#DE you cookin

[soul-of-cinduh]

Clanmate posted this screenshot and I'm not okay

EXCUSEMEMA'AM

(DE, sheggs update when)

[heartsbreaking]

bea wouldn't be surprised if nick was eventually accepted in the way pretty people always were. so does this mean that bea doesn't think she's pretty?

bea perceives other people as pretty/attractive/beautiful. she understands when people have an aesthetic appeal. she thinks nick has that. i don't think she thinks that she's not pretty. she likes her hair, her eyes, her style and to her those things are pretty to her but she doesn't expect other people to perceive them as such. she has an unconventional style (think Iydia deets meets heIaena targaryen) and has experienced probably an unfair share of social ostracism that makes her think she's not welcome in the in group.

growing up a tribrid and a mikaelson (even if she uses the de martel name) she hasn't been accepted into the wider witch, vampire or werewolf communities. she has friends, she has family in each. at the salvatore school she's not particularly popular. she's kind of a loner and very much an introvert. she dresses in her own way and acts is very much not striving for the larger group's approval in terms of how she acts or dresses. so she thinks she knows when someone is going to be accepted into the in group even though she doesn't put much effort into being a part of it. it's a little bit hypocritical of her to observe someone and make that judgement about them based on their appearance alone but from her own lived experience people have made snap judgements about her based on minimal knowledge all the time so she feels entitled to make some of her own.

[theetherealbloom]

AS GOOD A REASON - CH. 3 | OBERYN MARTELL

Chapter Three: There Will Be No Glory

Summary: You, who has made it her life's work to get retribution on those who mistreated and harassed you when you were a child. The scars on your body are a physical reminder of the suffering you endured at the hands of abusers, and they also provide the fuel for your years-long quest for retribution.

Paring: Oberyn Martell x Fem!Reader

Warnings: 18+ MDNI DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT, MINORS GO AWAY, GoT is full of serious and harmful topics, mentions of SA, Rape (not the reader), Murder, Violence, Gore, War, Poison, Scars, Burns, Scratching, Su!c!de, AU, Age–Gap Romance, Angst, FLUFF, Eventual SMUT, Swearing, PTSD, Depression, Anxiety, Crying, Suggestive content, Flirting, Blood, War, Religion References, Nudity, Domestic Abuse, Incest, Prostitution, Weapons, Fire, Horror, Character Deaths, Rewrite Alternate Universe, Sex, Alcohol, Revenge, 

Word Count: 8.4k

A/N: I swear I’m cookin’ back here. I've been writing this series non-stop for days lmao. Idk what hit me?? I actually have the next chapter ready to post too lmao. Hope everyone is doing well!

Side note: I’m dyslexic and English isn’t my first language! So I apologize in advance for the spelling and/or grammatical errors. As always, reblogs, comments, and likes are always appreciated. Thank you and happy reading!

Song: hunter by Paris Paloma

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KING'S LANDING, THE SEPT OF BAELOR — EARLY MORNING

The Sept of Baelor was alive with a flurry of activity. Servants moved swiftly, preparing for the grand wedding of Joffrey Baratheon and Margaery Tyrell. Every corner of the grand sept was being scrubbed, every flower meticulously placed, every banner hung with precision. The sun had barely risen, casting a golden hue over the stained-glass windows, but already the heat of the day was making the air feel thick and heavy.

You were in the midst of it all, arranging the delicate floral garlands along the altar. The scent of the flowers was overwhelming, mingling with the incense that filled the Sept. Your hands moved mechanically, arranging the blooms with precision, though your mind was elsewhere. The headache that had been gnawing at the edges of your consciousness all morning now pulsed with a vengeance, a searing pain behind your eyes. It was getting harder to focus, and the heat didn’t help.

Voices echoed through the Sept as people hurried by, servants calling to one another in preparation, but it was all a dull hum in your ears. You pressed a hand to your temple, closing your eyes for a moment as the migraine intensified. The world seemed to blur at the edges, the weight of your own thoughts pressing down on you, mingling with the physical pain. 

Then, suddenly, a firm hand gripped your arm. You gasped, eyes snapping open as you were pulled away from your work, your feet stumbling beneath you. The world spun as you were dragged through the corridors, away from the main hall. 

Your first instinct was to fight back. You kicked, struggled, your heart pounding with panic. But the grip was unyielding, dragging you into a darkened alcove, hidden away from prying eyes. 

“What are you—? Let go of me!” you hissed, your voice strained with fear and frustration as you fought against your captor, kicking and trying to free yourself.

Then, in the dim light, you saw him. Oberyn Martell. His eyes gleamed with amusement, but there was something else in them—a hunger, a dangerous edge. He didn’t release you, instead pressing you further into the shadows, the cool stone wall biting against your back.

“You—” you began, breathless, still trying to regain control of the situation, but Oberyn leaned closer, cutting off your words with the intensity of his gaze. 

“Shh," he whispered, his voice a low rumble that sent a shiver down your spine. "I’ve been looking for you.”

His words hung between you like a dangerous secret. His body pressed against yours, firm and unyielding, his hands bracing on either side of your head, caging you in. Your heart raced as you realized there was no escaping him now. You forced yourself to meet his gaze, determined to maintain your composure despite the sudden surge of heat that flushed your skin. 

“What are you doing?” you demanded, your voice shaky but defiant. “We shouldn’t be here—”

Oberyn’s smile widened, the corner of his lips curving into a wicked smirk. “Shouldn’t we?” His tone was teasing, but his eyes were dark, intense. His face was so close, his breath warm against your skin. “You’ve been avoiding me. I’ve noticed.”

“I’m working,” you replied, trying to maintain control of your voice, trying to keep your heart from pounding so loudly in your chest. “And you should be—”

But Oberyn interrupted you, his hand brushing lightly against your arm, sending sparks shooting up your spine. "You carry yourself with grace, more like a lady of the court than a servant.” His gaze trailed over you, studying you, watching the way you tried to hide the tremor in your breath. “It makes me wonder… who are you really?”

Your throat tightened. The question cut too close to the truth. You had worked so hard to blend in, to be unnoticed, yet Oberyn’s gaze seemed to peel back the layers you had carefully built. He was too perceptive, too sharp.

“I’m no one,” you lied, your voice steadier than you felt. “Just a servant.”

Oberyn chuckled softly, but there was no humor in it. He leaned closer, his lips brushing the shell of your ear as he spoke. “A servant who speaks with such eloquence, who watches others like a hawk, as if you’re calculating their every move.” His breath was hot against your skin, his presence overwhelming as he whispered, “You’re planning something, aren’t you?”

Your pulse quickened. His words were dangerous, far too close to what you had been so careful to hide. Oberyn was watching you with an intensity that made your skin burn, and for a moment, you couldn’t breathe. He saw through you in a way no one else had. The facade you wore was slipping under his gaze, and you weren’t sure if you could hold it up any longer.

“I don’t know what you mean,” you said, your voice barely more than a whisper.

Oberyn tilted his head, his dark eyes searching yours, reading the fear and the defiance in equal measure. He smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “You’re a good liar,” he murmured, his lips brushing against your skin as he spoke. “But I’ve spent my life around liars. And you... you are no ordinary servant.”

You swallowed hard, your back pressed firmly against the cold stone as Oberyn’s presence enveloped you. His fingers brushed lightly against your jaw, tracing the line of your face as he studied you. "There's something about you," he said, his voice soft but dangerous. "Something... familiar."

Your breath caught in your throat. He was getting too close, too close to the truth you had buried so deeply. You had to regain control, had to push him away before he uncovered everything.

“Let me go,” you whispered, though your voice lacked the strength you intended. 

Oberyn’s eyes glimmered with something unreadable as he held you there, trapped between him and the wall. He leaned in, his lips hovering near yours, the tension between you crackling like wildfire. “Not yet,” he whispered, his voice a promise, a warning. 

And in that moment, you realized you were caught.

Oberyn stood so close, his presence overwhelming, his eyes filled with that dangerous blend of curiosity and something more primal. You could feel the heat radiating from him, the air between you thick with tension, as if the entire world had fallen away, leaving just the two of you in this darkened corner of the Sept.

His voice, low and smooth, broke the silence, sending a shiver down your spine. “My sister used to write to me, you know,” he began, his lips curling into a small, almost bittersweet smile. “Princess Elia. We were always apart, but her letters kept me close to her.” He paused, watching you closely, as though he could see right through the facade you’d carefully built over the years. 

You stiffened at the mention of Elia, your heart clenching painfully. You hadn’t heard that name spoken so intimately in years. You were only a child then, but you remembered her well—kind, gentle, her presence like a soft light amidst the darkness that surrounded the Red Keep. Your hands trembled slightly, but you quickly clenched them into fists, trying to maintain your composure as Oberyn continued.

“There was one letter,” he mused, his voice softening as if recalling a distant memory. His fingers lightly traced the air, as if mimicking the act of writing. “She wrote about a servant. A girl, a child really, whose parents had given her away. She never mentioned the girl’s name, but she always said how kind she was. How strong, despite everything.”

Your breath caught in your throat. You knew he was talking about you. Elia had been the only one who had shown you kindness, who had given you a place to belong when the world had taken everything from you. But you couldn’t let him know that. You couldn’t let anyone know who you truly were. The weight of your past was a burden you had carried alone, and it had to stay that way.

Oberyn stepped closer, his eyes searching yours, as though he could find the truth hidden behind your carefully guarded expression. “I wonder…” he whispered, his lips hovering near your ear. “Was that girl you?”

You swallowed hard, every instinct screaming at you to run, to get away, but Oberyn’s presence held you in place. His gaze was relentless, burning into you, waiting for an answer you couldn’t give.

“I—” You struggled to find the words, your mind racing, but your throat felt tight, your heart hammering in your chest. You had spent years building this mask, this life as a mere servant, someone no one would look at twice. But now, in the span of moments, Oberyn was threatening to tear it all away.

His hand lifted, fingers grazing the side of your face, and the world seemed to narrow down to that single point of contact. “Who are you, truly?” he asked, his voice barely more than a whisper, but there was no mistaking the intensity in his tone.

The question hung in the air, suffocating. His proximity, the way his body loomed over yours, the way his eyes pinned you in place—it was all too much. The pressure, the closeness, the danger of being exposed—it all came crashing down on you, and suddenly, something snapped inside you.

Without warning, you moved.

