#Providing Visitors Services

[jolenes-book-journey]

Activities and Duties

Example of some of the Activities and Duties you might be performing while you are workamping in any of the public land use areas within the state of Florida. Most are the same in each of the place such as assisting the employees with their duties. There are some duties that are unique to that particular park. All cam be done by most volunteers and are truly appreciated by the personnel and the…

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[insipid-drivel]

Horses: Since There Seems To Be A Knowledge Gap

I'm going to go ahead and preface this with: I comment pretty regularly on clips and photos featuring horses and horseback riding, often answering questions or providing explanations for how or why certain things are done. I was a stable hand and barrel racer growing up, and during my 11 year tenure on tumblr, Professional Horse Commentary is a very niche, yet very necessary, subject that needs filling. Here are some of the literary and creative gaps I've noticed in well meaning (and very good!) creators trying to portray horses and riding realistically that... well, most of you don't seem to even be aware of, because you wouldn't know unless you worked with horses directly!

Some Of The Most Common Horse + Riding Mistakes I See:

-Anybody can ride any horse if you hold on tight enough/have ridden once before.

Nope. No, no, no, no, aaaaaaaand, no. Horseback riding has, historically, been treated as a life skill taught from surprisingly young ages. It wasn't unusual in the pre-vehicular eras to start teaching children as young as 4 to begin to ride, because horses don't come with airbags, and every horse is different. For most adults, it can take months or years of regular lessons to learn to ride well in the saddle, and that's just riding; not working or practicing a sport.

Furthermore, horses often reject riders they don't know. Unless a horse has been trained like a teaching horse, which is taught to tolerate riders of all skill and experience levels, it will take extreme issue with having some random person try to climb on their back. Royalty, nobility, and the knighted classes are commonly associated with the "having a favorite special horse" trope, because it's true! Just like you can have a particularly special bond with a pet or service animal that verges on parental, the same can apply with horses. Happy horses love their owners/riders, and will straight-up do their best to murder anyone that tries to ride them without permission.

-Horses are stupid/have no personality.

There isn't a more dangerous assumption to make than assuming a horse is stupid. Every horse has a unique personality, with traits that can be consistent between breeds (again, like cat and dog breeds often have distinct behavior traits associated with them), but those traits manifest differently from animal to animal.

My mother had an Arabian horse, Zipper, that hated being kicked as a signal to gallop. One day, her mom and stepdad had a particularly unpleasant visitor; an older gentleman that insisted on riding Zipper, but refused to listen to my mother's warnings never to kick him. "Kicking" constitutes hitting the horse's side(s) with your heels, whether you have spurs on or not. Most horses only need a gentle squeeze to know what you want them to do.

Anyway, Zipper made eye-contact with my mom, asking for permission. He understood what she meant when she nodded at him. He proceeded to give this asshole of a rider road rash on the side of the paddock fence and sent him to the emergency room. He wouldn't have done it if he didn't have the permission from the rider he respected, and was intelligent enough to ask, "mind if I teach this guy a lesson?" with his eyes, and understand, "Go for it, buddy," from my mom in return.

-Riding bareback is possible to do if you hold onto the horse's mane really tight.

Riding a horse bareback (with no saddle, stirrups, or traditional harness around the horse's head) is unbelievably difficult to learn, particularly have testicles and value keeping them. Even professional riders and equestrians find ourselves relying on tack (the stuff you put on a horse to ride it) to stay stable on our horses, even if we've been riding that particular horse for years and have a very positive, trusting relationship.

Horses sweat like people do. The more they run, the more their hair saturates with sweat and makes staying seated on them slippery. Hell, an overworked horse can sweat so heavily that the saddle slips off its back. It's also essential to brush and bathe a horse before it's ridden in order to keep it healthier, so their hair is often quite slick from either being very clean or very damp. In order to ride like that, you have to develop the ability to synchronize your entire body's rhythm's with the rhythm of the horse's body beneath you, and quite literally move as one. Without stirrups, most people can't do it, and some people can never master bareback riding no matter how many years they spend trying to learn.

-You can be distracted and make casual conversation while a horse is standing untethered in the middle of a barn or field.

At every barn I've ever worked at, it's been standard practice with every single horse, regardless of age or temperament, to secure their heads while they're being tacked up or tacked down. The secures for doing this are simple ropes with clips that are designed to attach to the horse's halter (the headwear for a horse that isn't being ridden; they have no bit that goes in the horse's mouth, and no reins for a rider to hold) on metal O rings on either side of the horse's head. This is not distressing to the horse, because we give them plenty of slack to turn their heads and look around comfortably.

The problem with trying to tack up an unrestrained horse while chatting with fellow stable hands or riders is that horses know when you're distracted! And they often try to get away with stuff when they know you're not looking! In a barn, a horse often knows where the food is stored, and will often try to tiptoe off to sneak into the feed room.

Horses that get into the feed room are often at a high risk of dying. While extremely intelligent, they don't have the ability to throw up, and they don't have the ability to tell that their stomach is full and should stop eating. Allowing a horse into a feed/grain room WILL allow it to eat itself to death.

Other common woes stable hands and riders deal with when trying to handle a horse with an unrestrained head is getting bitten! Horses express affection between members of their own herd, and those they consider friends and family, through nibbling and surprisingly rough biting. It's not called "horseplay" for nothing, because during my years working with horses out in the pasture, it wasn't uncommon at all for me to find individuals with bloody bite marks on their withers (that high part on the middle of the back of their shoulders most people instinctively reach for when they try to get up), and on their backsides. I've been love-bitten by horses before, and while flattering, they hurt like hell on fleshy human skin.

So, for the safety of the horse, and everybody else, always make a show of somehow controlling the animal's head when hands-on and on the ground with them.

-Big Horse = War Horse

Startlingly, the opposite is usually the case! Draft and carriage horses, like Percherons and Friesians, were never meant to be used in warfare. Draft horses are usually bred to be extremely even-tempered, hard to spook, and trustworthy around small children and animals. Historically, they're the tractors of the farm if you could afford to upgrade from oxen, and were never built to be fast or agile in a battlefield situation.

More importantly, just because a horse is imposing and huge doesn't make it a good candidate for carrying heavy weights. A real thing that I had to be part of enforcing when I worked at a teaching ranch was a weight limit. Yeah, it felt shitty to tell people they couldn't ride because we didn't have any horses strong enough to carry them due to their weight, but it's a matter of the animal's safety. A big/tall/chonky horse is more likely to be built to pull heavy loads, but not carry them flat on their spines. Horses' muscular power is predominantly in their ability to run and pull things, and too heavy a rider can literally break a horse's spine and force us to euthanize it.

Some of the best war horses out there are from the "hot blood" family. Hot blooded horses are often from dry, hot, arid climates, are very small and slight (such as Arabian horses), and are notoriously fickle and flighty. They're also a lot more likely to paw/bite/kick when spooked, and have even sometimes been historically trained to fight alongside their rider if their rider is dismounted in combat; kicking and rearing to keep other soldiers at a distance.

-Any horse can be ridden if it likes you enough.

Just like it can take a lifetime to learn to ride easily, it can take a lifetime of training for a horse to comfortably take to being ridden or taking part in a job, like pulling a carriage. Much like service animals, horses are typically trained from extremely young ages to be reared into the job that's given to them, and an adult horse with no experience carrying a rider is going to be just as scared as a rider who's never actually ridden a horse.

Just as well, the process of tacking up a horse isn't always the most comfortable experience for the horse. To keep the saddle centered on the horse's back when moving at rough or fast paces, it's essential to tighten the belly strap (cinch) of the saddle as tightly as possible around the horse's belly. For the horse, it's like wearing a tight corset, chafes, and even leaves indents in their skin afterward that they love having rinsed with water and scratched. Some horses will learn to inflate their bellies while you're tightening the cinch so you can't get it as tight as it needs to be, and then exhale when they think you're done tightening it.

When you're working with a horse wearing a bridle, especially one with a bit, it can be a shocking sensory experience to a horse that's never used a bit before. While they lack a set of teeth naturally, so the bit doesn't actually hurt them, imagine having a metal rod shoved in your mouth horizontally! Unless you understand why it's important for the person you care about not dying, you'd be pretty pissed about having to keep it in there!

-Horseback riding isn't exercise.

If you're not using every muscle in your body to ride with, you're not doing it right.

Riding requires every ounce of muscle control you have in your entire body - although this doesn't mean it wasn't realistic for people with fat bodies to stay their weight while also being avid riders; it doesn't mean the muscles aren't there. To stay on the horse, you need to learn how it feels when it moves at different gaits (walk, trot, canter, gallop), how to instruct it to switch leads (dominant legs; essential for precise turning and ease of communication between you and the horse), and not falling off. While good riders look like they're barely moving at all, that's only because they're good riders. They know how to move so seamlessly with the horse, feeling their movements like their own, that they can compensate with their legs and waists to not bounce out of the saddle altogether or slide off to one side. I guarantee if you ride a horse longer than 30 minutes for the first time, your legs alone will barely work and feel like rubber.

-Horses aren't affectionate.

Horses are extraordinarily affectionate toward the right people. As prey animals, they're usually wary of people they don't know, or have only recently met. They also - again, like service animals - have a "work mode" and a "casual mode" depending upon what they're doing at the time. Horses will give kisses like puppies, wiggle their upper lips on your hair/arms to groom you, lean into neck-hugs, and even cuddle in their pasture or stall if it's time to nap and you join them by leaning against their sides. If they see you coming up from afar and are excited to see you, they'll whinny and squeal while galloping to meet you at the gate. They'll deliberately swat you with their tails to tease you, and will often follow you around the pasture if they're allowed to regardless of what you're up to.

-Riding crops are cruel.

Only cruel people use riding crops to hurt their horses. Spurs? I personally object to, because any horse that knows you well doesn't need something sharp jabbing them in the side for emphasis when you're trying to tell them where you want them to go. Crops? Are genuinely harmless tools used for signalling a horse.

I mean, think about it. Why would crops be inherently cruel instruments if you need to trust a horse not to be afraid of you and throw you off when you're riding it?

Crops are best used just to lightly tap on the left or right flank of the horse, and aren't universally used with all forms of riding. You'll mainly see crops used with English riding, and they're just tools for communicating with the horse without needing to speak.

-There's only one way to ride a horse.

Not. At. All. At most teaching ranches, you'll get two options: Western, or English, because they tend to be the most popular for shows and also the most common to find equipment for. English riding uses a thinner, smaller saddle, narrower stirrups, and much thinner bridles. I, personally, didn't like English style riding because I never felt very stable in such a thin saddle with such small stirrups, and didn't start learning until my mid teens. English style riding tends to focus more on your posture and deportment in the saddle, and your ability to show off your stability and apparent immovability on the horse. It was generally just a bit too stiff and formal for me.

Western style riding utilizes heavier bridles, bigger saddles (with the iconic horn on the front), and broader stirrups. Like its name may suggest, Western riding is more about figuring out how to be steady in the saddle while going fast and being mobile with your upper body. Western style riding is generally the style preferred for working-type shows, such as horseback archery, gunning, barrel racing, and even rodeo riding.

-Wealthy horse owners have no relationship with their horses.

This is loosely untrue, but I've seen cases where it is. Basically, horses need to feel like they're working for someone that matters to them in order to behave well with a rider and not get impatient or bored. While it's common for people to board horses at off-property ranches (boarding ranches) for cost and space purposes, it's been historically the truth that having help is usually necessary with horses at some point. What matters is who spends the most time with the animal treating it like a living being, rather than a mode of transport or a tool. There's no harm in stable hands handling the daily upkeep; hay bales and water buckets are heavy, and we're there to profit off the labor you don't want or have the time to do. You get up early to go to work; we get up early to look after your horses. Good owners/boarders visit often and spend as much of their spare time as they can with spending quality work and playtime with their horses. Otherwise, the horses look to the stable hands for emotional support and care.

So, maybe you're writing a knight that doesn't really care much for looking after his horse, but his squire is really dedicated to keeping up with it? There's a better chance of the horse having a more affectionate relationship with the squire thanks to the time the squire spends on looking after it, while the horse is more likely to tolerate the knight that owns it as being a source of discipline if it misbehaves. That doesn't mean the knight is its favorite person. When it comes to horses, their love must be earned, and you can only earn it by spending time with them hands-on.

-Horses can graze anywhere without concern.

This is a mistake that results in a lot of premature deaths! A big part of the cost of owning a horse - even before you buy one - is having the property that will be its pasture assessed for poisonous plants, and having those plants removed from being within the animal's reach. This is an essential part of farm upkeep every year, because horses really can't tell what's toxic and what isn't. One of the reasons it's essential to secure a horse when you aren't riding it is to ensure it only has a very limited range to graze on, and it's your responsibility as the owner/rider to know how to identify dangerous plants and keep your horses away from them.

There's probably more. AMA in my askbox if you have any questions, but that's all for now. Happy writing.

[sunlandeducation-blog]

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[travelandtoursbinod]

Travel and Tour Office in Gongabu, New Buspark

[kreativemachinez4]

3 Tips To Improve The Experience of Your Website Visitors

If your website visitors are leaving without a good experience, it’s critically affecting your SEO game. 

[fulltre]

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[arabellasleopardcoat]

The Brave (Daemon Targaryen x Reader)

Summary: A collection of first times with Daemon.

Warnings: Bastard! Reader. Daddy issues. Corruption kink. Innocence kink. Age difference, power imbalance. Poorly translated HV. Angst. Enemies to lovers (Sort of?) Happy ending. Usual warnings for Daemon (Sexual thoughts, mature language, violence)

Requested: Yes! My first after Halloween, life has been crazy.

THE FISHERMEN SAIL too early for your liking. You know it has little to do with their personal preference, and more to do with the tides. It doesn’t mean you are happy about it, though.

Your job is to ensure all your ships are in good condition and ready to transport whatever those men bring home. Your mother had made a small fortune by expanding her father’s fleet, and after her passing, it was your turn to handle it. You preferred to oversee things personally, knowing that only an owner’s touch could ensure the quality of service you prided yourself in.

No one loved these ships more than you. Small and old they were, but they tied you to your mother. You lacked her knowledge, and sometimes, they made you far less money than you hoped for, but you insisted on keeping them. Your siblings had not shown such an interest, choosing other pursuits.

Allyn, much more practical, had preferred to learn the trade of a shipwright. He now worked under Lord Corlys. It embarrassed you to say it, but it was him and not you who was the breadwinner of your family. Some months, if not most, it was far more lucrative than your business with the ships.

Addam worked occasionally as a shipwright too, but he didn’t have a steady source of income. He was far too young to be hired anywhere, lacking the experience most lords wanted from those building their ships. Sometimes, he also helped you.

Today wasn’t one of those days. Otherwise, you would have forced him to come here in your stead. With a grumble, you jumped from the ship to the dock. Everything was as it should, so you had to move to the next one.

The sunrise makes Hull look even more beautiful, the city slowly beginning to rise under Driftmark’s watchful eyes. The white marble and ivory of the castle provide a backdrop for the goldens and pinks that color the scene. It would make you smile, were it not for the fact that the peaceful morning is ruined by every damn bell in the city tolling.

Visitors. Noble ones. By the amount of noise, they are announcing the visit of someone very high ranking.

The splash of cold water against your ankle makes you grumble more. You hated getting your shoes wet. Or your ankles. You fix your hair scarf, worried that the sea breeze will make it come loose.

You shouldn’t have bothered. A harsh gust of wind takes it fully off and nearly sends you caroling into the water. The dock shakes underneath you, the ships and water agitated by the same thing. You scream, as do the rest of the sailors who are near.

As you look up, you see him. A man, with silver hair and a smug look on his face, riding atop a dragon. He is showing off, ducking low, the dragon’s tail dipping in the water before springing back up again. It is what is causing the breeze. You marvel for a second, wondering how such a gigantic beast can be so nimble.

