#all delightfully horrifying

[thegreatyin]

so, fun fact about light fingers that i'm actually going to put under the cut for once because it's a big fun iconic moment that's really worth experiencing for yourself if you choose to play it,,

remember that time poor edward said he'll bury lark alive if that twink doesn't stop fucking around and finding out?

he was not exaggerating in the slightest.

the world goes black. there is only one opportunity card, and only one storylet. you cannot use items. you cannot access the bazaar. you cannot open the map. you cannot leave. there is nothing you can do.

you can only sit there, trapped. and you can only scream.

[arolesbianism]

I am rotating Light so hard in my head rn girlies who just straight up fucking torture ppl cause she can

[earmo-imni]

I have officially started writing fic for my new larp character. It’s whumpy as fuck. This is fine.

[artbyblastweave]

I saw a post a couple of days ago that said one of the most important things about Steven Universe, thematically, is that everybody in the core cast has done at least one completely morally unjustifiable thing, regardless of how likeable or sympathetic they are otherwise, and that this is important to understanding the show thematically. This is true. 

But it also reminded me of one other thing I really like about Steven Universe, which is that it’s the emotional-toxicity equivalent of all those posts about how cartoons have to come up with unimaginably worse forms of death and violence in the course of avoiding getting censored for depicting plausible forms of death and violence.  All of the ways in which SU characters cross those emotional and interpersonal lines are wrapped up either in their fantastic abilities or their bizarre life circumstances in a way that makes it all esoterically awful and often much more existentially horrifying than any of the real-life dynamics it’s alluding to. You’ve said nasty things to people in the heat of the moment but you’ve never shapeshifted into the guy’s dead wife to twist the knife a little more. No violation of bodily autonomy is ever gonna involve contriving a situation in which the other party will believe that it’s necessary to fuse with you, body and soul in order to do demolition work. The most toxic relationship in the world isn’t gonna involve imprisoning someone at the bottom of the ocean for several months and only emerging to participate in humanoid-sacrifice rituals. Your codependency will never last 8,000 years, be frontloaded with a faked death you’re biomechanically incapable of confessing to, and end with your partner’s suicide-by-childbirth. Your worst roommate situation will never end with one party stealing the apartment and taking it to the moon. Et al. Et al.

I don’t remember where I was going with this, precisely, (and I may have drifted sideways from the original discussion topic of crossed lines per se, but whatever.) I mean part of it’s funny because it exists in a series with tons of mundane, non-metaphorical examinations of interpersonal issues, like everything to do with Lars and Sadie, or Sour Cream and Marty. And there’s an extent to which I’m just describing how cartoons are written. But there’s something special about how Steven Universe does it. Something delightfully fucked up about it all. I think maybe part of it is that it’s a considered and embraced fucked-upedness, none of this is just an ill-considered fridge-logic by-product of something else they were trying to do. Like for every one of these, someone in the writers room probably went, “Man, this has some fucked up implications,” and then everyone would go, “Yeah!” and hi five and put it in specifically because of that. Great Show. Great show

[achromatophoric]

Late one night at Nevermore University, Bianca and Enid watched as Wednesday rolls around on the floor of the Ophelia Hall common room.

Bianca: The hell is wrong with your girl this time?

Enid: She’s um— Willa’s kinda maybe rolling.

Bianca: Rolling? Wait, did someone drug her with molly?!

Enid: Nonono, she mistook it for her evening cyanide.

Bianca:

Bianca: Oh… kay.

Enid: 😅

Bianca: I guess this’ll be bizarrely hilarious. Addams being all touchy and lovey dovey.

Enid: *winces* Actually…

Wednesday sways towards the table. Her eyes, already dark, are now swallowed by black pupils. She wears a manic grin, tinted red by bleeding gums.

Bianca: The fuck…?

Wednesday: Happy evening, Barclay. Your tits could be bigger.

Bianca: Bitch what did—

Wednesday: *turns* Beloved whom I would burn in Hell for, I request permission to cuddle the bitchfish.

Bianca: *sputters angrily*

Enid: You do you, babe!

Wednesday abruptly ducks and rams her sweaty face against one of Bianca’s exposed shins.

Bianca: HOLY SHIT!

Wednesday: *glares up* Pet me now or else I’ll gut your delightfully firm belly.

Bianca: Enid! Get your psycho bitch off— OW!!

Wednaesday stabs Bianca again with a cracked glowstick as she continues to smear her face on the Siren’s leg.

Bianca: Fucking quit it!

Wednesday: *muffled* Mmm… voice… exquisite…

Yoko: *walks up* Hey bitches, what’s— *double-take*

Yoko: 😨

Yoko: What the actual fuck is Freddy Keurig doing?

At the sound of Yoko’s voice, Wednesday rotates her head a horrifying 180 degrees to stare back at her. The act leaves a smudge of sweat and bloody spittle across Bianca’s leg.

Bianca: 😩

Yoko: *steps back* Oh SHIT!

Wednesday: *ominously* Yoko. Yoko-koko. Your hair is silken. I must hug you.

Yoko: What the— FUCK! Getheroffgetheroff!!

Enid casually hands Bianca a towel, who uses it to wipe off her leg.

Bianca: Well this is a fresh new Hell.

Enid: Sorry! Imma get some LED gloves from Ajax and see if I can’t lure her back to the room. Bee-arr-bee! *scampers away*

Bianca: BITCH! Don’t leave me with this shit show!

Yoko: Fucking OW! My hair! What are— are you fucking CHEWING MY HAIR?!

Wednesday: *koalas* Nmn… pretty leech… nmn nmn…

Divina: *walks up* Hey all, what’s— oh my god! Is this a CUDDLE PUDDLE!?

Yoko: Babe! H-Help!

Divina: I gotchu! *grabs Bianca and joins in*

Bianca: Wait a— godDAMMIT!!

