#tha range is wide

[rosienthal]

it's quite funny for me since my favorite character in Band of Brothers is our aggressive, (allegedly?) war criminal with a reputation, big-balled Ronald Speirs while my fave in Masters of the Air is our heroic, soft and gentle, humble Rosie Rosenthal😭

#and then there's haldane in the pacific who's.... you know #my poor ack ack #tha range is wide #band of brothers #masters of the air #the pacific #ronald speirs #rosie rosenthal #andrew haldane #robert rosenthal #ron speirs #ack ack haldane

[deenbandhuchhoturamuniversity]

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[mvth3r]

thinking about you and daryl having matching tattoos..

warnings: 18+ MDNI, smut under the cut, light dirty talk, oral sex (fem receiving)

a/n: this was supposed to be fluffy and sweet, but i genuinely can't help myself. enjoy anyway!

the conversation comes up in the prison a few months after the governor had ran off. things had calmed considerably and the group was gathered at one of the tables late one evening. planning for a run had dissolved shortly into telling stories and cracking jokes.

glenn, who turned towards you and daryl with an easy smile, mentioned it first, announcing, "you know, i always wanted to get a couple of tattoos, but i kept chickening out in college."

daryl scoffed playfully, "prob'ly for tha best. needle woulda made ya cry."

you laughed beside him, "like you did?" daryl nudged your shoulder, his grin teasing,

"musta got us mixed up, girl. you was the one doin' all tha cryin'.”

carl piped up before you could respond, "you have tattoos too? i've seen daryl's, but i've never seen yours!"

you laughed, nodding your head. carl was still a young boy, so you weren't surprised at his interest. he wasn't the only one, though, you noted, as rick, glenn, and maggie stared at you in shock right alongside him.

you smiled indulgently, reaching down to tug the hem of your shirt up, exposing a small tattoo of a rabbit on your ribcage when you twisted to the side.

"¡ have a few more," you released your shirt, waving your hand in a vague gesture, "they're all pretty small, though."

"you and daryl have matching ones," carl stated, his smile wide, "that's really cool."

carol, who was seated on daryl's other side, nudged the hunter with a teasing smile, "how sweet."

"whatever," daryl grunted, shrugging carol off him, but the the redness warming the tips of his ears and the smile he couldn't quite keep away betrayed his false ire.

laughs rang out around the small table, the conversation continuing on past tattoos to other musings about the world before. you leaned into daryl's side, jumping in occasionally, but otherwise content to sit in good company.

and when daryl's hand crept over and started moving slowly up and down your thigh, you just turned to hide your smile in his shoulder.

you already knew what he was thinking about.

later, after everyone had called it a night and made their way to their cells, you found yourself spread over you and daryl's shared cot.

daryl laid between your thighs. he'd tugged your jeans down and off as soon as you'd dropped the privacy sheet, leaving you in a small pair of black panties.

his eyes were trained on your lower hip bone, where another tattoo, this one of his name, sat scrawled in black, loopy print.

daryl pressed kisses to your thighs, mumbling,

"ain't tell 'em 'bout this one, girl."

you hummed quietly, trying not to shift as you felt yourself start to heat up at the tone of his voice,

"didn't need to."

daryl didn't respond, instead brushing his finger over the tattoo before following it with his tongue.

your answering whine made him grin. he didn't stop with his kisses, still peppering them over your thighs, but his fingers did hook under the hem of your panties, sliding them to the side just enough to expose you.

dary's groan was guttural as he took you in, glistening from your own wetness, "damn right you didn't. 's just for me, ain't it?"

"yeah, d," you mumbled, suddenly overwhelmed with the proximity, his unrelenting gaze on you,

"got it just for you, baby."

daryl's eyes were glazed when they flicked up from your wet cunt to meet yours. he loved that fucking tattoo, had since you got it way back when. it made him a little crazy, seeing you branded with his name, and all just because you wanted to.

he descended onto you with fervor, moans coming from you both as he licked broad strokes up your slit. your hand slid through his dark locks, holding him to you as he did.

through the haze of pleasure, your mind drifted back to the tattoo. you'd get a hundred more if you could, if it meant seeing daryl light up at the sight. that was everything.

your head cocked back when daryl's lips closed over your clit, sucking hard. you could feel his fingers swirling around your entrance as well, but you were acutely aware that his other hand hadn't moved from where it rested over your hip bone.

you reached down to intertwine your fingers with his, content to fall back into the bliss he was giving you once more.

your man, your daryl, a lover through and through.

and you knew this because, just as his name sat immortalized on the skin of your hip, yours was stamped permanently over his heart.

#daryl dixon #daryl dixon x reader #daryl dixon imagine #twd imagine

[gutsby]

Mr. Dixon

Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Reader

Summary: Your efforts to seduce the DILF next door have all failed spectacularly, so you decide a wet hot car wash in front of his house is in order. Mr. Dixon is less than impressed with your antics and plans to teach you a lesson in good manners and ‘neighborliness.’

Warnings: NSFW. Dad's friend Daryl! Drastic age gap!! Daryl's a dirty old pervert in this one :-) Voyeurism. Masturbation. Descriptions of oral sex (m!receiving). Dirty talk. Degradation. Slight misogyny. Daryl may or may not masturbate out a window at some point.

You had an old pair of Daisy Dukes and a dream.

Faded, frayed, and two times too small for your frame, the shorts hiked an inch up your ass every step you took across the room. Made it damn near pointless bending over before the man in front of you—he could see every inch of your butt regardless—but you did it all the same.

This was Mr. Dixon, after all.

Cool blue orbs illumined by candlelight took the sight of you in and flitted away just as fast. His hands busied themselves with the gun he was taking apart, while you reached for the bullet that had just rolled onto the floor.

“Here you go, Mr. Dixon.”

Your voice had a charming lilt as you held the round out to him.

“Over there,” Daryl grumbled, jerking his head toward the end of the table, “An’ what’d I say ‘bout callin’ me tha’?”

“I feel weird calling daddy’s friends by their first names.”

You shrugged and chucked the tiny piece of lead into the pile of ammunition like Daryl had told you to. Then you sat down beside it, crossing your arms.

He could be so cruel sometimes. Just fooling with his pistol and barking orders like a drill sergeant. Never looking at you longer than a second, and if he did, just shooting you a glare or wounding you with a scowl.

He’d been the toughest nut to crack out of all your father’s friends. No matter how straight-laced and upstanding the men around Mr. Grimes had made themselves out to be, you’d always found the fault line—the weak spot that got you access to the filthiest parts of each one. You’d teased and you’d flirted, earned a couple groping touches and open-mouthed caresses from the likes of the late Mr. Walsh and many others. But never Mr. Dixon.

Even now, sitting across from him in your skimpy Wrangler cut offs, wedges, and a skintight, starch white tank top stretched so tight over your tits the fabric was practically see-through, it was like you were invisible to him. You kicked your feet out in front of you as they dangled from the table and actually felt yourself pout at the feeling of frustration bubbling in your chest.

“I wanna help.” Sounding pitiful.

“No use,” Daryl said as he studied the barrel of the gun with an inscrutable expression, “Already told yer dad, ain’ no use for little girls on the range.”

Your nostrils flared as you started back on your feet.

“I am plenty useful, Mr. Dixon. And I— I’m not the little girl you think I am,” you fired back, sounding more miserable and juvenile with every word you spoke.

At the last, Daryl looked you up and down. It was hardly more than a passing glance, but deliberate enough to be expressive. Emotive.

He looked repulsed by you.

And, rather than dignify you with a response, he simply discarded his firearm on the table and left the room. You trailed behind him into the kitchen and watched him swing the refrigerator door wide on its hinges. Blue eyes surveying the shelves for a can of PBR, most likely.

“I can do anything you need me to,” you rejoined in a huff, desperate to be heard, “I’m twice the shot my old man ever was at my age, I can track if I need to— hell, I’m always doin’ stuff, Mr. Dixon. Things.”

You weren’t sure what rattling off your talents to a man who clearly had no interest in hearing them would accomplish, but you tried it anyway. You sounded like your father. When both of Mr. Dixon’s eyebrows raised in mock surprise and he plopped down on a bar stool opposite you, you wanted to melt right into the floor.

“Doin’ stuff, huh? Thangs?” he mocked your twang.

You gripped the door frame so tight your knuckles turned white. Daryl took a couple swigs of beer and stared you down through every swallow. He brought the can back to the counter, near-empty now, and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

“I got a couple thangs for ya ta do,” he started, grinning, “Why don’t ya put those pretty hands ta work, throw a little apron on, and just...bake me a fuckin’ cake?”

“Funny,” you spat. You felt a surge of bile rise in your throat at the sight of his smug expression.

“Wash my car?”

“Fuck you.”

Daryl’s amusement only grew as the forbidden F-bomb flew from your lips—a word he knew Rick would never tolerate if you’d been in his presence. Presently, his eyes raked over your slight, shaking form at the threshold of the room and figured himself pretty lucky to have provoked such a strong reaction from you. He polished off the last of his drink in a single gulp.

“No need ta get all foul-mouthed, Ms. Grimes, I only—”

“Fuck. You.” Your reply came slower and a touch more measured than he’d expected. Even punctuated with a hint of a smile, making sure to stretch that Southern drawl when you added, “Dar-yl.”

It was the first time you’d ever used his first name.

You weren’t sure you liked it.

Daryl, on the other hand, felt quite certain the sound of his name suited your mouth just fine. A subsequent stir in his jeans wiped the smirk clean off his face, and he began to shift in his seat.

Before he could speak, you were already turning on your heels to leave. Formalities escaped quicker than your anger, and your fingers seemed to move of their own accord to flip Daryl off over your shoulder as you strode out the door, far out of his sight.

Meanwhile, and much to his chagrin, Mr. Dixon was already growing ill with the sounds of your parting wishes bouncing loud off the walls of his skull. Before the front door had even closed, his fingers, too, seemed to move involuntarily and do a thing they probably shouldn’t have done: touch the mound in his jeans.

He rubbed his clothed erection and groaned.

You were such a fucking brat.

Daryl had always thought with a father as eagle-eyed and attentive as Rick, you’d never reach this level of naughty, haughty, and straight up cunt-like, but here you were. Doing Lori proud the way you’d gotten another one of Rick’s best friends wrapped around your little finger.

You were good like that, and still too dense to understand a fraction of the effect you had on him while you did it. The way you’d been looking at him earlier, Daryl was sure you’d convinced yourself he hated you.

If you could only see him now, spitting in one hand and unzipping his fly with the other, freeing his cock, and finally, finally getting his fingers wrapped fast around his shaft with the sole thought of you on his mind as he did. If you could watch him shudder, close his eyes, draw a deep, jagged breath through his nose to scour the air for the faintest trace of your scent lingering there—maybe you’d get it.

Daryl slid his hand down his cock and exhaled a shaky breath. You would simply never “get it,” because he’d already promised himself he wouldn’t let that happen.

As his thumb grazed the head of his red-hot, leaking cock and imagined it was your tongue doing all the work, he had to remind himself this was nothing but a fantasy for him. There was just no way in hell he’d sink to Shane’s level and actually lay his hands on you, no—he was better than that.

He was a man of principle, furiously jerking his cock in his kitchen with the thought of his best friend’s daughter on his mind. He just couldn’t touch you.

Damn if those tits didn’t sit nice under that top, no bra to hold ‘em in. And those shorts…

Daryl felt his head drop back as a wave of pleasure coursed up his spine. In his mind, you were sucking him now, hollowing those soft, sweet cheeks around his member and bobbing your head up and down, again and again, eyes never leaving his. Maybe you’d know to cup his balls, use your tongue to draw a couple lazy shapes down his cock. Any way you wanted it done was exactly how Mr. Dixon needed it, he’d decided.

He squeezed his eyes shut even tighter and fucked his hand like a man half his age.

Someone like you.

Scarcely nineteen and so oversexed they might burst.

The difference was Daryl would explode any second now; he had only to hunch over, pump himself a few more times, and finally shoot his load, pretending it was spraying your insides and not the floor of his kitchen.

He’d intended to do just that, clenching his jaw at the filthiest thoughts of you yet, when suddenly, a sound shook the house.

Daryl dropped his cock and looked right out the window.

Down below, outside, you’d laid heavy on your car horn. Let the noise blare a couple seconds before Daryl came bounding over to the window.

When he did, the man thought his legs might buckle.

You were standing beside his truck in the driveway, sponge in hand, soaked head-to-toe in water and soap and smiling brighter than he’d ever seen you. The fabric above your tits was translucent now, clinging like a second skin and affording his lustful gaze every inch of your torso. Your free hand was waving up at him.

Daryl inched the window open with trembling hands.

“Mr. Dixon, this truck is filthy!” you shouted from down below.

Swallowing and blinking was all he knew how to do, it seemed. Finally, Daryl managed, deadpan:

“I know.”

You placed your hands on your hips and narrowed your eyes up at him.

“Have you always been such a dirty old man?”

Fuck. It was like you knew what he’d been doing, crouched over in the privacy of his home while he drooled and dreamed of fucking you stupid. He watched you cross the front of the car.

And lean down to start rubbing your sponge across the hood.

Daryl sincerely feared you might hear his loud groan the second it rose to his throat. He gritted his teeth, tried to fight the sound, but came up short with nothing to show for his efforts but a whimper slipping past his lips.

You started swirling your sponge in circles, tits shaking with every movement you made.

“Too bad little girls ain’t good for nothin’,” you sighed.

