#{ That thread we had was absolutely WILD. }

[yuichiroswife]

{ I should bring back my Renè muse that I used on Discord with @s-talking just so him and Envy can beat the shit out of each other again... like they did before. 🤔 }

[reidmarieprentiss]

Textual Tension

Summary: You accidentally send a very suggestive text to your awkward coworker, and he replies...

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!reader

Category: smut (18+), fluff

Warnings/Includes: smut (18+) additional warnings under the cut, awkward tension

Word count: 6.1k

a/n: has anyone ever sent a sext to the wrong person?? i've only ever sent them to my friends on accident and for that i am so thankful

main masterlist

Additional warnings: oral (fem receiving), mild breast play, soft dom spencer

You sit on your bed, the soft glow of your phone illuminating your face as you type out a rather suggestive message to the person you've been casually hooking up with. A smirk tugs at your lips as you hit send, confident that the message will hit its mark. 

I've been thinking about you… Can't stop imagining what I'd do if you were here right now. I want to feel your hands all over me, the way you’d make me moan… Let’s make fantasy a reality?

But within seconds, your heart stops as you realize the terrible mistake you've just made.

You’ve sent the message to Spencer.

Spencer.

Your coworker. The brilliant, kind, and awkwardly charming genius who you’ve always had a friendly, professional relationship with. And, of course, the one who has been harboring a massive, secret crush on you. A fact that, unbeknownst to you, has led to countless daydreams and wishes that you might feel the same.

The blood drains from your face as you stare at your phone, horrified, praying that somehow the message didn’t actually go through, or maybe, just maybe, Spencer won’t read it and will simply delete it. But you know better—Spencer is meticulous about everything. Of course, he’ll read it. You’re absolutely mortified, every worst-case scenario flashing through your mind.

Meanwhile, in his apartment, Spencer is settling down with a cup of tea, ready to dive into the book he’s been reading. When his phone buzzes, he picks it up absentmindedly, assuming it’s just a work-related message or something mundane. But as he reads the words on the screen, his eyes widen in shock, his breath catching in his throat.

His thoughts run wild, heart pounding as he rereads the text, each time wondering if it could possibly be real. Could you, the person he’s admired from afar for so long, actually want him in the way he’s secretly yearned for? The idea is intoxicating, and before he can second-guess himself, he responds with a message that matches your energy, his pulse quickening at the boldness of it.

Wow… I didn’t know you were into me like that. I’ve been thinking about you too. If you want, we can definitely make that happen.

The moment you see his reply, your stomach drops. You can't believe this is happening. You’re completely mortified, your mind spinning with the implications. How could you ever face him again? You don’t respond, the fear and embarrassment paralyzing you, leaving you in a state of panic.

The next day at work, you’re a bundle of nerves. Every step you take towards the bullpen feels like you’re walking to your own doom. When you finally arrive, you try to act normal, but the tension is palpable. You can’t even bring yourself to make eye contact with Spencer, every interaction feeling like it’s laced with the humiliation of last night’s mistake.

Spencer, on the other hand, is caught in a whirlwind of emotions. At first, he’s elated, thinking that maybe, just maybe, there was a chance you were into him. But as the day drags on and you remain distant, the excitement turns to confusion, then a sharp sting of rejection. Did he misread the situation? Was it all just a mistake? He’s left feeling awkward and exposed, unsure of where he stands with you now.

—

The tension between you and Spencer had become a nearly tangible thing, a thread pulled taut between the two of you, ready to snap at any moment. At first, your glances in his direction were purely out of necessity—quick, fleeting looks to gauge his mood, to see if he was as affected by this as you were. But as the days passed, those glances became more frequent, more lingering.

It started innocently enough. You’d look over and notice how effortlessly his hair seemed to fall into place, the soft waves framing his face in a way that made him look almost ethereal. You’d never paid much attention before, but now you couldn’t help but admire how it suited him, how it added to his charm.

Then, it was his forearms. You’d catch him pushing up the sleeves of his button-down shirt, revealing the sinewy strength beneath the fabric. There was something about the casual way he did it, the way the muscles in his arms flexed ever so slightly as he worked, that made your heart skip a beat. It was such a simple thing, but it had a profound effect on you, stirring something deep within.

And then there was the way he licked his lips when he was focused, his eyes narrowing slightly as he concentrated on whatever task was in front of him. You couldn’t help but imagine what it would be like to have his attention focused solely on you, to feel the intensity of that gaze as he looked at you, not with confusion or uncertainty, but with desire.

The more you noticed these little things, the more conflicted you became. This was Spencer—sweet, brilliant, and awkward Spencer. The idea of seeing him in a different light had never really crossed your mind before, but now… now it was all you could think about. The memory of his bold response to your accidental text played on a loop in your mind, taunting you with the possibilities.

What if you responded? What if you stopped overthinking everything and just… saw where it could go? The idea terrified you, but it also excited you in a way you hadn’t expected. There was something thrilling about the thought of exploring this new dynamic, of seeing if there was something more between you and Spencer than just a shared workspace.

You found yourself daydreaming about it, wondering how he would react if you sent him a message, if you matched the energy of his reply. Would he be as nervous as you were, or would he surprise you with a confidence you hadn’t seen before? The thought of it made your pulse quicken, a flush of warmth spreading through you.

But with the excitement came doubt. What if this was a mistake? What if you were reading too much into things, and responding to his text would only make the situation worse? The fear of making things awkward again, of possibly ruining your work life further, held you back. Yet, the thought of doing nothing felt like a missed opportunity, like you were letting something potentially amazing slip through your fingers.

As the day dragged on, you found it harder and harder to focus on your work. Every time you saw Spencer, every time you noticed another little detail about him that you hadn’t before, the urge to reach out grew stronger. It was like there was a tug-of-war going on inside you, with one side urging you to take the risk and see what could happen, and the other holding you back out of fear.

Finally, as the workday was winding down, you made a decision. Maybe you were overthinking this—maybe it was time to just go for it and see what came of it. After all, Spencer had responded positively, hadn’t he? There was a chance, a real chance, that he felt something for you too, something more than just a workplace friendship.

Sitting on your couch with your heart pounding in your chest, you pulled out your phone, your fingers hovering over the keyboard as you debated what to say. You didn’t want to be too forward, but you also didn’t want to be vague. After a few moments of contemplation, you typed out a message, your hands trembling slightly as you reread it.

Hey, about that text… Maybe we should talk. Or… you know, not just talk. If you’re still interested.

You hit send before you could second-guess yourself, your heart racing as you watched the message deliver. There was no going back now.

The rest of the evening was a blur of anxiety and anticipation. You couldn’t stop thinking about what his response might be, what it could mean for the two of you. When your phone finally buzzed with a new message, you hesitated for just a moment before opening it.

I’m definitely interested. Let’s talk… or not just talk, whenever you’re ready.

The words were simple, but they held so much promise. You couldn’t help the smile that spread across your face as you read them, a mixture of relief and excitement flooding your senses. This was happening. You and Spencer were about to cross a line, to explore something new and thrilling.

Just as you were contemplating what to say, how to navigate this sudden and unexpected turn in your relationship, another notification lit up your screen.

Come over? Now?

The message was short, simple, and completely electrifying. It sent a jolt through your system, leaving you momentarily speechless. The implications of it were clear—Spencer wasn’t just thinking about this; he was ready to act on it, to turn this accidental confession into something real and immediate.

Your mind raced as you considered what to do next. Just minutes ago, you were agonizing over whether or not to even respond, and now he was inviting you over, as if the decision had already been made. The sheer boldness of his message left you breathless, your heart pounding with a mix of nerves and excitement.

You couldn't help but imagine what it would be like—showing up at his place, the air thick with the unspoken tension that had been building between you all day. The thought of being alone with him, of crossing that line from coworkers to something more, sent a thrill through you.

You took a deep breath, your fingers hovering over the keyboard. This was a pivotal moment, and whatever you decided now would set the course for what happened next.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity of internal debate, you typed out a response, your heart racing as you hit send.

I'll be there in 20 minutes.

—

You parked outside Spencer’s apartment building, your heart racing as you took a deep breath to steady yourself. The 20-minute drive had been filled with a whirlwind of thoughts and emotions—excitement, anticipation, and a lingering thread of uncertainty. You weren’t entirely sure what to expect when you arrived, especially considering how different Spencer had seemed over text compared to how he usually was in person. The Spencer you knew was shy, adorably awkward, and hesitant when it came to personal matters. But his texts had shown a side of him that was bold, confident, and unafraid to take charge.

As you approached his door, your nerves started to get the better of you, but there was no turning back now. You lifted your hand to knock, hesitating for just a moment before finally letting your knuckles rap against the wood. The seconds that followed felt like an eternity, your mind racing with possibilities of how this night could unfold.

When the door finally opened, you were taken aback by the sight that greeted you. Spencer stood there, shirtless, the soft glow of his apartment’s light highlighting the lean lines of his torso. He wore nothing but a pair of low-hanging gray sweatpants, the waistband slung low on his hips, revealing a tantalizing glimpse of the defined muscles and trail of hair beneath. His hair was slightly tousled, as if he’d run his hands through it moments before opening the door, and his eyes, usually filled with a mix of curiosity and gentle kindness, now held a smoldering intensity that you had never seen before.

For a moment, you couldn’t find the words, your breath catching in your throat as you took in the sight of him. This wasn’t the Spencer you were used to—this was the man who had responded to your accidental text with a confidence that had both surprised and intrigued you. The awkward, hesitant Spencer you knew seemed to have taken a backseat, making way for someone who knew exactly what he wanted.

And what he wanted, it seemed, was you.

He leaned casually against the doorframe, a small, knowing smile playing on his lips as he watched your reaction. There was a heat in his gaze, a silent challenge that dared you to step inside, to see just how far this newfound confidence could take him.

“Hey,” he greeted, his voice low and smooth, sending a shiver down your spine. “I’m glad you came.”

You swallowed hard, trying to gather your thoughts, but the sight of him standing there like that—so effortlessly confident, so unapologetically enticing—made it difficult to think of anything but the rush of desire that was quickly building within you.

“Hey,” you managed to reply, your voice a little breathless. “You… uh, look different.”

Spencer’s smile widened slightly, his eyes never leaving yours as he stepped aside to let you in. “Well I should hope so,” he said, his tone teasing, but with an underlying seriousness that sent your heart racing even faster.

You stepped inside, feeling the warmth of his apartment wrap around you as the door clicked shut behind you. The atmosphere between you was charged, electric, every moment filled with unspoken possibilities. Spencer moved closer, his presence almost overwhelming in its intensity. The scent of him—a mix of something clean and masculine—filled your senses, making you even more acutely aware of the heat radiating from his skin.

“I’ve been thinking,” Spencer began, his voice soft yet steady, as he reached out to gently brush a strand of hair behind your ear. “About what was said...”

Your breath hitched at the light touch, your skin tingling where his fingers had just been. You nodded, not trusting yourself to speak, afraid that your voice might betray just how much his presence was affecting you.

“I don’t want this to be awkward,” he continued, his eyes searching yours for any sign of hesitation. “But I also don’t want to pretend that nothing’s changed… because it has.”

He was right—everything had changed. The air between you was thick with tension, with the unspoken acknowledgment of what you both wanted but were too nervous to voice. And yet, here he was, standing so close, shirtless and confident, laying it all out in front of you.

Taking a deep breath, you finally found your voice. “So… what happens next?”

Spencer’s lips quirked up into a small, almost mischievous smile. “I think that depends on what you want.”

His words hung in the air between you, a challenge and an invitation all at once. You could feel the pull, the magnetic attraction drawing you closer to him, and in that moment, you knew there was no turning back.

With a boldness you hadn’t known you possessed, you stepped even closer, your body nearly brushing against his as you tilted your head up to meet his gaze. “I want to find out what happens when we stop pretending.”

The last remnants of hesitation melted away as Spencer’s smile turned into something more—something hungry and determined. His hands slid around your waist, pulling you flush against him as his lips descended on yours in a kiss that was anything but hesitant. It was fierce, consuming, a release of all the tension that had been building between you.

As his hands roamed your back, pulling you closer still, you couldn’t help but think that maybe, just maybe, you had only begun to scratch the surface of the side of Spencer Reid you were about to discover tonight.

The world around you blurred as Spencer’s lips moved against yours, his kiss deepening with every passing second. Time seemed to lose all meaning as you lost yourself in the warmth of his touch, the taste of his lips, and the way his hands gripped your waist with a possessiveness that sent a shiver down your spine. It felt like you had been kissing for an eternity, and yet when he finally pulled back, you found yourself gasping for breath, your mind spinning, and your body aching for more.

Spencer’s eyes locked onto yours, dark and intense, filled with a heat that made your pulse quicken. Without saying a word, he took your hand, his grip firm yet gentle, leading you down the hall towards his bedroom. The anticipation thrummed in your veins, every step heightening the tension between you. But just as you reached the doorway, Spencer suddenly stopped, turning to press you against the doorframe. His lips found the sensitive skin of your neck, trailing kisses that made your knees weaken and your breath hitch.

You barely had time to process the sensation before he pulled back again, a playful gleam in his eyes as he gently but firmly guided you into the bedroom. With a swift motion, he pushed you onto the bed, and you bounced slightly, a surprised giggle escaping your lips. The unexpected shift in his demeanor—this newfound confidence, this playful dominance—left you both intrigued and a little off-balance. You’d known Spencer as the quiet, reserved, and somewhat shy genius, but this side of him was something entirely different, and you couldn’t help but be captivated by it.

As you lay there, still trying to wrap your head around this change, you found yourself blurting out a question that had been lingering in the back of your mind. “Do you do this a lot, Reid?”

Spencer chuckled, the sound low and deep, sending a ripple of warmth through your body. He shook his head with a smile that was equal parts reassuring and teasing. “No, not ever really,” he admitted, his voice soft but steady, as he reached for your ankles and pulled you closer to the edge of the bed, positioning himself between your legs. His hands rested on your thighs, the warmth of his touch seeping through your clothes, grounding you in the moment.

