell of warmth from the water.  She rested her hand on his empty shoulder as his breath tickled her skin.

“You ever get lonely?” she asked.  It seemed like it might be kind of an OK leadup.

“Yeah,” he answered.  “I don’t even know what I’d do with another person ‘round here.  How about you?”

“Me? What? No.  No of course not.”

The next part should have been I’m stuck with you, aren’t I?

But Tyreen said nothing.

*

The second person she met, she killed.

And the third.

And the fourth.

And all the rest.  There were nine Maliwan researches altogether and Troy only got one, the one that grabbed him.  The guy looked like he was feeling Troy up to Tyreen.  Mostly, he pissed her off.

She wouldn’t have liked to have eaten him .  Instead, she sang through the rest, sucking them down.  The living bruise underneath her skin had them in gushes of fear and the kissed-out brightness of their wonder.  Some were savory, others liquid tart.  When they were all gone, she twisted on the toes of her boots and went down.

The rain stirred over her and the mud.  She thrilled with what she’d gotten from them, flavors and memories of screams and not wanting so hard her mouth water.  Actually, it was hardly damp, at least before Troy came around and tried to get her to stop laughing by tickling her feet— what a dumb thing to try, but it worked.

They knelt together in the rain, surrounded by strangeness and dead bodies made of sand.

*

It took hours to stash and secure their booty.  They could only carry so much at one time, so they took the silliest, prettiest things like rings and name tags and somebody’s pocket knife that wouldn’t have been useful for trimming even tiny pieces of air algae, but it was new.

They hiked back over storm-slippery stones, hardly five sentences between them on the way.

It was when the lucernae on Mama’s grave came into view that the slippery twinge surfaced in her joints.  Tyreen paused, scenting the air out of instinct.  There was only home and water.  Her hand went to her neck and she sighed.

No, something else fought to surface.  Probably just her hunger returning.

She wondered, if only for a moment: what if she hadn’t eaten the intruders? What would she be doing now?

Talking or waiting or something.  She wouldn’t have a new pocketknife.

*

Tyreen set the imaging equipment to warm up.  Troy had taken a sharp blow to the belly and they needed to make sure nothing in him had popped.

The control console had broken a long time ago, and they’d patched the general computer in with some old optical cable.  That meant that anything they tried to read out of the databanks and not existed would show.

Tyreen realized she’d been the last person in the medical suit and she’d left a rather gruesome birth video cued up. 

Troy, leaning sideways on the table said though, “Oh.  My bad.  I was just thinking about...” He yawns.  “Stuff.”

“Yeah? I mean, whatever.  It’s a thing that happens, right, killer?” And she laughs, trying to stifle the crash in her heart.

*

The third or fourth person she meets on Pandora is a barkeeper who asks her name and how she takes her whiskey.  Tyreen  sits at the side of the bar, dazed and trying not to smile.  She’s pretty sure the whiskey she gets isn’t whiskey at all.  Anyway, it doesn’t smell like Dad’s, but it is in a real glass lowball and it makes her lips sting.

She thinks she should wait for Troy to get out of the can, but if she takes a sip herself he can’t ask her to toast.

She drums her fingers on the fine chips along the bottom and remembers.

“Yes?” says the bartender.

“Huh? Yes, what?”

“You look like you’re a million miles away.”

Tyreen cranes her head to the side.  That’s a Troy question.  Not a... random person question.

Right?

Right.

Besides, then she has to go and add, “Haven’t named the little guy yet.” She jerks her thumb to the calico bundle in an old apple crate.  “Was gonna wait till he turns three months.  Never know around here.  But hey, now I never have to be lonely again.” She laughs.

Tyreen presses her fists to her knees.  She will not blush.  She will not cry.  She won’t say yes of course that’s what it is, because it is a flickering tender place.

Part of her wants to eat this woman and her son.

But it takes more of her self-control than she’d like just to keep her face steady, just to think.  “Oh, I get it.”

Fuck.

Tyreen smiles.