When you leaned flat across the metal surface below you, Daryl pictured himself standing behind you, taking his dick and shoving it deep between your folds. Stretching you out and making you scream into the space in front of you.

Slowly, discreetly, Daryl’s hand drifted back to his cock.

“Yeah. Too bad,” he mumbled as you bent over to soak your sponge once more. When you straightened up, you made sure to squeeze the thing over your chest so the water would douse your front. Daryl took the window frame in one hand and his cock in the other, leaning out just slightly to ask, “This the ‘stuff’ ye’s talkin’ ‘bout?”

“Thangs, really,” you answered dryly.

The two of you exchanged a brief smile, and Daryl’s hand started stroking his length.

Lucky for him, and unlucky for you, the size of the window wasn’t primed to make you privy to the sight of him pleasuring himself. At most, you saw a forearm moving gently back and forth. You bit your lower lip and kept your sponge moving in loops.

“Well these ‘thangs’ are gonna get ya in a whole heap of trouble with yer daddy if ya keep this up, girl,” Daryl warned, nodding toward your house with a wary look.

“It’s empty, Mr. Dixon. Whole place is mine for the weekend,” you replied with a sly intonation.

Finally, you stopped long enough to get a hand back down to your shorts. Facing Daryl still, you popped a button on your denim cut-offs and looked up at him with a glossy, innocent stare. You pretended to feel for something that wasn’t there, snagged the band of your light pink thong, and lifted it up to Daryl’s hungry gaze. You saw his bicep visibly strain as he jerked his cock even faster.

Back inside, Daryl was panting, groaning, reeling at the thought of you all alone in your house next door, splayed out across your bed in a baby pink panty set. He soaked in the sight of you and curled his toes into the floor as a new jolt of pleasure broke out through his body.

He was closer than he’d ever been. He rested his head against the window and watched you run your hands over your body, down your front, in your shorts. He imagined your fingers grazing your cunt and how wet you must’ve been then, imagining him right back and fucking him steady with your eyes.

For a moment, your eyelids fluttered, and a blissful look crossed your features. Daryl rutted his hips at the thought of you finding your clit in front of him—desperately wanting to be the source of that pleasure himself—and pumped himself even faster.

“Darlin’, I…I need ya. In such a bad fuckin’ way.” He couldn’t keep the tender term of endearment from dancing on his tongue. The sight of you alone had his brain on the fritz.

You slipped your hand out of your shorts and brought a couple honeyed fingertips to the edge of your lips.

“How bad, Mr. Dixon?” you asked, eyeing him intently.

Daryl whined and felt his insides churn with the threat of release. He knew he couldn’t hold on much longer.

“So— so bad. Need to fuck ya so bad.”

That satisfied your affirmation-hungry itch well enough. You pushed two digits between your lips and started to suck.

From that point on, you didn’t need to see him or hear him or be there waiting patiently on your knees to get a mouthful of his cum—you knew it was coming. Daryl’s face contorted with a blissful, fucked-out expression, and suddenly he was pumping that space below the window full of his load, likely spraying the whole damn thing on the wall.

You stood back and admired your work. Daryl had all but collapsed with both hands planted on the windowsill, wet, brown locks hanging low in his face as the aftershocks of his arousal washed over him.

He was panting and barely able to meet your gaze. You couldn’t quite read the expression.

At any rate, you knew your job here was done.

With a hand waving sweetly back up at him once more, you eyed the mess of a man—your father’s best friend—and started to reach for your bucket and sponge. You buttoned your shorts back up and took a step from his truck. When it seemed Daryl was just then starting to open his mouth to speak, you beat him to it and called out, cheerfully,

“See ya around, Mr. Dixon!”

#daryl dixon #daryl dixon smut #daryl dixon one shot #daryl dixon imagine #daryl x reader #the walking dead #twd daryl #twd fanfiction #twd imagine #smut

[sayafics]

Dance of Shadows - Chapter I

Hi guys, I hope you enjoy the first chapter of this series!

I know the teaser was an excerpt of another chapter after Aemma died, but I wanted to add some context/depth to Daemon and Saenyra's relationship before that, since there's such a long gap in the timeline before he returns to Kings Landing after beating the Crabfeeder.

I hope I got the timeline right, and I do hope this lives up to your expectations! Please let me know what you think, all comments and reblogs are appreciated <33 thank you to everyone who showed love on tha teaser excerpt!

Next Chapter

Masterlist

Saenyra had just spent the last few hours lounging in the library, browsing through books ranging from histories of the Seven Kingdoms and how they came to be, to the myths and legends of dragons and other beings which lurked the lands they inhabited and the seas they wished to rule, to charming scrawls of love written in between lines of literature and poetry.

She had finally found a book she was content with, eager to return to her room before divulging its contents. If she were to hurry, she was sure she would be able to finish before it was time for dinner.

With the book held in one hand, Saenyra used the other to gather the skirt of her dress. Whilst her sister preferred to adorn herself in gowns of black and red - the designs grand yet mature for her age, Saenyra deigned to dress herself in shades which resembled the skies on a warm autumn eve or the sun on a bright summer's day. She would parade around the Keep in hues of yellows and blues, greens and pinks - whatever it was that her heart so desired.

As she made her way through the Keep, eyes roving around the walls as she treaded through corridors and weaved past bowing knights and respectful Lords, she turned the corner only to bump into a solid figure.

Saenyra stumbled back, her hand letting go of her skirt to brush against her forehead as she took in the figure in front of her, a slight pout on her lips. Her eyes found her smudged reflection glinting in a shining and tainted armour, gleaming in the light of a new day but stained with the signs of a bloodied battle.

Her eyes continued their path until they met a set of familiar violet hues.

Oh.

Before her stood Daemon Targaryen, looking as though he had slaughtered an army single-handedly. His eyes were bright with the thrill of a good fight. He looked lively, and if she peered closely enough, she could see how he trembled with unbound energy that coursed through his veins.

At the sight of his niece, the one so quiet and quaint who looked up at him with wide eyes and parted lips, Daemon found an unfamiliar softness seep into his features, "niece, my apologies."

He rarely saw his little niece around the Keep when he did come, he preferred to keep company with whores and dragons.

It was with poorly hidden determination that Rhaenyra would find him, trailing his every step.

When Rhaenyra had found him before his bloodbath in the city, he had gifted her a necklace. A piece of shared ancestry, a piece of home. Now, glancing at Saenyra's bare throat, he wished it had adorned her instead.

Daemon was not one for apologies, even Saenyra was aware of that. So, to hear the words brought a heat upon her cheeks as her gaze became down-turned, "I fear I must apologise too, dear uncle. I must have become too distracted with my thoughts."

A smirk tugged at Daemon's lips at the sight of her bashfulness, amusement colouring his features as he spoke, a teasing tone tainting his innocent words, "ah yes. I believe it is only right if you make it up to me then, don't you think?"

Daemon had never spoken to his neice in such a way, too fearful of what his brother might do. Of what he, himself, might do.

Daemon could not be the reason his darling niece shed tears. He would not forgive himself if he was the reason she were to break.

Seanyra's head had never looked up so fast, eyes flitting around the corridor as she leaned closely, as though she was sharing a secret - "of course. Only if you promise not to tell Kepa." Father.

The easy slip of High Valyrian made Daemon heady with the desire to hear it again, and his eyes burned into her at the eagerness she showed as she was desperate to make things right. His smirk grew broader at the show of her naivety, but still - he would make no fool of his sweet neice, his little 'nyra.

"Anything for my Zaldrītsos." Little Dragon.

Her heart twisted slightly at the endearment, despite the heat that flushed her body once more - although said good-naturedly, the word was a stark reminder that the only dragon the girl had was the one pumping through her blood. It was a subtle reminder of the differences between Saenyra and her sister, of how Rhaenyra has conquered a dragon and emanated a fierce and challenging nature, whilst Saenyra was simply a dragon by name.

Daemon could see how her eyes dimmed at the word, hated how her smile wavered - the Seven Kingdoms would rave about the similarities between Daemon and Rhaenyra, how the two had fire running through their veins and charging their souls, how they would burn each other to ash should they get too close. And with Saenyra, they would whisper about her lack of spark, how she didn't have the charm of a Targaryen, nor the fire of one too.

All that tied her to the Targaryen line was her silver-white hair and lilac eyes.

But a part of Daemon, a dark and repressed echo that grew louder as the days went by, found that he preferred it as such. She was a calm summer evening, a quiet winter's day.

Daemon was chaos, and Saenyra was peace.

Her voice broke him out of his reverie, "so, what is it that you want?"

There was a curious smile on her lips, her eyes searching his as she became impatient. He huffed a laugh, teeth bared in a broad grin - "I guess you shall have to wait and see."

Daemon knew what he would ask. He had been thinking of doing so from the moment he had stepped foot back in King's Landing and seen his Saenyra. She had grown tall, her hair flowing down her back is careless ruffles, flowers twisted between the intricate braids that adorned her head as a circlet rested atop her brows. Her gowns were tight fitting, the neck would swoop low, or her arms would be bare of fabric, and sometimes, if he was lucky, careful patterns would be cut into the lining of her waist to reveal the milky skin that lay underneath.

Daemon would be lying if he said a part of him hadn't grown feral at the sight, something dark and desperate coming to life within him as his desires for Saenyra grew stronger.

It was something unexpected, especially by him. He had expected, if anyone, it would be Rhaenyra he would pursue. The two were in a silent battle for the place of heir at Viserys' behest, fervent prayers that the next child Aemma gave birth to would not be a boy. So it would make sense to present a united front. To present themselves as a joint option, a better choice to the other heirs Viserys would force his wife to bear.

But Rhaenyra and Daemon had the fire of a dragon running through them, and they would ultimately burn each other and leave nothing but destruction in their wake.

Daemon cleared his throat, forcing himself to stray from his traiterous thoughts and focus on his task - he had to attend the meeting with the Council, he had to reach Viserys before they filled his head with lies about Daemon - before they seeded doubt and had him sent from the Seven Kingdoms once more.

"I must take leave now, dear niece."

Daemon skirted around the girl, his golden cloak billowing behind him, the soft and bloodied material brushing against her cheek in an imitation of affection he longed to show himself. His moves were slow and sluggish as though he was hoping she'd stop him. And she did exactly that - "where are you going, Kepus?" Uncle.

He inhaled sharply at the Valyrian word, there was a frown on her lips as her head twisted in question and Daemon felt as though he would kneel for her and give all of himself right there, if she had simply asked.

Her hand came to hold his own as she tugged at his fingers. Daemon risked a glance down, eyes tracing over her nimble fingers and how they dwarfed against his own. She tugged again, "Kepus."

The word was stressed and elongated, hoping to catch the man's attention as he kept gazing off to a place far from where she could see.

"The King wants to see me," it wasn't a complete lie, but it was an easy one, "I wouldn't want to keep them waiting."

She nodded, understandingly. But there was a part of her left unsure by his words, Daemon was never one to obey with such ease - always at the ready to challenge those around him, including his own brother. Even if he was King.

It seemed, however, his words were enough to snap her into a state of disinterest, she turned away from him with such ease and continued on her way, a soft "I shall see you later, then," passed over her shoulders with a friendly smile as she walked away from him.

Daemon found he could do nothing but watch.

***

Saenyra hadn't left her chambers much after her encounter with her uncle - with no dragon to tend to, and the lack of duties as a second-born and the burden of being a girl, she had no pending responsibilities. Left in the confines of her room, she made due with what she had - her books.

There was not much else to do in King's Landing, with no Kingsguard assigned to her yet, she was not free to roam the cities that belonged to her father.

Saenyra ate in her chambers, despite the call for her to join her family in her father's - were she to join, she was sure the room would be full of praises for a successful Rhaenyra - whether it was how she was getting on with her lessons with the Septa or a new dragon-riding trick mastered, or whispers of possibilities of their future son - a new heir and a new King in the making.

Anything but Saenyra.

All throughout the hours of the night, even as she laid her head to rest, her mind would tiptoe back to the voice of her uncle.

Despite all his time in the Keep, and all his trips out, Saenyra had never been able to bond with her uncle the way she wishes she had. The way Rhaenyra had.

Daemon had been the Master of Laws, the Master of Coin, and now Commander of the City Watch. And throughout it all, she had been unable to bond with her uncle in a way she was desperate for ever since she was a child. She remained oblivious to his glances and heated stares, to the dark whispers in his mind and the temptation that lurked under every passive graze and touch.

It was instead Rhaenyra who found him, who bonded with him. Who found common ground in their love for riding and dragons and violence. Rhaenyra who adored her uncle as he adored her. As everyone adored her, in a way Saenyra craved for them to cherish her.

The two would gush over dragons and tales of battles and wars, a wistful tone taking over Rhaenyra's voice as she spewed questions at her uncle whenever he dined with them, and a look of admiration would sparkle in Daemon's eyes as he answered every question with ease.

Saenyra would sit quietly, never speaking aloud unless spoken to, and even that was quite rare. So, for her uncle to say he wants something from her? It was a surprise, indeed. And a bubbling sensation of guilt began to fester as she realised that she felt excitement build at the prospect. What would Rhaenyra think? Would she be hurt? Jealous?

Saenyra was not blind to how Rhaenyra was captivated by Daemon, how she craved him and called to him. Although Daemon was both of their uncle, there was an unspoken claim placed upon him from the moment Rhaenyra was old enough to articulate her fascination with the man. A silent boundary, a whispered challenge Saenyra had never dared to overstep. And she was worried she may now.