“Call me Spencer,” he added, his voice dropping to a near-whisper, his gaze locking onto yours with a mixture of vulnerability and determination. There was something intimate about the way he said it, as if this wasn’t just about physical attraction, but about letting you see a side of him that no one else had. 

Your heart skipped a beat at the request, the simple act of calling him by his first name in this context making the moment feel even more personal, more real. 

“Spencer,” you repeated, the name slipping from your lips like a secret, a promise. His smile widened, a spark of something almost wicked flashing in his eyes, and you realized that you were about to discover a side of him that you’d never imagined existed.

Spencer leaned in, his hands sliding up your thighs, his breath hot against your ear as he whispered, “I’ve been wanting this for a long time, you know. I just never thought…” He trailed off, as if realizing that words weren’t enough to express what he was feeling. Instead, he captured your lips with his again, his kiss searing and insistent, as though he were making up for lost time.

Spencer's hands, warm and steady, slowly trailed up your sides, his fingers grazing the soft fabric of your t-shirt as they moved. When he reached the hem, he hesitated, his touch gentle but deliberate as he curled his fingers around the edge. He looked up at you, his expression a mix of desire and tenderness, but there was something else too—a careful consideration, a need to ensure that you were just as willing as he was.

“Can I take this off?” he asked, his voice a low rumble that sent a shiver down your spine. The intensity of his gaze held you captive, his eyes searching yours for the reassurance he needed.

For a moment, you were too caught up in the heat of the moment to respond, your heart pounding in your chest. The way he looked at you, with such raw want and yet so much care, made it hard to think clearly. You nodded quickly, your eyes wide with anticipation, but Spencer didn’t move.

His grip on your shirt tightened slightly as he leaned in, his breath hot against your ear as he whispered, “I’m going to need you to use your words, sweetheart.”

The way he said it—his voice rough, almost gritted out with barely restrained desire—made your head spin, the sheer force of his need for you sending your pulse into overdrive. There was a command in his tone, but also a gentle reminder that this was your choice, that he needed to hear you say it.

You swallowed hard, your voice catching in your throat as you tried to find the words. The air around you felt thick with tension, every second stretching out as you stared up at him, the look in his eyes making it impossible to deny him—or yourself.

“Ye—yes, please,” you finally managed to say, your voice a little breathless, but full of the same want that you saw reflected in his eyes.

Spencer’s eyes darkened with satisfaction at your response, a small, almost predatory smile tugging at the corners of his lips as he began to lift your shirt. The fabric slid up your torso slowly, the cool air of the room hitting your skin as he revealed more of you. He took his time, savoring the moment, his eyes never leaving yours as he pulled the shirt over your head and tossed it aside.

For a brief moment, you felt exposed, vulnerable under the weight of his gaze. But the way Spencer looked at you, with a mixture of awe and hunger, made all your insecurities melt away. His hands roamed over the newly exposed skin, his touch both soothing and electrifying, leaving a trail of warmth in its wake.

“You’re so beautiful,” he murmured, his voice thick with sincerity and desire, as he leaned in to press a kiss to your collarbone, his lips lingering against your skin.

You had forgone a bra that night, thinking nothing of it when you slipped into your comfy clothes after a long day at work. After all, you hadn’t planned on anything like this happening. But now, with Spencer’s hands on you, his eyes filled with something that looked a lot like awe, you found that you didn’t care in the slightest. If anything, it added to the intimacy of the moment, the rawness of it, making you feel closer to him than you ever thought possible.

His touch was slow, deliberate, almost as if he was savoring every moment, every reaction he elicited from you. His fingers brushed over your skin, exploring you with curiosity and desire, as if he was trying to learn every detail, every response, to what he was doing. When his hands cupped your breasts, his thumbs brushing over your nipples, you couldn’t suppress the soft gasp that escaped your lips, your body arching towards him instinctively, craving more of his touch.

“Spencer…” you breathed, your voice barely more than a whisper, but filled with so much emotion that it felt like a confession. There was something in his name, in the way it rolled off your tongue, that made the moment feel even more intimate, more real. It wasn’t just a name anymore—it was a declaration, an acknowledgment of what was happening between you, of the connection that was quickly forming.

Spencer’s eyes flicked back up to yours, the intensity of his gaze making your heart race even faster. There was something almost primal in the way he looked at you now, a hunger that was barely restrained, but also a tenderness that made your chest tighten with emotion. He leaned in, his lips hovering just above yours, his breath warm against your skin as he whispered, “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted this… how long I’ve wanted you.”

His words sent a shiver down your spine, your body reacting to the sheer weight of them. It wasn’t just lust in his voice—it was something deeper, something that made you feel cherished, desired in a way that you hadn’t felt in a long time. The realization that Spencer had been holding back, that he had wanted you for so long, made your heart swell with emotion, your need for him growing even stronger.

He kissed you again, his lips capturing yours in a way that was both gentle and demanding, his hands continuing their exploration of your body. Each touch, each caress, was filled with passion and care, as if he was trying to show you just how much you meant to him without needing to say the words. And with every kiss, every brush of his fingertips, you found yourself falling deeper into the moment, your own desire for him becoming overwhelming.

You reached up, your hands finding purchase on his shoulders, pulling him closer, needing to feel the heat of his body against yours. The way he responded, the way his hands gripped you tighter, as if afraid to let go, made it clear that he was just as lost in the moment as you were. There was no more hesitation, no more awkwardness—just the two of you, finally giving in to the feelings that had been simmering beneath the surface for so long.

Spencer’s hands were warm against your skin as he gently laid you back on the bed, his eyes never leaving yours as he hovered above you. The intensity in his gaze was almost overwhelming, his pupils blown wide with desire, but there was something else there too—curiosity, maybe even a hint of vulnerability. His fingers trailed down your sides, the touch sending shivers through your body as he slowly leaned in, his lips brushing against the soft skin of your chest.

“Tell me, Y/N…” His voice was a low murmur, filled with an edge of something deeper, as he kissed his way down your chest, taking his time, savoring the feel of your skin beneath his lips. “Did you think about me too?”

The question hung in the air, making your breath hitch as you squirmed beneath him, the sensation of his kisses igniting a fire deep within you. Your mind was spinning, every nerve in your body on high alert as you felt his breath ghost over your skin, his lips moving lower, leaving a trail of warmth in their wake.

“I did,” you admitted, your voice a little breathless as the confession slipped out. It was the truth, after all—you had thought about him, more than you ever wanted to admit. The idea of Spencer, sweet, awkward Spencer, being the one to push you to this point had always been a secret fantasy, buried deep within you. But now, with him here, in this moment, it was no longer just a fantasy—it was real.

Spencer’s lips curved into a smirk against your skin as he reached your hip, his teeth nipping playfully at the delicate flesh, making you gasp. The sensation was a mix of pleasure and surprise, and you couldn’t help but arch your back slightly in response. His hands moved to your shorts, his fingers hooking into the waistband as he tugged them down slowly, teasingly, his eyes flicking up to meet yours as he did.

“That text wasn’t for me though, was it?” he asked, his voice laced with amusement as he watched your reaction. The smirk on his face was something you’d never seen before—confident, almost cocky, as if he knew exactly the effect he was having on you.

You froze for a moment, your heart skipping a beat as the realization hit you. You hadn’t expected him to catch on to that detail, but of course he had—Spencer was nothing if not observant. The thought that he knew the text wasn’t meant for him, but was still here, still wanting you, made your pulse quicken even more.

“Uh, no, it wasn’t,” you admitted with a whine, the words slipping out before you could stop them. There was no point in lying—not when he was looking at you like that, his gaze full of heat and understanding. “But I’m glad I sent it to you,” you added quickly, your voice filled with sincerity and a hint of desperation.

Spencer’s smirk softened into a small, almost tender smile as he leaned in, his lips brushing against your navel. “Maybe your subconscious wanted you to,” he suggested, his voice low and smooth, each word making your head spin. The idea made you dizzy, the thought that some part of you had always wanted this, had always wanted him, even if you hadn’t fully realized it until now.

“Uh huh,” you breathed out, your voice floaty and airy, your mind clouded with desire. The sensation of his lips on your skin, his hands on your body, was intoxicating, making it hard to think clearly. All you could focus on was the way he made you feel—alive, wanted, and completely lost in the moment.

Spencer’s fingers continued to work on removing your shorts, sliding them down your legs with deliberate slowness, his eyes never leaving yours. There was something almost worshipful in the way he touched you, as if he was savoring every second, every inch of skin he revealed.

As he finally discarded your shorts, leaving you completely exposed to him, he took a moment to just look at you, his gaze filled with a mix of desire and admiration. “You’re perfect,” he murmured, his voice thick with emotion as he leaned in to press a kiss to the inside of your thigh, his lips lingering there for a moment longer than necessary.

The words made your heart swell, a wave of warmth washing over you as you reached out, your fingers tangling in his hair. There was nothing left to hide now, nothing left to hold back. This was exactly where you wanted to be—where you were meant to be.

“Do you always skip out on bras and panties, Y/N?” Spencer’s teasing comment sent a ripple of laughter through you, the sound mingling with the rapid beat of your heart. The playful banter between you only intensified the electric connection that was already sparking between you both. His bite on your inner thigh was both a tease and a promise, igniting a fire that made every nerve in your body come alive.

“N–no, only at home,” you managed to scream out, the sensation sending waves of pleasure coursing through you. The combination of his touch and the vulnerability of the moment made it impossible to hold back any longer.

He chuckled, the sound deep and resonant, echoing softly in the room as his fingers continued to explore your skin. “But you didn’t put any on before coming over?” His tone was light, yet there was an undeniable edge of desire that underpinned his words.

You took a moment to catch your breath, the playful challenge in his eyes urging you to respond. “Are you–are you complaining?” you asked, your voice wavering between breathless laughter and the growing urgency of your emotions.

Spencer shook his head, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “Not at all, although–” His sentence was cut short as your hands found their way into his hair, pulling him fully into you. The sudden, decisive movement left no room for hesitation, and the world seemed to narrow down to just the two of you, entwined in each other’s embrace.

“Oh my god, Spencer, just shut up,” you laughed, the sound filled with a mixture of amusement and desire. “Put your mouth to use.”

His response was immediate, his lips finding your core with a fervor that matched the intensity of your own longing. The way he ate you out was everything you had been waiting for—passionate, deep, and downright filthy. His hands left their place on your thighs, tracing the contours of your body with a reverence that made you feel both cherished and desired.

As he sunk his mouth deeper, sucking your clit into his mouth, Spencer guided you gently but firmly onto the bed, the softness of the sheets a stark contrast to the heat that radiated between you.

“Spencer,” you moaned, the name slipping out like a sacred vow, sealing the moment between you. His response was a dirty smile, his mouth shining with your juices, making your pulse throb.

He paused for a moment, just enough to look into your eyes, “You’re fucking delicious,” he murmured, his voice thick with lust. “I’ve wanted to taste you for so long.”

As Spencer’s mouth continued to work its magic on your core, a whirlwind of sensations overwhelmed you. Each touch, each stroke of his tongue, sent waves of pleasure radiating through your body, making it nearly impossible to focus on anything but the intense feeling of being completely consumed by him. The way he moved, so skilled yet so attentive to your every reaction, left you breathless, your hands clutching at the sheets as your head swam in a sea of ecstasy.

But amidst the pleasure, a fleeting thought crossed your mind—how close you had come to letting this moment, this incredible opportunity, slip through your fingers. You couldn’t believe that you had almost dismissed the idea of responding to his bold text, that you had almost let fear and hesitation keep you from experiencing this side of Spencer. A side that was confident, passionate, and utterly devoted to your pleasure.

How could you have been so close to missing out on this? On him? Spencer, who had always been there, quiet and thoughtful, had somehow managed to unlock a part of you that you hadn’t even known existed—a part that craved the connection and intimacy he was now offering with every caress of his lips.

You let out a soft moan, your hips arching towards him as the pleasure built to an almost unbearable level. The sounds you made only seemed to spur him on, his grip on your thighs tightening as he pulled you closer, his tongue working with a precision that left you teetering on the edge. Every nerve in your body was alive, the world narrowing down to the feel of his mouth on you, the heat of his breath against your skin.

“Spencer,” you gasped out, your voice trembling with the intensity of your emotions. It wasn’t just the pleasure he was giving you—it was the realization that this was Spencer, the man you had known for so long, who was now showing you a depth of care and passion that you had never imagined.

The way he responded to your every movement, the way he seemed to know exactly what you needed, made you feel cherished in a way that went far beyond the physical. It was as if he was attuned to your very soul, using his touch to communicate something deeper, something that had been building between you for far longer than either of you had realized.

As you felt the tension within you coil tighter and tighter, ready to snap, you couldn’t help but marvel at how easily you had fallen into this moment with him. All the hesitation, the uncertainty, had melted away, leaving only the pure, unfiltered connection between you and Spencer. A connection that had been there all along, waiting for the right moment to be brought to life.

And now that it had, you knew you could never go back to the way things were. Spencer had opened a door to something new, something beautiful, and you were ready to step through it with him, no matter what the future held.

With a final, skillful flick of his tongue over your clit, Spencer sent you tumbling over the edge, your body trembling with the force of your release. The world around you seemed to dissolve into a haze of pleasure and warmth, your mind barely able to process the overwhelming sensations that flooded through you.

As you came down from the high, Spencer’s hands and mouth softened, his touch becoming gentle, almost reverent, as he coaxed you through the aftershocks. When he finally pulled back, he looked up at you, his eyes filled with a mixture of pride and tenderness that made your heart skip a beat.

“I’m so glad you’re here,” he murmured, his voice soft but filled with a sincerity that left no doubt about how much this moment meant to him. He crawled up the bed to join you, his body pressing against yours as he captured your lips in a slow, languid kiss, allowing you to taste the remnants of your own pleasure on his lips.

You smiled against his lips, a sense of contentment and excitement washing over you as you whispered, “I’m glad I’m here too, Spencer. So glad.”

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[llamagoddessofficial]

Can we get some Horror fae headcannons? I'm twiddling my thumbs and waiting for the big boyo to appear while I lose myself in your fae realms

Goodness, do try not to get lost. Though if you do get lost, he's certainly the one for you.