You had never seen a dragon up close before. You are not allowed to go near Driftmark, where the Princess and the Lord and Lady keep theirs.

The few captains and sailors that were on the docks alongside you have fled. But not you. Alone, silver hair in full display, you stand frozen in the same spot you had been before seeing him pass.

The man smiles. He winks at you.

You lower your eyes and do not stop running until you are safe at home.

DAEMON SEES YOU again when he least expects it. He has looked for you in every pleasure house on this island and has not been able to find you. The brave little maiden with silver hair, who had screamed bloody murder but stood her ground on the docks when she saw him approach.

You must be of Valyrian descent. There is no other explanation for your lack of fear. You were young and comely, so he had guessed that you must be a whore. It was what happened to girls who looked like you. Men loved pretending they were either a Princess or the daughter of some lord. And so close to Driftmark? They probably asked you to pretend you were little Laena Velaryon.

Daemon would have so enjoyed to play such a game himself. His future bride was far too young to do little more than court under her parents’ watchful eyes. If he could sneak a bit of a taste in advance, you wouldn’t catch him complaining about it.

When he had agreed to accompany Corlys to oversee the progress being made on the news ships for his fleet, the last thing he expected to encounter was you.

Your laughter was the first thing that caught his attention, a sound so girlish it seemed improper among the men carrying saws and woods for the ships. His head had turned instinctively towards the sound, and it was then that he saw you.

The dress you had on was a plain gray, as it was the headscarf you wore. But Daemon would know that face anywhere. He had sought everywhere for it. You were holding a small basket, next to some shipwright. The man looked older than you, already bald. You were all smiles and animated gestures, seemingly taken by him.

The man tickled your side, and you laughed again. You handed him the basket and kissed him on the cheek.

Daemon seethed. He hated sharing. With whores, it was to be expected, yet it didn’t make it anymore palatable. It was why he enjoyed taking maidenheads so much. Yet, he could ignore it if the woman was pretty or well-trained enough, like he did with Mysaria. To watch a whore with her lover, though, it was intolerable.

Whores were professional liars. You paid them to pretend to be someone they were not. But watching you with a man you truly loved would forever break the fantasy. There was no way he could believe the sweetest lies on your tongue, not when he knew what you looked like when truly in love.

Is it in bad taste to approach you when his future father-in-law is distracted by his sailors? Probably. But he cannot stop himself. Because the only thing Daemon can think of, the only thing that would make him feel better, is to bring you as low as he. Ruin your little fantasy as you had ruined his.

He marches towards where the man and you are, and gently cups your chin in his hand. The sudden interruption startles you, and you try taking a step back, but his sweet hold has turned into Valyrian Steel. There is no escape for little whores.

“I looked for you in the brothel, but you were not there.”

“I… Excuse me?” Your voice is shrill, more angered than panicked. “Do I know you?”

And oh, the nerve on you. The nerve to question him, as if he were just a passing man on the street and not a Prince of House Targaryen. The same nerve that drove you to stand your ground against Caraxes.

Begrudgingly, Daemon has to name the strange feeling taking place in his stomach. Awe. Admiration. You had fire in your belly, and steel on your spine. You were a truer Valyrian than many of his own family members.

They were weak. Soft. You were not. But you were still a mere peasant, and he couldn’t allow you to disrespect him such.

“You should be more careful on how you address your betters.”

You shove him, hard. And Daemon feels his rage bubbling up, and raises a hand to do something he will most likely regret… But before he can strike you, the man you had been smiling at steps in.

“Unhand her.” He says, voice firm. His expression doesn’t waver, the same steel you have mirrored in his brown eyes. Up close, he is much younger than Daemon expected, tall and muscular from what seems like a life of hard work. He tugs you behind him.

“And who are you? The husband? The brothel owner?” Daemon sneers, getting in his face. Your hand comes up in between them, fragile and unadorned. Yet, you hit with strength, palm flat against his chest. Daemon laughs and grabs it between his. You attempt to pull back, but his grip is much firmer. “Ah, cupping a feeling, sweetheart?”

“Daemon.” And really, things were just turning interesting. Why does Corlys have to interrupt at the worst time possible? “Unhand her immediately.”

At his appearance, both you and the boy turn an awful gray shade that matches your dress and headscarf. Fear of their liege, perhaps?

But the boy’s jaw ticks, and your dark eyes lower in a manner that they hadn’t when facing him. Something else is at play here.

“I was just…” Daemon slowly retracts his hand, studying the surrounding faces carefully. You, sullen, the boy enraged. Corlys’ cold as ice. Neither of you speak, yet it is clear you are not strangers.

“I do not care. Unhand her. We do things different in Driftmark.”

And the tone Corlys uses is strange, for a man unbothered by the costs of power. What are two peasants to the favor of a Prince? Why does he know them? He had never struck Daemon as someone concerned by his subjects.

And then, a piece of your hair falls out of your headscarf. Silver against a dark background. And it is then he knows it. You are no dragonseed. Nor is the boy with the shaved head.

“YOU DO THINGS different here, for certain.” Prince Daemon says, appearing at your window while you knead bread. His presence is as unexpected as it is unwelcome. It is the first time you are home alone after the incident, not Addam nor Allyn willing to risk this stranger attempting anything worse than he already has. Three days had passed, and they had considered it enough. If the man had not approached you during that time, it meant he wouldn’t, right? Clearly no. He had just been bidding his time, waiting for both of your brothers to go. “Corlys's little secret.”

Your hands shake. You wished Allyn wasn’t so set on teaching Addam his craft, and hadn’t gone out today. Being home alone with a strange man around didn’t spell anything good for you.

A quick glance at the door reassures you that it is still barred. You take a not so subtle step back from the window.

The prince lip’s quirk upwards, not quite a smile, but betraying his amusement. Does he find your fear funny?

“I won’t hurt you, my lady. I didn’t mean to scare you, either.” His voice is gentle, as if dealing with a spooked animal. The title makes you scoff. No one has ever called you a lady, much less a Prince.

As a child, you used to watch Laena Velaryon and pretend you were her. Wondering what life would have been like if you didn’t have to hide, if your father acknowledged you. Wondering what it would feel, to be a Lady and never go to bed hungry, to be surrounded by beauty all day.

You are no lady. You are a bastard girl, and you have gone to bed nearly starving more times than you could count.

As if sensing your thoughts, Prince Daemon lifts one of his hands. He holds up a package, wrapped in bright white silk. Both he and his gift look deeply out of place here, near your window. In his fine clothes, in brighter colors than you can afford, he sticks out like a sore thumb.

“Any child of mine, even if natural-born, would never have to go hungry. Your father should be doing more for you, not hiding you three like a shameful secret.”

You do not take the parcel. You merely look at him and fight an overwhelming urge to cry.

“Here.” Prince Daemon pushes the parcel through the window. “Consider this my apology for my behavior. Rather uncouth, huh?”

You open it carefully. Two smaller parcels fall from it, both as carefully wrapped.

“You can wear the silk.” He tells you, gesturing to your hair. “And the rest…”

Curious, you peer into one of the parcels. It’s full of cured meat.it would have cost him a pretty penny, having it already preserved for you. It is a luxury Addam, Allyn and you never get to have. Not since your mother passed.

With rushed hands, you open the other parcel. A small sack of flour, lemons, and pages torn from a book. They are all expensive things, nothing like the flour you buy at the market to make bread or the bruised fruit you get when Addam craves something sweet. You squint at the pages, puzzled by their presence.

“Mix one cup of flour with… Is this..?” You ask him, astonished. A small smile begins to form on your face.

“The recipe for lemon cakes. For your baking.” He smiles back. He then gestures to your hands, still covered in flour. “I hear you enjoy it. Just… Save me a piece.”

“Thank you.” You beam at him. He gives you a bow, and leaves. You find yourself smiling like a fool the rest of the afternoon.

You cannot believe it. Prince Daemon has just given you the recipe for lemon cakes. As far apologies go, this is a great one.

Addam and Allyn go to bed with full stomachs. You go to bed with yours full of butterflies. No one has ever ensured such for the three of you.

“IS IT CLOSE enough?” You bite your lower lip, watching Daemon chew a piece of cake. His brows furrow a bit, and he lets out a small, throaty moan.

“Close enough. A tad more lemony than the one at Driftmark, but I like it.” He smiles. You fight the urge to beam. He has been coming almost daily after bringing you the lemons, but it is the first time you allow him to taste your creation.

He says it is because he enjoys the walk. You are not entirely sold, but thinking it is to see you seems a bit conceited.

“I got excited.” You scratch the back of your neck, sheepish. The batter had smelt and tasted so heavenly, you had just kept adding more.

Daemon laughs. He uses his now free hand to tug you towards his side. You love when he does that. The gesture feels very protective. He never lets you walk too far from him, or on the side next to the ocean, so you never stumble or get soaked by an errant wave.

It’s peaceful here. He often says he cares not for the ocean, but the two of you always walk the same route. From your home, towards your ships, then back.

“Wouldn’t you like to go somewhere else?” You ask him, watching the waves lap at the shore. Then, feeling stupid for asking, you lower your eyes. As much as you feign blindness, you are not blind. He is probably ashamed to be seen with the likes of you. Even your father is. Why wouldn’t a Prince?

Your eyes feel warm, and your vision blurs. Gods, you hate crying. You try to focus on something else. Your scuffed shoes. His boots. The sand under your feet. The urge to run away, and scream, and die from the humiliation of even asking.

Daemon sighs. He sits down on the sand, patting the space on his side. His clothes, despite their simple design, are very fine.

“Your clothes…” You mumble, without sitting.

“Bah, I have three other cloaks like this one.” As if proving a point, he takes it off, laying it down for you to sit. You feel even sillier at his patience. “Come. Sit down, jorrāeliarzys.”

You obey him because there is little else to do. You have already messed up, you don’t wish to make any other mistake. His company has become precious to you, a welcome respite from your brothers. Living with two boys, you are never alone. But every so often, you wish for more engaging conversation.

“I am not ashamed of being seen in your company. I just… I thought you preferred it here.” Daemon explains, softly tucking a stray curl behind your ear. “Would you like for us to meet in the city, instead?”

You think of meeting him in the city’s market. Of the rumors that would sure follow, of the names you would be called. Of your father finding out. You know what it would look like to him. That you are making the same mistake as your mother did.

You are not dumb. Daemon is not here to simply plan an alliance. Alliances are always sealed in blood, and your half sister is barely old enough to be considered.

Your mother and you are different. She didn’t know your father was using her. You know Daemon is using you. And you intend to use him right back, milk him for all of his worth.

So why does it hurt like this, why does it feel like something inside you is breaking?

You take the parcels he gives you without any shame. That night, as the three of you are eating a generous serving of venison, Allyn scowls.

“I don’t like it. Can’t you see what he wants?”

Addam’s fork freezes midway to his mouth. He looks down at his plate, as if he is truly seeing the meat he is being served for the first time.

“I am not mother.” You say, icily. The venison tastes bitter on your tongue, but stubbornly, you keep eating. Allyn is just angry that it is not longer him who is putting the meals on the table. “I know what highborn men are like.”

What your father is like, too. How they use women as if they were little more than things, how they produce children and leave them to their fates.

“All the more reason not to allow him to take your maidenhead.”

“Do you listen to yourself?” You scoff, getting up. “Maidenheads, as if I were some great lady. I can handle it. Handle him.”

Allyn looks at you, eyes full of pity. You cannot bear it. Your eyes sting again. You hurry out of the table.

“Where are you going?” Addam reaches forward, as if to grab you.

“To my room. The two of you have ruined my appetite.” But it wasn’t the two of them, not really. Daemon is ashamed of you, the voice in your head whispers. Ashamed of you, just like your father was. He only wants to use you, and once he has had his fill, he will discard you. Just like your father did to your mother.

Alone, in your room, you tear the headscarf he had given you to shreds. You squeeze the rests on your palm, you make a ball, you throw it against the wall.

The next morning, you have sobbed your throat raw. You still go to meet him in the afternoon.

SOMETHING IS WRONG. Daemon can tell when he picks you up that day. Your eyes are swollen and bloodshot, and your complexion an awful gray. The headscarf he had given you is nowhere to be seen, and you are back to your severe gray one.

Like a bad case of heartburn, the lie he had told you comes back to him, leaving an acrid taste in his mouth.

Daemon is not ashamed of you, but doesn't want to be seen with you either. The consequences for you would be too great. He had learned his lesson with Mysaria. The double stain would have made you a pariah, both because of your birth and because of whom you were bedding.

Because it was all that people would think about when they found out. No one would believe Daemon had yet to touch you.

He was unsure if he ever would.

You were an extraordinary girl, yet still a bastard. There was nothing to be done about it. All you could be was friends and lovers, and nothing more.

Yet, your dark eyes were so kind, your face full of such happiness, Daemon dared not to sully you. Something in you screamed at his instincts to protect, something tugged at his heartstrings when he saw your face scrunched up towards the sun, and told him to gather you in his arms and never let anything touch you.

Daemon had been like you, once. When younger. He, too, felt a lack of acknowledgement by those around you, and an urge to prove himself. His father had passed when he was still young, and Viserys had received all laurels. It would have never bothered him because he loved his brother, but Viserys had left him behind. Married Aemma. Had children. Gained the love of his people, found new friends.

Never once Viserys had looked at Daemon. No matter how hard he tried to reach for him, his brother always evaded his hand. Daemon had been left there. He, too, had stood on the shadows and feigned indifference, burning up with secret resentment.

The idea of you growing up to be like him was both appealing and horrifying. There was a sweetness to you, a naïveté that he had lacked even in his younger years. He wanted to preserve it. Shield you from the world.

Bedding you would ruin you. Daemon enjoyed playing the role of mentor, teaching you new things, helping you gain experiences you would never get as a bastard girl. Yet, you had such a tempting figure, with a mouth made for sin, and a body that begged for worship. You were a little girl, but you had all the self-possession and looks of a grown woman.

You would taste exquisite on his tongue, crumbling from his caresses. Your cunt would feel like wet velvet around him, and you would sound your sweetest when he was spearing you open on his cock.

And how would you smile, joyous and fierce, his brave girl. Some maidens cried, but not you. You were made of sterner stuff, a heart that burned brighter and stronger than the Fourteen Flames. You had stood your ground, terrified but unbowed, in front of Caraxes himself.

Such a face you had, all Valyrian empress. A sovereign nose, the fleeting shadow of your eyelashes, and a slippery laugh that always gave you an air of mischief. A face not made for sadness. It is what prompts him to do what will become either the greatest mistake of his life, or his greatest triumph.

“I was thinking…” Daemon says, watching your expression closely. “We could go to a tavern tonight.”

“A tavern?” The surprising offering shakes you out of your sadness. Your face changes from a sad little frown into a curious one.

“Have you ever gone to one?” Daemon tugs the hair scarf from your hair, softly. The silver curls fall free, in a lovely mess. You scowl, trying to get it back, but he holds it just out of your reach. It’s a lovely thing, to watch you give little jumps on your tiptoes, curls bouncing with the motion. “Ah! None of that, now. Answer my question first.”

“No, I haven’t. Addam and Allyn go from time to time, but it sounds too rowdy for my liking.” You cross your arms over your chest.

“It’s rowdy, but in a good sense.” Daemon cannot help it. Your curls are a bit mussed, from wearing the ugly headscarf for too long. He fixes them, fluffing them up slightly at the roots in the way he has seen handmaidens do for Laena. He then tosses the damn thing into the sea, for good measure, ignoring your outraged cry. “Drinks, music, people, greasy food. You will love it.”

“I hate drinking.” You wrinkle your nose, cutely. He fights the urge to bite you. The face you make is too sweet, too tempting.