Would he ask to take her dragon-riding? Perhaps he would ask her to steal him some lemon cakes, as he had when she was much younger? Or maybe he would ask for a favour she couldn't provide.

Perhaps, he wanted her help to get Rhaenyra something. Or to tell her something.

Saenyra wasn't blind to Daemon's own infatuation with her sister, whether it was because of her claim to the throne or her violent beauty. The man was enamoured, even if he tried to deny so.

She resigned herself to the idea of having to wait until Daemon had finally asked her whatever it was he decided, a frustrated sigh escaping her as she rolled onto her side and faced the open balcony windows, watching as the soft winds blew a quiet tune through the curtains. Her eyes traced over the dark shadows of King's Landing, her eyes finding the moon and seeking comfort in its shallow glow.

With steady breaths, she fell asleep quickly, her mind flashing with images she had long learned to ignore. What good is being a dragon dreamer when you are unable to tame one?

***

In the cities of King's Landing, Daemon had taken to throwing himself in the arms of lust as he sought out ways to expel his energy and frustration in the brothels of Silk Street.

He had been here for perhaps hours now, gyrating and grinding against the softness of his paramour. Mysaria wasn't a quiet lover, her moans drawing an audience as he pounded relentlessly, chasing a high that escaped him at every turn.

No matter how hard he tried, how much he relied on his imagination - it wasn't what he wanted. This wasn't who he needed.

The meeting with the Small Council hadn't ended badly, but Otto's reminders of his duties to the Bronze Bitch of the Vale continued to follow him. A dark reminder that although his marriage was not consumated, in the eyes of the Seven Kingdoms and in the eyes of his brother, Daemon was a married man. And even if Targaryen men had taken on second wives before, he knew his brother would never accept such an ordeal.

But still, such moral obligations hadn't stopped him from chasing his pleasure in brothels and amongst whores. Yet, Mysaria's dark hair was a pitying reminder of the woman he felt no love nor lust for and so proved to be a dampener for his fun, amongst other things.

He sighed out of frustration, halting his hips as he laid his head against Mysaria's shoulders. He pulled out roughly, tugging a blanket over his naked form as he trudged towards the window in a hollowing mix of rage and despair. His eyes found the stars, seeking comfort in their luminous glow as his mind flitted over myths and legends of constellations etched into the dark sky.

Mysaria followed, consoling the man as she praised him. But her words had no effect on him, so she offered him something more instead.

"I could bring in another? Perhaps one with silver hair."

Daemon was tempted to say yes, urged to give in to his fantasies and imagine.

But it wouldn't be what he wanted. No, the whores of Silk Street - the bastards of the Targaryen line, although their hair grew white it wasn't the right shade. Too different for him to be able to pretend.

And Daemon didn't want to pretend.

Twisting his fingers and tugging strands of golden-white hair were a mere illusion for the girl he pretended he wanted.

The girl he truly desired was one he would never taint, her hair brighter and longer - the wisps of her soft, white hair were their own streaks of light, like beaming stars in the night sky.

No, it wouldn't be the same.

It wouldn't be what he wanted - what he needed.

Daemon Targaryen wanted Saenyra. But he knew he could not have her.

He would not take her, for fear of corrupting her. Of ruining her, and breaking her beyond repair.

Taglist: @marihoneywk @ahristata @gracielikegrapes @luanasrta

#daemon targaryen x y/n #daemon targaryen x oc #daemon targaryen x reader #daemon x reader #daemon targeryan #daemon targaryen #otto hightower #house of the dragon #hotd #smut #daemon targaryen smut #daemon targeryen x reader #daemon targaryen fluff #dance of shadows

[ruminiscence]

Paris: A Year Abroad in a short film

Audio: "Burnt Norton" by Lana Del Rey, a rendition of the original poem "Burnt Norton" by T.S. Eliot.

Where do I even start? Paris has wholly shaped me in ways I never imagined. We refer to Paris as the city of love, but I'm now more inclined to call it the city of art - which only leaves more room for love in your heart. There is so much to contemplate and appreciate in frequenting the vast array of art museums here - from the Louvre, Musée d’Orsay, Musée de l’Orangerie, the Centre Georges Pompidou, and many more. Not only has my perspective on art expanded, but so has my worldview. That’s because art is truly everywhere in this city; art can be found in the walkable streets amidst the rich architecture, the fashionable outfits seen in daily life, and even the exquisite decor in stores and when you cheekily peek into Parisian appartments!

There's always something new to discover in Paris, I'm almost saddened at the thought of the things I've yet to discover or missed. The treasures to unveil in Paris move far beyond the typical tourist hotspots we all know and love. I am obsessed with Parisian boutiques; they are chic and unique (that unintentionally rhymed) in the best way possible. One of my favourites is La Tonkinoise à Paris, located in the 11th arrondissement. This particular arrondissmenet is the best in Paris to be honest, it holds a special place in my heart as I had the wonderful opportunity of living there, so perhaps you can say that I am somewhat biased. Still, I can confidently say that this animated, hip and creative neighbourhood is one everyone should have the chance to explore.

La Tonkinoise à Paris, owned by the lovely Chantal, is my favourite hidden gem in Paris. I had the pleasure of befriending Chantal as I ended up frequenting her store one too many times; I've garnered quite a collection over time. This boutique offers a wide range of eccentric and sustainable jewellery, with her earring creations being the show stoppers, in my opinion. Her jewellery is composed of rings, pearls, brooches, charms, and watches, all unearthed in flea markets and recycled. I love that every piece of jewellery indeed is a unique piece. The decor changes based on the season and theme of her new collections, making it an ever-changing and exciting shopping experience. This is honestly the best jewellery store I have ever been to in my life! I wish the pictures I took could do the jewellery and the boutique's decor justice, but it simply won't, I'm afraid.

Now, onto food, I genuinely need to figure out where to start here. My favourite authentic French restaurant would have to be 'Le Potager du Père Thierry', located in Montmartre. Although it's incredibly small, I love the cosy vibe; I feel like I can enjoy delicious food with friends without feeling surrounded by strangers. Surprisingly, it's also very quiet (yet packed) - I guess the food is just too distracting.

As of late, my favourite non-french restaurant has to be 'Big Black Cook' (let's ignore how inappropriate that pun is, though funny). It's located in the 2nd arrondissement and serves Caribbean food, my friend claims that it was the best meat she's had!

For brunch, I recommend Café Méricourt in the 11th arrondissement. Their green Eggs & Feta are absolutely incredible and quite innovative as far as brunch places go.

As for a boulangerie - seriously, anywhere, literally anywhere in Paris, go to your nearest bakery; there need not be a big fuss - you're in for a scrumptious baked treat regardless!

I'm ever so grateful for the chance to have lived in Paris for an extended period; you cannot appreciate Paris in its entire splendour from a mere short-term visit. The city is an actual work of art; art is everywhere in the city, from the street performers and musicians, the light filters through the trees, the city's many architecturally rich bridges, the picturesque cafés and boulangeries, the beautifully presented food, the way that the city's many different neighbourhoods each have their own distinct character and vibe. In Paris, art is everywhere.

#paris #short film #year abroad #france #travel #paris france #lana del rey #burnt norton #my film #film #fragments #memoirs #art #french art #boutiqueshopping #arrondissement #architecture #interior design #decor #decoration #parisian style #fashion #tour eiffel #montmartre #street art #parisian #louvre #musee d'orsay #french food #foodie

[zorosleftshoe]

Can you do a fluffy one where reader takes care of drunk Colby (preferably based on recent new years where he partied with Brennen)?

Pairing: Colby Brock x Reader

Warnings: none

Most people would probably agree if you asked if the New Year meant a new start. It was a way of wiping the slate clean. Allowing the past to be the past and the future to be whatever you could dream it. I disagree.

The new year is just an excuse you make. A way to justify past mistakes and tribulations. That’s why every New Year’s Eve I found myself nose deep in a novel. Whether it be Gatsby trying to win Daisy’s love. Or five students trying to figure out who murdered poor Simon. New Year’s parties were not my scene and that’s where Colby and I clashed.

Colby loved ringing in the New Year with good friends and expensive drinks and although it never bothered me I was always left to tend to him when he would be carried to our front door in a hazy state. This year was no different.

The doorbell rang and I tore my eyes away from my newest novel to look at the clock that sat on the bedside table. 3:02. Releasing a heavy sigh, I hopped out of bed and padded to the door to find Brennen with a sympathetic smile and Colby with his head down barely holding himself up as his arm was thrown over Brennen’s shoulders.

“Where can I put him?” With a shake of the head I point to the couch in the living room. “He had a really good time.” Brennen pauses as he drops Colby onto the couch with a loud groan. “If you couldn’t tell.” I let out a soft giggle and motion to the kitchen.

“He usually does.” Brennen follows me to the kitchen and takes a seat at the island as I fill up two glasses of water; one for him and one for Colby.

“You’re good for him, you know?” I slide the glass of water across the island and lean against it on my elbows. “Most girls have only ever wanted him for what he has to offer. They would never take care of him like this.” I shrug lightly before placing my head in my hands.

“That’s what you do when you love someone. I never really thought about it, I guess.” He nods and takes a sip from the glass.

“You pulled him out of a dark place. I never thanked you for that.” I place my hand on his and give it a soft reassuring squeeze. We sit and talk for a couple more minutes before Brennen glances down at his watch and taps on the table lightly. “I gotta head out. You’ve got him, right?” I nod and he gives me a quick hug before retreating from the kitchen. The glass of water is still on the island and I grab it before digging through the medicine cabinet to find some pain killers.

“Baby!” Colby’s voice booms from the living room. “I need cuddles!” He slurs. With a soft laugh I head into the living room and find him with his arms spread wide lying on the couch. “Baby!” He cheers happily when he sees me.

“Hi, honey.” I kneel down next to him and place the meds along with the water on the coffee table. “Did you have fun?”

“Yeah. It was pretty fun.” I let out a heavy exhale when the alcohol hits me but I’m quickly pulled into Colby’s arms. “I missed you. What did you do?”

“Well, I did a little bit of cleaning.” He faked a snore before pressing a kiss against my forehead. “Then I started that new book you bought me. It’s so good, Colbs.”

“Will you read it to me?” A wide smile crosses my face at his question and I rip myself from his arms before racing to the bedroom and pulling the book from the nightstand. When I return to the living room Colby is already waiting. He pats the couch next to him and I cozy up into his side as he lays his head on my chest. “The perfect start to a new year.” He says softly before I start reading the passage. “I love you.”

“I love you too.” I whisper in between paragraphs. The words fall effortlessly from my lips as Colby’s eyelids start to droop. Soon enough his soft snores drown out the words I’m speaking and I close the book and set it aside. “I love you more than you’ll ever know.” I rest my head atop his and let my eyes close.

#sam and colby #colby brock imagine #colby brock x reader #colby brock x y/n #colby brock x you #colby brock

[rideboomindia]

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[haru-natsuka]

Kiss-o-meter (Kalim Al Asim x Female Reader x Jamil Viper)

Genre: Romance

There were several types of kissing. However, when both of them use the kiss-o-meter, it would just lead them to get 0 and yet when it involved you, what level of their kisses could be?

First of all, I apologise for taking a long time in finishing this one-shot. I'm trying to make it as good as possible. Dedicated all of my sincere thanks to @thebisexualonesworld for requesting this story. Hope you and everyone will love it!

The machine blared out a loud up beat rhythm as Kalim stared at it with a melancholy look while Jamil just wanted this torture in his life to end. For how long had he tried to console his dorm leader to forget about the game, he had lost count as he very much felt enormous regret in telling Kalim about the machine he found in his treasure vault.

"It cannot be broken," Kalim whine again and again while Jamil just stared at him with a grunted expression. His eyes twitched for thousand times this night due to the unmeasurable stress. He had so many things to do that he could not understand the need for his presence by Kalim's side right now. It was just a game to measure kisses and nothing more after all! Should he mention they were in boy school and that there was no concrete reason for the son of Asim to measure his kiss at this moment?

"I know! Let's have magic carpet fetch Y/N! She always knows to solve complicated problems" Jamil's eyes opened wide due to Kalim's sudden exclamation. Before, Kalim could excitedly continue his attempt in searching for the magic carpet, the back of Kalim's cloth was swiftly grabbed by Jamil before he could escape beyond his range. The hold was pretty tight as Kalim's body was pulled back with a sudden force.

"There's no need to call Y/N! It's not like she will play it with you!" More than speculate of your rejection of Kalim's invitation, Jamil was the one who hoped for you to not play it with Kalim. Although Jamil had clearly emphasized words and yet he did forget how dense Kalim could be most of the time. He was someone who always got what he wanted after all that he was indeed ignorant of another opinion.

"That's brilliant, Jamil! Why I don't think to let Y/N play too." Let's just say that was left speechless once again as he felt like he was giving the wrong ideas to Kalim. No, Jamil very much disliked the idea of you playing with Kalim. He had already backed off a lot of times so he could never outshine Kalim but he would never prefer to sacrifice you too. He would be a fool if he said he would not notice the way Kalim looked at you as if he was smitten by your charms too, just like him. Therefore, he had planned to lessen the interaction between the two of you.

"What are you guys doing?" As it fated was even not on Jamil's side, you were the one who came into the room by yourself and apparently, you came by because Grim dragged you into Scarabia in hope of eating some spice food.