Quite similar to his non-fae self, really. Quiet, large, wild, bloodthirsty when required but completely unafraid to show his soft side to those he loves.

He does have a bit of a... 'reputation', in both realms. A reputation for being a frightening beast that you do not want to encounter out in the wastes.

Apparently, he did something unspeakable in Summer - banished from that court, he found himself immediately warmly welcomed into Nightmare's fray. He was one of the first of the Winter court.

He and Nightmare aren't exactly "friends", in the way Nightmare and Killer almost seem to be. But there's a certain degree of trust between Horror and Nightmare that just isn't there with anyone else. A level of mutual, unspoken understanding. They rarely talk to one another, but somehow, they seem to know each other very well.

(There seems to be some truth to the Summer rumours, given his absolute visceral hatred of even the word.)

Living in Nightmare's court means Horror has ample food. People are still scared of him, though.

Big fuzzy guy!! His wings are the biggest and softest out of anyone's; cuddling him will be like hiding in the thickest blanket imaginable. If you sit on his lap, you can pull his wings over you and fall asleep snuggled up like that. Rest assured, if you do that, you will never meet a happier skeleton.

Tricking you simply does not cross his mind. He's too slow with words for that kind of nonsense. If he wants to keep you forever, why does he need to steal your name? He'll just bake you the best pie you've ever had, that'll do it.

Or chase you down when you run. That works too.

Not good at telling you he likes you. He can show love just fine - gestures of devotion are part and parcel of who he is. But when it comes to the talking side of romance? An absolute wreck.

Killer helps. "hey, my buddy over there thinks you're cute," [points to the enormous shaking & sweating anxious monster who's unsuccessfully trying to hide behind a candelabra]

He tends to disappear for several days in a row, to go on long treks through the snow. They clear his mind. He probably knows the realm better than anyone alive. He would really like it if you came with, making you the first person to ever be invited along, but he doesn't mind if you don't want to go. He doesn't expect everyone to be interested in multi-day snow hikes.

(You could sit on his shoulders the whole way, though. In case that changes your mind. He'd also show you untouched natural wonders beyond comprehension. And he packs snacks)

His love language is bringing food back for you from his 'trips'. Baked salmon from the ice rivers, steaks of venison from the winter forests, slow-cooked rabbit from the plains, and on rare occasions bear stew from the mountains. If you're vegetarian it'd be good to tell him immediately because this will become a pattern.

He also likes making furs into clothes for you. For someone who struggles with shaking hands, he's surprisingly good with a needle and thread.

You'll never be cold, when he's around. And you'll never sleep alone.

[local-hellhound-steals-spaghetti]

Please share all you can about Toa the orca calf, I think his story is very important. I don’t know too much but it seems like a case of activists being but in charge rather than actual experts.

Yeah it was a mess from start to finish. Toa was found stranded on the rocks, with witnesses saying the waves had thrown him up there. Already he would have been distressed and had been on his side on a hard surface for a few hours at least.

They got him back in the water and then videos of these interactions started to surface:

No PPE, giving Toa belly rubs and ignoring any formal rescue protocols (if you're trying to refloat a whale, you're not letting them turn upside down)

The sun was going down and DOC wanted people out of the water. Ingrid was on her way and giving instructions to her team. The decision was made to put Toa on a trailer overnight - it's unclear if that was her decision or not but it's clear that, despite not having any rehab facilities in New Zealand, people were determined to rehab this calf and release it back into the wild at any cost.

So they cobbled together a "sea pen" on a boat ramp in a dirty harbour. This is where Toa would eventually die in a few weeks time. Whale Rescue was already selling the story of a miraculous rescue and the plan to "reunite" Toa with his pod. And lying openly that orca calves had been successfully released in the wild before:

He wasn't injured, they said. He was fine. They just had to find his pod now.

When asked reasonable question about where the PPE was for volunteers, Whale Rescue immediately became defensive:

The call for PPE went ignored for about a day while people were in close contact with a sick orca. And the call went out for more "volunteers" aka anyone with a wetsuit. This sparked immediate concerns from the Advisory Group.

Photos like this started showing up - 6 people crowding Toa in a circle, no where for him to go if he wanted a break from people:

The excuse was that Toa needed help swimming. Yet he was swimming okay and avoiding the fences without any obvious issue. And so the habituation began... Despite continuing advice from the Technical Advisory Group - including Loro Parque and SeaWorld, who both have extensive calf raising experience.

"There is no need to have people 24/7 in the water when the animal is able to float and swim alone."

Finally PPE was being used but the habituation and intense contact with Toa continued. Ingrid gave it the okay and other inexperienced members of the public continued to encourage it.

Whale Rescue continued to affirm to the public that they are merely "duplicating natural behaviour" for Toa

And the cultish and unquestioning worship of Ingrid Visser allowed this to continue - note the amount of people in the water for Toa's "massage." They only started wearing PPE when people started questioning it.

If you're wondering what I mean by cultish behaviour see the comment thread below:

They actually believe that Ingrid was communicating with Toa. Because that's what she told them she was doing. And they believed it without question.

When Toa was moved into the freshwater pool due to storms, it got even worse.

This photo was quickly deleted but look how absolutely foul the water is:

There didn't appear to be any sort of filtration or pump system.

At this point volunteers and Ingrid were being fed by donated food from the local pubs, Ingrid was sleeping on site in a donated campervan and the entire community were rallying around trying to "help." Note how close they're all set up to the pool.

Putting him in the pool also made Toa a lot more accessible. Concerns were raised about the stress to the calf and an exclusion zone was agreed upon. Buuut it was immediately disregarded.

7 people! In that tiny pool! And the photos of the complete flouting of the rules continued to surface.

The comments find it all very amusing!

Roll up, roll up! Come and see the dying baby orca calf!

And then, as we near the end of this animal's torment, Ingrid brags to the press about how she's now TRAINING the animal she intends to release into the wild. Because we definitely want to be training cooperative care and making life saving feeding and hydrating procedures all about Choice.

Remember when Ingrid Visser didn't like the "exploitation" of orcas in captivity? Remember when she said that training "tricks", even husbandry behaviours, is cruel and bad? I do!

It makes me seriously wonder if she just wanted to be an orca trainer all her life.

But anyway, Toa's getting bouts of colic (gee, maybe changing the formula without permission wasn't a good idea!) and DOC is starting to get concerned about him. At this point, people are still denying that SeaWorld and Loro Parque are involved and any mention of a facility getting involved is immediately shut down.

This is what was being said in the Advisory Group:

At this point both SeaWorld and Loro Parque have provided formulas, advice ect. Ingrid Visser was claiming she knew these things all along and that the formulas were from her hand picked experts.

So these are what the comments were:

Whale Rescue thought it was appropriate to reply to comments of concern like this:

The cult of Visser continues to fuel the anti human care sentiment.

DOC starts to report concerns with Toa's health and Whale Rescue decides to double down that everything is completely Fine. Don't listen to DOC, keep giving us money.

The donations are getting up to 20k.

Because of Whale Rescue casting dispersions, anti DOC (Department of Conservation - who put in about 10k into the rescue efforts) sentiments grow.

And, only a few days later, Toa dies. I reached the end of my image limit but I still have plenty more screenshots I can share.

I recommend you check out the documents released by DOC to see the sources of these screenshots - the other screenshots were taken from news reports, Facebook groups and posts as well as videos:

[darlingofvalyria]

❝Will you forsake me, my love? And the babe I carry?❞

[ You had made a mistake. A slip up. You had overlooked the extent of Otto Hightower and his greed. Now you must make it right... or pay in fire and blood. ]

[ +18 MDNI ] [ 5,504 ] [ series masterlist ] | jacaerys velaryon x targaryen aunt-wife!reader (aegon's twin sister),

contains— canon divergence - manipulative reader— gets darkish but not yet dd:dne - targcest, angsty as fuck, pregnancy - nsfw: p & v sex, oral (male receiving) - no kings, no martyrs, no betas.

a/n— i... actually dunno how i got here tbh. thankfully, this isn't dead dove quite yet, but you, yes you, as jace's manipulative targ wife, almost did, girl, jfc. ahahaha! comments, reblogs & like at will, mwa! 💝 + now that there is a second part, and a third part i'm plotting (uh huh), this is officially a series!! its v loosey goosey, but it'll have a masterlist so... it means it has a taglist! message me to be tagged 💝 & if there are any drabbles/blurbs you wanna see!! message me lmk!! i have so many thoughts about jacey & manipulative reader hehe + dividers by @danowh0re

The only warning you receive is the missive hastily made by your twin.

In his panic, Aegon's scrawl had been barely legible, but the cold sweat that shot through your spine at making sense of the text had you keening over; fingers over your mouth, a dangerous gurgle in your stomach.

The world tilts, the air sucks inward.

Fear... Cold, weightless fear, settles in your heart.

"Princess!" Your maid, Dyana, shrieks, hands grasping your elbows to prevent you from falling. She turns to the door. "Call the maestre back! Now!"

You shake your head rapidly. "No, no. No Ser Addam. I am alright."

"But princess—"

"No, Dyana, I am alright." But you are pale, and a thrum shakes through fingers, rattling your ribcage and trying to yank your heart out of your throat. You have to find your footing or all will be lost. You grab Dyanna's arms and she winces. "Tell me- the prince - where is he?"

"I'm not sure, princess, I can—"

"Quickly! We shan't lose precious more time."

You turn to Meera. You had invested in her from the early age you had taken her in from the orphanage. Loyalty, in its absolution, must be rewarded.

And ease for your own plans can be disguised as a reward.

She steps forward obediently, hands clasped behind her back like a soldier awaiting orders. She is nondescript with plain features, easily able to hide between other common folk; and no one, truly, looks at a maid.

"Go to the Sea Dragon Tower, wait on the Rookery for Johan. Only Johan, do you understand me? Keep the missive that I will dictate to you close to his heart, hidden, and he must depart immediately. Throw extra gold at the captain, I do not care. Meera, no other eyes must touch the paper I will send, tell him of the utter import such a thing. No other than another Spider. We cannot unravel further than this or we will start burning."

Meera's gaze darkens, her posture straightening. "Yes, your grace."

You grasp her hands, your mind whirring— so many plots, so many lies, in between them, he flashes in your mind; the dark hair, the warmth of his hand, the sweet, simpered smile and the flicker of rage that dances like a flame. In and out and calmed and wild.

Dutiful. A Perfect Son. A Beloved Prince. Your Lord Husband.

He flashes in between plans and unraveled lies. Along it, Aegon's missive, quickly written, panic seeping in every vowel.

Grandsire had gotten to Aemond's head. Went to Storm's End. Met Lucerys. They are calling him Kinslayer.

Your head is pounding. Kinslayer, Kinslayer, Kinslayer. It churns your stomach, dries your throat. Lucerys dead. Aemond beheaded. Jacaerys' rage. Rhaenyra's. Dark Sister in the Rogue Prince's hand. All your clever threads, your webs and tales, everything you have sacrificed to get here— they are unraveling, the lives you care about, your fondness and love — the fear has moulded and churned; the Stranger now haunting the skies, searching for names, trying to grasp for your neck.

Aemond, You, Aegon, Helaena, Alicent, Jaeheara, Jaehearys, Maelor—

Aemond, Aemond, Aemond.

Your baby brother. Marred and disfigured, dutiful and dedicated. Sarcastic and princely; dancing with you if you ask. Reading with him in the library. A flickering hearth, a kind eye, a protective arm.

Your baby brother, beheaded, gaping mouth and bloodred eye.

Justice spun and spun, but oh so corrupted when they had taken his eye and no name step forth to claim.

Disfigured, marred, and dead.

Focus, you think, your mouth moving, words spilling, plans stretching. Focus.

Otto Hightower must die. It is a pressing thought, digging into the centrefold of your mushy, wet brain. Pressing and pressing like a fever as words of instructions, orders, must be sent along one spider to another.

Your hand drifts to your stomach as Meera leaves, in her head the words that must reach King's Landing. That must pass only the cleverest of hands. Your hand curls, your fist tightens enough that blood clots and beads through crescent rings. Clever girl. Clever spider. You have to believe in Meera and the people under your hushed employ.

You have no choice. You have built your webs, you must trust your spiders.

Not when you can't even trust your own fucking blood.

It took a while to get your network going in Dragonstone. As soon as the smell of brimstone and dragon broached your nostrils, the plans for moving what you had started in Kings Landing became the forefront plan. There is only so much movement you can make in a board full of enemies; and with so many more things to do, you cannot be restrained.

People with stakes, with ambitions and wants of their own— be that money, a good future, a house with warmth and love — if you can provide it enough, dash it in enough kindness and care, people, like ants, could move mountains for you.

It took most of hyour life to have what you established in Kings Landing. Most of your free time— feiging afternoon teas, walks along the garden; young lady things that will not arouse suspicion, fit for a pious, devoted daughter of Alicent Hightower — was spent building and building webs.

Thankfully, as a Princess of the Realm— and as the future Heir's wife, the future Queen of the Seven Kingdoms (the title tingles and throbs, comes alive in gasps and winning hands) — you can have your pick of maids and lady in waitings here too. Connections are important, and Jacaerys did not bereaved you of choice.

In fact, he so encouraged you to make changes to Dragonstone as you so chose fit.

"You are my wife," he sighed, pressing kiss after kiss to the side of your head. When he was wrapped around you like this— arms around your torso, a finger, almost absentmindedly, rubbing just the underside of your breast, and the smell of him, boyish but smoky, like a fireplace and first kiss, swaying you to a rhythm he is fond of, absentminded almost — it reminded you of how Vermax oft like to wrap around small hills and large rocks. A dragon mimicking another dragon; a twin soul so connected.

He sighed again as you run your own fingers against the back of his palm, against the side of his head behind you. "You may do so as you wish," he finished, nuzzling further into you as if he wants no more than to become one with you, flesh and blood. An engorged monster of sorts.

"Just your wife?" you teased. The wedding had only been a few moons ago. The missive had been immediately sent to Kings Landing (under your orders, of course, your new husband none the wiser as he had preferred a few more days of just you), and before lunch, your hand on Jace's thigh, his eyes more than hungrily looking at your lips— Caraxes screech alongside Syrax' wing pattern shook the walls, demanding answers.