Your knee shot up, connecting with Oberyn’s side, hard enough to knock the wind out of him, but not enough to cause real harm. He staggered back, his expression briefly shifting to one of surprise before it morphed into something almost amused. But you didn’t give him time to recover. You slipped out from under his arm, using his momentary lapse to dart past him, your body moving with an agility you hadn’t shown before. 

He chuckled, low and dangerous, clearly not expecting the sudden resistance. “I see,” he murmured, rubbing his side where you’d struck him, his eyes gleaming with something far more dangerous than before. “You’re full of surprises.”

But you didn’t stop to listen. You were already moving, slipping back into the main hall of the Sept where the other servants were still bustling about, preparing for the wedding. The light from the stained-glass windows bathed the room in a kaleidoscope of colors, but you barely noticed. Your heart was pounding in your chest, adrenaline still coursing through your veins as you forced yourself to keep walking, blending back into the crowd of workers.

No one seemed to notice your disheveled state, the faint tremor in your hands as you returned to your duties. You grabbed a bouquet of flowers, your fingers working mechanically as you set them in place, your mind racing with the encounter you had just escaped.

Oberyn had been close—too close. You had no idea how much he truly knew or how much he suspected, but it was clear he wasn’t going to let this go. You could still feel his eyes on you, the way he had studied you as if he could unravel all your secrets.

But you wouldn’t let him. You had survived this long by keeping your past hidden, and you wouldn’t let anyone—no matter how charming, how dangerous—pull you back into that life. 

As you worked, your mind kept replaying his words, the way he had looked at you with that knowing gaze. You could feel the danger closing in, but you had no choice but to press on. The game was far from over, and you would have to be even more careful from now on.

But one thing was clear—Oberyn Martell was not a man easily fooled.

KING'S LANDING, THE SEPT OF BAELOR — DAY

You lingered in the cool shadows of the Sept, hidden from view, just another servant who wasn’t meant to be seen. You weren’t supposed to be part of the grand ceremony at all. Your role, after all, was to prepare for the feast that would follow this extravagant display—a celebration meant to rival even the greatest of royal unions.

But something compelled you to stay.

The air was thick with the scent of incense, and the sound of hushed murmurs echoed off the high stone walls as nobles and lords gathered to witness the joining of Houses Tyrell and Lannister. It was all falling into place, every step of this elaborate plan leading to this moment. The tension in the room crackled like lightning before a storm.

You stood, your heart pounding, as Margaery Tyrell, radiant in her flowing gown, walked down the aisle on the arm of her father, Mace Tyrell. Her golden hair shimmered in the light of the stained-glass windows, and her face was calm—serene even—as though she had been preparing for this her entire life. You watched closely, your gaze sharp, dissecting every movement, every flicker of emotion. The entire event was a spectacle, a symbol of power, of politics. It was all theater. 

Mace Tyrell paused at the base of the steps, his expression proud as he handed his daughter to the waiting king. Joffrey stood at the top, his grin smug, cruel even, as he accepted Margaery’s hand. For a brief moment, your eyes lingered on the boy king, revulsion curling in your stomach. His reign had been a reign of terror and madness, and yet, in this moment, he stood like a conqueror, basking in the adulation of his subjects. 

Margaery, ever poised, ascended the steps with him, her head held high as she moved beside Joffrey. The High Septon awaited them, his voice booming through the Sept as he began the sacred rites. You felt a strange sense of detachment, as if watching the scene unfold from a great distance. Yet, there was a thrill beneath your skin—a deep, quiet satisfaction. Everything was in motion now, and there was no turning back.

The High Septon’s voice echoed through the hall, reverberating off the stone walls: 

"Let it be known that Margaery of House Tyrell and Joffrey of the Houses Lannister and Baratheon are one heart, one flesh, one soul. Cursed be he who would seek to tear them asunder."

As the words filled the air, you couldn’t help but smirk slightly to yourself, hidden in the shadows. Cursed, indeed. The irony of it all, the pageantry, the vows, the promise of unity, knowing what was to come—it was almost poetic.

You watched as Joffrey, in all his arrogance, turned to Margaery, taking her hands in his. "With this kiss, I pledge my love," he declared, loud enough for all to hear. His voice carried the same venomous self-importance it always had, as if he truly believed himself a benevolent ruler.

The crowd erupted in applause as their lips met in a kiss that was supposed to symbolize the unity of two great houses. You watched with an unreadable expression as Margaery played her part flawlessly, the perfect bride, while Joffrey basked in the adulation.

From your vantage point, you caught a glimpse of Sansa Stark, her face pale as she leaned toward Tyrion Lannister. Her eyes were dark, her lips pressed into a thin line as she whispered, "We have a new queen."

Tyrion, ever the cynic, barely glanced at her as he muttered under his breath, “Better her than you.”

You felt a surge of something—was it pity?—for Sansa, trapped in this viper’s nest with no escape. But this wasn’t your concern, not today. Today, the wheels were turning, and soon, this entire charade would unravel. You could feel it in the air, the undercurrent of tension beneath the applause and celebration. It was almost time.

The ceremony concluded, and the newly crowned queen and her king descended the steps together, the picture of royal power. The applause grew louder, the lords and ladies of Westeros rising to their feet in celebration of this union. But all you could focus on was the bitter truth behind it all. 

Your migraine throbbed in your temples, the dull ache intensifying as you stood there, watching the farce unfold before you. But you smiled, knowing that by the end of this day, Joffrey would no longer be king. The poison had already been set in motion, and the pieces on the board were exactly where you needed them to be.

For now, you would watch. The storm was coming, and you would be ready to strike when the time was right.

THE WEDDING RECEPTION 

KING'S LANDING GARDEN, RED KEEP — DAY

The garden was a riot of color and sound. Banners of crimson and gold fluttered in the warm breeze, the sigils of House Lannister emblazoned on every surface. Long tables stretched across the lush greenery, laden with golden platters of roasted meats, fruit, and delicate pastries. Lords and ladies of every great house in Westeros mingled, their voices a hum of excitement, laughter, and gossip, all gathered to celebrate the union of Joffrey Baratheon and Margaery Tyrell.

Jugglers tossed brightly colored balls high into the air while fire-breathers sent plumes of flames into the sky. Their movements were smooth and practiced, as if the entire performance were just another part of the show that was the king’s wedding. Some even walked on stilts, towering over the crowd, while musicians played lively tunes in the background, the melodies weaving in and out of the general din. 

You stood back, observing from the edge of the gardens, the soft perfume of roses mingling with the smoky scent of roasted meats. The spectacle of it all, the opulence, the grandeur—it was enough to make anyone feel insignificant in its shadow. You glanced down at your own hands, trembling slightly as you worked to keep them busy, adjusting a garland of flowers, though your task had long since been finished.  

The whole scene was a display of power, the ruling elite flaunting their wealth for all to see. Each lord and lady wore their finest silks, their jewels glinting in the midday sun as they danced, laughed, and raised their goblets in celebration. But beneath the surface, there was an undercurrent of tension. It lingered in the air, a brewing tempest on the horizon.

As your eyes drifted over the crowd, you spotted Bronn, Tyrion, and Podrick making their way through the guests. Tyrion’s face was hard to read, his usual wit tempered by the weight of the moment. He and Bronn exchanged quiet words, but even from a distance, you could see the unease in Tyrion’s posture. He didn’t want to be here, that much was clear.

And then, from across the garden, your gaze landed on Oberyn Martell. He and Ellaria Sand were seated near the fountain, utterly captivated by a contortionist performing impossible bends and twists before them. Ellaria laughed softly, her eyes alight with amusement, while Oberyn watched the performance with a more measured gaze. 

For a fleeting moment, his eyes found yours.

The world seemed to slow as the intensity of his gaze sent a jolt through your body. His dark eyes, filled with a mix of curiosity and something deeper, locked onto yours, as though he could see through every wall you had carefully constructed. Your heart quickened, and an unexpected warmth spread through your chest. The moment stretched between you, silent and loaded with meaning.

But you couldn’t hold it. Your pulse raced, your palms dampening with sweat as you quickly tore your gaze away, focusing on the flowers at your feet. You forced yourself to breathe, but the weight of his attention lingered on your skin, like a touch that burned long after it was gone.

You busied yourself again, rearranging the flowers though they didn’t need rearranging, anything to distract yourself from the flutter of nerves in your stomach. What was it about him? The way he looked at you wasn’t like the others. It was as if he knew something—something about you that no one else did. 

Your hands shook as you tried to steady your breath. You weren’t supposed to stand out here, in this garden full of lords and ladies, and yet… here you were, caught in the eyes of a man who seemed to see too much.

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Ellaria lean in closer to Oberyn, whispering something into his ear, her hand resting lightly on his arm. Her eyes flicked briefly in your direction, curiosity burning behind them. The same possessive glint you had seen before was there, but now it was tempered by a different kind of intrigue.

Your heart pounded in your chest. You weren’t sure if you were relieved or unnerved by the brief reprieve from Oberyn’s gaze. Either way, you knew one thing: nothing at this wedding was what it seemed.

The air was thick with revelry, the laughter of lords and ladies mingling with the melody of flutes and the clink of goblets. Everywhere you looked, you saw power—power flaunted by those who had it, and coveted by those who didn’t. But you played your role, dutifully present, a servant watching a play unfold.

At the head table, Olenna Tyrell moved with a deliberate grace, her hand trailing through Sansa Stark’s carefully braided hair before lingering on the stones of her necklace. The movement was subtle, her fingers deft, plucking at the polished purple gems with a kind of ease that only someone of her station could manage. It was easy to miss if one wasn’t paying attention—but you were always paying attention.

Your eyes narrowed, recognizing the faint gleam in Olenna’s fingers as she discreetly palmed something. The strangler. A crystalline form of poison, almost impossible to detect once dissolved in wine. Your heart beat faster, but outwardly, you remained composed, blending into the background of the celebration.

No one else seemed to notice. Not Sansa, lost in her sorrow, nor Tyrion, pouring himself another goblet of wine as he approached the table. Olenna’s conspiratorial smile went unnoticed by the rest, except you. You stepped closer, pretending to busy yourself with the trays of wine, ready to serve at a moment’s notice, but your ears were sharply tuned to their conversation.

You heard the last bit of Olenna’s words as she turned to Sansa, her voice low but pointed. "Perhaps if your pauper husband were to sell his mule and his last pair of shoes, he might afford to bring you to Highgarden for a visit. Now that peace has come and all is right with the world, it would do you good to see some of it." Olenna cast a glance toward Tyrion, her eyes gleaming with amusement. “You must excuse me. It's time I ate some of this food I paid for.”