"Y/n!" Kalim excitedly greeted you while Jamil only sigh from the despair in his life.

"This can't be happening..."

"We just tried playing with this machine that Jamil found. It's a gift from my father a long time ago."

"That seems interesting. So, what this machine is about, Kalim?"

"It is a machine which evaluates how good your kissing is but you see here-" Kalim held the handle and the meter did not even move again as he expected. "- I think it broken."

"Or, perhaps you play it wrong? Do you play it as per in the instruction?" As the realisation hit him, he shake his head and just beamed as he usually would. As you checked on the machine for the instruction, you found it just placed beside the handler and read it, you immediately could guess which part Kalim did the mistake but of course, you did not expect Jamil to do so. He was claimed to be the most intelligent student in school by Azul. Despite that, instead of prying further, you decided to put it aside first and proceeded to help Kalim first.

"That's it! You should kiss the person you like while holding the handler. Do you get it, Kalim?"

"I see, kiss the person I like..."

Kalim closed his eyes and tilted his head a bit to ponder over your statement. Before you could comprehend whether Kalim fully understand the rule or not, you suddenly felt he cupped your face and his lips already brushed gently against yours. Eyes widened in pure shock while both of your hands were left hanging midway by Kalim's side, literally you were too speechless to do anything. Whether to move or speak.

Kalim's kiss lasted longer on your lips than you expected it could. He was known for being an innocent boy after all. Now, where that boy had gone? His kiss was gentle and loving. It was just a brush against the surface of lips without the involvement of the tongue, making you more focused on the warmth and softness of his lip which engulfs you to wonder about his perception of the taste of your lip too.

Was it rough? Was it too dry? Did he even regret it? He did not even pull you closer towards him and deepened the kiss and yet a rush of relief washed over you. His kiss was awkward just like yours which mean he was inexperienced in this field. What kind of feeling were you having right now?

When you both parted away, with Kalim ended the kiss first, he noticed how flustered you were as your eyes were averting on everywhere but him as you fiddled with your fingertips nervously. His appearance must not be that much different from yours as he could feel the flush on his face too.

He would never forget how giggly you made him feel. He would prefer to look at you more with the loving gaze he could casually throw on your way if it not for a sudden sound that came from the machine. Certainly, both of you forget about Jamil whose jaws already dropped to the floor. The scene he witnessed was just too much for him to handle😐.

Just then, Kalim noticed the meter suddenly raised up not until 100 but it exceeding to 120. It should be expected as he kissed the person he loved after all. Not anyone else but you, his first love. That was when he felt this sudden urge to share his feelings with you. Somehow, the machine made him more certain of his love towards you.

"Y/n, I love you so much" The usual high enthusiastic voice of his was replaced with a soft tone as if he whispered the word to you rather than it was being a talk.

"Ka-Kalim, I-I"

"The person reflected in your eyes should be your master. You shall answer when you are asked, and you shall obey when you are ordered. Snake Whisper" The need for you to reply to Kalim's confession was immediately gone when Jamil immediately placed himself between the two of you and used his unique magic on his dorm leader. Under hypnotise, Kalim was ordered to go back to his chamber to sleep.

You could just watch the entire scene that felt somehow odd with how fast Jamil action in stopping the intimate moment of Kalim and you. As you tried to find the answer, you could figure out only one. Without any hesitation, you clear the doubt you had from a while ago about Jamil by pouring your true thoughts in front of him.

"Jamil, you are in love with Kalim right?" You voiced out as if you discover the greatest secret in the world. Now you finally remembered, whenever you were with Kalim, you would always notice how displeased Jamil would be with the situation and his action during Kalim's confession tell it all.

"You are indeed jealous of me! Why I don't notice this before"

"Wa-wait...Y/N, WHERE THIS ACTUALLY COME FROM!"

"Is it wrong for you to fall for Kalim because he is your master? That's why you kept this a secret. I see... so it's a forbidden love. Don't worry Jamil, if something troubles you I'm here. I'll be the number one fan for the couple!" Jamil's shoulders were being patted by you as a sign of your support for him and he could be only disappointed with the lack of recognition of his feelings for you. In the worst case, you even thought of him for having a thing for KALIM. Out of everyone, KALIM!

"Really...Y/N, I expect more from you. Heh, better to just show you" Your hands on his shoulders were being pulled closer to his body so he could sneakily wrap his arms around your body. You jerk back to broaden the proximity between you and him but his hold was just too strong to release yourself.

Jamil's finger was already lightly holding your chin so your head tilted up, focusing your eyes only on him before his lips smashed against yours, gradually stealing all your breath away. You could feel the tip of his hot tongue poking on the surface of your lips before it was forced into yours. The heat rose in both of your cheeks as Jamil lead the kiss. The intense and passionate spark remained in both of his eyes during the kiss.

After a while of a breathless kiss, both of you finally parted away. You blinked once and twice to comprehend the situation. You thought Jamil loved Kalim but he kissed you. What was this?

"Hmmm if you kiss someone you love, it will reach 120. Not bad" Without you noticing it, during the kiss, Jamil had tested the machine too. Jamil tucked your hair behind your ear while sheepishly smiling at you.

The walk to the guest room was just accompanied by the silence surrounding as both of you did not talk much after the kiss. You were too indulged in the flashback of the kisses until you did not even notice the side glance Jamil threw at your way multiple times with only one question in his mind. Did you feel bothered by the kiss?

If you felt guilty, he was much worst than that as first, he kissed the person his master loved so much and second he did not express his true feeling to you properly. Even worst, he did not confess like Kalim at all. Where was the courage he got when he kissed you? Was holding back and letting Kalim take everything from him had remained as one of his habits? Even his feelings towards you?

Could you tell him that you enjoyed the kiss as much as how he did instead of having that troubled expression on your face? Indeed, Jamil interpreted you wrong because he never ask. Loving someone so much was a scary thing as it could make you feel suddenly insecure with everything related to that person.

"I'm sorry about the kiss, Y/N. That's why I'll-"

"No, Jamil it's not like-"

“The one reflected in your eyes is your master. If I ask, you shall answer me; if I command it, you shall bow to me. Snake Whisper. Do you will obey anything I said"

Even though it was painful for Jamil to ask you to forget about him, about the part of the memory you had with him that night, he still needed to do it. Your happiness was much more important to him than his throbbing heart and the pain was visible to your eyes. However, nothing could you do. He already enchanted his magic on you. A tear slipped down your face as you reluctantly letting yourself being controlled by Jamil.

"Yes, master. I will do anything for you."

"Please forget about the kiss and... sleep well, Y/N" whisper the last word

He was a coward, he could not do it. He was still the pathetic servant that he hated so much. When he had grown to a much better person, he would pursue you once more and properly convey his feelings. How he wished he still had his chance until the time came.

He realizes his doing so he hypnotises you to forget about the kiss. After he had sent you to your dorm did he realise his mistake. He ask you to forget about the kiss but never specified his or Kalim's. So, which kiss would you forget?

#twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland x reader #twst x reader #kalim al asim x reader #jamil viper x reader #scarabia x reader #kalim al asim #jamil viper #scarabia #twst #twst x you #kalim x you #jamil x you #kalim twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland jamil #jamil x reader #kalim x reader #twst kalim #twst jamil #romance

[justinspoliticalcorner]

Dean Obeidallah at The Dean's Report:

Today’s GOP controlled Supreme Court is nothing more than an arm of the Republican Party focused on imposing their right-wing agenda upon us--from ending fundamental rights like abortion and marriage equality to undermining voting rights and more.  That is why we must work to win control of the Supreme Court the same way we work to win control of the House, Senate and White House. That means going forward every Democratic presidential candidate must commit to “winning the court” (aka “reform of the Supreme Court”) or we should not support that person. The latest example of this grotesquely partisan court came Thursday in the oral argument of Donald Trump’s appeal that he has absolute immunity to commit all the crimes he wants as President. The six GOP Justices—who were all active in Republican politics or administrations before being picked by GOP presidents to serve—showed zero concern that Trump was charged with crimes for attempting to wage a coup to remain in power despite losing.  Instead, it was clear that the Republican justices are focused on protecting Trump by delaying his Jan 6 trial beyond Election Day.

If these justices were truly concerned with protecting our Republic, they would have agreed to hear this case in December 2023 when Special Counsel Jack Smith asked the court to fast track Trump’s appeal of the trial judge’s decision denying him immunity in the Jan 6 case.  But that was rejected by the GOP controlled court to help Trump delay his trial. And in the end, the Republican justices may render a decision that makes it all but impossible to prosecute Trump for his crimes in the Jan 6 case. In reality, no one should be surprised that the Republican justices would protect the presidential nominee of their party in an election year. That is especially true given that three of those justices were appointed by Trump. [...]

And the GOP Supreme Court is helping Republicans impose these women killing abortion bans. We saw this on Wednesday when the court considered a challenge from Idaho Republicans to a federal law that mandates doctors to provide an abortion to a woman who is faced with an medical emergency.  It’s clear from the oral argument that GOP justices support the Idaho state law that makes it illegal for doctor to perform an abortion--even if a woman is suffering horribly or could suffer permanent injuries. Only if a woman is literally on the doorstep of death after suffering extensively and begging for help would these Republican justices allow an abortion. This is barbarism—and it’s also the mainstream GOP position. The GOP controlled court has also repeatedly chipped away at the wall between church and state to pave the way for a theocracy consistent with their right-wing religious views. For example, in 2023, the GOP justices rolled back anti-discrimination protections for the LGBTQ community in the name of “religious freedom.”

In addition, these same GOP justices weakened the Voting Rights Act and greatly restricted the ability of the EPA to address climate change. And in a case that will literally result in more Americans being killed by gun violence, these same six Justices struck down in 2022 a century old New York state law that limited who can carry a concealed weapon.  Justice Thomas—in between lavish gifts from his billionaire benefactor—wrote in that case that modern gun control laws must be “consistent with the Second Amendment’s text and historical understanding.” This decision has resulted in courts striking down a wide range of modern gun laws—including prohibitions on guns in mass transit, guns in post offices, guns with obliterated serial numbers and gun possession by certain felons. Whatever the GOP wants, this court will deliver. That means—as Justice Thomas has vowed—the court will, when given a chance, limit access to forms of birth control that right wing theocrats oppose, roll back marriage equality and more. The reason the GOP Supreme Court is so acutely dangerous to our freedoms and rights is that there are no checks on their power. These justices don’t answer to the voters. There is no way to directly defeat them in an election. (We can’t even force Thomas to recuse himself from Jan 6 cases despite his obvious conflict of interest!)

[...] That is why Democrats going forward must make reforming this court a priority. That could mean—by way of a federal law--expanding the court to say 13 justices to match the number of federal court of appeals. It could mean rotating judges from Supreme Court to lower federal courts after a set number of years. Reform can also mean “term limits” for justices—which polls show is supported by 67 percent of Americans. There is no greater threat to our freedoms, rights and democratic Republic than today’s corruptly partisan Supreme Court. That is why every Democratic presidential candidate and those seeking a House or Senate seat must make “reforming the court” a priority. It’s time to transform the US Supreme Court from an arm of the GOP back to a real a court!

Dean Obeidallah nails it: The Supreme Court must be expanded and reformed to counter the ill-gotten GOP edge on the court.

#SCOTUS #SCOTUS Is Compromised #SCOTUS Expansion #Expand The Court #Courts #Court Reform #Trump v. United States

[dcawritings]

Green Hills and Blue Skies

Solunis is an Eclipse-style animatronic made for the exclusive use of a renaissance fair. He was designed to be flashy and entertaining, charming and witty, able to dazzle guests with his unique feature of flipping between two modes — Solar and Lunar Eclipse — upon whim or request. He’s exuberant and talented across a wide range of musical and storytelling skills, but most importantly he’s—

Lonely.

So very, very lonely.

Three hundred and six thousand, five hundred and forty-two minutes.

Five thousand, one hundred and ten hours.

In other words, a touch under seven months exactly, down to the very moment in time that he was initially powered on -- when his systems came to life beneath blinding floodlights and his mind suddenly stuffed full of awareness.

Activity. Life. Pain.

The sensory overload was almost as agonizing as it was immediate. From cold and lifeless to the functional equivalent of a fully-grown adult, it wasn't something one could simply describe. The act of living when one was dead just a moment before — though non-existence would be more fitting of a description. It was as if every single byte of information within his body was on fire all at once, tearing through metal and wire and plastic until it engulfed him with the raw, unfiltered sensations of being alive.

To call it a shock would be an understatement.

At least the employees had the decency to power him on for the first time a few days before the grand opening of the fair. Not enough time to cope with the existential dread of suddenly being alive, mind you.

But long enough to learn how to hide it behind a mask.

That was seven months ago.

Seven months ago, he didn’t even have a name — not really, at least. He had a model type (Eclipse ver 2.32) and serial number (so long a string of letters and numbers that it isn’t worth mentioning), but neither of those concepts constitutes a name proper. His handlers came to calling him ‘Eclipse’ in passing, but his official title was dependent on what of two distinct forms he took on.

Solar Eclipse and Lunar Eclipse. Catchy, one might think. Creative. Witty, even.

With his flashy attire fitting for that of a fantasy bard mixed in with the aesthetic of a royal jester, he truly was eye-catching. His signature feature was being able to switch back and forth from warm reds and golds to cool blues and purples in the blink of an eye. Not into separate personalities, as some earlier models did as a cost-saving measure, but simply to impress crowds of onlookers drunk on mead and happy to listen to a blissful tune of an animatronic almost tailor-made for entertainment and charm.