Jace had looked nervous for a second, not at all prepared to be facing his mother so soon, his Queen, and his stepfather... whose own daughter he was supposed to marry. Better prepared to face all of them in Kings Landing was his plan.

But you had grasped his hands, had mounted girlish excitement shining in your eyes (an expression so familiar to you to adopt that it so perfectly hides the sharp edges of your excitement; your smugness. It oft reminds you of Aemond)— and Jacaerys had melted.

"My Queen," he reimbursed. You turned as his hands cupped your face. Gentle, possessive in its own way. You sighed, eyes fluttering close with a small, satisfied smile on your lips. "My beautiful queen."

A Maiden in love is not a hard thing to emulate. And he does not make it hard to be.

On some days, you even think it will be easy to actually fall in love with him. You already do so feel his warmth for you permeate your own being. His attention is addicting for one; it is whole and preserving. He makes it known when he is looking at his lady mother, at Baela, his former betrothed (who had given you a meaningful eye when Rhaenyra and Daemon escorted you back to Kings Landing to face the rest of your consequences), and other ladies of the court versus when he is looking at you.

He does not hide his adoration. His so obvious desire.

When you reward him for his loyalty, for private little ticked boxes you keep for him— siding with you in arguments, defending you upon ugly whispers in the Keep, requesting from his mother, a more permanent residence of your own in Dragonstone, in the guise of newly wedded bliss to hide growing your connections far and wide (once Rhaenyra takes the throne, Jacaerys will be named Heir and Prince of Dragonstone; your spiders and people must reach each end of Westeros, and Dragonstone is the perfect central chatter) — you mount him and bask at the lust contorting his features, at his hands gripping your waist in a staccato rhythm of feeling and gasp, each harsh bounce of your hips sending you both to bliss. You feel him inside you so deeply, enjoy his eyes rolling back and exposing his neck for you to sink bruises on.

Most oft, he enjoys mounting you. And you like the alternative of his choice to be buried so deep you feel him in your throat; to hold you down and hold you close, telling you to keep your eyes open for him as you come undone again and again— time and practice can manage his newness to the act. His enthusiasm, both for the act and for you, definitely helps his case, and he is so fond of finding your pleasure, of leading you to the precipe, so addicted to your sounds and writhes.

"There? Is that it, little dragon?" he huffs against your mouth, so attentive as he held your wrist and watch as you gasp, your face twisting as he hits that point inside of you, that sweet, sweet spot of undeniable pleasure buried so deep within— that he laughs. Not meanly, but of pride as he pulls back and hits it again. More insistent. You mewl and scratch his back, your toes curling as you seek the pleasure he so enjoys insisting you into.

"I've found it again, didn't I?" Another snap of his hips, another cry of your lips. "I will fuck your sweetest spot until you- are- crying- my name in that sweet, sweet whine of yours, shall I?"

But it's not really a question privy to an answer, surely not by your own mouth but by your body, as he manhandles you easily and does not stop until you are a quivering, overstimulated mess against wet sheets.

Sometimes, when you can't help but reward him as soon as possible— so excited from his gallant display; the perfect King bowing to his wife — you drag him to shadowy corners and solemnly drop yourself on your knees, unlacing his breeches with deft precision. You place your hot mouth against his manhood, your eyes fluttering delicately, making him reach completion enough times that he is left with a dopey, simpleton of a smile afterward, a soft, chaste kiss against your your head, your nose, your lips. So tender to how he was fucking your mouth not but seconds ago.

"I love you," he whispers against hot skin and cool, salty air.

And it eases, every time he looks at you like that, holds like you that. His love is patient, sweet, kind, and devouring. It overflows and seeps into you that when you whisper back, just as soft, just as troublingly honest, "Avy jorrāelan, ñuha zaldrīzes, I love you, my dragon," the truth of them bleeds further and further into your heart.

Jacaerys.

A warm grief swells within you. Your hands twitch, flattening your grief beneath your chest, deep in your gut. Deep below. You fought hard to be here. You cannot lose him now.

Otto Hightower must die.

A cruel thought, a natural order. With your marriage to Jacaerys meant a relative peace, a truce. Moving to Dragonstone many moons was more than just to establish your position, your future. It was also for your darling sister to take better control of her position back in the centre of power, alongside her husband.

Aged well with a stronger alley who most would not dare defy— a vainglorious guard dog, really, one who isn't afraid to sic people with a mere nod from his master — more than evens out the playing field.

The Queen To Be is prospering. And in her prosper, meant your husband's position more than fulfilled. He was to be King, and with you as his Queen, his reign will want for not.

You should have known it would put Otto on defense, would panic and use your siblings and your poor, nervy mother, to move in unfeasible decisions.

Aegon had taken to calling him grandsire again. Aemond... Your spiders had told you that Lucerys was sent to Storm's End as no more than a casual reminder of Lord Borros' oath. Viserys was in no doubt in worse conditions than he had been the last time you or your husband had visited him. Rhaenyra was settling on her position, reminding the Great Houses which heir was meant to rise soon, so close to the changing of the guard.

And your little brother no doubt was moved in panic.

This was a slip up on your part. Once the King was dead, Otto Hightower would hold no cards; Rhaenyra would never take him as Lord Hand, and his daughter would no longer be a foreground of power. Rhaenyra has her heir. The winning hand is more than ensured on her part.

His only move would be an usurpation, and would ruin your chance at being Queen... it was a good move. Your twin was not made for duty whilst you craved it. He knows you better than you know yourself; you will not be played in his palm. You would be useless to him.

"I should have killed him," you murmur to yourself.

Yna, the last maid in your arsenal, steps forward. She is the youngest of your main three wards, and the newest. She is still learning her letters, but she is young and always eager to serve.

"My lady?"

"I am going to find the prince. Whatever happens, tell them Vermax must not leave with his rider. Make up any excuse you must. My husband must stay in Dragonstone until I say otherwise." You raise your chin, tone icy. "Anyone who dares to defy my orders will be beheaded."

"At once, princess."

Your steps are measured, your breath held between lie and tongue. So many pretty rings on your fingers, twisting and twisting at the idea of the confrontation plagues you.

But you raise your chin. You will not be defeated. All is not lost.

Dyanna had caught you at Aegon's Garden, windblow hair and wide, fearful eyes.

You had braced yourself. "The Prince?"

"The Stone Drum, my princess, he is..."

"Angry," you supplied. She nodded jerkily. "Tell me everything."

"The Prince was talking with Ser Robert, was about the missive sent from Kings Landing says Kevan, not soon after your own." Another spider, one that follows most of your husband's movements. Unassuming and quick on his feet. A good soldier. "Prince Lucerys is alive but badly maimed." The breath you had withheld between grit and fright unrolled, the world slamming back into the ground in a giant's fitful wake. "He still hasn't woken up, says Arrax took most of the damage— one wing torn but is awake. Dunno about recovery for dragons, 'specially against Vhagar. Mournin' the prince, Kevan says. Makin' loud, sad dragon noises."

"But he is alive?" you pressed. Aemond's life hung in its balance. Your sweet, vengeful baby brother who bore his tragedies between muted teeth and rage.

"Yes."

"And Aemond?"

"No word in the missive or between them." It made your throat tight, the convulsion restraining your neck once more.

"It's fine. As long as there no mention of his death. Then that's all I need."

"My lady, there's more. There might be a reason we haven't been getting much word from King's Landing. Or Oldtown. It seems to connect is all."

Your pulse jumped. "Tell me later. I have to see to the prince. No one is allowed in Stone Drum for the time being. Not unless absolutely necessary." You think and you think hard. "Ready to call in a maestre."

Dyanna had looked alarmed when you left her, but you only gave a pensive smile. A soldier's nod.

He is bent over the Painted Table, shoulders so hunched, reminding you of monsters and tall tales. A dragon, really. He may not have Velaryon blood, your husband, but you— nor others — could deny the thrum of fire in his blood. Roiling and boiling, so engulf in his rage, his voice is quiet at the approach of your footsteps.

"You have bound me to Dragonstone," he says calmly with all the quiet rage you can hear in your very soul. It makes you shiver, but you stand resolute.

He is still turned away, away from you, palms flat on the surface. The iron brazier is lit up, and so is the Painted Table itself.

"Can you honestly tell me you won't try and kill my brother if I let you, ñuha valzȳrys my husband?" you say softly. You plead. His refusal to turn to you spikes your madness in corners. The night reaches and you finger your rings as you try not to spill all over the floor; your own madness, your own fears, your quiet, quiet webs. "Aren't you at least satisfied at the thought of your stepfather excelling at planting Dark Sister to his neck? At least cheery at the idea of him suffering inside those dungeons?"

He spins then, rage—white hot and spilling — breathes as he bellows, "He has harmed my brother!"

You calmly met his gaze. "You do not know that for sure."

He laughs without mirth, arms wide and daring. Crazed anger outlandish and wild, while in response you tighten and become small.

But you do not cower. No truth cowers. And you are a princess. A dragon the same as he.

Lest all, he is a mere husband.

"What else could it be? Your brother has called us bastards our entire lives," he spits. "Neither of us are blind to his dark looks. Despite your family's attempted plots, his rage beholds him. His grudge is stronger. He attacked Lucerys, on fucking dragonback— Arrax, a dragon Luke has barely flown against your brother's war dragon — and that makes him a kinslayer."

Your blood leaps, and you cannot control your own fear, your own anger. "Do not throw that word around so carelessly, Jacaerys! My brother has killed no kin!"

"He has tried, " he hisses and it makes your eyes burn because he has never looked at you so before. At his thunderous footsteps to reach you, to aggravate you, you fight the urge to flinch. His anger spills and spoils you. You try not to curdle. You keep yourself braced. Kinslayer is so ugly said aloud. "That is enough of a brand to call him kinslayer."

Your jaw tightens, tears unleashed from your eyes and there's a glimmer there— a spark, of your Jace. Your husband. It is small and short, a comet so faint it is almost nothing, but it is there.

He does not like to see you cry, your Jace. Not if it isn't from pleasure.

You raise your chin. "My brother is no kinslayer. Lucerys is alive. Do not make Aemond what he is not."

He laughs humourlessly against your face, his hand reaching for your jaw, thumb over your chin, but the mock gentleness wounds you worse. "And who has alerted you of the news? Your twin usurper?"

"W-what?" Blood rushes to your head. Something is missing. He knows. He knows about grandsire's plans. Dyanna would have said. Dyanna didn't know. "Aegon is not an usurper," you whisper, faint but firm.

His thumb rubs against your bottom lip, his eyes tracing your face. "Is this the plan all along, then?" he says softly. "While your brother and grandsire plot to usurp the throne from my mother, and your younger brothers raise bannermen from Oldtown to Storm's End, and try to kill my own when they get the chance, I suppose your job is to warm my bed and to ensure I'm out of the fray before you kill me in my—"

His words stutter for you have slapped him. It is not the hardest move on your part, and he stops not from pain but from shock. Tears freely flow down your face now as you push him off you.

"I know nothing of these plots you speak of." That in much is true. These plots are half-assed. Made in panic and fear, and it makes you curse Otto Hightower to the depths of further Hell. "And you may bully me as you wish, husband, but I will not take it as if it does not hurt me. As if- as if I would take pleasure from your death."

He raises his chin, so defiant in his own anger that he clenches his jaw. "Are you telling me you took no part in your grandsire's plans?"

"We have been married for many moons now. I think, out of anyone on this island, amongst our family even, you would know me best. I have only ever truly bloomed in your presence," you say softly. Lies and truths are balanced so precariously; they spin and spin in a tantalising grip that even you don't know where fabrication meets honesty.

If your own lies befuddle you, why not your truths to him?

"If you are doubting me, then you are doubting our marriage, is it not?" You give a mirthless laugh of your own, chin wobbling as you brush your tears away. His eyes track your movements and his brows are furrowed. "Is it ease, that has turned you so from me? Has your doubt been seeded long before you took us to Dragonstone? To affirm your mother that you have wedded me? Yes, Aegon sent me a missive a mere hour ago. He says Aemond had been urged by our grandsire, no doubt played with as he had done so to our mother, as he tries with Aegon. With me."

Jacaerys' eyes darken. Bottomless pits of dark, dark eyes. You've grown to love them you realised.

"I will give you all the violet-eyed heirs you desire," you had purred once in your new marriage bed, having just christened (one to a few times) your new marital chambers in Dragonstone. "But I do so wish I get a babe with your eyes."

"They are hardly exemplary," Jace had said, snorting. His hand rested on your back while you rest on top of him. The air is acrid in sweat and sex, but neither of you mind. "They are not a show of Valyrian blood."

"Who cares?" You reached to dance your finger against his lashes. "A daughter with your eyes... I fear, I would spoil her rotten. She would be an absolute beauty."

"Are you calling me a beauty?" he teased, trying to hide his rosy cheeks.

"Your eyes, yes," you teased back.

"If I was such a pawn to him," you say now. "If I was using you as you so callously accused me of, why would I bother with a marriage with you? You are right, they have accused you of not being a trueborn Velaryon—" He flinches. "—So why would Otto decide marrying you was a good idea at all? Any babes I carry would be questioned, and it would serve no benefit at all if the main plot was Aegon usurping the throne. To keep you entertained? Hardly. It would serve him better, as was his earlier plan, if I had married Aegon myself."

He loses his stance, a grit in his teeth gives you way to a slow curl of possession. A renewed sense of anger. His fists clenched at his sides.

You found a thread. You don't just unspool, you decide, you will yank, and you will yank hard.

"Aegon is a firstborn male heir, even as twins. It made sense to anyone who understood Targaryen customs that marrying us would be the natural order. It did not matter any past transgressions he may have had, I keep him better. I am his tether to this world. It was obvious to anybody with eyes that if we were to marry, we would breed good Valyrian stock, our children—"

But he has lurched forward, grasping your face, seething, angry at an idea, at a diverted road.

