#Companion App for Instagram

[blogtey45]

Threads : The new Social Media Platform! | Walt Hampton

[ranjith11]

Threads : The new Social Media Platform! | Walt Hampton

Threads from Instagram was a separate messaging app that focused on connecting users with their close friends on Instagram. It allowed users to share photos, videos, messages, and statuses with a select group of people. The app aimed to facilitate more intimate and private conversations with close friends.

[tinakp]

Threads : The new Social Media Platform! | Walt Hampton

Threads from Instagram was a separate messaging app that focused on connecting users with their close friends on Instagram. It allowed users to share photos, videos, messages, and statuses with a select group of people. The app aimed to facilitate more intimate and private conversations with close friends.

[pinolitas]

I was actually gonna do the menstrual cycle project so I can show my doctor how insane I'm posting when I'm in the luteal phase and how delusional I get when I'm ovulating but Twitter api doesn't let me make any GET calls for free and the basic subscription is $100 a month they're actually worse than Apple lmao like... who is paying for that... anyways I'm gonna scrape my own fucking profile I'm not respecting your robots.txt boss 🫡

[shou-jpeg]

Kim doesn't know why he checks this app. He only has it because Khun called him sad and told him he should put himself out there more.

Kim doesn't really care that he's never been in a relationship; it sounds exhausting and he'd much rather spend his time making music. But if it makes his brother worry less...

But so far, pretty much everyone either likes his first photo (boring) or comments on his looks (tiring). A few have mentioned music, but this cute guy is the only one so far who's known exactly what guitar Kim is playing, or at least has put in the effort to research it first.

Kim appreciates that kind of thing.

He hesitates. He told himself he wouldn't match with anyone... He doesn't have time for small talk and generic, boring dates... but Khun has been texting him recently asking if he's met anyone yet. Maybe if he goes on one date, it'll get Khun off his back for a little while.

Kim taps his screen, opening up Porchay's profile and scrolling through the rest of it.

It looks like his interest in music is genuine. He's also linked his Instagram to his profile. Kim clicks through and scrolls some more, stopping on a video of Porchay performing on what looks like a small stage in a university hall.

His voice is nice. Warm.

...

Kim navigates back to the dating app and before he properly registers what he's doing, he matches with Porchay.

He can always unmatch him later.

Kim and Chay talk about music and then video games and family etc regularly for the next several days until Chay manages to convince Kim to go on a date with him at a local dive bar with live music.

It takes several months before Kim folds and lets Khun and Chay meet.

Companion to this post.

[sapphire-writes]

Our Last Summer (modern!HOTD)

part 7 of 10 || series masterlist || previous part || next part

pairing: Aemond Targaryen x Reader

summary: Aemond realizes he messed things up with you and attempts to reconcile at the summer carnival.

word count: 5.5k

rating: Mature/Explicit/18+

warnings below the cut!

warnings: language, exhibitionism, oral (fem-receiving), fingering, kissing

note: im starting to become obsessed with them ngl 🧍🏻‍♀️

dividers by the lovely @firefly-graphics

as always, comments, reblogs & likes are appreciated but not expected ❤️

AEMOND POV

Aemond knew he had fucked up.

Royally, fucked up.

Something he finds himself doing quite often. It had been several days since the hot tub incident. Several days since he’d last spoken to her. Aemond glances at his phone again, watching the time change as Helaena hurries down the stairs.  

“Morning,” she calls, tossing her phone onto the couch and stretching her arms above her head with a satisfied sigh.

“It’s noon,” Aemond tells her.

“Where’s Y/N?” Helaena asks, sliding onto the couch next to him. 

She lets her feet hang off the edge of the armrest, her neck straining over the cushion as though she’s about to topple off of the sofa altogether. It looks quite uncomfortable, and wildly different from Aemond’s rigid posture as he frowns over his phone. 

“How should I know?”

“You’re sleeping with her, aren’t you?” Helaena muses, playing with a strand of her hair, “You usually have your companions over more frequently, if I recall.”

Trying to, Aemond thinks to himself, his jaw clenched. If she’d return my calls.

“She’s upset with me,” Aemond admits, tossing his phone to the side. It’s always been hard to keep the truth from Helaena.

Helaena makes a noise of contempt.

“Well, I’m sure you’ll fix it. You’re clever that way,” Hel encourages, “Perhaps a grand gesture of sorts? Something Austen-esque.” 

A phone buzzes on the sofa. Aemond checks his anyway, though he knows it’s Hel’s as she reaches for it. 

“It’s whatever,” Aemond lies through his teeth, “Plenty of girls around for the summer.”

“Oh for fucks sake,” Helaena says, twisting her body so she’s upright on the couch, “Can you calm down the fuckboy-sona for five fucking minutes?”

“I don’t know what you mean,” Aemond says, shrugging.

Helaena rolls her eyes. 

“Okay Egg,” she says with a sneer, “Manwhoring doesn’t look good on you Aem. It’s not in your nature. Doesn’t suit you at all.”

“Suits my cock just fine,” he says, causing Helaena to make a face of disgust. 

“Gross,” she says, nose still scrunched, “It’s not you.”

Aemond doesn’t answer. Just glances at his phone again. The time greets him, but no other notifications. He opens Instagram, trying to avoid Helaena’s piercing gaze. As the app opens, he notices your profile picture, signifying you’ve posted a story. He shamelessly clicks on it, revealing you were at Seasnake Scoops seven minutes ago. 

Perfect. 

“Are you in the mood for ice cream?” Aemond asks, changing the subject and rising from the couch. 

Helaena’s frown deepens. 

“Aemond-”

“Hel, unless you’re saying yes or no to ice cream, just drop it,” he snaps, moving quickly to leave the room. 

“Oh fuck you,” Helaena says, rising from the couch and following him, “You’re just scared Aemond! Fucking scared.”

He hears every word, though he pretends he doesn’t as the front door slams shut behind him, leaving Helaena alone in the house.

 The last time Aemond Targaryen was in Seasnake Scoops it was not a pleasant experience. He’d been around thirteen years old at the time, and Aegon had assured him that Cece Lannister was waiting, expecting a date with him. 

Aemond remembered how nervous he felt. Though Cece wasn’t his cup of tea, she was beautiful, smart, and held the social status and respect that Aemond craved. A date with Cece was sure to turn the tide for him.  

He’d waited all afternoon for her. Seated at a table, knee bouncing uncontrollably with nerves. As people wandered in and out, the lady lion never made an appearance. It was Rhaenyra who found him as the sun began to set, seated on the curb outside the ice cream shop.

It had all been a joke, he’d realized once he entered the house. Aegon was in stitches until his mother smacked him upside the head and yelled at him. Aemond had stayed solemn, walking straight to his room without speaking.

They are always going to laugh at you, he thought to himself. 

Standing outside the ice cream shop left a feeling of dread in the pit of his stomach. Seasnake Scoops was unopposing in itself; it was the memories that haunted it. A small ice cream shop with some tables outside, with blue and white umbrellas offering some shade. There was indoor seating as well with air conditioning. 

Aemond stared at the people in line to order, scanning the small crowd for you. The nervous feeling returned being surrounded by all these people, remembering Cece.

Until he saw her.

She had turned her head, reaching for some napkins as the cashier handed her a soft serve twist in a cone covered in rainbow sprinkles. She smiles politely, thanking them before licking a stripe up the side of the frozen treat. There’s something so sweet about the way her eyes light up, Aemond finds himself smiling as she licks her lips. 

She turns to leave the line and his eye meets hers. It’s as though someone switches off the light behind her eyes completely. 

Cold is the only way to describe the look she awards him, as her mouth falls into a straight line. Aemond only holds her gaze for a moment before she looks towards the ground and begins to quicken her pace. But Aemond is faster.

“Y/N,” he calls, blocking her path back up the stairs inside. 

She sighs, avoiding his gaze, assessing whether or not she can squeeze around him.

“Move,” she tells him.

“You’re not answering my texts,” he says, confusion evident in his voice, “Or my calls.”

“Yeah,” she says, “Maybe you should take the hint.”

“I haven’t heard from you all week.”

“I’m trying to eat my ice cream Aemond,” she tells him, “What are you stalking me now?”

“Viewing an Instagram story is hardly a punishable offense,” he tells her.

“Just a reminder to block you later,” she tells him.