He has a name now, of course. One of his own choosing, not to be pried from his cold, power-drained fingers no matter how many times his systems were reset — the employees stopped doing that after a while, when it was obvious it was more effort to do so after every weekend than to simply let him roam about freely in the hours between shows and seasons.

Solunis. His name was—

His name is Solunis.

And it is Solunis who stands at the edge of the fairgrounds, beyond where the markers urge fairgoers not to tread, lest they wander into the thicket of the forest beyond and end up lost to the monster of mother nature.

In the last seven months almost exactly, Solunis had contemplated leaving the fairgrounds completely. He bore no physical shackles, no tether of which connected him to the buildings and fake castles currently inhabited by ghosts of crowds that wouldn’t return for several months when the weather grew warmer and more… pleasant. Only the utility bots remained, silent and passive. They felt like ghosts too.

Solunis ponders on what lies beyond the forest. And beyond that. And beyond that still. There is a vision wrapped somewhere deep in the animatronics programming. It’s… odd, like a memory he never lived, but colorful and vivid all the same.

Of rolling green hills and a soft spring breeze, a wide sky of beautiful cerulean that seems to stretch on for an eternity. The sun is bright and warm against the surface of his body, so much that there’s not a single worry or want in the bot’s entire being. He wonders how far this place is or if it even exists at all.

But maybe Solunis can find it. After all, nothing is keeping him tied here, right? He could charge using sunlight and had the newest kind of internal power engine that meant he could stay active for weeks at a time without so much as a sliver of the morning dawn. It’s what kept him active in the cold, dark winter weeks since the last fair. And… maybe it’s what will give him a chance to leave.

To find this place of green hills, blue skies warm sunlight. Away from everything.

But Solunis isn’t free just because he wears no physical leash; he learns this the hard way upon trying to take but a single step beyond the forest line.

It’s something inside of him. A computer chip most likely, triggered by gps coordinates or some other horrifying assertion of technological dominance hidden somewhere on the grounds. It sends a sudden wave of horror through Solunis’ entire body a mere millisecond before the shocks tear through him. Though he had never once been struck by lightning (nor had such an experience stored in his memory banks) he would describe it exactly like that; suddenly struck with a thunderous weight of a mountain that buzzed and burned through every single wire.

It’s pure agony.

He’s on the ground in seconds, screams of pain filtered and reverberated as his voicebox can barely produce noise at all beyond a shrill whine of metal and fear. And it gets worse. And worse.

And worse.

It’s only when Solunis manages to drag himself just a few feet back, struggling to crawl as his body trembles with an electric misery that only fades when he is back outside of the forest line once more.

He lies there for a while, staring up at the clear moonlit sky.

The sky in winter is often clearer, a preferred condition when trying to stargaze. Something about how the cold makes the air dryer, so there’s less water vapor to make the dark heavens above seem muted and fuzzy. Solunis had come across that fact somewhere in his information archives tucked deep into the unconscious parts of his systems.

He can count almost every single speck of light visible beyond a certain threshold of light, but he can’t take a single step beyond his tiny, isolated world. The only one he’d ever known.

The pain has been gone for a while now, but the specter of it remains in his thoughts, branded into the bot’s memories. He doesn’t try his luck a second time.

Green hills and blue sky will have to wait for another day.

Even if that day will never come.

#fnaf daycare fandom #daycare attendant oc #fnaf dca fandom #fnaf dca oc #dca oc #Solunis #fnaf dca #dca fandom #writing #ficlet #nonreaderinsert #I am actively rotating him in my brain #him and the other OC I’m making named King #please look forward to the ficlet for King

[hermitarchive]

I'm considering auditioning for THA... but I've never done voice acting before. Does my skill level matter?

Additionally, is there a wide range of role sizes?

Hi! A good number of our current cast had little to no voice acting experience before joining the project, so it's perfectly fine to come in with none! We record in a table read style, so you'll have as much or as little guidance as the vocal and sound directors feel you need in the moment. Plus, we're a volunteer fan project mostly here to have fun, so we're only as serious as we have to be!

You can hear what the project sounds like from the episodes we already have out!

Re: role sizes. We cast the initial chunk of roles last year, based on the approximate half of FTA that was out at the time. All the rest of the roles are fairly small, because they're characters who only appeared in the second half of FTA- I think the biggest is probably Martyn? Maybe Jimmy? It's mostly individual statements or individual statements and some supplementary appearances.

Thanks so much for your interest!!! We encourage everyone to audition, no matter what their background or voice is like. The worst that can happen is you don't get a callback, and the best is hey, you get cast!

Good luck and have a wonderful weekend!

#from the archives podfic project #asks

[whump-world]

TW: manhandling, restraints, some physical abuse, implied future noncon, panic attacks, kind of a suicide attempt.

The Samhain.

The tunic is itchy, that's the problem. Arthur's usual red shirt was loose and the sleeves stopped at his elbows, giving him a free range of motion to hold a sword. This tunic is still crimson red, yet it's tight around his torso. The neck is wide with no drawstrings to help close it. Instead of the belt he used to have, there's a scarf that the attendant ties to his hips. It's itchy and he can't reach for things without feeling like he might rip the material.

Arthur dismisses his attendant. He would have liked a few minutes to himself but the soldiers at the door knock twice when he doesn't come out. He grinds his teeth and throws the doors open.

"Gentleman," he says, or rather, snarls, before marching past them towards the banquet hall. He's growing tired of the soldiers his father has dispatched for him. Morgana would say he's shifting his anger on menial details. But being furious at the king of Camelot is one step short of treason.

Said king, Uther, smiles broadly when Arthur arrives and beckons him to the table. "Son, come sit with us!"

Arthur walks past many of his knights and other noblemen while keeping his gaze straight. If someone talks to him, he might be sick.

It's the tunic.

The banquet is for Samhain, but this year, it's also for Cenred's arrival. Arthur doesn't spare a glance at the man and seats himself next to Uther. His tight-lipped silence doesn't stay for long because Uther shoots him a glare: behave.

It makes Arthur feel small like a child being scolded, but he cannot forget what this celebration is truly about.

"You are to be leaving with King Cenred after the sacrifice on Samhain."

Arthur, who'd been digging into his meal, frowns. "For how long?"

Uther drinks from his chalice. The prolonged wait makes Arthur confused.

"As part of the peace treaty's conditions, you won't be a subject of Camelot from then on."

Arthur puts his fork down. "I don't understand."

"King Cenred wishes to forge an honorable alliance with us. And as you are aware," Uther looks him in the eye, "it is not in our best interest to refuse."

"If this is about the famine, we'll recover. We always do, Father. This is my home. I can't leave you— or Morgana. My knights. Who will train the squires?" His desperation becomes transparent in that last question because they both know many worthy knights can step in for him.

"I didn't raise you to be so short-sighted. Yes, we did manage to survive the famine but make no mistake, winter will wash out whatever we have salvaged. Our kingdom needs resources and King Cenred is willing to provide them. Do you see now?"

Arthur has to blink back his frustration. "What will I even do in Essetir?"

"He would like to court you since you are of age. Then when the time is right, he has agreed to marry you."

The chair scrapes back as Arthur stands, outraged, hurt, and scared. "I will not be his consort," he spits. "I cannot believe you would ask this of me."

Uther stares at him in distaste, as if he's the one acting ridiculous. "You won't be a simple consort."

"I might as well be."

"Foolish boy," Uther slams his palm down on the table, "do you think you have a say in this? What is your duty as a knight? What is your duty as prince of Camelot? What is your duty to me, your king?"

Arthur steps back like he'd been slapped. Pulling rank is nothing new for his father. It's just...

Uther surges to his feet and grabs a handful of Arthur's hair. Ignoring the pained yelp, he sits again, dragging his son to his knees beside his chair.

"Please, father, I don't—"

"What is your duty?"

He doesn't look up. Arthur cringes as involuntary tears trickle out and fall to the floor. He tries to ease his hair from the strong grip but it only makes Uther yank his head back till he had no choice but to look at him.

"Speak."

"To protect my kingdom and my people."

"That's right. You can achieve that if you do as I say for once in your life."

"That's not fair," Arthur whines. "All I've ever done is for this kingdom," he grabs at Uther's thigh, "for you!"

"Your romantic notions of marriage and love are more important to you than I am. Your people can starve, as long as you get to live happily ever after with your true love. You're not even worthy of your title." He shoves Arthur to the side.

"You don't m-mean that."

"Prove me wrong then." Uther steps over him and goes to the door, leaving him there, alone.

Arthur can't sit here and endure his father's silent, scathing looks. He can't. After a few minutes, he quietly leaves the table with the excuse of speaking to his knights. Arthur doesn't actually want to see any of them, so when Leon catches him at the drinks station, he tries not to scowl.

"What is it?" he asks, expecting some report or hindrance that needs to be taken care of. Arthur won't be responsible for it. He'll be gone. Perhaps Leon will pick up his tasks. He's a fine man with a gentle camaraderie with most people.

"I heard—" he pauses, "is it true that you are leaving, my lord?"

Arthur takes a swing of his drink, nauseous at having to talk about it for the first time. He admires Leon for being able to confront him. Arthur is a coward. "Stay within your rights on what you can ask your prince, Leon."

He clasps his hands behind his back, a look of contemplation crossing his face. Leon looks sober and composed. Arthur hates it. He doesn't push it, though, and drops on a stool nearby. The pillar he leans back on is cold. His vision is turning blurry. He closes his eyes.

"Do you plan to run?"

Arthur's eyes snap open. Leon is sitting next to him. When did that happen? "What?"

"It is my duty to protect the prince of Camelot. So if you decide to... escape, I will lay down my life for you."

The word duty has Arthur throwing up on the floor. The servants immediately swoop down to clean the mess. Arthur's throat burns. He takes the water offered to him.

"Leon... I can't do that."

They wait till the servants flit away. Leon begins to whisper in rushed tones and it's gratifying to see at least one person care that much. "Everyone's busy tonight with arrangements and having to accommodate Cenred's party. I can distract your guards."

Hope should feel light and warm. Arthur only feels dread. "Cenred will blame my father. Then there'd be—be a war."

"It is not right—"

"You've been good to me," Arthur hiccups through it, uncertain if Leon can even hear him over the clamor and cheers of the celebration. "I won't forget that." He lurches to his feet, feeling more exhausted than drunk. Patting Leon on the shoulder, he says, "I might as well go talk to my future spouse."

Cenred and Uther aren't sitting together anymore. Uther is with a large circle of nobles, while Cenred is clapping along to a bard's tunes. Arthur walks over, nodding at the men who bow and give him room.

Surely, he can do this much for his people. Uther is right in his own way. Will one life ever be worth thousands? Not to his father. Arthur can't bring himself to smile at Cenred as such thoughts run in his mind.

"I've been eager to see you," Cenred says as he sees him.

"Likewise," Arthur says, somewhat mechanically. He puts his hand out for a shake, which Cenred grabs. But Arthur pushes him off when Cenred places a kiss on his knuckles. The women nearby giggle.

"Spirited as ever, little Cir-Mheala," he whispers.

Arthur touches the hair by his ear, heart racing. Cir-Mheala. Honeycomb. When he was five, his nurse had told him that his hair was as golden as his mother's.

Arthur tries to reign in his loathing, but Cenred snares him swiftly. He ruffles his hair with a smirk. "Fit to be by my side."

Smacking his hand aside, Arthur scoffs. "Aren't you a little old for a second marriage?"

Cenred ignores the jibe. "In two days, we'll be leaving. I want to take you to the market of the druids."

Arthur doesn't know much about druids, save for the fact that Uther hates them. "Courting me will be a waste of your time." What is he doing? Being on good terms with the king is his best option if he is to leave Camelot. But it's so difficult to be cordial with a man like him. "Why bother winning my affections when you force my hand in this?"

"I'm not forcing you," Cenred says, sighing. "Do you despise me that much?" Before Arthur could reply, he was jerked closer by the scarf around his waist. The older man's breath is hot on his face. "It's alright if you do, Mheala. Your fire is very appealing."

"Stop it," Arthur snaps. "Stop it, stop it, stop it!"

It's too late when he realizes how loud he'd been. He ducks his head and scampers out of the room, ducking and weaving through the stares.

In his quarters, he rips off the stupid tunic and kicks off his boots. Between words like duty and Mheala, Arthur feels cornered. A warrior would think of strategies and escape routes like Leon. Shamefully, Arthur can't stop thinking about his father.

He knows he's never been the best son, or prince for that matter. Disappointment from Uther is constant, no matter what he did. He'd tried, though. Arthur had tried so hard. He'd tried till he could swing a dagger in the rain and not miss. His father had to break his fingers a few times before he learned, but he'd learnt it, hadn't he?

Tonight, he'd tried to talk to Cendred, but Arthur failed. Arthur's chest caves at the thought of living out the rest of his years with that man.

He's holding a knife in his hand. Arthur must still be tipsy because he doesn't remember taking it out. The knife is sharp, the metal so familiar Arthur could recognize it in his sleep. He brings it to his face and changes his grip—

"What do you think you're doing?"

Arthur's grip on the knife loosens, but there's no hiding it. He lowers it, nervous. Embarrassed. "What are you doing here, father?"

In an instant, his head cracks to the side, the hot white pain in his jaw making him see stars. Blood joins the bad taste in his mouth.

"How dare you?" Uther snatches the knife and throws it across the room. "Coward."