“Because you have only drunk swill. I’ll teach you to drink real wine.” He tugs you into his side, and begins walking back into the city.

The walk to the city is awkward. Not because the two of you have nothing to talk about, but rather, because of the stares. Your silver hair, despite your simple clothing, commands attention. So does Daemon’s presence, and the arm he has around your shoulders.

He had not been wrong. This would cost you. A cost too steep for someone he sought to keep safe.

Still, you face it all bravely, as you had that morning at the docks. The two of you manage to get a cozy table in one tavern that Daemon had visited before. He calls for wine to be served, an expensive barrel from the Arbor he is sure they had kept around for years before anyone had the coin to buy it.

It’s delicious. But when he serves you a goblet, you take a big sip and begin to splutter.

“Mittys hunes iksā.” Daemon tuts. His silly bunny. “You are not meant to drink it such. You ought to savor it.”

“Savor?” You arch an eyebrow. “Tastes like dragonfire.”

And perhaps it's the choice of words, or the glint of your silver hair under the low light emanating from the torches, but something about you reminds him of the way he had loved Rhaenyra and admired Laena, the other Valyrian beauties in his life. They are not here, he cannot reach them. But you are.

“Come here, hunes.” His own voice sounds strange to him, low and demanding. When he calls you bunny, he is not exaggerating. Does the fox feel as wrong as he feels when becoming over his prey? Does his gums ache like Daemon’s do, with the urge to bite, to tear apart, to wound? Does he mourn the little bunny whose innocence he is about to shatter? “There is something I wish to show you.”

You eye him warily, but get up from your chair and move until you are standing in front of him. It's not enough for Daemon. It never is. He always wants you closer, closer to hold, to protect, to own.

He tugs you between his parted legs.

“Do you trust me?”

There is a slight furrow of your brow. The barest hint of hesitation. Yet, your voice is firm when you answer him.

“Yes.”

His girl. His precious girl. If you had been his, he would have never hurt you like Corlys had. Never allowed to become easy prey for men like him. You shouldn’t trust him.

Daemon shouldn’t be doing this, either. It is a good thing he has never claimed to be a good man.

He takes a sip of his wine, and leans towards you, capturing your mouth in his. At first, you fight him, the suddenness startling you. It’s only when he gives your lower lip a sharp nip, that you melt into the kiss. When your mouth parts slightly, he passes you the wine.

You splutter, but Daemon holds you down, arms held by your side. He forces you to take and take some more, chasing the tart taste of the wine into the honeyed one of your mouth.

Your obedience and compliance only makes him wilder, drives him to grasp at your hips, pull you closer. Just when you begin to lean into Daemon, dutifully swallowing the wine, someone jerks you out of his grip.

“I did not think it to be true.” A woman’s voice, one he knows too well, says. Rhaenys. Her face is a mask of absolute rage. She gives you a shove that sends you stumbling before Daemon can even get out of his chair. “You have much nerve.”

Your face turns ashen. You look like you are about to cry, or worse, flee. Daemon jumps up, and gets between Rhaenys and you.

“You were always a whore!” She screams, her index finger digging into his chest. You let out a sob, quietly. Daemon’s heart feels like it is being wrenched from his chest. At this point, the screams have attracted all the tavern's attention. Daemon doesn’t doubt that by this time tomorrow, the whole island will know.

You will be shunned. Just as he had feared.

“I am talking to you!” Rhaenys insists. You cower behind him. It only makes Rhaenys angrier. “No, not you, you stupid girl. You, Daemon.”

Daemon feels utterly stunned. Never in a million years he would have thought Rhaenys was referring to him.

“Are you calling me a whore?”

He feels the slap before he even sees her move. His head gets forcefully turned to the side, and he hears you whimper. His cheek stings. Daemon has to blink back tears, Rhaenys has hit him that hard.

He wasn’t even aware that a woman could land such a blow.

“You dare! You toyed with my daughter and this girl as you saw fit.” And Daemon cannot even get a word in because she is too angry. He feels his cheeks reddening, and its unsure if he is feeling embarrassment at being scolded like a child, or rage at her words. “But worry not. I will make this right.”

Rhaenys has a manic gleam in her eyes. For a frightening second, Daemon thinks he sees in her the famous Targaryen madness.

Instead of setting you both on fire, she lunges, avoiding Daemon, and grabbing you hands in hers.

“I shall not allow you to make the same mistake your mother did.” Rhaenys says, and she is gone before Daemon can answer anything.

THIS IS YOUR greatest triumph. Why, then, does it taste like ashes on your tongue?

You are wearing the finest dress you have ever owned, gifted to you by Daemon. Princess Rhaenys has forced both him and your father into complacency, and even forced King Viserys to allow your betrothal. Still, you feel adrift. Even betrayed.

What Daemon had done to you had seemed purposeful. You had not realized when he had stolen the kiss from you, giving you your first taste of fine wine, but you understood it now. Had Princess Rhaenys not been there, or had she been any less merciful, a much different fate would have awaited you.

The stink of shame that followed you around, the whispers of dishonor and the looks of distaste, would have been even more intense. You would have been ruined, known as little more than a whore. And your family no longer had the money that had shielded your mother during her pregnancies.

You had not known it. But Daemon must have. He had a reputation for taking maidenheads as he saw fit, Addam had informed you. You were a fool for not knowing, and a fool for believing he wanted something else from you.

The royal decree is read by a Maester, in front of all the Lords of near castles, the smallfolk of Driftmark and the Velaryons. Even in the first beautiful dress you own, you feel small. Out of place. The looks your half siblings are shooting you do not help you feel better.

Once the bill is read, Lord Corlys steps forward.

“Daughter.” He says, grasping your hands in his. He is cold. He is cold, and it makes your skin crawl, even when it is all you wanted as a little girl. It’s the first time he acknowledges you, and he is not at all like the man you imagined, when dreaming as a child of what it would be like for him to look at you. Because even a glance would have been enough back then. “It’s a pleasure to finally have you join the family.”

Addam and Allyn are still in the crowd, unacknowledged. They are your family, not this man who is grasping your hands with a calculating gleam in his eyes. Wondering, as all highborn do, how he might use you. How you might serve to further his own ends.

Your brothers could not be recognized as you were. You had shyly asked Princess Rhaenys, and if she thought you dimwitted before, she had probably confirmed her suspicions. They were men, she had explained, and a threat to Laenor’s rights once your father passed. You, instead, were nothing but a girl who had sullied herself, whose honor had been compromised so thoroughly you had turned even less important in the great scheme of things.

She was helping you because you had been taken advantage of by Daemon, Princess Rhaenys had said, but also to spare her daughter from your fate. Wife to a husband that would most likely betray you and sire bastards.

Lord Corlys was just happy to have another pawn to marry off and forge alliances. Freeing his daughter from a disloyal husband was an added bonus.

Every time you heard them, your hands turned into fist, and you could barely fight the rage from clouding your expression. You had not done the thing everyone was accusing you of, and yet were being judged for it all the same. Daemon, too, did nothing to correct them. Not even when the most scandalous rumors surfaced, saying you would wed him with a child already in your belly.

You had not let him touch you like that. You were not as stupid as everyone thought. As a daughter to a single mother, you knew all about scorn and loneliness. You would never doom a child to your same fate.

The day doesn’t pick up from there. The feast to follow feels just as empty, and you turn down an insincere offer from your father to be housed here. You cannot wait to run back to your brothers.

It would be impolite to leave so soon, though. Lord Corlys has thrown this feast in your honor and is making the lords and members of his household present you with gifts. You admit it is a clever strategy, to avoid having to spend money in your trousseau. Hence, you need to stay a little bit longer.

You get handed new quills and parchments, alongside a new seal for your correspondence by Laena.

“I figured you wouldn’t have one of these.” Her smile is strained as she reaches for your hands. “Since you weren’t raised the proper way.” It says a lot about the company you are in that it is the most polite greeting you receive all afternoon.

When it all begins to become a bit much, and your eyes are stinging after a lady said you had no grace and no manners, you decide you need to run. But when you are stepping a foot outside the hall, Daemon appears by your side.

“Rather improper, isn’t it?” He asks, grabbing your hand in his. You try to jerk away, but he merely interlaces your fingers together. “A lady cannot quite run around unescorted as you used to.”

“Leave me alone, Daemon.” You say, still trying to free yourself. The last thing you want today is to deal with him.

“I do not think I will.” Daemon cups your cheek in his hand, hands gentle despite the calluses on them. It was one of the things you had first liked about him. His hands were artisan’s hands, like the ones of your brothers, despite being highborn. He had seemed so different from the rest of the men you knew, back then. “Not when my betrothed is nearly weeping in her own feast.”

“You heard all those people. I do not belong here.” You look up at him, fighting your tears. You feel like such a whiny child. What happened to you is something that only happens in fairytales, it's the stuff songs are written about. No bastard girl gets acknowledged by her father and marries a Prince.

“Who cares what those cunts think?” Daemon scoffs. “You are above them. You always were.”

You bloom under his praise. There is no other word for it. It warms you, from head to toe, and your stomach fills with butterflies. A small smile forms, even through the tears that threaten to fall.

“There she is.” Daemon brushes his thumb over your cheek. “That’s my girl.”

His girl. There is nothing you would like more.

“I never wanted to be a Lady.” You lower your eyes, embarrassed at the admission. You feel ungrateful for saying it, but it’s the truth. You had never imagined a home away from your siblings. The marriage will mean you will be taken away from them, and only see them if Daemon feels like it.

You do not own a dragon, after all. And you aren’t too sure Allyn and him will be the best good brothers.

He grabs you by the waist and gives a little tug.

“Be mine instead.” Daemon whispers, and when you nod, he kisses your forehead.

MARRYING YOU HAD never been in his plans. Yet, when he saw you walk down the aisle, dressed in Velaryon blue and looking awkward, Daemon was sure you were the woman he wanted to spend the rest of his life with.

You were not a lady or a princess, yet you and him were alike. Birds of the same feather. For the first time, Daemon could say there was someone who understood him.

Daemon had never been poor, nor had he been born a bastard, but he too, had lost his parents while young. He, too, was considered too wild by his brother. And he knew all about of trying to fulfill an impossible task while honoring the legacy of his ancestors.

Laena was a mere child by your side. Her innocence and Valyrian looks had appealed to him once, but after meeting you, Daemon knew no other woman could compare. There was an edge to you, beneath all the innocence and beauty. A fire that burned bright in your belly, and could not be quenched. An anger that both amazed him and scared him, and drew him in like a moth to a flame.

You would have been great if you had been born into his house. Great but terrible.

Or perhaps you wouldn’t have. Perhaps, if you had grown acknowledged by your father, you would have not been the lost little girl who dreamed of recognition and slept lulled by the sea. You wouldn’t have grown into the woman who got the recognition and understood she did not need it at all.

A shame that recognition had come at a price so steep. Recognition in exchange for rumors of dishonor, whispers of the shame of your existence and the shame you had brought on yourself. These cunts did not see you for what you were. Not some malicious creature, some silver tongued temptress. No. You were determined and fierce, brave and true. You honored your house’s words. Your ancestors would have been proud.

Yes, Daemon decided. He would marry you and take you away from here, from this horrible little island where people behaved like they were above you. The cunts should be honored that you were even looking their way.

The distance might even help those stubborn brothers of yours to forget all about the way Daemon had become part of their family. When the grudge was forgotten, he would bring you back, less the eldest skewered him alive.

Not because Daemon feared Allyn. Of course not. But because killing him would be such a nuisance, and you would cry, and… Ugh. He couldn’t stand to see you cry.

You were about to burst into tears right now. He could tell. Daemon grabbed your hands in his, uncaring he was breaking protocol, and pressed his forehead against yours.

“We can still marry on the beach, with only Caraxes as witness.” He whispers, gently. “Hells, I would prefer it. We can run still. The Septon has not spoken.”

You laugh, a bit watery.

“Addam and Allyn would drop dead, thinking we will not be wed.”

“Allyn looks like he would attempt murder.”

“Attempt?”

“I doubt he would succeed.”

“I would protect you.” You say, and it warms something inside Daemon he wasn’t even aware that he had. “If only because killing a Prince is a crime worthy of the ax, and I wish to have nephews.”

Daemon's mouth opens and closes.

“You little..!”

You laugh, but before he can lunge and throw you over his shoulder, the Septon clears his throat.

“If the two of you are done..?”

“Just get to the part where you handfast us.” Daemon says, giving him his best lecherous expression. “I have many things I wish to show my new bride.”

And there were. He had taken many of your firsts already, he wasn’t about to stop now.

[mostlymarvelsstuff]

Howling Hearts

Summary: Countess Romanoff and her lover, Lady Maximoff, find themselves inexplicably drawn to the Countesses oldest, most trusted and loyal guards. One night after a particularly rambunctious banquet, they finally decide to act on these forbidden urges and claim the two wolves as their own.

Warnings: talk of blood/feeding on blood, graphic violence, slight Omegaverse concepts for the werewolves, Reader has a penis, sexual content (fingering, oral sex, vaginal sex, breeding)

Authors note: first time writing Bucky in anything, so please go easy on me if he seems out of character at any point 💖

Authors note 2.0: sorry this is later than intended, still hope you enjoy it!

Word count: 10011 (im sorry its so long lmao) 2023 Halloween Specials Marvel Masterlist

   It was a cool evening, and a soft rain pattered against the castle's stained glass windows, providing a tranquil atmosphere to the room. Several times now you've become a bit lost in that feeling and have let your eyes linger a bit too long on Countess Romanoff as she sits in her exquisite chair by the fireplace. 

   Admiring her wasn’t new, in fact you were sure that after so many centuries you could paint the curve of her lips blindfolded and you were certain that your mate James could too. But lusting after the vampire that you were in service of wasn’t exactly acceptable behavior. If any other werewolf heard of such a thing it wouldn't go over well. Falling for the species that imprisoned yours to use like glorified watch dogs…they’d shun you at the very least.

  “Lady Romanoff, Starks fledgling is here to see you.” one of her guards announces, breaking the peaceful silence

   A brunette boy stands there beside the guard with wide eyes and he quickly offers the Countess a polite bow. She chuckles at his clear nervous energy and beckons him forward. Somehow the young vampires wobbly legs carry him further into the room

   “So young one” the Countess begins, giving the visitor her full attention “What brings you here on this lovely evening?”

    And lovely it had been indeed. With her lover out for the day it left her able to just focus on the presence of her two oldest and most trusted guards, her wolves. Something Wanda would indulge in as well, but normally they’d be too wrapped up in each other to daydream long. At least while in the same room as you, in their bedchambers it was a different story. But alas, the arrival of this fledgling had chased her decidedly naughty thoughts from her head.

   “Lord Stark wanted you to be informed that he and Lady Potts shall be in attendance of your upcoming banquet” he tells her, looking like he might pass out from anxiety at any second

   “Thank you and I’m glad to hear that. Do give them my best when you return home”

   He quickly nods and understanding that to be a dismissal he turns on his heels and heads back out the door you're standing by. He passes you with such a speed that you have half a mind to tell him to let the horse ride in the carriage as he takes the reins, but you hold your tongue. A good thing too, because no sooner did he disappear from view did Lady Maximoff arrive.

   She smiles as she passes by and heads straight for her lover, kissing the woman's cheek before taking a seat on her lap. You're used to such behavior by now, but at the start it had surprised you, as the Countess was not one to allow such affections from her nightly escapades. Then again, Wanda had always been different. She wasn’t some fledgling picked up for fun, nor was she a human chosen to be a plaything before a meal. No, she was every part an elder vampire, just as your master was, and they were quite old friends before the relationship ever began. 

   “Hello moya lyubov'(my love), is your brother well?”

   The brunette smiles, “He is, and still annoying. Who did I pass in the hallway?”