“Does he like music? I could go for some tunes.”

“Sure.  What kind?”

“After dark in the summer.”

Apparently, that’s a fine enough answer.  Troy comes back to the bar to find her gone in her glass and a softly thudding baseline.

#so tyreen ate her younger brother in Satellite #there I said it #bordertober #border-tober #borderlands 3 #Calypso Twins #Troy Calypso #Tyreen Calypso #Tyreen Calypso PoV #blood #gore #violence #suicide #medical content #fanfic #fanfiction #angst #and some drinking

[kariachi]

So I wake up from vaguely Levinstar dreams and suddenly, as if a switch has been flipped, I am able to write more than a hundred words at a time again.

And it’s not even technically Levinstar, it’s a new part of the apprentice Mike series. Specifically a step forward in Mike becoming Less Of A Bastard.

~~

He’d apologized to Mike, and figured that would be the end of it. Oh the Tennysons would’ve lost their shit, but… He’d let a guy end up in the Null Void. Practically handed him to Morgg. It was- It was on the list of things he just couldn’t fucking live with, not knowing what he did, not having dealt with that bullshit himself. So, when he’d come back from the roadtrip and Mike was living in Argit’s apartment, was apprenticing under him in magic (something he was never going to stop teasing the Erinaen about), he’d pulled him aside and apologized. Mike had accepted. That was supposed to be it.

“Levin.” Mike barely grabbed hold of Kevin’s arm as he turned to go back to, well, anything but having awkward conversations with the guy. No dice, apparently. At least there was the boon of just how pained he seemed to be. “Since we’re doing this, I wanted to…” He took a released a deep breath. “I’m sorry, for being a shit to you. I was…” Yep, definitely pained, and a little bit desperate. “You know what it’s like.”

The thing was, he really did. When energy took the edge off your hunger, and it felt so good to have some power, and you kept being hungry and it kept feeling good and suddenly. Suddenly it was as much for the power as anything else, for the control and the security, and woe betide anyone who might be a threat to that. Woe betide everyone. A desperate need that only got worse as your life, any and all aspects of it, spiraled. And eventually you ended up trying to kill your first friend. Eat a baby. Start a cult.

It was intoxicating in the high points, terrifying in the low, and painful in hindsight.

“Yeah, I know.” And Argit knew from knowing him. A small laugh passed him lips. “Wasn’t expecting to ever hear that out of you though.” Mike shrugged.

“Being stuck in a bag for several months at the whims of a madwoman,” he said, “with a genocidal, enslaving fuckwit-”

“Hey now,” Kevin interjected, “Charm’s a genocidal, enslaving fuckwit too. She had a history well before you came along.”

“Thank you,” Mike replied, deadpan, “I needed that extra level of horror. Anyway, it tends to make you think about how you ended up in that situation. Plus, Adwaita could beat me sideways and there wasn’t really anything else so, I had the joy of quitting cold turkey.” Kevin flinched with a hiss.

“Been there, never fun.”

“No, no it is not.” Another sigh. “But, yes- I’m sorry for all of… that. I wasn’t at my best and, well.” It had been pretty fucking clear, as seemed to be the norm with these things.

“Apology accepted,” Kevin said, honestly still a little shocked to have gotten it in the first place. It was progress. And now that he’d started down that path… “And what about the other people you fucked with?” For the first time in the years Kevin had been dealing with the bastard, Mike flinched.

“I was sort’ve hoping I could just, avoid other people I’ve met.” Oh that was a familiar feeling. “You’re the easy one.”

“Don’t think that’s gonna work. If nothing else Ben and Rook deal with Argit regularly.” Mike groaned, and Kevin resisted the urge to smirk. Just because he’d accepted his apology didn’t mean he couldn’t enjoy watching him suffer, just a little bit. “You gotta do it, man, at least for the Tennysons. If you’re working with Argit, I’m sorry to say it but you’re gonna be dealing with them more than you’d probably like.” And one more sigh out of the blond, he seemed to be full of them.