Tyrion smirked, but the bitterness in his eyes was unmistakable. He raised his goblet in a mock toast, the weight of his station pressing heavily on his shoulders.

As Olenna moved away, the music changed. The musicians struck up a familiar tune, the one they always played for the Lannisters—a song of lions, of power.

"A coat of gold, or a coat of red, a lion still has claws..."

Margaery seemed to be enjoying the performance, her laughter light and genuine. But Joffrey, ever the restless king, was bored. He stood abruptly, tossing coins at the musicians as if they were little more than beggars. "Very good. Very good. Off you go," he said dismissively. The musicians scrambled to collect the coins, bowing as they backed away from the table, desperate to avoid the king’s wrath.

From where you stood, the entire spectacle felt sickening. You clenched your jaw, your hands hidden beneath your sleeves as you forced yourself to remain composed. It was all a game to them. A game of politics, of power, of lies. The poorest in King’s Landing would never see the remnants of this feast, no matter what Margaery or Joffrey decreed. You knew the truth. People like you—those without titles, lands, or coin—were little more than pawns to be sacrificed in their endless struggle for dominance.

You watched Margaery lean toward Joffrey, her hand resting on his arm as she tried to soothe his restlessness. "My love, why don't we make the announcement?" she said, her voice soft, almost coaxing. Joffrey banged his goblet against the table, the sharp clang silencing the crowd as he stood.

"Everyone!" he called out, his voice booming over the garden. "The queen would like to say a few words."

The crowd cheered, applauding the queen they had already accepted as their own. Margaery stood gracefully, her smile serene as she addressed the crowd. "We are so fortunate to enjoy this marvelous food and drink. Not all among us are so lucky. To thank the gods for bringing the recent war to a just end, King Joffrey has decreed that the leftovers from our feast be given to the poorest in his city."

More applause followed, and Joffrey beamed, soaking in the adoration of the crowd. Cersei, ever watchful, approached Margaery with a forced smile. "You're an example to us all," she said, placing a kiss on each of Margaery’s cheeks. The queen mother’s jealousy was palpable, her eyes glinting with barely concealed disdain.

You stood there, watching it all with clenched fists beneath your sleeves, your breath coming in slow, measured draws. The words, the gestures, the smiles—it was all smoke and mirrors. They paraded their generosity, their wealth, their power as if it were a gift to the realm, but you knew better. This peace was fragile, built on the bodies of the innocent, and it could shatter at any moment.

Your fingers dug into the fabric of your dress, a habit you had developed over the years. You scratched at the skin beneath, the pressure grounding you as memories flashed before your eyes—memories of pain, of cruelty, of the Mountain. The heat of the branding iron. The smell of burning flesh. Your own screams ringing in your ears until the world went dark.

You bit down hard on your lip, forcing the memories to retreat back into the dark corners of your mind. But the tension remained, a heavy knot in your chest, coiled tight like a viper ready to strike. Everything around you—the laughter, the opulence, the false smiles of lords and ladies—was part of this never-ending cycle of power. A gamble played at the expense of lives like yours.

Standing at a distance, you felt Oberyn’s eyes on you again. He lounged with casual arrogance, a wicked smile playing on his lips as Ellaria sat on his lap, delicately feeding him a grape. His gaze lingered on you, his expression one of amusement, as if he found your presence there tantalizing. His nod in your direction was slow, deliberate, and the smirk he gave you only made your pulse race. You quickly turned away, determined not to give him the satisfaction of seeing the effect he had on you.

Your focus shifted, catching Cersei out of the corner of your eye as she exchanged curt words with Brienne of Tarth. Whatever was said made Brienne visibly uncomfortable, and she soon excused herself, walking away with her usual brisk pace. You weren’t close enough to hear their exchange, but the look on Cersei’s face said it all—disdain, irritation, and a certain dangerous pleasure in making the taller woman feel out of place.

Just as you were about to step away, something else caught your attention. Pycelle, with his hunched posture and greasy fingers, had cornered a young maid—Serena, you realized with a scowl. Inwardly, you cursed. Pycelle was one of those men you despised most at court, his pretense of wisdom nothing more than a shield for his lechery. You moved closer, keeping your head down, pretending to adjust your serving tray as you eavesdropped on their conversation.

Pycelle’s voice was low, his tone sickeningly paternal as he said, "No, no, come to my chambers and I will examine you personally."

Your stomach churned at his words, but before you could intervene, Cersei’s voice cut through the air like a dagger.

"She’ll do no such thing."

Pycelle jumped, his greasy face paling as he turned to see the queen standing there, her expression cold and unyielding.

"Oh, Your Grace," Pycelle stammered, his voice trembling slightly. "Yes, well, this young lady sought my advice..."

Cersei’s smile was sharp and cruel. "You should see Qyburn. He’s quite good."

The maid, eyes wide with relief, quickly dipped her head. "Your Grace," she murmured, then hurried away, escaping Pycelle’s grasp.

Pycelle’s face contorted into an expression of disgust. "Qyburn? Deplorable man. Brought shame on the Citadel with his repugnant experiments."

Cersei tilted her head, her smile never wavering. "More repugnant than your gnarled fingers on that girl’s thighs?"

Pycelle stiffened, his eyes darting around nervously. "Your Grace, I am a man of learning."

Cersei’s eyes gleamed with dangerous amusement. "My little brother had you sent to the Black Cells when you annoyed him. What do you think I could do to you if you annoyed me?"

Pycelle’s face turned ashen. "I never meant to annoy anyone," he mumbled, his voice now a pathetic whimper.

"But you are," Cersei said softly, stepping closer, her gaze boring into him. "You annoy me right now. Every breath you draw in my presence annoys me. So here’s what I want you to do: I want you to leave my presence. Leave this wedding right now. Go to the kitchens and instruct them that all the leftovers from the feast will be brought to the kennels."

Pycelle’s mouth opened in protest, but Cersei cut him off sharply. "The queen is telling you the leftovers will feed the dogs, or you will."

For a moment, the old man seemed to consider arguing, but one look at Cersei’s smile—a cruel, dangerous curve of her lips—and he thought better of it. With a shaky bow, he muttered, "Yes, Your Grace," and scuttled away like the coward he was.

Cersei smiled after him, pleased with herself.

What a bold-faced cunt, you thought bitterly, watching her bask in her small victory. Everything about her was venomous—her beauty, her power, her cruelty. She wielded them all with deadly precision, and you hated her for it.

With a steadying breath, you made your way back toward the head table, slipping seamlessly into your role. You refilled goblets, offered plates, your presence unnoticed among the nobles. But beneath your mask of calm, your mind churned. Every move, every word, every gesture at this wedding was a lie—a careful façade constructed to conceal the rot beneath.

The clamor of the wedding feast carried on, a haze of laughter, clinking goblets, and the gleam of gold and silk that shone in the late afternoon sun. The Lannisters and Tyrells reveled in their temporary triumph, their smugness saturating the air like a sickly perfume. But you knew better than most how quickly fortunes could turn in a place like King’s Landing. The city was a pit of snakes, and the shift of power could change in an instant.

From where you stood, just close enough to watch but far enough to remain unnoticed, your eyes followed King Joffrey. He sat at the head of the grand table, restless and bored, his twisted amusement turning toward the fool juggling before him. Margaery, ever the dutiful queen, smiled gracefully at his side, playing her part flawlessly. 

But Joffrey… he was never satisfied.

You saw the glint of cruelty in his eyes before he even stood. The familiar spark that made your skin crawl and your stomach twist. His voice cut through the air, sharp and mocking.

"A gold dragon to whoever knocks my fool’s hat off," Joffrey declared, his sneer stretching wide as he stood, scanning the crowd like a predator ready to pounce.

The fool, a trembling man in motley, barely had time to react before the guests joined in. Laughter echoed as food—chunks of bread, slices of fruit, and bits of meat—were hurled at him. You could see the fear in his eyes, how his smile wavered as he danced awkwardly to avoid the barrage. 

Your hands clenched into fists at your sides. The sight of it—how quickly cruelty had become sport—set your blood boiling. You knew this game, too well. You had seen it before. You had lived it.

Joffrey’s laughter rang loud, ringing in your ears like a taunt. 

You couldn’t take it anymore.

With a sharp inhale, you turned on your heel, walking briskly away from the spectacle. You could feel your heart hammering in your chest, the fury bubbling beneath the surface, the memories threatening to overtake you. The jeers, the screams, the sound of flesh meeting stone… all of it haunted you still, and this—this senseless cruelty—stirred it back to life.

The clamor of the feast swirled around you, a whirlwind of laughter, clinking goblets, and hushed conversations. Your hands moved mechanically as you helped arrange the giant feast table, replenishing trays of roasted meats and lavish platters of fruits. Yet your mind remained a storm of its own, the anger still simmering beneath the surface from what you'd just witnessed.

This court—its twisted bets, the cruelty woven into every interaction—was a festering rot, and you couldn’t allow yourself to forget that. Not for a moment. Not here, where forgetting meant losing yourself to the madness.

As you moved to refill goblets of wine, you saw Cersei and Tywin strolling past, their expressions as cold and imperious as ever. You kept your head down, but their voices reached your ears, low and murmured.

Tywin’s tone was calm, almost bemused. “You’re in rather a good mood.”

“I suppose I am,” Cersei replied, her voice holding a faint, bitter edge.

“I won’t ask why,” Tywin remarked, his gaze never faltering as they passed by.

“Small pleasures,” Cersei added, a sharpness in her words that hinted at something more, something dark beneath the surface.

You busied yourself with the table, arranging goblets when you caught movement from the corner of your eye. Oberyn and Ellaria had entered, gliding through the crowd with a grace that seemed to draw every eye. Their presence commanded attention, not unlike the very snakes that represented their house.

Oberyn's deep, silken voice cut through the air as he greeted them. "Your Grace. Lord Tywin."

Tywin turned to face them, his expression as stony as ever. "Prince Oberyn."

"I don't believe you have met Ellaria," Oberyn continued smoothly, gesturing to the woman at his side. "This is the Lord Hand Tywin Lannister and Cersei Lannister, the Queen Regent. Or, I suppose it is former Queen Regent now." The jab was subtle but unmistakable. "Lord Hand and Lady Cersei, this is Ellaria Sand."