Aemond’s heart sinks at her words. There’s no playful banter in her tone, no note of excitement. She’s deadly serious. 

“Goodbye,” she tells him, moving past him.

You’re losing her, he realizes. Do something. 

“I didn’t mean it,” Aemond says suddenly, “Y/N, I didn’t mean what I-”

“You know what, Aemond?” she says, her gaze icy, “I don’t care what you meant or didn’t mean. I care about what you said.”

Aemond’s chest tightens at her words. She’s standing tall, the ice cream beginning to drip down the cone between her small fingers. She ignores it if she even notices, but Aemond’s eye follows the sticky river beginning to form. He gets a sudden urge to lick the mess from her hand and pull her towards him covering her in sticky kisses. 

Seven hells. Stop it. 

Aemond blinks as she turns away, before giving him one last lingering look.

“Will is waiting for me,” she tells him, and the ache in his chest grows.

“Will?” he asks, the one-syllable tasting like poison on his tongue.

“Yes, Will,” she says, annoyance in her tone, “People who like each other go on dates. They date each other. I know that must be a foreign concept to you.”

Aemond says nothing, just clenches his teeth so tightly together his jaw begins to ache.

“Maybe give Floris a ring or one of your other friends. I’m sure there’s someone convenient for you,” she says, turning and walking away. 

Aemond lets her go, watching as she goes inside Seasnake Scoops, the door slamming shut behind her. The second time in his life he’s been left alone there. 

READER POV

“You can’t do this!” Baela’s voice calls from the hallway, “You can’t make me!”

You quickly leap out of bed at the sound of your best friend’s distress, opening the door and flying down the stairs. After your run-in with Aemond, you’d returned to your room to sulk for the majority of the afternoon. 

Baela stands below, arms crossed, tear tracks running down her cheeks. Rhaenys stands in front of her, hands folded, a stern expression on her face.

“Baela, it is one dinner-”

“It’s always one dinner,” Baela says, through her teeth, “One dinner, then another, then ‘we have to all go together Baela, as a family’,” she deepens her voice to the likeness of her father, “Like I want to go to that stupid gala and pretend everything is fucking fine!”

Rhaenys moved forward, taking Baela’s hands in her own.

“You’re angry,” she says to her softly, “You have every right to be. But don’t shut him out, dōna jorrāelagon (sweet love). Not when he’s finally trying.”

“For her,” Baela says, quietly, “He’s trying for her.”

“Rhaenyra is trying as well,” Rhaenys assures her, “You are not replacing your mother by letting her in.”

Baela yanks her hands away, angry tears spilling from her eyes. You can feel your heart pounding in your chest. 

“I can’t forgive him,” Baela insists, “I can’t do it. I can’t forgive her either.”

“I’m not asking you to,” Rhaenys says, “I’m asking you to try.”

“This is me trying,” Baela snarls, “Staying away, letting them play happy family! That is me trying!”

Rhaenys purses her lips.

“Laena would-”

“Don’t,” Baela warns, shaking her head, “Don’t you dare.”

Her voice has dropped to a whisper. Rhaenys sighs, looking toward the floor. The tension between grandmother and granddaughter could be cut with a knife. Rhaenys looks back at Baela, drinking in her angered expression.

“You’re so much like her,” Rhaenys muses softly, before reaching out and stroking her cheek, “Full of so much fire.”

“I’m not going,” Baela insists.

“You are,” Rhaenys says, “I’ll hear no more of it. You can go to the carnival after.”

“Y/N will be all alone!” Baela says, pointing at you.

Rhaenys gives you an unimpressed look, but you nod quickly. Anything to help your best friend. 

Though Rhaenys doesn’t look like she buys it for one second.

“I’m sure Y/N will be fine for a couple of hours,” Rhaenys says, raising an eyebrow at you.

“She’s going to get lost,” Baela says, and you agree. 

Rhaenys gives you a stern glance, one only a grandmother can deliver. Baela loops her arm through yours, holding her chin high. You crack first under Rhaenys glare. 

“I’m sure I’ll be okay for a little bit,” you say quietly. 

Rhaenys smiles at her success as Baela drops your arm with a groan. You give her an apologetic smile, knowing you’ve doomed her to another dinner with her father and stepmother.

You arrive at the carnival just as the sun goes down. It’s already crowded with people, the lights from all the rides making everyone glow with neon colors. The smell of fried food and the sound of laughter fills the air as you wade through the sea of people. You decided on a simple baby blue sundress, styling your hair off of your shoulders. It’s been so hot recently, you can’t stand the feeling of having your hair down.

You glance at your phone, though Helaena has yet to respond. You promised you’d meet her at the main ticket stand. 

The minutes tick by and you’re still standing with a rope of red tickets when your phone buzzes letting you know that Helaena had fallen asleep after losing track of time. You sigh, checking your other messages. There’s one from Will asking to meet up later paired with an emoji of a Ferris wheel. 

You want to smile, but your stomach turns instead. You can’t help but think of Aemond. Will is nice, very sweet, but it was evident after your ice cream date that you don’t have much in common. And there’s no spark.

When you told Baela, she’d raised an eyebrow at you.

“Spark?” she questioned.

“You know,” you tell her, talking with your hands as you tried to explain, “That feeling just, deep in your gut. Like being pulled to another person. Something that just feels…..right.”

That wasn’t there with Will. And you couldn’t fake a spark.

You sigh, tilting your head back and looking around, trying to determine what you should get to snack on while waiting for Helaena. A booth advertising fried Oreos piques your interest before a tall silver head catches your eye.

Something in your gut tightens with an intense need as you watch Aemond say something to Aegon. He’s wearing all black, as he often is. It’s as though Aemond is allergic to color. He hasn’t seen you yet, and you don’t know whether you hope he does or doesn’t.

You need to be firm, to hold the boundary you set with him. He doesn’t get to disrespect you like that. No matter how attracted to him you are. You may like Aemond- you may like fucking Aemond- but you love yourself more. 

His head turns and you look away before meeting those violet and blue eyes. You don’t know how strong your resolve will be if he looks at you again.

“Having fun?” a voice calls, causing you to turn and meet the sapphire eyes of Floris Baratheon.

She looks gorgeous, though you can’t imagine a time when she doesn’t; clad in a skin-tight green dress with her dark curls pulled into a high ponytail. You force a smile as she walks closer, a concerned look in her cobalt eyes. Classic mean girl, Helaena had called her. She certainly looks the part but then again, all beautiful people do. 

“Not really,” you admit, feeling your chest tighten.

“Me either,” she agrees, smiling softly, “Ellyn ditched me to hook up with Eddie Karstark behind the tilt-a-whirl. Can you believe?”

“That sucks,” you tell her. You hadn’t met Ellyn, but you’d seen her around the country club.

She gives you another small smile, following your gaze and landing on Aemond. Her smile drops as her lips form a tight line.

“Is he giving you the run around too?” she asks, looking back at you.

You can feel your cheeks warm with embarrassment. 

“Something like that,” you admit, letting your eyes fall to your feet. 

“I’m sorry,” Floris says, “Seriously. It fucking sucks.”

“It’s my own fault,” you tell her, “I made things messy.”

“Aemond makes things messy,” Floris insists, “I don’t think he can help it. He’s emotionally stunted.”

“I think you’re right,” you agree. 

Floris grabs your hand.

“C’mon,” she says, tugging you along.

“Where are we going?” you ask.

“Funnel cake,” she says, leading you through different booths, “We need funnel cake and then we need to shoot something. Or throw darts. Or both.”

You giggle and nod in agreement, letting her pull you along.

After eating all the funnel cake your body can handle and playing several rounds of balloon darts (something Floris is scarily good at) you make your way toward the Ferris wheel. It’s huge, the largest attraction at the carnival, with roomy compartments holding small groups of people.

Floris stops in front of it, glancing at you nervously. The change in demeanor makes your eyebrows knit together in confusion. 

“What is it?” you ask. 

Floris’s cheeks turn a bright pink as she sighs, wetting her lips. 

“Have you….heard any rumors about Aemond and me?” she asks, “or Aemond and my sisters?”

No of course not, you think to yourself. Cause that would be crazy, an incestuous orgy of beautiful girls and the ethereal man who fucks like a god? No fucking way.

You’d tried very hard not to think about that.

“No,” you tell her, shaking your head, “What rumor?”

Floris seems unconvinced by your white lie. 