Cuddle puddle: 🤤😭☺️😫

[archfeyreveries]

He will not be denied

Raphael had finally claimed the Crown of Karsus, a relic of unimaginable power, though it was not by Tav's hand. Her scornful refusal to aid him in his pursuit still burned deep within him, a slight he would never allow to go unanswered. Tav had dismissed and betrayed him as if he were a mere nuisance—a grave mistake she would soon come to regret. Raphael was not one to be cast aside lightly. By all the seething flames of Hell, he would not be denied. Pairing: Raphael x F!Tav Content: NSFW | BDSM | Humiliation kink | Rough | Dirty talk | Creampie | TW: Kind of non-con Author's note: My first smut on this cursed website and fandom. Hahaha I hope it doesn’t feel too rushed; I aimed as an exercise to keep it concise, wrapping everything up in a short, intense story (three chapters max). Enjoy and I do appreciate feedback. <3

Raphael, ever the cunning manipulator, devised a plan to isolate Tav from her allies. Employing his most potent illusion magic, he crafted a series of convincing visions that preyed upon Tav’s deepest fears and insecurities. Over the course of several days, Tav began to notice subtle but unsettling changes in her companions—whispers behind her back, furtive glances, and unexplained absences that chipped away at her trust.

The final blow came when Tav overheard a conversation, seemingly between her most trusted allies, where they coldly discussed handing her over to Raphael in exchange for their own desires. The illusion was flawless; their voices dripped with deceit and cruel calculation, leaving Tav’s heart shattered and her resolve hardened.

Convinced of their betrayal, Tav felt she had no choice but to confront Raphael on her own terms, hoping to strike a deal or end the threat once and for all. Fueled by anger and despair, she stormed into his lair, determined to face him. But the moment she crossed the threshold, the illusion unraveled, revealing the bitter truth: her companions had never betrayed her—everything had been a lie, a meticulously crafted trap woven by Raphael. And as the horrifying realization dawned, Tav found herself immobilized by chains and bound by blood to the devil.

That was over a week ago.

She struggled against her restraints, her thoughts a maelstrom of self-loathing and fury, until a familiar scent wafted through the chamber—a sickening blend of sulfur, musk, and the sweet tang of cherries. The master of the house had arrived, relishing the sight of Tav bound in chains, savoring every moment of her torment.

"Why the sour mood, my dear little lamb? I see you’ve found yourself in quite the predicament. Perhaps I could offer a remedy?"

Tav glared at the devil, her wrists and ankles bound in thick, cold chains that dug into her flesh, preventing even the slightest movement. She was immobilized, utterly at his mercy—a fact that filled her with equal parts rage and fear.

"You’re the reason I’m in this predicament" she spat, her voice laced with cold contempt.

"How ungracious" Raphael huffed, crossing his arms with a mock pout. "I wasn’t the one who chose to stray from the path. You had every opportunity to make a different choice, and yet here you are—bound, chained, entirely at my mercy. Did you truly believe I needed your help to claim what is rightfully mine? How could you ever be so delightfully foolish?"

Tav’s eyes narrowed, her voice dripping with bitter defiance. "If you're going to kill me, get it over with. I won’t give you the satisfaction of tormenting me."

"Torment you?" Raphael laughed, a deep rumble from his throat, "I'm not going to torment you, dearest. You have the distinct honor of being the first to serve the Archdevil Supreme of this era —body and soul. I chose you, and you shall serve me well."

Raphael stepped closer, his clawed finger tracing along Tav's jawline with deliberate slowness. She shuddered under his touch, but it wasn’t fear that coursed through her—no, it was something far more insidious, a dark anticipation that gnawed at her resolve.

"Do not fret" Raphael murmured, his voice a low, seductive purr. "I’ll be gentle… if you behave. As I said, this is an honor."

He stepped back, his wings fluttering behind him, and his tail swaying lazily as if in rhythm with some infernal melody only he could hear.

"Kneel" he commanded, his tone leaving no room for defiance.

"I will not—" Tav began, but before she could finish, her legs buckled beneath her. She collapsed to the floor, her knees slamming against the cold stone, the chains clinking ominously as her limbs were pulled taut against her sides.

"Do not defy me" Raphael spoke softly, yet his words carried a weight that pressed down on her like a physical force. His hands remained clasped behind his back, a sly grin curling across his lips. "Good girl."

Tav’s eyes blazed with fury and confusion. "What have you done to me?!" she cried out, her voice echoing off the walls.

"I did nothing" Raphael replied, crouching down to meet her gaze, his tail swaying with lazy arrogance. "You did this to yourself. Your actions brought you here, to your knees, where you belong—begging for forgiveness, for mercy." He chuckled, the sound a cruel mockery that cut through her like a blade. "But I am not in the business of mercy."

"I don’t care" Tav hissed, her voice trembling with suppressed rage. "I will not beg. I will not break. Do whatever you want with me."

Raphael’s eyes gleamed with dark amusement. "Oh, but I will. I will do everything, and more. I will break you, and you will come to love every moment of it. You will be mine. All mine. Mine alone."

With a snap of his fingers, the chains around her ankles vanished, and Tav’s legs moved forward of their own accord.

"Stand. Do not move." Raphael ordered.

Tav rose to her feet, her hands still bound behind her back, her body trembling with a mix of fear, anger, and a growing, unwelcome desire. Raphael stepped closer, his presence overwhelming, and grabbed her hair roughly, his sharp nails digging into her scalp.

"Open your mouth. Wider. Wider" he commanded, his voice low and menacing.

Tav obeyed, her jaw dropping as her lips parted, her tongue visible, wet and trembling. Raphael’s gaze darkened with lust as he licked his lips hungrily. Without warning, he spat on her face, the warm saliva splattering across her mouth and cheek.

Tav recoiled, her nose wrinkling in disgust, but she could do nothing—her body remained frozen in place, her mind reeling from the humiliation and the dark, twisted pleasure that coursed through her veins. His cock twitched with her reaction.

"Now," Raphael murmured, his fingers tightening in her hair, pulling her closer as he gazed down at her with a mixture of amusement and dark desire, "Lick it off your pretty face."