Ellaria stepped forward, her dark eyes gleaming as she curtsied. "My lord. My lady."

Tywin offered a curt nod, the barest flicker of acknowledgement. "Charmed."

Cersei, however, let her gaze linger on Ellaria for a moment too long. “Can’t say I’ve ever met a Sand before,” she said, her words dripping with disdain.

You stole a glance at Ellaria, whose demeanor had shifted, a spark of fierceness flashing in her eyes. Her voice was like steel wrapped in silk. “We are everywhere in Dorne. I have ten thousand brothers and sisters.”

Oberyn’s lips curled into a smirk. “Bastards are born of passion, aren't they? We don’t despise them in Dorne.”

The corner of your mouth twitched, nearly betraying a smile at Oberyn’s thinly veiled jab. You bit your lip, forcing yourself to remain composed, knowing how easily any sign of amusement could draw unwanted attention.

Cersei, however, did not miss a beat. “No? How tolerant of you.”

Oberyn leaned in ever so slightly, his eyes never leaving hers. “I expect it is a relief, Lady Cersei, giving up your regal responsibilities. Wearing the crown for so many years must have left your neck a bit crooked.”

His words were a dagger, sharp and cutting. And as he spoke, his eyes flicked to you for the briefest moment, a knowing glance that sent a shiver down your spine. He knew. He had known the entire time you were standing there, silently witnessing the exchange.

Cersei’s smile faltered, if only for a heartbeat, before she recovered. “I suppose you’ll never know, Prince Oberyn. It’s a shame your older brother couldn’t attend the wedding.”

Tywin chimed in, his voice as cold as ever. “Please give him our regards. With any luck, the gout will abate with time, and he will be able to walk again.”

“They call it the rich man’s disease,” Oberyn shot back, his tone dripping with sarcasm. “A wonder you don’t have it.”

You almost choked on your own breath at the boldness of his words, gripping the tray of food tighter to maintain your composure. Every word he spoke was a calculated strike, each one landing with precision, and you admired his audacity.

Tywin’s expression remained impassive. “Noblemen in my part of the country don’t enjoy the same lifestyle as our counterparts in Dorne.”

Oberyn’s gaze darkened, the air between them thick with tension. “People everywhere have their differences. In some places, the highborn frown upon those of low birth. In other places, the rape and murder of women and children is considered distasteful. What a fortunate thing for you, former Queen Regent, that your daughter Myrcella has been sent to live in the latter sort of place.”

Your grip tightened on the tray as Oberyn’s words struck like a whip, slicing through the false pleasantries of court. You admired him for it—for his boldness, his refusal to bend to their rules, their cruelty.

But you also knew that such boldness could come at a cost.

Without another glance, you quietly moved away, slipping back into the sea of nobles and servants. You busied yourself with pouring wine and serving food, but your thoughts lingered on the dangerous dance unfolding before you. The court was a place where words were as deadly as swords, and you could only hope that Oberyn’s sharp tongue wouldn’t cut too deep.

Yet, as you glanced back at him, standing tall and unyielding, a part of you knew that he wouldn’t be so easily broken.

The air was thick with tension, festivity clashing with the cruelty lurking just beneath the surface. You stood near the head table, your place behind Sansa Stark’s chair, a silent observer in the midst of the spectacle. And Joffrey, the cruel little tyrant, loved his games.

From the center of the garden, you heard the familiar tap tap of Joffrey’s goblet. He rose from his seat, commanding attention as if the entire world existed solely for his amusement. His voice rang out, high and grating.

“Everyone, silence! Clear the floor,” Joffrey called, smirking as his gaze swept over the gathered crowd. “There’s been too much amusement here today. A royal wedding is not an amusement. A royal wedding is history.”

You could feel the unease ripple through the crowd as Cersei and Tywin returned to their seats. Their expressions remained impassive, but there was a shared sense of something darker brewing beneath the surface. You, too, felt the shift, your body tensing as you braced for what was to come.

“The time has come for all of us to contemplate our history,” Joffrey continued, his voice dripping with arrogance. “My lords... my ladies…”

A lever was pulled, and from the gaping mouth of a giant lion, a red carpet unfurled, rolling down the middle of the floor. The crowd leaned in, curious, and you felt your stomach twist.

“I give you... King Joffrey... Renly, Stannis, Robb Stark, Balon Greyjoy. The War of the Five Kings.”

From the lion’s mouth, five dwarves emerged, each dressed to mock the fallen kings of Westeros. They paraded around the floor with exaggerated movements and comic glee, drawing laughter and applause from the nobles. But you could feel the weight of it—the insult, the cruelty embedded in the display.

The dwarves pranced around, playing their parts. One, dressed as Renly Baratheon, twirled about the center with an exaggerated flourish. Another, playing Robb Stark, shouted, “I am the King in the North!” His wolf-head helmet bobbed comically as he danced. The Joffrey dwarf stood at the center of it all, reveling in the absurdity, while the real Joffrey watched, his face alight with sadistic glee.

You saw Tyrion’s face, stoic yet darkened with distaste, and you shared in his disgust. Every part of you was braced for the inevitable humiliation, the way Joffrey delighted in belittling those who had fought and died with honor. The scene continued, with the dwarves mocking and prancing, their movements a grotesque parody of real battle. 

“Let the war begin!” the Joffrey dwarf cried, and the chaos of the mock battle began. Robb Stark’s dwarf clashed with the others, while the Balon Greyjoy dwarf pretended to drown in an invisible sea, his gurgling cries echoing through the hall.

You glanced at Sansa. Her face was pale, her eyes wide with shock as she watched the dwarf dressed as her brother fall to the ground, his wolf helmet tumbling off. Joffrey laughed, his high-pitched cackle reverberating through the room. “Your head!” he cried, pointing at the fallen wolf.

Your fingers curled into fists, nails digging into your palms. You sneered, your lip twitching as you barely restrained the anger rising within you. You wanted nothing more than to lash out, to put an end to Joffrey’s twisted plans. But you couldn’t. Not here. Not now.

The crowd cheered, applauding the spectacle as Joffrey stood, a cruel smile on his face. “Well fought! Well fought!” he exclaimed, his voice brimming with satisfaction. “Here you are—champion’s purse. Though you’re not the champion yet, are you? A true champion defeats all challengers. Surely there are others out there who still dare to challenge my reign.”

His gaze landed on Tyrion. “Uncle. How about you? I’m sure they have a spare costume.”

The crowd erupted into laughter. You clenched your jaw, biting down on the inside of your cheek so hard you tasted blood. Every fiber of your being screamed treason. Never had you wanted more to defy a king than in that moment.

Tyrion rose slowly, his expression unreadable. “One taste of combat was enough for me, Your Grace,” he said, his voice steady. “I would like to keep what remains of my face.”

You almost smiled at the subtle barb, but it was quickly followed by another.

“I think you should fight him,” Tyrion continued. “This was but a poor imitation of your own bravery on the field of battle. I speak as a firsthand witness. Climb down from the high table with your new Valyrian sword and show everyone how a true king wins his throne. Be careful, though. This one is clearly mad with lust. It would be a tragedy for the king to lose his virtue hours before his wedding night.”

The crowd went still, the tension palpable. You could feel it, the shift in the air as Joffrey’s expression twisted into anger. He marched over to Tyrion and, without warning, poured the contents of his goblet over his uncle’s head.

You bit back a gasp as wine trickled down Tyrion’s face, his hands clenched at his sides. His voice remained calm, but you could see the fury in his eyes. “A fine vintage. Shame that it spilled.”

Joffrey, ever the petulant child, sneered. “It did not spill.”

Margaery, sensing the rising tension, tried to intervene. “My love, come back to me,” she called, her voice sweet yet pleading. “It’s time for my father’s toast.”

But Joffrey was far from finished with his torment. “How does he expect me to toast without wine? Uncle, you can be my cupbearer since you’re too cowardly to fight.”

You watched in disbelief as Joffrey dropped his goblet, forcing Tyrion to kneel and retrieve it. Your own anger mirrored the look on Tyrion’s face, your nails biting deeper into your palms as he knelt to retrieve the goblet, only for Joffrey to kick it away. The humiliation was complete.

Sansa kindly retrieved the goblet for Tyrion, silently nodding in acknowledgment. He turned to hand Joffrey the cup but sneered, “What good is an empty cup? Fill it.”

Tyrion pours wine for Joffrey in front of Cersei and hands it to him.

“Kneel,” Joffrey hissed. “Kneel before your king.”

Tyrion did not move.

Joffrey’s voice rose, venomous. “I said… kneel!”

Before things could escalate further, Margaery stood. “Look—the pie!”

The crowd’s attention shifted to the giant pie being carried in. Joffrey turned his gaze toward it, temporarily distracted. He strode forward, hacking at the pie with his sword. Doves burst forth, fluttering into the air.

But you weren’t watching the birds. No. You saw Olenna, her hand quick and deft as she slipped something into Joffrey’s goblet. A stone. A strangler stone that she took from Sansa’s necklace.

Your breath hitched in your throat, but you did not react. You acted enraptured, like the rest of the crowd. You helped serve the pie, your movements mechanical, your mind racing. Sansa turned to Tyrion, her voice a whisper.

“Can we leave now?”

Tyrion’s response was measured. “Let’s find out.”

As you continued serving, your eyes flicked back to the head table, watching as Joffrey took his goblet and drank deeply. A small smile tugged at your lips as he swallowed.

The end was coming. You could feel it.

“Mm, good,” Joffrey muttered. “Needs washing down.”

He took another gulp, arrogant and unaware, until it hit him. The first sign was the subtle hitch in his breath, almost laughable at first—until it wasn't. The coughing came next, sharp and violent, ripping through him like a wild beast gnawing at his throat. His regal posture crumbled, hands clawing at his neck as if to tear the poison from his skin. His face twisted, contorted, morphing from haughty superiority into sheer terror.

The hall shifted with his agony, the murmurs turning into gasps, the gasps into cries of panic. Chaos rippled through the crowd like wildfire, nobles scrambling, eyes wide, horrified. But you did not move. Your body remained still, a statue amidst the storm of panic, unmoved by the sight of the boy-king choking on his own hubris.

Joffrey’s sputtering, retching—every grotesque, gurgling sound—echoed through the hall, yet all you could hear was the pounding of your own heartbeat. Slow. Steady. A contrast to the pandemonium erupting around you. It was a symphony of suffering, and you reveled in the silence that enveloped your mind. His pain meant nothing to you. 