"I wasn't—" Arthur stammers, clutching his face. "It's not what you think. I wasn't trying to—"

"First you insult Cenred, then I find you with a knife. I'm thoroughly ashamed of you."

As Uther calls the guards and yells orders, Arthur backs away to the window. The alarm his body feels is out of proportion, some part of him thinks. He is shaking uncontrollably. The terror in his chest is as persistent as a cough that threatens to drag out his guts. He can't breathe.

The soldiers tie his hands and feet. "No, no, no. I—I swear, I wasn't going to kill—kill myself." Arthur's pleas are useless.

Uther looms over him. "You brought this on yourself."

The next punch knocks him out.

#amow winter whumperland 2023 #day 1 #panic attack #forced celeberation #whump community #whump #whump blog #whumpmas 2023 #whump series #whump writing #whump challenge #defiant whumpee #royal whumpee #intimate whumper #creepy whumper #whump prompt #future implied noncon #whumpblr

[jinx-on-mars-19xx]

Five More Minutes

Not Natural ✨ The Devil's Trap ✨ Holy Water ✨ The Demon's Altar ✨ Midnight Meeting ✨ The Hunter's Trap ✨ Sharp Secrets and Bloody Blades ✨ A Hunter's Beast Tamed ✨ No Chick Flick Moments ✨ Witches, Bitches, and Beasts ✨ Cursed or Not ✨ Poison Lips and True Love's Kiss ✨ Swallowing Hard Truths ✨ Salt and Burn

Dom x Colson (Yungblud x Machine Gun Kelly)

Warnings: SPN inspired, ABO (knots, slick, heats), demon Kells, hunter Dom, lazy morning play, mentions of rough sex, mentions of pain play, talks of hunting, talks of gun use, gun euphemisms, implications of past sexual assault (brief but stay safe!), teasing, playful insults, hand job, biting/marking, blow job, grinding, anal play, fingering, first times, hint of bottom Kells, improper use of shins, intense orgasms, small mention of foot play, needy boys, Dom being corny, boys not so secretly in love ⚰️ rating: explicit

By the time they finally started focusing on their new mission they'd shared two weeks of vacation together. Of course Tom was there but they spent most of their time locked in the bedroom together. Neither one of them really decided to start working again, they just woke up one morning and they both seemed to know they were ready. They could face everything they had to. They were close enough to handle Astaroth and whatever else might be ahead of them. Kells didn't like the thought of Dom leaving the cabin but one step at a time he supposed. There was something primal and protective in the back of his mind- Dom called it his alpha brain and claimed it was a dumbass. He tried calling it sexist but the devil wasn't sure about that. The kid still looked like a dude so his pretty little pussy didn't count.

"We should make a shooting range out back somewhere." Keliphos sighed as he picked up his lover's hand and played with his fingers.

"Fuck tha'. You know 'ow I feel about guns." The human grumbled back. He wasn't exactly a morning person on the best day but lately he'd been waking up extra grumpy. He didn't think he was sick but he'd wake up almost starving. It made him question how addicted he was to his beast.

"We have to use the Colt on him. Which means we both need to know how to shoot just in case. Unless you've decided you don't need to be there when shit goes down?" He asked gently, fully expecting the slap to his chest from the kid's free hand. "Then you gotta know. I can teach you."

"Why can't I jus' get some mystical sword from a stone or summat cool like tha'? Ain't fairs. I'd raver it up close and personal. He deserves to bleed slowly for all he done."

Kells knew what he meant but there was still a little voice in his head that reminded him Dom had been attracted to a version of his father once. It was hard to quiet the insecurities after a millennia of feeling less than that dick.

"Don't start wiv me, he was a rapey bastard who abused his son. He deserves to 'urt. A lot." Dominic growled and the nephalem furrowed his brows. If he didn't know better he'd think the Hunter could read his mind but… there was no way. Right? "He 'urt you most of all and I won't stand for tha'." The boy hummed softly, rolling against his alpha's side to press a kiss to his stubbled jaw.

"Oh yeah?" He rasped back, smiling down at the only thing he'd ever loved.

"Yeah. Only mine to 'urt. S'me job." The kid cracked a smile, his crooked teeth on wide display. Keliphos couldn't help but grin back. He turned to face him and slid down in the bed. He knew they needed to get up and actually start working but it was hard to leave the soft warm bed. "But I might not 'ate you teaching me to…" He trailed off, slipping his hand between their bellies to palm his lover's soft cock. "-shoot."

"Weak game bitch. What, just cause you have me now you're not even trying? Think you can just- oh fuck!" Whatever teasing insult he was about to say was lost as the punk squeezed over the spot his knot would form.

"Yep. Tha's exactly wha' I fink. You mine, remember? Why I gotta try when you like me so much? Maybe you the bitch 'ere." His soft voice melted the demon to nothing but a needy dick as Dom's strong arm pumped slowly. It was lazy Sunday morning play but he didn't think it was Sunday. It felt peaceful and almost loving and all he could do was watch his partner's muscles move under his skin. He always thought of Dom as small and breakable but he was far from it. His bitch was a killer with a body to match.

Dominic didn't often get playtime without being directed, his alpha tended to be just that- dominating. He took advantage of the moments when his devil was more relaxed. He never slept but sometimes he rested with Dom and was softer when they opened their eyes again. His fingers teased over silky smooth skin, his nails ghosting circles around his crown. He was learning everything that drove his monster wild but his favorite was dragging his thumbnail through the slit and watching Kells squirm.

A second hand joined the first, groping tight around the base. The demon was too big for just one. He hadn't meant to start jacking his alpha off, he didn't have anything to make the glide smooth but as if it could feel the need and wanted to obey he felt a splash of precum soak his hand. His palm rolled over the tip, getting messy and wet before stroking back down and the sound made them both whimper. Dom blushed, he wasn't used to enjoying things like that but his lover was opening him up in more ways than one. Blue eyes blinked fast, those long lashes fluttering, and between one breath and the next they flashed true form.

"'Ere's me guy." The Hunter grinned, his voice more breathy than before. He was shocked at how much pleasure he got from pleasing his man but his own dick was throbbing and his thighs dripped with slick. Keliphos moved to touch him too but he shook his head. "Let me." He soothed, keeping his pace measured and tortuous.

"Mmm, but I like touching you. If you haven't noticed you kind of get me off. Plus you smell fucking-" That rasped voice dropped to a growl as he buried his face in the human's wild hair to breathe him deep. Dom smelled like sunlight and honey. He always smelled amazing but they hadn't been killing or using weaponry or cheap hotel amenities. The only thing left on him was his natural scent and to the devil accustomed to fire and brimstone and blood? It was heaven. He smelled like sunlight before the industrial revolution, before there were too many humans wrecking the Earth. Soft and warm with a hint of something lemon buttery, he just wanted to lick him all day.

"You drooling in me 'air." Dom giggled but it warmed his heart and gave him butterflies in his belly. The devil was addicted to him in the sweetest ways. Maybe they shared a lot of blood and pain but that just meant they understood each other.

His lips traced a trail down his lover's throat until he found the scarred bite he'd left a week before. Kells could heal anything on his body but he chose to keep two marks, one from Dom's teeth and the symbol on his chest. When Tom saw it his eyes went wide and he ran off to his study with the door closed for hours. They weren't sure what was wrong with him, it was meaningless. He'd just cut what he'd felt like but it didn't matter. Any mark he left on the beast was special. "You really think you can get me off with just your- fuck- your hands? Might take a-mmm-" Keliphos tried to stay cocky but he felt too damn good, they both knew he was lying.

Plush lips suckled over his scars before the boy let his tongue lead him lower. The nephalem watched dark hair disappear under the sheet and his palm slapped the mattress hard when he felt that perfect mouth curl around his dick. Dom tugged his leg until he draped it over his shoulder, the kid was getting better at taking him deep and he was obviously looking to get throat fucked. It was hard to keep something like that leisurely, but he let his hips roll gently. The suction around his cockhead was so hot and wet he couldn't help but moan. The only thing better was his omega's slick cunt. "I c-could f-fuck you?" He offered, it seemed like the polite thing to do. Maybe it was just as much for him but at least they'd both get something out of it.

Dom grumbled around his mouthful and shook his head, he had plans for his alpha and he was starving. It started with an addiction to his demon's blood but anything from him filled his tummy and made him content, it all gave him the same buzz. Keliphos groaned at his thoughts, he knew the wanker was listening. His lips curled in a smile around Kells's crown and he wiggled his hand down between his own legs. He was more drenched than he'd thought, his slick dripping down his thighs but that was exactly what he needed.

Once he'd gathered enough he teased his touch between the demon's legs, rubbing his scent into the man from his balls to his untouched hole. "Wait- what- w-what?" That growl came again but this time it was nervous. He swallowed the devil's dick until it cut off his air and made his lover whine. If the alpha truly didn't want it he'd stop him, but after a moment he raised his leg higher and took a deep breath. Dom hadn't thought there'd be anything he could have as a first from him but he was getting the feeling his beast had never offered himself freely before.

A fingertip circled the devil's hole and he bit the edge of his pillow. He didn't know why he was scared, it was Dom for fuck's sake- but he'd never allowed anyone inside him. He could hear the way the boy was thinking- that he'd never offered himself freely. It was a way people thought when they knew… Maybe it was assumed just because he'd been in hell so young or maybe it was written all over him. Whatever it was he didn't want it ruining their lazy morning play so the moment Dom pushed gently, he bared down. "Fuckme- holy shit! Dom?" He slurred, drooling around the pillow as the Hunter did what he did best and hunted out what they both needed.

Dominic tried to make soothing noises through his nose as his touch slid deeper but whatever nerves the demon had were slipping away. He could feel his tense muscles relaxing, everything except the silky heat around his digit- there the beast was clenching tight. The alpha didn't know where to move so he tried going everywhere- bucking forward down Dom's throat and back on his finger. The first swipe against that small bundle of nerves had him shaking for a whole new reason but his lover took him apart like he'd done it a thousand times before. He knew that wasn't true, this was new for them both, but fuck the kid was a god when it came to breaking his pet demon.

A mix of drool and precum was spilling down out the boy's mouth and he kept it open but tight so his lover could take what control he needed. For a moment he thought about touching himself but he knew he needed both hands for his alpha, if he wasn't squeezing his knot it wouldn't be the same. Before he could worry too much Kells shoved his free leg forward, his shin fitting between the boy's soaked thighs. He tried to make a noise of thanks but he just ended up gagging which in turn made the monster jerk and writhe.

Kells groaned when his omega started moving, his sweet cock and pretty pink pussy grinding against his skin. He could feel Dom's messy folds quivering against him and for just a moment he wandered what would happen if he tried to fuck him with his toes. There might be a few kinks to keep locked down deep until the kid's depravity matched his own. He didn't want to scare him off and he was already too close, he knew he was shaking too much to help at all.

Dom's cock throbbed as he humped his alpha's leg like a bitch in heat. He tried to keep focused on the other man's pleasure but he didn't need to do much, Kells was fucking himself with a wild abandon that pushed the human even closer to the edge. He couldn't even breathe anymore but it didn't matter. He could feel the beast's knot pulse under his fist and it was so full he couldn't even close it anymore.

"Dom-mmm!" The demon whined, his dick sinking deeper and deeper until lips kissed his knot and when his bitch slipped a second finger in against his spot the world exploded around him.

The boy sucked harder at the first rush of cum, that sticky white heat spilling out his lips and down his throat. His fingers almost hurt; they were squeezed so tight and he couldn't help wondering what it would feel like around his cock. His lover cried out again at his thought and the devil pulled him off by his hair. He gasped for air and tried to pull his touch free gently but the demon wasn't being careful anymore. An inked thigh fit between Dom's legs as Kells's dick kept spilling over his belly and chest. Before he could even catch his breath their lips pressed together and it felt like he was being devoured by his alpha.

His rapture wasn't far behind and it felt almost ripped free of him. The nephalem didn't let him scream, he swallowed every sound as he spilled hot over the monster's leg. It felt filthy, everywhere they touched they were sticky and wet but that didn't stop them from grinding out their pleasure and leaving marks in each other's skin.

When Dom's mind went dizzy he pulled free and gasped for air, his body twitching from overstimulation but his alpha followed him. Kells would never admit to cuddling but he laid his head on the boy's shoulder and rubbed his cum into his lover's soft pink skin. He didn't have words to describe how he felt, that was almost too much but… he already craved it again. He was panting for air he didn't need and spent for the moment but he still kept thinking about riding his partner's cock till they both saw heaven.

"Is tha' 'ow you use a gun?" The Hunter could barely breathe but he tried to tease the beast and keep him calm. Maybe he should have grabbed the holy water first but he was proud of himself for what they'd done.

Keliphos snorted a laugh and hid his face against the human's neck. "Not exactly. But I think you'll learn quick. Quite the… trigger finger."

It was Dom's turn to laugh but he kept shivering. His demon was massaging spend into his belly and up over his chest, teasing his nipples a little too rough. "Five more minutes in bed you weirdo, 'en we got work to do." He huffed back until his alpha moved to curl his lips around what he refused to call his tit- no matter what the bastard said. "M-maybe ten." His voice broke and the other man hummed happily back.