Tav hesitated, her defiance flickering in her eyes like a dying flame, but she could feel her resolve slipping away, crumbling under the weight of his command. Slowly, she extended her tongue, tracing the path of his spit across her flushed cheek, each movement a reluctant act of submission. Her heartbeat quickened, echoing in her ears as her skin burned with humiliation.

Raphael’s chuckle was a low, rumbling purr, his gaze never leaving her face as she continued. "That’s it, my sweet" he whispered, his voice laced with satisfaction. "Savor it"

Tav’s movements became more deliberate, her tongue sweeping across her skin with increasing confidence, lapping up every trace of his saliva. She could feel his eyes on her, drinking in her submission with a hunger that made her pulse race. As she flicked her tongue across her lips, tasting the remnants of his essence, a shiver ran down her spine.

"Good" Raphael purred, his hand releasing her hair to caress her cheek, his touch deceptively gentle. "You learn fast, mouse. Now, let us see how much more you’re willing to do to please me."

CHAPTER 2 >

[lizard-on-a-window-pane]

hii!! i haven’t stopped by in a while😭😭 how are you doing? i’m so happy it’s almost autumn. it’s literally the marauders’ monthh

could i request a bookshop meet cute with remus? tysmm! <33

-🎀

hii my lovely 🎀! always so nice to hear from you and dw ofc, i've been very off and on anyway i'm good! just reveling in the best season of the year 🍂 how are you! loved this request; bookish remus is the best remus; hope you like it 🫶 wc: 1.3k, fluff

bookshop meet cute with remus

The breeze hits you just right as you turn the corner, and the feeling of the cool air on your skin is simply reinvigorating. “Fucking hell, I hate this place. Summer shouldn’t be over already!” you hear a fellow pedestrian lamenting to their walking partner. 

You can’t relate. You smile to yourself, reveling in enjoying the change of season. 

The warm air of the bookshop contrasts delightfully to the outside air as you walk in, unwrapping yourself from your big scarf. It smells like coffee and long nights filled with fantastic words in here, and you take a deep breath.

You start browsing, intrigued by the new titles, drawn to your usual favourite sections. It’s not long before you’re balancing quite a few books, content to live in the imaginary world where you actually get them all for a little while longer.

You find a similar one to one already in your stack but that you want more, so you try to maneuver the previous pick from the middle of the stack to put it back. And of course your tower topples. 

You bend over to start picking up the books and bump into a display table, which really should’ve been arranged a bit more stably; I mean, come on, it’s not like you moved it that much. But, a stack of books on it comes tumbling down, and to your great embarrassment, they fall by someone’s legs. And, god, when you look up from your crouch at the person now looking down to see what just happened, you go from embarrassed to horrified. He’s beautiful. And staring down at you. 

You should really say something at this point, but words — usually your friends, betraying you now in your moment of need, how dare they — don’t come out. 

“You alright?” he asks gently, and of course, his voice is mellow and mellifluous.

“Umm,” is all you manage to muster. 

He crouches down and starts stacking the display table books. 

“I always wonder at how these wonky arrangements don’t get toppled more often,” he says lightly, probably trying to make you feel better. You give him a strained smile, and he returns an adorable grin that makes you really wish you knew what his full smile looked like. 

“You’re going to have to tell me which of these were yours and which should go back on the table,” he chuckles. “Oh, right,” you finally speak, and you get a small smile in return. “Um, that one,” you point. “And these.” You start collecting them. 

He just nods and keeps organizing the books. When he grabs a couple of the ones you were holding, he stops to read the blurbs.

With his eyes on the books rather than on you, you snatch the opportunity to really look at him. The first word that comes to mind is “warm.” The shades of brown of his messy hair, his focused eyes, his cosy jumper, it looks so warm. He looks so warm, and you feel it in your chest. 

He looks up at you, and you start, worried he’s noticed you staring. If he has, he doesn’t let on, just grins at you. “You know I read somewhere once that seeing someone reading a book you like is like a book recommending a person instead of the other way around,” he tells you. He lifts the book in his hand, shows you the cover before handing it back to you. “This happens to be one of my favourite books,” he says more softly, almost conspiratorially. 

“Oh,” you say, and you really wish you’d remember how to speak soon. 

“Hm,” he affirms. “Please tell me it was part of your selection and not the table’s. Otherwise, I’m going to have to insist it change categories, so you can at least consider it.” “No, yeah, it was mine.” Okay, good. At least when he asks questions, you give actual answers. 

“Brilliant,” he smiles. His smile is what’s brilliant. “So you’ve probably not read it yet?” “No,” you say softly. “I envy you your first time.” 

“I’m excited,” you whisper. 

The books sorted, you both finally stand up again. He’s finishing returning the display books when he notices your scarf still on the floor. 

“Oh, here,” he says, grabbing it. But your hands are full, and you’re not sure how to grab it from him without dropping everything again and making an even bigger fool of yourself. You both do an awkward little dance of trying to figure out how to accomplish the seemingly very simple task of his handing you your scarf. Finally, with a chuckle, he straightens it out and brings it over your head, adjusting it over your shoulders. He doesn’t get too close, but he did have to move closer to put it on, and your heart is beating very fast at the proximity. You were right about the warmth, and you’re sure your cheeks are reflecting it, but there’s not much you could do about it. When he takes a step back, you wish he hadn’t.

A few seconds go by, and when you still don’t say anything, with a bit of an awkward air but a warm smile nonetheless, he says, “Alright, well, I hope you enjoy the book.”

“Thanks.” 

He nods and slowly starts to turn to go. You’re so nervous, but your heart is screaming at you not to let it end there just because you can be a bit shy. 

“And thanks for helping me,” you add a bit too quickly, simultaneously praising yourself for your bravery and scolding yourself for your awkwardness. He turns toward you again. “Yeah, no worries,” he says, and he lets out a seemingly relieved breath. 

You chuckle nervously. He does too. 

“I’m Remus, by the way,” he says, extending a hand. 

