#not to be crass on the lord's day but I want her to fuck the absolute dogshit out of me and idk how else to say it

[butmakeitgayblog]

Oh we're gettin fed good tomorrow

#oh my #not to be crass on the lord's day but I want her to fuck the absolute dogshit out of me and idk how else to say it #look at her #she's so high fashion now #girlie living her dream

[themotherofblood]

I saw you opened your requests again, so to finish off my series of requests inspired by Bollywood songs, can I please get Daemon x poc fem reader inspired by "Laal ishq" with lots of angst and nsfw please? (feel free to ignore)

you asked and I shall deliver!! I love the song, even though it’s melancholic. So to go with the theme of estranged lovers. Reader and Daemon have been friends for years, that eventually blossomed to love. Daemon is being forced to marry Rhea. There is no age gap since both have grown up together (also a really disgusting twist, fuck Jaeheryes!) THERE IS A PART TWO WITH SMUT I PROMISE!

Daemon Targaryen x Reader | WC: 5003

Masterlist

tw: mentions of incest, pregnant people and crass language

Daemon’s blood boiled anew since he was knighted the year before and was handed his ancestral sword. Dark Sister. He flew Caraxes faster, he trained harder. While one-half of his time was spent being a more valiant warrior than he already was, the other half was spent with you. Head in your lap, as he fawned on your beauty over and over again. It wasn’t right, you were a noble lady - a princess at that; you were to be chaste and untouched. Yet the walls of the Red Keep often turned a blind eye to your and Daemon’s ongoings. Everyone expected it so, seeming how Daemon always got what he wanted. The court expected that you would be wed to the young prince before Baelon would sit on the throne.

The door to the Godswood slammed open with a thud, and gruff sounds of huffing followed by clanks of armour filled your ears as you smiled to yourself. Almost enjoying every time your lover, pouting and broody demanded your affection after a long day of being consumed with his knighthood. You looked up to find Daemon placing his helm on the wooden table of refreshments before yanking out a leather flask of Flea Bottom’s finest moonshine, growling from the back of his mouth as the burn coated his sore throat. He huffed before plopping down next to you. The stench of mud and sweat filled your nostrils, much used to the muck as you kept working on your embroidery. Lip tucked between your lips as you passed a red string through the fresh patch of linen.

Daemon’s demeanour shifted, without having said a word as his attention was drawn to your nibbled fingers working over the delicate patches of thread. The designs of a story rather than the simple florals most ladies wore at court.

“Who bested you this time?” your voice caught his attention, your eyes still fixated on your work and yet the frustrations bubbling within him were apparent. Daemon narrowed his eyes at you before taking three large swigs from his flask.

“No one, every one of them has tasted dirt by my hands today,” he quickly replied, his mind toiling with a different malady altogether, like a plague. Clinging to the crevices of his head. How does one ask a lady such a thing?

“Then what’s got you pouting today?” you mused at him, this time placing the cloak down and turning to look at his defensive expression. His faded brows pulled to a tight-knit and his mouth parted with no words dancing over his lip. You raised your brow at him, knowing him far better than he realised.

Back in the yards, young lords with Daemon sparred away their mornings. Determined and raging as they charged at one another or dummies. Sparking conversations of bloody war fantasies and of comely girls at court. Out of the few closest to Daemon, five were already married - even his brother. Not that the notion of marriage had him praying like the fanatics at the Sept but even as stories of Old Valyria painted his dreams. He pictured his sweet lover, you in the grab of his house. Muttering words of Valyrian as his love for you would be legitimised by the eyes of dragons and the Fourteen Flames. Perhaps as his own sister-by-law, Aemma swelled full of her first child. He pictured little white-haired children of his own, perhaps enough to put his grandsire’s abilities to shame.

Daemon was sure if he would bring the matter up with his father. That perhaps his Jahereys would offer his hand to your father. There was much to be gained politically, and he would soil the sheets with his blood to cover for the lack of your maidenhead. The plans in his mind were crystal, already insistent of you becoming his lady wife. Though it was a matter of if you’d wish it so, or if your family would approve it.

“I- I asked father to have your hand in marriage,” he replied in one quick breath, his ears ringing from the silence that followed. A blank expression that spread through your features didn’t help his turmoil either as he waited for you to say something or refused him outright. “Fuck’s sake, say something?” he frowned, taking hold of your shoulders and shaking you.

The words wouldn’t reach your lips as you blankly stared him down, blinking profusely back to reality as his worry turned into disappointment. You straightened yourself, folding away the cloak on your lap before gently laying in on the grass, your chest pushing against your corset from how hard you were breathing. Abruptly, you launched yourself at him, knees catching at your gown uncomfortably that you didn’t care for as you straddled his lap to kiss him. There was a fire in how your lips connected, Daemon was truly taken aback for a moment before chuckling and giving into the onslaught, hands caressing each other’s cheeks. You rested your forehead against Daemon’s, “You want this? Marriage?” you had to ask to be sure, that perhaps this wasn’t another one of his spurts of passion.

He nodded “Would you? Be my lady wife?” his eyes, wider than the Septa’s when she heard crass remarks. Bursts of anticipation flooded Daemon’s heart. You would be his, to have and to hold. The colours of his house staining the mustard silks adorning your skin, there would be no reason to conceal such ardour for one another, a flame concealed by forbidding it air. Young souls afraid of its fire would see all but the world, perhaps diminished before it could swallow you whole. The embers would finally take flight, burn anyone who would question Daemon’s affections for you. It was way past time that the two of you should have been wed, every lord was afraid of approaching you from the fear of being eaten by Caraxes, and the ladies stood ten breaths away from the fear of being poisoned by you.

You, a Princess of House Martell, Darmon a Prince of House Targaryen and yet your names for one another held not houses or titles but otherworldly, cosmic - cathartic titles ones of adoration and the rest, not High Valyrian, Ryonish or the Common Tongue could describe. Oftentimes than not it felt unreal, fabricated that perhaps it was the joy of having another, the thrill of breaking statues or perhaps it was finally a sense of home. You saw him for who he was and he, you, not within the wild inclinations but perhaps the calm hidden behind the mirror.

The elation of your supposed oncoming betrothal spread cheek to cheek, the corners of your eyes crinkling (even be fair to say teary-eyed) yet you purse your lips. Still lingering on the question on Daemon’s lips, it was yes - such agreement you could scream your throat sore from Rhaenys Hill - mischief however clouded your mind as you pulled back from him, scrunching your brows in deep thought. A look of offence adorned Daemon’s sharp features; a minx through and through. “Fly a piece of the moon back to me and I shall think about it,” a mere jest, followed by a giggle to seal the line. Daemon’s eyes flickered with another opportunity but for now his work was done.

The tunnels in the Red Keep had stood witness to the damning celebrations that followed after, sneaking baskets of blankets, spiced wines, lemons, and plum cakes being carried from the kitchens to your solar. Even if you were caught, there wasn’t a fret or consequence. You were to be married. Far too intoxicated to do anything by the end of the night, as the vulgarities whispered by Daemon against your ear as his fingers rested against your blushed lips, feeding you pieces of purple grapes to muffle the deep bellied giggles pouring out of your mouth.

The morrow bloomed in with you sprawled atop furs by the dying embers of the hearth, skin sticky from no doubt the sweets consumed last night as your chambermaids poured in to tidy your chamber and you make princess-like once more for the respectable court. Though comely and courteous charm oozed out of your every pour, you let out dishevelled groans and grumbles as you pulled yourself awake. Finding an indent in the furs where your lover had nestled with you the night before and now he fluttered away like every morning. Pristinely dressed in your riding clothes, your schedule today consisted of visiting Lady Aemma, avoiding the snarky air headed ladies and court and paying your precious steed and visiting the Kingswood.

Aemma Arryn, already swelling from her first babe, wore her discomfort with much grace. Hoping to birth a boy for Viserys but in her heart she knew the babe to be a bumbling girl. “I’ve heard something about you… and Daemon,” her lips curled in a sly smile. Yet you being devoid of romantical theatrics, heat still evaded your composure and flared across your cheeks. You shuffled onto the chaise next to her, giggling as you hesitantly held your arm out. She meekly nodded at your gesture, grabbing your palm to place over the bump, the skin firm yet softer under your touch. Living with dragons mere breaths away from you and yet an entire person being inside your friend fascinated you, perhaps such would be your fate without the lemon heads in your environs while engaging in the salacious acts with Daemon.

Your eyes crinkled at the corners, much aware of what Aemma had heard - from Viserys no doubt - the older Targaryen brother hid not one thing from his sweet wife. Both brothers were highly hen pecked by the women they took as lovers. “What could you have possibly heard, I swear I poisoned no one,” your lips curled to a wry grin making her tap your thigh mischievously with her foot. You pulled them onto your lap, kneading your fingers into the mass of her foot, alleviating pressure from her overbearing weight.

“Viserys overheard Prince Baelon talking with the King… Can you imagine us, sisters!” her smile widened cheek to cheek, already pictured dressing you in ivory herself like you did her.

“Whatever you have done to my brother, I applaud you,” Viserys’s voice chimed from behind you, leaning against the door frame, admiring his glowing wife with a graceful smirk on his face “The Street of Silk shall mourn his absence,” he teased making Aemma glare at his antics

“Do not listen to him,” she scoffed, “Have you told anyone yet?” You shook your head, wanting to keep this joy just between the people you trusted the most before the vultures found a way to make profit of such an event yet again.

“Do you know where he is?” you turned to Viserys who pointed out the window to the skies.

The air crashing against your skin as your hair followed free of its braided constraints, purple leather hugged your skin, shielding you from the chill of this day’s climate. The trees mere green shadows in your periphery blend all as one, just your own breathing echoing in your ears and the quicked hoof beats of your night black mare Nysa. While she couldn’t fly, her legs were no less than being afloat in the clouds, brushing past the dirt road at speeds incomparable to the naked eye. She neighed at a halt, right at the end of the meadow. The greenery reached as far as your eyes could see, you lingered in the quiet for a moment, the bird, the grasshoppers and even the leaves melodically sang a song for your ears.

The winds tore past the stink of the bustling livelihood of King’s Landing, amidst the rain that was sure to follow within the end of the week, the forest smelled of leaves, of warmth and damp. You shuffled off your horse, your own personal guard no doubt still catching up to the rampage that tore you through the thick tree lines. Deep breaths of fresh air flooded your lungs, you often dreamed of riding all the way home, to bask in the crisp sunshine at the Old Palace.

You walked holding onto Nysa’s reigns, finding a spot to sit with your legs over the rocks looking down into the ditch, while your marriage would bring forth much joy in your life. Perhaps a blissful life at Dragonstone, a cat, Caraxes and him. Mostly you’d enjoy being a royal lady-wife, perhaps it would make the ladies at court fear you more than a poisoning, Dornishmen - salacious varmints.

Higher above from where you were sitting, Daemon flew past the clouds, higher every moment. A feat encouraged by your jest but in reality a grace question, why hadn’t the Targaryens ever touched the moon? The dim witted Septons nor the droll Maesters had an answer for it. He took matters in his own hands, clipped to Caraxes as he rode the Red Wyrm to newer heights. The air around him was much colder and yet he kept climbing. Taking in large gasps of breaths, however lungs simply couldn’t get enough. A piece of the moon - he could do that much for his sweetest wife to be, a wedding gift better than any silk gown or golden necklace. What completely overshadowed the struggling mount underneath him was you. Caraxes fought to climb, the sky growing a deeper shade of blue, as Daemon’s mind fantasised his way through the journey; the lack of air in his lungs slipped right past.

Knocking him unconscious first, Caraxes yet climbed heights above than before until he realised Daemon slumped backwards on his saddle; severing any control the prince had on his dragon moments before. Such exhaustion consumed the Red Wyrm too, while still within his prime his wings tucked tight as he fell from the skies like the stories of angels the High Septon preaches.

The striking red of the dragon’s body clashed against the bright and clear skies that graced King’s Landing today. Just as you lounged at the edge of the meadow, a falling red figure wasn’t hard to miss. You stood to your feet immediately, fascinated at what it might have been. The Blood Comet in the scrolls wasn’t due for another decade or two. Only instead of gliding across the horizon of the sky, it grew bigger by the moment; until you saw the flutter (no book said anything about fluttering rocks falling from skies above). The dark membranes outline the red made you gasp “Oh gods,” this had been either a sick thrill Daemon had decided to partake in or he was truly falling from the heavens.

You mounted Nysa, rushing towards the falling figure from the skies. While to others the moment seemed fleeting but it felt ages as you neared the falling dragon. Caraxes spread his wings, in desperate attempts to halt the descent as he gained consciousness. Daemon, still attached to his saddle but nowhere near coherency. A loud crash accompanied a mushroom cloud of dirt blasting through the woods, Nysa nearly throwing you off her back as she neighed, startled to shit. You jumped off her, your personal guard merely catching you in time as Ser Alysen gripped your arms. Warning you of the dragon that laid huffing and curled, he would eat you, he would eat you.

You screamed from the back of your throat, pushing Alysen off your back and rushing towards Caraxes. “Do not fucking eat me,” your mind toiled, yet you had to know if your lover was alive or if you were widowed before you even had the chance to step on the alter. The red dragon’s nostril flared, low bellied chirps echoing through the settling dust, please - let me see him. You weren’t sure how you would fight a creature four times your size but perhaps his bigger mind sensed your harmlessness, putting up no protest as you pulled yourself onto Daemon’s saddle, him still slouched, breathing.

“Daemon, Daemon wake up,” you cupped his cheeks. Shaking him profusely, the behemoth he was growing into. You couldn’t carry him off the dragon even if you wanted to. “Come on now, wake up!”

Most of King’s Landing already witnessed a mythical creature falling from the heavens. Half of them ran for the Grand Sept, howling of the end times and the people in the Keep knew it to be Daemon. Within minutes more riders arrived with aid, the others contemplating the possibility of an attack. They found you on top of the Red Wyrm. Distraught and holding the young prince’s body hugged onto you, getting him off the mount proved a far harder challenge than anything the Stranger would ever test them to. A crying princess and an unwilling dragon.

You had raced behind the wheelhouse carrying Daemon back to the Red Keep. Maesters were already alerted and awaiting the prince in his bed chambers. While you had no business being in his quarters, even you had found him. You paced like a mad woman outside his bed chambers, if he died you swore to torment him in the afterlife as you counted every brick placed in the wall you were staring at.

Prince Baelon soon after burst through his quarters, hearing about his son as his conversation with father seemed to have turned quarrelsome. Both him and Viserys had raced down the corridors, the sight was none for relief but you sat on the floor. Knees bobbing in anxiety as you chewed through your nails. Having realised what Daemon might have been doing as dread and anger was replaced with guilt. You made him do this.

The questioning look on the princess’ faces was replied with one meek sentence “I asked him for the moon,” your eyes welling once more. Yet for the sake of your dignity and name you turned away.

After much waiting, yet not having left Daemon’s quarters. You waited patiently for him to awaken, for reasons other than to either press grateful kisses all over his face, or grovel at his feet for his blessed romanticism. Flattered (truly - completely) for broken bones set straight, and bruising along the side of his shoulders and two fat sheep, the cost of the moon on land. When Daemon grumbled awake, his family were the first to receive him until Baelon - being the true supporter of your union - ushered you in after demanding that the Maesters and attendants all leave. The father in him refrained from yelling at his son’s recklessness but you dutifully performed that right for him.

Daemon grinned, loopy from the milk of poppy no doubt. “Princess!” he dragged, very likely expecting an embrace or a pat on his shoulders for his efforts as he sat perched by pillows against the stone headboard. He instead was met with a swift and ringing slap across his cheeks, your eyes and nostrils flared.

“Have you lost your fucking mind!” the rage of a true Dornish woman radiating through your words, unbothered that the Heir to the Iron Throne stood witness to the crisp smack you had landed on his son’s face. You tilted your head, demanding an answer - palm stinging and yet itching to land another sharp smack on his other cheek as he grinned once more. While his cock nearly twitched seeing his sweet princess so ferocious about his life, your eye would soon begin to twitch as he kept up his antics.

“You asked for the moon,” he trailed away, clearly aware of the blunder he had created.

“A joke Daemon! A joke!” you dug your fingers into his cream tunic as you climbed on his bed “If I asked you to jump off Maegor's Holdfast, would you?” you scolded, Daemon’s mischievous glint now turned soft as your anger gave way to your concern. He nodded in agreement, nodding away like a spring headed doll. You smacked him on the shoulder once more, your bottom lip trembling as you remembered the terror you had felt as he laid unconscious in your arms “I thought - you moron,” your voice broke. “I thought you were dead,” you whimpered, making Daemon shuffle up higher.

He pushed stray hairs away from your face, his eyes soft as he glanced over your scrunched face. His thumbs caressing your cheeks before pulling you into him. You sobbed, near incoherent as relief washed over your fright. Daemon shushed you, apologising for scaring you, he looked up to where his father stood in his receiving chambers with a sheepish yet apologetic smile on his face. Baelon’s eyes glinted with knowing sadness, smithing Daemon wrote as disappointment for the stunt he had pulled. Baelon nodded knowingly at Daemon, reassuring him that you and him not to be disturbed before exiting and closing the door behind him.

Daemon milked his injuries for all they were worth, the warrior in him laid to rest as he demanded care from you at all times. From having you snuck through the tunnels to lay with him curled under the furs to insisting that you change his bandaging for him, read for him and braid his hair. The reality that Daemon was the younger sibling had never been more apparent than these past two moons as his bones realigned themselves, even Caraxes shared Daemon’s temperament during this time. Refusing to hunt and gobbling through the horde of sheep the dragon keepers would bring for him.

Whatever announcements of nuptials were to be made were postponed until he healed whole. So here you lay in the Godswood with Daemon oddly chirped than before as Prince Baelon’s feast begins tonight, having him affirmed as heir yet again as Jahereys health began to decline. Barely being able to speak more than a cough or two. The Old King’s time neared to an end, something that had deeply bothered all the Targaryens in the family. Bringing nearly the end of the century of dragons, even Aemma near the end of term. Much was to grace House Targaryen in the coming moons, so sitting here under the red leaves in the glaring warmth of the afternoon - there was silence, there was tranquillity.

You mindlessly sectioned Daemon's hair, braiding it far better than the handmaiden did for him. “You are going to be the prettiest Prince tonight, have women drooling and what not,” you giggled, knowing very well he found your teasing amusing but it often came at the price of having your rear smacked out of the blue.

“I shall escort you tonight,” Daemon whispered, lost in the sensations of your finger tips fiddling against his scalp, consequences and rules meant little to him now, let the world know and have the bother be done with, you were his. What else was there to say about it

“No, you may not,” you shook your head, tongue poked out as you dismissed him. He moved his head to look up at you, you shook your head once more “We cannot, not just yet,”

This one dismissal would result in a knight of pawing and pouting, you were sure of it. A prince of six and ten and yet he couldn’t behave like one. Your gown for tonight already laid awaits in your bed chambers, a gorgeous mustard and gold gown to compliment the symbols of your house. While Daemon often insisted you wear black or perhaps even red, in his head the two of you were already wed; it was only a matter of formality. What courting a woman that has been with him since his toddlerhood.

The Throne room once more had been decorated to charm the guests travelling from all over the Known World, to pay respects to the Old King and to find allegiances with their soon to be King, Prince Baelon. Many noble ladies of courts far and wide, dressed in their finest gowns, hoping to catch the eye of a Targaryen prince, perhaps the heir or perhaps his son. Prince Baelon appeared mellow, almost irked as he made his rounds. You greeted him upon arrival but his usually courteous smile to you seemingly turned to a grunt of an acknowledgment. You found solace within your known friends as they gushed over each other’s gowns while feasting over candied apples and cake. Daemon arrived later, a quirk of his as he walked in head held high and nonchalant, lips curled in a smirk as ladies began to hound him with questions of his well being.

The Kingsgaurd made their presence known as the crowd simmered to whispered conversations, everyone resumed their seats on either side of the Throne room. You sat with a few Dornish delegates and your brother Quentel Martell, he was rather chirpy about being housed by Targaryens, and odd joy or perhaps understanding bubbling in his chest as he socialised with the other heads of houses. The grand titles of the king were read out as his silhouette crowded your vision, the Old King stood in his regalia. A dying dragon yet stood commanding an entire room, people erupted in cheers as he walked to his Throne, his heir and son stood by the spiking swords by the ground.

The grandeur of the feast continued through the elaborate evening, tables coated in food and spilt wine drying sticky. Daemon and you made your rounds, inquiring of the latest salacious gossip and giggling over the older maidens that swooned over his father,when in was unsaid yet apparent that no woman in all of this court would ever be what Alyssa Targaryen was, her fire: her passion were truly unmatched. Another round of announcements were to be made, a grand toast to proclaim Baelon Targaryen as heir once more.

“It is with great pride, I once again affirm,” Jaeherys looked to his son admiringly, Baelon shuffled uncomfortably where he stood and yet you held a sorrowful smile, he truly deserved to have Alyssa beside him, she would have been a far valiant Queen than Westeros had ever seen. “My son, Baelon Targaryen is Heir to the Iron Throne and to be the future King of The Seven King,” the crowd applauded in unison as you joined them, Daemon nudged Viserys as he would be King after his father. As the applause died down, Jaehereys continued “I also with great pleasure, announce the betrothal of my grandson Daemon Targaryen,”

Heat creeped onto your cheeks as you caught Daemon’s lilac eyes across the room, crinkled at the corner as he smirked at you; both of you already aware of the verdict. Daemon contained all his animalistic happiness within him as he mouthed “my wife” to you. For moments, the hundreds of nobles and servants around you disappeared, all the remained were your eyes and his, separated by the wall from the watching gallery where you stood, here where you would be married, anointed by the King himself or the High Septon.

“With the noble lady Rhea of House Royce!” King Jaehereys’s voice boomed through the hall following thunderous applause. The crowds either turned to direct their applause at Daemon or turned to find the bronze dressed house and clapped.

Daemon's betrayed frown turned to his grandsire and his father, this couldn’t be - he was told otherwise, he wished otherwise. Lady Rhea, the great brown haired beauty she was - had already approached the makeshift altar, shuffling her way past the chairs to the Iron Throne; she stopped by Daemon, waiting from him to approach her. Daemon stood his ground, a deceived scowl began to tear through his princely composure and yet he had no choice over the demanding glare Jaehereys had fixed upon his grandson. Daemon felt the urge to empty his contents right onto the stone floor as Lady Rhea and him bowed in honour. Rhea, unaware of Daemon’s inner discomfort began to soak in the outpour of love for the new Targaryen wife to be.