   “Starks fledgling, here to tell me that my invite was accepted” she explains

   “Oh good. It's not a proper banquet without Tony”

   The redhead chuckles, “How very true. We’ll have to have the kitchen staff keep extra glassware on hand, just in case he causes a debacle like last time.” 

   The two continue talking, making plans for the upcoming party as well as catching up on what the other had been up to in the few hours that they had been apart. You and James tried your best to stay focused and not watch the way the Countesses hands roamed across her lover's waistline and mid back as they converse but that proved to be a very difficult task.

   Eventually one of their servants enters the room with two goblets, indicating it was time for the two women to feed. Now, they could eat food like you and James did, but it did nothing for them. It didn't fill them or give them sustenance so it was something that they really only did when they felt like it or were craving something particular. Otherwise, it was all blood. The fresher, the better.

   "Here you are, my Lady" the servant greets, handing both women their cups

   “Thank you Sylvia” the Countess says before taking a deep gulp 

   The servant quickly excuses herself, heading back to whatever duties she was attending to before she needed to bring the two women their meal, and part of you wishes you could follow her. Not because you wished to be apart from anyone you were currently in the company of, but due to the feeling that stirs in your gut, and to your embarrassment, sometimes your pants, when you witnessed the women consume blood.

   You couldn’t help it, there was just something about being able to watch them feed. The way their fangs grew before they sunk them into their victim, their eyes turning nearly black as they drained the person's essence to fulfill their need was incredibly enchanting. And the way the red liquid dripped from the corners of their mouth, or how they licked their lips afterwards had your heart racing. Which is exactly how you feel now as a drop of blood trickles down from the corner of the Countesses mouth, down past her jawline and down her neck.

   Wanda notices this droplet as soon as Natasha moves her cup and she wastes no time in leaning over, letting her tongue lap up the treat before she attaches her lips to that same spot. She begins to suck a mark into the pale skin there, eliciting a throaty chuckle from the older vampire

   “Behave. You are not the only one currently present”

   Wanda's eyes travel over to James as she continues to mark up Natasha, before they eventually move to look at you as well. You sincerely hope she hadn’t noticed the way you shifted your stance in order to adjust the growing bulge at the front of your pants. The last thing you wanted was for either woman to begin to feel uncomfortable around you, or find you some kind of pervert. 

   “Dorogoy(darling), I said behave” the older woman repeats, gently tugging Wanda's hair to remove her from her neck and get her attention once more

   “But I like getting to mark you. I like the reaction it elicits” 

   Natasha smiles, “I like it too. But if that's something you want, then our room is a much more suitable place for us”

   Wanda wordlessly removes herself from her girlfriend's lap and waits for the redhead to stand before they both begin to make her way towards the doorway where you and James stand by. Wanda shyly smiles at you both and turns to the left, indicating that the bedchamber was exactly where they were headed

   “If anyone needs me” the Countess states, looking at James, “I’m not to be disturbed until I’m out of my room. Unless it's of utmost urgency”

   “Of course, my Lady” he responds, and she quickly follows after the brunette. After he's sure she's out of hearing range he looks to you with a brow raised, “Really?”

  “Oh, shut up.”

  Down the hall, Wanda finds herself pinned to the mattress as Natasha slowly undresses her, “So wet already. You get turned on marking me up in front of them?”

   “Yes” she whimpers, remembering how she felt like she was putting on a show for you both earlier

   “Mmm, you weren’t the only one” Nat replies against her lovers ear, making the younger vampire shudder, “They liked it too”

   Wanda's eyes shut as she tilts her head back, the feeling of hands roaming across her now bare body fogging her mind. Still she manages a reply, “Yeah?”

   “Oh, yes. Couldn't you see the hunger in their eyes? Or the bulge in Y/ns pants?"

  Another whimper leaves the brunette as Natasha gropes her breasts, "Yes, I saw"

   "And you liked it, didn't you? Causing that reaction in them."

   "I loved it…" she admits, looking into Nats eyes, "I want them, Tasha"

   "I know, my love. I do too, but you know we can't." She sighs, "Even if they feel the same, you know we can't. Our laws forbid it."

   Wanda sighs, a sadness now etched upon her features, "But I don't care about keeping the bloodline pure, and neither do you. So why can't we indulge in our heart's desires?"

   "Because we could be found out, which would endanger James and Y/n" 

   "But- "

   "Shhh darling" Nat interrupts, kissing her girlfriend's plush lips, "Just focus here right now. Can you do that for me?" The younger vampire nods and Natasha smirks at how eager she already seems, “Good girl”

      The mixture of praise and her girlfriend's touch causes Wanda to moan, and Natasha finds herself eager to hear more. She pulls more sounds from the brunette by pinching her nipples and sucking marks along her collarbone, letting her fangs brush against the sensitive skin there.

   Occupied by her lover's mouth, Wanda had failed to notice the removal of one of Natashas hands from her chest, until she felt a thumb press against her clit. Her hips jump slightly and another, more throaty moan leaves her as Nat slides a finger through her wet folds

   Wanda whimpers, her walls clenching around nothing, “I need you inside me, please”

   “I’ve got you” Nat coos, slowly inserting one of her fingers into her girlfriends tight hole

    “Please, more” she begs, and taking note of how wet she already is, Natasha slides a second finger inside, stretching her open as her thumb circles her clit, “Oh god, fuck me Tasha, please”

    Nat smirks and quickly begins to thrust her fingers, and she leans down to capture her lips in a kiss. She easily dominates the action, sliding her tongue into the awaiting girl's mouth while avoiding her fangs. Wanda's walls tighten around the older woman's fingers, causing her to smile and break away from the kiss

   “That feel good, my love?”

   “So…good” she pants, trying hard to catch the breath Nat keeps stealing from her, but its of no use when the redhead quickens her pace, “Ooh fuck!”

   “Which one are you picturing taking you right now?” Nat asks, smirk still plastered on her face. Wanda only wimpers, her fists tightening against the silk sheets as her head leans back, “It's ok darling, you can tell me. I wanna know”

   “James!” she practically shouts, feeling herself nearing her orgasm

   “Leaving poor Y/n out, hm?” Nat teases

   “No” she gasps, trying hard to focus on her fantasy, “She's…ooh!”

   Nat soothes her by kissing her chest softly, “She's what? Tell me”

   “She's making me suck her cock”

   Nat hums, fully agreeing with the mental picture her lover is painting, “I bet she tastes so good. Don’t you think?”

   “Yes!” she moans, her back arching off the bed

   “And James would absolutely fill your pretty pussy up, is that what you want?” she questions, nipping at the younger girls jawline

    The brunette's walls clamp down around Nat's fingers, “Yes! Oh god Tasha, please can I cum?”

   “Go ahead dorogoy(darling), cum”

    Wanda's legs shake as a loud moan leaves her, and her juices drip down her girlfriends hand to the sheets below. Natasha continues to slowly fuck her through her orgasm, prolonging her high until all she can do is whimper and grab at the older woman.

   “Good girl” she praises, gently pulling her fingers free before licking them clean, “Mmm, I’ll never tire of how you taste”

   “Can I taste you now? Please?”

   Nat smiles and quickly rids herself of her own clothes before she settles herself against the mattress, and if that wasn’t a clear enough ‘yes’ she spreads her thighs wide to reveal her pussy

   “So pretty” Wanda mumbles, leaning in to pepper her girlfriend's thighs with marks of their own

   The closer she gets to the redheads core, the more intense the older womans breathing becomes, until finally it's too much for her to take, “Come on darling, I thought you wanted to taste”

   Wanda quickly lets her tongue dart out, lapping up some of her girlfriends essence that had leaked out. The older woman lets out a small moan, which only urges Wanda on. She licks again, this time letting her tongue go even deeper inside as her nose bumps against Nats clit

   “Oh god, just like that”

   Priding herself on doing as she told, Wanda keeps going, exploring every part of the beautiful redhead before her with her talented mouth. The moans she's able to get her girlfriend to make only make her want to cause her more pleasure, and Natasha quickly finds herself reaching her own release

   “Fuck…” she mumbles, struggling to voice her own fantasy, “I wonder if Y/n can eat pussy as good as you”

   Wanda nips at the woman, meaning it as more of a ‘no ones as good as me’, but all it manages to do is leave her girlfriend grinding against her face

   “I’m so close Wans, please”

   Hearing her lovers please Wanda moves to suck on her clit and is rewarded with a gush of juices and a scream of her name. She carefully moves up the bed, straddling her lover's body before kissing her. The two stay locked together, passionately making out for what seems like hours as they continue to pleasure each other. Effectively ending the night as they did most, with whispered declarations of love and shared fantasies of their favorite werewolves.

   They're awoken the next morning by a loud pounding on their wooden door, "My Lady, pardon me waking you, but I imagine your guests will be arriving within the next few hours. I wouldn't want you to oversleep"

   A soft smile spreads across the redhead's face, "Thank you, Y/n. We'll be out shortly. Do tell Sylvia not to fret"

   "Yes, my Lady"

   Once Wandas sure you're out of earshot, she turns to her lover, "I do wish that maybe just once, they'd have to come in here to wake us. I'd love to just pull them into the bed with us"

   Nat chuckles, "Naughty girl"

   "Not like that. Not this time at least." Wanda corrects, "Right now, I just want to cuddle. I want to feel their arms wrapped around us as we all share the bed"

   "It does sound wonderful…" the Countess sighs

   "But it's just a dream, isn't it?"

   Natasha gives her a tight lipped smile, "I'm afraid so, dorogoy(darling). Now come, we need to get dressed for the banquet"

   After trying on multiple dresses each, they both finally settle on their choices and proceed to get ready. Wanda is dressed in a maroon dress, with her hair done up in a low bun. A few red gemstones decorate her hair to tie into her gown while a delicate necklace adorns her neckline. It was a gift from Nat earlier in their relationship, a golden chain with a dangling centerpiece consisting of golden knots and rubies. Natasha is in a black dress, her hair done up in exquisite braids with small charms and gemstones decorating it. Around her neck she wears a golden necklace with multiple chains dangling from it, each adorned with a few rubies. At the very center hangs a larger pendant that dips quite low, sitting snugly in her cleavage. 

   By the time they arrive in the grand hall, the area has been completely set up by the Countesses staff. The large gathering table for the heads of houses sits up front, while a few others are spread around the vast area. Each is decorated with an ornate cloth and set with plates and goblets for meal time. A few large candles sit at the center of each table with wines on either side for their guests to freely drink from.

   “My Lady” you greet, entering the room with a large tray of hors d'oeuvres

   “Y/n” she greets, swiping two samples from your tray. She hands one to Wanda before biting into it, “Mmm, the kitchen staff have done an excellent job”

   “They’ll be happy to hear that” you reply before making your way around the room to distribute the food to each table, “The main course should be ready about an hour after everyone's arrival, and James is tending to the humans chosen for tonight. But he’ll be joining us soon”

   “Perfect, thank you”

   With your task done, you can finally focus on them, which allows you to fully take in their appearance. And the words came out of your mouth before you even realized you were saying them, “Wow. The two of you look incredible”

   Both women smile, which helps to calm your nerves of overstepping a boundary. And if you didn’t know better, you’d swear a hint of pink was now visible on their cheeks, but vampires didn’t blush, right? And if they did, it certainly wouldn’t be due to a compliment from a lowly werewolf

   “Thank you, Y/n” Wanda says, pulling you from your thoughts, “You look great tonight too” 

  “You really think so?” you ask, glancing down at your outfit

  The Countess had gotten you and James formal attire a while back for situations like this, because every other house just had its wolves show up in a regular outfit, which she admits she did as well. Until she overheard a group of wolves talking about how ostracized they felt at events and gatherings, and she wanted you both to feel included. But she and Wanda had yet to actually see you wear them.

  “Absolutely, you look quite dashing” Natasha quickly condoms

   You smiles shyly, “Thank you, my Lady, and you as well, Lady Maximoff”

   Before either woman can continue the conversation, James arrives carrying an ornate dagger in its sheath, “My Lady, the humans are all properly secure and are all still in perfect condition for this evening.”

  “Thank you James” she replies, “Go ahead and set that by my seat”

  “Of course”

   As he moves to do as he's told, both women appreciate the way he looks in his new uniform as well. You can’t help but notice them doing this, and you find yourself wondering if they had been looking at you with that same amount of interest. The idea that they could have has your mind swimming with thoughts on what that could mean.

   “James, you look good in your suit too” Wanda finally offers up

   He smiles, “Thank you Lady Maximoff, I tried to clean up nicely for this evening”

   “And you did a wonderful job. You both did” the Countess assures, watching fondly as the two of continue to carry out your duties

   A few hours later and the banquet is in full swing. Many of the Countesses' friends and acquaintances are in attendance, bringing along a handful of their own guards or a couple of their werewolves to ensure the safety of themselves both during travel and here in the Countesses castle. The grand hall was quite full due to this, and you’d be lying if you said that didn’t put you a bit on edge.

   You knew your Countess didn’t necessarily trust everyone she invited, but had to do it to keep the peace among the elder vampires and their houses. Meaning that someone here could easily be at odds with her, and with a handful of guards at their disposal they could cause a disturbance and multiple injuries if they chose to do so. Not to mention how easily someone with ill intentions could slip in and remain hidden in a crowd this large. 

   “You alright?” James asks, coming to stand beside you, his hand caresses your shoulder gently to hopefully ease some tension away from you

  “Yeah, I’m fine. I just….I don’t know, something seems off. Like there's an unnecessary heaviness in the air” you explain, eyeing the room suspiciously 

   He nods, “Yeah, I feel it too. Might just be our nerves, or it might be something, so lets stay on our toes just to be sure”

   You agree and the two of you do your best to not stray far from the main table for the next hour, wanting to ensure the safety of both your Countess and her girlfriend. If one of you had to do something or got called to have a conversation, the other made sure to not stray. And thankfully, so far, everything has been going well.

    “You know, if Lord Pyms fledgling isn’t careful with how he holds the elders daughter while dancing with her, we might have to step in to make sure Scott doesn’t lose his hands.”

   You glance over and notice Scotts hand dangerously low on Hopes back and catch the glare the older man is sending the two as they remain oblivious, “Oh, I would hate to be on the receiving end of a look like that. He's absolutely going to get a reprimand the entire way home tonight”

   “Guarantee it.” another voice replies, causing both of you to look in its direction. 

    “Carol, glad you're here”. It's nice to see you. you happily greet, having not seen the blonde werewolf in some time

    “You too, Y/n” she says with a smile, turning to look at your partner, “And you as well James.”

   “Hi Carol. Maria here too?” 

   She nods, “Of course she is, Count Fury wouldn’t go anywhere without both of us. Ah, there she is now”

   “Hey guys” the raven haired werewolf greets, and her mate happily kisses her cheek, “How are the two of you?”

   “We’re well” James replies, linking his fingers with yours, “How about the two of you?”

   “We’re good too” Carol replies, pausing to look at you, “Have the two of you been allowed to find an Omega yet?”

   You swallow and glance at James, unsure of what to say. Because packs worked a certain way, and that's essentially what a group of guards under a vampire's service was, a very small pack. Alphas were in charge, generally more offensive in actions, and were the ones responsible for breeding. And Omegas, who were still an equal threat despite generally being more defensive, and the ones that would carry any children. And due to you being in the service of vampires, you’d have to get their permission before finding mates and expanding your pack. Which, as Alphas, you and James had a big say in.

   And it's not like your Countess had forbid you from looking for an Omega, but it's not like you had asked either. Whether that was due to the two of you being content without more of a pack, or due to the two of you being infatuated with the two vampires was another matter. One that you couldn’t admit to.