You go to take it, but realize your hands are still busy holding the books. 

“Oh, right. Obviously,” he says, realizing and looking a bit embarrassed himself as he brings his hand down.

He’s looking at you like he’s expecting something, and you don’t know what it is. Until you do, a few too many seconds later. “Oh!” Too loud, yikes. “I’m Y/N.” Too soft, over-correcting. You cringe at yourself. “Hi, Y/N.” Okay, maybe getting to hear your name in his voice has made all the awkwardness more than worth it. “Hi.” 

“That’s a lot of books,” he says, nodding toward your arms. 

“Yeah, I, uh, well, yes, I can’t get them all. But I hadn’t gotten to the choosing part yet.” “That part’s always painful,” he says. “Fun, but painful.” “Mhhm.”

He’s slightly swaying back and forth; his hand comes to rub the back of his neck. For the first time, you think that maybe he’s nervous too. 

“Well, you’ve helped,” you say. He lifts his eyebrows in question. “Well, I can’t take your favourite book out of the running now, can I?” He chuckles.

“That would be quite tragic.” 

“Quite.” 

Another awkward silence. But you’d suffer through as many awkward silences as would let you keep talking to Remus. Remus, what a lovely name. So fitting.  

“Um, have you read any of these other ones?” you ask, lifting your stack. “Maybe you can help me choose?” Wherever this new found bravery was coming from, you thanked any gods that were listening for it. When he smiles at you, it hits you like a wave that this man is probably going to pull a lot more bravery out of you yet. “Um, yeah, I’d love to take a look. I probably haven’t read them… but it sounds nice to talk about them anyway?” “Yeah, it does. Sound nice.” 

“Great.” “Mhhm.” “Do you want to go sit down and look through them?” “Mhhm.” 

“Great,” and that brilliant smile. That smile you hoped you’d get to see many, many more times.

[flowerandblood]

The Taste of Shame (6)

[ dom!modern • Aemond x friend sister • female ]

[ warnings: sex content, smut, angst, remorse, feeling of shame, doubts and discomfort regarding sex work ]

[ description: Aemond works as a professional dom, fulfilling the various fantasies of his female clients - however, he guards his privacy and does not enter into any relationships with them, recognizing that he does not want or need it. It turns out that what he wants and what he doesn’t no longer matter when he meets his friend’s younger sister for the first time. Slow burn, sexual tension, doubts related to sex work. ]

Series & Characters Moodboard Aemond NSFW Alphabet

* English is not my first language. Please, do not repost. Enjoy! *

Next chapters: Masterlist

_____

After that rather unexpected and intense intimacy, which had little to do with what he had been doing up to that point, and finding that he enjoyed it, he opened up far more to her touch and decided that her closeness did not frustrate him.

She was tender and sweet, the touch of her hands always full of understanding, respect and care, giving him the feeling that she wanted nothing more than his affection. They stopped talking about any rules and just started fucking how and where they wanted.

He found to his surprise that this was no less exciting than what he had been doing so far, because he never knew which way it would go, one time completely dominating her, making her quiver beneath him with pleasure, the other letting her ride him, looking at her beautiful, soft body.

Often she would do it in such a way that he felt like he was going to die of arousal, leaning over his face, riding him painfully slowly up and down, squeezing him delightfully, making his cock twitch inside her, his hips responding to her movements with desperate thrusts.

"− fuck, baby ��� have mercy −" He muttered in between tender, warm kisses with which she peppered him with her every move, teasing his lips with hers, panting in her throat with delight.

Usually, in fact, she was showing him mercy by speeding up, letting him thrust into her harder, his fingers tightening on the soft skin of her hips as he rooted into her with his throbbing, swollen cock, a weak, involuntary gasp of relief escaping his lips.

"− f-fuck − fuck, don't stop, keep going, keep going −" He panted as he felt the tension in his lower abdomen reach its peak, their bodies fighting each other trying to rip each other's fulfilment, hitting each other with the sticky slap of her moisture, her hands resting on his chest allowing her to keep her balance.

"− mhfmm − A-Aemond −" She mumbled with difficulty, all heated up from the exertion, driving him mad − he felt that a few more thrusts and he wouldn't last, her walls throbbed against him like crazy, making him put more brutal force into his stabs from which she moaned loudly.

"− let me all the way in − that's it − what a fucking view − oh, fuck-fuck-ugh −" He muttered and felt himself involuntarily overwhelmed with blissful fulfilment, his cum spurting out inside her, only a part of his mind registered her sobs and the intense orgasm that shook her body before she fell powerless on top of him.

Afterwards they lay usually in silence, stroking their naked bodies, calming their breaths with their eyes closed.

He felt peace, fulfilment and contentment.

Nevertheless, one day she knocked him completely off his feet with a question that she must apparently have been stewing about for a long time.

"Did you work here, in your house?" She asked uncertainly without looking at him, sipping the tea he had just made her along with his coffee, which was steaming in a mug on the table in front of him.

He threw her a surprised, horrified look, licking his lower lip quickly, his heart pounding like mad, feeling uncomfortable being forced to talk to her about it.

He wanted to appear before her as a mature, determined man who knew what he wanted, with whom it was possible to form a real relationship.

He swallowed loudly and shook his head quickly.

"N-no. Of course not." He muttered taking a quick sip of his coffee without looking at her, trying to hide the trembling of his hands.

"So…where?" She continued, and he pressed his lips together, impatient, not understanding why she wanted to know about it, what it had to do with them.

"Why are you interested in this? I've already told you, since we started writing to each other I haven't dated other women."

She looked at him surprised − he could see the horror in her gaze at the fact that she had provoked an unintended reaction from him.

"I know, no, that's not what I meant. I, it's just…you know, we talked about how we could do it again sometime if you wanted to…if you missed it." She muttered in embarrassment, her cheeks red. He looked at her with his eyes wide open feeling a tightness in his throat.