While Daemon began to contemplate ways to weasel his way out of this, he found you standing at the gallery. The wine cup in your hand king dropped as you stool colourless and frozen. Not a blink nor a twitch as you stared at the window behind the throne, bile covered tongue as the sweet wine in your mouth turned bitter. The night was far from ended.

“With such auspicious news, my son, Baelon Targaryen presents you with your future Queen. To secure another reign of dragons, the Prince is betrothed to the Princess of Dorne!”

Another round of shivers jolted you from your trance, this time your reddening eyes shifted to look at the King - he who searched for your mustard clothed figure in the sea of people. Baelon had sooner caught your eye than him as he approached the stairs leading up to the gallery. People all around you are cheering and you hear muffled chatter. His hands tucked behind his back as he waited for you to come to him, how do you marry a man who held nothing but fatherly admiration for you wit, how do you marry the father of your lover. You eyes hadn’t dared meet Daemon’s just yet, refusing to look at the woman that stood next to him as you pulled away from the steel railing of the gallery. Your feet mindlessly carrying you to the unchosen prince, your palms shaking as you took his hand. Any lady in your position would quake with blushed prospects, “she’s just shy” you were terrified, betrayed and above all bleeding.

There will be a part 2 :)

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[just-some-random-blogger]

5 Dose Poison

Daemon Targaryen x Lannister!Reader

Summary: You would rather die than to marry Daemon Targaryen. Scratch that, you rather would have people think you were the reason why the prince died a cruel and mysterious death. Mmm, that's right.

Word Count: 5k+

Warnings: Fem!Reader, reader is blonde cos of her house, spoiled brat themes, city girl!reader, y 'i-do-want-i-want' n, unapologetic attempts at murder, enemies to ... enemies, sexual tension™, typos, etc.

A/N: since no one requested anything, i thought of being annoying also just roll with the fact that chocolate exists in this universe ok

Jason exits first, then my father, then me. The moment I stick my head out of our carriage, I pinch my nose at the revolting smell in the air, "what in the name of the gods," I hold back a wretch, "is that revolting odor?" My older brother extends his hand to me. I take his hand and walk out of the carriage as he responds, "that is the smell of dragons." "Power, daughter," our father corrects, "that's the smell of power." I make a face at the old man, brushing my nose, "Casterly Rock does not nearly smell half as bad as this." Jason snorts, releasing my hand. Before our father could chastise me for my crude remark, I head into the palace, eyeing the good looking guard on my way in, "ser." His eyes dart to me and nods promptly, "Lady Lannister." Jason eyes him darkly as he passes and speed up to my side. He grabs my arm and mutters, "control yourself, sister." I look up to my brother, raising my nose, "no."

Dose 1

"Has my father sent for our tailor yet?" I ask my handmaiden as I take a sip of my second cup of tea.

"No, my lady," she says, "but Lord Jason saw me a few days ago and told me to advise you to commission the tailors here at-"

"And I told you to tell my dim-witted brother that the fashion in this side of the realm is stiff and itchy," I quip, placing my cup down on my saucer, "the very color in my face is draining at the idea of wearing leathery skins all day."

"Of course, my Lady," she says, nodding, "I will repeat your words more clearly next time."

"Lady Lannister," a deep voice calls.

I turn to whom spoke and find the good looking kingsguard, "Ser Arthur."

"The prince has urgently summoned you to the ward."

I frown, "why is he in the ward?" and not at the grave?

He does not reply to my question, "Prince Daemon has tasked me to escort you there at once."

I hum, placing my tea cup and saucer on the table, "as you can see, you interrupted me while I am preoccupied."

"Apologies, my lady," he nods, "but the prince insists on your presence."

I sigh, and stand, "fine," walking over to him, "you must make me a brew of hot tea in return, Arthur," I narrow my eyes, "or do your skills extend only to stabbing people?"

Arthur purses his lips, "if my lady insists, I will make the best tea I can."

I nod and motion vaguely, "escort me then."

The moment we reach the ward, I hear Daemon's crass voice muttering what could only be curse words in High Valyrian, not that I could care in the least.

I find Daemon lying lazily on a cot, delirious with laughter. I do not even hold back an eyeroll at the sight of him. I knew I should have added more arsenic.

"Maester Tut," I turn to the man standing beside the prince's bed, "to what do I owe this displeasure of being summoned during tea time?"

"Fucking whore," Daemon mutters under his breath.

I raise my brows at him and tilt my head, "careful, prince," I link my hands together, "you are speaking about your future wife."

"I would rather die than be married to you."

I beam and release a laugh, "an exciting proposition."

The maester clears his throat uncomfortably, "Lady Lannister."

"Maester Tut," I repeat, turning to him with a pressed smile.

"The prince has been poisoned," he says, turning over to the said man. He then picks up a box and shows it to me. I look down at the box of chocolates and scoff out a chuckle. Idiots.

"Are you insinuating that these chocolates I sent to my betrothed are poisoned?"

Daemon breaks into another string of laughter.

I look at the maester with an expectant look. He does not speak a word. I roll my eyes, picking one chocolate in my fingers, "and if I eat all of this in front of you, this will prove my innocence?"

They do not get to respond as I take all remaining eight chocolate balls into my mouth. I chew and hum at the bittersweet taste that melts in my mouth, "perhaps the prince simply is not used to such refined delicacies."

He begins his rant in High Valyrian again and the maester is visibly disturbed by his words.

I sigh, ignoring him, "what do you wish that I do, maester? Shall I inspect all the food he's eaten? Interrogate the cooks?" I continue to melt the sweets in my mouth, "clearly I must do something to find whomever would do such a thing to my beloved prince."

Daemon manages to finally sit from where he laid and looks up at me in disdain, "you conniving wench of a-"

"But then again," I give a twisted expression, "perhaps it is your own bitter words that have poisoned you, Daemon."

He jolts up to his feet, but he is seemingly too light headed to keep still. I look up at him in disgust as he topples like a tower about to crumble. I step back until I unknowingly bump into Arthur. I turn to him and hum, "oh, you're still here?"

"My prince, calm yourself," the maester speaks, attempting to push Daemon down.

He shoves him off, silver hair flying at the harsh movement, "you want to play dirty, let's play dirty."

I raise my upper lip, "you're the only one between us that has poor hygiene."

Arthur coughs at the sound of that, pressing his lips tightly after.

"If this grave and preposterous accusation is now over," I quickly curtsy, "I will have my leave now." I turn to Arthur, "I expect a fresh kettle of tea most promptly."

Arthur turns to me and nods, "of course my lady."

Dose 2

"Finally," I call the moment the unfashionable tailor walks in. I stand from settee I was sat and walk over to the old maiden, "measure me first. I cannot bear the sound of that dragon's breathing."

The said dragon breathes heavier as he lets out a dry scoff. Daemon then shifts from his armchair, watching as I make a beeline to tailor. I raise my hands to my side and watch as the woman unpacks her things.

She raises her eyes to me as she pulls out objects from her satchel, "my lady. I must insist on measuring you without your dress."

I give her an annoyed look, and huff as I drop my arms, "this is why I insisted on my tailor from Casterly Rock."

The tailor does not have the opportunity to speak as I turn to the bored looking man, who was counting the tiles on the ceiling, "you."

Daemon does not look.

"Betrothed," I growl in annoyance, turning my back to him, gathering my hair up, "unlace my dress."

I finally catch Daemon's attention with those words, it seems, as he quips a quick, "what?"

I roll my eyes, "are you dumb and deaf?" I shoot him a glare, "unlace my dress, I said!" I drop my yellow locks and cross my arms, turning to him, "or are you terrified to do so because of your lack of experience?"

"My lady, I can-"

Daemon marching over to me cuts the tailor off. I give him an annoyed look as he makes his way to me. He roughly grabs my shoulders and spins me back, throwing my hair over to the front with no regard.

"You rugged oaf!" I whine, gathering my blonde curls with care, "my handmaiden worked hard to fix my hair."

"I don't give a fuck," he replies as he rips at my laces with no regard.

I whine at his actions and elbow him in anger, hitting him square in the jaw. He grunts then scoffs. He rips at my arm that hit him, pulling it tightly behind me in a painful manner.

"Daemon!" I whine anguish, "you expect to get my out of my dress with my arm coiled back?!"

"You started it," he seethes.

I laugh loudly, "as petty as a child!"

He does not release me.

I then stomp back harshly, successfully hitting his foot.

He lets out a pained yelp and releases me with much force that I shoot over to the tailor, crashing onto her with my teeth and skull.

"Fuck," I pull away from her, "my apologies," I whine, helping her straighten up.

Daemon scoffs once more, still groaning from the pain in his foot, "I didn't know you could apologize."

I snap my gaze over to him and jeer, "and you will never know what it feels to hear one from me!" I turn back to the tailor and pull back, "I've changed my mind."

I point to Daemon, "do him first," I then contort my hands behind me, "I will undo my laces myself."

"Good luck with that," Daemon scoffs again, undoing his belt, easily slipping out of his tunic.

I roll my eyes at the sight of him ripping off his inner shirt. He does not look at me when he speaks, "try not to enjoy yourself so much."

A few moments later, I manage to struggle out my dress. The entire action has left me breathless and sweaty, that I decide to step out of my underdress as well.

"Step aside," I command.

"My lady!" the tailor exclaims upon seeing my nudity.

I shove Daemon away by my hips and raise my hands the way I did a while ago, "what?" I peer down at the woman, "I am out of my dress, am I not?"

Daemon was about to bark out insults but ceases at the sight of me.

I look over to him and raise my brows, "wipe the dribble off your chin," I mutter, rolling my eyes at Daemon's unabashed gaze upon my body.

The tailor his hesitant to even approach me, as she was far concerned about the prince' downturned gaze

"He is to be my husband," I mutter, "matters not if he sees me like this. And you are my tailor. Attend to your duties."

She presses her lips tightly and bows, beginning to measure me.

Dose 3

A loud and angry voice calls my name out from outside my chambers. I knew well who was tasteless enough to make such ruckus in this late hour of night. Soon enough, my older brother bursts in, heaving in rage, leaving the doors wide open upon his entrance.

Neither my handmaiden, who was combing my hair, nor I, that was lathering oils on my hand, flinch. I turn to my sibling from the reflection of my vanity mirror, "brother."

"You stripped in front of him?!" Jason sneers as he walks over to where I was sat. I uninterestedly examine my nails as he continues, "have you finally gone mad?"

"Does it matter?" I quip, turning to my other hand, "our marriage is set in ten days, and he would have seen me naked soon enough."

I finally turn to my brother, "unless..."

He raises a finger at my words, "enough of your schemes."

"Hmm," I wave my handmaiden away.

She curtsies and leaves both of us to argue with ourselves.

"You've grown soft, Jason," I mutter, "matters not. I've decided to take things into my own hands anyway."

"You do understand what it means for our houses to align," he growls in annoyance, "you are inching closer and closer to the edge of everyone's patience with your antics."

I roll my eyes, "if your cunt's so thirsty for power, marry him yourself."

Jason scoffs in disbelief.

I stand from my chair and turn to him, crossing my arms, "oh, pardon me. You supposedly have balls."

Jason points a finger to him as he steps nearer, "if I hear another word about your schemes, I will-"

"Kill me?" I finish for him, reeling back at the smell of his breath. I waft my hands in front of me, "what would father say about you killing his favorite child?" I narrow my eyes at him, "sounds to me like a one way road to disinheritance."

"He would not," Jason drawls.

I shrug, "perhaps you should try to find out yourself."

Before he could speak another word, I push him towards the door, "leave me now." I manage to get him across the room, "you may be my brother but it is no less impertinent to witness me in my sleepwear."

"Ha," he laughs loudly, "yet you so eager flaunted your naked mound to the-"

"Very good!" I call, upon seeing Arthur who was making his way down the hall, "you there," I raise my hand, beckoning the knight, "escort my ill-tempered brother to his horse," I give one final push to the man, nearly sending him to his knees.

I sigh as Arthur makes his way over, then adding, "or kill him."

Jason shoots me a dirty glare, to which I smirk, "matters not to me."

Upon seeing my attire, Arthur turns away and Jason instinctively blocks his line of sight. I roll my eyes and head back in my chamber, "boys," I wave off before closing my door.

I suppose it was too good to be true that I would get a good night's sleep.

Never one that was a deep sleeper, my eyes flutter open at the vague sound of shuffling.

The next thing I know, I am faced with a blade to my neck before I could even sit up from bed.

Daemon is looking down at me, dripping in mud and blood all over my bed.

I make a revolted sound and suddenly felt ungrateful for the moonlight streaking in the room that revealed the grotesque figure in front of me, "you are true to your love of filth, Targaryen."

He throws a sopping rag to my face and I squeal at the contact.

"Be quiet, you overconfident bitch," Daemon hisses, pressing his blade nearer. I turn to him with grit teeth as I feel the prick of his weapon on my skin. His eyes dart to the rag that was on my fucking face, "that's your sigil, is it not?"

I hum loudly, "wow, I can fucking tell with it blocking my eye and you choking me with Dark Sister."

He scoffs, "nice of you to know the name of your executioner," he says pulling his sword away.

I immediately sit up and swat the disgusting thing off my cheek. I groan at the sight of my ruined sheets because of the grimy prince. I breathily groan, "these were just changed this morning, you pig!"

"Mm," he sits down next to me, with absolute no regard for my legs. I pull away underneath him as he then rolls around my blankets, making my jaw slack in utter mortification. Once he is on his side, facing me, he adds, "I'm sure they can change them again."

"GUAR-" my scream is halted by Daemon's tight grip on my neck. His hands are so unforgiving against me that I cannot even ripe them off.

He crawls closer and presses against me. The feel of his mucky attire is revolting.

Daemon hisses under his breath, "I am so sick of the sound of your voice."

He releases me after my veins begin to bulge on my throat. I heavily try to catch my breath.

He grabs the rag I threw to the side and raises it, repeating, "the Lion of Lannister."

I turn to the mangled cloth, not even able to make out any sort of pattern, "you're fucking mad."

"You paid someone to ambush me," he groans, throwing the rag back to my face, "this was what was left of your dimwitted assassins."

I roughly wipe the muck off my face and seethe, "are you fucking dumb enough to believe me to be sloppy about killing you?"

Sick of his tantrum, I shove him off with my arms and legs then jump out of bed. Before he could sit up, I'm growling back, "and even if I did, so what?!"

Daemon scoffs, before jumping in front of me and grabbing my arms. He shoves me against the wall with a thud and his one knee is seals itself between the space between my legs. I whine at the contact as he growls, "then that would be treason," he presses his knee closer to my groin the same way his hand force me harder onto the wall, "punishable by death."

"So fucking kill me!" I crane my neck up to him that our noses touch, "if your basis is truly justified by that disgusting piece of cloth, then do not hesitate," I wrangle against him but it is futile. He is too strong that I cannot even manage an inch of motion.

"You think you're the only one who hates this agreement, you spineless snake?" I grit my teeth as I bubble into angry laughter, "you are right to be paranoid about me."

He clenches his jaw and leans down, whispering like a sacred promise, "I will destroy you."

"Oh, my dear," I faux coo, "not unless I destroy you first."

Dose 4

"What insolence will I behold today, Daemon?" I mutter in annoyance as make my way to the dragon pit.

All at once, a foul smell bombards my nostrils, a shriek pierces my ears, and my eyes grow wide at the sight of a beaten man before me.

It takes a moment for me to realize who it was, "is that... Arthur?"

Daemon, who is standing next to the knelt man, places his hands behind his back, "a pity that you do not recognize your lover in such circumstance."

"And who is my lover?" I question, walking over to him, ignoring the clicking sounds his dragon was making from behind, "you?"

Daemon scoffs. His dragon joins him with a whine. As much as the sight of a massive carnivore makes my stomach swirl in agitation, I do well to mask it as the beasts rider makes me coil in disgust.

"I would rather fuck a horse than have anyone think that you were my lover."

I click my tongue, "poor mare."

Once I am before them, I look down to Arthur's broken nose and busted lip, actually feeling bad.

Daemon notices this and says, "I heard rumors that spoke of a guard lingering in your quarters at night," he turns to Arthur and kicks him to the side. It seems as though he has no more strength to even move.

"After a quick investigation, I caught the culprit and brought him here to answer to his perverted crimes."

I turn from Arthur to Daemon, who had an evil glint in his eyes, "then you should do this to yourself, considering you did not even linger in my chambers but invited yourself inside and assaulted me."

He steps forward chuckling dryly, "pardon me for not fucking you like your whore over there," he motions to his side with his head.

I scoff and shake my head. I cross my arms once he presses near me, "you think those rumors are true?"

Daemon tilts his head, "he's confessed every word to me."

"Then he's a fucking liar and thus deserves to be punished," I quip, unfolding my arms. I step towards Daemon, eliminating the space between us that our chests are touching, "but I doubt he confessed. It's more accurate that you're a shit-faced liar because that man did not touch me."

Daemon throws his head back as he chuckles, "how treacherous it is to be in love," he looks at me, "you would do anything to save him."

I raise my brow and scoff in amusement, "oh," I place a finger to my lips, "you think I'm defending him?" I bonce the same finger on his nose and pull away, "I don't care if you kill him," I walk backwards as I motion with my hands, "I'm only telling you the truth, because aren't you a prince?"

Daemon's face tenses as he watches me walk off.

I laugh at him, "aren't you supposed to stand for justice?" I hum looking away, "but then again the likes of you wouldn't even know what that means."

I still at the sound Arthur's groan. I sigh at the sight of him and turn back to Daemon, "maybe I should have fucked him once," without taking moon tea.

I turn my back to him and walk out of the dragon pit, "maybe then I'd sire a child that wasn't so fucking ugly."

I barely even hear the command as there is a great heat and a loud gust of fire, followed by the smell of burning flesh.

Dose 5

"Might I request a dance from the lady of the hour?" another lord asks before I could even separate from my current partner.

I smile at the man as I catch my breath, "of course."

I take his hand as the stranger I've only just laid my eyes upon now leads me off to the dance floor. We begin to glide to the center of the room and wave our arms out in sync. He grabs my hand and pulls me close too him a little bit more than I wanted.

I push him by the chest and give him warning look. He brushes this off by starting a conversation, "I am bereft by the idea you will be wed to the prince tomorrow."

I roll my eyes at him, "you are one of the many lords who share the sentiment."

"Oh?" he seems to take my statement and actions humorously, "has each lord confessed the same sentiments to you while you danced?"

"Why wouldn't they," I retort dryly, "look at me. The only daughter of house Lannister, rich, powerful, and impossibly easy to the eyes."

He snorts, thinking my words were jests, "you know, men do not enjoy such pointed remarks."

I give him a look and decide the dance is over, "and why would I care about what men think?"

Without regard, I pull away from him and make my way to my seat. Before he could think about even grabbing my hand or anything, I push though the most congested area of the room and lose him quickly.

Once I arrive to my place at the table, I sit down and take a gulp of wine. With a sigh, I look out to the room, finding that husband-to-be was still nowhere to be found.

"Control yourself, sister," Jason scolds from his seat beside me, not even turning to me as he drinks wine himself.

I turn to him and feel my face pinch in annoyance, "have you not noticed the more you tell me this, the more disinclined I am to do so?"

Jason sighs, giving me a look, "still, I hope you are capable of reason."

"I am," I retort, "but not reason steered by idiots who listen to the head between their legs and not the one between their shoulders."

Before my brother could respond, a voice cuts him off.

"Lady Lannister."

I turn and find my lips pulling upward at the man who called my attention, "Lord Stark."

Cregan Stark smiles back at me as he walks over, "I was delighted to be receive invitation to your feast tonight."

I stand from my seat and meet him halfway, "were you now?" I cross my arms, "I say I do not enjoy your sentiment, my Lord."

He knits his brows, though his smirk does not quite fade, "and why is that, may I ask?"

I pout as I think, then cross my arms, "I would prefer it if you told me you were writhing in jealousy."

Jason, who happened to overhear as he was not too far, sighs as he pours himself another cup of wine.

Cregan chuckles, placing his hands behind him, "how honest of you."

I tilt my head, "I've been called many things by men, but it's only now that I've been called honest," I step closer muttering breathily, "I find that they much prefer the word crass."

He shakes his head, "I would not dare belittle the fearsome lioness."

"Mm," I hum, "who knew wolves could sound so pretty."

Much to my surprise, Cregan's face actually melts into a shade of scarlet.

I chuckle at him and raise a hand, "you are here to invite me to dance, are you not?"

He chuckles, "I suspected you were not in the mood for it, so I thought to invite you to converse while we drink."

"For you," I lean in, "I'm in the mood for whatever."

Cregan chuckles once more, shaking his head. He then does not leave my hand hanging any longer, "perhaps we can dance, drink, and discourse all at once."

I hum, breaking into a smile, "that's the smartest thing I've heard from a man tonight."

And so, the two of us grab a cup of wine and make our merry-way to the middle of the room to dance.

We laugh as we weave through the sea of partners over topics that were honestly not that funny to laugh the way we did. We wind our arms together as we twirl around like the rest of the dancing people.

The deep red wine splashes around because of our movements that turn less graceful with every sip; some of the liquid fell to the floor, some to our clothes, but neither of us care for the mess.

Cregan tells me about his escapades and his dire wolves. In truth, I could not care less for either, but the way he mumbles on about it, licking his lips, stained in a shade darker than it was, and how his eyes shine at the details he mention makes it the most conversation I have had yet.

I am too dazed and infatuated by the alcohol and his dark hair to remember how I ended up pressed close to him, no longer baring anything but his torso in my hands

Cregan guides me off him and twirls me around on beat to the music, making me giggle as I do.

By the time he stops spinning me with my arm raised over head, he pulls me back close. Though I am not, the room is still spinning.

I barely have the wits to stay on my feet and Cregan takes the opportunity to dip me on beat, one hand pressed firmly on my back, the other by the curve of my hip.

I blink rapidly, trying to straighten my blurry vision.

Once my vision is steady, I feel my breath hitch at the sight of Cregan's close face. I feel his hot breath. I take in the curve of his nose and thick lashes.

My hand darts up to his neck, my fingers dig into the roots of his hair.

He slowly lifts me up, and in that moment, it was just him and me.

Cregan's hands brush up to my sides. He breathlessly whispers, as if he had ran all the way from the north to my side, "I am writhing in jealousy."

My pulse begins to quicken.

I don't even manage to reply as suddenly I'm being ripped away from his grip. Cregan goes flying across floor, his large body hitting a few people along the way.

Having his senses slightly dulled my the wine, Cregan does not react as quickly as he could have. I only see blur of a man before I am roughly grabbed and thrown over a shoulder. I realize who the attacker is when people mutter the name of the prince as they part to the side.

I crane my neck and see Daemon's silver hair and leather attire. I groan in annoyance and bang at his back. He does not react to me whatsoever.