“Any advice?” Kevin flinched again.

“Not really? By the time apologies happened the Tennysons and I were already working together, and they’d forgiven me pretty quickly. But you’re not exactly Ben’s type, and he’s more protective of Gwen than himself, so I don’t think you’re gonna get that leg up.” He paused to consider the matter. “You are Gwen’s type though, so you might be able to work that to your advantage. Just sorta, keep your distance and when she’s relaxed around you then drop an apology.” Mike nodded along, and Kevin got the distinct feeling he’d have been taking notes if the option were there.

“But against Ben I’m pretty much fucked.”

“Pretty much. Personally, if you can keep your mouth shut for more than ten minutes at a time, I’d let Argit handle most interactions with the Tennysons in general and eventually they should just acclimate. It’s how I got them willing to work with Argit in the first place, so it should at least be progress.”

“Just ‘do not engage’?” Kevin shrugged and nodded, drawing a chuckle out of the other man. “Thanks, Levin. I’d really rather us not be…” Giving up, Kevin let himself smirk.

“Killing each other on Argit’s nice clean floors?”

“That,” Mike replied with a smirk of his own. “Though I doubt it would stick. I’ve already been informed that I don’t get to die until he says so.”

“Welcome to necromancers,” Kevin said, laughing and clapping Mike on the shoulder as he led them back towards the couch. “Pretty sure that’s their baseline for patient care.”

#fanfic #am i putting too much on that whole bag-time experience? #quite possibly #is this still less of an asspull that most of the redemption arcs in this show? #without a doubt

[kalinara]

Rip Week #1  The Many Faces of Rip

It’s been a long time since I’ve posted anything positive about Legends of Tomorrow.  However, it’s Rip Hunter Appreciation Week, which is a time meant for positivity!   At one point this show, and this character, had me blogging meta on a daily basis for almost two and a half years and introduced me to some great people! And I will always be grateful for that.

So the topic for Day 1 of Rip Hunter Appreciation Week: The Many Faces of Rip Hunter.

One thing that still fascinates me about Rip as a character is that, even though he’d only been a central character on the show for 1.5 seasons, we’ve gotten to see so many different sides of the character.  He’s been deconstructed so thoroughly and so fascinatingly, allowing us to really appreciate what makes the character tick.

Let’s start with Rip himself, the baseline number.  The guy who kidnapped a bunch of assholes, brought them to the roof of a tall building (and I still wonder how the stringy little bastard actually managed that) and gave them a sales pitch of a lifetime.

From the opening scene of the pilot, to Rip’s almost goodbye into the sun in Legendary, season one was first and foremost the story of a man broken by grief and betrayal, who slowly, and reluctantly found a reason to go on, and people to share it with.  Rip spent season one a raw, open wound, ugly in his pain and rage.  He tried very hard not to stay focused on his goal. He tried very hard not to care about his team.

He failed pretty much on day one, when he saved Martin Stein’s marriage.  He failed again not too long after that when he abandoned the closest thing he had to a working plan to get Carter’s body back for Kendra.  And he kept failing over and over again.

And they saved him.  They challenged him.  They forced him to look outside of his single-focused obsession and look at the people that they could save around them.  They forced him to take a long hard look at what he was doing when he started to go too far.  And he very clearly and very obviously loved them for it.

I still can’t believe that fandom still tries to claim that Rip didn’t care about his team, when we saw how broken he was after each major loss: Carter, Leonard, even Jax (almost).  That’s not a man who is unfeeling.

We saw Rip as a child: a tiny savage creature who, even when warm and fed, was still ready to stab the nearest adult who threatened him.  It gave a new, fascinating insight to the tension Rip had with both Leonard Snart and Mick Rory.  As well as possibly another reason that he’d bonded with Sara so strongly.  Rip is someone who understands what it means to become a monster in order to survive, and what it means to have to live with that afterward.  It likely does make it difficult when face to face with people who represented the worst of that time (and that’s not even touching on how child Rip probably met a number of people who looked and acted similar to our lovable Rogues, and it likely would not have ended well.)