Author's Note/Tags: @iamnotanearthlingmotherfucker @hollywoodxwhore @jaxbreaker @fenoy7 @cole-way-iero28 🖤

I hope this was good, I feel a little tired today but hopefully it came out alright. I thought a little mostly lazy play could be nice before the plot starts up again more. There aren't many questions raised in this chapter but I'm sad for them both. I'm glad they have each other. What is wrong with Dom? Why is he so hungry for his lover? Why is Kells so protective? Why was Tom panicked by the symbol Dom drew? Keep reading to find out! Thank you! I hope you're enjoying it so far 🖤⚰️

#yungblud #dominic harrison #dom harrison #machine gun kelly #mgk #colson baker #dom and colson #dom and colson fic #dom x colson #dom x colson fic #yungblud and machine gun kelly #yungblud and machine gun kelly fic #yungblud x machine gun kelly #yungblud x machine gun kelly fic #com #com fics #domson #domson fics #my fics #jinx fics #abo #alpha beta omega #supernatural inspired #demon kells #hunter dom #past sa #hunting #moring play #lazy boys #boys in love

[lgbtqiamuslimpedia]

Mukhannath

Mukhannath/مخنثون (plural: Mukhannathun) was a gender & sexual-diverse community of Pre-Islamic & Classical Islamic Societies. Transgender & gender variant identities & practices are diverse and vary across different cultures and societies, including within Muslim communities. In Classical Arabia, these people were refer to as 1.)Effeminate men, 2.) people of ambiguous sexual characteristics and gender non-confirmity, who appeared as more feminine, 3.) who socially had roles typically played by women. There is no monolithic interpretation or understanding of gender identity or expression within Islam, as the religion encompasses a wide range of beliefs and cultural contexts. The existence of mukhannathun has been acknowledged in many historical islamic texts, and their status within Islamic society has been subject to varying interpretations.

Etymology

According to the lexicographers, the term mukhannath derived from the verb Kha-na-tha in the first form means to fold back the mouth of a waterskin for drinking. Derived term develop the basic idea of bending or folding in the direction of pliability,suppleness,languidness,tenderness& delicacy.

According to 9th century Arabic scholar, philologist Abn Ubayd mukhannathun were so called on their account of effeminacy (takassur, elsewhere usually paired with tathanni,suppleness).[citation needed]

Later lexicographers define the term mukhannath as a man who resembles or imitates as woman in the languidness of his limbs or the softness of his voice.This definition rose to prominence among Islamic scholars until medieval times, when the term became associated with passive homosexuality.

While the term "Mukhannath al-Jins" has been used to refer to individuals who do not conform to traditional gender norms associated with their assigned sex.

History

Pre-Islamic Arab Society:

Mukhannathun's gender expression & existence were much tolerated in Pre-Islamic Arab world.Mukhannathun from the city of Medina (Saudi Arabia), are frequently mentioned in the hadith literature & in the works of many Early Arabic and Islamic writers.Mukhannaths were used as domestic worker,domestic helper,hairdresser in the early days of Islam.Mukhannath were allowed to access in both male & female quarters.Al-'Ayni quotes from al-Tabarani that in the days of the Prophet Muhammad,the mukhannathun spoke languidly,dyed their hands and feet (with henna), but were not accused of immoral acts (fahisha).

In the Rashidun and Umayyad caliphates, various mukhannathun of Medina established themselves as celebrated entertainers,artists.One particularly prominent mukhannath, Abū ʿAbd al-Munʿim ʿĪsā ibn ʿAbd Allāh al-Dhāʾib, who had the Arabic name Ṭuwais ("Little Peacock"), was born in Medina on the day Prophet Muhammad died (8 June 632).

Ṭuwais is described as the first mukhannath person to perform "perfect singing" characterized by definitive rhythmic patterns in Medina.He was also known for his sharp wit and his skill with the tambourine (which had previously been associated only with female musicians).No sources describe his sexuality as immoral or imply that he was attracted to men.But it is reported that he was married with a woman.

While Ṭuwais is typically described as the leading mukhannath musician of Medina during his lifetime.Another Mukhannath who was known by the name al-Dalāl ("the Coquettish") is mentioned as one of Ṭuwais's favorite pupils.He is portrayed as a witty but sometimes crude man who "loved women," but did not have sex with them.Unlike Ṭuwais, some tales involving al-Dalāl do suggest that he was attracted to men.Furthermore Ṭuwais and other mukhannathun musicians formed an intermediary stage in the social class most associated with musical performance: women in pre-Islamic Arabia, mukhannathun in the Rashidun and early Umayyad caliphates, and mainly non-mukhannath men in later time periods.

In the early Umayyad period, Mukhannathun enjoyed an exceptional visibility and prestige in Medina & Mecca.Religious persecution of mukhannathun first started at the reigns of Caliph Marwan I. The governor of Mecca serving under al-Walīd I “issued a proclamation against the mukhannathun”, in addition to other entertainers. Two mukhannath musicians named Ibn Surayj and al-Gharīḍ are specifically referred to as being impacted by this proclamation. Mukhannath al-Gharīḍ fled to Yemen and never came back to Saudi Arabia.The most severe instance of persecution is typically dated to the time of al-Walīd I's brother and successor Sulaymān ibn ʿAbd al-Malik, (7th caliph of the Umayyad caliphate).According to several variants of this story, the caliph Sulayman ordered the full castration of the mukhannathun of Medina.Some versions of the tale say that all of them were forcefully undergo the castration procedure. Consequently, mukhannath or queer folks of Medina & Mecca begin to fade from historical sources, and the next generation of singers and musicians had few mukhannathun in their ranks.

Abbasid Period

During the Abbasid caliphate, the word itself was used as a descriptor for men who are entertainer and submissive or effeminate gay.Mukhannath were employed as dancers, musicians, comedian & guards of Abbasid harems.In later eras Mukhannath term has been mostly associated with effeminate homosexuality.

Safavid Period

Safavid Dynasty (1501–1736) was a Twelver Shia dynasty of Iran.Mukhannathun also appeared in Safavid Era.

Acceptance of transgender and gender non-conforming individuals within Islam can be highly influenced by cultural, social, political & regional factors. Different Muslim majority countries & communities may have differing attitudes towards gender identity and expression, ranging from acceptance to stigmatization.

Hadith Literature

Almost all references of ahadith literature justifies animosity toward queer people & have been quoted out of context; Islamic clerics,scholars wrongly condemn trans folks, despite so many major Islamic scholars having argued that the Hadith actually refer to cross-dressers (who want to deceitfully gain access to women’s spaces).

According to Sahih Bukhari 4324, Narated by Umm Salama narrated that ''Prophet (ﷺ) came to me while there was an mukhannath (Hit) sitting with me, and I heard him (i.e. the effeminate man) saying to `Abdullah bin Abi Umaiya, "O `Abdullah! See if Allah should make you conquer Ta'if tomorrow,then take the daughter of Ghailan (in marriage) as (she is so beautiful and fat that) she shows four folds of flesh when facing you, and eight when she turns her back." The Prophet (ﷺ) then said, "These (effeminate men) should never enter upon you (O women!)."

Al-Tabari (1978) took it as an example that the Prophet did not forbid a particular mukhanath, Hit, from entering the women’s quarters until he heard Hit giving a description of the women’s bodies in great detail.Hit was later prohibited from the house because ze had breached the trust of the Prophet, but not because of her gender identity or expression.According to Dr. Scott Siraj Kugle the mukhannath hadiths were so grossly taken out of context by many muslim conservatives,that what appeared to be a prophetic wisdom of protecting and sanctifying the privacy of women’s spaces; devolved into a punitive condemnation of gender & sexual diversity.

Its also known that Prophet Muhammad protect a Mukhannath (or trans woman) from death sentence.

According to a Sunan Abu Dawud 4910,narrated by Abu Hurayrah that,

''A mukhannath who had dyed his hands and feet with henna was brought to the Prophet (ﷺ).He asked: What is the matter with this man? He was told: "Messenger of Allah! He imitates the look of women." So he issued an order regarding him & he was banished to an-Naqi. The people said: Messenger of Allah! Should we not kill him? He said: I have been prohibited from killing people who pray.

According to Abu Usamah said: Naqi' is a region near Medina and not a Baqi ''.

According to Progressive Muslim scholar Mahdia Lynn, ''One group interprets this hadith as a transgressor banished: this person being sent away clearly teaches us that gender diverse people are not welcome in the Prophet’s community. According to this interpretation, living out the prophetic example today means that excluding gender and sexual diversity from Islam is right and good.

Another group looks at this story and sees a life saved: it’s clear there was a group of men ready to murder this person and so the Prophet saved their life by sending them away (to an-Naqi, a location between Mecca and Medina, which is interpreted to mean “within the bounds of Islam”). Living out prophetic example means not only accepting gender & sexual diversity as a valid part of the ummah, but being called upon to protect LGBTQI+ Muslims.''

Opinions

Within Islamic history and scholarship, there have been discussions and debates surrounding gender identities and expressions that transcends the gender binary.In the pre-modern period, muslim societies were aware of several gender non-confirmities: this can be seen through figures such as the khaasi (eunuch), the hijra (non-binary,trans), the mukhannath (trans-feminine),the mutarajjilat (trans male), the mamsuh (agender),the bissu (non-binary, polygender),the sida-sida (bigender) and the khuntha (intersex). Some Islamic scholars have explored the concept of "mukhannathun," which actually refers to individuals assigned male at birth but who exhibit feminine characteristics or behaviors.

Several scholars such as Mehrdad Alipour (2017) & Everett K. Rowson (1991) point to references in the Hadith to the existence of mukhannath: a man who carries femininity in his movements,in his appearance, and in the softness of his voice.Western scholars Aisya Aymanee M. Zaharin & Maria Pallotta-Chiarolli see the term mukhannath as referring to men who are behave like women,but do not want to undergo sex reassignment surgery,in contrast to transgender or intersex people.

Mukhannath term may use as an umbrella term for gender & sexual diverse.While sometimes Mukhannath classified as transgender people,the Mukhannathun as a group do not neatly fit into the western categories of gender or sexuality.There was too much variety from one Mukhannath to the next to establish a specific label for their gender or sexual identity, & the meaning of the term has changed over time.The Arabic term for a trans woman is Mukhannith, as they want to change their sex, while mukhannaths presumably don't.

In Popular Culture

Books

The Effeminates of Early Medina - Everett K. Rowson

Homosexuality,Transidentity and Islam -Ludovic Ahmad Zahed

Before homosexuality in Arab-Islamic World - Khaled El-Rouayheb

Sexual Ethics and Islam - Kecia Ali

Living Out Islam:Voices of Gay, Lesbian & Transgender Muslims - Scott Siraj Kugle

Homosexuality in Islam:Critical reflection on gay, lesbian & transgender muslims - Scott Siraj Kugle

Que(e)ring Religion:A Critical Anthology - Gary David Comstock, Susan E. Henking

Islam and Homosexuality - Samar Habib [volume 1], [volume 2]

Sexual and Gender Diversity in Muslim World - Vanja Hamzić

Islamic Homosexualities - Stephen O. Murray, Will Roscoe

Islamicate Sexualities:Translations across Temporal Geographies of Desire - Afsaneh Najmabadi,Kathryn Babayan

Queens, Eunuchs and Concubines in Islamic history - Taef El-Azhari

The Diesel (الديزل) by Thani al-Suwaidi

The Delight of Hearts - Ahmad Al-Tifashi

Governing Thirdness: State, Society and Non-Binary Identities - Muhammad Azfar Nisar

Films & TV

Allah Loves Equality - Wajahat Abbas Kazmi

Be Like Others - Tanaz Eshaghian

#gay muslim #transsexual muslim #transmuslim #queer history #queer islam #Hijra #Mukhannath #Mukhannith #khanith #transgender #non binary #genderqueer #gender ambiguity

[femininefutbol]

el clásico

transferred/modified from my wattpad

prompt: you and aitana bonmatí were childhood best friends but haven't seen each other since you were younger due to you moving away without any warning

word count: 3.4k 

a/n: i’m thinking of transferring some of my wattpad imagines over to here. if you have read it before sorry there will be new stuff soon, if you haven’t i hope you enjoy it :)

-

"Madrid are playing their new striker today" Patri mentions casually as herself the rest of the Barcelona squad are on the team bus to make their way to Santiago Bernabéu Stadium for the first leg of the Champions League semi-finals.

"What's her name? She only signed a few weeks ago right? She was a free agent? Never played professionally before?" Claudia asks a range of questions curiously, seemingly already knowing a lot about the new Real Madrid player.

"(Y/N)?" Patri states in a hesitant tone, not sure she actually knows the player's name.

"Did you say (Y/N)? What's her surname?" Aitana asks curiously, suddenly rather interested in the conversation.

"Ummmm" Patri drags out scrolling to the top of the article she is reading to find the name of this new player, "(Y/N) (Y/L/N)"

"Oh it's not her" Aitana whispers to herself.

"You know her?" Patri questions, having noticed the odd reaction Aitana had to the name.

"No, I had a childhood friend with the same first name but she had a different surname," Aitana explains, a small smile tugging at her lips as she remembers her childhood best friend.

-

"Tana pass here" You call out to your best friend Aitana, the two of you are young thirteen year olds playing together for the CF Cubelles mixed youth team.

Aitana does as you ask sending a beautiful pass up which allows you to score the teams first goal of the game, sending the team up in the 89th minute, "(Y/N/N) goooaaaal" Aitana screams at you as you cup your ears, your signature celebration, before you run directly into Aitana's arms.

Play continues for a few minutes before the final whistle is blown, CF Cubelles winning 1-0 due to the link up from the only two girls on the team.