"He wanted us to marry," you continue, a snake's hiss that it is. "But your mother sent a missive asking for Helaena's hand, and I had already told her I wanted someone else. I wanted you." You grasp his leather, pulling him to you in equal ferocity. Madness meeting a mirror. "From the very start, grandsire could not control me for my blood sung for you. I had done my very best to free my siblings from him, resigned myself to be their forever protector inside that Keep with no real power of my own, but when the Gods gave me the chance to have you, I had been selfish. I abandoned them for you. Because I wanted to be yours for a night, I was willing to have that, if it is the only moment you will grant me."

You are crying again, and lies are spinning with their truths, golden and bloodstained, but you are cracking him.

"But it was you, Jacaerys Velaryon, who had asked for my hand. You wanted to marry, whisk us away to Dragonstone, and I love you too much to blind myself to the idea of becoming your wife would not be a totally selfish act, for what act of ours would be considered selfish if it was borne out of love?" you sob hard, grasping and reaching against him, trying to shake and ruin him. "I thought you loved me, and yet here you are, accusing me of plotting? What? Usurping your mother? Killing you in your godsdamned sleep?"

"Wife, I—"

"No. I am sorry for what happened to Lucerys. But if it is vengeance that is truly what you seek, and in the morrow my brother," my choke out. "My brother would be announced d-dead, I would rather you kill me now for it seems I have not only failed them from my grandsire's clutches, I have also failed at being your wife."

Your hands reach in and pull his dagger out, and he is instinctive, a true swordsman, holding onto the dagger before your own. But you do not give up. You yank him forward so suddenly, the dagger now positioned over your heart.

You keep him there, defiant as you are. As no true dragon is afraid of metal. Metal melt in the face of dragonfire.

The tip of his dagger deepens against your skin as war rages in his own mind. Truths and lies spinning and spinning in his head, but your thread— your thread is Hightower green clung in blood and gold — and it's the brightest, twisting beneath his lids and rage. Rage and grief, the tethering madness is spilling, trying to break into the dragon's clutches—

But your Jace is strong. He holds it at bay with a fury.

It is love, it is love, it is love.

But you are not sure. And you have to be.

You have been betrayed already, your Jace cannot betray you. If you are to have a future with him as King, there must be no doubts.

You step forward, letting the blade sink against your skin. It draws blood. A few beads bloom and slide. Thick red in a string or two. It makes his jaw tighten, and you feel, almost impercibly, the strain in his hand give.

That flash of panic, panic bathed in love, in adoration, is all you need.

You grasp his hands in yours, blade nestled between two grips now, and he gasps, thinking you were going to push him away finally, but no. You hold on tight to his hands, nails digging into his skin, keeping the blade where it is before you push forward once more. The tip sinks into your flesh, blood gushes as pain explodes.

"What are you doing!? Let go!" he roars, but you stare at his eyes, brown, so pretty, framed in featherlight lashes, did he even know there are violet flecks in his eyes?

You will not harm me, you think. You realise. For you have given yourself to me body and soul. Even the Gods know.

"Will you forsake me, husband?" your voice is no higher than a whisper, than a wind's hum. It is hollow and cracking. A siren song. In the silence, it is a whip cracking against petty flesh. Against a beating heart thrumming for you. "And the babe I carry?"

Before the words register in his brain, you yank his hands again with every strength you can muster, the dagger, to hover over your stomach. Your Jace roars, pulling with his entire strength as complete fear in floods his beautiful, brown eyes. The strength propels your force of gravity, and you fall with a hard thud. The dagger is flung in the second as he reaches for you, cold-curdled terror ruining his face as he tries to make sense of where to touch you.

The fall is hard enough that you wince. And your instincts, new as it is, is to curl your hands protectively over your stomach.

"M-my heart? Does it hurt? I-I am so sorry, I-A MAESTRE, CALL A MAESTRE FOR THE PRINCESS NOW!"

Your child is strong, you have always known that in your heart.

The second you held suspicion, pressing against the tender flesh of your breast to the nausea that kicked in out of nowhere, before Maestre Gerardys had confirmed: you are with child. Your firstborn. The heir of heirs. You could not wait to meet him.

"I hope it is a boy," you murmur weakly into the darkened space of your chambers. You don't turn as Jacaerys' head snaps, his hands over your own, sat on a chair by your bedside. Relief, guilt, fear breaks and crashes in waves against him, trying to nudge you, but you don't look. You stare from your position on the bed; forward and into nothingness.

"My love," he breathes, hands against your own warm and tight. "I am so, so sorry. I shall call for a maestre—"

"No need." Your other hand moves to your stomach. An emotion glimmers in his gaze at the movement. "My babe is strong. Blood of the dragon that he is. I know him already in my blood. Call for my maid instead. Any of them. Tell them to move my things to a different room, perhaps the one above Aegon's Garden. By morn, I will fly to Kings Landing to be with my family."

Panic fills and breaks. His hold tightens. "I-If that is what you wish, we can go as soon as Maestre Gerardys says it is alright for you and the—"

You turn to him, finally, your eyes dead of emotion. "I will go for I do not think you would like your would-be murderer to sleep beside you, haunting you with a dagger. This way, I can take advice from my mother about births and the like, and you can sleep comfortably. Do not worry, I will not poison you to your child's mind. You may visit him as you would like. You might even take comfort in knowing your mother would look for him as if he were hers. She is so very motherly, I'm sure she would enjoy a grand..."

Your words drift off as he had fallen to his knees, tears soaking your hand as he presses it to his face. You feel like the Mother, looking down on a penitent. Or the Father. Or the Stranger. You feel complete, as his apologies fall in graceless, shaky exhales and sobs. The axe is in your hand. His neck is exposed.

"—I will do anything, a-anything for your f-forgiveness. Y-You can move rooms if it comforts you, I will not s-shadow your doorway, but please. Please. Do not leave me. Anything. I will do anything."

You, and you alone, is the owner of his absolution.

You smile, despite yourself.

Maybe you should reward your grandsire after all.

TAGGED (bold means I couldn't tag you: @inkareds @marihoneywk @caterina-caterina @ahristata

[writingstreetspirit]

Addictive

Summary: What happens in the Drama room before D&D sessions stays in the Drama room.

Pairing: Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Swearing, kissing, oral (f and m receiving), fingering, (P in V) smut, unprotected sex, MINORS DNI. YOU ARE RESPONSIBLE FOR YOUR OWN MEDIA CONSUMPTION. YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED.

Word count: 1.3k

A/N: I really can’t get enough of this man. Some parts of this have been written when I’ve in fact not been sober, so 🥴 I hope it’s still readable. If you liked this, please like/comment/reblog/follow as it helps me and every other content creator out there. Thank you!

—

“C’here, sweetheart. We have 15 minutes before the sheep arrive.”

You looked up at Eddie from where you were rearranging the chairs around the table. For the last fifteen minutes you and Eddie had been prepping the drama room for the weekly Dungeons and Dragons session before the other Hellfire members would arrive.

“Exactly, we have 15 minutes. That’s not a lot, and we’re still not finished setting your campaign up!” You snorted, laying out all the dices and different verity of snacks on the table. While the idea was not the smartest, it did make you tingle a little just like the thought of having sex with Eddie always did.

Eddie put the campaign filled binder down on the table with a smack before strutting over toward your figure. His hands grabbed a hold of your hips, softly tugging your body closer before pressing a loud kiss on your lips.

Eddie pulls back, your just faces inches apart. You can smell his cologne, the cheep kind that you could get from any drugstore, but did it fit him. He looks into your eyes, smiling devilishly.

“[Name], tell me what you desire, and I will fulfill your every wish.” Eddie says, staring deeply into your eyes. You could clearly see what he wanted. He wants you, and you want Eddie in return. You hovered your lips above his, teasing crooning, “I want you to make me see stars.”

Eddie looks down at your lips and gives you a slow smirk. “Oh sweetheart, I can do that.”

He leans in and kisses you long and slow. You respond in kind, hands plastering themselves against Eddie’s narrow waist. He eventually pulls away and looks at you, his breath heavy and cheeks flushed. You can tell his heart is racing just like yours is.

Eddie’s lips travel down to your neck, nibbling at the delicate skin. You throw your head back with a shallow moan, his lips vibrating against your neck with the groan he lets out in response.

With no time to lose, you pulled back to grab hold of Eddie’s black jeans and made quick work of tugging open the belt holding them up on his waist. You yanked down the fabric, boxers following just a second later. He laughed low and raspy, “Eager now, are we?”

You kiss him to shut him up, tugging down both your skirt and panties at once. Eddie and your matching shirts would have to stay on this time. “How about you put your mouth to better use, baby?”

Eddie groaned, “Shit, [Name]. It’ll be my pleasure, and yours too, I bet.”

His ring adorned hands guided you backwards until you leaned far back on his throne, the chair only he ever got to sit at, and now you. Eddie dove his head between your thighs like a man starving.

If you were to say a certain sex act that Eddie was the best at, even though he’s damn good at everything, then that would be oral. The way his tongue and lips moved sends sparks up throughout your whole entire body every single time.

Your hand threaded itself in his wild dark hair when Eddie slipped one of his thick fingers inside your cunt. Hips grinding inventory against his mouth in response to a second finger, “So good, so fucking good Eddie.”

Despite Eddie’s mouth feeling like absolute heaven on you, the time wasn’t on your side. You gave a small yank on his hair, pulling his head away. His lips were red, swollen and covered in slick.

“It’s your turn.” You rose up from the chair, and firmly made Eddie sit down where you’d been just a few seconds earlier. Sinking down on your knees before him, you hand wrapping around the firm length.

Eddie moaned a bit too loud for comfort as your mouth took the tip inside, wrapping warm and wet lips around the flesh. “Shit, [Name], that feels fucking amazing.”

If you had the time, you’d be slow and throughout when giving Eddie a blowjob. Instead, you bobbed your head sloppy up and down his cock, lubricating him for what was to come.

Sooner than you’d like to, you pulled away to stand up. You move to straddle Eddie’s hips, hovering just centimeters above his cock. Eddie asked, “Is this what you want?”

“Yes, baby, want you inside me.” You murmured. Lining him up, you slowly start to sink down on his length. Eddie tips his head back with a long moan. You mewl, face seeking refuge between the crook of his neck. The pressure was quick to subside to hot lust.

Your hips start moving against him. You pulled his bottom lip between your teeth, softly biting down on the flesh. Eddie moaned, eyes fluttering open to find yours, pupils blown wide in lust.

“Fuck, sweetheart,” Eddie says as your walls clench down on him, you feel your entire body shudder. His hand grabs hold of the back of your neck and pulls you closer to kiss you.

“Oh, fucking shit. Jesus Christ, you feel so good!” He groans into your mouth, breath hot and intoxicating. You felt every single inch of him inside you, hitting all the parts that make you see stars.

Eddie wasn’t necessarily larger than the guys you had been with before, but he felt so perfect inside you. Like he was made just for you. You let out a sound that was somewhere between a mewl and a moan.

“That good, huh, sweetheart?” You nod and squeeze your eyes shut. Even when he’s deep inside you, Eddie could still bring himself to be a cocky little shit. He kissed your collarbone, switching between each side, leaving wet kisses in his path.

The heat in your belly was steadily growing hotter, the building orgasm crashing closer with every movement. You whined, “Eddie, I’m close!”

“Fuck, sweetheart, me too!” Eddie groaned, lips trailing back to kiss you, but he was breathing into your mouth more than actually kissing at this point. You jolted when one of his fingers made contact with your clit, rolling the nub with the time of your thrusting.

You didn’t have time to react before the orgasm came crashing right into you. Your eyes must have screwed shut because all you saw was black, and you were almost completely sure that you were screaming. Distinctly you could make out the sound of Eddie groaning against your throat.

When you finally regained vision, you were panting heavily. Eddie was slumped against you, arms wrapped tight around your trembling body, fast hot breaths warming up your neck. “Holy shit, [Name], I can’t feel my legs.”

You laughed shakily, nodding in agreement, “Me neither.”

“Love you, sweetheart,” Eddie’s head left the crook of your neck, eyes locking onto yours. His cheeks were flushed a gorgeous shade of red, as well as his lips. You indulged yourself a long kiss, Eddie melting further into you with a sigh. You muttered onto his lips, “I love you, too, Eds.”

You retreated, eyes traveling to the clock on the wall across from you. The time said 5 minutes left until the other Hellfire members would roll in. “We have 5 minutes to get dressed before the guys arrive.”

The softening length slipped out as you stood up, his come dripping down your thighs. Eddie stood up, taking his handkerchief from his pants and gave it to you to whip yourself clean, “Thanks, honey.”

Dressing yourself took but a minute. Your hair, along with Eddie’s, was tussled but not enough to fully reveal what you’d been up to. Eddie smiled that satisfied smile of his, eyes running up and down your frame.

“When we get home, I’m so going to ruin you.”

You smirked, biting your lower lip teasingly, “Looking forward to it, Dungeon Master.”

[solbaby7]

Hiii, can I get a margarita with a salt rim on the rocks, please? Thank you!💕

[ “got a mouth on you. someone should teach you how to use it.” + smut + rhysand ]

-> BLURB BAR <-

Rhysand liked wild things—had this affinity for collecting strays; plucking them from their prisons and providing a life of freedom and luxury.

Maybe that’s why he’s so drawn to you. This rabid animal of a thing with a serious aversion to proper clothing and absolutely no regard for others personal boundaries. “Back for more charity work?”

“Is that how you think of my visits? I’m hurt.”

You look down at him with amusement, crouched low on a branch with a skirt so short it takes effort not to stare. “We both know you aren’t,” You make tree climbing look easy, bare toes trodding across branches that don’t look sturdy but hold strong bearing your weight. “What’d you bring me this time?”

Rhysand dangles the wicker basket before him with two fingers. He’s teasing, offering; luring you in closer as the laws of the Middle insists that its lands and the creatures in it must welcome you and not the other way around. “Come see for yourself, trouble.”

He’s grown fond of the wild way you move, confidently twisting and ducking through the forestry—the breathable linen of your strapless top flows with the breeze. Handmade necklaces kiss at your clavicle, all braided leather with bleached bones, carefully woven shells and shiny geodes. Once you get close enough he can see the neat braids peeking through loose strands, interwoven thread adding pops of color in haphazard places. “More naughty words on paper,” You chuff out when the weight of two books sits in your hands. The pages are pristine; probably first addition and perfectly cared for. “Always knew you High Lords were just pampered perverts.”