We’ve never really seen the man Rip was before he was broken.  Except perhaps for a giddy romantic moment with Miranda and that horrible humiliation when they were caught.  We’ve heard a bit more: from that pirate in Marooned, from Magister Druce and Jonah Hex.   We can draw inferences: a man who was capable and skilled (though perhaps not as skilled as his wife :-)), who never the less was a rulebreaker at heart.  Someone who fell in love with the idea of heroism to the point where he almost left the Time Masters entirely.  Someone who, while loyal, wasn’t quite willing to trust his masters with the tool to unmake reality.  But at the same time, someone whose fundamental trust in INDIVIDUALS like Mary Xavier and Magister Druce, survived even when his world fell apart.

At the end of season 1, we got a Rip Hunter who was ready to finally move past his grief, and it will forever be something of a disappointment to me that the series decided to give us a time jump instead of actually showing us Rip learning to be part of a real team.

But season 2 did give us a truly fascinating deconstruction of Rip Hunter as an individual.

One very common plot in almost every superhero’s story is the depowerment story arc.  Who is our hero when he doesn’t have what makes him a hero?  It’s most common for men like Superman of course, but we even get it for folks like Batman or Green Arrow.  What are these men without their money, or their physicality?

What is Rip Hunter without his knowledge, his memories, or his time machine?

Well, we saw him.  And he was adorable!  Phil Gasmer was a hilarious story beat, but unlike maybe certain other storyline elements that we see in later seasons, there was also a point to Phil Gasmer.  Phil Gasmer showed us the kind of man that Rip Hunter is deep down.

He’s creative.  He’s clever.  He’s determined.  He’s a little whiny.  And definitely high.  Rip is a man who would benefit from a little unofficial pharmaceutical help.  He’s a man who, when the world suddenly goes sideways, will first attempt to protect his friend.  He’s a man who, when face to face with a stranger with scary abilities, will try to hit him with a script.  He’s a man who loves his team so much that even when he has no conscious recollection of them, he made them the basis of his movie.  And he’s a man who walked out to face the Legion to save a bunch of strangers who kidnapped him, because it was the right thing to do.

I’d like to think in another universe, Phil didn’t get kidnapped by Eobard Thawne there, but instead made it back on the ship, where the crew actually got the chance to get to know Rip without all the baggage.  I think they’d have gotten along.

And then there’s evil Rip.

“Teammate goes evil” storylines are a dime a dozen, in superhero lore, but there’s a reason for that.  When done well, they can be amazing.  And ultimately, I think the evil Rip storyline was done very well.

One of the things that I always liked about the evil Rip storyline is how it utterly destroyed that pervasive (and wrong!) fan idea that Rip never cared about his team.  Because they showed us a Rip who didn’t care about his team, and he was a fucking scary son of a bitch.

He also showed us how Rip’s best worst enemy was always going to be himself.  Because holy shit, Rip is competent when he’s not tripping himself up.  Turncoat was terrifying in all the best ways, and even that opening of Land of the Lost was amazing.  It’s still very amusing to me that the most effective member of the Legion of Doom was the one Eobard brainwashed into it.

One thing I always found fascinating about evil Rip is that, for all that he lacks Rip’s compassion, empathy and love, he didn’t go the usual scenery chewing sadist route.  He’s a monster, of course.  He was perfectly happy to murder Sara, to carve the spear piece out of McNider, and brainwash the entire knights of Camelot.  But it was always a measured sort of evil.

Evil Rip had a goal, and evil Rip pursued his goal.  And if he could get what he wanted in a relatively non-disruptive and non-violent way, he was willing to try it.  He had no interest in terrorizing the Waverider crew once he had the spear piece from them, even when he saw that Sara had survived her murder.  He tried to trick McNider, only resorting to violence when McNider saw through it.  When he had control of the knights, he just had them stand there, much to Darhk’s boredom, rather than playacting some farce for his amusement as some of the others might have done.

