#but this is taking aaaaages

[botchallthethings]

spinning fine singles: mistake. I WILL NEVER FINISH THESE BECAUSE THE YARN NEVER ENDS

[etapereine]

[alta1r1an]

Pythus wakes up to find a small wooden box at the foot of his bed. It is ticking softly and appears to be held closed by a simple puzzle lock. A metal plate on the box's lid reads "this is a trap"

There is no sign of whoever or whatever left this 'present', what does Pythus do?

Pythus finds the box when he swungs his paws out of his bunk at 6 in the morning sharp. Ready for a new day, but first thought on his mind is getting himself ready for morning training! He doesn't want to be late.

The box rattles as his paw collides with it, and then the ticking is clear to his ears.

"Burn me... not now"

For Meteo's sake he hoped it wasn't another one of his pranks or the guy would be doing laps until he passed out.

Pythus had half a mind to just crush it under his footpaw, but the voice of Gaius telling him that you cant just destroy puzzles rather than solve them rung in his mind. He inspected it for a bit longer, before deciding that trying to solve the puzzle was not worth the effort (they were admittedly not his strength)

"Damn Puzzles... bet some Iron dandy made this... ugh"

He inspected the box for a while, before concluding there was no safe way to disarm it. With a deep breath, he decided on his plan of action. He summoned his magic, and projected a small countering bubble around it so he could carry it.

...Surely leaving it away from the lumberyard and sawmills and informing someone else of it should be fine?

[futuristic-science]

Looking back when I first started to learn about welding and engineering, it's pretty funny-- I started off originally arc welding, since that's the first type of welding I was taught.

...And I was really bad at it.

I'm a fairly jumpy person, so every time the arc would spark, I would jump, and that would either extinguish the arc or stick it to the metal.

Or I would tap it too lightly and it wouldn't spark

I'm glad I learned arc welding first, now, but I have to say MIG will forever be much easier!

[rinnysega]

She’s finally mine 🦈💙

[timetravelbypen]

*slaps hands* No, self. Put down the Etsy tab. Do not try and find heartbeat rings like Yaz has. You don’t even wear rings please stop.

[kingofbr00klyn]

My Marine Houshou Nendoroid finally arrived today!!!

Ahhhhhh I love her so much and it was so fun trying all the different poses and accessories. She’s the first Nendoroid I’ve ever had and I’m certainly not disappointed.

I’ve got the Vox Akuma one coming in July and after receiving this one I’m even more excited then before :D

[planetpiastri]

pairing: lando norris x fem!australian!reader [no faceclaim] summary: honestly, you kind of expected this part-time gig to just be four days of pure chaos that gave you an excuse to see an f1 race up close. then some guy in the fanzone complimented your shoes, and the rest is history. notes: requested by anon!! this has been sitting in my drafts for aaaaages, sorry love <3 y'all are so brave for putting up with me while i try and remember how tf to write these uhhh yeah this one took a turn hope u like it anyway LMFAO

liked by oscarpiastri, ynusername, and 13,024 others

ausgp Arriving in style! The lads looked great at the Melbourne Walk today 🤩🤩

view all 1,654 comments

username1 lewis and zhou are absolutely slaying!! and oscar is also there

ynusername oscar i love you but you gotta step up your game mate, i wanna wear your merch so bad but it is UGLY!!

landonorris excuse me ausgp i think my fit was deserving of recognition in this post :(

ausgp Can't compete with the hometown hero 🤷‍♂️ landonorris but daniel isn't in this either ? oscarpiastri You're funny.

landonorris

liked by mclaren, ausgp, and 811,364 others

landonorris he shoots, he scores! thanks for such a warm welcome melbourne :)

view all 7,023 comments

oscarpiastri You and I have different definitions of scoring I think

landonorris ever heard of playing the long game? oscarpiastri Nurse he's out again

username2 where's the worker with the shoes i think they're indirecting her

username3 GET THIS MAN THE SHOE LADY'S DIGITS

maxfewtrell Now that's just uncalled for

ausgp Love to see the spirit 😉

username4 aww lando always looks so happy in melbourne, he loves it here :'))

ynusername oh wtf

liked by ausgp, yourfriend, and others

ynusername busy busy busy day, absolutely buggered, but very excited for tomorrow 😁 (also peep The Shoes on the last slide)

view all 89 comments

yourfriend i mean... he's right, they are sick shoes

ynusername you're just saying that cos you made me buy them yourfriend well yes!

username5 omg are u the girl who was working the fanzone today??

ynusername i was one of them!

username6 ok if this is the shoe lady i don't blame lando for staring she's so pretty omg

yourfriend "the shoe lady" ynusername i've been titled?????

ynusername

liked by yourfriend, landonorris, and others

ynusername weirdest work day ever (included today's shoes bc apparently it's a thing now)

view all 112 comments

yourfriend that wrap was good as hell tho

ynusername deffo the most exciting part of lunch

username7 wait who is this girl and why does lando follow her?

username8 go to lovestruckln on twitter, she has a whole thread about it!

landonorris ...weird in a good way, right?

username9 your lack of rizz is astounding lando username10 bro STAND UP ynusername weird in an interesting way landonorris i'll take that

landonorris

liked by ynusername, ausgp, and 1,011,023 others

landonorris melb, you have my ❤️

view all 8,327 comments

username11 SHOE GIRLLLLLL

username12 i hope they never hard launch and he just keeps posting pics of cool sneakers

georgerussell63 You're welcome

charles_leclerc You did it, you crazy son of a bitch ausgp Where's our credit?? georgerussell63 You put the pieces in play, I moved them into checkmate ynusername you threw a shoe at me. calm down. ausgp He what???