He manages to storm out of the hall and begins to rant the moment he does, "your Lannister cunt just cannot contain itself, can it?"

I begin to feel my insides swirl in the most uncomfortable of manners because of how I was folded on my stomach, "put me down, you prick!"

He scoffs and begins to exorcise me in High Valyrian. At least that's what it sounds like.

I feel a sourness rise from my throat.

I hold back a gag as I unceremoniously shake while the idiot goes up a flight of stairs, "Daemon, I'm gonna-"

"Shut up."

"No! I-" I don't finish my words as suddenly I release the contents of my stomach all over his back and the stairs behind him. The sound is wet and revolting and immediately alerts Daemon.

The moment he reaches the top, he curses as he sets me down before him, straining to look at his ruined back before turning to me, "what the fuck is wrong with you?!"

I look up at him as I lean into him to wipe my face on his chest. I grunt as I pull away the same time he does, "I tried to warn you."

He steps forward all of a sudden and grabs my face in his hand, "you would allow Cregan Stark to touch you during the feast for our marriage!"

I scowl at him taking an incredibly long time to process his words, "you're upset..." I blink slowly, "... about Stark?"

Daemon's intense gaze does a miniscule shift, as if he only now just realized what he, himself, said.

I raise my brows at him, feeling a cog in my mind shift. I hum, suddenly sobering up under his gaze. I lick the sourness off my lips and tilt my head, "he would be the best match for me, no?"

Daemon's eye barely twitches.

"My blonde hair would fair horribly against his dark locks," I chuckle, "my babes would look with bla-"

Daemon chokes me before I could finish my words. His jaw clenches before he mutters something in High Valyrian. I don't get to pull him off me since he shoves me off and walks away right after.

#poor arthur #daemon fanfic #daemon fic #daemon targaryen fanfic #daemon angst #daemon x lannister!reader #daemon x reader #daemon targaryen #daemon targaryen angst #daemon targaryen x you #daemon x you #house of the dragon fanfic #hotd fanfic

[escapingpurgatory]

Welcome To The Shitshow...

welcome in 🤯 my name is taylor, but you can call me tay if you want!

facts about me!

i love horror and gore, so please be prepared for that whilst looking at my blog

i'm a cis female, my pronouns are she/her

i'm a metalhead and a punk 🤘

my favorite colors are red and black

i'm bisexual 😱

I AM A MINOR!!

If that makes you uncomfortable, no need to follow or interact. This also means: creepy old men, FUCK OFF.

DNI if...

you're homophobic

you're transphobic

you're a nazi

you're racist

you're a pedophile

you're a p0rn blog

you're a terf

you're a z00ph1le

stay away from me and my blog if you are any of these things.

Favorite Bands/Artists

45 grave, 55gore, 6arelyhuman, abscess, acid, acid bath, alex g, alice in chains, anthrax, apati, artillery, autopsy, a7x, ayesha erotica, babes in toyland, bathory, bauhaus, beherit, bethlehem, bikini kill, billy joel, bio-cancer, black flag, black sabbath, blod besvimelse, bodily stew, bolt thrower, bon jovi, bones, bratmobile, cannabis corpse, cannibal corpse, carnivore, car seat headrest, christian death, cigarettes after sex, corneus, the cramps, crass, crystal castles, the cure, cursed pumpkin, dark angel, darkened nocturn slaughtercult, darkthrone, david bowie, dead kennedys, death, deftones, deicide, destruction, doom, the doors, d.r.i., duster, dystopia, ecpatia, the electric hellfire club, entombed, erotic gore cunt, ethel cain, evanescence, exhumed, exodus, fiona apple, fluids, forgotten ruin, forgotten tomb, ghost, ghoul, gorepot, grave, green day, grausemkeit, haggus, happy days, have a nice life, hellhammer, him, hole, hulder, hypothermia, immortal, insane clown posse, iron maiden, jack off jill, joan jett, johnny cash, joy division, këkht arähk, kittie, kmfdm, korn, kreator, kvävning, lana del rey, last days of humanity, leviathan, lifelover, mäleficentt, mayhem, mazzy star, megadeth, melanie martinez, mercyful fate, metallica, mindless self indulgence (fuck jimmy!), ministry, misfits, mitski, morbid, morbid angel, mortician, mortuary drape, mötley crüe, municipal waste, murderdolls, mxmxm, my bloody valentine, my chemical romance, nails, napalm death, nausea, nicole dollanganger, nine inch nails, nirvana, nocturnal depression, nuclear assault, obituary, the offspring, opiated devilsperm, overkill, party cannon, pierce the veil, pink floyd, pisdati bylat, possessed, psychonaut 4, queen, putrid stu, radiohead, rammstein, rob zombie, the runaways, salvia palth, sarcófago, scary bitches, sebum excess production, shining, sign crushes motorist, sisters of mercy, skag, skinny puppy, slayer, sleeping with sirens, slipknot, slowdive, the smashing pumpkins, the smiths, sodom, s.o.d., sorry..., specimen, spectral decay, subhumans, suicidal-idol, suicidal tendencies, system of a down, tankard, tenebris, toxic holocaust, tu carne, tv girl, vampirska, venom, watain, weedeater, whiplash, white zombie, xasthur, and many more!

Favorite Films/TV Shows

orphan, a nightmare on elm street, kill bill vol. 1, death proof, i tonya, scarface, willy wonka and the chocolate factory, the dark knight, billy madison, terrifier, terrifier 2, spider-man (2002), meet the parents, the cable guy, dumb and dumber, the evil dead, evil dead II, studio 666, house of 1000 corpses, morbius, the nightmare before christmas, school of rock, hannibal, the silence of the lambs, speak, pulp fiction, walk the line, the emperor's new groove, kronk's new groove, ratatouille, barbie, joker, beetlejuice, happy gilmore, wayne's world, beauty and the beast, the princess and the frog, scream, black swan, metal lords, x, pearl, howl's moving castle, christine, mulan (animated!), beavis and butt-head do america, girl interrupted, zoolander, anger management, e.t., the wizard of oz, doctor strange, mr. deeds, twilight, edward scissorhands, coraline, the virgin suicides, a goofy movie, an extremely goofy movie, the great outdoors, superbad, monster house, liar liar, the conjuring, signs, annabelle, annabelle: creation, napoleon dynamite, mean girls, the truman show, the simpons movie, jennifer's body, the menu, clueless, dracula (1931), heathers, american psycho, the breakfast club, thirteen, the craft, disturbing behavior, the shining, hell's kitchen, kitchen nightmares, the simpsons, gilmore girls, death note, beavis and butt-head, wandavision, a series of unfortunate events, brooklyn nine-nine, metalocalypse, hotel hell

That's All! Have A Good Rest Of Your Day/Night. Take Care Of Yourselves!

#get to know me #mine #intro post #blog info #obsessed with how this turned out #blog intro #thrash metal #death metal #grindcore #goregrind #black metal #metal #80s punk #punk #goth music #goth rock #alternative

[groundcontrol21]

An Unconventional Tryst (M, Musketeers)

Hope you don’t mind @sickromancer , but I saw your post and thought immediately of a certain man...

On a chilly Monday night, Aramis stole back into his shared rooms at the garrison, doing as much as he could to silently quit his cloak of the rain that had pooled upon it. Mercifully, he discovered a fire blazing in the hearth of his room, but rather unmercifully (for Aramis was cold to the bone and tired and altogether unwanting of conversation) found Porthos awake before it, darning a sock.   

Porthos regarded him without looking up from his handiwork. “Warming beds as usual, Aramis?”

Aramis winced, shivers snaking down his spine as he doffed his cloak. Perhaps exposing his bare skin to the cool night air had not been one of his most prudent choices. “Well, not so much a bed as a… a bit of wall.”

At this, Porthos dropped his sock and fixed Aramis with a wide-eyed stare. “Does the madame du jour not own one?”

“No, no,” Aramis said quickly as he continued to dress down to his smallclothes. “It’s just that given the—let’s say—other residents of her home, we decided a more neutral location would suit both parties best.”

Porthos scoffed incredulously. “So you fucked her outside to avoid her husband, is that it? Is that why you’re shivering?”

“So crass, Porthos!” Aramis chided, before giving his friend a sheepish grin. “But that is more or less the truth, yes.”

“It’s cold! And didn’t it start raining?”

“Not until after we finished. And never fear, dear Porthos,” Aramis continued, fixing the man with a rakish glare, “we each worked up a bit of a sweat.”

“You have a perfectly nice bed here in the garrison, mon ami. Why not make use of it?”

“And turn you out on your ear?” Aramis pounded his breast with a fist. “Porthos, you wound me. I am a gentleman. And besides, the thrill of such an… unconventional place is half the fun.”

With a laugh, Aramis climbed into bed as Porthos returned to his sewing, shaking his head and rolling his eyes and grumbling about just how much there was wrong with his fellow Musketeer. Aramis burrowed down into his covers, feeling his shivers ease as they warmed away the worst of his (gloriously-earned) chill.

*******

Tuesday night, Aramis had gone to bed (at a reasonable hour, no less) with a scratchy throat, only to wake up Wednesday morning with the worst headcold imaginable. His head felt full of mud, his eyes burning with irritated tears, his throat positively raw, and the sneezes… Dear God, the sneezes. He feared more than a couple times he would topple from his bed with the force of them. 

From Porthos, though, his ailment gained little sympathy. The man laughed even as he fortified Aramis with all the handkerchiefs they had between them; judging from the way his nose was positively streaming at all moments, Aramis doubted the collection would last him through the day. He took one of his own, pressing the fine cambric to his nose as another almighty sneeze overtook him. 

“Heh’KSHHOOO! Heh’RSHHH! Oh Porthos,” Aramis moaned, sniffling lamentably into his handkerchief and wondering how it was possible for his nose to feel both dammed and flooded at the same time. “You could at least have some pity on a dying man.”

“Dying?” Porthos chuckled. “Hardly. Just reaping the unconventional consequences of an unconventional tryst, more like.”

“Ihhh’TSCHOOO! Hehh’ihh’ISHHOOO! Heh’KSHHH! Hehhhh…” Aramis rubbed at his nose, which already felt stingingly chapped, and squeezed his eyes shut against the pounding in his head. “Oh, I am so ill. I am never–”

“I’ll stop you there, before you make a promise you can’t keep.”

Aramis coughed. “Perhaps you are right, mon ami.” Good Lord, his head was so congested he could scarcely form words, but Porthos was right; what fun was fun without a bit of danger? “But in any case, it will be a while before I attempt a repeat of Monday night’s excursion.”

“As it should be. I doubt the madame wants to see you like this.”

“Ahh’KESSHH! Snf! Ah, you’d be surprised, dear Porthos,” Aramis said, snuffling heavily. “You would be surprised.”

#ok this is kinda a blend of book and bbc #im saying that bc i know aramis has his own house in the book and i don't really know where he sleeps in the show and its killing me #but hopefully no one else cares #anyway #snz fic #my writing #sick ara/mis #do not reblog to non kink blogs #the world needs so much more historic snz fic #more muskie snz!!!

[lewis-winters]

Day 9: Role Reversal

part of my OC-tober 2022 (that's prolly going to bleed into 2023)! This takes place in the late 1920s, early 1930s, when they were much younger than in the original timeline of People Like Us and in their "we're still frenemies (more friends, tho) but I'm also secretly in love with you" era. Truthfully, I just wanted to write about Teddy in his Female Impersonator/Drag Queen get up. Teddy Davies and Lucas Samsa belong to @hellofanidea! I hope I did them justice.

tw: period typical homo/queer/transphobia, use of the f-slur maliciously, and sexual harassment (a nameless, third party being a little too pushy)

“Oh my,” Teddy swoons as he enters the tiny dressing room, going so far as to sweep a hand up to his cheek in delighted surprise, his painted lips, perfectly coifed wig, carefully made-up face, and silk green gown completing his homage to every Hollywood starlet of the silver screen. “My hero!”

Much to Lucas’ annoyance, Amy and Mags laugh.

“Wounded in battle, and all for you, pretty girl!” Mags crows, taking Lucas’ injured hand and waving it in the air, as if to prove a point. “Look at this delicate face—poor thing’s going to be black and blue tomorrow.”

“Aww,” Amy sighs, faux-concerned and loving every second of this, the bastard. “What’s yer momma gonna say, Lulu? She’ll throw a fit.”

“And yer daddy’s gonna shake yer hand, protectin’ yer girl like that!” Mags pitches in, taking Lucas’ chin to wiggle it in that condescending way she does, when she likes to lord her height, her broadness, her manliness, over his slighter, shorter, and paler frame. Boyish mannerisms made even more boyish by her male impersonator get up, her clothes padded and square in all the right places, the feminine curves she loudly denies she doesn’t have, hidden expertly beneath the layers of what should have been an ill-fitting suit. Handsome, in all aspects except personality, at the present moment, reminding Lucas too keenly of those crass and snarky boys in school he’s always tried to avoid, when he was a kid.

The unwanted reminder sours what’s left of his mood, good or not, and he sharply shrugs out of Mags’ hold with a damning tsk. “Fuck off,” he spits.

It surprises them all.

All except Teddy. “Alright,” he says, clapping his hands together like a chiding mother after a stretch of awkward silence. “You’re both on in five minutes.”

Amy and Mags file out quickly at his cue, too eager to follow Teddy’s directions if it means that it’ll get them away from a grumpy Lucas as fast as possible. A small part of him still largely unaffected by his anger cringes inwardly at his behavior, aware that this was no way his parents raised him to treat his friends, much less ones as loyal as Amy and Mags. But the bigger part of him is still fuming over his current predicament, so he stays silent as Teddy carefully closes the door after them.

And continues to stay silent as Teddy picks his way through the messy dressing room to reach Lucas at the far end, sitting up on one of the rickety desks with a cold towel pressed to his rapidly swelling lower lip. For once, the golden-haired, green-eyed bastard is respecting his quiet, the carefully blank expression he keeps on his face seemingly serving as a muzzle over all those buzzing thoughts whizzing around behind his eyes. Lucas can see them, even in the split second it took for Teddy to accidentally meet his eyes, then rapidly look away, before diligently checking Lucas over like he has a lick of a clue what he’s doing, humming both affirmatively and negatively at what he finds. It’s unnerving to see him this artificially still, not when moments ago he’d been sparking and flaring like a candle flame, dancing and singing amongst the Aurora’s patrons’ tables, skirt swishing, heels tapping, bare shoulder shimmying to the music, exuding so much life Lucas had felt like his very breath was being squeezed out of his body.

“What? What do you want to say?” Lucas snaps, feeling all kinds of sharp all of a sudden. “I can see you holding your tongue.”

“And here I thought you liked me quiet?” Teddy gently teases, smiling slightly even when Lucas sends him a withering glare. It gets quiet again for a moment, but the careful mask has since slipped, enough for the smile to stay, and despite himself, Lucas softens. Just a bit.

“Thank you,” Teddy says, finally looking up to meet Lucas’ gaze with eyes so clear, so green. “I could handle myself but… thank you.”

Swallowing hard, Lucas nods, jerkily. “I know,” is all he can bring himself to say. Because he does know; even dressed the way he was, the anti-thesis to a man’s man, an open target for anyone and everyone, Lucas knows Teddy could handle himself. He’s Teddy, and Teddy is big. Larger than life, really. Slight in some places, with his tapered waist and long, pianist fingers, but tall and broad shouldered, with a wit sharper than any knife and a confidence so overwhelming, people couldn’t help but be drawn to him, in all the worst and best ways. Teddy Davies has known all his life that he was handsome, that he was beautiful, intelligent, and adored, and it informed the way he moves through the world more than anything else, no matter how much he denies that it has.

Men like Teddy were made to be looked at—the ideal All-American Jock, the Golden Boy, meant to inspire all those other men around him to rise and conquer; whilst secretly wishing his downfall with all the pitch-black jealousy hidden in the darkest corners of their hearts. At first his perpetual presence in the spotlight came off as self-absorbed and vain to Lucas, but the longer he knew him, the more Lucas came to understand that, for a queer who likes to wear women’s clothes and dance all weekend through, the spotlight was the most terrifying, loneliest place to be.

Yet in it he remained. Made it home, conducted the eyes that ogled him with a commanding hand and a toss of his pretty head, and made himself even more seen. Shameless. Larger than life. Daring them all: Look all you want. You won’t like what you see, but I don’t care. I’m not going to change.

Teddy was the bravest person Lucas knew.

Still, that doesn’t mean he has to be the loneliest, too. “He clipped you,” Lucas says, lifting his hand to touch the part of Teddy’s sleeve that had ripped upon contact with the rowdy man’s signet ring, when Lucas had pulled him out of the path of the punch. Teddy meets him half-way, shaking his head.

“Hey, let me be doctor, now,” he says, soothingly, guiding Lucas’ hand down to his lap. “I have to say, it’s odd to be on the other side this time.”

Yes, because on top of being brave, Teddy was righteous, too. Knowing he’s beautiful and handsome, also comes with the price of knowing that, to others, he always appeared to be in the position of right. The world, collectively, was lucky Mrs Davies had known what values to drill into her boy to make him as kind as he was, using whatever authority that’s been carelessly thrust unto him in the best ways he could. Truly, this isn’t his first bar fight with a man who has no understanding of the word no, and this isn’t the first time Lucas has silently worried over bruises that marred his skin, either.

But this was perhaps the first time Lucas has ever seen Teddy shrink. Just for a split second, so minuscule that nobody else saw it—but Lucas had. Seen the slight flinch, the twitch of his lip into an upset frown, when that man, that dreadful man, had shoved at him and called him all sorts of terrible things, all for getting in the way of his unwelcome advances on one of their patrons.

“Faggot,” he’d sneered and the word rung so loud in everyone’s ears, and Teddy’s face had fallen, and all Lucas could see was red.

He had swung first.

“I wasn’t joking,” Teddy tells him now, voice still quiet, but teeming with a gratefulness and a bit of awe. His eyes twinkled. “You really were a hero down there.”

He wasn’t, not quite as practiced in the art of brawling as Teddy was, but between the two of them they’d managed to get the unruly gentleman flat on his back in two minutes.

Mrs Davies had been quite annoyed at her fairy of a son and his quiet friend (as she called them, affectionately) stirring up quite a storm, but the vindicated curl of her lip that appeared when some of their burlier patrons came to toss the man on the street, was enough for Teddy, who’d apologized for the commotion with a small, cheeky smile. All they’d gotten was a swat to both their backsides and an order to put Lucas’ face on ice.

And now here they were.

Lucas didn’t feel like a hero. But he wasn’t going to tell Teddy that. He just grunts, instead. “Sure.”

Teddy smiles, and that’s the end of that conversation. The next few minutes are spent back in blissful silence, with Teddy puttering around with a couple of rags to catch the melting ice that drips from Lucas’ fist and face, even going so far as to wipe at his split lip with one of them, clearing away the blood and debris with a gentleness Lucas knew he was capable of, but has never experienced himself. This close, Lucas can count his lashes, darkened significantly with mascara, curled and fluttering delicately against his rouged-up cheek. Count the freckles he didn’t quite cover with his make-up, the ghost of vast constellations peaking just so behind the fine dusting of perfumed powder. See the part in his bangs where his wig cap peaks out, a flesh-colored net that should break the illusion, but completes the picture, instead. Carves out a new Teddy that Lucas has never had the privilege to see up close.

Blonde bombshell Teddy Davies, more beautiful than any Hollywood starlet. Everything about him is delicate. Delicate and girlish and pretty, and it takes all of Lucas’ self-control not to reach out and touch. Just to check that it’s all real, and that this Teddy had truly been on stage just an hour ago, singing and charming all the men who hollered for more at his feet.

That this Teddy is before him now, fluttering his lashes at Lucas like a practiced coquette. “There you go,” he says with a giggle. “My hero.”

Lucas colors. “Shut up.”

“No, really!” Teddy laughs with a purr, patting Lucas’ uninjured cheek. “So butch! The second you came in; I picked you out of the crowd immediately.”

For some reason, he feels strangely pleased by that. “Yeah?”

“Yes, you with your little suspenders and that curly bed o’ hair? Oh, you had all my girls swooning. I was so jealous,” Teddy says, flouncing about a bit more now, fidgeting nervously with his hair and reapplying his lipstick in front of the nearest boudoir, as if his words have finally fed him the energy he’d lost, scuffling on the bar room floor in his nicest dress. “I mean, I may be old news, but that doesn’t mean I’m going to be upstaged by the new fairy in town.”

“So sorry to have distracted your adoring audience.”

“Truly, I require financial compensation.”

“Does it have to be financial?”

“I could be persuaded to a drink.”

“Alright. But,” Lucas says, grinning. “You have to be on my arm the whole night.”

“Oh, my,” Teddy gasps. If he was blushing, it would have been impossible to see under all that make-up. Lucas takes it as a win, though, when he reaches up to push a bit of lose hair back into place behind his ear, eyes briefly turning away to assess the state of the floor. “Well, if the gentleman insists.”

“I do.”

They smile at each other. “I wish you’d told me you were coming,” Teddy says, so quiet it could have been a whisper. As if admitting it too loudly would take away the weight behind his words.

Lucas hears it. All of it. “I didn’t think you’d appreciated it.”

Teddy scoffs. “I would’ve loved it,” he says, sincerely. “In fact, if I knew you were there, I would’ve performed better.”

A part of him wonders if Teddy could possibly do anything to top that performance, with all its bells and whistles and… piano humping. Just thinking back on it has Lucas’ head spinning, and he knows, if Teddy put his mind to it, he could make even a grand show like that look like a carny attraction at a subpar county fair. “I don’t think so.”

“No, truly,” Teddy laughs, so painfully earnest, his face completely softens into that self-deprecating look he gets with that pretty flush that travels all the way from his forehead down to his powdered neck. Lucas couldn’t help but stare. “It’s always easier when I know I have someone I have to impress.”

“You always impress me,” Lucas says, surprising himself with his honesty. “I am always impressed by you.”

Teddy stops. Fully stops, freezing in place once again and taking with him the collective breath of the world—or maybe just Lucas’, who can’t do anything to deny how beautiful he finds Teddy in this moment, staring at him with those green eyes and those full lips parted in a gasp, a tentative openness to him akin to wondrous hope.

The bravest, loneliest and most beautiful girl in the world.

Then, Teddy laughs, half-delighted, half-mocking. “Aww.”

Lucas really doesn’t know what he expected. “Shut up, Davies.”

“Now don’t start.” Teddy coos, reaching out to ruffle his hair and dance just right out of the way of Lucas’ playful swipe. “You adore me, you really do! Did you hear that world? Lucas Samsa adores me!”