Your eyes drifted across the garden, over the faces twisted in fear, horror, and confusion, and then... there was him. Oberyn. His dark, probing gaze locked onto yours from across the hall. His brows furrowed, lips parting ever so slightly. Surprise? No, curiosity, perhaps even confusion, flickered in his eyes as he searched your face for something—anything—but found nothing. No flicker of emotion, no sympathy, no shock. Just the cold, hollow indifference that had settled into your bones like an old companion. 

You didn’t flinch, didn’t waver. Why would you? This was one of the moments you had been waiting for. The reckoning. All of Joffrey's cruelty, all of his venom, had finally come back to devour him whole. His pitiful gasping, the frantic clawing at his throat, was a fitting end for the boy who thought himself untouchable.

Joffrey gurgled, his face now a deep shade of purple, eyes bulging, lips frothing. The people around him scrambled in vain, trying to save a life that was already slipping away. You remained still, cold as ice, watching it unfold with detached precision. The world could burn around you, and you would not care.

Oberyn’s eyes lingered on you longer than they should have, as if he were trying to understand the enigma standing before him. He didn’t. He couldn't. No one could. There was no more humanity left in you for him to grasp.

Joffrey’s choking grew louder, more desperate. His hands flailed, reaching for his mother, for someone to save him from the inevitable, but no one could stop what was coming. No one could stop you from witnessing the justice you had longed for.

Margaery rushed to Joffrey’s side. “He’s choking!”

Olenna, ever the actress, called out, “Help the poor boy!”

But there would be no help. No saving the king. You watched, unmoved, as Joffrey staggered, his face turning purple, vomit spilling from his lips. Jaime rushed to him, but it was futile. Joffrey was dying.

And all you could think of was how fitting it was. There would be no glory for Joffrey Baratheon. No legacy. Only pain. Only death.

“My son. He’s gone. My son!”

Around you, the world screamed and wailed. Cersei’s frantic cries cut through the air like a knife, but you barely registered them. You were detached, distant. Untouchable. 

It was strange—the numbness. The apathy was a shield you had forged long ago, layer by layer, through every injustice, every cruelty, every wound. You were unbreakable now, untouchable by Joffrey's suffering or anyone else’s. There was a quiet power in that, a dark satisfaction, as you watched the boy-king's life wither before your eyes. 

His torment did not sway you. Not a muscle in your body flinched. Your fingers, relaxed at your sides, held no tension. You didn't care. Not anymore.

“He did this. He poisoned my son, your king. Take him. Take him! Take him! Take him!”

Cersei, her screams filled the hall, but you felt nothing. The king was dead. And soon, the unraveling of this court, this rot, would begin.

TAGLIST:

@christinamadsen

[ofoceansandtombsanew]

11:53 ー GOJOU SATORU. even after all this time, the sun never says to the earth, “you owe me”. look what happens with a love like that. It lights the whole sky.

“Satoru,” as if he can already sense your complaints, the white-haired tree hugs you tighter. Despite yourself, you can’t help the laughter that bubbles from your lips. “It’s too hot to be like this.”

“No it isn’t,” comes the expected reply. “This is, like, the perfect temperature for a Sunset Bird morning.”

It isn’t and you both know it. Still, the boy you’ve known since you were 8 continues to plasters himself to you like a koala. “Moms are gonna freak if they know you’re here.”

“Freakouts stopped when we were 13,” Satoru mumbles into your shoulder.

You finally accept your defeat with a sigh.

Freakouts did stop when you were 13 and sneaking into your room became habit for the boy next door.

Complete with the lack of shame Satoru’s always possessed, however, he had no qualms marching himself downstairs the following morning to get a glass of orange juice. To say your mothers had heart attacks that day is an understatement. Yet despite the scolding that followed, Satoru was unperturbed. As such, Pamela and Noelani [Last] are unperturbed when they wake to Satoru walking around like he’s lived in this house all his life. In some ways, he might as well have.

Your lips quirk into a smile despite the heat, “you’re so annoying.”

“Nah, you love me,” Satoru snorts and you can feel him grinning.

Luckily for Satoru, the sentiment is true.

You’ve always loved him even when he was at his most obnoxious. Even if initially your friendship only started due to close proximities. You were 8 and he was going to turn 8 later in December and his father, desperate to get his son with a terrible attitude some new friends, offered you $20 to be his friend.

It’s a funny tale to look back on.

Befriending the prodigal son of the Gojous took a fair bit of effort on your part, effort and forced proximity, but you’re happy that things ended up this way. The clingy koala laying in your bed is a far cry from the aloof brat you remember. No $20s were required ーpartially because you had run off screaming about stranger danger, partially because Satoru was Satoru and that was more than enough compensation for your time and effort.

Even if I could do without the additional sweat, though.

You wait a few more minutes before you finally force yourself into a seated position, Satoru complaining all the while. “Come on, we need to get up!”

Satoru whines even as his stomach growls, “can’t we just ask Liz to bring us up something?”

“Liz has already fled Casa de [Last], remember?” She’d left the afternoon before for her return flight back to New York. She'd left the coop first and even if it's sad to think about, Liz did have a life outside of Sunset Bird. A different life and different friends but there's comfort in knowing you're still Liz's baby sibling no matter what happens. “And I’m pretty sure moms aren’t cookin’ because it’s hotter than the devil’s asshole today. So come on,” you pat his cheek once, twice. “Get your ass on up, rich boy.”

“Oh,” Satoru opens his eyes with a pout, blue eyes squinting in his dismay. He’d have to leave the volcano nest you called a bed if he wanted to eat after all. “And the other rich kid in the room can’t call me a rich kid. Our parents are in the same country club.”

“I prefer the term,” you wave your hands gracefully. “Middle-class.” Your family is certainly comfortable but to compare their comfort to the riches of the Gojou family is ridiculous. You know Satoru’s poking is good-humored fun, however.

“Still in the country club though,” Satoru snorts with a lazy grin but he’s in an upright position.

Breakfast is typically a serious affair in your household regardless of the season.

Your mothers spared no expense at making spreads that accommodated everyone’s dietary needs and preferences. When Satoru became added to the mix due to your impromptu sleepovers, it was no different. Still, not even the power of your mothers can fully withstand the heat of mid-summer so it’s every man for himself this morning.

You find yourself not minding it much as you go to the bathroom, Satoru trailing not too far behind with a yawn.

It’s crazy how much ‘Satoru Gojou’ is in your house, you realize as you brush your teeth.

He’s everywhere.

His clothes litter the floor of your room, the kitchen cabinets contain his favorite plates and cups, he’s even in a few of the framed photos scattered across your house. First day school photos, the times you’ve gone trick-or-treating, but most importantly the summers. Because everything happens in summer in Sunset Bird.

It’s the season you met and it’s the season Satoru became yours. The summer he moved in, the summer you celebrated your birthday at the park. You’re pretty sure your moms even snapped a picture of the two of you with Liz before she took off on her flight because of course he tagged along to the airport.

You glance at Satoru as you both brush your teeth. He’s lazy but efficient at it, leaning against the wall as his mind drifts to who knows where. Even the toothbrush he is using to clean his already perfect teeth is one of many your mothers have bought him over the years. 

“Well, if he’s going to be here so often we might as well be prepared,” Ma shook her head with a laugh the first time they him bought one.

Mom placed her hands on her hips more bemused than dismayed, “it would certainly save the boy the trip to just brush ‘em at our place instead of heading all the way back home, wouldn’t it?”

As such, Satoru always had a toothbrush of his own to find in your family’s bathroom. Sky blue, like his eyes. Your mothers were cheesy like that and yet you can’t imagine his toothbrush being any other color. It’s the color you reach for whenever it’s time to buy a replacement and your parents have dragged you to help with the grocery shopping.

“He’s a jerk but his dad says he has no friends so I’ll play with him anyway,” you recall 8 year old you telling your moms the first night you met him. You wonder what little you would think about how things have turned out for you now. Would they be surprised? Pleased? You aren’t able to continue your guessing game when Satoru takes notice of your staring.

“What,” he grins, completely disregarding the foam on his cheeks and lips. He’s matured a fair amount since the summer you were 8 and 7 but there’s still some boy in him. You hope that childlike innocence he has never dies.

“Nothing,” you chuckle.

“It’s clearly something,” you can’t resist his impish grin even if you try to.

“I was just thinking how I hope we get to spend more summers together,” you finally relent with a sound of nostalgia mixed with knowing. It seems a little silly to hope for more summers when you’re quite sure those future summers are guaranteed. “But I’m pretty sure I’m stuck with you for the long haul. Not that I want it any other way.”

He might have been born in late fall but summer is the season that suits Satoru Gojou best, you think as you watch his face morph from surprise to a smile that matches the sun. Yeah, summer is perfect for us. Your smile is one that’s as soft as you feel for the boy you’ve grown up with. You love him more than you can express, that’s an unwavering truth. Even with that unwavering truth, unfortunately, you still hold up a hand the moment he leans forward with his lips puckered.

“Um,” white eyebrows suddenly quirk downwards as Satoru frowns in shocked displeasure. “Excuse me?”

“I am not kissing you with toothpaste foam all over our mouths,” you push your boyfriend’s face away with a snort. You laugh even harder at how Satoru’s face contorts dramatically into one of mock horror and betrayal.

“Why not it’s clean!”

You rinse and wipe your mouth with a snort, barely dodging his attempt to land one on you again. “Satoru, hurry up so we can go eat.”

Satoru crosses his arms, far too serious for the subject matter at hand, “I’m not eating without my good morning kiss.”

“The good morning kiss can be obtained once you wash your face off, you dork!”

Happy (early) birthday to my buddy @hash-slinging-slasher-trash! I recently got them into the Our Life franchise just in time for their birthday and I had to capitalize on that with a JJK x Our Life AU. Everyone's happy and the angstiest thing you have to deal with is a certain someone realizing they didn't get their good morning kiss. Godspeed to you, my friend. It took so much effort not to post this early lmao but here you go! Sorry readers if your birthday is not in the summer/spring, this is very much catered to my friend who is a June baby.

Is June 15 technically summer? No, but it's 5 days off from the equinox and in California, spring is just early summer so- anyways, your girl couldn't wait 3 more days apparently.