“Didn’t seem to bother you when you read the last two I brought you.”

Rhysand is sure he’ll have dreams about the pretty blush on your cheeks. He’s certain fantasies have planted their seed with intent to grow and grow like fucking ivy until nothing in sight could be see but you and that feisty furrow of your brow and the sharp roll of your eyes. Curious hands dig around the basket, sifting through cured meats and cheeses, parchment paper and oil pastels, rich fabrics and a case full of fresh sewing needles. “You trying to turn me into a fucking housewife or something? Charcuterie boards and fixing the buttons on your rich boy clothes.”

“Got a mouth on you.” Rhys chuckles in amusement, aubergine irises twinkling with silent adoration. “Someone should teach you how to use it.” You don’t seem the slightest bit ashamed when forcing him to hold onto your things, urging him to follow with a jerky nod of your head. “Could start by saying thank you.”

“Make me.”

Something in the air shifts. It alters the way he stands. Awakens a creature lurking in his shadow and its sights lock on you—the female with no fear of monsters. No, instead you hunt them, wrangle them up and tame them. Rabid beasts crooned into fucking house pets and Rhysand yearned to be the stray you took pity on. “Make you use your mouth properly? Or make you say thank you?”

“Both.” He’s hooked; shoes sinking into your footsteps until thick forestry breaks into a clearing with a house built smack dab in the middle. It’s surrounded by flowers, lavender and lemongrass guarding hand built basins labeled with fresh produce to fend off freeloading animals. Ivy creeps up one side of the greenhouse attached to the back. “Show me how to do it like they do in the books you bring me.”

Is it possible for a mouth to dry up and salivate at once? Because Rhys suddenly finds his in an odd mix of something in between. You barely notice the clumsy way he sets aside your basket of goodies but you’re fully aware of the eager way he pulls you in, stopping you from taking a step further. “You sure you know what you’re asking for?”

You scan the length of him, running over the strong set of his shoulders and the practiced ease in the way his arms rest at his sides. Every breath strains against the soft cotton of his shirt, solid muscle radiating warmth when you rest the palm of your hand against it. It’s a slow drag down and you feel no shame for your curiosity when exploring the length of his abdomen, fingers hooking in the loop of his belt. “I’ve got a pretty good idea.” The metallic click of his belt unbuckling, the sharp undoing of tied dress pants. “But, I’m a visual learner.” Rhys’ heart throbs in his chest when you sink to your knees, blood rushing lower until the true extent of his affection towards you is standing at attention in your face.

“I can help with that,” He’s already easing down the top of your shirt, groaning at the sight of bare breasts and pebbled nipples. “Though, my teaching style is a little more…hands on.”

You don’t have time to ask what that means when he’s giving you exactly what you asked for; tugging down his pants just enough to show off a throbbing erection, ruddy tip leaking pre-cum. Two fingers tap at your cheek twice and you have no control over the way your mouth drops open.

He knows he’s being a little rougher than he should—it’s probably your first time giving head and yet he can’t slow down his movements. You don’t even complain, breathing through the way his cock is fed to you, spit glistening along the length and dribbling down your chin. “Quick learner, aren’t you?” Rhys praises so prettily, such nice words spewing free as if he wasn’t rutting his prick down your throat.

Thumbs clear away the tears from under your eyes when you gag. The rasp of his voice urging you to work harder, to hollow your cheeks and run your tongue along that vein that has blunt nails digging into the nape of your neck. Swears spill in a sloppy slur, hands guiding the bob of your head until his release shoots down your throat with a choked grunt.

There’s no way you don’t look a mess when you peer up at him. Fucked out eyes. Tears tracking down your cheeks. Bruised lips. A wet patch dripping down your chest and still you utter the words, “Thank you.”

Just perfection and something inside him screams ‘mine’ the same time Rhysand replies with a breathless, “You’re welcome.”

[jq37]

So, that lady FH episode was amazing and all, but...

Hoo boy, I already see the discourse around the Ratgrinders' fates forming and it is going to be painful. Be careful around the fandom space.

(I mean, resurrection is still on the table for them, but that's based on if the players feel like it and right now, we're looking at 50/50 odds at bests)

Yeah, don't worry about me. This isn't my first rodeo and also I post a lot about D20 and respond to asks I get but I don't actually personally engage with any of The Discourse (tm).

And I'm not really surprised at the reaction. I know people have been opinionated all season in two main camps (that have a lot of overlap): people dissatisfied with the narrative direction and people deeply sympathetic to the Rat Grinders to the point of being mad at the Bad Kids.

The first camp I mostly understand. I get wishing the cast would explore a certain storyline more. For example, I've been on the Aelwyn redemption arc train since literally the first episode of Fantasy High so I was a little disappointed that when that finally came to a head in Freshman Year, it was a big fight and then very little aftermath/unpacking because Aelwyn was sent to jail right after. And Sophomore Year hadn't been announced so I had no idea that she was gonna get another shot. But I wasn't upset or anything. Adaine at that point still hated her sister. She had no reason to want to reach out. And at the end of the day this is other people playing a game. Brennan presented them all the possible plot threads and they were most interested in self discovery, hanging out with each other, doing Shenanigans, and playing Tomb Raider re: Ankarna. Those are all options they were presented and it's not like they were doing crazy off-roading. It's well within the parameters of what D&D is. If you're gonna watch a show like this (or honestly any show), you have to accept that what's most interesting to you isn't always going to be the most interesting thing to the people in the driver's seat.

So yeah, I feel like this side of things I get (even though I'm fine with how things turned out).

The other camp--people being legit mad at the Bad Kids (and in some cases the actual cast) for treating the Rat Grinders like antagonists instead of victims that they were responsible for empathizing with and redeeming--I find kind of wild.

Like…you're mad at the kids who go to Child Murder School for killing kids who want to end the world and kill them specifically? Literally the first day of school the principal of the school says that adventurers are violent wanderers who engage in shenanigans and enact violence. This is the exact assignment they were given and that's what they're doing.

I think it's wild to at the same time believe that the Rat Grinders (who have killed people) are not responsible for their actions and deserve to be talked down while in the process of causing an apocalypse because they're just kids who were manipulated while at the same time calling the Bad Kids evil lunatics for trying to stop them by killing them (in a world where Revivify and Resurrection exist) even though they are ALSO kids who are doing what they've learned at Child Murder School. The Bad Kids have to be mature enough to thoroughly investigate the situation and have nuance about it but the Rat Grinders don't have any responsibility to not join a shady evil murder plan*? And do the Bad Kids really hate the Rat Grinders to the point where they're doing some overkill in this fight? Absolutely. But it's not like they're killing them because they hate them. They're killing them because they're trying to end the world--and they also happen to hate them. Are we forgetting that Kipperlilly killed Buddy--her own teammate--with a gleeful smile on her face? That was so out of pocket.

They're adventurers! Not guidance counselors! If Jawbone was like, "We need to kill these kids," yeah that would be weird but why would the Bad Kids extend an olive branch to the kids who (1) famously hate them, (2) killed at least one maybe 2 of their own party members, (3) endangered the entire student body population an hour ago, (4) are currently trying to end the world. Hell, Adaine was ready to be mean to her own sister in elf jail literally up until the point Brennan described how rough she looked from the torture and that's when she changed her mind. The Power of Love and Empathy is on the menu but it's a special item you only can get if you know the chef. Everyone else is getting a serving of These Hands. Just because you can find a vegan solution to a problem it doesn't mean you're obligated to.

This all comes down to, "Maybe teenagers shouldn't have godlike powers and the ability to play judge, jury, and executioner" but that's literally the premise of the entire show so you can't get around it without rejecting the show's entire premise. If they were like, "Hmm the systems that underpin our world are questionable and we should change the power structures" instead of, "Let's kill some bad guys!" then that's a totally different thing we're doing here!

And, idk man, this show has always had a Who Framed Roger Rabbit style morality where the normal rules of ethics stop applying when it's funny. They beat the crud out of Ragh and then lied to him that he shit his pants just for the bit. A pirate was rude/kinda racist to Riz so they scared him into killing himself. Riz ate the remains of the sentient (albiet evil) dragon he killed. That's all unhinged behavior but none of that is meant to be serious. Getting upset about Fig sending Ruben to hell to me feels like getting mad that Jerry hit Tom with a cartoonishly large mallet.

None of this is new so I have to assume that people are having a big reaction because they relate to the Rat Grinders or just really like them so it feels bad that the Bad Kids are treating them like fodder rather than beloved NPCs.

But again, this is a world where you can bring people back from the dead and the Rat Grinders have showed intent that is grievously neglectful at best and insanely murderous at worst so I can't muster a lot of sympathy for the fact that the Bad Kids are just taking them down without remorse. I don't think you have to try to empathize with the people who are trying to harm you if you don't want to especially while they are in the process of harming you.

(*And we still don't know how voluntarily they joined this plan. We don't know if they were killed and basically forced into resurrecting with rage or if they just leapt at the chance to join a plan that would let them get one over on their rivals. It literally could be either. We've had kid villains on this show strong armed into being party to evil plans by threat of harm (Aelwyn) as well was kid villains who just had their own selfish motivations and weren't tricked at all (Penelope and Biz). We actually don't have any clear answer on how culpable they are. We don't know if they all have rage crystals (except for Buddy). And we don't know how much having a Rage Crystal effects your actions. The best indicator we got is in this latest ep when Brennan said that there was a mechanic where Porter was going to call anyone with a rage crystal to fight for him but that says to me that he's only directly puppeting them when he uses that action and otherwise they have free will and are just angrier. The Bad Kids don't have a reason to believe definitively that the Rat Grinders are just unwilling puppets even if that is the case so of course they're treating them like enemies. Anyway, this is a whole lot of "I don't knows" but that's only because I've seen a lot of people talking like the Rat Grinders literally aren't in control of their actions but that's not info that we have. It could be true but we don't actually know that so it's not a good argument.)

[chateautae]

to turn a bad thing good | jjk. I (teaser)

➵ summary: jungkook’s drunken one night stand goes awry when he comes to learn not only is he being forced into an arranged marriage, but it’s to the very girl he abandoned that night—and things get a lot more complicated when you’re the best hookup he’s ever had. 

↳ part of the high-class series!

➵ pairing: ceo!jungkook x law student!reader

➵ genre: series, arranged marriage!au, fwb!au (?), haters to lovers!au, smut, fluff, angst

➵ rating: 18+

➵ word count: 590 (full first chapter, 13k)

➵ warnings (teaser): swearing, angst, mentions of sexual content 

➵ release date: jan. 20th, 2023.

« TEASER »

“Wow, you’re like a fucking angry kitten. Unaware of her size in the world and yet still slashing her claws.” 

 “Shut the fuck up. I am not a kitten.” 

 He breathes a tight laugh as he eyes your height, clearly finding you ridiculous. So what if you’re shorter than him? You are not a docile kitten, you’re a lioness ready to pounce on anyone who fucks with you.

 Jungkook’s cadence is leveled, his voice condescendingly honeyed over as he folds his arms. “We have to get married, little kitten. We just have to, we have no choice.” 

 “Well, I don’t want to marry you.” 

 “And I don’t want to fucking marry you either!” Jungkook suddenly explodes, his eyes wild as emotion overtakes him. “But for fuck’s sake, I have to take over my father’s company! I have to marry someone and prove something to him! I have it the fucking worst, the worst, and yet I’m still trying. I’m still compromising.” 

 “You have it the worst?” Your voice cracks, tears brimming your eyes. “I was fucking ambushed by my mother, the woman I trust most in this fucking world! She betrayed me in front of your family, you can’t possibly have it worse than I do!” 

 “Please,” Jungkook laughs, his tone cutthroat. “You did a Google search on me? Well I did one on you, too. You’re the daughter of a wealthy lawyer couple with a famous law firm. You were fed everything on a silver spoon, too. How hard could you have it?” 

 Rage boils inside you, having half the mind to not march over and slap him across the face. He knows nothing about you, absolutely nothing. Indignation becomes your friend, gritting at him. “Says fucking you.” 

 Jungkook appears exhausted now, shaking his head. He sighs again, hands perching onto his hips as he peers up at the inky black sky. “Look, I don’t care if you don’t want to marry me. You’re the only way I’ll get my parents off my fucking back, so be a doll and just do what you’re told, yeah?” 

 Now’s the time you truly can’t stand the man, approaching him with angry steps to invade his personal space. “Don’t you dare call me a doll, and what? You’re just gonna use me like you did the other night? Leave me once your needs are satisfied?” 

 Jungkook becomes formidable then, shoving himself in your face with mere inches between your heated, angry bodies. You hate that you focus on his height in comparison to yours, large enough that he could easily manhandle you. He towers you, sexily so, and you use every ounce of your strength to fight back your arousal. 

 “If I recall correctly, you’re the one that had four orgasms that night, kitten, so whose needs were really satisfied?” 

 The rumble of his foreboding voice shoots electricity through you, shoving down the urge to remember those four wonderful orgasms he made explode in your body. His words still implant disgust within you, ready to shove the man overboard for sure.

 Jungkook seems to notice the way you swallow, his lips curving smugly, eyes dancing with amusement. “And here I thought you forgot about that night.” 

 You grind your teeth, hating his stupidly gorgeous face and sexy smirk. “Still doesn’t give you the right to use marrying me for your own benefit, you bastard. I want nothing to do with you.” 

 “Like fucking wise, wifey.”

 “Don’t you dare call me that.”

 “Then don’t you dare call me a bastard.” 

You’re at your limit, hanging on by a fucking thread as Jungkook refuses to drop your gaze. He stares dauntingly, challenging you with his unmoving look. He’s still in your space, the gap between you two small enough to be closed by a single step. Your body reacts stupidly, drawn to him like a moth to a flame. 