Evil Rip was our chance to appreciate how truly formidable Rip could actually be, and also appreciate those qualities that kept him from turning into that monster again.

My biggest disappointment in this story arc was how little we got to see Rip interact with the other members of the Legion.  His interactions with Eobard and Darhk, in what little we had, were very entertaining.  But we never saw him interact with Malcolm at all (I admit to being intrigued by this, because I thought Malcolm had actually had the most interesting dynamic with Phil in Legion of Doom), and we never saw Eobard react to his capture.  Missed opportunities or food for fanfic?

I don’t know if Doomworld Rip really counts, but I have to admit that, compared to some of Rip’s other coping mechanisms, baking cakes to deal with a year of solitary confinement (Gideon sort of counts, but she’s just a voice at this point), is pretty good for him.  I hope he actually got a chance to eat them.

The idea behind Rip at the Time Bureau really was a good one.  The idea that Rip would have created this organization, but specifically designed it to be the antithesis of the Time Masters: open, transparent, and accountable, is a good one.  But unfortunately, season 3 never really explored that to the extent I would have liked.  

It’s hard to imagine the Rip who recruited Sara before she could die with her sister to Damien Darhk would be okay with leaving Zari in a prison without a very good reason.  But we never got that reason.  Of course, maybe he wasn’t.  He wasn’t in that episode.  We know from Ava that he didn’t want her chasing the Legends, and wanted them given “lenience”.  But if he’s not on board with that, how much of the Time Bureau is actually under his control?

Considering that Return of the Mack told us that Rip allowing Darhk to be resurrected in order to confront him with agents was a “sanctioned” plan (that Rip still ends up in prison for, because Rip is just that good with people), that implies a certain level of oversight.  His and Bennett’s dynamic seemed just shy of outright antagonistic.  And certainly Rip seemed a lot more blase about seeing Bennett meet a grisly end than seems warranted.  This is a man who dismantled the team after Leonard Snart died.

I mean, trying to work out coherent characterization for ANYONE in season 3 is a bit of a problem, but I feel like if the Time Bureau had gotten the same level of focus that it gets much later, perhaps some of these things could actually work.  If, for example, there are multiple factions within the Bureau with their own ideas on what the Bureau is supposed to do, (perhaps tied with the oversight that Rip specifically put in place, because there’s nothing more Rip Hunter than getting hoisted up by his own petard), then a lot of the more confused behavior by the organization could make more sense.

In the end though, Rip is still a secretive, scheming bastard who cares very deeply for his team, and I wouldn't give up that wonderful, almost baggage free friendship with Wally for anything. So it does have its good points.

Ultimately, I think that all of these facets make Rip one of the most well-developed and defined characters in the CW-verse, even when compared with others who have had years and years of screentime.  It’s fun to poke around and explore all of these layers and see how they fit.  And it definitely is food for some great fanfic.  I’m told some other Rip fans will be writing some great fic for #RipWeek.  You should go check them out!

#rip hunter #legends of tomorrow #RipWeek #Rip Hunter Appreciation Week

[distinctivelibrarians]

Mmmmm tell me more about your thoughts on that Big Bang Job scene, yes please

Okay so this scene x x x x x x (all links are to @leverageepisodegifs who does amazing work!) is maybe one of my favorites out of all 77 episodes, because it has just. A lot of revealing character attributes in it, and watching them play out is heartbreaking.