[slamminslamminmcgill]

got silly goofy high and had an epiphany 😌 (had this cookin in my drafts for weeks yk how it be)

warning: breeding kink, piss kink, spit kink, intox, degradation/slurs

anatomical terms: pussy/cunt, t-dick

“Oh, god, you feel so good… Feels so fucking good, you little whore… You do this often? Spreading your legs for any old man who buys you a drink? Betcha have some real daddy issues, don’tcha, boy?”

Lalo grabbed your chin and spat in your face as he fucked you up against the bathroom stall.

“Slut.”

In response, you reached out and pulled him in closer, sobbing with pleasure into his shoulders. You squeezed him as tight as you could, inside and out. Your chests pressed together as your vice of a cunt milked him dry.

Lalo growled, stabbing his coke nails into your hips and viciously thrusting into you, his balls slapping into your t-dick, the two of you jiggling the flimsy lock on the stall that threatened to give way. “Oh, te pinche putito… Ngh, voy a venir… Voy a venir dentro de tí… Voy a llenarte y poner un pinche bebé en tí, joto… Mmm, te vas a estar tan lleno… Tan lleno de mi leche… (Oh, you little fucking slut… Ngh, I’m gonna cum… I’m gonna cum inside you… Gonna fill you up and put a fucking baby in you, faggot… Mmm, you’re gonna be so full… So full of my cum…)”

You had no clue what he was saying, but it sounded fucking hot. He wasn’t talking to you, moreso at you. This wasn’t a balanced exchange; you were just a hole, one of many he could’ve picked to empty himself in. Your limp body dangled in his arms as he used it, a lifeless sex doll for his sole pleasure. He jerked himself off with your pussy until he came with a loud-

“Fuck!”

And boom goes the dynamite. His hot cum spurted inside you, filling you up just like he said he would. As he flooded your hole, both of your brains flooded with dopamine. That physical satisfaction came alongside mental gratification, reinforcing this debauched behavior. You’d surely seek it out again.

Lalo laughed in delight as the relief washed over him. “Oh… Hah… Haha… Phew, you’re incredible, kid. Best fuck I’ve had in a really long time.” He swept your hair out of your face and tenderly kissed you on the forehead. “I’m gonna pull out now, okay?”

“Nonononono, keep it…” you whined, your limbs locking around his back, “K-Keep it iiin…”

“Aww, you’re precious, honey…” He cooed, peppering kisses along your neck. “But I have to piss, so I kinda have to take it out…”

For some stupid reason, maybe it was the cocktail of substances and the myriad levels of pleasure you were dealing with, or maybe just the immaturity of “haha piss funny”, you started snickering. A lot.

”Oh?” Lalo inquired, “What’s so funny, chiquito?”

The haze of goofy laughter dissipated, and what cast it away was the bright light of an idea. A sick, sinful, salacious idea. “Do you… Do you have to take it out?”

That made Lalo snort. He chuckled, shook his head, and replied, “Oh my god, no. No, baby, you don’t want that. I can’t do that to you… You’re too cute for that…”

You mewled with disappointment, hiding your face in his neck out of shame and praying to whatever god may be that you didn’t make this weird.

Lalo sweetly stroked your hair and sighed. “Look at me.” He commanded, snapping his fingers and you obeyed, picking your face up from the shadows. “You really want it?”

You nodded, your big puppy dog eyes bulging with need.

“Say please.”

“P-Please…”

“Please, who?”

Shit, what was this guy’s name again? He definitely told you… Oh, yeah. “Lalo… P-Please, Lalo…”

“Please, Lalo, what?

Oh, god, he was gonna make you say it? Beg for it, even? …Eh, whatever. Fuck it. “P-Please, Lalo… P-Pee inside me…”

“Good boy.” Lalo pressed his lips to yours. “I will, since you asked so nicely.”

For a few moments, everything was still. Nothing outside the bathroom stall existed, let alone mattered to you right now. All that mattered was Lalo’s cock throbbing inside you. You waited, and waited, you weren’t sure for what. Then, the signal came.

Lalo grunted, “Here it comes, baby.”

And so it did. The most prominent sensation was the intense heat pooling inside your debased hole, filling up what little space there was around his cock. You squirmed and squeaked, gripping his floral shirt in your fists.

“Fuuuck, Lalooo… so waaarm…”

“I know, right?” Lalo dotted more wet kisses along your jaw and neck. “You like it?”

“Mhmmm…”

“Good boy…” He praised, petting your hair while he pissed inside your pussy. You were so full. It was so hot. The pressure was becoming too much to bear. “I’m almost done, honey. You’re taking it so well. You ever do this before?”

You shook your head. “N-No…”

“Well, get ready. It’s about to get even better.”

You were left pondering the meaning of that remark for maybe a second, until his still-hard cock slid halfway out of your hole. His hot piss gushed out and splashed onto the floor. The release of pressure and heat felt like nothing you had ever experienced. You trembled, moaned, and drooled as he slammed his cock back in, picking up where he’d left off: fucking you stupid.

Lalo hissed obscenities in your ear as he fucked you with renewed vigor. “Ngh, qué asco… No creo… No creo que me dejaste hacer eso… Ahh, Acabo de mear en tu chocho, te pinche puto estúpido… Qué un… Mmm, qué un cerdito sucio que eres… (Ngh, so gross… I can’t… I can’t believe you let me do that… Ahh, I just pissed in your cunt, you stupid fucking whore… What a… Mmm, what a dirty little piggy you are…)”

Dripping with piss and cum, you spared a thought for the janitor who’d have to clean this stall later. Hopefully, they wouldn’t know it was you.

[radiant-fan-blog]

Ma 2ème participation au concours de dessin Radiant de Ankama Editions et Clip Studio Paint.

Thème : Crée ton sorcier.

J'ai créé ma sorcière Cookine pour l'univers de Radiant en 2017 déjà, et elle n'a presque pas pris une ride xD

Auto-proclamée "Wizartiste", Cookine est une sorcière qui préfère utiliser sa magie et son imagination pour s'exprimer et émerveiller que pour se battre. Cela ne signifie pas pour autant qu'elle est sans défense, surtout en compagnie de son Labragold Titan. Tous les deux voyagent pour donner des spectacles là où la magie et les sorciers ne sont pas mal perçus. Ce qui fait hélas assez peu de coins du Pharénos.

Pour manipuler le Fantasia, Cookine utilise ses carnets et surtout son stylo baguette. Une fois qu'elle a rempli une page avec un croquis, elle utilise sa baguette pour que le Fantasia prenne la forme dessinée sur le papier (semblable à celui d'un parchemin).

Son infection se manifeste par une bouche à l'air "démoniaque" placée à l'arrière de sa tête. Lorsque Cookine est rongée par le doute et autres sentiments négatifs, cette bouche les renforce avec des paroles blessantes qu'elle seule peut entendre.

Pour être tout à fait honnête, j'ai hésité à participer à ce thème là, je n'étais pas sûre de moi. Mais comme j'ai créé Cookine il y a des années (je l'ai même demandée à Tony une fois en dédicace), je m'en serais voulue de ne pas lui laisser au moins une chance.

Technique : Traditionnel (feutres à alcool) et Digital (Photoshop) pour montage et corrections.

RADIANT (c) Tony Valente

Fanarts (c) @melachanart

DO NOT REPOST/STEAL PLEASE. Thank you.

[ut-monochromasis]

Undertale: Monochromasis | Chapter 1 - Page 13

Next Previous

Hey guys, Dragon8er here!

This is a totally normal page where normal things happen.

Like, Papyrus walking on air literally happens in Undertale. It's normal. Everyone forgets that he does that for some reason.

Also pretty pleased with how this page came out. Especially that last panel. Backgrounds are hell.

But also.

In a little over 2 weeks. Will be the 5th anniversary of Undertale: Monochromasis! AKA Mono's 5th birthday!

Yup, I first made Mono back in 2019, on May 5th. Yes his birthday is Cinco de Mayo, and no I did not do that intentionally lmao.

But yeah, look forward to that! I've been cookin a lot in the background to make the day extra special.

Until then, this has been Dragon8er, and I will see you all Drago-l8er!

[burningexeter]

Here's a fairly solid amount of all the different kinds of media that I think both can fit well in and could share the same universe as one of the greatest animated shows ever made Transformers Prime, along with a fan sequel I have in mind Transformers Skyfire, which you can both read and see below for yourself:

• Jim Henson's Fraggle Rock

• Michele Fazekas & Tara Butters' Reaper (TV Series)

• Robert Kirkman's Outcast (TV Series)

• Jami O'Brien's NOS4A2 (TV Series)

• Michael Dougherty's Trick r Treat & Krampus

• Mark Waters' The Spiderwick Chronicles

• Richard Donner, David Giler, Walter Hill, Joel Silver & Robert Zemeckis' Tales From The Crypt

— The Man Who Was Death

— And All Through The House

— Dig That Cat... He's Real Gone

— Only Sin Deep

— Lover Come Hack To Me

— The Thing From The Grave

— For Cryin' Out Loud

— Four-Sided Triangle

— Judy, You're Not Yourself Today

— Fitting Punishment

— Lower Berth

— Mute Witness To Murder

— Television Terror

— Abra Cadaver

— Top Billing

— Easel Kill Ya

— Deadline

— Yellow

— None But The Lonely Heart

— On A Deadman's Chest

— What's Cookin'

— The New Arrival

— Showdown

— King Of The Road

— Maniac At Large

— Split Personality

— Strung Along

— Death Of Some Salesman

— Forever Ambergris

— People Who Live In Brass Hearses

— Two For The Show

— Well Cooked Hams

— Came The Dawn

— Half-Way Horrible

— Till Death Do We Part

— Only Skin Deep

— The Assassin

— Staired In Horror

— Surprise Party

— You, Murderer

— Fatal Caper

— Escape

— Horror In The Night

— Cold War

— The Kidnapper

— Report From The Grave

and

— Confession

• Dan Angel & Billy Brown's R.L. Stine's The Haunting Hour: The Series

— Every episode of the entire show except Red Eye, Poof De Fromage, Bad Egg, Mrs. Worthington and Lotsa Luck.

• Bede Blake & Robert Butler's Creeped Out

— Trolled

— A Boy Called Red

— Bravery Badge

— Shed No Fear

— The Traveller

— Side Show

— The Many Place

— The Unfortunate Five

— The Takedown

— Tilly Bone

and

— Splinta Claws

• Matthew Robbins' Batteries Not Included

• Bruce Timm, Giancarlo Volpe & Jim Krieg's Green Lantern: The Animated Series

• Dan Mandel & Chris Pearson's Dan Vs.