And something about being burned intrigues you beyond explanation. 

taglist is open—please reply to this post in order to be tagged, MUST be 18 years or older to interact. those already on my taglist will be automatically tagged <3

[spunknbite]

He’s thought about kissing Crowley before

On the banks of the Euphrates. Under a juniper tree in the Hanging Gardens. Traipsing through some desert — Arabian, Gobi, Namibian, Kalahari — they all ran together. Beside a rice paddy in the Qinling Mountains. In coliseums and amphitheatres, then theatres and pubs. Over wine or tea or coffee, over too many meals to remember. At an airbase nearing the end of the world, and on the bus ride home after the world didn’t end after all. All of the nights thereafter.

Of course, he’s thought about it. Sometimes it feels as if he scarcely thinks of anything but. 

Quiet down, you, he’d plead in those moments. No use in any of that foolery. Angels simply can’t want like that, the ache of the want be damned. Even fallen angels; there’s an order to things, lines in the sand.

But still, he’s thought about it.

Alone, after those clandestine, ill-conceived meetings of old. Hours later back at the shop, paired wine glasses empty, nose in a book in some paltry attempt to divert his wandering attention. He prays — to God, to the author of whatever book fails to hold his gaze, to his own sense of propriety — but the prayer goes unanswered and so he thinks instead.

A staccato inhale, a press of lips, flush. Who would initiate it? Did it even matter? Lean fingers pull him close and Aziraphale follows as if he’s allowed to, as if he can follow any but the path that was set out before him. And Crowley would taste of the wine or spirits that they’d been drinking hours before this torrid, little fantasy began.

How would Crowley kiss him? Aziraphale had no experience in the matter, naturally. But he’s read enough books, watched cinema, observed the couples on Whickber as they dawdle down the way after an evening out, and he can imagine it. The certainty of it, the way Crowley owns an idea and then just rushes heedlessly forward, assured. No doubt, no hesitation, just momentum and an inner gravity that pulls Aziraphale in, attracted to a sort of confidence that Aziraphale can’t understand. And he’d kiss him like that, firm and heady, like if they could just get close enough to one another they might carve out some sort of safety separate from Heaven and Hell and the nature of the cosmos that prevents this very act from occurring in the first place. 

Fingers would thread through his hair, a sharp hip bone knocks into him as they slot together, and suddenly all is warm and wet and perhaps this is what drowning would feel like if drowning was equal parts terrifying and astounding. Wicked and miraculous. 

“We could have been…us.”

The words only just register as Crowley has him by the lapels, and the kiss is now and here and real, and not some weak midnight submission. 

There is no finesse, no craft, no delicacy. Crowley’s wile and strategy, gone. Just want. He wants in a way that Aziraphale has never permitted himself to. A sort of desperate, wild anguish, and Aziraphale can feel the implicit please please please through every shudder, every movement. No assurance, no givens, only a reckless beggar, and Aziraphale could almost recognize the need as his own, if he’d ever sat with the feeling long enough to comprehend it.

He wants to lean in, wants to wrench Crowley somehow closer, impossibly, like he would in an evening wondering. Forsake Heaven and with it his chance, their chance, at any sort of redemption. He wants to succumb, wants to give himself over with yes and finally and now, because the righteousness of it all seems more absolute than anything Aziraphale has felt.

But he knows better. He was made better. His hands dance over Crowley’s back, unsure, hesitant, fearful that if he touches him the rest of his body may follow, and he may fall right alongside him. 

It’s over before it’s begun, a human expression. And Crowley’s gone.

His shuddering hand lifts to his lips, sore and unnaturally hot, an almost pins-and-needles burn across his mouth. Is it hellfire or purely Crowley? How to disentangle them? Aziraphale tastes the acrid I forgive you as the heat cools and fades off his lips and from his fingertips, and with it the prospect of seeing Crowley again.

***

now tidied up and on AO3

[liminalweirdo]

[image id: two screenshots of four tweets by user lisa_iannattone on Twitter, posted on 19 December 2022 at 1:14 p.m., reading sequentially: "It's absolutely wild to me that we're pretending that the higher than average number of respiratory tract infections and the pandemic of adults with pneumonia this year is not a warning sign of immune impairment. This is literally how immunodeficiency would present.In clinical practice, we we want to screen for the possibility of an undiagnosed underlying immunodeficiency syndrome, "how many respiratory infections do you get in an average year?" and "have you had pneumonia more than once?" are the 2 first questions we ask.There's been more pneumonias among my healthy adult friends & acquaintances in the last 6 months than among my immunosuppressed patients in the last 6 years. Something is clearly off. And healthy adults with pneumonia is not a viral transmission dynamics issue.This thread blew up and some people aren't sure if I'm suggesting immunity debt. Definitely not. Staying healthy doesn't make you sick, pathogens do. As for the immunity "gap", it's likely a contributing factor but doesn't explain adults with pneumonia. It's SARS2 I'm worried about.

end image id]

hey, the pandemic is not over. wear a mask.

in case this is unclear, immunocompromised, immunosuppressed, and other disabled people are not getting sick the same way as healthy adults because they are masking the fuck up and/or still largely being forced to isolate, while many many “healthy” adults are not. just because you are healthy doesn’t mean you are immune to long-term effects from covid. anyone can become disabled at any time. immunity debt is not real.

do your part to protect yourself and others. not wearing a mask is worse than ableism. It’s disablist.

Please at least wear masks in public indoor, and crowded outdoor spaces. Make public spaces safe and accessible for everyone.

[tavyliasin]

Villain-Fucker Angst Hours

Good timezone, darlings~ Are you ready to get all up in your feelings? No? Me neither, loves, but here we are regardless so the words are going to flow as they usually do... This is focused on Raphael from Baldur's Gate 3 and his fandom, but the latter section can easily apply to any villain fandom.

Self-Analysis of Devil-Fuckery, Or Why Do I Adore Raphael When He Is Very Obviously Evil: A Short Essay by TavyliaSin (Who Still Cannot Name Anything With Less Than A Full Paragraph) ((NSFW)) (((Game Spoilers)))

The following may discuss heavier topics, but without specifics, so whilst it should be safe for most to read without triggering any difficult memories please be aware of Raphael's entire vibes, the content and context of his story, and I'd also like to mention that this isn't a "woe be us for we are terrible people" piece, it's actually more about:

"There is an inherent kindness and warmth to much of the Raphael fandom, and I think there could be some common threads behind that, pulling us all in closer in a comforting blanket that we wrap around each other to keep out the cold of the world."

So, what in the nine hells am I on about? Well. Raphael-fandom is a wild and wonderful place to be. The rest is in sections, so feel free to skip through to what you feel is relevant to your interests. I am so prone to waffle I should open a restaurant~

Who Are Fans Of Raphael? What Do They Want?

We are feral, unhinged, all sheets to the wind "I want that devil man, carnally, and there is no force in all the planes that could stop me". There's the vanilla to the extreme and every level in between, tops, bottoms, versatiles, Doms, subs, and switches - there are a whole lot of people who would love to get their hands on either (or both) of Raphael's forms, for a simple smooch or something far more spicy~ [edited in] To add on to this, not all of us even desire him in a sexual way, for many it is romantic, soft, or even just the rather pleasant thought of spending an evening with drinks by the hellfire because he would be fascinating company. Aces, Aros, and AroAces may all find themselves well within the devilish corners of fandom too~ which is a whole other essay~ [end edit] So, I see you. I'm one of you. Extremely loud and utterly hingeless in my fan appreciation for Raphael. He's one of my favourites to write about, I seek art of him, and the same goes for his mirrored other half, Haarlep, who I arguably love more despite there being far less content of them in the game.

And the Fandom? The Vibe?

From my experience in the Raphael Fandom areas, we have a very deep and abiding understanding of consent, respect, and treating each other with an absolute and uncompromising kindness. We've had talks about keeping each other safe in fandom, exchanged details of people we have encountered who need to be avoided, even shared details between moderators of different fandom servers to pre-ban people proven to be creeps and/or art thieves. We've also discussed consent, including the issues with it in the game, and how areas of the story can only really be considered dubious at best and could easily be triggering for people. And these discussions have been open, honest, fair, and with the acknowledgement that most of us love these scenes anyway. So there's a sense of care that runs through everything, behind the horny-posting and fan content, behind the endless thirsting after our favourite fictional characters. We have a depth of kindness that warms my sinners soul every time I see it.

What Does This Have To Do With Self-Reflection, Raphael, or Villainy In General?

Well let's look at Raphael. He's a villain, obviously. He's manipulative, devious, and inherently evil by his very nature. He keeps Hope chained in his basement, constantly subjected to endless torture. There's also mention of how Gortash was sold into his service at a young age, clearly not an enjoyable experience given the other details and how things turn out (particularly as Raphael would need Gortash's own plans to fail entirely in order for him to succeed in his own and get that crown). And as fans, we accept that. We don't sit making excuses, or trying to say "well actually Gortash is a little shit and Hope probably deserve it", and we don't shy away from or conveniently ignore those darker sides of him with malicious intent to enable more evil to flourish. What I noticed, when I allowed the thoughts to continue, is that there is a theme here.

If Evil Can Be Loved Then So Can I

That's the core. Of course, darlings, I am not claiming to be a heinous monster. I certainly do not have a laundry list of crimes that would make the devil himself say "Uh, that's a bit much." But I sure as fuck treat myself like I do sometimes. You see, I think a lot of us have that tendency, to judge ourselves far more harshly than anyone else. Our patience, understanding, and forgiveness for others runs deeper than the Mariana Trench, but when it comes to our own flaws? One minor mistake and we think ourselves to be the worst beings ever to disgrace the earth. Thus, the villainy we see reflects how we are treating ourselves. So by loving and accepting all of those things that should be terrible, hated, we are actually learning that no matter how poorly we think of ourselves that we can be worthy of that same love and acceptance. We are extending the affection we are unable to show ourselves to someone we see the worst parts of ourselves amplified within. And that's why villains attract the people with the most kindness. The most forgiveness. Because it takes someone with a truly huge amount of empathy to find love for the embodiment of evil.

Or, IDK, maybe villains are just hot and we're too far down to care.

But wait, before you go!

THERE'S SOMETHING WE NEED TO TALK ABOUT.

All of this is about FICTION. We should never be accepting of the kinds of evil we see in the game irl. We do not owe anyone kindness if they do not show it to us.

What is hot in fiction is not always OK IRL.

Look after yourselves out there, remember that consent is key in all things, and please do try to learn to love yourselves, darlings, you are worthy of it and you should judge yourself by the same standard you judge others. If you are in doubt, if you are worried, if you feel afraid - reach out, talk to someone. There are many who will listen.

Treat yourself as you would treat a friend. You deserve that much.

Oh, and all Raphael fans who understand kindness are welcome around me, any hour of the day, I adore our little fandom circles and would gladly collect all of us together. I'm following a lot of you as soon as I find you, like hunting shiny pokemon~

See you in Avernus, my darling Little Mice, may we all find joy in the Cambion's Embrace~

[bullet-prooflove]

Firewood: Lee Dutton x Reader

Tagging: @kmc1989 @queenslandlover-93 @newyorkrican922 @bryandechartisasmolbean @lovethis-lovethat @goblinenby @foxfables @solar-raccoon

Companion piece to

Wild Bloom

A Boy from Bozeman

The Worry Doll

Wild Fire

Experiance (NSFW)

Blind Date

Lee’s chopping wood when you pull up outside the farmhouse. He’s wearing those old Levi’s that fit just right and a white wifebeater that clings to his chest. His powerful muscles ripple as he swings the axe down, splitting the wood with one strike before he replaces the log with another and begins the process all over again. It does a little something for you seeing him in action. It always has.

It’s the expression on his face that betrays him, his jaw is clenched, his brow furrowed, his eyes bright and fierce. It’s a sign that something isn’t right in Lee’s world and the last time that happened…

You’d ended up heading off to California alone.

He pauses when you step out of the car, wiping the back of his wrist across his forehead and you hold up a brown paper bag from the bakery in town.

“We didn’t get to have breakfast the other morning.” You say as you close the car door behind you. “I thought maybe we could fix that.”

He smiles then and that smile, it lights up your entire world. It’s been this way with him ever since the moment you met. You’ve had other partners over the years but none of them have ever compared to Lee. He’s always been the love of your life.

“Alright honey.” He says, his voice a little husky as he sets the axe down. “Give me a minute to clean up and I’m all yours.”

All yours…

You can’t express how much you want that.

You’re already have the coffee brewing on the stove when he returns from the bathroom. He wraps his arms around your waist, cradling you against his body as he buries his face into the curve of your throat. You’ve only been back in his life a couple of days but Lee already knows he can’t live without you. Having you here in his kitchen, it reminds him of everything that could have been, that should have been.

“Do you want to tell me what’s gotten you all torn up inside?” You ask him and he huffs his response against your skin because he is still absolutely furious at his father for playing this card, for forcing him into a position he does not want to be in.

He’d had three calls this morning before turning off his phone. Each one from another ranch trying to solidify their alliances with the Yellowstone by describing their daughters to him as if they were cattle. Lee can not abide it.

He knows it’s going to get worse once word starts to spread, because marrying Lee means becoming part of a dynasty and who wouldn’t want that in an era where their livelihood is under threat.

He pulls away, busying himself by taking out plates and unpacking the pastries while you finish up with the coffee. This is not something he wants to discuss with you because it thrusts you right back into the small town politics you left way back when. However he doesn’t want you to be blindsided either because this news, it’s to be all anyone can talk about when it breaks.

When you set the coffee down on the table in front of him, he can’t help but draw you down into his lap. You laugh at the abruptness of the motion, your hands threading through his hair, tugging just a little and Lee moans at the sensation, his hips arching up to meet yours.

“I love that I can do that to you.” You whisper against his lips. “That you’re still mine after all these years.”

“I’ve always been yours.” He tells you. “Since the very moment I laid eyes on you, I knew there would never be anybody else.”

You kiss him then and breakfast is forgotten as he carries you to bed and makes love to you with a ferocity and passion that echoes over the pastures through the open windows of the farmhouse.

It’s in the aftermath when the two of you are lying tangled up in one another that he tells you what his father has done. His thumb ghosts over the apple of your cheek as he explains the implications, that he now has a slew of suitors jamming up his voice mail because every single one of them wants a piece of Yellowstone.