Lucas doesn't deny it. But he does throw a soaking wet rag at Teddy's face to hide the fact, and lets the moment quietly slip away in the wake of Teddy's subsequent rant about his ruined make-up.

#stella's oc-tober 2022 #teddy davies #lucas samsa #people like us #what is it with me and injured characters being given first aid #lucas: teddy's not my girl #also lucas: *punches someone for insulting teddy aka his girl* #lucas my angery boy #he isn't questioning his sexuality he's questioning why he loves this idiot so much #lucas: unfortunately the primadonna currently humping the piano is the love of my life #not that he's ever going to admit it at this point in time #teddy as theodosia was so much fun to write she's a bitch she's a lover she's a child she's a mother she's a sinner she's a saint #she does not feel ashamed #i need more OCs who are also drag queens they're so much fucking fun #'stella?' you may ask. 'is teddy wearing the green dress from the movie atonement?' #why yes. yes he is. #and i hope ya'll APPRECIATE IT #i love gender fuckery #estrella_marie

[sweetlikehoneystingslikeabee]

Small nsfw warnings for suggestive content/dirty talk at the end. Don't look if you're a minor. Belle and Heisenberg.

For all the foreplay Heisenberg likes to preamble before a fuck, it tends to have a normal variety. He can get physical with roaming hands and little talking. Sometimes it's all talk which in itself goes from clever to extremely crass. But their sweetest intimate moments, once they've established their relationship, tend to start like-

"So we'll get a house... outside a city. Not too far but not too close." Belle muses, "Property so you can work-"

"Normal people with normal jobs?" Karl presses his fingers to the soft flesh of her hips as they lay in bed. It's a lazy afternoon and everything has been taken care of for the day. They could have gotten around to actually doing something yet they found themselves cuddling and getting cozy.

"Normal people with normal jobs, yes." Belle repeats, "Ugh. It's the only part I don't like." A small laugh.

Heisenberg kisses her jaw, "You don't have to work. I'll work. Believe me, I have enough savings hidden away and plenty of ideas-"

That makes her laugh a little harder, "Oh please, like I won't work."

He hums, "Nuh-uh. Nope. These hands are gonna get soft and pampered. What happens after the house?"

He likes these ponderings. He kisses her palm as he listens.

"Well. First. We have to establish ourselves. Finances and all that wonderfully boring junk no one wants to deal with." She points it out since she knows that's exactly what he wants, "Then we travel. Really travel. All the places you haven't seen."

"Which is a lot, pretty lady."

"Which *is* a lot." She says, "But I can't wait for you to see the ocean. I mean. Really see a beach and get to walk on it. And cherry blossoms! And the FOOD! You'll love the food!"

"The food, huh?" His hand moves from her hips to her stomach, "Can't talk like that, you'll make me big as a fucking house."

She gives him a playful pinch to his stomach, "Oh that's exactly the intention. You're gonna get old and fat and lazy with me. Like a pampered housecat."

He makes a disgusted face, "Only if we both do it."

She snorts. "Deal. We'll be content and boring together. And then when we get back. We can get animals." He's got a grin on his face now. His eyes are warm without the glasses on.

"Animals?" He perks up, "Alright, alright, what do you want?" One hand has moved to her back, pulling her close to his chest. Every once in a while he kisses around her mouth to distract. Her own hand goes to the meeting of his neck and shoulder, fingers just grazing below his jaw.

She smiles and gives a bubbly giggle at the attention, "Don't pretend you don't want pets. Um. Dogs. You'll love having dogs. The lycans are nice but..."

"Hell, I'll take one or two of em with us. They can get along with our dogs. What else?" He coaxes her leg to intertwine with his.

"I demand at least one cat." She says with a nod, "Love them."

That gets a vibrating laugh in his chest, "Demand? Look at you. You're already a perfect little lords wife. We'll find a cat. I even have a good name."

The commentary on wife makes her beam. Her stomach flutters and for a second she hides her face into his chest. At least until he gently guides her chin into looking back at him.

"What's the name?"

"*Schnuki.*" He grins and cackles when she pushes on his chest.

"Ass!"

He purrs, "Aw but Schnuki, I wuv you! So vewy much!" He's yanking her back and kissing her face all over. It's incredibly lacking in coordination but it makes her heart race all the same.

"I hate that so much!" She's pushing just so he can pull her back, "Don't do that again." She's smiling and grinning but playing at faux irritation. It sounds like when he's making fun of Alcina and her darling Lyric.

"I won't. But that's the cats name." He says softly, "That's the house. The travel. The animals. What about kids?"

She hesitates for just a moment. Then she gets warm and almost melting over him. It's when he talks about kids that he's the softest. The most vulnerable. Something he really wants but knows it's likely impossible biologically given the changes his body has gone through. When he talks about having children, she knows it's him opening up a part of himself that hurts him deeply.

And so she treads softly, "We'll try. And if it doesn't work out... there's lots of kids out there that need homes. Somewhere warm and safe and you can chase away the nightmares."

His grip on her gets a little tighter and he kisses her on the lips, "You think I can?"

"I know you can." She replies and starts kissing him back. Her fingers go to unbutton his shirt and she moves to kiss his bare chest, "There's one small thing, though."

The haze of feeling good fizzles for just a moment as he looks at her with curiosity, "What?"

"You can't spoil them like I know you will."

That gets him laughing and bringing her face back up to his, "What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means you can't give them a pony if they ask. Or some weird Frankenstein thing on demand." She teases.

"You think I'm that guy?"

"Oh, baby, I *know* you're that guy."

Another deep kiss. Talking about all of it just. It makes him feel so good. To think if it as possible. That someone would even humor the idea of that with him.

"But we'll start with a house." He murmurs, "And getting lazy and fat together. And me getting to feel you."

One of her brows cocks, "We could do that right now."

"You're right. Get those pants off, I want to feel you cum on me." And he's kissing her desperately. Needy. They have each other and right now that's enough to get him going.

#queue #heisenberg #selfship #self ship #suggestive

[clareguilty]

A Tainted Rescue Part 2

hello! i cannot escape my own terrible ideas! Have more Heisenberg porn! Karl Heisenberg/Maiden Rating: Explicit | WARNING: dark content, explicit smut, big sexy evil guy doing bad things Word Count: ~2500

Lord Heisenberg lifted the maiden into his carriage and pulled her onto his lap as the mechanical horse took off away from the castle. She shook and cried in his arms, whimpering with every rattle of the wheels on the unpaved path to the Lord's domain.

"You're safe now," he promised her. "I'm going to take good care of you."

She clung to him, face buried in his chest as he ran his hand up and down her back in a slow, steady rhythm. Her breathing began to even out and her sobs turned to sporadic hiccups the farther they traveled from that horrid castle.

Lord Heisenberg was extremely proud of himself. He had managed to pull one over on Alcina all while getting a delightful new toy to play with. She was so precious, so perfect. He would have to make sure to spoil her rotten.

Just outside of the factory grounds, covered in overgrown plants, a small stone staircase led up to Lord Heisenberg’s house. He helped the maiden up the worn steps, holding branches out of the way as they ducked through the overgrowth. 

“I never actually use this place,” he explained. “I spend most of my time in the factory. But that’s no place for you. Now I finally have someone to come home to.” He kissed her knuckles as he led her across the threshold.

The lights were electric, and they turned on at a wave of the Lord’s hand. He chuckled at the maiden's awestruck expression.

The house was a mess, dusty and cluttered. It must have been months since the Lord actually stayed there. Narrow and tucked into the hillside, the two story was smaller than Lady Beneviento’s villa but still larger than almost any of the houses of the village. 

“Heh,” he laughed wryly. “Looks like this place needs a lot of work.”

He led the maiden up the stairs and to the main chamber. The room was sparsely furnished with just a low double bed, a wardrobe, and a writing desk piled high with books and papers and the same scrap metal that seemed to appear throughout the Lord’s domain. It was nothing like the opulent and immaculate rooms of the castle.

The maiden let Lord Heisenberg push her to a seat on the bed. He knelt in front of her, squeezing her jaw in one hand and forcing her to look him in the eyes. 

“I may not be as fucked as my witch of a sister, but let me make one thing clear. I am not above killing you. You will stay out of my factory. Understand?”

The maiden whimpered, tears once again threatening to spill over her cheeks. “Yes, My Lord.”

He released her jaw and patted her cheek lightly. “Good girl.” He shucked off his coat and draped it over the back of the desk chair. His hat and glasses were quick to follow. He sat beside her on the bed and unlaced his boots.

The maiden removed her own shoes -- the only things she wore that were intact. Her stockings were shredded, as were her skirts. She didn’t even have any drawers on anymore. The front of her dress was ripped down to her stomach, and she tugged the fabric over her shoulders and out from under her until it fell in a puddle on the floor. She was naked and bruised and marked. She felt filthy, used, ruined. But that was what the Lord said was needed to save her. If he hadn’t done what he had, she would be dead at the hands of the Mistress.

The Lord must have seen her numbness, her distress, because he pulled her into his chest and smoothed a hand over her hair. “Hey now,” he whispered. “She can’t touch you here. I’d like to see her try.” He sounded as if he would welcome the fight. “Let me make you feel good.”

He laid the maiden on her back and nudged her thighs apart so he could kneel between her legs. The sight of the damage he had done at the castle brought a smile to his face, and he pressed his fingers into the bruises that were blooming across her thighs.

With no preamble, he pressed two fingers inside of her, crooking them and stretching her open. The maiden whined and gripped the linens with white knuckles. The Lord was only spurred on by her reaction and added a third finger. He loved the way she tightened around him, and longed to feel it on his cock again.

Despite her inexperience, it was no time at all before she was dripping just from the motions of his fingers. He made sure to bring her right to the brink of pleasure, holding her just on that precipice as he pulled his cock from his pants and lined himself up.

He pressed into her slowly, lifting her hips to meet his and bracing himself over her on the bed. She was trapped beneath him, nearly bent in half as his cock split her open once more. It felt even deeper than before, and she couldn’t hold back her high, breathy whines as he began to move. He moaned as he drove his cock into her harder and harder on each stroke.

“You feel amazing. So soft. So tight. You’re all mine. Just for me.”

“All yours,” the maiden repeated. “Just for you.”

“Oh, you’re so perfect,” he groaned. “She didn’t deserve you. She could never have made you feel like this. Come for me. Come on my cock.”

He reached between them to rub her clit, determined to watch her eyes flutter shut and the moans that tumbled from her lips as she came undone around him.

And it was spectacular. She was so precious. To think she had never known pleasure like this before. He was going to be everything for her. Her saviour. Her king.

She clung to him as she came, shuddering and gasping as he forced her through the blinding orgasm. He continued to fuck her, determined to find his own end as well, but he noticed she was barely responsive. Poor thing, probably passed out from the pleasure.

The Lord didn’t let that stop him as he buried himself inside of her to the hilt. He loved watching his cock sink into her, splitting her open and twitching inside of her. He came to the sight of it, filling her as deeply as possible and rocking his hips as she tightened around him once more. Even unconscious, he was able to make her feel good.

Finally satisfied with his claim, he pulled out and arranged the maiden to lay beside him. “You need your rest. Tomorrow I’ll figure out what to do with you.”

-

Life with Lord Heisenberg was nothing like serving at Castle Dimitrescu. The Lord was crass and informal, just as quick tempered as his ‘sister’ but never directed at the maiden.

No. The maiden was given special privileges. She was his prized possession, swiped right out from under Alcina’s claws, and he loved to spoil her and dote on her.

He had never had a pet like her before. All of his own creations and gifts from Mother Miranda were mindless and bloodthirsty and horrific. But the maiden, she was beautiful and sweet. She was so devoted to him, her savior. He had freed her, given her everything, and now she lived to serve him.

Her new life was one of endless pleasure and indulgence. The Lord fucked her and filled her and marked her as his own. He loved to ruin her, to claim her. She was so precious, trapped in that castle and hidden away from the world. He wanted to show her every filthy experience she had missed.

She fit so perfectly around his cock, so warm and tight and responsive. He enjoyed her moans and gasps of pleasure just as much as he enjoyed finishing inside her.

He didn’t know he was capable of such softness. He was rough when he fucked her, sure to bite her and mark her. Bruising handprints blooming over her skin after he took her to bed. But he was also gentle with her at times. Praise and thanks and kisses to her hairline. There was a different kind of satisfaction to seeing her smile.

-

The maiden bowed her head as she offered Lord Heisenberg a glass of whiskey late one evening. He had been away at the factory for much of the previous days occupied by his work. The drink was a warm welcome. “Thank you, buttercup,” he pulled her into his lap. “I have something for you.”

He took a gulp from the glass before setting it aside and fishing around in his pockets.

“Aha! Here!” He procured two thick shining bands in his palms. They looked small in his grasp but were still a few inches in diameter.

The Lord grabbed the maiden’s hands. The metal rings levitated before closing around her wrists, fastening as though they were soldered together.

“They’re beautiful,” she breathed, twisting her wrists this way and that to admire the jewelry. “Thank you, My Lord.”

“Now everyone will know who you belong to,” he trailed kisses from her temple to her jaw.

The maiden giggled. “I don’t think there was any doubt of that before.” She was constantly covered in his marks, in his come. He loved to claim her as his in every possible way.

He would fill her until his seed was dripping down her thighs, smeared over her chest and her lips. Make her come until the only thing she knew was his name. He had found all her limits and he knew just how to push past them.

And now he had his steel on her.

She nuzzled against his chest, overwhelmed by the gift. No one at that wretched castle had ever shown her such kindness. Her lips peppered the skin where his shirt was unbuttoned, hands wandering over his chest and arms. She was still so uncertain about her desires. Alcina had certainly done a good job of brainwashing her.

But he had his own conditioning to do. So he whispered encouragement as she slipped between his knees and unfastened his belt. She was flushed and uncoordinated as she pulled his cock free from his pants. “Thank you,” she whispered again before wrapping her lips around him.

She was a good cocksucker, an eager learner and quick to respond to him. She had very quickly grown addicted to him, and he lived for it. Every time he would return from the depths of the factory, she was there craving his attention and his touch.

Now she was even more desperate. He had neglected her in favor of his work, and he regretted it when he saw how uncertain she had become. He would have to train her to handle his long absences. He certainly couldn’t trust anyone to watch over her while he was gone. She was too precious, they would corrupt her. Still, he enjoyed how she couldn’t seem to get enough of him, how dependent she was.

Lord Heisenberg relaxed and sipped his whiskey as she stroked and sucked his cock. He felt so powerful with the maiden on her knees before him. It made him crave more.

After several minutes, when his cock was shining from her lips and she was glassy eyed with lust between his knees, he cradled her head in one of his hands and pulled her onto his cock as deep as she could go. She submitted willingly, moaning at the way his fingers dug into her scalp.

He fucked her face, rough and deep, admiring the way tears spilled over her cheeks and spit dripped down her chin. Her obedience only turned him on more, and he came with a groan, pulling out before he could spill everything down her throat.

She was a filthy mess, come and spit smeared over her swollen lips. She cleaned his cock and blinked up at him expectantly.

“That’s a good girl.” He smiled as she melted at his words. One of her own hands had slipped beneath her skirts and she rocked down against it with a breathy moan. “Needy little thing, aren’t you? Can you wait for me? I promise I’ll give you a treat soon.”

The maiden immediately did as she was told, pulling her slick fingertips from beneath her dress.

“What do you say we wash up and call it a night?” He pulled her to her feet, leading her upstairs to the washroom.

The maiden had been delighted to find that the enormous bath upstairs -- though still smaller that Mistress Dimitrescu’s -- had taps that would run the water directly into the tub. A device of the Lord’s own creation heated the water along the way so that it steamed as it splashed into the porcelain basin. The maiden undressed the Lord with enthusiastic reverence, running her hands over his skin as she pulled his shirt from his broad shoulders. He slipped into the steaming water and sighed.

The maiden slipped out of her own clothes and climbed in as well. She lathered soap in her hands and set to work washing them both, massaging the tension from his muscles with her skilled fingers. What more could he possibly ask for?

He could tell how needy she was as she rinsed them clean. Her breaths were quick and short, skin flushed all the way down her chest and up to her ears. If they hadn’t already been in the water he was sure she would be dripping with arousal.

The Lord was tempted to try out his his new trick, but he wanted to wait for the perfect time. So instead he teased the poor girl with his fingers. She slumped against him, begging and pleading as he gave her everything just shy of what she needed.

He pulled her from the tub, drying both of them just enough before dragging her to bed. Laying back and pulling her on top of him, he grabbed her hips and ground her pussy against his length. 

“Please,” she gasped. She looked so cute, begging for his cock. He lined himself up and pulled her all the way down until her hips met his. The shock of being filled so suddenly, stretched around him, made her scream.

He lifted her easily, using her like a doll for his pleasure. She slumped forward over his chest as he moved her hips however he liked. Her broken gasps and moans of pleasure were like music to his ears. He wanted to break her, to see her totally undone by his hand.

She came around his cock twice before he finally pulled her all the way onto him and pumped her full. Even though his body was exhausted from his orgasm, he wasn’t yet sated. Some strange desire still pulled at him. He had already gifted her with the bracelets he had yet to use, but maybe there were other toys to be made in his workshop.

She would be perfect for him.

#karl heisenberg #karl heisenburg x reader #karl heisenberg/reader #karl heisenberg x reader #heisenberg #heisenberg x maiden #karl heisenberg x maiden #re8 village #re8 #smut #lemons #a tainted rescue

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Hue and Cry VI

Warnings: non-consent sex and rape; abuse of power, chase, unwanted touching, confusing Bucky is confusing, blow job.

This is dark!medieval!Bucky Barnes x reader and explicit. 18+ only.  Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Synopsis: You’re journey continues on but not so smoothly.

Note: Getting this out for Monday and back to the grind of the new job so updates might not be as steady but I’ll at least get some more gif requests done.

Thanks to everyone and thanks in advance for all your feedback. :)

I really hope you enjoy. 💋

The caravan continued until the sun began to descend. Tents were erected for the lords and the retinue of lower nobility and guards. As the servants slept under and in the wagon, or out in the open, you were taken to the painted blue canvas where Lord Barnes' bed had been set up. 

He spent much of the day in the carriage with you but for the last hour took to horseback. He welcomed you with kiss on your forehead, his arm already disposed of on the stout stool beside the bed. His sleeves hung loosely but he barely seemed to worry for it as he urged you to the mattress.

He only stripped his coat and tunic, his boots kicked off beside the frame. He helped disassemble your gown, the pieces slung over the single chest unloaded into the tent. You remained in only your shift as he pulled you down beside him after he extinguished the lantern. 

He laid on his side, watching you as his hand rested on your stomach. You were exhausted but knew you wouldn't sleep. Still, you closed your eyes and tried to let weight settle over your eyelids.

"Sweeting," Barnes cooed, "did you enjoy our activity today?"

You stiffened and slowly opened your eyes. You looked at him cautiously and dipped your chin, "yes, my lord." You still weren't certain how you felt about what occurred but to let on that confusion to him would do you no favours.

“Mmm,” he nestled closer, bringing his body flush to your side as he took your hand and played with your fingers. You exhaled and urged the strength entirely from your body, “and I did wonder… you did say you were untouched… was your meaning that you’d never been touched in any manner? Even as lightly as how I did this day?”

You bit the inside of your lip and mustered your voice. “Never. Never anything, my lord,” you confessed.

He hummed and brought the back of your hand to his lips. He kissed your flesh cloyingly, leaving a trail up your arm to the edge of your shift. His hand dropped yours and swept up your stomach. He cupped your chest and rested his head just over the swell of your breasts. 

His hair smelled of horse and sweat. You let him lay against you and stared at the canvas of the tent through the stifling dark. He brought the blankets higher and held you in his warmth. He nuzzled your breasts but his hand did not descend further.

“It will be some days yet,” he said grimly, “I hate travel, it is so tiring,” he yawned, “but when we are at the castle, we may rest…” his fingers curled into your side as his breath slipped under the top of your shift, “we will have time to know each other better.”

You closed your eyes and a hot tear trickled down your temple and along your scalp. You fought not to heave as you wanted desperately to sob. You just laid there, still but restless, and listened to his breaths. When at last he began to snore, you began to weep.

🏰

The second day rolled by on the carriage wheels and into the dust of the road. The third morning came with a layer of frost and the sun stayed hidden behind pale clouds. You climbed again into the royal vehicle and Barnes joined you again. He did not ride at all on his own as he slumbered on the bench with head in your lap and woke to shove his hand up your skirts.

Again, he stoked the flame inside of you with his touch. You hated how you whined, how your thighs clamped around his hand hungrily, and how the ripples flowed over to powerful tides. On the fourth day, he was joined by another as it began to rain and Lord Rogers sat across from you as Barnes flanked you.

You pulled back the curtain to peer out at the muddy road and listened to the call of the wet riders and the servants who worked to dislodge the carts whenever they were halted by the muck. You knew Rogers was watching you, you felt the tingle of his gaze, and Barnes too. The two men had you caged in and their silence troubled you.

“I see you have a new dress,” Rogers began, “it looks fine on you… lady.”

You looked to him and then to Barnes. “Thank you, my lord,” you clasped your hands and kept your shoulder straight as you stared at the empty space beside Rogers.

“You must have selected the attire,” Rogers spoke to Barnes, “she might look lovely in rose.”

“Mmm, you would know fashion better than me,” Barnes grumbled, “so long as the fabric is untorn and cut well, I am unbothered.”

“Oh, but you see the neckline does frame her face well, it brings out the shape of it,” Rogers tilted his head as he looked you over, “and the hood, she would do well with something shorter to lengthen the neck but it the pearls are well placed.”

“Had I known you were so interested in women’s attire I might have consulted with you before sending to my tailor,” Barnes sighed and fidgeted with the ring on his finger.

“Only in that it makes me wonder at what’s beneath,” Rogers slithered, “I always thought the intrigue of ladies was to peel away the wrapping of their gifts.”

“Do not be crass,” Barnes rebuffed as he gripped his forehead, “the storm does already cloud my head.”

Rogers crossed his arms and huffed. He pushed his legs apart and glared at Barnes. “How much longer am I to wait?”

Barnes dropped his hand and sat up. He glanced at you and back to Rogers. His jaw clenched as he considered his friend and shrugged.

“Oh come on, you would not feel so rotten with a distraction,” Rogers urged, “and I would not be so bored. It is easier astride to bear the road--”

“Quiet,” Barnes snapped and his throat constricted, “you don’t give me time to think.”

Rogers brows rose hopefully as he watched his friend. Barnes ran his hand up and down his thigh then reached to you. He pulled on your arm until you were against him. He whispered in your ear, “recall as you did with your hand,” he said, “you might use your mouth in its stead.”