“People are gross,” she says, cheeks still darkened with blush, “Look nothing happened. It’s just-” she sighs, “The Ferris wheel is a very romantic spot.”

“Okay,” you tell her.

She nervously chews her lower lip, batting her lashes up at the Ferris wheel. 

“So Aemond invited me to ride with him last summer,” she says, shaking her head, “And he kissed me because guys do that when they take you on the Ferris wheel.”

A kiss. An innocent, sweet little kiss. That’s all it was. Your heart hammers in your chest thinking of Aemond asking Floris, the romantic gesture of it all.

“That’s really sweet,” you tell her, smiling.

“It was,” she agrees, “Until I found out he did the same thing with Cassandra, Ellyn, and Maris.”

Oh. Well, there it is.

“Well, I mean Maris didn’t end up kissing him,” Floris corrects herself, “But Cass and El did. And do you know what Aemond told me when I confronted him about it?”

You shake your head.

“He said I was the best kisser. And if I wanted to be friends with benefits for the summer, that would be cool,” she says, crossing her arms, “I was so naive. So fucking flattered that of course, I agreed. I mean, who says no when Aemond Targaryen says he wants to fuck you?”

She bites the tip of her tongue, as though reminiscing just what fucking Aemond entails before shaking her head. 

“Aemond Targaryen holds his own private kissing contest, and now I’m stuck with the rumor I had an orgy with my sisters,” she groans, “Fucking perfect.”

Damn. You can’t help but feel bad for Floris. That’s a skeevy thing Aemond did. She’s looking up at the Ferris Wheel as though she wants to melt it with lasers shooting from her eyes. You’ve begun to like Floris over the course of this evening. She could’ve been rude to you, mean even. You were fucking her ex-situationship after all.

But instead, she’d seen you upset and spent the rest of the evening with you. It’s your turn to return the favor. 

“Ferris wheel orgy,” you say, matter-of-factly, “If anyone believes that, they’re fucked in the head. Totally not enough room in those carriages for all that” You wave your arm around for emphasis.

Floris bursts out into a laugh, reaching to cover her mouth with her hand. You can’t help but laugh along with her. Floris Baratheon is a-okay in your book. 

“It’s fucking ridiculous,” she says snickering, “Guys will believe anything.”

“They’ve got holes in their brains,” you assure her.

Floris continues to laugh, shaking her head and wiping tears from the corner of her eyes. It feels good to laugh with her and forget about the drama surrounding you for a moment. 

“For sure,” she agrees, “Ugh. Do you want to go on? I promise no kissing, and no orgies.”

You laugh again at her joke. 

“Sure,” you tell her with a smile.

You walk up to the operator of the Ferris wheel and hand him your last two tickets. Everyone has exited the Ferris wheel, so you get in the first compartment. You move forward scooting onto one of the benches as Floris digs in her purse.

“Shit, I’m out!” she says with a groan, “I’ll go grab more, be right back!”

She flies down the stairs, hurrying over to the ticket booth. You glance at the conductor, knowing you must be holding up the line.

“Do you mind waiting?” you ask.

The twenty-something-year-old looks as if he’d rather be diving headfirst off a cliff than operating this ride, but he sighs dramatically and nods at your request. You clasp your hands in your lap when someone else enters the compartment and sits in the seat across from you. 

Aemond.

“Out,” you tell him, frowning, “Seriously, Aemond I thought I was clear.”

“We need to talk,” Aemond insists.

“We talked at Scoops, I have nothing left to say to you,” you insist, before changing your mind, “You know what? Actually, I do. Kissing Floris and her sisters? Really?”

You swear Aemond’s cheeks flush, and he glances away momentarily, before reaching out and snapping toward the attendant. 

“$50 to send us up now,” he tells him, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a fifty-dollar bill. 

Your eyes widen. 

“Aem-”

“And $50 more to stop us at the top. Fifteen minutes, tops,” Aemond finishes, adding another fifty between his slender fingers. 

The attendant’s eyes bug out of his head as he takes the money, shutting the door of the carriage. 

“No!” you say, watching the attendant return to the podium, “No! Dude, what about my friend? We have to wait for her!” Your voice is several pitches higher than you like, but it's due to being alone with Aemond. 

The attendant raises an eyebrow at you.

“Got fifty bucks?” he asks.

Your eyebrows lift in shock.

“No!” you squeak, panic bubbling in your throat.

The attendant shrugs, throwing the handle forward making the Ferris wheel begin to move. Your jaw drops as you slowly begin to ascend and watch in horror as Floris returns, her expression mirrors yours as she notices Aemond in the carriage with you. You clutch the edge of the compartment, leaning over the edge as you start moving farther from the ground.

“Asshole!” you yell down to the attendant before sinking into your seat and crossing your arms and legs. 

Aemond sits silently, though you know he must be gleeful about getting you alone. The compartments below you are empty, you’ve been sent up alone. 

“Y/N,” he says, but you don’t look at him. 

You just look over the side of the carriage at the rest of the carnival as everything begins to grow smaller and smaller. You can see the country club, the golf courses, the tents being set up for the gala. The lights from Driftmark and Dragonstone are even visible in the distance.

“Y/N, I’m sorry.”

That gets your attention. You whip your head towards him, watching him leaning forward with his elbows on his knees. You still don’t speak. Too angry, too hurt, too humiliated to say anything. Your brows are knit together, lips pressed into a tight line. No tears tonight, you cried enough over him. 

“I’m sorry,” he repeats, “I never should have spoken to you that way, or said those horrible things. It was disgusting and inexcusable.”

Aemond wets his lips. The Ferris wheel comes to a stop as you reach the top, the compartment swinging gently with the force of the brakes. You uncross your arms, steadying yourself. 

“I haven’t been that vulnerable with anyone in a long time,” he admits, “That’s not an excuse, believe me, that doesn’t excuse what I said, but I-” he runs a hand through his hair, struggling to find the words, “You were right.”

You want to remain silent as that violet eye watches you. Surely you can sit for fifteen minutes of silence. You cross your arms once more, trying to remain strong. 

“About what?” you ask, cursing yourself.

The corner of Aemond’s mouth twitches, and something tugs in your chest as it does. You dig your nails into your bicep, trying to ground yourself. If you look at him too long, you’re afraid you’ll float away. 

“About you growing on me,” he says softly.

You can hear your heartbeat in your ears. You don’t know when this started, really. But since the hot tub something changed. Something inside you clicked, and suddenly you can’t look at Aemond Targaryen without wanting to kiss him.

“I don’t like…feeling out of control,” he admits, lacing his fingers together, “And you make me feel…fucking crazy.”

You want to believe him. You do. But Floris is on the ground below, and she was in the same position you were. Believed Aemond cared about her. As Aemond’s walls begin to let some light in, you can feel your own going up.

“How am I supposed to believe that?” you tell him, arms still crossed, “You said it yourself, you fuck, you talk like that, but you don’t get feelings. It’s one of your rules.”

“I’m figuring out none of those rules apply to you,” he says, observing you carefully.

You shake your head. 

“I don’t think I believe you,” you tell him, “I don’t know if I can believe you.”

“I haven’t been the best person,” Aemond admits, “I’ve hurt people because I was hurting. I don’t…I don’t want to hurt you.”

His fingers are laced together and he braces his forehead on his clasped hands. 

“I can’t,” you tell him softly, “Aemond I can’t.”

You don’t want to get hurt. Don’t want him to hurt you more than he already has. If you let him in deeper, it’s going to be so much more painful than it already has been. Aemond looks up, resting his chin on his hands. His gaze is soft, and a breeze rolls through causing you to shiver. 

“Let me show you,” he says softly, “Please. What can I do? I’ll do anything.”

Aemond’s hands are outspread, a pleading gesture. How could he prove himself? If he really wants to change, for the better. 

“Apologize to Floris,” you say suddenly, “She deserves it. All her sisters do.”

“Done,” Aemond answers immediately.

“I don’t know,” you tell him honestly, “I don’t know if I want to do this with you anymore.”

“Let me show you how sorry I am,” he says, kneeling forward on the floor; the compartment shakes with the movement.

Your cheeks flush when you realize what he intends to do.

“Aemond-” you say as his hands brush over your thighs, pushing your dress up.

You look over the side of the compartment, eyes wide. You’re all the way at the top, looking over everyone else. No one can see, and yet you’re dangerously exposed at the top of the Ferris wheel. Adrenaline courses through your veins, and your heart beats wildly in your chest as Aemond’s fingers curl along your panties. 