"Stop it. You don't have to do this. You're not my plaything to fulfil my whims. Honestly, the more I think about it, the more I find that…" He stammered, breathing hard, looking at the almost black liquid in his cup, wondering how he should put it into words.

"When it came to sex with strange women, I felt nothing towards them, so the harsh domination and humiliation gave me a sense of power and a reason to be aroused. But towards you I feel a lot. So much that I find it hard sometimes. To love someone so much." He said as if ashamed that his feelings for her were so total to him that he could no longer imagine that they would stop talking to each other.

It wasn't even about sex anymore.

When he woke up in the morning to see that she wasn't lying next to him, not feeling the touch of her soft hand on his cheek he was consumed by an overwhelming sadness and discomfort, as if someone had stripped him of a part of himself.

"I'm not even sure I'd be able to do to you what I did to them, and even if you wanted me to I think I'd feel bad about it myself. Fuck, some of them I had to check their pulse because I thought I killed them." He mumbled hiding his face in his hands, feeling like a nobody, a cruel man who likes to take it out on someone else.

"I like it when sometimes…you know, when you frustrate me, to slap you on the butt or make you beg me to cum inside you, when you feel so good that you just babble that you need me, it turns me on a lot, that feeling that you want me so much that you can barely catch your breath." He said in a breaking voice, breathing hard, holding his face in his hands, trying not to burst into sobs.

"But I don't want to take you there. I don't think I want to go back there at all anymore, even though I'll have to take everything from there and just sell it. I realised it wasn't my fetish, it was just a way to get out and make easy money, nothing more. What that professor of yours said then in the lecture broke me down. Do I love it, can't I live without it? Do I fucking want to do this for the rest of my life, or is it my fucking passion? My passion is quantum physics, for fuck's sake!" He said stretching his hands out in front of him, as if he was explaining something not to her but to himself, as if he had just realised what he was actually thinking about all this.

"If my mother found out about this she wouldn't be able to look me in the face. I don't know how you're able to do this and, I don't know, touch me, sleep with me and you're not fucking disgusted with me, you're not afraid of getting infected with something from a worthless piece of shit like me." He mumbled in a trembling voice feeling tears of helplessness running down his cheek − he ran his hand over his mouth, feeling empty and exposed, feeling like his existence made no sense at all.

He dared to glance at her and saw that she was looking at him in disbelief, her lips trembling and tightened, her eyebrows arched in pain, her cheeks red from tears.

"I love you." She said it so warmly and lightly that he shook his head and laughed, unable to let go of the idea that she was serious. He covered his face with his hand, trying to catch his breath.

"Stop it. Don't take pity on me."

"I love you. I love you so much that I feel like my heart is simply going to burst, too filled with you, with no room for anything else. You're right, it's overwhelming." She whispered and gave him a warm, sweet smile, tears of helplessness flowed down her face.

He looked at her in disbelief, his body trembling despite trying to control himself.

"− please − please, just fucking hug me −" He choked out pleadingly, and a moment later she was already in his arms − she sat on his lap embracing him tightly, letting him snuggle into her breasts, both of them crying, her lips placing quick, tender kisses on his head.

"− I love you − I'm here − I'm only yours − everything will be alright −" She whispered, and he believed her. He sobbed out loud, feeling everything he felt and feared along with his tears finally leave his body, purifying him, giving him a source of meaning again.

If she was by his side, he would have the strength to start all over again.

He rubbed against her, feeling a pleasant throbbing in his sweatpants through contact with her warm body, heard her sigh softly, her hips began to respond to his movements, his hands slipped under her dress and clenched on her bare, firm buttocks.

He began to pant loudly, clenching his eyes shut, pressing his face into her soft, fruit scented shower gel skin, his lips brushed her neck again and again − he felt her lean back with a quiet, sweet moan, giving him better access as she rocked her hips, teasing him.

"− please −" He mumbled in a trembling voice and he didn't need to say anything more − her hands reached into the tying of his black sweatpants and slipped them down a little, revealing what was underneath, his hard, pulsating erection enveloped in the cool air.

She guided gently the tip of his cock between her thighs, using her other hand to push aside the material of her underwear, sinking down on him slowly, letting him in between her hot, wet, fleshy muscles − they both sighed in pleasure, their fingers tightening on each other's bodies.

He felt that he needed to have her close, that he needed her tenderness.

"− hug me − make love to me −" He whispered pleadingly, feeling a tightness in his throat at his words and a desperation to feel it, to finally experience what it meant to make love, not to chase only sensations, to do it out of a need for the closeness of another person.

"− it's okay −" She whispered tenderly, kissing his hair − each time she sank his length into her hot, pulsing body, he couldn't stop the quiet, helpless moans of pleasure.

He felt himself finally letting go completely and relaxing, his cock twitching inside her feeling her slick walls squeezing him wonderfully.

He ran his tongue over her neck, responding to her slow movements with impatient, desperate thrusts from which she cried out loudly, clasping her hands in his hair − he slammed his cock into her sucking her skin, leaving pink bruises on it, a sign that she was only his.

"− ah! − Aemond −" She whimpered and hissed, feeling him do it again and again, probably worried that she wouldn't be able to cover it in any way.

He grabbed her hair and lifted her head, finding her lips with his in a wet, desperate, hot kiss, sticky with their saliva, her moist skin clinging to his with a sweet sigh, the tips of their tongues meeting halfway.

"− so good to me − so kind − I feel so safe in your arms −" She whispered tenderly between one loud kiss and the next, he stifled his low moan in her throat, speeding up his pace, his thick cock thrusting into her faster and faster with the lewd click of her wetness.

"− mghm −" He mumbled into her mouth, feeling his head go completely blank, focusing only on her movements, on his cock stretching her tight, throbbing core again and again, feeling the heat in his lower abdomen become unbearable, that he wouldn't last long.

"− fuck, I − baby, please −" He babbled in despair, gripping his hands tighter on her back, begging in his mind for her to finally come.