Nate & Eliot:

I’ve already tag-ranted about Nate here but just to reiterate: Nate’s immediate reaction is jumping to Eliot protecting Moreau. And imo there’s really only two options to explain why (with my understanding of Nate anyway, totally cool and open to other opinions here):

one, this being the end of Season 3, Nate still doesn’t know where he stands with the team, individually. Talk all you want about his flip-flopping between drunk honest man, sober thief, drunk thief, mastermind, whatever - with the team as individuals, he doesn’t really start working all the kinks out of that (actively, consciously) until Season 4. But! There’s hints of Parker as the mastermind back into Season 1. It takes awhile for him to find his footing yes, but he does understand Parker, and what he doesn’t understand, he knows. He doesn’t understand, sometimes, her emotional reactions to things, but he can count on them going certain ways. (Not fool-proof, of course, but still). With Hardison? Nate underestimates him, yes, but he still has a good beat on what Hardison is going to do and how Hardison will grow if pushed in the right direction (personally, I don’t think Nate should be pushing at anything until he gets himself in shape. ...so, never, but not the point here). Sophie, he knows. Not to the degree he thinks he does, and if he could come off his high horse, that’d be great. But overall, after Season 2, he’s not really...surprised, by Sophie anymore. Delighted? Yes. Rapidly trying to catch up? Absolutely. But not surprised.

And then we get Eliot. Which, okay, first all, Nate does know Eliot. He knows him just as well as the others. Eliot is not this special, mysterious, brooding badass no one understands. Alright? Alright. But here’s the thing. Parker and Hardison? They’ve never had to change. They’re them. For better or worse, they are them. They grow, they adapt. They don’t become entirely different people. Sophie? New person on a daily basis, but with a core that’s still her. Especially by Season 3, after her trip to find herself in Season 2. Eliot on the other hand? Complete 180. ...okay, maybe 135, but, point is, he made a big turn - in his personality, his goals, his morals, his world views, how he treats himself and others. And, nothing against Nate - but Nate does not know that Eliot. Mister High and Mighty has never met that Eliot, probably didn’t even register that that could be Eliot except in the abstract.

So we get this scene. Where Nate is realizing he doesn’t know Eliot like he thought he did, doesn’t know what Eliot is capable of - was capable of - he is completely blindsided. And we all know how Nate is when he’s blindsided; he gets defensive. So where to go from there? If he doesn’t know that Eliot, he doesn’t know this Eliot. Stupid? Probably. Vaguely understandable? Maybe. But it basically boils down to: he doesn’t know why Eliot did what he did, so he jumps to conclusions, trying to make sense and pull himself out of a tailspin. And he ends up accusing Eliot of the unthinkable, because, at that moment, it makes sense, in his head.

And two! Much shorter, promise:

If he indeed does understand Eliot - both as he is on the team, and as he was, at least to some vague degree - what in the goddamn world would scare Eliot so badly that he essentially regresses, shuts down, puts Hardison at risk (and, by extension, all of them)? Nothing Nate wants to think about. So, again, go with the unthinkable, because at least that’s a shade more comforting (and, more importantly, easy to get angry at, rather than scared).

Now, Eliot & Hardison

I’ve said it plenty of times already - anyone sick of it yet? - but I wish we had a scene between them leaving the pool and this, or even one after this? After they’ve all settled down? After Pretzels, for all I care. Just SOMETIME IN THERE. Hardison should’ve gotten his chance to talk with Eliot. To vent, to rant, to yell, whatever. And maybe to let Eliot explain himself. Maybe. If he’s lucky. 

(Y’all know I love Eliot, I do. But what he did was stupid, dangerous, and Hardison would’ve had every right to be angry with him, to distrust him, for a long, long while. Eliot’s just very lucky Hardison isn’t one to hold a grudge (quick, terrifying retribution? Absolutely) against people he considers his. Hell, that could’ve been the entire conversation - Eliot acknowledging he fucked up to Hardison’s face and accepting however Hardison wanted to treat that.)

But!!! I have other thoughts!

And, namely, it has to do with their body language. Hardison and Eliot have no personal space. They just don’t. Take it however you wanna take it - romantically, platonically, whatever - but they really, really, do not have the concept of personal space unless one is trying to annoy the hell outta the other. And what gets me is, like I said above, Hardison would have every right to distrust Eliot at this point. Eliot risked his life (more on that in a sec), and didn’t bother to confirm that he was coming to get him. There was no “of course I would’ve.” or even a sarcastic equivalent of “duh” (again, more on that in a sec).