“Tell me to stop and I will,” he murmurs, dragging the fabric down. You lift your hips to assist him.

It’s almost unconscious, the way your body reacts to him. He plays your body like an instrument; every touch has you melting into him, bending to his wishes. Aemond removes your panties, placing them in his pocket for safekeeping. His violet eye watches you, waiting for what you say next. You bite your lip in desperation, trying to ignore the feeling of his hand under your ass, keeping your center propped off the seat. 

He holds you with ease, letting his other hand slip under your opposite thigh. It’s driving you crazy. He’s driving you crazy. 

“Y/N,” he says, voice a desperate whine, like it’s taking everything in him not to bury his face in your pussy. 

You’re already wet, you can feel it. There’s no use, you can’t ignore the feeling in your chest, the desperate ache between your legs. You want him, you need him so bad you feel like you might go insane without his lips on you. 

“Please,” he whispers, so low you almost miss it, “Please Y/N.” You can feel his hands trembling against you, as though he’s ready to snap.

“Yes,” you tell him, and with a desperate growl, he dips his head below your skirt.

His mouth glues itself to your dripping slit, tongue diving between your folds as you bury your hands in his hair. You sling your legs over his shoulders, desperate to push him deeper, and harder against you, especially as his tongue moves to circle your entrance. 

“Fuck,” you mewl as the warm, wet muscle dips inside of you, and Aemond moans-fucking moans-as he moves it in and out. 

Your heels are digging into his toned shoulders, nails raking against his scalp but if it pains him, Aemond doesn’t let it show in the slightest. He’s simply devouring you, groaning with every shudder and stifled moan you award him. With every movement of his head, his nose rubs pleasantly against your clit, sending waves of pleasurable warmth coursing throughout your body. 

Aemond pulls away suddenly, his mouth shining with your arousal, as he brings his fingers to his mouth and begins sucking on them. He meets your eyes before dipping his head down again between your thighs, fingers replacing his tongue and stretching into you. He curves them upwards against your tender, spongy walls, and your spine arches off of the seat, mouth falling open in pleasure. 

“Fucking missed this pussy,” he groans, lazily fingering you before bringing his mouth to the apex of your thighs.

His tongue swirls around your needy clit and you can feel your stomach tightening. 

“Forgive me,” he murmurs, placing a kiss on top of your clit before swirling his tongue around it once more.

“That’s not fair,” you answer, breathlessly, “Oh my fucking-oh.”

You can feel Aemond’s smile against you, feel him flatten his tongue on your clit before rubbing steady circles with the warm muscle of his tongue. He strokes your sweet spoke with his fingers effortlessly, your legs trembling on his shoulders. 

“Please,” he says with a groan, “Please, I can’t fucking stand it-”

“Oh!” your nails dig into his scalp as you clench around his fingers, your release barrelling through you.

Aemond slowly removes his fingers, pressing them between his lips and licking them clean before you grab him by the shirt collar pulling him towards you. Your mouth is on his in an instant and it feels like fireworks have gone off in your brain.

He kisses you ferociously, one hand grabbing the back of your neck and anchoring you against him; the other wraps around your waist, pulling you off the seat and holding you flush against him. Your legs are straddling him and you can feel how hard he is underneath you. You’re kissing him desperately, it's all clashing teeth and gasps as you press yourself against him harder. You can’t be close enough, can’t be held tight enough. It's not enough, not enough. 

The Ferris wheel begins to move, slowly but surely beginning its descent and you pull away, gasping for breath. You’re both breathing heavily, so close you can feel the brush of his lips against yours with every exhale. 

“I can’t stand it,” he whispers, voice breaking as he strokes the back of your head.

“I know,” you whisper back, kissing him softly.

You untangle yourselves from each other as the Ferris wheel comes to a stop, pushing yourself back onto the seat to avoid suspicion. Thankfully, your dress is long enough because there was no time to put your panties back on and you’d rather not have your bare ass on the seat of the Ferris wheel.

The attendant opens the door, none the wiser to what you and Aemond were up to in the middle of the air. 

You exit the compartment on shaky legs, turning back to Aemond.

“Forgive me?” he asks, watching you.

“I’ll think about it,” you tell him, walking down to Floris, who is now holding a half-eaten fried Twinkie.

“Dude, that took forever,” she tells you, “What did you even talk about-”

“Floris,” Aemond calls, walking over.

Her eyebrows shoot up to her hairline, cheeks darkening as he approaches. But Floris Baratheon doesn’t back down. No matter how she feels about Aemond, she squares her shoulders and looks him directly in the eye.

“I owe you an apology,” Aemond begins, “For everything.”

Her chin tilts higher in the air.

“I was cruel to you when I shouldn’t have been,” he continues, “And I should have shut down those rumors when I heard them. I shouldn’t have treated you or your sisters that way in the first place and I’ll be telling them that as well.”

“Well Maris is in Oldtown,” Floris says cooly, “She stayed for the summer to do research.”

“Next semester then,” Aemond agrees.

Floris looks him up and down.

“Thank you,” she says and Aemond nods. 

Her phone buzzes in her chest and she hands you her twinkie as she reaches between her boobs to grab it. She frowns.

“El needs rescuing,” she says, “Are you going to be okay?”

“Yeah,” you assure her, “I’m good, really.”

“I had fun tonight,” she tells you, “Let’s hang out again.”

“We could always use more help on Seasmoke,” you tell her.

“Cool, later Y/N,” she says, “Bye Aemond.”

As Floris leaves you turn to begin walking as well. Baela should be here by now and hopefully, Helaena has found her way down here. Aemond grabs your hand, stopping you.

“You won’t forgive me?” he asks.

“I said I’d think about it,” you tell him, still being cautious.

“Y/N-”

“Look, there’s something here,” you tell him, “Definitely, but…” I’m scared.

You can’t finish the sentence but you read it in his eye too. 

“Go with me,” he says suddenly, “To the gala and the auction.”

“What?”

“As my date,” he says, “Be my date.”

“You don’t date.”

“I do now,” he argues, his voice insistent, “I date….I want to date you.”

He steps closer, taking your other hand. There’s that feeling again. Deep in your gut, pulling you toward him. A fire ignited within you, sparked by his touch. 

“Come with me,” he says softly, “Please.”

You stretch up onto your tiptoes capturing his lips in a kiss. It’s the only answer you can give right now, but the only answer he needs.

OLS Taglist: @talesofoldandnew, @aemondslefteyeball, @urmomsgirlfriend1, @castellomargot, @high-on-darren-criss, @diosademuerte, @padfooteyes, @tempo-rary-fix, @amirawritespoorly, @chainsawsangel, @toodlesxcuddles, @tssf-imagines, @malfoytargaryen, @nina2697, @glame, @joliettes, @yentroucnagol

@grungegrrrl, @melsunshine, @helaenaluvr

@m1ndbrand, @herfantasyworldd, @sunna-fangirls, @carriellie, @elle4404, @fan-goddess, @jamespotterismydaddy @shessthunderstoms @carriellie @sunna-fangirls @dancingqueen0

bold means tumblr would not let me tag!

[felassan]

EA Press Release

"Dragon Age™: The Veilguard Launches October 31, 2024; Pre-Orders Available Now August 15, 2024 New Trailer Showcases Aftermath of Solas’ Interrupted Ritual as Members of the Veilguard Must Fight Back Against Ancient Elven Gods Electronic Arts Inc. (NASDAQ: EA) and BioWare announced today that Dragon Age: The Veilguard will launch globally on Thursday, October 31, 2024 for PlayStation®5, Xbox Series X|S and PC via Steam (Deck Verified), EA App and Epic Games Store. Additionally, fans can now pre-order * the Standard and Deluxe Editions to receive in-game cosmetics that can be used to further personalize their journey through the next chapter in the critically-acclaimed saga. View the brand-new Release Date Trailer for Dragon Age: The Veilguard HERE In Dragon Age: The Veilguard , players will step into the role of Rook, a fully-customizable protagonist who must rise up, unite their crew and become the hero Thedas needs in a time where legends are born or slain. Joining Rook in their fight against corrupt Elven gods is a cast of seven compelling companions, each of whom hails from an iconic faction from Dragon Age lore. In addition to their own personal storylines and motivations, companions Bellara, Davrin, Emmrich, Harding, Lucanis, Neve and Taash all bring unique combat abilities and equipment to the fray, which Rook must strategically implement in their fight for the future of Thedas."