   “Uh, well, we haven’t really brought it up to anyone yet” James admits, causing the two to share a look that you have a bad feeling about

    Back up at the main table the Countess sighs as Lord Rogers continues to drone on about something that not only happened thousands of years ago, but that he retold at every gathering. Wanda gives her hand a reassuring squeeze, and she turns to find the brunette rolling her eyes. She chuckles lightly at the action, until Count Fury sits down beside her

   “Countess Romanoff, such a lovely banquet so far. Though, personally I would have gone for whiskey instead of wine”

   She smiles, “Count Fury, I’m glad you could join us this time. I can have a servant get you some whiskey if you’d like”

   “I’d appreciate that”

   She quickly signals for Sylvia, who is just as quick to appear, “Please bring out one of our finest whiskies and a glass for the Count here”

   She nods and does as told. He takes his time pouring a glass sampling it. Once satisfied with it he fills the glass entirely before refocusing on conversation, “Seems my Omega wolves have taken a liking to your Alpha ones”

   Her eyes immediately snap up, trying to find you and James in the crowd, and once she does she hates what she sees. Carol is standing mere inches from you with her hand resting along your bicep while Maria stands inches away from James, brushing a long stand of loose hair back behind his ear. 

   Her jaw clenches as she watches neither of you do anything about their close proximity, and has half a mind to let Wanda go over there and sort things out. But she can’t afford to have a scene caused due her her affections for the two of you

   “The bitches will be in their heat soon, if you're looking to let your wolves have a bit of fun, I’m sure we could strike a deal”

  Her stomach sinks at the very clear implication, and based on how quickly she sees Wanda turn her head from the two of you back to her, she knows her girlfriend felt the same dread

   “I can assure you that they both come from good backgrounds genetically. And they've never laid with any Alphas before, your wolves would be the first, and presumably last.”

   “No thank you”

   He raised a brow, apparently surprised,“Are you certain? They seem like a good match.”

   “She said no” Wanda interjects, practically ready to go shove the mans wolves away from you and James

   Nat raises her hand to signal her girlfriend to contain herself, “The offer is very generous, but I must decline. I’m afraid that my wolves have yet to show interest in such a thing”

   “A little push surely wouldn’t hurt matters, but if you are sure in your decision then there's nothing I can do about it”

   “No, there isn’t” she affirms, signaling for her servants to bring out the humans. Her anger needed to be taken out on something, and this would also allow her to temper her hunger

   A row of chained nude men and women are led into the room and brought before the main table, prompting the Countess to stand and grab the ornate dagger. She makes her way to the first person and smirks, “This won’t be quick”

   Before he can even register it, the dagger is brought across his neck and he slumps backward as blood begins to pour from the wound, prompting the remaining humans to let out noises of shock and disdain. You and your mate can only stare in awe at her brutal efficiency. 

   “Who would like a taste?” she offers, beginning to take goblets shoved her way to fill

   You and James watch on as your Countess helps fill chalices for those that approach her, but suddenly a sharp movement to your left catches your attention. You turn to find a group of four men attempting to approach her, but something is off with them. They seem determined, focused. That's when you spot their gear, strategically hidden within their cloaks. Miniature crossbows and blades. 

   “James, we need to move. Now!” Your stern tone immediately has his attention and he turns in time to catch you shifting into your werewolf form. 

   You cause a bit of a commotion as you turn, pushing others down or shoving them away as your size increases and black fur begins to cover your body. People quickly make room for you, effectively halting the men you would soon be after in their tracks, as they are cut off or bumped into. 

   Seeing you transform, Wanda is on her feet at once, “Y/n?”

   Nats eyes move to you then, and her brows furrowed in confusion as she sees you in your werewolf form standing there on your hindlegs, towering over everyone. She only becomes more concerned when your lip curls back in a snarl and a deep growl emanates from your chest.

   “Hey! Control your mutt!” someone, who is quite obviously a vampire shouts, and a good amount of others begin to murmur in agreement 

  But it’s then James sees them too, as they all turn to lock eyes with you, “Go, I’m right behind you.”

   You lunge through the crowd, causing a surprised gasp of indignation to leave the vampires, who somehow still haven’t managed to sniff out the humans in their midst. But the roar-like sound that leaves you as your ears pin back quickly has them fleeing the area of whatever you have perceived as a threat. You land a few feet in front of the small group, and the room is quickly being cleared of all other guests and guards aside from those at the main table, effectively plugging up the rooms entryways and stopping more of the Countesses guards from rushing in

   “We ain't here for you!” the one shouts, “Move outta the way and I’ll reward you with your freedom!”

    Your growl at them and bare your teeth, obviously not swayed by such a thing, afterall Natasha was good to you. She fed you, clothed you, even let you have a room, and you'd never known what it was like to be on a chain or to be whipped. No, you had it good here, the best as far as werewolf standards could go. Plus, you were kinda hopelessly in love with her and her girlfriend, so to you and James, this was freedom.

   You stalk forward a few paces, and they all finally reveal their weapons, aiming them at you. Both Natasha and Wanda can feel their own lips curling back in snarls, showing off their fangs. Neither can tell though if it's due to the anger at the brazen attack or their protectiveness for you however.

   “We just want Romanoffs head” another one of them declares, chuckling, “It’s gonna look real nice on a pick in the center of town”

   It would seem that James wasn’t a fan of that idea either, because in only a few seconds he's shifted into his werewolf form as well and circles around to the groups one side. They seem a bit shocked by his telltale white fur, no doubt connecting it to the legends that run rampant of when he was younger and kill crazy under the service of another vampire named Vasily Karpov.

   “Certainly you recognize the white wolf as being the one your kind calls the Winter soldier” Natasha states, venom clear in her tone, “And as you can see, he is not alone. Surrender and I might spare these citizens their lives”

   A third man shakes his head, “We don’t make deals. We’re leaving here with your head”

   “You won’t be leaving at all” 

   Her comment is as good as a command, and you surge forward with a roar. The recognizable sound of a crossbow firing can be heard only seconds before your teeth are tearing into the soft flesh of the man's neck, and the metallic smell of blood fills the air. 

   Upon seeing this, two of the men attempt to scramble away, but James moves after them. He jumps on the first one, sinking his claws into his back as he bites down on the man's shoulder. He yells out a strangled cry for help before his neck is snapped by a large paw. The other man looks on in sheer horror as he frees his blade, it shakes in his hold but he's determined to not die without landing a blow

  “Come on then, come get some!”

   He lets out a growl that sounds rather like an amused chuckle before striking, tearing open the man's leg with his razor sharp claws. The man yells as he collapses, and he wildly swings his knife, catching your mate with the blade. It slides across his fur covered forearm leaving a small gash and terrible burning sensation in its wake. He quickly swats the blade from the man's grasp, breaking his wrist in the process before getting right up in his face. 

   He stares him down as he slowly bleeds out, having had his artery severed by claws not too long ago, but his attention quickly switches to you when the smell of your blood hits his nostrils…

   The man that had stayed near you instead of running had watched on in disgust as you ripped away a part of his friend's windpipe before dropping his body. And he knew as soon as your eyes locked onto him that he was next. He decides to be brave as you walk forward, and he fires another bolt into you. Unlike the earlier one that lodged itself in your shoulder, this one hits your abdomen, causing an involuntary whine to leave you as blood drips down to the stone floor. But you don’t allow this to slow you down, and you rush him before he has a chance to reload. He screams as your claws tear into him, ripping open his abdomen and spilling his guts. 

  But before you can finish him off, the pain sets in, and it's quite clear even in your animalistic state that the tips of the bolts had been silver. You recoil from him, letting out another whine as your paw wraps around the arrow in your shoulder, and you yank it out with all your might. 

   The pain nearly has you on all fours at this point, and James quickly rushes to you. His head rests in the crook of your neck as his tongue laps at your shoulder injury. You whine again, almost collapsing as the silver rushes through your bloodstream and Wanda finds she can’t hold back anymore

   She rushes over and carefully runs her hand through the black fur of your uninjured shoulder. Your head turns to her, and she swears she sees your eyes light up as you take in her presence. She watches as you sway, clearly weakened by this attack and she helps you lean into her. Though smaller in size, vampires are amazingly strong and she has no issues helping keep you upright. As she does so, the last of the crowd clears from the doorways, and the Countesses vampire guards make their way into the room. 

   “It's about time!” she shouts, trying to keep her worry for you under wraps, “Get the elders out of here and safely to their carriages, and put these humans back in the dungeons”

   “But, my Lady- ”

   “Go! My wolves took care of the threat and now the elders would like to be in their own castles, see that they at least get safely out of mine!”

   The nod, “Of course. At once”

   As soon as the room is empty, she rushes to join Wanda at your side, “How bad is it?”

   “She can hardly stand Tasha, I think it was silver” she admits, pulling away from your now human form

  The Countess frowns, knowing you must be really weak to allow that to happen just now. In all the years of knowing you, she's never seen you become human again in front of them, likely due to your nakedness. She rubs the fur of James shoulder to gain his attention, and he looks over at her

   “Can you carry her to our room?”

   Though confused, he nods and scoops you up into his arms. It agitates his own injury slightly, and he winces, but he powers through it easily.

    “Set her on the bed” Wanda tells him, and he does as he's told. Only he refuses to move away from you

   Natasha reaches up to rub his muzzle, “I know you're scared right now, but please James, I need you to step back so I can help her”

   His eyes move from her, to you and he takes a few hesitant steps to the side, giving her enough room to maneuver around you. There's still a bolt lodged in your abdomen that is likely causing an extreme amount of pain as well as letting silver remain inside you, but she can’t remove it. Not until she deals with your shoulder wound that's bleeding profusely

  “Just hang on, Y/n” she whispers, grabbing the cloth Wanda hands her. She presses it into the wound, causing you to whimper, “I know, I’m sorry.”

   Wanda hands her a blade then, and James watches in awe as the Countess slices open her own wrist, letting her own blood pour out. He knows she intends to offer it to you, as a vampire's blood has healing properties. But he also knows that this is completely unheard of. He's never known a vampire to allow a wolf in their bed like this, and he certainly knows that none have ever let themselves be fed off of by a wolf. He knew Natasha was a kind vampire to werewolves, much kinder than most, but still he can’t help but think that something different is going on here.

  “Y/n, I need you to drink, okay? Please.”

   You weakly take the wrist she has offered you, attaching your lips to her soft flesh and begin to let the coppery flavor of her blood wash over your tongue. 

   To your surprise, you immediately start to feel its effects as the pain in your shoulder numbs. And you're fairly certain you can feel the wound trying to close itself, something your healing factor normally wouldn't help with when silver was involved. She moves the cloth away with her free hand, and sure enough it's only a small injury now.

   "Okay, I'm going to pull this one out now" she says, gesturing to the bolt in your belly, "It's going to hurt"

  You nod and she pulls, causing you to grimace around her wrist. And honestly if she wasn't so worried about you, she would have been going insane over the feeling of your lips and teeth on her skin

  "That's it, keep drinking" she tells you, turning to look at her girlfriend, "Wanda, James is hurt too, let him drink from you"

  The brunette picks up the knife and holds it to her wrist before looking up at the looming white werewolf, "You can shift back if you'd like, unless you're more comfortable like that"

   His head tilts to the side like some confused dog as he thinks on it, before deciding to shift back. Wanda watches in amazement as he turns back into the man she's familiar with

   "There we go" she says with a smile, but before she can cut herself his hand in hers stops her

   "You don't have to. I appreciate it, and I appreciate you, my Lady, helping Y/n. But my injury isn't in a vital area. You don't need to"

   "James, Natasha helped Y/n because she cares. Deeply. As do I. And we feel the same about you. I don't care if it's not fatal or that it will eventually heal. I can help you not to hurt now, so I'm going to " she explains, effectively causing both his heart and yours to race

   "Okay"

   Wanda slices herself as soon as he lets go and gives him her wrist, "Now drink"

   As he does as he's told, Nat removes her wrist from your mouth as she looks you over. She tries not to let her eyes wander, only intending to make sure your injuries are closed, but when she sees your v line and happy trail she can't help but glance further down. She bites the inside of her lip to hold back a groan, because even soft you're bigger than she's ever had the pleasure of taking. But your voice pulls her eyes and attention away

   "Thank you. You didn't have to save me"

   "Of course I did" her eyes soften as she looks at you, and you swear you're dreaming when her hand cups the side of your face, "I couldn't let you die. Besides, you saved me tonight too"

   You can't help but be confused, "But that's my duty to you as your guard. You…you don't have that duty"

   "I don't. But Wanda's right, I care about you and about James far more than a Countess should. And I have felt this way for a very long time. As has Wanda" she explains, leaning closer, “And I think, the two of you feel the same way”

   “We do” you admit, your heart fluttering as you get lost in her intense gaze

   She smiles, “Good, then you won’t mind me doing this”

   She leans in and captures your lips with her own, and you move your hand to cup the back of her head to ensure she stays there. Her lips are so plush, and they fit perfectly against your own. It’s better than you ever imagined, and when her tongue prods your lip for entrance, you eagerly allow it. You then wrap your arms around her waist to pull her even closer, causing her to let out a soft moan. The scene practically has James’s jaw hanging open

   “Why let them have all the fun?” Wanda says, bringing him out of his daze and offering him her hand now that he's done drinking from her

   He swiftly takes it and she leads him to the other side of the bed. Before she can say or do anything however, his hands grasp her hips and pull her against him. She lets out a small sound of surprise before he leans in, pressing his lips against hers in an awaited kiss. Without realizing it, he leans her backwards, letting her come to rest on the mattress below.

   When all four of you finally pull away from each other, James helps Wanda out of her dress and jewels while you do the same with the redhead above you. With all four of you finally able to see each other fully, you each silently study the other. Each of you intends to take in every freckle and scar, committing them to memory before giving in and worshiping each other. 

   Natasha makes the first move, smirking at you seductively before effortlessly flipping your positions. With you now on top of her she guides your hands to her body, “Make me feel good, baby”

   Your hands begin to caress her sides, slowly making their way up to her chest while your mouth kisses along her jawline. When your hands finally cup her breasts, your mouth has moved to her collarbone, where you leave a few of your own marks beside some of Wanda's older ones. The Countess shudders in anticipation as her core throbs, spilling her essence to the bedsheets below. 

   Beside you, James does similarly. His hands squeeze the brunette's tits while his mouth trails the valley between them, leaving kisses in his wake. Wanda squirms beneath him, a flushed mess as she feels her arousal drip between her thighs. She's honestly surprised by her girlfriend's patience, as hers has run out.

   “James” she calls out, her voice a bit raspier than usual. His eyes glance up at her but his mouth never leaves her chest, "I need you lower"

   He eagerly obliges and slides himself further down pressing gentle kisses against her bare stomach before settling before her mound. His eyes darken as he sees how wet she already is, and his tongue darts out to taste her.

  “Ooh” she moans as his tongue gently parts her folds and enters her awaiting hole. He swirls the muscle around before pulling back to suck on her clit, causing her to clench around nothing, “Feels so good, baby”

   He hums at the praise, causing her to roll her hips against him as she seeks out more pleasure. He obliges by pushing his tongue back inside her, letting her walls squeeze him as his nose brushes against her bundle of nerves.

   Hearing her girlfriend moan beside her has Natasha eager for the same treatment. But she needs not wait long, as you're already busy marking up her plush thighs.

   “Y/n…” she sighs as you test her patience, so you finally give into both of your desires

   You practically dive in, attaching your lips to her clint instantly, earning yourself a loud moan from the woman. She quickly brings one her hands to tangle in your hair to hold you close as the other hand twists up the sheets

   “Fuck….just like that” she encourages, scratching lightly at your scalp, “Good girl”

   Her juices drip down your chin as you slip your tongue inside her, causing more sounds of pleasure to come from her. They mix with Wandas as you both work on getting them to come undone.