"− it's okay, let go − let go, fill me −" She hummed tenderly; he whimpered loudly at her words and just came, parting his lips, hugging his face to her neck, feeling his cock throbbing like a crazy, spilling his seed deep inside her.

"− I'm sorry −" He muttered embarrassed and ashamed, his face red from tears and exertion − he panted rocking his hips inside her for a moment longer, prolonging his pleasure, thinking only of the fact that he had failed to satisfy her needs, that he had made a fool of himself.

His hand immediately slid between her thighs, wanting to finish what he had started, but she grabbed his wrist and shook her head.

"− don't you want to? −" He asked in a trembling voice wrinkling his brow, feeling rejected, his throat tightened so hard that he had trouble catching his breath.

"− I want to stay like this with you − I want this to be a time just for you − if you want, you can take care of me before we go to bed −" She cooed hugging him tighter to her, kissing his hair tenderly before sinking her face into it. He breathed quietly, thinking of her words, cuddling his face into her neck, feeling protected and cared for.

He felt safe.

He sighed quietly, only now feeling that he was trembling all over, one of her hands stroking his head, the other trailing down his back, her touch soothing, full of peace.

"− it's okay − it's okay −"

He closed his eyes and thought he could fall asleep in this position − he drifted off for a moment, concentrating only on her touch, her scent, the warmth beaming from her body.

It all seemed so longed for to him, so good.

The next day he visited her house for the first time as her boyfriend.

Robert was in complete shock.

At first he was furious, asking how long it had been going on, how he could have kept quiet for so long seeing him every day in class. His younger sister defended him by saying that she herself had asked him to be discreet, that they themselves hadn't known for a long time what was going to happen, that they had started writing to each other after his birthday.

When Robert had cooled down a bit and realised that it was something serious he let it go, although he hardly spoke to him for the next week, unable to accept that his mate was sleeping with his younger sister.

He wasn't surprised and waited patiently for him to get over it.

When, after one of his classes, he approached his quantum physics professor and asked him if there was a possibility that he could apply for a place as his assistant after graduation he replied that they had no vacancies at the moment. However, he suggested something else.

"He told me to stay at the university for my PhD. That he would give me an opinion and recommend me to the university council, that I am one of his best students and that I will be eligible to apply for a research scholarship. That he would help me submit my papers." He said with slight excitement, fiddling with the cap of his beer, sitting on the sofa with the bottle in his hand, curious about her reaction.

She opened her beer with a loud clink and looked at him with big eyes, coming closer and sitting down next to him.

"Really?! Aemond, that's wonderful! Would you like to do that? Do you think it would make you happy, that you would be fulfilled in it?" She asked hopefully, and he swallowed loudly, taking a loud sip of beer from his bottle.

"I like calculations. I like mathematical formulas, I like logic. I like getting to the bottom of a problem, to the solutions. It calms me down. I think I'd like to try it." He said softly and she hugged him tightly, kissing his scarred cheek, saying how proud she was of him, that they should order something to eat and celebrate this fantastic information.

Though the shame he felt when he remembered what he'd done, looking at her peaceful, sleeping face when he woke up in the morning still squeezed his heart and throat, spending his sleep, it was better.

It was better every day.

_____

Aemond Taglist:

(bold means I couldn't tag you)

@its-actually-minicika @notnormalthings-blog @nikstrange @zenka69 @bellaisasleep @k-y-r-a-1 @g-cf2020 @melsunshine @opheliaas-stuff @chainsawsangel @iiamthehybrid @tinykryptonitewerewolf @namoreno @malfoytargaryen @qyburnsghost @aemondsdelight @persephonerinyes @fan-goddess @sweethoneyblossom1 @watercolorskyy @randomdragonfires @apollonshootafar @padfooteyes

[interstyx]

THANK YOU FOR EVERYTHING

I adore this show to my core and it'll stay in my heart of hearts as one of my favorite pieces of fiction ever made. There's few things out there more laser-aimed to my tastes -- media hardly ever makes me feel any emotions but somehow MD got me consistently giddy & sad & horrified the whole way through.

This show found me at an utter nadir. I was feeling like shit, facing a shit job, creatively dead, lonely and regressing into all those personal failings that surface when things don't go right. I only decided to hatewatch it at around the time ep2 dropped with some friends because I needed something to be angry at, and found myself with butterflies in my stomach as ep2 came to a close.

The stylistic flairs of this show speak to me in a way that I haven't been spoken to for a decade. Writing cringe and all, unapologetic anime-isms, the delightfully realized body horror. Even back then, as soon as EP3 dropped, I felt like I had a pulse on this show, where it was going, what it wanted to do -- even when it makes mistakes, even when I dislike decisions, I feel like I get it, I see the vision, and I love it even more for it where things like these would have killed my joy dead back when.

And the writing community -- I never ever in my life expected to meet so many incredibly inspired, dedicated folks out here, not a week goes that I give your fics a read and come out angry-laughing at how fucking good this stuff is. As a lifelong pessimist and infamously dour shitheel when it comes to writing this stuff is invaluable to me.

It's been more than two years since then, and I sincerely believe this has been the greatest years of my life. I am renewed and happy with my creative endeavors. The theories, the projects, the writing talks, the stupid crack shit, it's made my recent life worth living when things were shite and made it shine much more when things got better, got so much dark stuff out of my skull and made it art that I can look back and love, smile when time passes and it doesn't tarnish in that hurtful way one's works do when it gets late at night and the same ol', same ol' creative dread creeps into your head.

This all amounts to a fairly unnoteworthy fandom appreciation letter -- I know it does. Maybe because it's my first and I've never cared to watch things as they air, maybe I just don't have the words in me to put what's in my heart out there into the screen.

I suppose "I love you all" is the most sincere way to say it. I genuinely do. Thank you for the art, the heart-wrenching fanfic, the discussions, the beautiful cringy art, the joy of my life since all the way back in '22. Thanks to all my friends I made here. Thanks to the insanely awesome Glitch team for delivering pure stylistic kino unmatched in history. Thanks to Liam Vickers for sticking with his insane fucking isms since circa 2010 until he saw it through.