You pulled back and squinted at him dumbly. He did not flinch as he pointed to the other lord then nudged your elbow. He sighed and sat back heavily.

“Let us have it over with and you will not mention it again,” Barnes flicked his fingers in a final order to you.

You felt as if you were covered in a sheet of ice and yet mortification seared your lungs like smoke. Your eyes threatened to water but you lowered your lashes and slipped away from Barnes before your anger and disgust had you striking him. What he demanded of you was revolting and entirely demeaning. You had little esteem left for the lord but did not expect it to sink lower.

You edge off the bench and stood crookedly in the carriaged. You went to Rogers as he watched you and tried to figure how best to approach him. Your heart clenched at the thought, how easily you did bend to Barnes’ will. Your hands shook and you turned suddenly and grasped at the carriage door.

You were dragged back as an arm looped around your middle and swung you against the bench. Barnes stood over you, hunched beneath the roof of the carriage as he puffed angrily through his nose.

“Are you mad?” he snarled.

You splayed over the bench and panted as he glared down at you. He seized you again and forced you up. He turned you and thrust you towards Rogers as he bent to rasp in your ear. The other lord watched with a smirk as he picked at the laces of his breeches and pushed them open. You closed your eyes as he reached into his undershorts and lifted his pelvis to slip down his bottoms.

“Why must you make this all so difficult?” Barnes sneered and pushed you onto the bench. He grabbed the back of your neck and bent you over Rogers lap, “open your mouth, sweetling.”

You obeyed almost as once as his tone sent shivers through you and his grip made your spine ache. You felt the tip of Rogers member as it filled the ring of your lips and Barnes shoved you down its length harshly. Rogers poked at your throat as Barnes moved to kneel and watched how you struggled to take it all.

You gagged and grasped Rogers' thigh as your whole body tensed. You were pulled back and pushed down again, your spit spreading down his cock as Barnes guided your motion. Soon both men made lurid noises; Rogers groaning in pleasure and Barnes encouraging you to take more.

“Sweeting, you must learn,” Barnes coaxed, “when you do not listen, you must atone.”

“Fuck,” Rogers gasped as his hand circled his base just below your lips and he stroked in time with your motion, “she’s good.”

Rogers stretched his hand over your back as he leaned back against the seat, rocking his hips just a little as he slid past further down your throat. The two men kept you moving as the sloppy noise of your humiliation melded with their voices.

“My word, I’m almost there,” Rogers fingers curled against the back of your dress, “oh, pet…”

A sudden heat flooded your throat and slicked his member as he slowed and twitched. The salty deluge made you choked as Barnes pulled you back and you dropped to your knees as you covered your mouth in disgust.

“Ah, don’t make a mess,” Barnes let you go entirely, “swallow it, sweeting.”

You shuddered as you forced yourself to gulps down the revolting slickness and you heaved as you stayed on the floor of the carriage. You were wrenched off your hands and dragged on your knees to the other bench. Barnes glared at you as he unlaced his breeches impatiently.

“You were wise to suggest the distraction,” Barnes jibed at Rogers as he pulled out his member, “it might help the needle in my head.”

“She is good,” Rogers sighed, “she serves well.”

“You might recall she serves me,” Barnes brought your to his tip and rammed past your lips, “do not amuse yourself with any other ideas.”

“I can admire her even so,” Rogers rose and the carriage creaked as he moved closer. He came up behind you and ran his hands down your sides, “would it not be something if I lifted her ass right now and--”

“Ahh, Steve, enough,” Barnes kept your head bobbing with his hand on your hood, “I have yet to have that pleasure myself.”

“You toy with her,” Rogers squeezed your hips as he bent and nuzzled your hood, “you should fuck her now. I feel how she quivers. You would torture both her and yourself.”

“We are not… far… from the… capital,” Barnes panted as used you, “I would wait and have her on still ground.”

“Mmm, she does need breaking,” Rogers backed away and fell heavy on the other bench, “like any good mare.”

“Mmm, yes,” Barnes moaned, “sweeting, oh, so…”

He trailed off and the carriage went silent but for the noise of your mouth and the lord’s lewd utterances. You kept on if only to have it done with, humiliated and hurt. If only you had been quick enough to toss yourself from the carriage; a horse’s hooves would be much preferable to that torture.

“You remember to swallow… sweeti--” he spasmed and again a hot river flowed through you. You gagged but gulped down his cum as he slid from your mouth. His cock glistened as he cradled his sack and groaned, “good,” he lifted his hand and ran his thumb over your wet lips, “such a sweet little pet.”

You drew away and hung your head as you held in a cough. You wiped your mouth with your sleeve but stayed on the floor. You were too frightened to move, frightened that it would inspire another violation. Barnes reached down and pulled you up and angled you onto the seat next to him, his member hidden but his breeches still open.

He fixed your mussed hood and marveled at your puffy lips. He pulled you against him, his gentleness off putting as he caressed your sleeve and let you rock against him with the motion of the carriage. You peeked over at Rogers as you felt him watching and he licked his lips crudely.

“Hmmm, yes, she will be the perfect little prize for the tournament,” Rogers remarked.

“You will have to win your own,” Barnes countered, “our debt is settled, you will not approach her again.”

Rogers rolled his eyes and shrugged, “as you wish,” he said dryly.

“Don’t be a child,” Barnes scoffed, “the capital is ripe with maids eager to serve a duke and you’ve never been so finicky about them.”

“Perhaps but I think you’ve helped me refine my tastes,” Rogers met your shy gaze and bit his lip, “such a sweet little thing.”

“Let us keep the sparring to the tourney,” Barnes warned, “friend.”

#bucky barnes #dark bucky barnes #dark!bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #steve rogers #dark steve rogers #dark!steve rogers #steve rogers x reader #fic #series #hue and cry #medieval au #medieval!au #au #dark fic #dark!fic #mcu #marvel #captain america #winter soldier

[mavda]

Beast Tamers

Ch.1 |  Ch.2 | Ch.3 | Ch.4(1) | Ch.4(2) | Ch.5(1) | Ch.5(2) | Ch.5(3) | Ch.5(4) | Ch.6(1) | Ch.6(2) | Ch.6(3) | Ch.7(1) |

Ch.7: Of burdens and duties (2)

Naruto is sitting at his desk when Hinata wakes. She just rustles and turns until she can see him from where she is and then stares. His back is curled and he’s reading some documents with his eyebrows furrowed and Hinata waits.

She waits till he looks at her. A glance, his eyes passing over her out of habit and then catching her eyes looking at him.

“Good morning,” he smiles and Hinata rises immediately. Walks over him on her knees, grabbing the bedclothes around her naked body.

Naruto receives her with open arms, his hands slide through her waist to her back and he brings her closer to him. “Slept good?”

She rests her head on his shoulder as she nods. Naruto is soft with her, moves her hair out of the way and lays kisses along her jaw. Hinata accommodates herself in between his legs and Naruto keeps on moving papers in front of him. He brings one out for her to read.

“We’ll be going to this one in a month,” he shares. Hinata looks at the document and nods in understanding.

“The s-summit.”

���Ever gone there?”

“No… Neither has f-father. He thought it w-was…”

Naruto chuckles, “Yeah, well, it’s more or less the Beast Tamers putting up a show to check on each other.”

Hinata reads the names written in there, guards and servants and an itinerary. She doesn’t really know how to feel. She is excited to go there and actually see one of the biggest festivals the Beast Tamers have to offer, but now she is part of them and it means…

Naruto moves his hand up and down her body, presses her skin to catch her attention, "I can't wait for us to get there. I want you to meet Gaara."

Hinata stills a second, remembers her classes with Lord Minato before saying, "The One-t-tail."

"The one and only," Naruto chuckles.

"Lord Minato d-didn't tell me you two were f-friends."

Naruto shrugs, steals a kiss from her lips, "Dad usually doesn't say much unless necessary or asked." He lets the papers fall on his desk and buries his face on Hinata's neck. She squeaks and Naruto finds it endearing, "We've known each other since I was like 12."

Hinata opens her eyes in surprise and tries to bring Naruto up to her, "I didn't… I didn't know that."

"It was a point in time where I was super rebellious and my dad thought I needed a friend who was actually going through the same thing as me," he has a smile in place still, "he's a year older than me and now is super aloof and mellow, but at the time he was even more annoying than me." He gives a loud laugh, shaking his head in disbelief. "We fought and I got pretty roughed up but I won," he gives her a smirk, pride in his eyes.

And Hinata is still trying to grasp the story, "Why d-did you fight?"

"I… actually don't remember," he squints his eyes in effort, but gives up soon after. "At that time…"

He pauses, gulps down out of nervousness, but Hinata stares at him with nothing but open interest, and Naruto talks, this time softer, this time quieter, "I was just starting to see the outside world. I grew up sheltered and followed my dad everywhere. I didn't know what being a Beast Tamer entailed, I didn't remember anything regarding the sealing so when I had to go under the reinforcement… I started to feel pretty resentful, you know? I wanted to be normal... Whatever that means. And I started to act out. My father, bless his soul, did his best and then thought it would be a good idea to put us two together for a while. Gaara's dad accepted under the condition of my dad checking his seal and so they came here." Naruto looks down at her, kisses her temple, "Two kids who hated themselves and everything around them, I don't remember exactly why we fought but it must have been the dumbest of reasons. We were just ready to fuck everything up at a moment's notice. So we did."

"How… you s-said you are friends."

"Oh, for sure." He laughs again, shakes his head as if remembering what he wanted to say, "we ended up roughed up and all but by the end we were friends. In the fight… I guess I ended up lifting him up? He felt worse than me, that's for sure, and I guess I ended up telling him that we could lick each other's wound, being the same and all. That I understood… what he was going through."

Naruto looks lost in thought again, and Hinata raises her hand to cup his cheek. He nestles into it.

"I-I'm glad you two became f-friends."

Naruto locks eyes with her and Hinata can't remember ever seeing him so melancholic. His childhood must have been… different. She opens her mouth to say something, anything to help him feel better, but Naruto opens his arms and hugs her again, buries his face on her body.

Hinata squeals in surprise and Naruto laughs. Laughs and kisses her and although Hinata doesn't want to let this topic go, Naruto doesn't go back to it. They talk dates and guards and servants and Naruto doesn't let himself fall back into that lost look he had before.

⁂⁂⁂

Kiba finds her one afternoon. He looks around her before getting closer and Hinata knows he's trying not to meet Sai.

"My lady," he greets. Looking to the two servants behind her, "may I take over and guard you where you are going?"

Hinata smiles at him and dismisses the servants with a polite nod. Kiba may be brash and bold to an absurd level, but he has been nothing but civilized and nice with her and even though his sense of humor might be crass, she has come to enjoy his open-mouthed laughs.

“Has the lady been able to check the name of the guards tasked with protecting you at the Summit?”

Hinata nods, knows where he’s going with this.

“And the lady is all right with them?”

Another nod, and Kiba looks at her like she has just told him she hates dogs.

“Because you can totally tell me that you don’t want them guarding you, you know?”

When it’s the two of them, when it’s them and Naruto or the people close to him, Kiba lets go of the way he addresses her normally. It’s a breath of fresh air. He made sure to check with her if she was comfortable and the moment she shared she rather enjoyed it he had smiled like a child.

Naruto had thought she was doing it because she didn’t want to bother him, but Hinata really enjoyed his company and his conversations. Naruto had chuckled, and told her that she was really something. Preferring Sai’s or Kiba’s company over a polite servant.

But she’s sure Naruto would understand if he stayed in the Hyuga compound for a while, where loud laughs like Kiba’s or the honesty of Sai are never heard. She’s sure anyone would understand if her only source of entertainment came from what people told her. She loved hearing Kiba’s boisterous voice narrating the most mundane of activities as if they were big adventures. Or Sai’s overly meticulous explanations that almost fell into comedy at times.

“I mean, Sai you already know and like, don’t ask me why,” Kiba walks with a gait that makes him look ferocious. His unkempt hair and the coat with fur lining over his hood only adding to the look. “but I’m here to vouch for Shino, all right.”

Hinata smiles, because both of them know Hinata wouldn’t turn down Shino either way. Quiet and somber, but polite and nice always. Almost always near Kiba, as their techniques are most suitable for surveillance, and almost always making Kiba groan in frustration. Very much like Sai.

“Gloomy, sure, weird, also sure, but he’s good, ok?”

Hinata giggles as Kiba’s lackluster defense of Shino continues. He will stay, as the clan still needs to be protected and his mother asked for him to work with her. His sister, Hana, is away on a mission and his mother, as the chief, refused to let him go. Their master may be away and watchful eyes may go from the compound to wherever he goes, but still, the clan must stay protected.

Kiba leaves her inside her room, with guards outside and servants at the ready. Hinata looks around the room, moves towards the garden and sits right next to the window. She’s nervous and excited and although she worries about a list of things she tries to forget, she can’t help the giddy feeling that surfaces inside her.

A trip like she had never had before.

⁂⁂⁂

Naruto comes late into the night and does his best to remain silent. But like many other times before, Hinata stirs awake and stands to help him undress.

He has told her time and time again that she doesn’t need to, doesn’t have to, that she should sleep without worrying when he’s late, and she has evaded his pleas with smiles and kisses he can’t resist.

He worries, because he wonders if she feels she has to wait for him. He worries, because her hands always travel places that make him feel on edge and whenever he answers those advances she’s eager to accept. He worries, because there’s been hardly a day in which he hasn’t spilled his seed inside of her and…

Her body is soft and plump and Naruto never tires of grabbing and dragging her to him. His passion is never-ending and seeing her eyes fill with longing and lust is everything to him. Because if those eyes ever fill with worry…

Naruto feels his stomach tightening, and Hinata clamps around him making him gasp for air. She huffs and puffs and her hands search for his face and Naruto kisses her palms, searches immediately for her eyes. Craving and hunger. He sighs in relief, brings himself down to her and kisses her. Lets his tongue move lazily against hers.

When his hips move away from her, Hinata crosses her legs around his waist, shakes her head no. “Don’t p-pull out,” she breathes, and Naruto can already fill his thirst for her washing over his body. “M-more.”

Naruto takes his time. Touches and teases, drinks her, breaths her. Naruto takes his time because this is not a chore now, and will not become a chore later. The moment his mind wanders to unwanted thoughts he buries his face on her body, concentrates on her breath and the way her hands drag over his body, the way she squirms under him and presses to him whenever possible.

He looks at her eyes, feels himself hardening at her rosy lips, her hair splayed out, his hands never quite able to hold her breasts on them. Her moans…

Naruto comes inside her and he grabs hold of the legs over his shoulders. Hinata shivers under him and drags her nails over his thighs, making Naruto gasp in pleasure brought by the sharp feeling.

The pop of his penis exiting her fills his ears and he cleans between her legs with care before giving a fast wipe over himself. He brings her to him, searches for her hand to hold. He has stopped watching his seed fall out of her in fear of giving her the wrong idea. He has stopped caressing her flat stomach after sex in fear of making her fall to the wrong conclusions.

He’s not worried. He’s not in a hurry, either, but it pains him to think she is troubled. Makes him want to bring her closer to him and whisper in her ear that there is nothing to worry about.

But he can’t. So he kisses her goodnight, nuzzles his face on the back of her head and sleeps with her body close to his.

And he worries… for her.

#naruto #naruhina #fanfic #fanfiction #hinata hyuga #beast tamers #ch.7 #part 1

[andoqin]

Sisyphus: The Myth Ep 1- A Dissection

Okay, so I’ve had some time to process what I subjected myself to today, so I’ve decided to list everything in episode 1 that is just completely insane and an example of how Not To Do it. 

I’m not an expert on Film Theory, but i’ve watched a shitton of media, plus I watch a lot of Youtube Video essays, so clearly I’m half

The episode starts off okay enough even if we get a weird exposition dump and “tense” parting scene between a father and daughter. 

We start in what presumably is the time travel terminal where people stand around in pyjamas waiting to get through.

Okay, fairly interesting if unspectacular but I’m guessing that’s the point, this is now an industry. We zoom in and get this line that made me laugh, because well...

a) humans are living creatures and b) the amount of microbial organisms on human skin is estimated to be at hundreds of billions, or more. And this kind of time travel/teleportation is always hinky because well if you think about it, how does that even work without getting into The Fly territory. I’m willing to cut this drama some slack here and maybe it’s an awkward translation besides. 

This gets... exceedingly long, but if you want a (too) in-depth summary of what happens in ep 1 and why it doesn’t work (for me) read on :D.

But then the real trouble starts, because PSH’s dad (I’m not bothering to learn the character names) says he’s not going with her and this is apparently very sudden. He then makes her repeat some lines that are supposed to create tension? Be exposition? Idk.

“Don’t trust anyone.” 

“Don’t get involved with [CSW]’s character.”

PSH get’s teary eyed, because her dad is not coming with her, but the problem with scenes like these is: I don’t know either of them and do not have an emotional connection to their parting. Sure, it tells us something about PSH (she likes her dad and is worried about him) but I also don’t know how important her dad is going to be down the line. So when PSH asks about her mom and what if her mom dies and her dad just replies everyone dies at some point I’m a bit weirded out, but not to the point where I necessarily want to know more. 

We then smashcut to PSH waking up in a world that’s more similar to ours and she does what her dad told her to do. She grabs her (very inconvenient) suitcase and runs along the tracks she woke up next to. We see that she is somewhat surprised by the running trains and also hardy enough to track on despite bleeding feet. 

Alas, creepy people in gas-masks with guns and drones are waiting for her, so she runs even harder and after some near misses (they are able to track her by some sort of radiation meter) makes it to safety. 

On top of a train car that the TWO DOZEN PEOPLE WITH GUNS AND DRONES are too stupid to check apparently. Clearly if she’s not under the train car, the detecting devices must be mistaken. So she just chills on top of the train car, sitting on her suitcase and those goons trundle off after 5 minutes presumably like they’re Assassin’s Creed Enemy NPCs.

Now we get introduced to CSW in the most insane scene i’ve ever witnessed. Honestly. 

He is just ~chilling in 1st class in an airplane, filming a douche who is rude to the plane staff and epically owning him because he’s So Smart.

First of all, I don’t know what that has to do with soggy noodles(which the other asshole complained about), since by that measure the noodles should be *undercooked* (lower boiling point means longer cooking time after all) and secondly good lord I already hate this guy. He then proceeds to Epically Own (tm) with a convenient Forbes (sorry “Eorbes”) Magazine that he is on the cover of and flirts with the plane hostess. 

So right off the bat, our impressions of CSW are supposed to be: He’s Cool (look at his hoodie and general bearing), he’s Smart (debatable), he’s nice to The Help (I guess???) stands up to bullies, and most importantly he’s fucking rich. I guess we’re also supposed to get the impression that he’s arrogant, maybe a bit of an asshole, but still cool and everything. 

If this had been where the scene had stopped I would have rolled my eyes and then just continued on watching. But no, the writers thought: “Schooling some sexist rich asshole isn’t enough to show off how Cool and Smart and Cocky our main character is. Also he likes the ladies.” Look at him, he’s Tony Stark only from South Korea!!!

So shortly after he sits down, and we have the first moment with CSW where he connected with me emotionally (he sees the ghost of his dead brother and the way he says “because ... you’re dead.” and I thought OOOH this I can work with), the cockpit windshield is hit by what looks to be a suitcase (DUN DUN DUUUN) and something crashes into one of the engines, causing it to explode and catch fire. 

The pilot is knocked out and unconscious and even the co-pilot loses consciousness (after conveniently unlocking the cockpit lock). CSW is the only one who goes to check on the pilots, having grabbed a fanny pack from his onboard luggage and quickly assessing the situation he revives the copilot and welds the hole in the windshield shut with some ducttape out of his fannypack and a plastic notepad. IT’S VERY EFFECTIVE! They did it in WW2, or so CSW tells us so you know it’s true.

I’m not sure that ‘s how plane windshields and duct tape and plastic notepad thingies work, but well the plane is still in freefall we have more important things to worry about :).

The electrics are all on the fritz, the copilot cannot get control of the plane and so CSW takes a seat in the captains chair (having foisted the captain out of it, not even he is so crass to sit on some unconscious dude’s lap i guess) and quickly calculates that they have 3 min and 30 secs for CSW to restart the electronics before the plane crashes. So he hands the co-pilot HIS PHONE with a timer on it for 3.5 minutes so the co-pilot can tell him when 30 seconds have passed. Instead of idk, contacting Air Traffic Control or ANYONE he just sits there and lets his big boy brain work. 

After 30 seconds he has an idea, because he’s Tony Stark-ing it up like crazy now and can just figure out the electronics of a plane cockpit in 30 seconds, but guess what. HIS PHONE RINGS. AND HE ANSWERS IT, because he’s devil-may-care and “haha look at this, friend, i’m in the cockpit of a crashing plane we have 2 minutes before i’m dead.”

Said friend is calling him from the board meeting of CSWs company, bc of course the board is ~unhappy with CSWs antics (I gotta say I can’t blame them) and the friend doesn’t believe it at first, when he says he’s in a crashing plane, but checks on the news to see it’s true. 

I ... I don’t think news work like that, we’ve gone 5 minutes from the initial troubles till now, there won’t be news reports all over the media yet. THEY’RE NOT EVEN TALKING TO AIR TRAFFIC CONTROL YET. Hell he even tells his friend to call 119 or the airport for help. I just... I’m very forgiving of a lot of things in a drama when it comes to writing. I’m willing to ignore obvious blindspots in a narrative, if I think the narrative is strong enough to support whatever it’s trying to say. At this point what could calling the police or the airport do, they have like 90 seconds left...

I don’t know what the writers are trying to tell me with this scene though? It’s so stupid, so unrealistic and CSW is so unpleasant and weird in it, because he tells his friend that he has to confess to taking out the friend’s college girlfriend on a date while they were still together. 

Well since the drama is longer than one ep, they do make it out alive, but the fact that the co-pilot managed to safely LAND the plane (which is insane to me) gets skipped over and we just get news snippets that herald CSW as a hero who singlehandedly saved the planes passengers. 

We then get to see him in his natural habitat “convalescing” in his giant apartment where he is being showered with gifts by worshippers basically. He continues to be an asshole, but his friend tells him, one more stunt and the board will kick him. 

The board will kick the guy who just saved a plane full of lives????? Yeah right, I’m sorry but that’s just fucking stupid from the writers. Why would anyone do that, even if the board hates him, kicking him now, when he’s literally a national hero would be the worst thing they could do for the stock prices. It’s only here so the writers can shoehorn in that CSW is close to OD-ing on pharmaceuticals and that the board wants to monitor his therapy and they have a way of “forcing” him to comply. 