   It’s not long before both vampires are writhing, their muscles tightening as they begin to reach the peak of their bliss. You and James increase the pace of your mouth's movements as you both hold down their thighs to avoid being crushed.

   “Fuck!” Wanda shouts as she treats your mate to a gush of her cum, which he happily swallows

   The sounds of her girlfriend coupled with your motions is enough to have Nat falling over the edge as well, “Oh god!”

   Her grip on your hair tightens as you continue your movements for a bit, until she slumps back against the bed. Though neither of you want to, you both pull away, not wanting to overstimulate either woman. They both look at you and JAmes through hooded eyes, clearly still blissed out as smiles grace their features

   You and your mate share a similar smile as you glance at each other, clearly forming an unspoken plan with each other. This plan is put in motion quickly as the two of you trade places on the bed, allowing you to each slide between the legs of the other woman you’ve yet to please, and taste.

   You effortlessly wrap your arms around Wanda's thighs and pull her close to you, making her moan deeply as your lips make contact with her still sensitive pussy. Natasha makes a similar sound as James’ tongue slides inside her. You both work at the same pace as before, making both women shudder as their second orgasms quickly approach. Wanda's hand instinctively reaches out to grab her girlfriend's hand, and they both shout out your names as they cum again. You both help work them through it before pulling away to let them calm down.

   It takes them a moment to regain their composure, but once they do, Natasha is sure to praise you both, “They did so good for us, didn't they detka(baby)?”

   “They sure did. Took such good care of us” Wanda agrees, reaching down to affectionately stroke your cheek

  Natasha hums in agreement, “I think it's time to take care of them, don’t you agree?”

  “Oh yes” 

   You and James watch them with anticipation as they stand from the bed, gesturing at where they once were laying. You quickly understand the implication and both move up the mattress to take their places. They both eye you hungrily as they realize you're both hard, and both leaking precum.

   Natasha moves to straddle James, reaching down to grab his cock. She gently wraps her fingers around it, causing him to moan as she jerks him off. His head leans back against the pillows as she presses his tip against her entrance, and she then moans as he slips inside. She slowly sinks down, bracing herself with her hands on his chest as he bottoms out inside her

   “Fuck…” he whimpers as his hands move to her hips, “You feel so good”

   She smiles down at him, “Mmm, so do you. Filling me so well.”

   As she begins to rock her hips, Wanda makes her way to you, straddling your lap with a confident smirk. She strokes your cock as she lines herself up with you, and you both moan in unison as she begins to sink down on you. Your hands cup her breasts in effort to add to her pleasure as hers rest against your abdomen, and she whimpers as stills against your hips

   “So big” she mutters, not used to anything other than Natashas fingers inside her

   With your ego boosted you smile up at her with a cocky grin, “You think we’re big now, you should see us in our other form”

   The thought alone has them both clenching around you, causing both you and James to moan as their movements increase in speed. An your mate glances over at you with a knowing look

   “I think they like the sound of that” you tease, only to be shut up by the brunettes lips on your own

   “Damn right we do” Natasha admits, still eagerly riding James’ cock, “After Wans and I make you two see stars, we want you wolf forms to claim us. You don’t need Omegas now that you have us.”

   James grunts at her words and tightens his on her hips, she's almost sure it’ll bruise and that excites her, “Does that sound good, handsome? Does the idea of knocking us up excite you?”

   “Yes…” he breathes out as his cock twitches inside her, “We’ve never wanted Omegas, only the two of you”

   Wanda pulls away from you, looking into your eyes as she continues her hips movements, “Yeah?”

   “Yeah” you assure, wrapping an arm around her waist, “All we ever thought about was you two”

   At your confession, Natasha leans over and connects her lips to James’ while the brunette on top of you cups your face. Even without words, it's clear the sentiment is the same for the two of them. Besides each other, all they thought of was the two of you. And that paired with they way they both still ride you, neither of you will last much longer.

   “Fuck…Wanda, I’m gonna cum” you grit out, trying to hold yourself back until you know she's close as well

   She moans at your words and her walls tighten around you, “Go on baby, cum in me”

    With her permission you unload inside of her, sending her over the edge directly after you. You hold her close as you thrust your hips upward, helping her ride through her orgasm.

   Beside you, Natasha pants, quickly approaching her own climax, “Thats it, being such a good boy for me. Keep going, I’m so close”

   He nods in understanding, “Me too. God…I’m gonna fill you up” 

   Natasha moans loudly, cumming all over his cock at his words, but his hands continue to guide her in her movements until he spills inside her. She practically collapses against him once he's finished, and he runs a soothing hand through her hair.

   A few minutes pass before the four of you have caught your breath, but once you have, you look over at the redhead resting against your mate, “Did you mean what you said? About our wolf forms?”

   She reaches out to caress her girlfriends back, who still lays on your chest, before answering, “Yes. We want you both in every way we can have you. Right, dorogoy(darling)?”

   “Right” she answers, kissing your chest, “Please Y/n?”

   James looks over at you, “Come on, love. If they want to be ours, who are we to deny them that?”

   You nod, “You're right”

   The two of you carefully move the two girls off of you as you stand, and once they’re situated you both make your way to the foot of the bed. James gently grabs your waist and pulls you against him before leaning down to capture your lips in a kiss. You eagerly lean into it and wrap your arms around his neck to keep him close for a moment

   After the two of you break apart you walk away from the bed a bit to ensure there's enough space before shifting forms. The two vampires watch in awe as you both transform, and their jaws nearly drop as they take in the size of your still erect cocks.

   You both walk over to the bed, eyeing them as if they were prey. Which, in a way, they were. Just not the kind to be attacked or eaten, but the kind to be claimed. You lick your maw as you climb above the Countess, and she reaches out to stroke the fur covering your chest.

   “Come on, baby. Use me.”

   As soon as the words leave her mouth you reach out your large paws to flip her over, showing off her ass to you. She gets the idea and moves to be on all fours below you, and you eagerly bend over her. She can feel your throbbing member resting just against her folds and grinds back into you, showing how eager she is for you.

   Seeing the position you have her girlfriend in, Wanda quickly moves to get in the same one, hoping to entice James to come to her faster. Her plan works and he moves to hover over her. He gently licks the back of her shoulder as he lines himself up with her and he pushes his tip against her pussy.

    She moans loudly and pulls at the sheets as he pushes himself further inside her, stretching her open even further than she had been on your human cock earlier. He stills for a moment to let her adjust to the new size, only continuing to move once her breathing evened out. Now fully inside her, he lets out a possessive growl and drops a bit more of his body weight on top of her as he waits for you and Natasha to catch up.

   Seeing how your mate has already mounted Wanda, you move your hips back slightly before moving them forward again and you slowly begin to slide into the woman beneath you. She moans and reaches out to grab ahold of one of your giant paws to help ground herself as you inch forward until you're all the way inside her and you thank her by softly licking her neck

   “Please” Wanda whimpers, moving to look at James the best she can in her current position, “Please fuck me”

   With a grunt he begins to move, slamming his hips into hers without little care for how rough his movements may be. His sole focus now is on his pleasure, and filling the brunette with his seed. His powerful thrusts have Wanda a mess beneath him, and all she can do is make sounds of pleasure as his cock pulses inside of her.

   Below you, Natasha wiggles her hips in an attempt to entice you, “Come on Y/n, please”

   You thrust your hips forward with a growl and move your paw to be on top of the hand that was once holding onto you as you start to pound into her. Noises similar to Wandas leave her as your movements never falter and she nearly screams in pleasure when you brush up against her cervix

   “Oh god….oh god” Wanda mumbles, feeling her own arousal drip down her thighs as she approaches her third orgasm of the evening, “Don’t stop”

   He grunts as he increases his pace, proving to her that he had no intention of doing such a thing. He can feel her walls tighten around him, which only spurs him on. He lowers his head next to hers, letting her hear him pant against her ear which proves to be enough to tip her over the edge

   “James!” she shouts, and he nuzzles against her as she shakes but continues to fuck her, not planning on stopping until his knot is buried inside her. 

   Your hips slam into Natashas with a similar roughness, causing the redhead to whimper. She tries her best to force her hips back to meet your thrusts, intent on chasing her next orgasm that's oh so close. And all it takes to send her over is your other paw moving to grab at her chest

   “Oh fuck! Y/n!” she yells as her walls squeeze you in a way nothing ever has before. But you don’t let up either, only thinking about locking your knot into place so you can fill her properly.

    The two of you continue to rut into them with such force that has their arms nearly giving out, but neither cares too much as you both have their eyes rolling to the back of their heads and drool dripping down their chins. Neither has ever felt pleasure this intensely before, and they honestly aren't sure they ever want it to stop. But just as that thought crosses their minds they can feel themselves approaching their climax once again, and they are eager to be filled with potent werewolf cum.

    “Please, please, please” Wanda begs, grasping the sheets so hard its a wonder they don’t tear, “Please knot me, please”

    James grunts, a bit surprised at first that she knows enough about werewolf anatomy and breeding to know of a knot, but when he remembers their admittance of wanting this for a long time he gets the idea that they may have looked into it just to understand the two of you better. And that thought has his knot instantly growing. It slams into Wanda's pussy a few times, and feeling how big it is she nearly changes her mind, but with a final hard shove from him, it slips inside her

   “Ooh god!” she moans as his hot cum practically pours inside her, sending her into her yet another orgasm

   As Nat watches Wanda practically collapse from exhaustion and pleasure  her excitement of being knotted by you nearly doubles and she does her best to turn her head to face you

   “Please baby, I want your knot.” she whimpers, “I need it”

   Her admittance has your knot growing, and she can’t help but moan as it slams against her. Then, without warning it slips inside fully and locks into place, and she swears she cums so hard she sees white as your seed seemingly endlessly pumps into her. She also practically collapses, so you and James both ease them into a prone position as you both gently lay on top of them, and without meaning to they both begin to drift off.

   By the time they come back around, you and JAmes are human again, and are spooning them from behind. Large smiles envelope their faces as they realize that you both not only stayed but you had also cleaned them up a bit

   “Ah, you're awake” James says from behind Wanda. She hums in acknowledgement but its NAtasha that speaks

   “Hopefully not for long. Just wanted to check on the two of you”

   “We’re fine, love” you assure, pressing a kiss to her still bare shoulder, “And we aren’t going anywhere”

   “Besides, how much safer could the two of you be now that your guards sleep in the same bed as you” James teases, causing all of you to chuckle

   “Promise you’ll be here?” Wanda mumbles, clearly only moments away from returning to slumber

   James squeezes her a bit tighter as you answer, “We promise”

   She give you a sleepy smile, “I love you all”

   “Love you too detka(baby)” Nat replies before James and you answer in unison

   “We love you too”

   Nat smiles as her girlfriend closes her eyes, “I also love you both”

   “And we love you too” you answer

   “Indeed we do” James says, nearly drifting off to sleep himself

   “Sleep now” Nat tells him, turning to look at you, “You as well.”

   “Mkay” you admit with a yawn, pulling her even closer

   And as the Countess feels the love and warmth of her three lovers around her, she knows that any risks that come with such a relationship, potential hybrid children and all, will be absolutely worth it if it means she gets to have this for the rest of time

[mapsontheweb]

A Visual Guide of the Deadliest National Parks.

by YunicornValley

Hi all. I made this visual guide as a response to “The Safest (and Most Dangerous) National Parks” guide posted a couple days ago.

I enjoy the idea and don’t want to rag on their obvious enthusiasm and thoughtfulness. However, I found their scoring methodology subjective and could mislead potential visitors to think parks are more dangerous than they are.

For example, they score up to 4 points per type of dangerous wildlife, but there have only been 8 confirmed wildlife deaths across all National Parks in the last 17 years. They score more points for good cell service and wifi, despite a higher score meaning a more dangerous park. And they sourced ~pennlive.com~ for their Search-and-Rescue data – this is a local news website, not a data source. Some National Parks do provide SAR numbers, but not for a consistent time range, and not across all parks.

Therefore, I wanted to provide a visual using only the data from the Mortality and Annual Visitation spreadsheets provided by the NPS. I appreciate the previous visual was trying to fill in the gaps for injuries, near-death experiences, and unreported data, and we’ll never know those true numbers.

Although the numbers may be underreported, the mortality data does give us a good idea of where to be careful. Falls occur most often in canyons and high-elevation hiking areas. Drowning can occur anywhere people swim or cross rivers. And driving, much like day-to-day life, is always a dangerous activity.

I hope you’ll find this visual entertaining, informative, but also optimistic. 1,545 people have died in these parks across 17 years. The U.S. fatality rate for car accidents in just 2022 is 45,514.

We should always be prepared, research the weather and environment, and practice activities safely. But please don’t be anxious and enjoy your parks!

Tools used: Excel and Figma

Sources:

Other post: https://www.reddit.com/r/coolguides/comments/1ddlozt/a_cool_guide_to_the_most_and_least_dangerous_us/?utm_source=share&utm_medium=web3x&utm_name=web3xcss&utm_term=1&utm_content=share_button, https://www.reddit.com/r/NationalPark/comments/1ddoxhn/the_safest_and_most_dangerous_national_parks_in/

NPS mortality data: https://www.nps.gov/aboutus/mortality-data.htm

NPS visitation numbers data: https://www.nps.gov/aboutus/visitation-numbers.htm

Car Crash stats: https://crashstats.nhtsa.dot.gov/Api/Public/ViewPublication/813560

[astercontrol]

If KOSA passes

Or if any other form of censorship (there are many in the works!) ever succeeds at stepping in to impede our ability to communicate online:

We have to make plans.

Now, I dunno who'll even see this post. The few followers I have are TRON fans (who despite the fantasy we live in, tend to have realistically dismal views IRL about Disney and the various corporate uses of software).

And this fandom, on average, is pretty tech-savvy. It's where I've encountered the most people under 20 years old who actually know how to use a desktop or laptop computer.

So, if there's any hope for what I'm thinking about, this is prolly a good place to start with it.

(As with all my posts, I encourage reblogging and containment-breaching.)

(Gifs are clips from TRON 1982, mainly the "deleted love scene," from the DVD extras.)

Anyway.

Current society has moved online communication much too far onto major social media sites for my comfort. Whoever you communicate with over the internet, chances are you do it through a service owned by a big company: Tumblr, Twitter, Discord, Telegram, Facebook, whatever. Even TikTok (shudder).

These sites, despite their many flaws, can provide experiences that are valuable and hard to get otherwise. And once all your friends are on one site, you can't just leave and stay in touch with them all, not unless they all go the same place. It's easy to see why it's hard to abandon any social media platform.

But a backup plan is important. Because, as we've seen over and over, social media sites can't be relied on. They change their policies suddenly, without good reason-- and are inconsistent, even discriminatory, about enforcing those policies.

If they're funded by ads, the advertisers are their main customers, and your posts are the product. Their goal is that the posts most valuable to the advertisers get seen by people the advertisers consider desirable customers.

Helping you communicate-- making your posts get seen by the people you want to communicate with-- is optional to them.

Not to mention that the whole business model of an ad-funded website is generally unsustainable. Many of these sites are operating at a loss, relying on shareholders in a fragile bubble, doomed to fail soon just from lack of real profit.

And the more restrictions --like KOSA-- that the law puts on freedom of online speech, the likelier they are to go down or just become unusable. Every rule a site is required to follow is another strain on its resources, and most of them are already failing badly at even enforcing their own self-imposed rules.

If we want any control over our continued ability to stay in touch with our online friends-- we need to have a backup plan. Maybe it'll be simple at first, a bare-bones system we cobble together-- but it's gotta be something that will work. For a while at least.

There are lots of really good posts about ways to build your own website, using a service like Neocities. I VERY MUCH recommend learning this skill-- learning to make websites of the very simplest, most stable, glitch-resistant type, made of html pages-- which you can upload to a host while you store backups on your home computer. If you value the writing and art that you put online, this is probably the safest you can keep it.