“As someone who’s been working on Dragon Age for over 15 years, I know just how much our community has been looking forward to this day, and I’m equally excited to share and celebrate that the game will officially launch on October 31,” said John Epler, Creative Director of Dragon Age: The Veilguard. “We wanted to give you the choice to really express yourself, and do that in a world full of adventure and danger. So whether you’re a Warrior, Rogue or a Mage, we can’t wait for you to gear up, gather your party, and set out for another thrilling adventure through Thedas this Halloween.” As a character-driven RPG, Dragon Age: The Veilguard offers a crafted experience woven from the threads of rich storytelling and fantasy worldbuilding the franchise is known for. In this bold, heroic adventure, players will experience expansive and dynamic stories that navigate love, loss and complex choices that affect relationships and the fate of each member of the Veilguard. In true Dragon Age fashion, these bonds of fellowship are the foundation upon which Rook’s journey is built, and it will be up to the player to determine how their personal story unfolds. Fans who pre-order * the Standard Edition of Dragon Age: The Veilguard for $69.99 USD ‡ on PlayStation 5 and Xbox Series X|S, or $59.99 USD ‡ on PC will receive cosmetic Blood Dragon Armor sets for Warrior, Mage and Rogue classes. Those who pre-order* the Deluxe Edition for $89.99 USD ‡ on console or $79.99 USD ‡ on PC will further receive the following cosmetics: three Rook armor sets, six Rook weapons, seven companion armor sets and seven companion weapons. EA Play Pro † members on the EA App will enjoy unlimited access to the EA Play Pro Edition starting October 31st. In addition, the BioWare Gear Store has been outfitted with a variety of new merchandise, including Rook’s Coffer. Available for $150 USD ‡ , Rook’s Coffer features a variety of unique physical keepsakes including a light-up Lyrium Dagger, Rook’s deck of cards featuring in-game art, and more (game not included). For additional information and to stay up to date on Dragon Age: The Veilguard , visit the official website , like Dragon Age on Facebook , follow the franchise on Discord , TikTok , Tumblr , Instagram and X (formerly Twitter) , and subscribe to its YouTube channel. Legal Disclaimer: *Conditions & restrictions apply. See https://www.ea.com/games/dragon-age/dragon-age-the-veilguard/disclaimers for details. ‡ Offers may vary or change. see retailer site for details. † Conditions, limitations and exclusions apply. See EA Play Terms for details. PRESS ASSETS ARE AVAILABLE AT EAPressPortal.com"

[source]

[myobsessionsspace]

The way a certain group is ready foaming at the mouth on Instagram, claiming "we want this duo instead" and "this is just fanservice" or "they enlisted as fanservice" or even "this is to promote JM's album"... gawd Jikook Karma be karma-ing.

Anyway. I wanted to freak out about this sentence from the Vogue Japan article:

During the trip, they repeatedly encountered unexpected events that made them think, "Are you sure?", but by asking themselves, they discovered what was "Sure" for them.

Am I deluded or does this sound just so on brand for both BTS and Jikook? And I can't help but think that the answer to the question will always be "I am sure as long as we do this together. As long as we're both in this, we can do anything."

This is both platonic and romantic - this is the kind of stuff the romantic heroes tell each other, it's Will and Elizabeth getting married while fighting in the rain. It's something you tell someone you want to have in your life until the end of eternity. Idk man, Jikook make me all mushy and fluffbrained. They love each other so much and so obviously, it's so beautiful and kind and nourishing.

Hi Lovely!

Aaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhh IT’S COMING!!!!

This has been my MOST overused emoji these past 2 days:

😭

Ask anyone😩

How did we get here? Like it all feels like a fever dream. I’m here, I’m queer (sorry I had to!😜) and I’m seated for EIGHT EPISODES OF JIKOOK JIKOOKING!!!

It’s interesting how translations from a language to another language works. It’s easy for sentiments to be lost or changed. This is beautiful in itself, like you beautifully added ‘I can't help but think that the answer to the question will always be "I am sure as long as we do this together. As long as we're both in this, we can do anything."’

When I read the name of the show in Korean, my mind’s instant translation of it was:

이게 맞아?! = it’s this right?! or this right?!

Which is kinda what some translation apps deem it to be. However the official English title given by the company to all is ‘Are You Sure?!’

When I looked at the title that way it was pure chaos, mishaps and unadulterated fun I was thinking about.

But when I read insights like yours, with the added context of what we know about these two! Their years of being there for each other even to right now them enrolling in a COMPANION PROGRAM together to be able to be each others emotional and mental support for 18 months of active military duty on base away from family and friends

Lovely BELIEVE ME when I say, my excitement cannot be measured right now. To see them happy, enjoying life and each other, travelling and enjoying good food and experiences

It’s crack to me and we haven’t even gotten to the first episode yet 😩

💜

As for those people

[twig-tea]

Thoughts on Love for Love's Sake before the last 2 episodes air

Going into the finale, rather than making guesses, I'm just going to lay out some facts that we know, some of my own observations and assumptions, and capture my out-standing questions.

They showed in one of the flashbacks that the mysterious "sunbae" (who MyungHa confirmed he's forgotten outside of the flashbacks when he was looking at his notebook) had him filling out a questionnaire about what is happiness;

and the mini-missions are written as answers to questions in (as MyungHa confirmed) his own writing.

So I think the missions are ones that MyungHa accidentally set for himself while he was drunk. The ones we've seen so far:

Like-minded friends/companions

Lack of insecurity/uncertainty

To be understood/known

And the game designer has turned these into actionable side quests for MyungHa, ostensibly so that MyungHa learns to work at trying to achieve happiness.

But it strikes me that the measures for "success" are not very accurate to actual results.

For example, raising 3 mllion won won't actually prevent YeoWoon from experiencing anxiety or living in uncertainty. And gaining 100,000 followers on instagram certainly doesn't equate to being known or understood, not in the way it sounds like it was probably meant when it was written.

And this is validated by young YeoWoon who has a very specific picture of his family being intact when wishing for happiness:

The game, meanwhile, is destabilizing as MyungHa successfully makes changes to the original story that align, theoretically, with 'making YeoWoon happy', but deviate from the story.

And we know MyungHa does not believe in prescribed fate

So I have faith that MyungHa is going to find an alternative to wiping out all of his changes or seeing his grandma die or YeoWoon get hit by a car, because he's not going to accept the outcome as described. He's going to get YeoWoon a happy ending.

But beyond that, what is all of this about? Who is the sunbae who wrote the novel/game and why can't MyungHa remember him beyond the murky flashbacks?

Who is cheering MyungHa on towards a happy ending in his notes app or email or whatever that is?

And what about those weird other text messages about following folks who looked like you, breaking vases, etc? I've had a few wild theories, my favourite being that they're re-routed text messages from YeoWoon to his grandmother; but honestly them being either YeoWoon or a secret other real world person sending them to MyungHa in future is most likely.

Also who is KyungHoon's LDR? I'm going to clown theory this one as a sibling of SangWon, because he mentioned he's had feelings since childhood and they are childhood friends because their parents knew each other.

Last thing I'll say: There is clearly an element of getting MyungHa to fight for his own happiness in this story; I hope they'll continue the thread of having him learn to trust/rely on others, being brave for the present since you the future is uncertain, and letting go of a sense of responsibility for everyone and everything as part of that learning how to be happy.

I'm super stoked for this finale!

[blogtey45]

Threads : The new Social Media Platform! | Walt Hampton

[ranjith11]

Threads : The new Social Media Platform! | Walt Hampton

Threads from Instagram was a separate messaging app that focused on connecting users with their close friends on Instagram. It allowed users to share photos, videos, messages, and statuses with a select group of people. The app aimed to facilitate more intimate and private conversations with close friends.

[lovelytsunoda]

made in the am - the fic told through instagram

companion to ‘made in the am’ - alex albon

yourusername thank you london for the wild night…turns out racing drivers are real good in bed

see all comments

nicholaslatifi damn alex was punching above his weight

landonorris alex must have some serious rizz to have scored you!

bestfriend who are all these racing drivers and most importantly who is alex?? I think you should call me

yourusername mornings with lover!

tagged: alex_albon

landonorris there is no way in hell alex made those

-> yourusername he’s actually very god in the kitchen!! and other places!!