Also he has what looks to be a dental x-ray machine next to his bed. Someone correct me if I’m wrong but lol what’s up with these set design choices. 

His friend tells him to go to fucking therapy or else and the next scene he is actually at a therapist. 

Who’s his ex-girlfriend (they have a whole tangent about that).

Who writes a report about his therapy to the board. 

But hey at least the therapy gets us a flashback of the last time he saw his brother. Big surprise he was an asshole to him as well, so no wonder he’s traumatised by that.

After therapy he *conveniently* runs into the co-pilot who’s incoherent and beaten up and hands CSW a usb-drive. It contains video of the cockpit on the day of the crash and it’s obvious what struck the plane was a suitcase and what crashed into the engine was a human being (DUN DUN DUUUUUUN maybe someone forgot to convert feet to meters when setting up the time travel thingamabob).

As he looks at the (very pixelated) figure of the person about to crash into the engine, he suddenly sees his brother’s face and honestly this scene just made me laugh? I know it’s supposed to be haunting and more evidence of CSW’s deep trauma, but I guess at this point my brain was just completely checked out. 

And that’s what we end our introductory phase of CSW. What the fuck was that plane thing even for. To show us he’s callous in the face of danger? He’s an asshole even when he’s about to die, so he’s got a long way to go? He’s haunted by the spectre of his dead brother and the guilt he feels for not being there when he died? I got a lot of that before we had the insane Plane Adventure!!! There are literally millions of ways they could have gotten this information to the viewers and not made an absurd spectacle of the plot that means that everything afterwards just feels lame, because you already had the insanity that was this plane ride, so it can only go down tension wise.

Now we’re back to PSH, but honestly her parts are kinda boring and bog-standard “UwU I’m unfamiliar with this way of life, I don’t even know how to eat a banana (that looks *nothing* like a banana btw), so I just eat it peel and root and all. Also I’m from the Future, that means I obviously know todays LOTTERY NUMBERS.”

I know kdramas like clichés and tropes, I like them too, that’s why I watch kdramas, but you gotta give me a bit more if you want me to at least invest in PSH, because I’m sure as hell not invested in CSW. 

She gets taken in by some guy, because we can’t have her homeless all the time, and she needs someone to explain this world to her and also how to eat bananas properly and she opens her suitcase. It’s got both future-tech-y looking stuff and a pink notepad that seems to hold specific information on what needs to happen on certain days. 

She also makes this expression and I don’t know if we’re supposed to laugh because she’s not threatening or if we’re supposed to laugh because she’s not threatening, but we know she’s gonna kick ass later, haha you just thought she was harmless. I gotta say it’s the former for me.

Rarrr fierce Elite Warrior PSH coming to get you.

She tries to get in touch with CSW, already breaking one of her dad’s three commandments. Oh, I guess staying with this guy breaks the other two. Welp, so much for that then. What even was the point of that first scene...

Anyway she tries to get in touch with CSW but ofc you cant just call the richest person ever (Elon Musk and Jeff Bezos would get very angry voicemails from me if that were the case), but she manages to get his voicemail. Or a voicemail he spoke for. But oh no, she is just Not Familiar with this world and keeps having a conversation with the voicemail as if it’s CSW himself. 

CSW who has scienced his way to finding the suitcase that crashed the plane and as she begs his voicemail not to open the suitcase, of course he opens it and gasp the combination for the suitcase lock is his birthday!!! Something his brother used to do!!! 

MAYBE THAT MAN WAS HIS BROTHER AFTER ALL!!!! OH NO!! 

But thank fuck the episode is over now.

VERDICT:

Just no. Don’t do this. The latter half of the show is more standard fare, but the first 25 minutes destroy any capability of this show making sense. I can see what the writers are trying to do, but it’s so hamfisted and badly written I’m just not willing to go along.

If you want a show that also has a fantasy action aspect (and this show is all fantasy no matter how much it tries to science it up), watch LUCA instead. That show at least knows how to set a tone, how to get us invested in the characters and does exposition in a way that doesn’t feel obtrusive. 

#sisyphus: the myth #sisyphus #I RANT #FOR WAY TOO LONG #kdrama

[gladiatortale]

My DEPRESSION BEATING, fandom obsessing, shit-tastic FANTASTIC year in review!

TL;DR: I’m fixing my mental health and figuring out WHO THE FUCK I AM one fandom filled day at a time! Thank you to everyone who’s been there for me along the way. xoxo

what’s up HEATHENS.

stating the goddamn obvious here, it’s been a HELLUVA YEAR. One emotional rollercoaster after another but we’re ALMOST DONE. I know things aren’t gonna magically get better the second it flips to 00:01 on January first, but I’m excited to put this year behind me, and (SHOCKINGLY) a bit sad to see it go.

It was a year where the whole world completely stopped, we realized what is really important, what is really worth fighting for, and took a GODDAMN SECOND to just breathe.

For me personally, the year (which I’m counting off from November 1st) started out UNBELIEVABLY SHIT. I had just been kicked out of the country I called home for the last four years (thank you Brexit), I had ZERO job prospects, my depression was the WORST it had ever been, and I just didn’t want to get out of bed in the morning. And in the beginning, the pandemic felt like salt in the wound, an extra kick in the teeth to my early twenties that had already “failed to launch.”

But I tried to embrace the madness, really take advantage of the world (that I always thought moved to fast) properly slowing down, and take time to try and become myself again. I wanted to figure out what I loved and try and become a bit more like the person I was before my depression got so bad.

I often say I became that Manic Trash Planet Lady™ you see in sci-fi adventure films; a bit zany to say the least, with a million ideas and a very eclectic fashion sense, but embracing the insanity as it comes...

*cough cough* audrey, get to the goddamn point!

Right. lol. THE POINT IS! 

I’m not 100% “healed”, I’m not sure if I think depression is a “oh look you’re officially cured! hooray!” type of disease, but this year I let myself ENJOY SHIT for the first time in god knows how long. I still don’t know “wHaT i WaNt To dO WiTh mY LiFe”, but I’ve got a better idea and I’m heading in (what feels like) the right direction. And most of all, I can look back and say I am better than where I was a year ago.

So I wanted to say T H A N K Y O U to the mad lads on this website that introduced me to the fandoms, shows, movies, fics... THE SHIT that made me happy this year and were there to be one (BIG) piece in my healing journey.

AND SO, with out further rambling ADO! Here are the highlights of the year marked by my ridiculous hyper-fixations and OBSESSIONS. Thanks for putting up with me ya fiends, xoxox

November 2019  The Arcana (Visual Novel)

I had just gotten home and I was in a LOOOOOOW place. Randomly decided to download this app when it came up and it proceeded to ruin my life (and my bank account...) for pretty much the rest of the year. It was exactly what I needed to get me through a tough time and I was thoroughly, horse-blinders-up-to-the-rest-of-the-world, OBSESSED. These gorgeous magical fiends ruined me and all I could say was thank you.

Joined the fandom: November 2019 Obsession peaked: Late November Obsession faded: December 2019; I started a new job AND my bank statement came in and I realized I had accidentally spent over SIXTY BUCKS on this stupid app. No ragrets, but I definitely started to phase out at that point. Fandom friends: Velma, (@lanavxds on insta) miss you girlie xx Fanfics you NEED to read: ‘Second Mistake’ by DeathBelle on AO3, because DAAAAAYUM SON. Favourite moments: Basically the whole of the Julian arc. That gangly himbo OWNED my ass for a month.

December 2019 Hazbin Hotel (TV Series)

Y’ALL okay here me out. Am I proud of this one? No. Is the show crass as hell? OOOOOOOOHHHH YEAH. Did my angsty ass love it at the end of last year? DAMN STRAIGHT IT DID. Goes without saying, but this is NOT FOR EVERYBODY, but it definitely helped me along the way to becoming more comfortable with myself and being open about being the massive geek that I always was, and watching things I enjoy regardless of what people say about it.

Joined the fandom: December 2019 Obsession peaked: Shortly there after. Fandom friends: None. Dipped one toe in fandom discourse and then promptly YEETED the fuck outta there. Obsession faded: January 2019. Still curious to see the full series if A24 actually ever does produce the whole thing, but I have def moved away from it. Fanfics you NEED to read: Haven’t read any. Maybe I’m a pussy baby piece-o-shit, but I DID NOT want to go down that rabbit hole, NO MA’AM. Favourite moments:

Discovering the Hunicast podcast. These guys are a riot and Ashley is a flustered GEM. Even if you don’t watch the show, go watch an episode of these fucking LADS just dicking about and your day will get better.

Watching the first episode with my partner and watching him realize his girlfriend is a total freak.

January 2020 Lore Olympus (Webtoon Comic)

*Officially* discovered this one thanksgiving weekend in 2019, but my Arcana phase was still raging pretty strong at that point so I didn’t really get in to it until later. EVERYBODY AND THEIR MOTHER NEEDS TO READ IT. It has everything and handles the reality sexual assault and it’s aftermath EXTREMELY well.

Joined the fandom: Late November 2019 Obsession peaked: January 2020 Fandom friends: KELLEY. MA GIRL XOXOXO Obsession faded: June-ish 2020. I’m like 10 chapters behind now, but I still love this story so much. Fanfics you NEED to read: SO MANY ON MY ‘MARKED FOR LATER’ LIST AAAAAH. I have to get to that... NEW YEARS RESOLUTION lol Favourite moments: Having a drunk conversation on New Years Eve in 2019 with one of my oldest friends from high school about how much she loved it too. Helped me see how popular fandom and fandoms, are especially after feeling like I needed to hide my enthusiasm through high school and uni. (THAT WAS A MISTAKE BUT I’LL GET THERE IN A MINUTE).

February 2020 Versailles (TV Series)

SO FUCKING GAY Y’ALL. Oh my god everyone in this show is so gay. Even when they’re not they still are a little bit. AND BEST OF ALL!! it’s very historically accurate (except for the demon satanic nonsense in season 3, what was that???)

Joined the fandom: February 2020 Obsession peaked: Like??? The SECOND I finished episode one. Fandom friends: none... WHERE ARE ALL OF YOU??? Obsession faded: March 2020. It was a fast and passionate love affair, what can I say? Fanfics you NEED to read: IF YOU HAVE RECS, GIVE ‘EM TO MEEEEE. Favourite moments: 

Showing the first episode to a friend of mine and the *ungodly GASP* that came out of her throat was... PRICELESS.

The ENTIRE throuple(???) relationship between the Chevalier, Philipe, and Palatine. PLATONIC/ ROMANTIC LOVE G O A L S.

March 2020 Yuri!!! On Ice (TV Series)

*deep breath* ...y’all knew this one was coming.

Was I ready for this show to ruin my fucking life? No.  Am I so glad it happened??? FUCK YEAH.

NEVER IN MY LIFE have I fallen off the deep end so quickly with a fandom. HOLY SHIT. This blog didn’t have much of an “identity” before, but I you said that this is a Yuri On Ice blog now I wouldn’t even be mad (nor could I really defend myself to the contrary... bc??? like??? just go LOOK at my archive). Craziest thing is I watched the first two episodes like?? a solid TWO YEARS ago, but I didn’t continue watching because I was just not in the right head space for all the love and silliness and positivity.

I could do a whole separate post about how much this show and how this fandom has changed my life (DON’T TEMPT ME I JUST MIGHT). But I’ll stick with the highlights for now ;)

Joined the fandom: March 2020  Obsession peaked: Has it peaked?? Went straight up and it still going lol Fandom friends: Sandra, my mentor, my queen @aeriamamaduck, my fandom ride-or-die. Thank you for taking this internet bby under your wing. RACHEL @idancewiththefairies I TRAPPED YOU HERE. MUAHAHAHA xxx Obsession faded: ON GOING. CAN’T STOP, WON’T STOP. Fanfics you NEED to read: jfc, SO MANY.

‘Until My Feet Bleed and My Heart Aches’ and ‘Of Bright Stars and Burning Hearts’ by Reiya @kazliin​ -- Rivals AU companion pieces. Longest fics I’ve ever read and JESUS CHRIST these two fucking SENT ME. Most popular YOI fics on AO3 for a REASON.

‘Tell Me Where Your Love Lies’ by @aeriamamaduck -- Royalty AU, trope-breaking ABO. Ah sweet, TMWYLL, how you’ve killed me over and over again. This BEAUTIFUL wip has SUCH amazing world-building idk where to start (Congrats on passing 50,000 hits!) EVERYONE GO READ IT.

‘Blackbird’ by sixpences -- WWII/Coldwar Spy Fic. I don’t have enough words to describe how amazing this is. It’s elevated to a higher plane beyond fanfic. Just go read it. Thank me later.

‘Zanka’ by rinsled05 @dreaming-fireflies -- The geisha fic that ruined me. *deep breath* AAAAAAAAAAHHHHH *gasp* I’m fine. lol I sooooo not ready for this fic. Holy hell, Aoyagi had my heart in his hands from the first chapter. “’Please’ [...] ‘Don’t give me hope.’“ FUUUUCK.

‘Echoes’ by Reiya @kazliin -- Future fic. First fic I cried at... BOI. I was NOT ready for this. Shouldn’t be surprised given the author, but MAN. “‘A love like that, a love like what they had together, it never leaves completely.’ Yuri spoke again, eyes still staring out onto the ice, lost in memory. ‘There are always echoes.’” JUST FUCK ME UP.

Favourite moments: Oh good lord, where do I begin??

Having two (count ‘em TWO) main characters with mental health issues (Yuuri and his anxiety and Victor with burn out and depression) and NOT MAKING IT THE ONLY ASPECT OF THEIR PERSONALITY. CLAPS FOR KUBO AND YAMAMOTO!!

Everything about Yurio (ESPECIALLY HIS RELATIONSHIP WITH YUUKO AND HIS GRANDPA), that tsundere motherfucker is too pure for this world.

THE KISS. THE PROPOSAL. MY HEART WASN’T READY. AAAAAH!!

This fandom *properly* introducing me to smut on AO3...

Thinking I was going to get Rachel to like the show... NOT being prepared for her to fall off the deep end and START LIKING REAL SKATING TOO!!

Staying up waaaaaay too late waaaaaay too often to plan out plot points for TMWYLL with Sandra. Love ya dearie.

The warm fuzzy feeling I get every time I think about Victor and Yuuri.

April 2020 Bungou Stray Dogs (TV Series)

I had a hunch I was gonna like this show considering ALL of the characters are based off of famous classic authors from around the world... what I was NOT prepared for was just HOW MUCH I was going to love it. HOLY SHIT. The art style? Love it. The plot?? Bonkers, but so fun. THE VOICE CAST??? AMAZING. Highly recommend to anyone who wants to get in to anime, great place to start.

Joined the fandom: April 2020 Obsession peaked: Probably this summer? But we have DEF plateaued in a VERY high place. Fandom friends: FIJI. MA BOIIIII @lil-1nsane  Obsession faded: Hasn’t. Hope it doesn’t Fanfics you NEED to read: So so so many. The smut in this fandom is *chef’s kiss*, but here are a few...

‘He Works Hard For the Money’ by CataclysmicEvent @cataclysmicevent2019​ -- Sugar Daddy AU. FUCK MAN. I was not expecting to like this one, but bloody hell. This fic grabbed me by the throat and WOULD NOT let me go. Praying for chapter 16! But the author is working on another STELLAR fic so I’m okay for now.

‘Everything or Nothing’ by CataclysmicEvent @cataclysmicevent2019​ -- University AU. FUCK THIS FIC. Started reading it as I was waiting for HWHFTM to update and BOI, this fic ROCKS. The alternating POV fits so well with the enemies/idiots-to-lovers vibe. Solid 10 outta 10.

‘The City Where Wind Blows’ by @raven-rein​ -- Cancer Death fic. *pained shriek* AAAAAAGUUUUUUUHHHH *gasp* aaaaaaAAAAAAHHHHHHHH, FUUUCCCCCCCCCKKKK MEEEEE. THIS FIC. Only the second fic I’ve ever cried to but I BAWLED MY GODDAMN EYES OUT. FUUUUUUUCK. I was not ready, never would have been ready. This is so tremendously well done, it killed me so beautifully, 

‘Haunted by Hatred’ by DeathBelle -- Canon compliant Soukoku. It is a CRIME that DeathBelle doesn’t have more BSD fics on her page, but this one is still brilliant.

Favourite moments:

THE CHUUYA-DAZAI MAFIA REUNION TEAM UP WHEN THEY FIGHT LOVECRAFT. Ooof. BOI. We love it.

The first three episodes. Soooo many break neck plot twists.

Every insane hypothetical conversation with Fiji.

Every time Atsushi or Tanizaki is on screen bc I LOVE THESE LIL BEANS.

June 2020 Trash Taste (Podcast)

Goddamn I love these chaotic lads so much.

As I became more and more comfortable with myself and my love for anime I stumbled upon these three goons, -- Joey, Connor, and Garnt, -- best known for there SUPER successful (mostly) anime YouTube channels. Even if you don’t watch anime, WATCH/LISTEN TO THIS PODCAST. The focus is mostly on their lives and the overall expat/immigrant experience, with a bit of anecdotal anime references sprinkled in. 

This show is both wholesome and heathenous in equal measure, and after having lived abroad for a significant portion of my (admittedly still quite short) life, it was such a breath of fresh air to hear people talk so openly about how living outside your home country is both wonderful and terrifying. They’re wonderfully candid about the fact that even if you love a place dearly, no where is perfect, and you WILL hate somethings about your new home even if the majority of the experience is fantastic. I cannot rate this show highly enough.

Joined the fandom: June 5th 2020, loved it from the first episode. Obsession peaked: July maybe? I was RELIGIOUS about watching the episodes as soon as they came out. Still watch every week, but less “on time.” Fandom friends: None :( but I have tricked my partner in to listening several times :) Obsession faded: It’s dimmed from where it was, but still going strong. Fanfics you NEED to read: NONE. NEVER PLAN TO. Hard and fast rule, I don’t read fics about real people. Characters played by real people, even that’s a maybe for me. But real-real people? FUCK NO. (some of my) Favourite moments:

Any time Garnt and Connor get into a big-brain-monkey-brain argument and Joey is just LOSING his GODDAMN MIND in the corner.

Bringing a retired Japanese porn star in the show for an honest conversation about consensual sex work and showing people can have more than one career in life.

Everything about the, ‘Are Online Friends Real Friends?’ episode. GO WATCH IT, it’s brilliant.

Garnt making “chotto-THE-FUCKING-matte” an expression

August 2020 Great Pretender (TV Series)

Spent most of the summer marinating in my BSD and YOI bubbles, until THIS BAD BOI came up on my Netflix recommendations. HOOOO BOI. This is some Anime Of The Year shit right here. Has a pretty original concept (Catch Me If You Can by way of Oceans 11-ish) but generally starts out like most other shounen (sans the super powers). AND THEN EPISODE FIVE HAPPENS. Not gonna spoil it but they TOOK THAT SHIT UP A NOTCH. Brilliant, even with a bit of an insane ending. GO WATCH THIS ONE.

Joined the fandom: August 2020 Obsession peaked: Pretty much as soon as I started watching it. Fandom friends: What’s up Fiji ;) @lil-1nsane Obsession faded: Naturally faded, but so glad I watched Fanfics you NEED to read: None so far! Little scared about this one, heard mixed reviews, but maybe someday. Favourite moments:

Edamame’s “madness arc” at the end of season 2. HOOOO BOY.

Laurent getting fucking WRECKED when Edamame punches him mid way through season 2, kills me every time.

Introducing my partner to anime with this show.

October 2020 Attack on Titan (TV Series)

RETURN OF THE KING. lol

In my quest to find an anime that I can watch with my partner, I turned on season 1 of this bad boi. Holy hell I forgot how much I loved this show, NO WONDER everyone lost their goddamn minds when this show first aired. I NEED to catch up before all the season four spoilers come to get me...

Joined the fandom: Winter 2016 Obsession peaked: Basically as soon as I started watching it. Fandom friends: None yet, but I know you’re out there... Obsession faded: 2017, JUST BEFORE SEASON TWO... I should have stuck around longer I know, but it’s slowly coming back. Reeeeeally need to catch up on seasons two, three, and four. Fanfics you NEED to read: GIVE ME YOUR RECS HEATHENS. Favourite moments:

Watching my partner FREAK OUT about Eren’s “death.”

EVERYTHING ABOUT POTATO GORL! lol

Getting in a conversation with a die hard fan after I hadn’t watched it in three years and saying... “Who’s that blond bitch that cries all the time?”/ “Armin?”/ “THAT’S THE ONE!”

November 2020... kind of. Figure Skating (Sport)

Okay this one is a bit hard to explain. 

I have been a DIE HARD figure skating for A LOOOOOONG time. My grandmother got me a hat from the 2002 Olympics in Salt Lake City and I remember watching even then. But I first became consciously aware of different skaters, my faves, etc. from about 2010. I vividly remember watching Plushenko skating in 2014 while on a school trip to Hawaii, and my friends laughing at me as I yelled at the TV.

But I didn’t TRULY get involved in the fandom side of it until this year. I had all this knowledge bottled up, but didn’t have any skating friends to talk to... UNTIL NOW. Super ironic that this happened in a year with almost NO skating, but I’ll take what I can get ;) Also did I stay up until FOUR-GODDAMN-THIRTY IN THE MORNING a few nights ago to stream Japanese Nationals on my phone??? YOU BET I DID.

Joined the fandom: Three times; 2002, 2010, and 2020. Obsession peaked: 2014? 2018? Idk it peaks any time someone does something amazing. Fandom friends: Rachel, my girl @idancewiththefairies​, WHY DIDN’T I INTRODUCE YOU TO THIS SOONER??? Obsession faded: Hasn’t. Won’t. lol Fanfics you NEED to read: NOPE. NONE. NOT GONNA HAPPEN. No fanfics about real people. Never gonna change that. (some of my) Favourite moments:

Tessa Virtue and Scott Moir doing THAT routine at the 2018 Olympics.

Rachel​ sheepishly admitting to me that Shoma may have replaced Yuzu as her favourite, and me being SO DAMN PROUD of her for growing and developing her own skating opinions apart from me.

Yuzu’s 2012 ‘Romeo and Juliet’ routine and Worlds. THE RAW FUCKING POWER OF THAT SKATE.

Plushenko, cheeky bastard, changing his 2014 Team Event routine AS IT WAS HAPPENING.

The worlds friendliest rivalry between Yuzu and Nathan.

Any thing the Shibutani’s do, and all they do to break up the stereotype that all of Ice Dancing has to be rOmAnTiC and SeNsUaL to be good.

Watching my early faves become coaches and the D R A M A.