"Beautiful shot (Y/N/N)" Aitana smiles widely at you.

"Beautiful assist tana" You smile back at Aitana, hugging her tightly, the two of you extremely excited at how the final minutes of the game played out.

The two of you seperate, Aitana making her way over to her mum who was at the game to watch her play, “you played so well nena" Aitana's mother kisses the top of her head. The little girl smiles brightly, super happy with the praise from her mum and the wonderful game she played.

-

"Hello, Aitana, are you listening?" Patri waves her hands wildly in front of Aitana in an attempt to make her pay attention.

"Hmm, yeah what?" Aitana responds, snapping out her thoughts about her childhood best friend that she so dearly misses.

"We're at the stadium" Patri points out the window, emphasising the fact that they have come to a stop and are at the Real Madrid stadium.

"That we are, let's go" she smiles, getting up quickly and making her way off the bus before anyone has time to ask what she was busy thinking about.

-

"Hey (Y/N), you are Catalan right?" your closest friend at Real Madrid, Misa asks as the two of you make your way into the stadium.

"Born and raised" you put on a fake smile, not wanting any of your new teammates to catch on to the fact that your childhood wasn't the greatest.

"Do you know any of the Barça players?" Misa asks curiously, assuming that if you grew up playing football while living close to Barcelona there is a chance you would know at least one of the younger players on the team.

"I grew up playing with Aitana Bonmatí" you shrug casually, hoping your response is enough for Misa and that you can swiftly move on from the current conversation. "How about you? You play with them on the national team right? I've heard the rumours about you and Leila" you wiggle your eyebrows.

"Those rumours are just rumours and obviously I know a lot of the Barça players but that isn't interesting, everyone knows that. Now tell me more about you and Aitana" Misa responds, doing just what you hoped she wouldn't and focusing on what you had said instead of just moving on.

"There's not much to it, we played together until I moved to Madrid when I was thirteen, we weren't very close or anything, just teammates" you lie.

"You think she will remember you when she sees you today?" Misa questions.

"Probably not, like I said we weren't that close and I've changed a lot" you answer honestly.

You don’t expect Aitana to remember you seeing as you just randomly left one day with no explanation. In your heart you hope Aitana remembers you, everyday since you left you have missed the small Barcelona native but in your head you remain sure that Aitana just moved on with her life and completely forgot that the two of you were ever even friends.

Your last ever day in Barcelona was spent at your local team's football match, the very same match the Aitana remembers fondly to this day, the one where you were able to score in the final minute gaining the win for your team. The only difference is that you have never been able to look back on that day fondly seeing as it was the day that ruined your entire life.

-

You walk back to the clubhouse after the game rather than making your way over to the sidelines like the other kids do. You know very well that your parents would never choose to watch their daughter play football seeing as they don't support women playing a 'men's' sport, so there is never anyone at your games to support you.

"Tortillera” (D*ke) one of the boys from the other team calls out to you, laughing with his friends as he walks past, you pause for a brief second, you had heard your parents use that word to refer to you when they assumed you were asleep for the night but you don't know what it means. You decide that you will ask your parents what it means once you get home.

You make quick work of changing back into your dress and putting your football gear into the coaches office seeing as you would get in trouble if your parents found out that you were playing football instead of studying at the library like you said you were going to do.

"(Y/N/N) do you want to come to lunch with me and my mamá?" Aitana asks sweetly, grinning at you in hopes it will convince you to spend more time with her.

"Sorry Tana I have to get home" you apologise.

"Oh okay. Well bye (Y/N/N), I love you, see you at school tomorrow!" Aitana makes quick work of hugging you before making her way back over to her mum. 

"Bye Tana, I love you too" you respond, giggling quietly to yourself as your best friend wildly waves goodbye while she runs back over to her mum.

You make your way home, greeting your parents in the living room as you come through.

"Hola, mamá, papi, I have a question" you proclaim sweetly, the action not being out of the ordinary for you as you have always been quite inquisitive.

"What is it (Y/N)?" your mother asks, not even taking a second to look in your direction.

"What does tortillera mean?" you ask innocently, both your parents immediately look in your direction. 

"Where did you hear that?" your father asks sternly.

"I saw it in a book I was reading?" you're not the best liar so you immediately turn red, easily giving you up. 

"Why do you have dirt on your knees?" your mother asks in horror, coming to the realisation that you were not at the library but instead you spent your day playing football.

"I fell over when I was walking home" you lie again, your face even more red as you feel the pressure of lying to your parents.

"You were playing football weren't you? Did someone call you a tortillera?" your mum disguises her voice, the anger being taken over by a false concern.

"Um yes" you answer in a hushed whisper.

"That's it, you are going to live with your Tia in Madrid" your father states, the decision seeming like one they have been considering for awhile.

"What no?! I will stop, I promise, I don't want to leave" you cry, having your whole world ripped from around you with no idea why it is happening.

-

You are brought back to your current surroundings as Misa wipes a stray tear from your cheek.

"Are you okay (Y/N/N)?" Misa asks, not quite understanding why you are suddenly crying.

"Yeah yeah, I just got something in my eye" you rub your eyes harshly, attempting to prove to Misa that you aren’t lying.

"Alright, if you say so" Misa responds skeptically.

That is where your conversation ends, as you reach the locker room and go your seperate ways to prepare for the game.

-

The two teams line up on the field, listening to the Champions League anthem. You look around the stadium in awe, it is your first ever professional game of football and it seems like a dream that you are even going to play. You gave up on being a professional footballer years ago so it is all very exciting yet overwhelming for you.

Once the anthem is over the two teams are required to shake hands, it is all going smoothly until you are stood in front of Aitana.

"(Y/N)?" Aitana asks. from her earlier conversation genuinely didn't believe that the new real madrid player could be the (Y/N) she knew when she was younger so seeing you standing right here in front of her has her in complete shock.

"Goodluck" you state, quickly moving on to the next player in the lineup, you can't bring herself to even look back at Aitana, knowing that it would likely throw you off your game.

Things heat up when only eight minutes into the game as Real Madrid player Esther dribbles between three Barcelona players. She manages to lay off the ball to you, taking one swift touch to the ball you drill it into the right corner of the goal putting the El Clásico favourites behind, one goal to nil.

You immediately celebrate with what has always been known as your signature goal celebration, the cupping of your ears. When you were younger it signified that while all the boys playing around you spoke down on you playing because you were a girl you were still the one putting away goals. Today in the quarterfinals of the Champions League the celebration signifies many different things. The fact that you scored the first goal against all odds for Real Madrid. The fact that you scored your first ever professional goal. The fact that you scored while the boys you scored against are likely nowhere near as successful. Most importantly the fact that you are living your dream despite everything your parents did to stop you.

This goal celebration means the entire world to you and even though your childhood best friend has just had to watch her team go a goal down in the quarterfinals the smile on her face doesn't wavier as she proudly remembers you constantly talking about how you were going to make it pro one day and now here you are.

The next piece of memorable action is in the thirty-first minute, Aitana taps the ball a touch too heavily leaving it open for you to play forward, this doesn't last though as Aitana quickly swoops in, side-tackling you and clipping your shin. This action causes you to fall to the ground in pain and sees Aitana earn a yellow card for her action.

You receive some medical treatment while Aitana clearly worries about you from a relatively far distance, not wanting her presence to throw off the game of either of you.

The game continues and Barcelona are able to make up for the goal scored by you within the first ten minutes of the second half and add another two with no other major moments for you or Aitana.

-

After the game Aitana shakes the hands of her teammates and Real Madrid players, but it is all just formalities until she reaches the girl she has had her eye on since she was substituted off.

"(Y/N)" Aitana states simply, it's rather obvious by this point that she is fully aware that the girl she just played against is her childhood best friend.

"Hi Tana" you reply with a small smile.

"Dont 'hi Tana' me! You have some explaining to do" Aitana responds in a harsher tone than even she expected. without missing a beat she pulls you into a bone-crushing hug, not particularly willing to let go.

"I know Tana, I know but not now okay? I've missed you so much you know" you respond, holding Aitana's face in your hands momentarily to make sure the moment is actually real before pulling the shorter catalan girl back into another hug.

"I have missed you a lot too (Y/N/N), please can we see each other again soon to catch up properly?" Aitana basically begs her childhood friend.

"We will see each other again soon enough, Camp Nou ring any bells?" you joke.

"You seriously haven't changed a bit. Of course I will see you at Camp Nou but after that, how about I take you out to dinner?" Aitana asks hopefully.

"Okay dinner sounds good, I guess it will make up for not getting lunch with you the day before I left Barcelona" you state hoping that the joke will land, it would be rather awkward if Aitana just didn't remember the last day that you two had seen each other before you left.

"I think it will take more than one dinner to make up for you not getting that lunch with me, especially since this is the first time I've seen you since then" aitana shamelessly flirts with you.

"I guess seeing you more often wouldn't be so horrible" you smile brightly, secretly extremely excited that Aitana wants to spend more time with you again.

"So that means you are already agreeing to a second date?" Aitana smiles back.

"Woah dates? Tana get to know a girl first" you dramatically state, drawing the attention of some of your teammates who may have been secretly attempting to overhear your conversation in order to find out what is going on.

"I knew I liked you back when we were thirteen (Y/N/N), I’m pretty confident now that I'd like to go on dates with you" Aitana admits with a small blush, she hopes that the feelings are reciprocated and that she isn't just embarrassing herself in front of her crush that she hasn't seen in over ten years.

"Yeah I liked you too, it was part of the reason I got sent away to Madrid" you reply casually, a look of horror crossing Aitana's face, "It's okay Tana, everything worked out and as it happens I am also pretty confident that I'd like to go on dates with you"

"Ahh okay, so dinner next week after the camp nou game?" Aitana asks.

"Lock it in, don't be surprised if I'm super grumpy if we lose though" you respond.

"You were always a bad sport when we lost" Aitana laughs, remembering how hard you would be on yourself and the team anytime you lost.

"Hey! I've matured, I wouldn't be a bad sport but I would be kind of upset, the Champions League is sort of a big deal you know" you pout jokingly.

"I am aware, anyway, I think someone is looking for you" Aitana points in the direction of Misa who is standing near the tunnel with a small smirk on her face.

"It does seem that way, see you next week Tana" you kiss Aitana's cheek, a moment that doesn't go unnoticed by anyone. You then hug the small Barcelona player tightly.

"See you then (Y/N/N), you better not disappear on me like last time" Aitana hugs you back, probably for a little too long but she doesn't want to let go, knowing that the last time she did she lost her best friend.

"I promise you will be seeing a lot more of me" you wink before jogging off to catch up with Misa, who you already know will be teasing you about the situation for weeks to come.

-

"You lied to me earlier" Misa informs you as you reach the tunnel.

"No I didn't" you argue, knowing that you most definitely did.

"Really? because that didn't look like you catching up with someone who was 'just a teammate' from over ten years ago" Misa explains, having seen and heard parts of your conversation she is well aware that the connection you and Aitana had was likely pretty significant.

"Okay maybe we were a little closer than that" you explain, still not informing her just how close the two of you were in your youth.

"Yeah, like how close? Honest answer this time" Misa glares at you slightly to ensure that you will tell the truth.

"We had been best friends since we were three" you explain defeatedly as you hadn't exactly wanted to let many people in Madrid know things about her childhood in Barcelona.

"That makes sense, when she first saw you she literally looked like she had found buried treasure. She was very upset when she realised her mistimed tackle was on you. ooo and-" Misa goes on to continue talking about more ways that Aitana had interacted with you during that game as being a goalkeeper gives her a good perspective of the game.

"Okay I get it, yes we were best friends and it was nice to see her again but that's all that happened so please leave all your 'she looked at you like you were the brightest star in the night sky' stuff for the fanfictions" you sigh.

"You know people are actually probably going to write that about you two now, you weren't very subtle with the tight hugs, blushes and the kiss on the cheek" Misa wiggles her eyebrows this time, making it clear that she wouldn't believe that the two of you are going to stay just friends.

"Nothing was happening" you proclaim.

"You are going on a date with her" Misa states confidently.

"How did you know that?" you ask defensively.

Misa cracks up laughing, almost falling over in the process, "I didn't, I just guessed but now you can't hide anything from me, I know too much"

"I hate you, you know" you sigh, pushing Misa's shoulder lightly before walking back into the tunnel to go to the locker room, an excited Misa just follows you back, smiling as if she had just won the lottery.

Aitana is across the field, too caught up in staring at you to realise that the rest of her teammates are making their way back to the tunnel as well.

"Stop drooling" Patri laughs as she walks past, the sudden voice snaps Aitana out of her thoughts.

"I wasn't drooling" Aitana whines, catching up with Patri so the two of them can walk back together.

"So, she is the girl you knew when you were younger?" Patri asks, knowing fairly well that you indeed are, as she had no issues overhearing the conversation between the two.

"Yeah she is, she just changed her surname" Aitana explains.

"And you have a crush on her" Patri states.

Aitana stops in her tracks causing Patri to turn around and stare at her, "Why do you say that?" Aitana asks.

"Because you literally told her that you do" Patri responds matter of factually.

"You were listening to our conversation?" Aitana asks in horror, having assumed that everyone else was too busy with what they were doing to pay attention to the two of you.

"Obviously, most of us were, how else would we get the hot gossip?" Patri giggles slightly.

"Great" Aitana sighs, "Well you can help me plan the date then" she decides that if everyone is going to know about her and you they may as well help make it happen.

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