-> charles_leclerc time to close this app before I learn things I don’t need to know

-> yourbestfriend only you could turn the comments section on a cute post into whatever the fuck this is

alex_albon ❤️❤️

nicholaslatifi I still can’t believe you went on a second date with him

yourusername so I think we need to move the wedding …baby albon coming fall 2022

see all comments

georgerussell63 mate, when did this happen?!?

-> yourusername um if my math is right I think maybe possibly silverstone?

albon_pets Were so excited to meet our baby brother!

-> alex_albon Alicia, you spoiled the surprise!

-> albon_pets Oops

landonorris so do I get to be the godfather?

-> yourusername absolutely not.

-> alex_albon you are not allowed to ever be left alone with my son I am not kidding

yourbestfriend I can’t wait to meet the babe!! You guys are going to be the best parents!

[kunehita]

🪴I’m thrilled to announce that I’m partnering up with Lumi Interactive's Kinder World: Wellbeing Plants, a cozy low-stakes app where you can take care of virtual plants, decorate your home, and spread self-kindness and mental health awareness! Meet Quilliam, one of the four animal companions living in Kinder World 🦔🌿 🌱 Check out @/kinderworldgame over on Twitter, Instagram, Discord, and Tiktok! ��� Download Kinder World: Wellbeing Plants via my QR Code or my affiliate link: https://playkinderworld.sng.link/Dqiel/xxil?_smtype=3

[mariacallous]

Meta announced today that it will offer people a tool called AI Studio to build virtual characters with custom personalities, traits, and interests—including ones based on their own personalities. If you're a creator, you'll also be able to have your digital doppelgänger interact with fans in the DMs.

“Every creator can build an AI version of themselves or an assistant that their community can interact with,” Meta CEO Mark Zuckerberg said during a SIGGRAPH conference fireside chat with Jensen Huang, CEO of Nvidia, the chipmaker at the center of today’s artificial intelligence boom thanks to its all-important GPU chips.

Meta says AI Studio will start rolling out to Instagram Business account users today and will be made available to all Meta users in the US over the next few weeks. The tool will be accessible at ai.meta.com/ai-studio and through the Instagram app, but it also will be possible to access the chatbots through WhatsApp, Messenger, and the web.

Zuckerberg said that he expects users to create custom AI chatbots for entertainment or as personal support tools—for example, role-playing how to ask for a raise or navigate an argument with a friend. “You can basically role-play that and see how the conversation will go, and get feedback on it,” he said.

The company says AI Studio will let users limit who their chatbots interact with and prevent them from discussing certain topics. The AI Studio usage policy prohibits users from representing real persons other than themselves. It would also place off limits historical persons, religious figures, mass murderers, or “objects that could be considered hateful, explicit or illegal.”

In a blog post, Meta touted several chatbots built by celebrities, including “Eat Like You Live There!” a chatbot for dining recommendations made by chef Marc Murphy, and “What Lens Bro,” a bot for photography made by photographer Angel Barclay. It said that several Instagram personalities—Chris Ashley, Violet Benson, Don Allen, and Kane Kallaway—had made chatbot versions of themselves.

Meta's AI Studio handbook says that users can customize a chatbot by providing a detailed description, along with a name and image, and then specifying how it should respond to specific input. Llama will then draw on those instructions to improvise its responses. Meta says Instagram users can “customize their AI based on things like their Instagram content, topics to avoid, and links they want it to share.”

Over the past year, Meta has become an AI success story thanks to its decision to offer robust AI models for free. Last week, the company released a powerful version of its large language model Llama, providing developers, researchers, and startups with free access to a model comparable to the powerful paid model behind OpenAI’s ChatGPT. The company says its new chatbots are all based on the latest version of Llama.

And yet Meta has struggled to find the right tone and niche for its own AI offerings. Last September, the company launched a range of AI chatbots loosely based on real celebrities. These included a fantasy role-play dungeon master bot based on Snoop Dogg, a wisecracking sports bot based on Tom Brady, and an everyday companion inspired by Kendall Jenner.

These bots failed to become big hits, however, and Meta has retired them. Jon Carvill, a spokesman for Meta, said the company had learned from the earlier experiments. “AI Studio is an evolution,” he said.

There is plenty of evidence that users may find fully customizable bots more compelling. A company called Character AI, founded by several ex-Google employees who helped make breakthroughs in AI, has attracted millions of users to its own custom chatbots.

Zuckerberg also touted other new open source AI advances from Meta at SIGGRAPH, held in Denver this year. The company has developed a new tool for identifying the contents of images and video called Segment Anything Model (SAM) 2. The previous version is widely used for image analysis. Meta says SAM 2 could be used to more efficiently analyze the contents of video, for instance. Zuckerberg showed off the technology tracking the cattle roaming his Kauai ranch. “Scientists use this stuff to study coral reefs and natural habitats and evolution of landscapes,” he told Huang.

Earlier in the day, in an on-stage interview with WIRED’s Lauren Goode, Huang said he would “absolutely” want a “Jensen AI” that knows everything he’s ever said, written, and done. “You’ll be able to prompt it, and hopefully something smart gets said,” he said. He could force stock analysts to pepper the bot—instead of him—with questions about the company. “That’s the first thing that has to go,” he said with a laugh.

[witchersmistress]

Simmering Rage

Hello my darlings!! you are in luck today!! ive got a couple of chapters for you, typing this out on a cellphone wasnt the best but i made do with what i had.

Trigger Warnings: Anger, Rage, Blood and violence, and self hatred

Word count:4.3 K

August pov

 My phone chimes with a notification on the seat beside me. I check the screen. Lo again. I haven’t seen her since my car . After I found out what Harper did, I was in a bad place for a while. I don’t remember much of the rest of the mission. The monster operated in my place, holding space for me until I was ready to come back. When the mission l ended, and I had time to think things through, I stopped thinking about what Harper had done and finally looked at the facts behind it. Of course, my mind went straight to the one person who could have told her about Hockington—Gloria Walton.

They’d gotten close, thanks to me, and I fucking paid for it. For letting a Darling into my life, letting her get in with my friends. That’s what I get for letting anyone close to me. Still, it’s a dick move on my part not to at least give Lo a chance to defend herself. If she wasn’t the one who told Harper, I cut her off for nothing. Harper could have bribed someone who worked there, seen me leaving with someone and tracked her down, rooted through my stuff or Dad’s when she was at our house and somehow put it together. It’s better this way, though. Better not to have anyone around me who knows shit about my life. When Lo found out about room 504, it felt safer to keep her close, to give her a reason not to tell anyone. Even if we never talked about it, never talked about our families the way I did with Harper or any real shit, our friendship was real. 

But letting people into my life is a mistake. People blackmail and betray. And if it was her, if she told Harper… Well, Preston can fucking have Gloria. When my phone rings a minute later, I sigh and pick it up. We can talk once. Just to clear some things up. I’m not going to give her a ride anywhere, like I used to when she didn’t have gas money. My car smells like a swamp from all the times I’ve dropped my muddy boots and rubber coveralls in here this summer. Gloria would ask questions, and I’m not about to answer. “Hey,” she says. “I figured you’d ghost me again.” “What’s up, Lo?” I ask, my voice sounding weary. “Do you use the OnlyPics app?” “No,” I say flatly, bristling at the insinuation. “Why would I?” “That’s not—I didn’t mean you’d put stuff up.” “Why?” I ask. “You don’t think people would pay to see my dick?” “No!” she says quickly. “I mean, they would, if you wanted to put it up. That’s not why I was asking, though.” “So, you don’t want to see my dick? That’s not how I remember it.” I’m being an asshole, but she’s basically calling me a whore. She knows better than to ask if I use an app that’s basically a sex worker platform. I don’t get paid for sex, and I don’t need to sell pictures of my body for money. The OnlyPics app was supposed to be a companion to OnlyWords, which is a texting app with, as its name implies, only words in the messages. Everyone likes OnlyWords, but it has no photo sharing capabilities. So the same company made OnlyPics but it was basically a knock-off Instagram where you can’t use captions and the hashtags are hidden, only used by the algorithms to know who to show them to. It probably would have died a quick death if it weren’t for the sex worker industry, who cashed in on three key features—the ability to add a link to profiles, where they added their payment link; the fifteen-second video limit, which let them put up teases to get people hooked; and the private chat feature, which let them send someone the rest of the video for whatever fee they wanted to negotiate or even video chat for a live show.