• Brad Bird's The Incredibles

• Dan Cross & David Hoge's Pair Of Kings

• Steven Spielberg's The Adventures Of Tintin

• Stephen Sommers' The Mummy (1999)

• John Carpenter's Big Trouble In Little China

• Robert Rodriguez's From Dusk Till Dawn

• Jordan Peele's Nope

• Rocksteady "Before Their Fall" Studios' Urban Chaos: Riot Response

• Istvan Zorkoczy's The Secret War (Love, Death & Robots)

• Neil Gaiman & Lenny Henry's Neverwhere (Mini-Series)

• LAIKA's Wildwood & The Night Gardener

• Jeffrey Boam & Carlton Cuse's The Adventures Of Brisco County Jr.

and finally, last but definitely not least —

• David Lowery's Pete's Dragon (2016)

[thesinglesjukebox]

MARSHMELLO FT. KANE BROWN - "MILES ON IT"

They did another thing wrong...

[2.53]

Tim de Reuse: A terrifying peek behind the bro-country event horizon; the whole genre scrunched up like a loaf of Wonder Bread in a hydraulic press. The "guitar" is an alien, glassy thing, kept around out of habit and inertia like a vestigial organ. Marshmello's instrumental is coherent only if you don't actually try to pick out a single instrument from the haze. Commodity fetishism finally stripped of pretense, un-sublimated, all metaphor drifting away like diesel fumes, leaving only the genuine desire to achieve orgasm with your dick in a $60,000 luxury pickup. [1]

Jacob Sujin Kuppermann: That sounds mad uncomfortable, dude. [2]

TA Inskeep: I hate this ode to fucking in the back of a pickup for the following reasons: 1) grown men need to stop calling women "girl"; 2) a trad EDM-adjacent boom-bap shouldn't be all over mainstream country radio; 3) "we could break it in, if you know what I mean" is an utterly icky turn of phrase.  [0]

Iain Mew: The instrumental is cookin’ on about half a burner, but the bigger problem is an acute case of metaphor backwash. By the time you’re singing “you and me in a truck bed wide like a California King” you’re not using creative ambiguity, you’re just singing about having sex on the back of a truck. From there the "it" easily glides into being about the woman he's with; read that back into the already weird “these wheels are innocent”, plus “no history and you just can't fake that” and “let’s put some miles on it” and there’s some gross implications. Basically the song is too easy to read as Kane Brown waggling his eyebrows and saying “hey babe, let’s get together and depreciate your market value”. [2]

Wayne Weizhen Zhang: At least it’s a significant improvement from the last rodeo.  [3]

Julian Axelrod: Now this is a song that could use a big Phil Collins drum fill. [5]

Ian Mathers: This actually feels less ersatz than Brown's own "I Can Feel It," but he's still pretty generic; the real surprise is that Marshmello keeps the boshing relatively restrained, which is a pity. It's not bad, wouldn't be mad if I heard it in the wild. But I am also going to take this blurb space to talk about a superior modern country song (and track I missed blurbing when I was inconveniently sick last month), Shaboozey's superior "A Bar Song (Tipsy)", which is an easy [10] and makes this feel even more milquetoast than it does in isolation. [5]

Harlan Talib Ockey: Are there any good EDM/country crossovers? This is just emotionally flaccid grocery-store-core. [1]

Taylor Alatorre: Justice for Icona Pop. [3]

Jonathan Bradley: It should be exactly the wrong point in the nostalgia cycle for anyone to be resurrecting the festival EDM meets festival folk of Avicii's biggest hits... and it is! [2]

Hannah Jocelyn: One quarter of a single Mississippi and three quarters of "Wake Me Up" -- much less leaden than "I Can Feel It," and so it's more likable! [6]

Aaron Bergstrom: I have to assume the new truck is a replacement for the horse they've already beaten to death. [1]

Joshua Minsoo Kim: Could not believe when this ended that it did not break the three-minute mark. [4]

Katherine St. Asaph: This is an awful single that stops trying to be a real song somewhere around the four-"miles on it"-mark. But if you replace everything but the backing track with the hook from "Timber," it becomes catchy, so sorry, I can't score it any lower.   [3]

Nortey Dowuona: "Fuck this movie." - Sean Burns [0]

[Read, comment and vote on The Singles Jukebox]

[littlemisspascal]

New Writers added to The Pedro Library 🐼

@odetodilfs @mypoisonedvine

New Works Added ✨

Many fics aren’t appearing in the tags when searching. If I miss yours, please let me know 💗 Or add me to your taglist cuz I love being tagged 😊

As always, if you would like me to remove your work from the rec list, please let me know and I’ll remove them asap 😊

@alwaysbethewest Javier  S.W.A.K

@haylzcyon​ Javier  Whatever You Need

@flightlessangelwings Javier  Kisses in Which, “I Can’t Believe This is Real, but I Love You So Much”

@whatsnewalycat Javier  Secret Admirer

@pedropascalsx Javier  The Beginning / Frankie  Sooner

@novemberrain-writes Javier  Sheltered

@albertasunrise​ Javier  Boss’ Desk / Joel  Look for the Light +  See You Again

@katareyoudrilling​ Joel  Construction Corner

@ilovemanypeople Joel  Losses and Companions

@jedifarmerr Joel  Pepper Sprout

@forever-rogue Joel  Hurt

@radiowallet Joel  West

@littlepadika Joel  He Gets You a Stuffie

@din-jarhead Joel  Luxury

@peterparkersnose Joel  Give In

@huffle-pissed Joel  How to Make a Latte

@heyhilana Joel  Days of Love

@misspearly1 Joel  Hush

@eupheme Joel  Take It Slow

@the-ginger-hedge-witch Joel  More

@lavendertales Joel  We Go Down Together

@rayslittlekitten Joel  Grumpy Old Man

@ozarkthedog Joel  Greedy Little Thing

@allfoolsinluv Joel  Crave

@toomanystoriessolittletime Joel  Healing / Javier  Apart

@icanbeyourjedi-writes​ Mr. Ben  Love, Wings and Football

@chaoticgeminate Mr. Ben  Rainy Days

@writer-darling Ezra  How Do You Feel About Me?

@kayleezra Ezra  Capitalist Holiday

@absurdthirst @storiesofthefandomlovers Pero  The Valentine’s Dom / Marcus P  A Valentine For One / Joel  The Last Valentine’s / Whiskey  First Comes Marriage / Joel + Dave  The Exchange

@psychedelic-ink Pero  Afterglow / Dieter  Hold Me, Love Me, Touch Me, Honey

@simpingcowboy​ Pero  Un Millón de Primaveras//A Million Springs

@dindjarindiaries Din  Scarlet Promise

@autumnleaves1991-blog Din  I Need a Mechanic

@dinsverdika Din  A Yellow Leaf & Glowing Flowers

@typingcorgi Marcus P  Paper Rings

@lowlights Dieter  February 15th

@pennyserenade Dieter  It’s Never Over

@theredwritingwitch Frankie  Home Cookin’

@nothoughtsjustmeds Frankie   Tame

@criticallyacclaimedstranger Frankie  Whatta Man / Joel  Surprise

@supernaturalgirl20 Oberyn  The Viper & The Lamb

@deadhumourist Oberyn  A Game of Realities

@agentwhiskeysdarlin Whiskey  Come Back to Me

@littlebirdsbookshelf Dave  A Valentine’s In Reverse

@prolix-yuy Dave  Taut / Dieter  Simulated

@whataperfectwasteoftime Dave  Ropes

[tsunflowers]

ok this is my precure ed ranking minus max heart and yes. this is based on listening to the first ~30 seconds of each song just now. if I did this on a different day I would probably have a different order

kibou rainbow

yay yay yay

shubidubi sweets time

cure up rapapa

ganbalance de dance

kono sora no mukou

get you love love

miracle tto link ring

papepipu romantic

precure memory

dreams are the path to the future

dreaming princess precure

hugtto future dreamer

let’s la cookin showtime

you make me happy

mahou a la doumo

happy together

tomorrow song

wonderful powerful music

love link

hirogarism

delicious heart

oshiete twinkle

delicious happy days

heartcatch paradise

fun fun wonderful days

mankai smile

dear shine sky

aiming to go my way

tropical i n g

hugtto yell for you

party has come

go by smiling is victory

everybody healin good day

[g0dspeeed]

A Little Insecurity

Something is bothering Eli Palmer, and he finally musters up the courage to ask Cappie about it.

An Eli Palmer & Cappie De La Costa snippet 💕

*Contains sexual references

The green glow from the wall of surveillance screens set for a strange mood, as did the unnatural orange of the box mac-n-cheese in their bowls, vivid even in the shadows of the Wolf's Den. Not quite the romantic ambiance that Eli Palmer preferred to set with one Cappie De La Costa, but a long night in a hidden militia bunker during a cult holy war called for such amenities, and well, she was willing to compromise.

Cappie was actually pretty content for the most part, chowing down on the simple meal–bowl number four– as if it was a fine delicacy. Eli supposed that in a sad way it was, for Cappie had been running about Hope County for the past two days, smuggling and raising all sorts of hell for the Project, and Eli could put money down that she seldom ate, unless it was to ingest some narcotic to keep her body moving.

"What's cookin', good lookin'?" she drawled with a lop-sided smile, her scar upticked as she caught him staring.

Eli smiled back, sheepish and shy, but then glanced down at his plastic bowl of macaroni. A growing concern of his itched at his brain, crept in whenever he was alone, allowed to fester in the depths of Eli's insecurities.

"Been wondering somethin' and I want you to be honest with me about it, okay?," he started.

At the serious tone in his voice, Cappie turned to fully face him in her chair, her arm grazing his before it settled on the back of his seat.

"'Kay," she murmured.

Despite himself, he felt a slow, creeping warmth grace the apples of his cheeks. Her frown didn't help. Eli swallowed.

"Cap," tried Eli.

"Elijah."

He sighed.

"Do I, shit, do I look like a Peggie to you?"

Cappie's reaction was less than inspiring. That full-lipped frown of hers deepened to a thoughtful pout and her brow furrowed tight between her gorgeous emerald eyes. Eli felt like such an idiot the moment he asked, a lame dread weighing down in his gut, made lamer still by the silence that stretched on and on with each passing second.