So. Every right to distrust Eliot, to pull away, try to reestablish a comfortable baseline. That’s not what happens here. Hardison is right in his face. Not pushing, not shoving or yanking him around, but just there. Like always. He’s livid, and in the second half he’s not even talking to Eliot. But he stays in his space, and he has no problem getting in the face of a man just revealed to be about twice as dangerous as previously assumed who had been lying to them for months. Hardison doesn’t hesitate, he stays right where he always is. At Eliot’s side, in his space, whether he wants him there or not, because he knows Eliot will let him. Eliot’ll be miserable the entire time, will let Hardison call him out to the only people he trusts, will let Hardison get in his face, because of course he would. That’s them. And - thank his lucky stars - that hasn’t changed. (He’s closed off, stand off-ish, sure, who wouldn’t be. But he doesn’t push Hardison away, doesn’t put distance between them like he does with the entire group when its him standing and them sitting.)

ALSO.

Eliot wasn’t just risking Hardison’s life. I fully believe Eliot went in there knowing one of two things were going to happen: one, he was getting out of there, with Hardison, and the job done. Or neither of them were walking out of there at all.

Because there is no world where Eliot does not go after Hardison - confirmation later be damned. There’s no point in stating the obvious when you’re in the kind of headspace he was in.

So. Job gets done. Or, he sees it going that one more step sideways, and he dives in after Hardison anyway, and they both end up shot or drowned.

And he can’t go to Moreau alone. He can’t. Take that as you will - because they need, at the moment, the con to be believable, because he knew Moreau wouldn’t trust him coming back so suddenly without proof, because he was in panic mode and wasn’t thinking straight and therefore took one of four people he trusts to have his back and have the highest chance of making it out of there in one piece. Take your pick.

Eliot & Parker

Not as long this time because, honestly, this is one of the most analyzed parts of this scene. How Eliot would trust Parker (and therefore the team) if she just asked. And for good reason! It’s a monumental acknowledgement of the fundamental trust between the team. (Fundamental meaning he would absolutely trust them with every part of himself, even if it’s ugly, even if he’d rather it be buried and never seen again, if they just asked - but the execution is a little screwy sometimes. Exhibit A: MONTHS OF HIDING). And its a beautiful thing. As is Parker’s acknowledgement that he doesn’t want to tell her, or them, but he will. And she respects that! They all do! They don’t ask, and we can probably be sure they never will.

You know what’s also cool about that? He’s just been revealed to be lying to them about something monumental that could’ve gotten them all killed aaaaaand...they don’t ask. They trust he’s not that man anymore, and that them knowing would be dredging up something absolutely none of them need, especially not at that moment.

He fucked up. But he’s still a team member, and they’re going to treat him as such.

Which brings me to Eliot & Sophie

Her immediate reaction, after her big “we all have a past” speech is just straight up: that’s not you. Not anymore.

No hesitation, no doubt, nothing. Just immediate, in his face - That. Is. Not. You.

And honestly? I think Eliot needed to hear that, at least the once. Because what is he but a man haunted by what he has been, what he still could be? He can’t outrun his past (one of my favorite things about his character is that he’s not looking for a redemption arc. There is no point where Eliot gets redeemed for his past actions and that’s...well, not okay, but it’s there, and it’s treated appropriately!), but there’s definitely the fear of slipping back into it.

So to have his team immediately support the fact that, despite everything that’d happened, they didn’t think he was that man, wasn’t in danger of becoming that man, and were properly horrified by what Moreau asked him to do? Probably did a lot in helping him come to terms with everything they were going to have to do (...and the warehouse scene later. Because he knows damn well he can be that man again. But his team gives him the choice, and the support, not to be. And that’s far more important than actually being unable to slide back into his past. He is making the active choice, with his teams support, to not be that man unless absolutely necessary.)