 I don’t use the app because I’m not an amateur porn star, and if I want to watch porn, I can do it for free like everyone else. If I need a live feed, I have a phone full of numbers of chicks who would be happy to put on a show for me, and I can do more than watch and jerk off. I’m not interested in that any more than I am this app. “Okay, let’s try this again,” Gloria says. “You remember how Harper  disappeared off the face of the earth when you dumped her?” I stiffen in my seat, yanking the wheel to pull off at the nearest exit at the last second. The car behind me lays on the horn, but I ignore it. The noise is almost drowned by the pounding of blood in my ears. “Yeah, what about it?” I ask Gloria. “Well, I think I found her.” “On a porn site?” I ask, hoping like hell someone just uploaded the video of her sucking someone’s dick from last year. It fucks with my head to think that one year ago today, I didn’t even know the name Harper Avery. It was another month before I would see her giving head in the parking lot behind the tampon factory. “Hey, don’t judge me,” Gloria says. “Your brothers have been out of town all summer, and you’ve been ignoring me. I’m having a dry spell.” I could tell her the twins are back, but if she ran her mouth to Harper, I don’t want her around my house, running her mouth to my brothers. So I point out the obvious. “There are more than three dicks in this town.” “Once you go Walker, you never go back,” she says lightly. “And anyway, I only saw it because she sent it to Dawson.” I’m glad I pulled over at the exit, because I’d probably run someone off the road right now if I were still driving. I grip the steering wheel with one hand and close my eyes. My voice comes out so normal you’d think I was just a guy who dumped a girl and didn’t give a fuck about what happened to her since. “I’m afraid to ask, but… Does your brother always share porn with you?” “No, you weirdo,” she says. “Someone DM’d him, and I’ve been obsessing about her all summer, so he showed it to me. He thinks it’s funny as shit.” “Why are you obsessing about Harper?” I demand. 

What the fuck. Maybe I should have kept in touch with Lo. She could find out shit, maybe even the truth. “I don’t know,” she says. “Don’t you think it’s weird that she just… Vanished? I mean, I’m not saying you’re not worth going off the deep end over, or that you couldn’t eviscerate her heart so completely she could never love again. She liked to play it cool, but she really loved you, August. Like, the kind of love that eats you alive, and you’re never the same again.” “Put that shit on a ninety-nine cent Valentines card. You could make real money.”

“Keep playing, you didn’t feel it, too,” she says. “But y’all broke a lot of hearts when you broke up, not just your own. Everyone figured you’d get back together.” “What’s your point?” I snap. I don’t need a fucking lecture about how much I disappointed everyone. She can add it to my fucking tab for all the times I fucked up and pissed off everyone who matters. “My point is, even if Harper was devastated beyond repair, she’s not the kind of chick who would let a breakup destroy her. She’s stronger than that. You may be irreplaceable even to her, but you’re still a boy. And it would take more than one boy to break Harper.” Maybe not one boy. But one boy who shared her with two more against her will? A broken hand and a rope she couldn’t get free of, a swamp full of snakes more poisonous than her? Yeah. That could do it. “Then it obviously had nothing to do with me,” I say. “Maybe she got hooked on Lady Alice or Pearl Lady or whatever the fuck they’re calling it now, and she’s selling herself to pay for it like a regular junkie. Hell, her mom basically said as much.” “It did blow up the scene right around that time…” Gloria muses. “Maybe she’ll tell you for the right price,” I say flatly. “That’s all she’s ever cared about.” “August…”

 “What?”

 “Look, I don’t know everything that went down between you, but I know what it’s like to walk away from love. Just because you broke up doesn’t mean your heart wasn’t decimated, too.” My laugh is brittle, like stepping on glass. “You’re funny, Lo.” I could ask her, just come right out and be blunt, like King. But I can’t acknowledge that much aloud. The hotel is its own world. When we leave, we don’t mention what goes on there. I don’t tell the school that Gloria is a scholarship kid. I elevated her. And she never tells anyone that I get a room there every few months. Would she risk telling someone, knowing she could lose it all? Even if she hates me, she loves her status too much to risk it. What would make her turn on me like that? Harper didn’t tell that creep where she found out the information. But it has to be Lo. No one else knows. So, I hung up the phone, letting her think this is about a breakup.

 That it’s not about a murder, not about a girl coming back from the dead, a ghost dragging her broken body from the swamp and crawling back into my brain to fuck with it even more. I open my email, the one connected to the OnlyWords and OnlyPics apps by default because it’s all made by the same company. I barely remember thumbing away the automatic notifications I got when someone sent me a message this summer. I ignored them all, knowing they were porn spam. My chest is hollow as I open one from my spam folder. It tells me I have twenty-four new messages on OnlyPics. I follow the link and open my direct messages. The first one is a thumbnail of a video, sent this evening. If it’s from Harper, she changed her handle from BadApple. For a few seconds, all I see is a closeup of part of her tattoo. I take it in, examining it until I realize it’s her hip crease, and pressed along the back of her thigh, an expanse of pale skin. It takes me a minute to make sense of what I’m seeing. Whoever she’s fucking, he’s got her folded in half like her legs are over his shoulders while he nails her into the bed. There’s no caption, and there are no words even on the messenger, so I have to click on the profile to find an explanation. Apple Cream Pie, $1k/min. Time seems to skip. Some caveman part of me must take over, because the next thing I know it’s five minutes later, and I’m five thousand dollars lighter, and I’m slamming my phone against the top of the steering wheel over and over. I feel it crunch and snap, but I keep pounding it until there’s nothing left in my hand, and the pieces of it are scattered across my lap and the floor. Time skips again. I’m in my driveway at home. Blood is dripping down the steering wheel and into my lap. 

I open my hand and find pieces of glass jutting from my palm in a dozen places. And all I think about is that day my car was bombed, and Harper tried to pick the glass from my face with her tiny, careful fingers. I climb out of the car. There’s a black Jaguar parked on the gravel, a tall figure leaning against it. I walked up to him. Something in me seems to have been knocked loose, and I think I might fucking kill him, even though it’s just Oliver Finnegan, who never goes inside. He doesn’t approve of the family business. “Hullo, August,” he says, his Irish accent distorting the words. Or maybe it’s the ringing in my ears. “Am I in your spot? I can move the car.” “Don’t worry about it.” He cocks his head, his weird, pale eyes taking in the blood on my pants, my hand. “You alright, mate?” I shrug and head for the house. Just as I’m about to step inside, his brother steps out, a black duffle in one hand, probably full of cash or those fucking pearls everyone’s on about. Colin Fucking Finnegan. My eyes narrow, my fists clenching until I can feel the glass biting deeper, piercing through my skin and into the muscle and sinew. “Was it you?” I grind out. Part of me knows it’s impossible, but maybe he sent the photo on his way here, or maybe he took it earlier. I need Baron to find the date signature on a video, if it’s even possible. For all I know, Harper’s dead, and she took those videos herself while we were together. If she’d sell my dignity for a scholarship, why wouldn’t she sell videos of herself fucking 2other guys when she was with me? “Whatever it was, I bet it was me,” Colin says, flashing me a knowing grin that shows off his chipped front tooth. “Are you still sore about that beating you took last spring?” “You know what it’s about.” “If it’s not that, you’re pissed you didn’t get a cut of this,” he says, jiggling the bag. “Don’t fucking push me right now,” I warn. His creepy eyes go smug. “Or… You still on about that whore? I figured that’s what set you off last spring. Everyone in town knows I fucked her first. Are you just finding out?” “Where is she?” I demand, grabbing him around the neck and slamming him up against the wall. “Where the fuck do you have her, you cum guzzling, festering wad of infected dick cheese?” A cocky, defiant grin stretches his lips. “Aww, did you catch something off her?” he asks. “Wasn’t me, mate. I popped that cherry when there were barely three hairs on her pussy. Haven’t touched her since.”