Honorable Mentions:

Coco (Film): I watched this the weekend I came home and I owe this movie a lot. It is so sweet an heartwarming, and it a roundabout way it brought me back to Tumblr (needed somewhere to vent my feelings considering I watched the movie a solid THREE YEARS after it came out, Tumblr seemed like the place to go lol). Watched in again in 2020 and it’s just as amazing.

Jekyll and Hyde (All media): Loved this book from the first time I read it in my first year of uni. But in December 2019, my fandom understanding reached its PEAK. The musical?? The comic?? YOOOOOO.

Dear Evan Hansen (Musical): I have BARELY engaged in fandom discourse, but the MUSIC. She fucking SLAPS.

Sirius the Jaeger (TV Series): This show is such an underrated gem. It literally has so much; "dead” family drama? Eclectic international group of monster hunters? Cowboys and vampires?? Yes, yes, and YES. And the main character has the same Japanese voice actor as Atsushi from BSD!

Studio Ghilbi (Films): My love affair with Ghibli goes back to when I was about 5 and BEGGED my mom to take me to the library so we could rent Kiki’s Delivery Service on DVD. But that love has been FULLY rejuvenated this year when I went to the Ghibli Film Festival in New York City (ironically in the last week in February). If you haven’t seen them, go watch From Up On Poppy Hill, Whisper of the Heart, and The Wind Rises. Spoilers, you’re probably gonna cry.

If you’ve made it this far, THANK YOU FOR READING! 

And thank you to all the amazing people that made my 2020 not so horrible. Good riddance 2020, don’t let the door hit you on the way out!

#2020 #mental health #appreciation post #figure skating #studio ghibli #coco #attack on titan #great pretender #bungou stray dogs #trash taste #versailles tv #yuri!!! on ice #the arcana game #hazbin hotel #anime #fandom

[bellatrixobsessed1]

The Dragon Egg (Part 2)

Part 2 for @secrettunnelatla

“No, this isn’t good enough!” Azula grits her teeth. It is decent work--as far as sound goes--but it isn’t battle of the bands worthy. Not even close. If they wanted to make it to Audio of Agni their concept would have to be much stronger, much less generic than a silly gimmick. “What kind of lyrics are these? Who came up with this concept?”

Chan, Zirin, and Ruon all point at one another before ultimately jabbing their fingers at Zirin who points to Azula herself.

Azula pinches the bridge of her nose. “Necrophilia, Zirin? That’s what you came up with?”

“You said that you wanted ‘attention grabbing’.” Zirin shrugs.

Azula rubs her hands over her face. “Our talents need to be attention grabbing.” Hers certainly are and she needs lyrics and a concept that will do them good service. “We need something that will highlight and showcase what we can do.” An absurd gimmick will only draw attention away from the aspects that matter the most.

“You got any better ideas?” Zirin grumbles.

Ruon quirks a brow and smirks, “we can try…”

“Don’t say it.” Azula frowns.

“Surf rock.” Chan finishes for him.

“We need something bigger.” Azula declares. “Something that hasn’t been done before.” She wishes that she would have saved their dragon metal concept for a later date. Then again, dragon metal is what had given them the propulsion they needed to break out from under her father’s shadow. The propulsion they needed to get their start.

But now she is at a loss for how to top that. She can’t imagine that there are many things that can top emerging on stage with a full suit of glimmering metal scales and glowing talons. She isn’t sure what can draw attention better than staring down an audience with reptilian contact lenses.

“I heard that steampunk is in.” Chan shrugs.

“Steampunk is overdone.”

“Zombies?” Zirin suggests.

Azula shakes her head. “The Blind Bandits already did that.”

“We can hold a seance on stage.” She tries again.

“Why are you so keen on utilizing dead things?” Azula pinches the bridge of her nose. Though a seance isn’t a particularly terrible idea if, perhaps, they incorporated other elements, such as handing out tickets in the form of tarot cards. “I suppose we might be able to work with that.”

But an evening of phantoms and psychic energy is a rather far leap from dragon metal and she isn’t sure that their style of music would line up neatly with the aesthetics of a supernatural night…

She spares a glance to the clock. “Keep coming up with ideas, we need to practice.”

“We’ve played these songs hundreds of times, shouldn’t we be coming up with some new songs?” Chan asks. “From Ashes To Phoenix, just announced their second new single.”

Azula’s face reddens if only slightly. “Zuzu can release as many new singles as he wants, that won’t make them sound any better than someone chewing on a microphone with feedback for three minutes.”

Chan stifles a laugh.

She should have known then that the rest of practice was going to be a waste. She has known Chan since they were children and she knows how he can be. She isn’t particularly surprised when he makes practice hell, purposely floundering his way through certain guitar riffs and singing off key when he saw most optimal. His screw ups always through Ruon off and eventually Zirin would practically flop over her drum kit with laughter.

As per usual, Azula is the only one not laughing.

As per usual, Azula is the only one with anything real at stake.

She is reminded quite potently of it when her father calls. Chan has thrown Ruon off for the sixth time that night, they already have to take it from the top so Azula steps out into the hallway and swipes to answer.

He starts in on her before she can even put the phone to her ear. “How is it that your brother has already put out two new singles and you haven’t even come up with one?”

“Because I’m trying to come up with something that has some quality.” She has chosen her words carefully but neglected to watch her tone.

She thinks that it would be more befitting of him to simply yell violently at her. But his voice is so slick and smooth that she can’t even hide behind incoherence. “I’m not funding your band for you to disgrace the legacy. I handed you a blazing torch and you are letting the fire die.”

“I’m trying to…” she pauses. “Pick out the best kindling. Something that will burn for a long time. Zuko is just tossing random sticks into the pit and hoping something will catch.”

This seems to satisfy him, though it doesn’t keep him from ending the call with a curt, “there’s a fine line between perfecting a song and stalling.” He doesn’t even know that she hasn’t started working on a song yet.

He doesn’t need to know.

She rubs her hands over her face. The man was pissed when Zuko’s first album flopped and he’d had low expectations to begin with. She vividly recalls childhood music lessons; they’d come so naturally to her. She could pick up a violin or stroke the keys of a piano and it would come out just right after the first few tries.

Her voice, they said, was golden. A gift. A marvel. She had impressive range. She has impressive range.

And Zuko, even with extra lessons and several teachers struggled to make use of even a recorder. His vocals were ‘generic’, ‘nothing special’  and sometimes he would sing off tune. Ozai wasn’t fond of his improv either when lyrics slipped his mind.

He still forgets lyrics.

His own lyrics.

Azula isn’t sure how he hasn’t yet been booed off of a stage. She supposes there are perks in having magazine writers fawning over abs and ‘chiseled faces’.

But she wants more than that. She wants real talent. She wants a voice so sublime and lyrics so powerful that they draw focus away from any other aspect of her. She loathes and dreads the day when they push out cover that fancies her physique over her genius.

She won’t rely on that.

Unlike Zuko, she doesn’t need to.

She has a voice and she can do things with it that so many others can’t. She glares at Chan and Ruon as they cackle to themselves. She joins them once more, whatever aura she emits, their laughter cuts off. “Are you finished?”

They nod and Zirin nods.

“Good.” She says in a low hiss. “Start over. This time lets focus. We’re going to have a new song by the end of the night.”

It will be a lackluster song, but it will pacify her father, at least until she can come up with something better.

By the end of the session the only thing that she has acquired for her troubles is a headache and a sudden resentment of Zirin. Chan at least knows when to bring a terrible and tired joke to an end. Zirin is a collection of relentless crass comments.

Even if she doesn’t mean any harm by them, she doesn’t know when to shut the fuck up. Sometimes Azula thinks that Zirin is holding the rest of them back. Sometimes she regrets seeing the potential in her. Sometimes she regrets having vouched for her during music lessons until the teachers saw the same thing that she did.

Sometimes she thinks that she only lets Zirin stay because she is Chan’s girlfriend.

Sometimes she lets it go and carries on with practice as though the comments are only mild annoyances. And most of the time they are.

Tonight she has had her fill of aggravation.

Tonight she has had her fill of letting the woman pound on the drums every time she attempted to speak. She locks her microphone in its stand and without another word or a glance back, she leaves the recording studio.

As the door slams she could hear Zirin remark, “daddy’s little diva.”

She doesn’t know how long they wait for her to come back. But she doesn’t. Not that night. Were it not for her father’s expectations she would be well on her way to finding new bandmates. She can’t afford that yet; she is too pressed for time.

Too awkward and isolated to find anyone else anyhow.

She uses her walk home to come up with excuses as to why practice has been cut so short.

.oOo.

Seicho doesn’t expect a call so soon. Spirits, it would be embarrassing if her work had given Azula an allergic reaction. With the woman’s number flashing across her cellphone screen, she pictures rock ‘n roll legend, Fire Lord Ozai showing up at the shop all muscle and fury to tell her off for ruining his daughter’s flawless skin.

Seicho shudders and grins all at once. She isn’t sure if she would particularly mind getting yelled at by her idol, it would be like one of his concerts, but without the music. She picks up the call before it can go to voicemail.

“If it’s a rash, you should probably call the doctor! I’m sorry for…”

“What are you talking about?” She can see Azula’s half-frown through the phone.

Seicho clears her throat. “Nevermind, I thought that you were someone else.” She lies. “Is everything going okay with your tattoo?”

“So far, yes.”

“Are you cleaning it at least twice daily.”

“I clean it once in the morning, once at noon, and once at night. I’m not calling to talk about my tattoo.”

“What are you calling for then?”

Azula is silent for quite a while.

“I suppose I just want someone to talk to.”

Seicho very nearly asks her why she doesn’t just phone a friend, why she has decided to talk to her of all people. Instead she inquires, “what do you want to talk about?”

“I don’t know.” There is a long pause. “Nevermind.” The phone clicks.

.oOo.

She feels foolish hanging up just to call again. But her father is still up and about, she sees his silhouette behind the curtain and she hasn’t come up with an excuse that he’d accept. She could tell him that Chan had to leave early but then he’d ask why she hadn’t continued without him. She could say that the other two refused but then he’d question her lack of control and ask why she didn’t practice alone.

She should just enter and get it over with, it is better if she does. It is the difference between a scolding and a slap.

But today she can’t take any more berating. She hits redial and holds the phone up to her ear.

“Hello?”

“Can we meet somewhere?” She doesn’t bother backtracking to return the greeting.

Seicho draws out her pause for so long that Azula nearly hangs up a second time. “Does the skate park sound good? I’m already there.”

It isn’t her scene. “I’ll be there.” She hangs up before the girl can change her mind.

#Avatar The Last Airbender #Azula #Azula/Background Character #Zuko #Mai #Maiko #Fanfiction

[autumnblogs]

Day 26: Everybody’s Dead, Dave

https://homestuck.com/story/3594

Purpose.

https://homestuck.com/story/3596

I love how perceptive Kanaya is. She probably is able to do this because she’s been a Prospit Dreamer almost her entire life.

https://homestuck.com/story/3598

Again, this part of Act 5 serves to make the implicit themes that have been developed by the first half of it explicit. Lord English’s modus operandi is to act through many many actors in order to distribute accountability and make everyone his accomplice, using a bit of legerdemain here and a bit of coercion there to keep everyone dwelling on their own guilt, and at each other’s throats, instead of his.

More after the break.

https://homestuck.com/story/3614

Unlike the Carapacians, who need a Command Prompt, Doc Scratch can talk in the Narrative Layer without assistance.

https://homestuck.com/story/3629

I don’t have a lot to say about Doc Scratch because at the end of the day, I don’t actually find him to be all that interesting. Maybe I’ll think of something to say about him. I guess the main thing is, I tend to read Doc Scratch as not being essentially a different guy from Lord English - he is English’s puppet, a character that he plays, but in terms of agendas, and true personality, there is no essential difference Between the two of them, so I think that Scratch gives us some insight into the normally crass and borderline incomprehensible Caliborn - Caliborn as the gentleman.

It also occurs to me that, rather than a purely material explanation for the Scratch retroactively erasing the timeline, it could just be that it erases those who have scratched the game as a punishment for failure, and in order to discourage rash use of it.

https://homestuck.com/story/3631

I think in spite of - or even because of! - the fact that Doc Scratch is evil, Rose latches onto him because of the fact that he mixes affection and challenge in a way that she craves. She very much wants to be paid attention to, and oh boy does Doc Scratch pay her attention.

https://homestuck.com/story/3635

It’s interesting that Rose asks the ball a prescriptive question, which would, one imagines, not have an objective answer in real life.

But then, it’s Paradox Space.

https://homestuck.com/story/3638

It seems to be the fate of Seers to only realize their power too late. Perhaps it is this traumatic event which is destined to cause the awakening of all Seers - 20/20 hindsight creates the impetus to develop 20/20 foresight.

Rose instantly knows exactly what to say to her Mom once she can no longer say it, because of course, that’s probably how she felt about her all along, but the same pessimism and spite that is fueling her suicidal tantrum prevented her from reaching out to another person in love.

https://homestuck.com/story/3687

John continues to be an extremely poor judge of character. He’s just too nice.

https://homestuck.com/story/3695

Rose’s first act after going Grimdark is, of course, to fully realize her role as the Seer of Light, by cutting through all of the bullshit to fight the final boss. She is so good at it that she manages to get John Fucking Egbert to do something important without going on any sidequests.

Too bad she is rapidly slain.

https://homestuck.com/story/3698

Turns out that confronting your Dead Guardian is a catalyst for self-reflection.

Dave pretty much instantly identifies that he’s not a hero, even if he doesn’t know what not being a hero means yet.

It’ll be a while before he figures out how to solve problems without fighting people.

https://homestuck.com/story/3712

It’s a shame that Terezi doesn’t know that Vriska is having the same problem as her exactly.

https://homestuck.com/story/3722

As an avatar of the part of Dave represented by worship of Bro, Gamzee is acting a lot like Bro, a hyper-fast, gaslighting puppetmaster.

https://homestuck.com/story/3743

What is the significance of starting Disc 2 here?

Act 6 forms the actual second half of Homestuck, but that’s still around 250 pages away. So what gives?

I think we are to understand that the killing of all the Guardians constitutes the end of the first half of Homestuck from an emotional perspective. Everything that happens from here will concern the emotional fallout from the spectacle of death that has just taken place.

Nearly all of Act 5 Act 2 so far has been a spectacle of murder after all, the vicious, violent resolution of all of the emotional set up of the first four and a half acts. All of the unresolved emotional tension, all the social anxiety comes to a head as the kids are separated from their guardians for good, and the trolls’ acculturation metastasizes into bloodshed - and Terezi’s murder (if it can be called that) of Vriska forms a short coda to murderstuck.

https://homestuck.com/story/3759

These past few pages help us to understand why Vriska is the way that she is.

Reading Mindfang’s Journal her whole life, she idolizes her ancestor the way that a younger Dave idolized Bro, and wants nothing better than to let her ancestor live through her vicariously.

https://homestuck.com/story/3760

For all intents and purposes, Terezi has already made the decision to kill Vriska, so as far as Paradox Space is concerned, it has already happened.

We’ll pick up tomorrow.

For now, this is Cam signing off, alive but not alone.

#liveblogging #commentary

[jean----ralphio]

BoB liveblog ep 3

Feelings. I’m having them.

Episode 3: Carentan, but I’m renaming it my heart hurts because this ep is so heavy but also I’m happy cos the best thing possible happens AKA the return of Rich

00:01 THE MUSIC. UGH. WHISKEY STAT.

03:02 These men, I can’t, stop doing this to me Tom Hanks, I feel personally attacked by the pain

03:18 My husband has just informed me I shouldn’t drink while doing these liveblogs because it’s “unhealthy” and “dangerous” and “please stop drinking my whiskey and crying about Gabriel from Supernatural.” First of all, he’s fucking lucky I’m not filing for divorce. Secondly, I need to cope SOMEHOW! “Yes, but I really don’t think alcohol is the best choice as a coping mechanism.” WRONG ALCOHOL IS THE ONLY CHOICE.

03:46 Blithe! Whatcha doing baby?

03:55 Shifty! My angel son is here!

04:21 Real talk, the first thing I ever saw Marc Warren in was this hot as fuck movie with Lee Williams, I’ll google it hang on. OK it’s called ‘No night is too long’, its based off a book. Marc Warren plays this hot professor and Lee Williams is a uni student and the sex scene montage is seared in my memory forever, and there’s a kiss in elevator and it is something else. That’s all I remember when I see Marc. His character in it was super intense and kinda scary, so it’s funny to see him playing Blithe, who is baby.

05:17 Aw Shift, my little angel baby son

05:32 Perco! <3

05:41 Lieb I’ve missed you <3 Luz <3

06:11 Oh Blithe, sweetie.

06:38 Like. He’s functioning. But he’s also not functioning. Same tbh

06:58 Harrrrryyyy <3

07:18 “No talking, no smoking, and no playing grab-fanny with the guy in front of you, Luz!” Iconic.

08:01 “And another thing to remember, boys, flies spread disease! So keep yours closed!” Oh Luz, never change

08:15 Love these few seconds, the fire and the water and the silhouettes

09:11 What do you mean again! How many times have you lost them, Harry?!

09:44 Yay the husbands are here. I’ve missed them. BUT YOU KNOW WHO I MISS THE MOST? RICH. WHERE IS HE?

10:40 You’re the yokel, sweetie

10:50 It’s OK, baby Blithe!

11:02 Look, Dad and his husband are here, you’re safe

11:27 Ugh that scene

12:00 I don’t like this, Dick

12:35 “WHERE DID EVERYBODY GO!”

               “I HAVE NO IDEA!”

               Iconic.

12:45 Move, boys! Listen to Dad!

13:11 BABY NO DON’T TAKE YOUR HELMET OFF!

13:31 Angel son, be careful

13:45 God how do they even know where to shoot?

14:08 Shifty! I said be careful!

14:09 God he’s good

14:23 No baby!

14:40 That was boss, random dude. Tipper?

14:50 Angel son

15:01 Boys. God.

15:40 Was that necessary?

15:41 Well, it led to that boss scene for one, I guess. Iconic.

15:57 Naw, Luz had a feeling <3 And he was right!

16:08 Leave them, baby

16:46 Buck lmao

16:57 Sweetie it’s OK! Oh no, baby ☹

17:10 Roe <3

17:18 Me too, babe

17:38 Ah, Lip! Speirs, come save him!

17:53 Lol poor Lip! Oh no, not the goods!

18:01 I’m happy for you, and Speirs, lmao

18:39 Yeah, you show that outhouse, Tip. It was looking shady as fuck to be fair

18:48 Oh fuck.

18:56 This bit though, the distorted sound… fuck

19:25 Oh Lieb <3

19:35 Lieb, you always try to pretend you don’t care and that you’re badass but you’re not fooling me <3

19:44 Baby, no, wtf are you doing?

19:53 IT’S RICH! OH THANK FUCK! I’VE BEEN SO FUCKING WORRIED. I’M SO PHYSICALLY RELEIEVED LMAO

20:02 My heart

20:27 God

20:34 Where tf did you find that horse?!

20:50 You named him fat boy??

21:02 Oh, honey. I can’t make jokes. It’s a stressful time for us all, me especially, due to the lack of Rich.

21:06 Nix. No.

21:10 Husbands <3

21:14 Baby! Nix go back and help.

21:23 He’s like ugh tf I don’t have time for this! Mood

21:34 This is the first time we hear Roe speak <3

21:43 Listen to him, Dick!

21:45 Hey Buck

22:22 Lord, thank you for Shane’s face.

22:31 Roe’s like wtf you gonna do?

22:55 Baby don’t cry!

23:32 You didn’t let anyone down! It’s OK!

23:43 Oh Dick called him son, I can’t

23:57 Dad healing vibes.

24:11 Dick is legit a Dad now. Is this how the adoption process works?

24:41 Roe is like tf just happened

24:53 RICH! RICH!!!! <3

24:59 Ew

25:05 Don’t touch it, Rich, yucky.

25:21 Oh God. Terrifying.

25:22 Riiiiich, I’ve missed you so much

25:30 Speirs just wants to get back to killing ASAP

25:37 Terrifying. Pretty. But terrifying.

25:41 Mood, Penk

25:56 Riiiich <3 He looks so golden in the sunlight <3

25:58 Paused here a while. His face is beneficial to my health and well-being, OK? Also, third whiskey

26:04 RIIICCH <3 He’s such a wind up. He’s so pretty and golden! Look at his eyes and his little lock of hair and his stubble, I can’t even.

26:17 I can’t. His eyes. Even in the shade you can see they’re so pretty <3

26:36 So much Rich content. I’m so happy.

26:59 Lord. I love Rich. But Matthew is a freaking fox.

27:10 *happy sigh*

27:20 Rich’s hair is so blonde here

27:28 Rich stop throwing things at people!

27:37 Blithe is still a wee bit batshit, but he’s still the only voice of reason in this little party, which is concerning.

28:19 LMAO LUZ “Oh Jesus Christ, Frank, I don’t know, until they tell us to stop.” He’s always such a mood.

28:38 Hoob looks like he needs a bath.

29:02 Move, babies, move

29:38 That day-night transition tho

29:52 Hey Johnny

30:02 Mood

30:07 Harry. Stop. Cute.

30:30 Johnny, I’m not sure I appreciate your little “You can count on ME sir” as if Harry can’t count on Blithe! Don’t be rude.

30:33 Harry! Fucking fall on him why don’t you!

31:06 Tell that to Ross

31:34 Dad’s here

32:37 Oh Harry

32:38 “War is hell” You little shit! Iconic

33:08 Oh God

33:21 Roe <3 He got there quick! I feel like he doesn’t sleep, that he just hangs around in the back waiting to run in and save people <3

33:27 Oh, baby ☹

33:32 Blithe, it’s OK. He looks so scared!

33:55 Johnny, I have several things to say to you. Number 1, how dare you look so hot in this lighting. Number 2, don’t be so freaking lazy! Number 3, leave poor Blithe alone! He is having a Difficult Time. God Johnny is so unimpressed with him tho.

34:35 I would be more scared to run into Speirs, rather than the enemy. He is more terrifying tbh.

34:46 So. Intimidating.

34:54 Nervous? Yes, case in point.

35:01 Oh Christ here we go. Welcome to the Speirs is batshit and murder-hungry show.

35:27 Lol at Johnny suddenly waking up cos he heard gossip

35:40 Goodnight Johnny ‘Unimpressed’ Martin ILY

36:06 Don’t kill him, please

36:33 GDI Speirs

36:53 Literally no one else wants to be like that, Speirs, just you.

37:58 God

38:33 I need to see Rich. I feel like he was back in that field with Malark but I couldn’t make him out properly and I am now Upset.

38:52 Dick is so boss.