“It’s happening again.” You say withdrawing from him and Lee sighs as you slip out from underneath his sheets. “I can’t believe he’s doing it to us again.”

“No baby he’s not.” Lee tells you, his hand capturing yours, drawing you back down onto the bed. “There’s only one woman I’m going to marry and she’s the one right here in front of me.”

Love Lee? Don’t miss any of his stories by joining the taglist here.

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Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

[rederiswrites]

Well, today I had the entertainment of having a dental hygienist schedule me for my next cleaning to make sure that she was the one doing the cleaning, so that she could hear "the end of the story". It was definitely a uniquely entertaining tooth cleaning.

You see, I got a message from Jacob while I was in the waiting room, telling me that... Well, the situation with my mom, who lives in our basement and is causing us problems I don't really need to get into, had deteriorated even further. So when the hygienist went to take my blood pressure, I was like, "oh actually, it might be really bad right now, cuz I just got upsetting news, don't worry about it." And then it was, in fact, fairly terrible. It's always been great before, and was great in their records, so we called that one a scratch.

But naturally she was curious to know what had my blood pressure through the roof. Presumably if I'd brushed it off she'd have respected that, but I was like, hell, why not, it's some pretty wild gossip. So I told her the basic outlines, and actually it was good for me, because at some point I'd really started to give my mom a little too much credit, trying to keep the situation peaceful. The hygienist gave me a fresh perspective of like, "wait so why is that even a problem for her?" And at a couple points there seemed to be surprising parallels with her life. So when I was done, and hopefully less likely to pop a blood vessel, I said, "Well I gave you the goods, I think you'll agree, so fill me in on your story!"

Because after all I was about to have her hands in my mouth for fifteen minutes, so my turn with the talking ball was definitely over.

She's like, "Alright, but fair warning, this might be more uncomfortable for you than me." And naturally I say something to the effect of, "Oh nah I'm cool with most things", and she gets to work.

"So ten years ago," she begins, "my husband died."

Me: *indistinct noises of shock and dismay* What's that one Twitter thread--"I know, classic start to a funny story."

Anyhow, short version, her husband died, she had a two year old to take care of, and she was working as a social worker and feeling like she couldn't take another day of it. So she quit her job, sold her house, moved back in with her parents (she got space in the unfinished basement, the baby got her old bedroom) and trained to become a hygienist. It certainly hadn't been her plan to still be there ten years later, but hey, she had help with the kid, he comes home to his grandparents every day instead of her scrambling to find a situation for him until she gets off work, and she feels spoiled to have her mom cooking for her. It's not perfect, but the way she sees it, it's been much better this way for her son.

So now she's gotta wait six months to find out if we get a mediator and how we settle the situation. Which I guess means I gotta actually settle it. God I hope.

As we were saying goodbye, I said, "Wait, I didn't get the punchline. Are you happier as a hygienist?"

"Oh. Oh yeah. Absolutely."

[villain-byteniwoha]

ships i like and why i ship them: a small, affectionate rant before bed

zhongchi: probably the first ship i ever interacted with. i may have started playing genshin for them. I specifically remember reading modern, non canon au fics on ao3 when i was still low AR and did not have liyue unlocked yet just to enjoy content of them without spoiling the story too much. those were good times

love the betrayal, the reciprocated manipulations, their individual bloody pasts and their juxtaposing love for humanity/family. the marriage chopsticks. god, the amount of threads I've read explaining those... and ofc you can't forget the official art with them by the harbor with the gingko leaves falling cinematically. i think that's the art that drew me to them lol

there's also something so deliciously tragic about a near-immortal being who's fated to succumb to erosion in due time, falling in love with a mortal man who's always within death's cold embrace. not to mention the subtext of their themes and principles. geo and hydro, stability and turbulence, land and sea, they crystallize when they meet in the middle, etc etc

kaeluc: another pairing I enjoyed the absolute shit out of, way back when I wasn't even playing the game yet. I remember learning about them while I was deep in my mxtx phase, specifically tgcf, and I'm pretty sure I dipped my toes in after I learned that they used to be sworn brothers. keywords here being used to. hook, line, and sinker. before I knew it, I was also reading fanfics about them, but only modern, non canon au ones because genshin terms made no sense to me and i didn't want spoilers. then I played the game. and then—we get Kaeya for free. I mained the shit out of that man for months.

and then. I fully entered the fandom, only to be immediately slapped in the face with the mistranslation issue.

and I get it, honestly, if you like ragbros good for you, I'm happy for you, but me personally, I will scorn hyv until the day I fucking die because had they not messed this up? kaeluc would've have been so powerful. KAELUC WOULD HAVE BEEN SO FUCKING POWERFUL

how could they not be? they're childhood friends but they're also forbidden romance coded, and rivals/enemies coded, but they're also soulmates. they don't just know each other, they're two halves of a whole, they know each other.

and the themes, don't even get me started on their themes. fire and ice, red and blue... paimon's line about them being similar (i.e. kaeya's a shady mf who fights in the day/diluc's a bright fire in the night) is one of the most romantic lines ever. they're sun and moon but only because they complete each other. also, lamp grass and calla lily? that's them as flowers, but they're the other person's ascension material like hello???????? fucking wild.

and ofc this kaeluc section can't end without me mentioning arundolyn and rostam. for those who don't know or have read/heard of those names but never really dug deep into it, arundolyn and rostam were knights of favonius around the same time as the cataclysm, and you can read about them in artifact sets such as brave heart, defender's will; and partially from the elegy bow

the reason they're here is because there are too many damn parallels between them and kaeluc to just be a coincidence.

arundolyn was a claymore user (see: ferrous shadow), he was the "lion of light,"; he was naturally gifted in strength but still trained hard and would later become the grand master of the knights; he'd push rostam to drink wine and tell him to have a little fun; he gives up his title and weapon after rostam dies

on the flip side, rostam was the swordsman who created the art of favonius bladework (see: favonius sword), his title was, "wolf pup,"; when he and arundolyn played as children, he was the stand-in for the champion knight of aristocracy; he "ruled the shadows," by protecting mond with ways the knights did not approve; rostam dies in an expedition to expunge the evils poured forth from the cataclysm...

I'll let you connect the dots there. I just also wanna point out, as a final note, that in the favonius sword's description, it says, "the childhood friend and spiritual counterpart of Arundolyn, the Lion of Light, whose name was Rostam, the Wolf Pup." ok. yeah. moving on

xiaoven: i very quickly realized after reading the genshin webtoon that venti was gonna be one of, if not my most favorite character. and i was curious as to who the people wanted to pair him with. keep in mind, this was around 2.0~2.2 I believe, so when I searched them up, the only canon backing I could find was the music scene

and boy, was that scene enough because holy shit, the brain rot these two gave me??? of a god who embodies freedom, and the last remaining yaksha chained to his duty????? they were so thematically opposed and beautiful, it wasn't hard to fall in love with them

by the time 3.0 came rolling in, I've already stopped playing, but that didn't mean i wasn't aware of how we were well fed by canon. from the trailer to venti full on attending the lantern rite and sitting down with the liyue gang; it was one of those interactions that transcended everything

and of course, OF COURSE, they also canonically addressed the fact that venti's music soothes xiao's soul. that's intimate. that's deep. that's so fucking romantic and nice and beautiful in the most tragic way...

also, we can't forget the depictions of god and servant here. the holy themes, the worship. the promise of immortality and foreverness, but also the threat of it. i just think xiao doomed with karmic debt and venti vowed to divine erosion is such a soulmate connection, and I'm also delusional

that's all for now but there's so much more...

[gentlebeardsbarngrill]

02/23/2024 Daily OFMD Recap

TLDR; How To Help; Rotten Tomatoes Reviews/GoggleBox; Cast & Crew Sightings; Taika; Rhys; Leslie Jones; New Watch Party: These Thems; Save OFMD UK Billboard; Transparency policy; RhysDarbyFaction; We'reWolves; Fan Spotlight; Podcasts/Youtube vids; Articles; Love Notes; Daily Darby / Tonight's Taika

Hey all. I'm starting out with the how to help section tonight because there are some things we'd love to see happen to try and help with the renewal.

== HOW TO HELP ==

= Rotten Tomatoes Reviews =

Okay all, this is a big one. It's been brought to my attention by @bzy_hands on twitter, that there are less than 1000 reviews on rotten tomatoes for Season 2. They have an excellent point, Con DID screenshot Season 2. If you haven't already, please go over to Season 2 and review it to help get over that 1000 review mark.

Need help on how to review on RT? @lowrahh Was kind enough to make a tutorial for us, check it out on the repo: Review on Rotten Tomatoes and IMDB

== Let's Get OFMD On Gogglebox ==

Our crew-mate @queerly-autistic was kind enough to have written up a How-To on on getting OFMD on Gogglebox!

"One of the biggest things we can do to try and get Our Flag Means Death picked up by another network is keep making noise about it, and so I had a wild middle-of-the-night idea about one way we could do this: try and get the show on Gogglebox! For anyone who doesn't know, Gogglebox is an extremely popular and successful show in the UK on Channel 4, where ordinary people (and sometimes celebrities) watch and react to television shows, pop culture moments and films."

Wanna give it a go? Please check out their tutorial here!

== Cast & Crew Sightings ==

==Taika!==

It's been a minute since we've seen Taika! But he's out with Rita at the Taylor Swift concert.

= Rhys Darby =

Well, even though Rhys is taking some time off until March, we still have some Cameo's coming in from prior to him closing cameos!

= Cameo 1 - Cryptids! =

Thank you to @iamadequate1 for sharing this fun little cryptid video +

Tumblr / Twitter Links

= Cameo 2 =

Our friend @blackcravatart over on twitter was kind enough to share a birthday video for her (edited for names). I don't know if it's anywhere else and I didn't get permission to download it, so I apologize I'll try to do that and get back to you if we are allowed to share it elsewhere! Cameo Video on Twitter.

= Red Dead Redemption 2: Episode 3 =

The next exciting episode of Rhys playing Red Dead is up!

= Leslie Jones =

I really don't post enough about Leslie, who is my absolute idol. She's out doing comedy at the Hawaii Theater in Honolulu tonight with @lennymarcusnyc! Just wanted to give a shout out her way since she's a BAMF and deserves all the love.

== New Watch Party ==

Join @adoptourcrew on Friday 3/1 for a watch party of #TheseThems! Times haven't been secured quite yet but mark your calendars!

Watch Party Hashtags:

#TheseThems

#These Gems

#AdoptOurCrew

Wanna see what other watch parties are planned? Feel free to visit the repo for Watch Party Events.

== Save OFMD Billboard Campaign ==

Some of you may have noticed that there's been some suspicious pictures going up across multiple platforms regarding a billboard with the hashtag #WatchTheHorizon from our SaveOFMD Crew. There's definitely some Billboard planning in the works and the crew has provided a bit more transparency on the situation this time. All links in the images will be listed below.

Links:

SaveOFMD Crew Transparency Policy

Team HAVEN

Trans Lifeline

RainbowYOUTH

Outright International

Full Twitter Thread

== SchadenFreude ==

Just a little karma for WB.

== Rhys Darby Faction ==

So for those of you not on twitter, there was a bit of fun had with a random film poll guy who posted a poll that included Rhys Darby on Twitter.

It was found by OFMD twitter, and immediately started being retweeted, which, is how twitter works, right? His Response to this was:

So several of our OFMD Twitter group decided to OWN that lovely little name, and put together an actual hashtag #RhysDarbyFaction... and start polite menacing and trying to boost engagement for #AdoptOurCrew and #SaveOFMD Which triggered a meme factory, here's a few:

#RhysDarbyFaction is now a trending Hashtag on Twitter, and the Faction is using that to help support the #SaveOFMD and #AdoptOurCrew effort as well as spread positivity and love around Rhys Darby works. There's even a discord server if you're interested in joining: https://discord.gg/r7db78j4 There's been talks of putting together some events for a Cryptid Scavenger hunt, but in general it's just a small safe space to try and promote little guys and support the ofmd renewal effort. You don't need to join the discord to be part of the crew, just use #RhysDarbyFaction and be a polite menace/positive force!

== We're Wolves ==

So according to the #WellingtonParanormalPodcast's tiktok, it sounds like Jermaine is finally in talks for writing "We're Wolves"! A sequel to the 2014 What We Do In the Shadows movie. I know we've all been in a Vianton mood since that one Rhys Cameo, so just wanted to make sure you'd heard if you hadn't! SRC: Tiktok

== Fan Spotlight! ==

Getting close to the end of the month so gotta catch up! More collages from our friend @wnderngnomad on Twitter!

Day 23: The Cinematography

Day 4: Nat Faxon

Day 5: Vico Ortiz

Day 6: Leslie Jones

== Podcasts / Youtube Vids ==

Speaking of podcasts, checkout some podcasts from our fandom!

= Citizen Dame =

First up! @celluloidbroomcloset, has a podcast that’s called Citizen Dame. While it doesn't specifically discuss OFMD in this episode, they do discuss Taika, and you all know how much we love that man. So give it a listen and support a fellow crew-mate! Podbean Link / Patreon / Spotify

= Never Left Podcast =

Another fan-podcast I'd like to add tonight is Never Left! More podcasts and discussions on all things OFMD -- give them a listen if you feel up for it! "Welcome aboard our Safe Space Ship! Your Co-Captains, Ariana Perry and Amanda Catron, will be hosting this completely spoiled, totally unofficial, deep dive into Our Flag Means Death." Podbay / Linktr.ee

== Movies With Marty ==

Marty has a new First Watch video out! If you haven't watched Marty's vids yet, feel free to check them out! He's a hoot and is a HUGE supporter of OFMD!

== Articles ==

What to watch on Netflix and BBC this weekend?

Keeping promises of queer representation

== Love Notes ==

Today has been a long day lovelies, and I'm out of spoons so I'm gonna take a night off from writing out love notes and spread some from someone else. Just know I'm very proud of you for everything you did today, I hope you're doing well and feeling safe. <3

== Daily Darby / Tonight's Taika ==

Idk if these really go together tonight, but here we go. Both of them were on tenor with no srcs? Sorry! Hope you all enjoy!