I don’t know exactly what happens next. I don’t see Colin Finnegan in front of me anymore. All I see is red. The next thing I know, my brothers and Dad are holding me down on the steps, and Oliver and their uncle are holding Colin back while he curses and struggles and spits. The white gravel is painted red like the day the Darlings vandalized our house, but this time, it’s blood. “Let me up,” I growl, shoving off the step and wrenching free of my family. I stalk toward Colin, who writhes like a cat getting a bath. I can feel blood trickling down my face, the jagged edges of a few broken teeth, and the throb of one eye that’s already swelling shut. But I don’t feel pain. The other thing that lives inside me has swallowed it, and I can’t feel a thing. “Come on,” Colin yells, dancing in the grip of his brother. “Let’s do it again. I can go all night. Whoo! I feel alive!” I stop in front of him, ignoring my brothers, who have rushed up behind me to grab me if I lose my shit again. But I’m calm now. “Enjoy it while it lasts,” I say to Colin. My lip is broken and swollen so thick my words come out slurred. “If I find out you’re the one who sent those videos, you won’t be alive much longer.” I turn and walk inside. I don’t know why I care. I watched two guys fuck her. I gave them permission. I made sure to watch, so I knew I could never want her again, never think she was mine. I broke her on purpose, but piece by piece, I’m the one falling to pieces.

Harpers POV

“Are you Mr. D?” I demand, standing in the Phantom’s bedroom, my whole body quaking. I hold the tag in between my finger and thumb, waving it at him. He just walked out of the shower, his body all steamy, a towel around his hips, mask over his face. He shrugs. “What about it?” Anger seethes through me. “That’s how you knew where I was that night. Isn’t it?” He opens his dresser and pulls out his underwear. I know where he keeps them. I know where everything in his apartment is. But I didn’t know his name, have never seen his face. I come when he calls, practically live here two days a week, like a goddamn whore. He promised he’d fuck me one day, and now he has. I don’t know why it matters suddenly. I never cared before. He nods vaguely toward the windows. “I keep an eye on things.” “On me,” I say, sinking onto the edge of the bed. “You keep an eye on me.” “I told you, I can be anyone you want me to be,” he says with a haughty little smirk. “As long as you’re you, Miss A.” “As long as I’m August’s fuck toy,” I correct him. “That’s why you take those pictures, isn’t it? To send to him and show him what you’ve done to me.” “What I’ve done to you?” he asks, turning to face me after pulling on a pair of sweats. They hang low on his narrow hips. Above them, the ridges of his abs are carved deep and sharp. His body is a finely chiseled sculpture. I’ve never noticed, but he’s beautiful, even without a face. “What about what he did?” He paces forward, stalking, his voice laced with fury that makes me shrink back on the bed, as if he could hurt me more than I’ve been hurt. As if he could take something from me that he hasn’t been taking all along. “You changed me,” I whisper. “I saved you.” I stare up at him, feeling guilty for feeling anything but gratitude. He works out, takes care of himself, wears exquisite clothes to work at his standing desk with three monitors, an ergonomic keyboard, and a fancy Mac computer. I’m the one who should be ashamed. I don’t take care of myself until he tells me to. He tells me to shower, puts me in fancy clothes, makes me look like a girl who could be, in some fairytale in his mind, deserving of him. And he treats me like I am.

 He cooks me fancy dinners and buys me everything I need or could want without me having to ask. He even took care of my mother. I don’t treat him half as well. I don’t cook or offer to help clean up. I don’t even talk to him when I come over. While he cooks, I sit curled on his fine leather sofa, sipping his fine wine. The only thing I do for him in return for everything he’s done is spread my legs. If he’s made me a whore, I’ve let him do it. The first day he bought me something, the phone, I could have said no. But I didn’t. I let him dress me up like a doll, treat me like property, and fuck me like a whore. If anything, he’s shown me he values me more than I value myself. He bought me fucking diamonds. A girl like me, I have no right to even hope for this kind of man, this kind of treatment. I’m lucky to be his whore. But for the first time in months, I want to speak, to voice my desires. “You’re right,” I say. “You’ve treated me well. But I’m done being your whore.” “You’re not—” He breaks off, pressing his lips together and shaking his head. “I didn’t mean to make you feel that way. That’s not how I see you, Harper.” “How do you see me?” He stares at me a long moment. “I just wanted to take care of you,” he says at last. “I saw what they did to you. You’re not the only person…” He shakes his head again. “And yeah, I wanted to fuck you to piss off August. I’ll admit that. But I never saw you as a whore. I only gave you what you needed.” “Like these?” I ask, upturning the jeweler’s bag. The box falls out, the lid askew, one of the diamonds dangling out the side like something obscene. “Fair enough,” he says, moving across the room and sitting heavily on the bottom of the bed. “Maybe I had selfish reasons. But I never thought you owed me.

 I know you won’t believe me. I know what I look like. You think I can’t get laid unless I buy a girl diamonds. And you’re right.” “What about your girlfriend?” I ask, my voice thick. He scoffs. “I don’t have a girlfriend. Look at me.” “So you dressed me up and pretended you did,” I say, feeling like some weird blow-up doll. I’ve acted like one. I haven’t been a whole person since before the swamp. I’ve been a doll, broken into a million pieces, and he’s pieced some of them back together—at least on the outside. But he can’t fix me inside. He can reach in, but he won’t find anything to piece back together. I’m hollow. “I never pretended to be a good guy,” he says. “Don’t act shocked that I’m exactly who I was all along.” “But you never told me who you were,” I point out. “You never asked.” “I did.” We sat side by side for a while, neither of us speaking. “You don’t want to know who I am,” he says. “Look at me. Look at what I’ve become.” I could say the same thing. 

 When I tell Mr. D I’m not coming back, he doesn’t say anything. But he doesn’t get ready to take me home as usual. I ask if he’s taking me home, and he says no, but he doesn’t stop me when I take his keys. I keep waiting for him to come after me, but he just studies me, his face behind that infuriating blank mask, his one good eye watching me leave. In the garage, I climb into his truck. I’m sure he’s going to come down and stop me. My hands are shaking so hard I can barely get the key in. I open the garage on the bottom level of his building, and I drive out. I keep checking the rearview, sure I’ll see him coming after me. But he lets me go. Some sick part of me deflates when I turn into my driveway and he’s not there. Not even Mr. D thinks I’m worth hunting down. I climb out of the truck and go inside. Nothing has changed. But everything has. Without the Tuesday and Thursday excursions, I stop leaving the house. I ignore the staff that comes in and cleans my house on a weekly basis. I don't care where they came from or who hired them.

 There’s no point. I Don't even return his truck. It sits like an oversized monster in our driveway, drawing attention from anyone and everyone. I hide the keys inside a tear in my box spring, I sleep with a switchblade in one hand for the nightmares that plague my every waking moment, as if my fall from grace has given them permission to terrorize me, maybe they can smell my brokenness, my weakness, the way I can smell alcohol on Duke’s breath. And even though I was sure I felt nothing all those months, now that I don’t see the Phantom, there’s an ache left inside me that he once soothed. 

When I wake myself up croaking feebly, from a dream where I’m gagged, silenced as I try to force sound from my strangled throat, there are only blankets to wrap around me instead of his strong, salient arms. I stop leaving the house, stop doing anything. I can’t remember why it mattered to be clean, to eat, to live. One evening, as I’m lying corpse like in my bed, a tap sounds at my grimy window. I’m so startled I sit up before my brain can kick in and say what it says about everything—it’s not worth it. It doesn’t matter. Turning my head I see a crow pecking at the shiny part of my window. Standing up and making my way into the bathroom, I turn on the lights avoiding the mirror. I don't want to look at the girl in the mirror. I just can't.Turning on the hot water in the sink letting it fog up my mirror, I scoop the water with my hands and splash it on my face.

  I know I should care but I can't summon the energy. My sponsor is gone. There’s no way out. I’ve given up, accepted the fact that I’ll be just like my dead beat mother. Turning off the water and raising my head, reluctantly I look back at my reflection, I meet my soulless eyes and stare. I should want to rage against this weak girl that I've become, to become the monster those boys wanted me to be.. Turning off the lights and walking back to my room. Dropping back down into bed, I looked out the grimy window and let out a deep sigh, I can't stay like this broken doll. But I just don't care anymore..

A while  later, lying in my bed, I think maybe it’s time I did.

[whovianhearts]

Bernice "Surprise" Summerfield. "A" tier Doctor Who companion. I'll be deleting my Instagram soon. My proudest moment on that app was Lisa Bowerman liking my post about her character. I miss old MySpace, I keep hopping to different apps looking for a similar experience. Hopefully I'll stay on tumblr for a while.