I'll hold all this and more in my cruddy little heart where it hardly fits for all my life. I've got plenty more fanfic in me to write and read and I'm giddy to see it all through.

Thank you for reading this, no matter what you thought of that ending or how your opinion of the show's evolved. No matter the brisk turns life takes, there's nothing in the world that means more to me than that people are willing to read what I write.

[necrotic-nephilim]

I have a huge Jason and Steph bias so either or both of them assuming it was *everyone* that had a fucky thing with Bruce and that assumption being confirmed by them talking around it to each other is so good to me

i *also* have a huge Jason and Steph bias, you're so real for that. but that's *such* a fun, fucked up assumption. i think it makes it worse in a way, because it almost robs them of some consent. bc if both Jason and Steph went into Robin assuming that was a natural part of Robin and that everyone else had a weird thing with Bruce, then they understand that's what they're signing up for. they know it's just part of the job, same as the risk of death.

especially if Bruce is semi-aware of this assumption and not correcting it. if anything, leading them to believe it. he never *outright* confirms nor denies, there always has to be plausible deniability, with Bruce. so if Jason or Steph ever confront him about it he can shrug and say he *never* said that, they came to him. they asked for that relationship. it skirts the blame and makes Bruce *delightfully* more fucked up, knowingly taking on not one but two Robins who went into the role thinking fucking him was part of the job.

and especially playing into Jason and Steph being *street kids* versus TIm and Dick having more stable support systems- that sort of dynamic, offering yourself to an older man in that way to receive something is more normalized to them. whilst child sex worker Jason and/or Steph isn't my cup of tea (if i want a vigilante who was trafficked why not just read about Mia Dearden, yk. she's right there and also cool.) i *do* think they're very *aware* of that happening. they've found their ways to avoid it, but they know it's a part of life and possibly a part of life a little *too* normalized. if they haven't done it, they probably know another kid who grew up rough who *has*. so maybe Bruce leans into that and treats it as something very normal. (i also love the idea of any Bruce/Robin ship in which Bruce purposefully leads whichever Robin he's grooming to believe that this is a normal thing heroes do with their sidekicks and all other teen vigilantes likely have this relationship with their mentors too, it's part of the process. i think it makes for some delightful horrifying realizations when they're old enough to realize that's not true and most heroes would be horrified to know Bruce led them to believe that.) sure it's taboo, but it's just one of those unspoken things about being Robin. the way the *real* world works. and since Bruce is so kind in bed, it's a dizzying contrast. he's unforgiving in training but in bed, he's kissing bruises, giving rare praise, practically worshipping them. so they're led to *crave* that touch, it's how they know they're doing a good job. bc both Jason and Steph tried so hard to prove themselves to Bruce and routinely felt like they failed in doing so, so it adds such fucked up layers.

and talking to each other just gives confirmation bias and it makes their relationship seem even more natural in progression. it's just how vigilantism sort of works, there's weird unspoken taboos to it and everyone will end up fucking at some point. so why not take this thing Bruce gave them and make it their own together. it's such good shit.

[squilfmybeloved]

it takes a full minute for it to register.

laughing. "yeah, bye, dad."

the decathlon team stare at him, baffled. silence. then-

"oh my god."

peter chucks his phone across the room, collapses on the carpet beside them, buries his head in his heads, and lets out the most pathetic whine they've ever heard. all in that order.

"dude did you just-" "ned, no," he wails.

after getting over her initial shock, mj sighs and holds out her hand towards the group. "pay up, fuckers. told you it'd happen before our next trip." they all groan and hand her $20 bills, even flash paying up.

peter slowly looks up at them, face red and horrified and betrayed all at once- "you guys bet on me?!"

flash looks at him, confused, "well, yeah? what'd you expect out of us?"

abe laughs at his misery. cindy and betty look at eachother, then peter, with their eyebrows raised. "we knew you were bound to call mr. stark 'dad' at some point, peter," betty says, "he basically is."

"i- no- he's not," peter fumbles, somehow looking even more horrified and red. abe hits the bell, snickering. "peter is wrong," he delightfully declares. ned just sighs. "peter, you literally invite us for study dates at avengers tower, where we currently are. he is your dad."

"i thought you guys were supposed to be my teenage mutant support group," peter pouts. the horror on his face has abated, but the red persists.

"well, i'm glad he's not my father figure," cindy shrugs.

"why?" peter asks, suspicion playing on his features.

"cause he's too hot," she says sagely.

the horror returns full force, and peter just wails again, throwing his head back in his hands.

[mythosidhesdollhouse]

SO, obviously this requires some explanation XD

(It's long. Click through to go on this journey with me--)

Alright, soooooooooooooo recently I was browsing the new doll listings on shopgoodwill, as has become my habit, and I saw one titled 'Madame Alexander "Gingham Dog & Calico Cat Set"' with a closed generic MA box as the main photo.

The name meant nothing to me, but I enjoy cat-themed dolls so I decided to check it out, expecting the typical MA baby-faced dolls in cute, mid-century inspired outfits.

Instead I found this:

What. Why.

No answers were forthcoming. It didn't matter. As soon as I saw them I knew with unwavering certainty that these little weirdos belonged in my collection. I mean, LOOK AT THEM. They're odd. They're purple. They look extremely vintage even though they were made in the year 2000.

The ear tag both were wearing left me with more questions than answers. It contains nothing but the text of an unattributed poem, which I identified as 'The Duel' by 19th century American poet Eugene Field:

All of which again leaves me asking why. Why did someone working at a collectibles company in the late 90s feel inspired to create a pair of dolls based on an obscure nonsense poem for children written more than a century prior, and why was their interpretation THIS? I have no basis for supposing a heavy dose of hallucinogens were involved, but one does wonder

In the end I suppose it doesn't matter one way or the other. I saw them, I bid, I won. They arrived today and are every bit as delightfully strange as I expected. I will refrain from horrifying you further with the spectacle of how they look with their hoods off and their bald little babydoll heads sticking out XD

[agent-cakeshroom]

HANAHAKI JOHN DORY

I've seen a Hanahaki Branch fic. And John Dory is all uncertain about his place in the family during the third movie. None of his brothers but Floyd greet him warmly, he also blames himself for their falling out, and after the chaos he has to try and find a place amongst others. Clay has the Putt Putt trolls, Floyd settles in with Branch easily, and Bruce has an actual whole-ass family.