But that's for making your own creative work public.

As for communicating with others-- for example, receiving and answering other people's comments on your work-- that gets more complex. I personally haven't found it worthwhile to troubleshoot the problems that come with having a system that allows visitors to comment publicly on my website.

But what we do still have-- and likely will for a long time-- is email.

Those of us who came of age before social media's current hold... well, we might take this for granted. Email was the first form of online contact we ever encountered… and thus it can seem to us like the most ordinary, the most boring.

But in the current world, it is a rare and precious thing to find a method of communicating that doesn't require everyone in the chat to be signed on with the same corporation.

Email is, as of now, still perfectly legal-- as much as social media companies have been trying to herd the populace away from it. I'm sure there are other ways to share thoughts online that are not bound by laws. But I am not going to go into that here.

Email service is provided by law-abiding companies, which will comply with subpoenas if law enforcement thinks you are emailing about doing illegal things. So, email is not a surefire way to be safe, if laws become dystopian enough to threaten your freedom to talk about your own life and identity.

But it's safer than posting on a public social media page.

For now.

Email is beautifully decentralized. You can get an email address many different ways-- some reliant on a company like Gmail, others hosted on your own domain. And different people, with all different types of email addresses, hosted in all different ways-- can all communicate together by the same method.

Of course any of these people, individually, can lose their email address for some reason or other, and have to get a new one. But as long as they still know the email addresses of their contacts, they can reconnect and recover from that loss. The structure of a group linked by email is reliant not on a single company-- but on the group itself, the friends you can actually count on.

This is why I am trying to promote the idea of forming email lists, as a backup plan to give people a way to stay in touch as mainstream social media sites prove to be unsustainable.

I'm envisioning a simple system of sending emails to several addresses at once, and making each reply visible to everyone in the chat by using "reply all" (or, if desired, editing the To field to reply to only some).

If enough people get used to using email in this way, it could fill most of the needs met by any other group chat or forum …without depending on a centralized social media company that's taking dystopian measures to try and make the business profitable.

So here are some thoughts about how I personally imagine it could work.

(Feel free to comment and bring up any thoughts I haven't addressed, or suggestions to customize how specific groups could set it up. This is meant as more of a starting point for brainstorming than a catch-all solution.)

As I see it, here are the basics of what you and your friends would each need to start out:

An email address. Any kind, hosted anywhere. You should use a dedicated email account just for this group, one that you do NOT use for other communication. Being in this group will result in things you don't want happening to your main email address-- like getting a TON of email, one for every post and reply. Or someone could get your email address that you really don't want any contact with. Use a burner email account (one that you can easily replace) and change it if needed.

The knowledge of how to "REPLY ALL" in your email. This will be necessary in order to add a comment that everyone in the group can see.

The knowledge of how to EDIT THE "TO" FIELD in your email, and remove addresses from the list of all recipients. This will be necessary if you want to CHANGE WHICH PEOPLE in the group can see your comment.

The knowledge of how to FILTER WORDS in your email. This will be necessary if a topic comes up that you don't want to see any mentions of.

The knowledge of how to BLOCK PEOPLE in your email. This will be very important. If someone joins this email group who you do not want to interact with, it will be up to you to BLOCK them so that you do NOT see their messages. (If they are bad enough to evade the block with multiple burner accounts, that's what you have a burner account for. Change it, and share the new one only with those you trust not to give it to them.)

Every person in the group will be effectively a "moderator" of the group, able to remove people from it by cutting their email addresses out of the "To" field. Members will all have equal "moderator" privileges, each able to tailor the group to their own needs.

This means the group may naturally split, over time, into other groups, each one removing some people and adding others. Some will overlap, some won't. This is good! This is, in my opinion, what online interaction SHOULD be like! There should be MANY groups like this!

In this way, we can keep online discussion alive, no matter WHAT happens to any of the social media websites.

If the dystopia got bad enough to shut down email, we could even continue with postal mail and photocopies, like they did in the days of print-zine fanfiction.

If it looks like the dystopia is gonna come for postal mail too, we'll use the connection we have to preserve whatever contacts we can with people who live near us.

Not saying it's GONNA get that bad. But these steps of preparation are good no matter exactly what kind of bad stuff happens.

As long as some organized form of communication still exists, we'll have a place where it's at least a little safer to be your true self…

to plan events and meetups…

and maybe even activities a little too risque to make the final cut of a 1982 Disney movie.

They're trying to censor us. We want a Free System. So we're gonna fight back.

For the Users. Not the corporations.

Peace out, programs. <3

[novaursa]

a reader Velaryon was caught having an affair with her uncle Dareon Targaryen through letters and encounters. something that his mother or his brothers did not like very much She was locked in her chambers and then forced to marry her brother Jaracerys. After Lucerys almost died in Storm's Bastion if it weren't for the intervention of Reader who gave him a chance to escape. rader callus cold with fiber One day at dusk Dareon contacted one of Reader's maids who was still at his service after they had changed all the maids when they found out about the secret relationship they had. He asked her to help him get into Dragon Rock. He missed her after they locked her up and forced her to marry Jacaerys. He couldn't see her now. He knew she was sick. She needed him. the maid helped him She would wait outside in case someone came. They were scared to see Reader there alone in that bed, so weak, so fragile, consumed by fever when she touched her hands. She may have been delirious, but she whispered his name. She called him because she missed him. Then he heard the door open and turned around to see the maid being pointed at by Jacaerys's sword. jacaerys dareon stay away from my wife now could you write something like this please

Fevered Desires

- Summary: After you are stricken with fever in wake of saving your brother’s life above the Storm's End, you get an unexpected visitor.

- Paring: niece!reader/Daeron Targaryen

- Note: I hope this is what you had in mind. I've left in this only important information you've provided that can carry the scene in 1000 words and make it believable.

- Rating: Mature 16+

- Next part: 2

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff

The faint sound of footsteps stirs in the halls of Dragonstone, though none but the most careful listener would hear them. The storm outside rages on, rain pelting against the stone walls, and the roar of the waves crashing below echoes faintly into the castle. You lie beneath heavy blankets, too fevered to notice much of the world around you. Sleep grips you tightly, yet it offers no solace, no respite from the heat that has settled deep within your bones. Sweat beads along your brow, dampening the pillows beneath your head. In your delirium, the fever carries you elsewhere, to memories and whispers that blur together like a forgotten dream.

A gentle touch brushes against your burning cheek. A familiar warmth lingers in the air, a presence you would know even in your sleep. You stir slightly, your lips parting to murmur his name. 

"Daeron..." The word is soft, barely more than a breath, but the sound is enough to reach his ears. His hand stills upon your face, his heart hammering beneath the layers of his cloak. In the dim light of your chambers, Daeron Targaryen stands over you, the hood of his cloak pulled low to shield his features. He shouldn't be here—he knows it, you know it—but he couldn't stay away. Not from you. Not when he heard of your fever, the illness that ravaged your body after the storm that nearly cost you your life. 

For a long moment, he simply watches you. Even in sickness, you are the most beautiful thing he has ever seen, though the sight of your pallor stirs a sharp pain in his chest. His fingers linger against your skin, as if hoping his touch alone could soothe the fever. His heart aches at the thought of you in such agony, but his presence here, in your chambers, is dangerous—more dangerous than he could have ever anticipated.

The door creaks open behind him, and Daeron's hand falls away from your cheek, his gaze hardening as he turns to face the intruder. Jacaerys Velaryon stands in the doorway, sword drawn, his expression a mixture of fury and disbelief. 

"Stay away from her," Jacaerys growls, his voice low but edged with the sharpness of a blade. He steps forward, his hand gripping the hilt of his sword tightly as if ready to strike. His eyes are cold, dangerous, like the sea in the midst of a storm. "She is my wife."

Daeron's lips curve into a bitter smile, a cold, knowing smile. He straightens, turning slowly to face his nephew. "Your wife?" he repeats, his voice soft but dangerous. "She was mine long before she was yours."

The words hang in the air, sharp and heavy. Jacaerys' eyes narrow, and for a moment, it seems as though violence is inevitable. The tension between them hums like a tightly drawn bowstring, ready to snap. But before either can move, you stir again, your fevered body shifting beneath the blankets.

Your eyes flutter open, unfocused at first, but then they settle on Daeron. His face, half-shadowed by the dim light of the room, softens as he looks down at you. His hand, warm and familiar, is wrapped around yours, the rough calluses of his palm a stark contrast to your fevered skin. 

"Daeron..." you whisper again, confusion and longing tangled in your voice. Your mind is clouded, your body weak, but the sight of him brings a surge of something—something you can’t name but have always felt. 

"Shh," Daeron murmurs, his voice suddenly tender, as though the world beyond the two of you has ceased to exist. His fingers tighten slightly around yours, a silent promise, an unspoken vow that transcends the walls of Dragonstone, the blood that binds and divides you.

Jacaerys watches, his jaw clenched, his grip on his sword faltering for a moment as he sees the way you look at Daeron. He’s seen it before, but now, now it feels like a knife twisting in his chest. "You don’t belong here," he snaps, stepping forward. His gaze flickers to you, then back to Daeron. "She’s not yours anymore."

Daeron’s eyes flash, cold and sharp. "Is that what you tell yourself to sleep at night?" His voice is low, biting. "Do you think a few vows and a marriage bed can erase what we had? What we still have?"

Jacaerys’ face hardens, but before he can respond, a weak cough escapes your lips, your body trembling beneath the weight of the fever. Both men turn toward you, but it is Daeron who reaches you first, his hand brushing a strand of damp hair from your forehead.

"She needs rest," Daeron says quietly, his gaze never leaving yours. His thumb gently strokes the back of your hand. "Not your anger. Not your sword."

For a moment, there is only silence. Then Jacaerys lowers his blade, though the fury in his eyes remains. "You have no right," he says, his voice quieter now, but no less intense. "You lost that the moment we found your letters."

Daeron’s jaw tightens. "I lost nothing," he says, his voice firm. He leans down, his lips brushing against your temple in a gesture so soft, so tender, it feels like a secret meant only for the two of you. "I will never lose her."

You stir again, your hand gripping his weakly, and Daeron glances down at you. "Rest now, Y/N," he murmurs, his voice like a balm. "I’m here."

Jacaerys stands there, his chest rising and falling with barely restrained fury, but in that moment, he knows he cannot banish Daeron. Not while you are like this. Not while the fever clings to you, making you vulnerable, fragile. But the storm within him is far from over, and as he steps back toward the door, he glances over his shoulder. 

"Don’t think this is finished, Daeron," Jacaerys warns, his voice low and dark. "I’ll make sure of it."

Daeron doesn’t look at him. His focus is entirely on you, his hand never leaving yours. "Do what you will," he says quietly, "but I will always come back for her."

[trans-axolotl]

hi! What is peer respite?

hi anon! I love talking about peer respite :D

Peer respite is a community-based alternative to psych wards. They offer 24/7 short term crisis stabilization-usually for around a week to 2 weeks. Unlike psych wards, they are completely voluntary and all the staff are people with experience with mental health/extreme states/being in the mental health system. Staff are extensively trained in peer support and mental health first aid, and oftentimes staff members will have other degrees in mental health or healthcare related fields. Usually, peer respite is in a house and it is a homelike environment where you can leave at any time, can have visitors, can have your phone, and can bring comfort items and preferred activities. At peer respites, there are no restraints used, no strip searches, and no solitary confinement.

Each peer respite is a little different, but I can tell you about one that my friend works at who is a social worker with lived experience of psychosis! When people decide to come to the peer respite, they usually make a plan for how they want their stay there to look like. Peer support workers will lead optional life skills/coping skills groups throughout the week, as well as other group activities for anyone who wants to participate. There is self-advocacy education, crisis planning options, and art wellness activities. Everyone is assigned a personal support worker who they can go to any time they need a check in or one-on-one support. Staff and guests work together to cook meals, and the entire stay is free of cost.

Since peer respite is an alternative to the psychiatric systems, most peer respites do not provide traditional therapy or psychiatric medications. Most peer respites will work with you to set up outpatient therapy services if you're interested, and I know a lot of people who continue to see the outpatient providers that they already have throughout their stay at peer respite.

A lot of people who go to peer respite have really positive experiences, and there's been several studies done looking at the outcome of crisis stays at peer respite. A lot of people speak positively about the homelike environment, being able to get emotional and crisis support without the fear of institutionalization, and being able to have autonomy about what your days look like, what choices you make, and what healing looks like to you. Some people stay at peer respite and are still able to go to school or work for the week while knowing that they have a safer environment to go back to.

Peer respite is not a perfect solution for everyone's experience of crisis. If you need a longer term stay, are looking for immediate clinical therapy, are someone who is searching for immediate medication support, or who needs immediate physical medical care--peer respite might not be able to meet your needs. Each peer respite house is going to be different, have different staff and visitors, and different policies, and some people might just not feel comfortable in a particular peer respite house. It's shitty and I hope this changes, but some peer respite houses are inaccessible, will have policies around drug use that might prevent people from staying, or have policies that prevent people who are homeless from staying. So, peer respite definitely isn't a perfect solution or something that can meet everyone's crisis needs, but is a really cool option that I hope continues to become available in more states.

Here's a directory with links to peer respites in the US, and here's research done about peer respite!

[frenchkisstheabyss]

ⱧɆ₳Ɽ₮ ₴Ⱨ₳₱ɆĐ ฿ØӾ

☽ Pairing ☾ warlock!christian yu x witch!chubby!fem!reader

☽ Genre ☾ supernatural au , fluff, smut

☽ Summary ☾ When his first attempt at a spell ends in him being chased out of town, Christian stumbles through the woods and stumbles upon your cottage. Unwelcoming to visitors, you attempt to chase him off but there's just something about this stranger that makes it impossible to turn him away.

☽ Word Count ☾ 2.7k-ish

☽ Warnings ☾ mentions of death/funerals (it's handled comedically so nothing gruesome), witchcraft obviously, unprotected sex, nibbling, a lil bit of rough sex, soft dom christian vibes, overstimulation, creampie, pet names (darling, love), & that's all babes.

☽ A/N ☾ I wrote this as a request for @magoapple who loves Christian Yu as much as I do. Thank you for trusting me to write up your idea and I hope that it came out the way you wanted. Love you 💜

It was supposed to be a simple sleep spell. A few sprigs of dried mugwort, ground lepidolite, the toe of a dead man, a splash of moon water, two creams, three sugars. Or was it three creams, two sugars? Racing through the trees, bare branches grasping at his limbs like the claws of the damned, Christian knows he made a mistake somewhere.

His grandmother’s spells, written on tea stained scraps of paper, provided clear instructions. Naturally a few words here and there had faded over time but how important could they have truly been?Important enough that they might've kept him from cooking up the nauseating potion that made him pass for a corpse.

The days of grieving that preceded his funeral service were hell for everyone but him. While dozens wept he snoozed peacefully. Arrangements were made. His pinstripe white suit was tailored. An oak wood casket was measured to suit his height. The only thing missing, the very thing that saved him, was that the mortician skipped the embalming process.

In a small middle of nowhere town like this, people are prone to superstition. When the mortician placed his scalpel to Christian’s throat, prepared to make his first incision, he could’ve sworn he heard a low humming noise. A death rattle is what they call it. Unremarkable when heard coming from the dying but when it’s coming from the dead? Cut into them and the sound will haunt you for the rest of your days.

And so he quietly left him intact. Something he’d come to regret when his wife rushed into the funeral home screaming in terror that the boy had risen from the dead at his own funeral. The townspeople were unhappy to say the least. Glancing over his shoulder, Christian can still see raging globes of orange looming between the trees. The flames of torches meant to burn him to ash.