#Leverage #Eliot Spencer #Nate Ford #Alec Hardison #Parker #Sophie Devereaux #that got like stupid long I am so sorry #rambling orion #have I mentioned I have a lot of thoughts about Leverage lately? #long post #Anonymous

[lilacbreastedroller]

cw: extremely lengthy description of dental care, bloodwork, medical stuff

my wisdom tooth saga is downright outrageous

- 2 or 3 years ago my dentist said i needed my wisdom teeth extracted. i never had bottom ones just the two top ones, and they were coming down. i had dental insurance but the job was ending so the dental would go with it. i wasn't able to get an appointment with the oral surgeon in time before the job ended

- i went 1.5 years being unemployed / part time employed and skipped paying for dental. teeth slowly move down

- by june 2016 i'm full time employed and resolve to get dental in 2017

- in january 2017 i get dental like a good adult. but then i learn i have to wait 6 months before using it! teeth continue to descend threateningly. cost: $40 a month for super basic dental

- in june 2017 i schedule a dentist appt, my first in 2 years or so. they're booked out til september

- in august my left upper wisdom tooth erupts. sideways. like a tusk. it hurts the whole week it's erupting

- september comes around and the dentist has to cancel the appt for some reason. it's rescheduled for october

- october i get my appointment. it's actually just a cleaning and i have to schedule an exam separately. exam scheduled for november. cleaning copay: $50 bc she's technical a specialist.

- november 2017 the exam goes well. she's like wow that erupted wisdom tooth looks awful does it hurt? and i'm like shit yea it does! she says she can extract it at the dentists office with minimal invasiveness since it's already erupted so far. i'm like sweet let's do it and she schedules the extraction for december. i'm so happy i forget about the right tooth since it's not bothering me at all. another specialist copay: $50

- early december 2017, i'm in the dentists chair. she reads my chart. "what do you think this von willebrands will do if we pull this tooth?" "idk it's a bleeding disorder. i don't clot well. i'll bleed more than other people i guess" "i'm not comfortable doing this extraction you need to go to an oral surgeon here's their number." specialist copay: $50 even though she didn't do anything except neglect to read my chart before scheduling a procedure

- call the oral surgeon: "we need info from your GP about von willebrands."

- call my GP: "i need you to do some lab work"

- mid december: do lab work. $25 copay

- late december: GP calls me. "the lab work shows you have von willebrands." I FUCKING KNEW THAT!!! "i'm referring you to a hematologist."

- late late december: hematology appt. $50 copay. "do you react well to DDAVP (a drug that can be used in emergencies or during surgery to help me clot)?" "yes they told me that when i was diagnosed when i was 17." "we can't find that in your records. you'll have to be tested again"

- a whole year of dental coverage that i paid for and both teeth still in my head

- schedule the DDAVP challenge for today, jan. 5, 2018. on the phone before hand: "is there anything i need to know before the test?" "nope see you friday"

- i figure i'll do this test in the morning and go to work no time off. $50 specialist copay. this test is preliminary blood work ~10 minutes to set a baseline, wait a half hour, do the infusion of the drug which takes a half hour, WAIT FOUR HOURS, do more blood work to see the results. all to test whether a drug works for me which i already know it does. and nobody told me it would be this long ahead of time!

i took adhd meds beforehand thinking i would go to work afterward and now i'm wired as hell and there's like, a port for blood in my forearm and it's going to stay there pretty much all day and it's freaky af.

total cost of these fucking wisdom teeth and they're not even out yet:

$40×12 dental insurance that only paid for a cleaning and exam in 2017: $360

various copays for people to tell me things i already knew about myself: $275

total before these bitches are even out of my head: $635

all the while i'm having these regular intense all over headaches!!

i'm so mad and frustrated and i wanna cry. the only silver lining I GUESS is that instead of one minimally invasive extraction for the erupted tooth and then wait for the other to erupt and get another minimally invasive extraction, i can do them both at the same time since it's an oral surgeon instead of my dentist doing it

#1 #2 #3 #4 #5 #surgery tw #blood tw #needles tw #medical tw #long post #ask me to tag