It's all the ingredients for a delightfully sad Hanahaki story. JD starts coughing up yellow carnations first, as Clay is the most obvious about his disdain for John. Maybe he tries to join Clay's sad book club to get closer to his brother, and Clay just outright rejects him. Next are deep purple petunias when Bruce gets frustrated and snaps at John Dory. Maybe he was trying to help with the restaurant and messed up? Or he tries to give a frustrated Bruce advice which just makes him more upset? Then, Forget-me-nots. John catches Branch on a bad day, this leads to Branch saying something along the lines of "You'd know if you'd been around." And John fumbles to apologize or something, and Branch just storms off before he can.

And it all culminates with John Dory using the bunker's kitchen to try and make an apology dinner feast for his brothers before they all get back. Bruce is visiting while Clay and Floyd have moved in with Branch. But then the coughing gets worse. He's distracted by hacking up flowers and thorns and blood, and things catch fire. It's a complete wreck, and before he can even start cleaning up he sees his brothers standing by the entrance. Staring at him, horrified and pissed at the mess. They don't get a chance to say anything, as John Dory makes eye contact with Floyd. The utter disappointment(or what he sees as disappointment but is actually sympathy) causes his lungs to seize up. He coughs hard enough to puke, and there are now Cyclamen petals mixed in. His vision blurs, his hearing is muffled, and he feels hands gently laying him down before he can drop to the floor. He passes out before he can find out how worried his brothers are.

THEN MAKING UP AND FLUFFY BONDING :D

[ultimate-character-design]

The 2nd Character Design Tournament

Please remember to vote for characters solely based on their design, rather than which character you are more familiar with or like more!

Uruu Seiren | Fairy Ranmaru

Stitches | The Last Halloween

*Image below the cut for: Body Horror

"Not too graphic but prepare to see some cartoony, non bloody organs with lots of frankenstein style stitches and also this character who is two dudes stitched together."

“The last halloween has so many good monster designs that it's almost difficult to pick just one! I like how expressive Stitches' design allows him to be, and the fact that the 'smiling' face has crossed stitches on the border of his speech bubbles while the 'frowning' face has single stitches (like pluses and minuses). His two faces squashed together are also kind of awful to look at, in a good way. The thing where he's entirely made of dry grafted together skin, including all of his insides is delightfully horrifying as well. As a god conceptually I think he's meant to represent a fear of bodily harm, and I think his design works really well for that.”

[atopvisenyashill]

Okay, so I just found out that apparently Alysanne was going to be Maegor's child in the original draft and I'm like what?! We were robbed! Like can you imagine the total irony of the most beloved queen being the daughter of the cruelest king? Why the hell would GRRM change this?

I haven't been getting notifications for my messages and i'm livid because I ALSO FEEL SO ROBBED OF THIS. It makes jaehaerys and alysanne infinitely more interesting to me - running off to incest marry the king that deposed your own murderous father, winning over the smallfolk by being really good at politics and making changes that actively affect their livelihood like abolishing prima noctus, the reaction to her at maidenpool being that she and her baby are "abominations", needing Jonquil Darke to protect her, building this huge family with this great king only for him to start forcing dangerous pregnancy after dangerous pregnancy on her, when he knows that's a sore spot because aly watched maegor rape half his wives to death and jaehaerys' own mother died in childbirth, Alysanne's deranged issues with projecting her childhood onto her daughters, until the daughter of the abomination is known as Good Queen Aly and the once beloved heir to Aenys is only ever known as the Old King Jaehaerys because ALY is the one that has always been good while Jaehaerys spent years showing everyone he may be kind to the smallfolk but he's just as tyrannical and monstrous to his family as Maegor ever was like IT'S DELICIOUS.

It also adds this insane level to the Alyssa-Rhaena-Alysanne relationship, like Alyssa attempting to protect young Alysanne without usurping her own daughter's claim, Rhaena growing resentful because Alysanne can escape Maegor's shadow by marrying the brother that should have been RHAENA'S to become Queen while Rhaena just drifts from home to home unable to cast off the taint that Maegor and Aenys and Aegon the Uncrowned have put on her, Alysanne watching in horrified silence as Rhaena chews Rogar out for putting Alyssa through a risky pregnancy while Jaehaerys is suspiciously silent, it's all just so delightfully fucked up.

I think he changed that aspect because he wanted to go deeper into the blood magic babies, the weird dragon babies, and Targaryen infertility issues, which is fair, but damn we really lost the superior story line because of that!

[potato-on-your-head]

hunger games ballad of songbirds and snakes was SO DELIGHTFULLY FUCKED UP FROM START TO FINISH. absolutely loved it. it was the exactly appropriate amount of horrifying. this is a movie about the villains and how truly fucked up their minds and motivations are and how that directly led to the Panem and hunger games we see by Katniss’s time. the few good people are quashed by the evil ones NOT BECAUSE OF INDIVIDUAL VILLAINY but because the SYSTEM is so horribly corrupt and oppressive and individually they can’t change those systems and it’ll take until the massive collective efforts in the second rebellion for that to happen. Snow is humanized without ever being redeemed; it shows he was not born evil but went from this traumatized little kid to a conniving calculating bastard man willing to cast off said humanity for the sake of his ambitions of power and control. CONTROL - the books hit this home, but a sense of control is what makes him feel powerful, as someone who grew up under the shadow of war watching people starve in the Capitol streets and he himself going hungry for most of his life. and then the movie takes all that into account and shows what he becomes and says “cool motive still murder.” it was so well done I’m losing my mind