Then, Cappie shrugged and scooped another bite of mac-n-cheese into her pretty mouth.

"I mean, by long hair and beard alone? Kinda, but then I look into your dark, sadass eyes and imagine that handsome mug of yours between my legs and think 'Nah, no way a man as sexy as that ain't a temptation', which I think goes against Peggie ideology, right? Plus, ya got a firm ass, so, maybe you got the hair of a Peggie, fine, but you're way too fun and hot to me, Eli, to be a cultist. Cultists ain't fun and you're the funnest man I ever met!"

With a wink, Cappie continued eating their dinner, her answer warming his drumming heart. Eli smiled to himself before finishing his own bowl. His body then stretched in the chair, brown eyes befalling the several surveillance screens.

"Wanna fuck?" he whispered.

"Mhm, you betcha, handsome."

[southernvangard]

Episode 397 - Southern Vangard Radio

BANG! @southernvangard radio Ep397! We’re back from Spring Break with a vengeance, Vangardians. Doe and Meeks kick things off with a 10 song set, and also brought two, count ‘em TWO, WORLD EXCLUSIVES courtesy of MATICULOUS, HUS KINGPIN, BHRAMABULL, REEK OSAMA & BIG TWINS. We also announced the date for Episode 400, so mark ya little calendars - MAY 5, 2024 - yep, you read it right…EPISODE 400 on CINCO DE MAYO now known as CINCO DOECINO! It doesn’t get any more poetic and it doesn’t get any more YOU WAAAAALCOME!!!!! #SmithsonianGrade #WeAreTheGard // southernvangard.com // @southernvangard on all platforms #hiphop #undergroundhiphop #boombap

Recorded live April 10, 2024 @ Dirty Blanket Studios, Marietta, GA

southernvangard.com

@southernvangard on all platforms

#SmithsonianGrade #WeAreTheGard

twitter/IG: @southernvangard @jondoeatl @cappuccinomeeks

Pre-Game Beats - Thee Sacred Souls / Magic In Threes

Talk Break Inst. - "Muff Shuffle" - The Doppelgangaz

"Foot Clan Party" - Mickey Diamond

"Uptown Fly Sh*t" - Termanology ft. Lord Sko & Nim K.

"Say You Love Me" - Cookin Soul & The Musalini ft. Hus Kingpin & Reuben Vincent

"Legend Has It" - Tha God Fahim

"In Living Color" - Blu & Shafiq Husayn ft. Skye Louise

"Chess Not Checkers" - Q-Unique, DJ Presto One & Jake Palumbo

"The Grimy Life" - Supreme Cerebral & Swab ft. Big Twin

"Halal Food" - FastLife, Madhattan & Wino Willy

"Justified" - Waterr & The Standouts

"Higher Self" - Roc Marciano ft. T.F & Flee Lord (prod. The Alchemist)

Talk Break Inst. - "Harem Uptown" - The Doppelgangaz

"The Servicemen" - Real Bad Man & Lukah

"Cartoon Car Tunes" - Mickey Diamond

"Roll Call" - GUTTR (Havoc, RJ Payne, Ras Kass) ft. Method Man, Fame & Sway

"Mav x Mooch x Times" - DJ Muggs & Mooch ft. M.A.V. & Times Change

"Terrance Trent d'Arby" - Sankofa

"Tyson" - Ekundayo

"Around The Planet" - Apathy

Talk Break Inst. - "Stupid Idiot" - The Doppelgangaz

"The Expanse" - maticulous ft. Hus Kingpin ** WORLD EXCLUSIVE **

"Barrio Logan" - Bhrmabull ft. Reek Osama x Big Twins ** WORLD EXCLUSIVE **

"Malandro" - Reek Osama X Hus Kingpin

"Curbside Service" - Jalen Frazier And Foul Mouth

"Sammy On Balco" - Waterr & The Standouts ft. Chubs

"Twin Turbos" - Money Mogly ft. Starz Coleman

"Measuring Stick" - Marv Won ft. Fatt Father & Elzhi

Talk Break Inst. - "Up Good" - The Doppelgangaz

SOUNDCLOUD

https://on.soundcloud.com/L4yNsSmsX1wzMguU8 (SHORT LINK)

APPLE PODCASTS

SPOTIFY PODCASTS

YOUTUBE

GOOGLE PODCASTS

http://bit.ly/svrgooglepodcasts

TWITCH

MIXCLOUD

[heptagonsun]

Ask meme! Multiples of 6!

1&6. Answered prior

12. how are you?

good! cookin some pulled pork for tn, cleaning up, enjoying a lighter work week

18. do you still love stuffed animals?

never have been stuffed animal person, personally

24. what’s something you do to de-stress?

vibe on my own to podcasts and music, mostly

30. what reminds you of home (doesn’t have to mean house… just things that remind you of the feeling of home)?

i've always been a cat owner, so the smell of cat litter is weirdly homey to me. also the smell of the detergent my fiancee uses does that to me now too.

[precuremusictournament]

The Precure OP Showdown is back, this time as the Precure Ending Showdown! Come vote for your favorite ending, help them rise above the rest!

Just like last time, I went roughly chronological except for a few instances of rearranging to make sure songs went up against their own alternate versions, or to keep other things like that grouped together. The list of featured songs is rather long with 60-some entrants, double last round's number, so it should be rather exciting!

Polls will be linked here as they get posted!

ROUND 1:

SIDE A1:

- Get You! Love Love?! VS GO by "Smiling is Victory!"

- Impossible!? Possible!! IN the Alright?! VS Wonder☆Winter☆Hooray!!

- Ganbalance de Dance VS Ganbalance de Dance ~Dreaming Miracles~ VS Ganbalance de Dance ~Relay of Hope~

-So Sparkle My True Love! VS Connecting Our Hands Also Links Our Hearts!!

-You make me happy! VS H@.ppy Together!!!

-Heartcatch☆Paradise! VS Tomorrow Song ~Tomorrow's Song~

-Wonderful↑Powerful↑Music!! VS ♯Hope Rainbow♯

-Yay! Yay! Yay! VS Full Bloom*Smile!

SIDE B1:

-Beyond the Sky VS Love Link

-Pretty Cure・Memory VS Party Has Come

-Dreaming☆Princess Pretty Cure VS Dreams are the Path to the Future

-CURE UP↑RA♡PA☆PA! ~Magic That Turns Into Smiles~ VS Magic À La・Thanks! VS The Right Way To Use Magic

-Let's・La・Cookin'☆Showtime VS Shubidubi☆Sweets Time VS Très Bien Semble!!

-Miracle tto♥Link Ring! VS Everybody☆Healin' Good Day!

-Tropica I・N・G VS Aiming To Go My Way!!

-DELICIOUS HAPPY DAYS♪ VS Delicious Heart A tie!

SIDE A2:

-HUGtto! Future✩Dreamer VS Friends With You

-DANZEN! Futari wa Pretty Cure ~The One and Only Lights~ VS HUGtto! YELL FOR YOU

-PaPePiPu☆Romantic VS WINkle! Pretty Cure Miracle Universe☆

-Please Tell Me...! Twinkle☆ VS Twinkle Stars

-Hirogarism VS World of Seven Colors

-Please Love Me as much as 100 jokes VS DANZEN! Leave It To Us☆Full・Throttle GOGO!!

-Wake Up, Shake Up VS What We Need VS Run (All Together)

-All Stars VS Believe in You VS Glitter Force (remix)

SIDE B2:

-Birthday Party VS The Future Called You

-KIRA KIRA VS Promise

-Shantia ~Land of Happiness~ VS The Place That Calls To You

-Pretty Cure, Miracle Deluxe VS 17jewels ~Pretty Cure Medley 2010~

-Full of Thanks VS Friends

-From Here And Now VS Because everyone is here☆Pretty Cure All Stars

-You Can't Stop Me VS Yeah VS Every Woman

-Lucky Girl VS You and I VS L-O-V-E

[hunterwritesstuff]

We demand norman!! /silly

MY BOYYYY

Pre-fall of studio:

Hunter: "Don't worry, kiddo...you can sleep here anytime ya need..."(Family)

Sammy: "You're so....peculiar..."(Neutral)

Joey: "He needs to keep his temper in check."(Tension)

Rebecca: "I ate my greens and drank my milk!"(Friendly)

Bruce: "A kid shouldn't hafta sleep in a treehouse to feel safe."(Hated)

Marcy: "Why the FUCK ain't ya doin' anything?"(Hated)

Susie: "Miss Campbell is quite nice!"(Friendly)

Tom: "I sees everything he does...and I don't quite care for it."(Tension)

Allison: "A nice lady! Love her laugh!"(Friendly)

Wally: "Ohhh, Franks..."(Tension)

Kenneth: "Keep him in check, PLEEEEASE."(Friendly)

John: "I don't trust you GENT folks. But you're an exception."(Loved)

Henry: "A man brighter than me."(Friendly)

Bertrum: "Joey's bein' too big of a dreamer now."(Tension)

Lacie: "A bright lady."(Neutral)

Mary: "I'd be happy to make ya some of my ma's cookin' someday!"(Friendly)

GENT(The company): "Shady business these fellas are..."(Tension)

Barley(Hunter's bio dad): "A brave man..."(Friendly)

Grant: "Joey fucked you over too much..."(Friendly)

Betty: "Ain't I always?"(Friendly)

Post-Fall of studio:

Hunter: "H...un....ter...?"(Tension)

Sammy: "g...et....ba...ck..."(Tension)

Joey: "DREW!!!!!!"(Hated)

Rebecca: "do...n't...be...sca...red..."(Tension)

Bruce: "STAY AWAY FROM HIM!!!!"(Hated)

Marcy: "WASTE."(Hated)

Susie: "do...n't...tou...ch....him..."(Tension)

Tom: "t...o...m..."(Tension)

Allison: "...mi...ss....you...r...laugh..."(Friendly)

Wally: "..."(Pity)

Kenneth: "...pu...ppet..."(Tension)

John: "....po..or...ma...n..."(Tension)

Henry: "no...t...smar....t...any...more..."(Pity)

Bertrum: "Wh...o...?"(Neutral)

Lacie: "..."(Tension)

Mary: "!!!"(Tension)

GENT(The company): "ma...de...me...like....this..."(Hated)

Barley(Hunter's bio dad): "he...lp....h...im...."(Friendly)

Grant: "th...e...han...ged...man..."(Tension)

Betty: "wh...y...sho...ot...?"(Pity)