39:18 Oh, baby, oh dear

39:42 Ugh, oh no

40:02 Noooo don’t abandon Easy

40:22 Dad’s here, it’s OK

40:57 Dick get down from up there, you’ll get hit

42:08 Lol at Harry

43:18 RICH

43:48 Nix just chillin with his binoculars on his hill the whole time

44:20 Naw Rich just got back with the ammo and now the party is over

45:05 Oh

45:29 I got chills, the way he just disappears

48:11 So touching

48:46 Harry’s not happy

48:57 lol they’re all like nope, don’t make eye contact

48:58 Aw Blithe levelled up, plus 1 courage

49:00 No, not my angel son, you leave him back where it’s safe Harry

49:28 Aw, Harry’s smile <3

49:59 Nix don’t be so crass

51:00 ROE <3

51:28 Aw Harry, it’s not your fault

51:52 I love this. Harry and Dick in the shade, the boys all chillin in the sun. It feels peaceful and like they’re getting some rest, but like it’s not comfortable. Both legit because they’re lying about on rocks and rubble, and like the general mood and tension. It’s not safe yet, and the environment reflects that and this show, I can’t with this fucking masterpiece of a show sometimes I swear

52:25 “That’s why I came to France. To please General Taylor.” Another zinger from Harry! Give me one line of his that is not iconic and I will give you my firstborn

53:34 Oh Blithe <3

53:56 Aw Malark <3

54:15 Dorks

54:53 RICH

55:14 Lol at Malark stealing Rich’s cigarette

55:19 Oh Lord, the way Dick’s face falls. God, that look. Also do you two husbands need to be that close? No, but please continue.

55:27 Babe <3

55:37 Aw the Dad club assembling is never good. Fun’s over.

55:44 Laughing Rich is all I need in this world

56:00 Bill stop groping him, that’s Roe’s job

56:04 Rich <3

56:13 Aw Babe has a new friend

56:16 Rich in the background <3

56:28 Oh Lip

56:31 That’s sweet of you Smokey

56:49 Lip <3

57:02 RICH’S FACE OMG

57:25 Poor Lip, having to do this.

57:29 RICH

57:36 OMG it’s an actual woman

57:48 Good on you Malark

58:07 Cute

58:17 So sweet

58:32 Oh God, this scene. It’s actually a little surprising she’s not figuring it out on her own

58:37 Oh, his face

58:57 Scott does such a beautiful job in this scene, portraying the emotion without much dialogue, not quite meeting her eyes when he should because he’s trying to hide his shock and sadness

59:40 Oh Blithe.

In conclusion I am happy and sad. It’s a very confusing time. 

#band of brothers #liveblog #rsj #this one hits right in the feels

[thethoughtsfromthreeam]

Sunshine

Pairing: Maxwell Lord x OC (Evelyn “Evie” Blaker)

Warnings: Smut

A/N: Enjoy the smut because angst is coming.  I didn’t plan on it originally, but damn if it didn’t make sense to the story line.  Ugh, angst, you bastard.

Reminder:  I ain’t ever seen Pedro Pascal in FUCK ALL, I’m just coming up with this as I go along, using imdb.com, wiki, and 84,000 tabs I got open to plan out this shit.  I also write soft versions of his characters so if you’re craving asshole vibes, I ain’t got any but my own to offer.

Tags:  @zeldasayer , @romanticgumchewer, @beskars​ , @coolmaybelateruniverse , @the-feckless-wonder, @lavenderl3mons , @pascalisthepunkest , @mandoandyodito​ , @randomness501 , @fioccodineveautunnale  

[PART 1]  [PART 2]  [PART 3]  [PART 4]  [PART 5]

Part 6 

That Let You Fly High

“Evie!”  Maxwell’s voice rang through the house as he walked in the door, dropping his briefcase by the hall table and hanging his coat on the rack.  He was humming with a smile on his face.  He was taking two days off and that, plus the weekend, meant he had four whole days of Evie to himself.  His secretary asked several times if he was feeling okay and he was so blissed out on the thought, he couldn’t even pretend to be mad.

Evie herself was in the kitchen, looking out at the beautiful fall day and enjoying some hot chocolate.  Marnie had gone home early for the evening and she was lost in thought when she heard Maxwell’s voice calling her.  Something about the situation made her think of I Love Lucy and for a moment she felt like a fifties sitcom housewife.  She giggled at such a silly thought, but it wormed its way further in her brain and something about it felt right.

Before she let herself dwell on the idea, she walked out in the dining room and met him halfway, both wearing matching grins.  He walked up to her and leaned down to kiss her, her lips tasting of chocolate and whipped cream.  He thought her natural sweetness was better.  They kissed softly, a series of pecks on the lips that spoke of affection and hints of love where their tongues could not.  Not yet anyway.

“Hello Max.”  They pulled away and he took her mug and set it on the table.  He wrapped his arms around her waist, and she leaned into him. He looked down into her face, that warmth he had grown to love seemed to crawl even deeper into his soul.

“I got a call from a friend of mine, Eric, inviting me to a fundraiser tomorrow.  I think it’s for the botanical gardens or something.  Anyway, I agreed and I’m taking you with me.  I think we deserve a fancy night on the town to kick off our weekend.”  He noticed a frown growing between her eyebrows.

“I didn’t come prepared for a fancy party though.”  She was already taking mental inventory of what she would need. “I’d have to go shopping.”

“I figured, so we’ll just go shopping”

“We?”  Her tone had an amused tone to it, and he grinned.

“Yeah.  We’ll go tomorrow, do a little shopping, get some lunch.  You know, make a day of it.”

“You’ll go shopping with me.”  Her amused tone growing with each word until she got the giggles.  He raised an eyebrow, trying to look mean but absolutely failing.

“Watching you trying on gowns? Why would I miss that?”  His voice turned husky and she surprised herself by blushing under his look.  A gleam glinted in his eye and she turned away from him, heat creeping across her body.  He dropped a warm kiss to the back of her neck before leaving the room, knowing he left her body humming for him.  His grin spread across his face.

---***---

Waincotters Boutique was one of those high-end parlor-style dress stores that in any other case Evie would have bypassed for a Nordstrom’s or Bloomingdale’s.  She felt a little out of place with her jeans and tee shirt when she saw the way the salesgirls were dressed.  Maxwell held her hand and he could feel the shivers as her nerves began to get to the better of her.  He squeezed a little and glanced down at her.  Its fine, the squeeze told her.

“Maxwell!  So good to see you again!  And who do we have with us today?”  A sprightly woman with a greying bob cut smiled at the couple.  The woman was entirely welcoming, and Evie felt a little more at ease under her kind eyes.  They were whisked away to a private room with a comfortable sitting area and a small platform with mirrors.

“I’m Susanne and I’ll be helping you find the perfect dress for tonight’s event.”  The woman sat down with them and another came through the door with snacks and drinks and set them on the table before leaving the three alone again.  “What kind of event is it?”

“Formal wear, not quite black tie.”  Maxwell had called Eric to get more information and that was all he was told. “Not cocktail as far as I know.”

“Perfect.  Now Miss. . .”

“Evie.”

“Miss Evie.”  Susanne smiled again and took Evie’s hands into her own, the skin warm and comforting.

“Tell me what you like in a dress.  Sleeves?  No sleeves? Slit?  Silk? Crepe?  Color?  Cut? Style?  Shape? Length? Train?  No train? Neckline?”  The questions were almost overwhelming to her and Evie took a deep breath.  Susanne smiled and patted her hand, recognizing that look of too much information on the fiery blonde’s face.

“How about this, let’s start with something easy.  What color do you like to wear?”

“Oh purples!”  Evie sounded excited for the first time since everything started.  “I love purples, but dark ones like plum.”

“Great!”  Susanne wrote somethings down and continued to asked questions like sizes and height.  “Let me pull a variety and let you try them on and then we’ll narrow it down.”

Evie nodded and soon a dozen dresses in ranging from a deep plum to a royal purple in all different styles were hanging in front of her.  While she didn’t have a full affinity for fashion, she did love quality clothing.  Most people thought her outfits for work were staid, but the fabrics were rich, and quality made.  Even her jeans and tee shirts were well fitted and everything she wore was tailored as needed.  Being able to pick out a fancy gown was like being handed a gift, almost heavenly.

As she glanced down at the price tag, though, her eyes bugged out and she snapped her head around to look at Maxwell.  He started laughing, choking on his drink in the process.  He still laughed as he wiped his pants off.

“MAX!”  She hissed. “This dress is almost $7,000! I can’t afford this!”  She put the dress back on the rack as if it were on fire.

“You’re not, I’m buying it.”

“Oh no you’re not.  We’re leaving and going to Saks or something.”  She stepped off the platform to grab her purse when he shot his hand out to stop her.

“Evie.  Stop worrying about it.  I’m buying you a dress, it’s no big deal.”

“I can’t let you spend $7,000 on me!”  Her voice rose with every word until the last one came out as a squeak. “That’s outrageous, it’s too expensive. THAT’S SEVEN GRAND!”

“Evie, please calm down for one second.”  Maxwell looked her in the eyes, an amused and almost loving look to them. “I care about you finding a dress you love and that you’ll want to show off tonight.  I want you to feel good.  Price is of no matter to me.  And if I thought it was, do you think I would have brought you here in the first place?”

She stopped and seemed to calm down somewhat, her face still red as she looked at the first dress she had pulled off the rack.

“Well, you got me there.”

“I know.  Now ignore the price tags, find what makes you feel beautiful and its yours.”

“I never had anyone spend so much money on me.”  Her tone was low, not meaning for him to hear her.  It was almost obscene how much he was willing to spend, and she felt a little guilty.  Kind of how she felt guilty asking to order a second dessert on their first date.  Quality she was willing to spend money on, but boy, $7,000 was way too rich for her decidedly middle-class tastes.

“I suppose it would be crass to say that you’ve never had anyone with my level of wealth buying things for you.”  He smiled as she giggled.

“That’s true.”  She walked back over to the dresses and ran her fingers across them, feeling silk and crepe and a jersey so soft a baby could have been swaddled in it.  And they were her favorite color. . .  She turned around.

“Are you staying here while I try them on?”

“That was the goal.”  Again, his voice turned slightly husky and a small smirk grew on her lips.  As he sat down, she turned and walked over to the door, head poking out, she asked for a pair of heels in her size and muttered something to the salesgirl.  She stepped back into the room and closed the door, locking it behind her.

Maxwell had settled back into his seat, taking off his jacket and rolling up his cuffs.  He popped a cracker into his mouth, not really paying attention to Evie as she stepped back onto the platform.  She faced away from him and pulling out a hair tie, she swept her long locks into a bun. When she could see Maxwell looking at her, she dropped her hands to the hem of her shirt.

Capturing Maxwell’s eyes, she held his gaze as she slowly raised her shirt, exposing the skin of her stomach inch by inch.  She ran her hands up and across her breasts as she continued to pull up the fabric, her yellow bra peeking out from under the shirt. He swallowed, but her face remained stoic.

She grabbed the hem of her shirt and whipped it over her head, dropping it on the floor.  She stood there a moment before bringing her hand to the button of her jeans.  She popped the button as she toed off her flats.  She could see the bulge growing in Maxwell’s pants and his eyes were darkening.  She unzipped her pants and pushed them off her hips.  She bent over and thrusted her ass out in his direction as she pushed them off her legs.  From where he sat, he could see the crotch of her panties darkening as Evie became more and more turned on.

Evie remained bent over, slightly turning her head and she saw that Maxwell had loosened his tie and rolled up his sleeves.  Those forearms of his, the crisp blond hairs glistening in the overhead lights, something about his strong forearms sent shockwaves of pleasure to the very center of her.  She slowly stood up and stepped out of the puddle of denim at her feet, kicking it off to the side.  A low groan came from behind her as she stood there in just her underthings.  She paused until he looked her in the eye, and she bowed her head slightly.

Reaching up, she unhooked her bra’s front clasp and the fabric gaped, her breasts spilling out and her nipples playing peek-a-boo with the lace edges. She saw Maxwell shift behind her, his bulge now clearly visible in the mirror’s reflection.  She could his hands gripping the arms of the chair, knuckles almost white.  She threw him a sultry smile as she dragged her fingertips from her chin down the front of her neck to the middle of her chest.  

She let her hands rest there before fanning out her fingers and lightly running them across her breasts, moving the bra off them and exposing her harden nipples to the cooler air of the dressing room.  She could hear Maxwell’s heavy breathing growing more rapid as he watched her actions in the mirrors.  Evie kept moving her hands, pealing the yellow material off her body and let it drop behind her.  She threw Maxwell a coquettish look in the mirror as she brought her hands back to her breasts.

She spread her hands until her flesh was covered, and she could feel the hard nub of her nipples against her palms.  She lolled her head downward, keeping a steady gaze with Maxwell, who was practically vibrating with want.  Her fingers were soft against her skin and slowly she dragged them until her fingertips were against her nipples.  He watched as she flicked her wrists and twisted the taunt flesh and her moan went straight to his cock.

The ripples of pleasure in her breasts were making her clit feel needy and her hips jerked forward, pulsating for a touch.  Her body slightly bowed into herself and her mouth dropped open although no sound came out.  Evie tried to maintain eye contact with Maxwell, but the pleasure was so overwhelming that she closed her eyes, chasing the edges of her climax.  She continued to tweak her nipples, her body straining for her clit to be touched.

Finally, she couldn’t take it anymore and she dropped her hands, brushing them over her clothed mound.  She could feel her panties growing damper with each passing moment and she unconsciously rubbed her thighs together.  Suddenly, she turned around, facing her audience for the first time since she locked the door.

“Max.  Come here.” He didn’t need to be told twice, he was out of his chair and in one long stride, he stood in front of her.  The dark pools of his lustful eyes drew her in, and she threw him a sultry look.  “Take off my panties.”

He groaned as he dropped to his knees, looking at up at her.  Maxwell felt like he was on fire.  The minute he saw the skin of her stomach, he was lost. The more she exposed, the harder he became, and he desperately wanted to fuck her senseless.  His entire body itched to feel her skin, his tongue wanted to explore the slit he knew was soaked, and he cock ached for her.  He brought his hands to her hips and he could see them shaking in anticipation.  This woman is undoing him, a small voice inside him said.  And we fucking love it, replied the roaring lust consuming him.

He hooked his fingers underneath her silky boy shorts, the shape framing out her hips and ass beautifully.  With a slow tug, they were dragged down her legs and the smoothness of the silk created flames of heat along her skin, felt long after he tossed the scrap of fabric to the side.  Every inch of her felt like she was on fire the minute Maxwell touched her.  She looked down at him and he could barely see the golden brown he’d come to love – the pupils blown out so wide her eyes were black, and he felt as if they were sucking him in.

“Touch me.”  Her voice was a raspy whisper and Evie felt that if he didn’t, she just might die.  Thankfully for her, he obliged, and their eyes remained locked as Maxwell slowly dragged his large hands up her legs, letting just his fingertips skitter across her thighs.  Her body bowed again, and the quiet moan came from deep in her chest.  Her eyes nearly fluttered shut, but she stopped herself so she could look at him in front of her, eyes full of supplication and want.  She had brough the great and powerful Maxwell Lord to his knees and the very thought made her feel hedonistic.  She brought her hands up to his shoulders, giving her something solid to hold onto as she began to float away on a river of pleasure.

Maxwell ghosted his hand around her left thigh before grabbing it and lifting her leg.  He hooked it over his shoulder, and he brought his hands to her hips.  Tipping them slightly, he brought his mouth to her slit and flattened his tongue, dragging it through her folds before resting on her clit.  Her whole body shuttered, and she moaned at the sensation.  Her hands moved up to grip his hair, giving her the balance she needed to stay upright.

Her tugs on his hair sent pleasure directly to his cock and his own hips jerked forward.  He smiled against her before licking her again, focusing on her clit with every pass through. When her thighs began to shake with her building orgasm, he brought his hand down and sunk two fingers deep into her heat.  She gasped his name at the sensation and the feral feeling in his chest grew.  This woman’s pleasure was his and his alone and he was going to take it.

Evie’s eyes fluttered shut and her body continued to tremble at the overwhelming sensations she was experiencing and her grip on him grew tighter. His eyes, despite their lust, were full of adoration for her and she never felt as cherished in such a position as she did now.  Something bloomed deep inside of her, something behind the lust that wrapped its ghostly fingers around her heart.

“Max, I’m going to come.”  She whispered it, trying to keep the noise down as to not arouse suspicion from the salesgirls.  He nodded as he continued to pump his hand into her, and he zeroed in his tongue on her clit.  Soon the familiar coils in her stomach reached their breaking point and she gritted her teeth as she came, the strangled cry sounding hoarse.  He withdrew his fingers but kept licking her clit until he felt her pulling his head away from her.

Her skin was flushed, and her body kept trembling against him, her chest heaving with exertion.  He could tell she was barely standing upright, she always lost control of her body when she came.  Knowing that he brought her to such highs felt like the best drug he could take.  Every pant, every groan – he was able to draw those from her and he almost was addicted to it.  

He brought his hands to her hips and leaned back onto his heels.  He had to have her, and his hand dropped to his crotch.  Maxwell unzipped his pants, pulling his rock-hard cock out, precum practically dripping out of him in a continuous stream.  He palmed himself, stroking a few times to spread his own slickness along with hers. He found himself struggling not to go any further.

“Sit on my lap, Evie.  I need you on me.”  His voice sounded desperate, a vibration that resonated with her.  They fucked several times since she arrived in the city, but something about this time seemed different and she felt as if she would die if she didn’t feel him inside of her.  She dropped to her knees, straddling his lap as he grabbed the base of his cock.  She slowly lowered herself onto him and her breath stuttered out of her lungs as she felt him fill her.  When he was buried to the hilt, Evie briefly thought that Maxwell was touching her very soul and she wasn’t sure where they each began and ended.

She dropped her head onto his shoulder and wrapped her arms around him. Even though he was fully dressed, the heat of his skin seemed to burn Evie and in turn Maxwell felt as if no clothes were between then at all.  His own arms wrapped themselves around her waist, his face buried into her neck.  He took a deep breath and the warm scent that was so uniquely hers filled his lungs and hazed his mind.

They sat like that for several long minutes, just savoring the moment. On that platform, in the dressing room, something changed between them fundamentally.  The touches, the comments, the thoughts, the looks, the sensations had been building, the belief that everything just felt right to them converged in that shared moment.  The squeeze on Maxwell’s heart was vice-like and he could feel tears prickling under his lids.  He shifted his hips and he touched something in her that caused her to gasp into his shoulder, almost watery sounding, as if Evie had tears of her own.

She lifted herself before dropping back down onto his cock and Evie shuttered as the pressure in her lower belly began to spark again.  He was sensitive and every movement, no matter how small, was sending out ripples of pleasure through his whole body.  The next time she lifted her hips, he drove into her and her moan was right in his ear.  It was so loud to him and he moaned in response.  Soon they caught a rhythm in that same pattern, their pace soft and slow at first but as the rise of their shared climax began to consume them both, things began to feel more desperate.

Evie raised her head off Maxwell’s shoulder, biting her lip to stay quiet, but she felt compelled to look him in the eye as she came.  He pulled his own head out of her neck and he brought his hand up to brush the tendrils of hair that had escaped her bun and stuck to her face. They stared at each other as their pace continued to increase and their bellies felt on fire – the one that consumes you until you are nothing but ash, waiting for rebirth at the apex of pleasure.

His hips were snapping into her and she gave into him, wanting to come desperately.  He knew exactly when she did, even before her walls clamped down on him, he could see it in her eyes.  She bit her lips to conceal her scream, a strangled sound replacing it instead and he drove into her one last time before coming himself.  He was always quiet, but he found himself tamping down a strangled cry of his own.  They bowed into each other, as if they could crawl inside the other and never leave.

He slowly withdrew from her and she slid off his lap with a less than graceful thump on the platform, legs slightly splayed out.  He could see their mixed come glistening between her legs and his breath caught for a moment.  She laughed and he did, too.  He leaned into her and kissed her gently on the lips before getting up and heading to the small bathroom.  He came back with a towel, his cock back in his pants, although the damp spot she created on the front of them would have been hard to hide had it not been for his jacket.

He gently cleaned her up, stealing kisses on her lips, her cheeks, her neck, - wherever he could touch her, and she responded in kind.  The smile on his face was gentle and loving and hers was, well, it was always like that and he relished it as usual.  Once she was cleaned up, she put her panties and bra back on.

“You going to watch me try on dresses?”  She asked again and he nodded as he helped her up.  He went to sit back down and observed her as she pulled dresses and put them back, trying to get a feel for everything.  But every time, she came back to a dark purple silky jersey dress, one that seemed perfect to her.

Reminiscent of Hilary Swank’s 2004 Oscar dress, Evie noted that it had a high back and a boat neckline, but was fitted, with ruching along the waist that would accent her shape beautifully.  She always preferred to be covered, and as she ran her fingers along the gown, the silk felt heavenly.  For a brief second, her brain flashed an image of said silk wrapped around Maxwell’s cock.  Her smirk was nearly hard to hide.

She looked at Maxwell, who was looking at his phone and not paying attention to her.  She snagged it off the hanger and went back onto the platform.  She stepped into the heels and slipped the dress on.  She looked at the ceiling and said a silent thank you.  It fit and with three-inch heels, the dress gently brushed the ground.  She felt divine and based on Maxwell’s whistle, looked it too.

“Evie, you look. . .”  He waved his hands at her.  “Fucking hot.”

She laughed and turned around, giving a T-pose perfected by years on the pageant circuit as a college student.  Her hands sat on her hips and the way she twisted her torso, her breasts looked round and perfect.  Despite just having fucked her, Maxwell desired to fuck her again.

“Sold.  This is it.”

“You want the shoes, too?”

“God no, these things hurt like hell and I’ve only had them on for five minutes.  We’ll find another pair elsewhere.”  He nodded as she stripped out of the dress and got her clothes back on.  She put the dress back on the hanger and draped it gently over her arm before turning back to Maxwell.

“I feel bad, we didn’t eat anything they set out.”

“Eh, we found something better.”  She laughed and swatted at his arm.  He grabbed her purse for her, and they left the room.  Susanne was waiting for them when they exited and was excited to see that Evie found the dress that she wanted.  They talked more as the purchase was rang up.  The two left the shop and slid into the waiting car, Bennett’s cheery hellos a welcome sight.

“Look at that, found the perfect dress and saved you money.” She looked at him with a grin.  The price for this dress had only been $2,000.  She was still appalled that anyone was spending that amount on her, but she could stomach that figure over $7,000 any day of the week.

“The perfect woman,” He smiled at her and leaned down to whisper, “especially in bed.”

She grew red at his comment but couldn’t stop the giggles that bubbled up in her throat.  The day had been perfect, and she was in heaven.

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