There’s chatter amongst the small group of men tasked with capturing him. Their voices aren't distinctive in the slightest but their anger—their fear—seeps into their surroundings. One of the men managed to cut his arm before he escaped. His hand clings to the wound, gathering the fabric of his tattered suit to soak up the blood that drips from it.

He’s out of breath, lungs burning with every step he takes. He doesn’t know how much longer he can run or even where he’s running to. Only that he has to keep going or he’ll be burned at the stake. He knows he’s been running in a straight line but suddenly the trees seem to bend as if he’s made a right turn. The change is dizzying, causing him to stumble but he has to keep running. Straight? No, left. No, right. No.

Thud! His body collides with something unseen, knocking him to the ground. “What the hell!” you shout, bracing yourself for the fall. You land hard on your bottom, the basket of herbs on your arm spilling out into the grass. Scrambling to your feet, you spot the beast that slammed into you though he’s no beast at all. Despite his disheveled appearance, the dark haired man has a gentleness to him that makes you want to rush to his aid.

Watching him dust himself off, you see that he’s injured...and handsome. Incredibly handsome. But how did he get here? How? “Oh my goodness, I’m so happy I found you. You have to help me!” he pleads, grasping at your arm to pull himself up. You back away, sensing the impending presence of even more unwanted company. “You led them here? To my home! Who sent you?” Eyeing the cozy cottage behind you, Christian questions if he’s alive after all.

Everything from the chestnut shingles on the roof to the cobblestone path with flowers springing out from between the cracks reminds him of the story books he read as a child. Vines of wisteria climb the walls, bundles of lavender adorning the arches of the windows and doors. A place like this—it shouldn’t be here. 

“You shouldn’t be here! Whoever sent you—” you say, lowering your voice to a hush. “No one sent me. I’ve just, I’ve had a day, alright? If you don’t help me they’ll kill me so please, please help me.” You want to turn him away, send him right back in whatever direction he came from, but you can’t. The sincerity of his pleas tug at your heartstrings, playing them like a violin.

Behind him you spot the lights of the torches, bringing back dark memories of what lead to your life of solitude to begin with. Shaking away the ghosts of your past, you rush to pull his jacket off. “Take your clothes off!” “Hey!” he squeals, twisting free, “What are you doing?” “You stink of graveyard dirt. It’s interfering with my spell. Take your clothes off, anything the dirt touched, and dispose of them!”

Christian hesitates, unsure he wants to trust a strange woman’s demands to strip down, no matter how beautiful she is. “Just do it before you get us both killed!” “So feisty! Fine, I’ll do it!” Finally getting his jacket off, you toss it into the trees. Christian follows your lead, hurriedly stripping down to his underwear and disposing of the clothes in a small scattered area just beyond your grass. 

You’re ashamed of yourself. Staying focused has always been your strength and men, unfortunately, have always been your weakness. His muscled body is covered in inked markings, mesmerizing you to the point of total distraction. Christian catches you staring and winks, “Like something you see, darling?” “Ugh, you’re already unbearable!” you huff, marching towards your home. “Come inside, we need to handle that wound.” “What about them?”

Pushing your front door open, you turn around and begin counting backwards from 10. Gradually, the torches snuff out and the voices fade into the night. “We’re invisible to them now. They won’t find us. They won’t find anything. The trees will twist until they can’t even find each other.” You say this with a coldness that betrays your sweet exterior and fuels his curiosity.

“You’re magnificent” he muses, making you crack something too fleeting to register as a smile though it’s something resembling one. Lowering your head to hide your amusement, you step inside and he trails behind you, a lost puppy in search of a home. “Whoa” he gasps, marveling at the decor. It’s rustic and simple yet everything in it seems priceless. Even the picture frames appear ornate, the paintings within their boundaries thriving with life.

If he stands still long enough he could swear the paintings move. “Do you plan to bleed out on my carpet?” you tease, standing in the doorway to the kitchen with a blanket and a small basket holding your own special first aid supplies.

“When did you get those?”

“Get what?”

“The blanket and the…they just…”

“Appeared?” you laugh, handing him the blanket, “Things tend to do that around here. Come sit.” 

Wrapping himself in the blanket, Christian makes his way into the kitchen. “Might you have a name, stranger?” you ask, setting up your own makeshift medical station at the table. “Christian. And yours?” Unraveling a roll of gauze, you glance up to find him staring at you with a longing in his eyes that even he may not be aware of. It makes your heart skip a beat, your pulse racing as you catch yourself slipping under his spell once more.

The sound of a pot boiling over on the stove reels you back in. You clear your throat, hurrying to tend to the dinner you’d so quickly forgotten about. Jumping into action, Christian grabs an oven mitt and is right at your side helping to put out a small fire before it catches. “Goodness, look at me. I’m such a mess. Forgive me, I just—this is a lot and I—” you ramble, flustered by the culmination of events.

You stop to catch your breath, a hand clutched to your chest. This is far more excitement than you were prepared for. “Would you like something to eat, Christian?” Your question makes him suddenly aware of how long it’s been since he last had a bite to eat or even a sip of water. The aroma rising from the pots is mouthwatering, only making matters worse. If he had enough moisture in his body to drool he would.

“I would love that, thank you.” You take him by the hand, leading him back to his chair to properly examine his wound. “I’ll feed you and fix you up then off you go. Understood?” He nods obediently, praying that mind reading isn’t among your abilities. As annoyed as you may be at his arrival, there’s still something so inviting about you. You handle him with such warmth. The very warmth that was so cruelly stripped from his life without warning. What intention could he possibly have of letting you rush him off?

But he lies anyway, settling into the comfort of your touch. “Understood.” 

Chirp! Chirp! The baby bird cupped in Christian’s hands flutters its wings. A thorn peeks from between its feathers, preventing it from taking flight. “Poor thing” you pout, pinching the thron and plucking it free, “There you go. All better, aren’t we?” Christian looks to you with the same admiration that he has everyday since he stumbled upon your cottage, injured and alone like this sweet little bird.

Weeks have passed since then, both of you finding excuses for him to stay before ultimately doing away with the notion altogether. Before his arrival you’d never spent mornings like this sitting barefoot in the grass enjoying the utopia your magic had created. Now every morning begins this way with him, hours spent opening up to him in ways you never thought you would with anyone.

You shudder to think of how long you spent locked up in that house, hidden from everything bad in the world and consequently everything, at least one thing, good. Christian sets the bird down in the grass, watching it hop off into the distance and disappear beyond the invisible veil that surrounds your home. “Darling,” he says, a sweet nickname he’s come to call you, “Have you ever thought about leaving?” You laugh at the obscenity of such a question, “Leaving? Wh-why would I do that?”

Sensing the anxiousness in your voice, he intertwines his fingers with yours, brushing his thumb along the back of your trembling hand. “There’s a big, wide world out there, darling. You can’t hide here forever.” It’s a knife through your heart to hear him say that word. Hide. “I’m not hiding here. This place keeps me safe. It keeps us safe.” You move to snatch your hand away but he only holds it tighter, bringing you closer to him.

“But it keeps us still. Something as beautiful as you are shouldn’t be kept. Beautiful things should be free, shouldn’t they?” “And who’ll protect me?” Christian smiles, deep brown eyes refelcting the morning sun, “I will.” Instinctively you want to make a mad dash for the front door, slam it behind you and shut everything out. But with it would go your new companion, the light at the end of a tunnel of seemingly eternal loneliness.

His other hand finds your waist, bringing you onto his lap. “I owe you everything” he whispers against your lips, “Won’t you let me give it to you?” He wraps his arms around you, kissing you with all the passion his words can’t communicate. It steals your breath away, killing that urge to run away. Your fingertips trace his jawline as you tilt forward to deepen the kiss. His tongue ventures further into your mouth, his hands finding their way under your flowy black dress.

Your skin’s softer than the most expensive silk. He can’t get enough of touching you, caressing you. Light sparks of what feels like electricity give you goosebumps as he trails up your spine. “Come with me” he begs, kissing his way down your collarbone. His tongue teases your cleavage, rounding what lush flesh of you breasts overflows from your lowcut neckline.

Christian tugs the front of your dress down, groaning in pleasure as your breasts fall free of the material. Taking your nipple between his lips, he eagerly buries his face into your chest, suckling at the bud. You throw your head back, eyes falling closed, and profess to the skies that you’ll do it. “Yes” you moan, grinding down to feel him hard against your core, “I’ll do it.”

Christian hums happily, nibbling at your stiffened bud as he reaches between your legs to stroke your slit through your panties. Only there are none. They’ve disappeared. He looks up at you, perplexed. He knows you were wearing them. “Where—” “Did you forget?” you giggle, watching the awe on his face as he feels his cock spring from his pants, “I’m magic.” “Yes, you are.”

Magic in every sense of the word. Not only in the intoxicating kiss you pull him into. Not only in the way that you sink down onto him, swallowing every throbbing inch of him into you. You’re magic in the strands of hair that fall between his fingers and in the voice that cries out his name. “Christian!” you moan, tearing his shirt away to reveal the tattooed form you’ve lusted for from the start. He bounces you in his lap, bottoming out with each thrust of his hips. It sends shockwaves through you, your juices pooling at the base of his cock.

Your toes curl, back arching as the blood rushing up his shaft has his veins pulsing while you clench around him. “I’ve wanted you for so long” he confesses, gripping the plush of your ass. “Oh god, me too. So badly.” As if you needed to say it. You’re so wet that he can feel you juices splashing on his fingers each time your bodies meet. That says everything. But he loves to hear your voice. Hear you say that you’ve wanted him as much as he wants you. “Darling” he coos, his face in your neck, inhaling your scent, “You’re shaking.”

You are. It started when he first took your hand and it hasn’t stopped since. One especially rough thrust makes you cry out, your pussy beyond overstimulated by the return of sensations you haven’t felt in years. Your eyes sparkle with tears, a tightness gripping your chest, “Too much! Ah, can’t…” In one graceful motion he has you on your back, your trembling knees pressed back to spread you wider. “Ssh, you can. You can take it for me. My brave girl, hmm?”

You squirm beneath him, this new angle perfect for slamming into your sweet spot. “You...are...the...devil” you gasp, legs wrapping around his waist. “Not the first time I’ve heard that, love” he chuckles, taking that as a challenge. Pinning your hands above your head, he picks up speed, claiming every part of you in every way he can until you’re—

“Christian—I—I’m—oh my goddesses.” 

“That’s it my lovely. Wanna feel you—”

Your orgasm washes over you, the waves powerful enough to pull you under. You’re drowning and you bring him right along with you. You're overcome with every emotion all at once as you hold each other tight, flowing into each other, sticky and sweet.

The sky darkens. The air is still. For a moment you hear nothing and then your body relaxes. The sun returns, the sky somehow prettier than it was before. Christian collapses on top of you, his face disappearing beneath a mess of dark hair as he lays his head on your chest. He squints his eyes, noticing that, beyond his curtain of hair, he can spot parts of the forest he hadn’t seen before.

In the distance, the little wounded bird hops around with his friends. Not too far away he spots remnants of the clothing he tossed away when he found you. He can see everything now and that means everything can see him. It can see you. “So, where to first?” you beam, admiring the view with him.

“Anywhere you want, darling, as long as I’m with you.”

[literaryvein-reblogs]

Writing Notes: Death & Dying

Death - the end of life, a permanent cessation of all vital functions.

Dying - the body’s preparation for death. This process may be very short in the case of accidental death, or it can last weeks or months, such as in patients suffering from cancer.

DEATH PREPARATION

Although it is not always possible, death preparation can sometimes help to reduce stress for the dying person and their family. Some preparations that can be done beforehand include:

Inform one or more family members or the executor of the estate about the location of important documents, such as social security card, birth certificate, and others.

Take care of burial and funeral arrangements (such as cremation or burial, small reception or full funeral) in advance of death, or inform family members or a lawyer what these arrangements should be.

Discuss financial matters (such as bank accounts, credit card accounts, and federal and state tax returns) with a trusted family member, lawyer, estate executor, or trustee.

Gather together all necessary legal papers relating to property, vehicles, investments, and other matters relating to collected assets.

Locate the telephone numbers and addresses of family and friends that should be contacted upon the death.

Discuss outstanding bills (such as utilities, telephone, and house mortgage) and other expenses that need to be paid.

Collect all health records and insurance policies.

Identify the desire to be an organ donor, if any.

MOURNING & GRIEVING

The death of a loved one is a severe trauma, and the grief that follows is a natural and important part of life.

No two people grieve exactly the same way, and cultural differences play a significant part in the grieving process.

For many, the immediate response may be shock, numbness, or disbelief.

Reactions may include:

Shortness of breath, heart palpitations, sweating, and dizziness.

Other reactions might be a loss of energy, sleeplessness or increase in sleep, changes in appetite, or stomach aches.

Susceptibility to common illnesses, nightmares, and dreams about the deceased are not unusual during the grieving period.

Emotional reactions are as individual as physical reactions.

A preoccupation with the image of the deceased or feelings of hostility, apathy, emptiness, or even fear of one’s own death may occur.

Depression, diminished sex drive, sadness, and anger at the deceased may be present.

Bereavement may cause short- or long-term changes in the family unit or other relationships of the bereaved.

It is important for the bereaved to work through their feelings and to not avoid their emotions.

Support groups are often available.

If a person does not feel comfortable discussing emotions and feelings with family members, friends, or primary support groups, they may wish to consult a therapist to assist with the process.

Various cultures and religions view death in different manners and may conduct mourning rituals according to their own traditions.

Visitors often come to express their condolences to the family and to bid farewell to the deceased.

Funeral services may be public or private.

Family or friends of the deceased may host a gathering after the funeral to remember and celebrate the life of the deceased, which also helps the bereaved to begin the mourning process positively.

Knowing how much a loved one is cherished and remembered by friends and family can provide comfort to those who experienced the loss.

Other methods of condolences include sending flowers or cards to the home or the funeral parlor, sending a donation to a charity that the family has chosen, or bringing a meal to the family during the weeks after the death.

Source ⚜ More: Writing Notes & References ⚜ Pain ⚜ Bereavement Death & Cheating Death ⚜ Pain & Violence ⚜ Death & Sacrifice

[bumblee-stumblee]

Children cannot be "Sex Workers". Children cannot consent.

Border Report

Underage sex workers rescued from bogus health spa

by: Julian Resendiz

Posted: Aug 2, 2024 / 07:47 AM CDT

EL PASO, Texas (Border Report) – Police in the Mexican coastal resort of Puerto Vallarta have arrested two women and taken custody of 14 suspected victims of human trafficking.

The arrests went down this week following a months-long investigation on a health spa in the Diaz Ordaz neighborhood of Puerto Vallarta, where young adult and underage females allegedly provided sexual services to customers, according to the Mexican Attorney General’s Office.

Mexican officials identified one of the detainees only as Ruth N. and said the other female in custody is under 18. Ruth N. faces human trafficking charges.

A video released by the AG’s Office shows several young women wearing shorts or minidresses being escorted out of the spa while police officers with rifles stand by.

The AG’s Office said police raided the unnamed spa after obtaining information that minors were being sexually exploited there. A statement says Ruth N. was arrested in “flagrant” commission of a crime – supervising the sex workers.

Puerto Vallarta municipal officials earlier this year met with representatives of 65 hotels, bars and other visitor-oriented business to discourage sex tourism and prevent the sexual exploitation of minors.

Visit the BorderReport.com homepage for the latest exclusive stories and breaking news about issues along the U.S.-Mexico border

A child protection advocate in February told city officials Puerto Vallarta is second in Mexico when it comes to sex crimes involving minors. A second advocate a month later told local news media child sex exploitation is a major problem in the city and that 15 hotels are now taking part in a program to prevent guests from bringing in minors who aren’t legally related to them.

"Underaged sex worker"

Do you mean child victims of human trafficking? Children that were trafficked, coerced and raped?