username13 bro's collecting aussies like infinity stones

danielricciardo ?? oscarpiastri No ynusername :// landonorris 😁😁

ynusername you're cool ig 🙄

landonorris your swag style and utter disdain for me has captured my heart ynusername oh my god stop i'm blushing

tagging: @thearchieves @sheridamn @nikfigueiredo @charlig123456789 @ilove-tswizzle @aandreea2005 @sideboobrry @vellicora @eire-the-egg @marymustdie @cocote1410 @taygrls @koalapastries @vroomvroommuppett @nichmeddar @d3kstar @333kiki @ririyulife @resident-swiftie @zimm04 @jupiter-je-taime @ever_bizzare @clemswrld @hollieeelol @leireggsworld @ironmaiden1313 @lunar-racing @lightninginab0ttle @maddie-naps @bwddermilch @pnkwhskyprncss @landossainz @chaotic_version

request: hiya! i love how funny your smau’s are and i’m begging for an aussie!reader x Lando one. maybe she works for the AusGP and they met in Melbourne? idk -anon

[isaacathom]

based on our movie night track records its possible that i, isaac, simply should not watch any comedy movie published before 2007

[em-writes-stuff-sometimes]

OMG no way are you going to write an AU of Daemon's visions at Harrenhal??? I know its AAAAAGES away from where you are in the current story but desperate hos wanna kno ;)

Ask, and ye shall receive!

until i bleed myself dry

Note: This is technically using the characters/characterisation I have established in my terms of endearment series, but really you only need to know that the Reader is Rhaenyra's younger sister and that, instead of marrying Laena, he spent a decade ho-ing it up in Pentos before coming home and getting dazzled by his niece before deciding to wife dat gurl.

WARNING: Please note this is dark, dark stuff. Discretion is advised. Please use your judgement wisely before engaging.

Triggers: graphic depictions of violence, violence against children, character d*ath, MAJOR hallucinations, sexual scenes including visibly underaged character/s.

There is something fucking wrong with this place.

Daemon feels like a skittish child as he withdraws to his chambers, covers drawn up to his neck like the fabric will keep away the very worst of midnight evils. He does not know if the steady drip, drip, drip he hears is in his head or if the stone ceiling is cracked enough to let through the rain. Knowing Harrenhal, he would hardly be surprised by the latter. Still, the noise only serves to speed the racing of his thoughts, turning them fearful as he has not felt since the weakness of his youth.

In this moment, he curses his own doings. If he had stayed his hand—if he had held his tongue—the boy would not be dead, and mayhaps you would not be so wroth with him. He would not be alone in this shithole of a keep a world away, chilled to the bone and miserable as he thinks of you warm and safe in your bed with the children. Without him.

When he finally falls asleep, he dreams.

He knows it is a dream, for he can hear your humming. Soft, sweet, the kind of tune you sing to Daeryx after one of his tantrums. His head lifts from the pillow and he finds himself back in your shared rooms on Dragonstone, eyes finding you in the chair by the hearth. Your hair, unbound, shines like molten amber in the firelight, swaying softly as you tend to business that is concealed from his gaze. Enthralled, he rises, making his way to you.

Drip, drip, drip.

He pauses. That sound… it doesn’t belong here. He calls your name. You ignore him. He moves closer, tentative.

“Come look,” you murmur suddenly, startling him. “Come, kepus.”

His feet move unbidden, out of his control.

Bile pools at the back of his throat, gut curdling at the sight of the boy—the boy—cradled in your lap. You and he are wet with blood, and it drip, drip, drips to the floor, echoing eerily. His eyes are open, face petrified, and Daemon realises that the dark at his neck is not in fact a shadow but a gaping wound, made jagged by the weapon used.

You look up at him, skin shining with sweat and expression exultant. “Look at him, kepus. Look at what you made.”

Memory flashes—he brings his son back down to rest beside his daughter on your lap, two moonshine miracles side by side. “Look at them, kepus,” you whisper, spellbound. “Look at what we made”—and his lungs constrict. You make to lift the child up, but the movement jostles his head off its perch, and it rolls to the ground to stop by his feet. He cannot move. He is frozen, horrified.

You smile, tucking the headless corpse under your chin. Gore pulses against your throat as your chin settles to the yawning maw of the child’s open neck. You rock in your seat, a faint squelch each time your shifting weight disturbs the sodden cushion beneath you.

“I love him,” you whisper, lips pressing to where flesh meets innards. Your mouth comes away red. “I love him so much.”

Daemon awakens with a yell. He swallows once, twice, and then—

He leans over the side of the bed, retching violently. When it is over, he curls up on his side, shaking, staring at his hands. They are wet with blood.

It does not take long for terror to settle in his bones like a longtime companion. It follows him each day, in every waking moment, manifesting in strange visions that he knows—he knows—must be untrue, cannot possibly be real, and yet… And yet. There is a sort of verity in them.

Dark Sister feels like a leaden weight at his hip as he stalks the keep, a reminder of his earlier encounter with Rhaenyra. Only she was not the Rhaenyra he knows, and instead a strange sort of blend of child-queen, the face of the girl peering out accusingly from under her father’s too-large crown, exclaiming all manner of hurt as she stepped from the Iron Throne upon which she perched.

“You put me on that throne. And you love me, and you hate me for it. You created me, Daemon. Yet you are now set on destroying me. All because your brother loved me more than he did you.”

And, without warning, he had taken his blade up in arms and struck off her head, a puppet on strings pulled by another. As her body fell, it morphed into the boy again. Jaehaerys. The child he had murdered. He heard your humming even while Simon Strong’s voice filtered through his unconscious mind, alerting him of the raven that just arrived.

The healer woman’s concoctions have helped little. He still wakes to strange noises, still finds himself stalking after his monstrous one-eyed nephew down the halls, only to find that it is himself he is pursuing. He hears the words you yelled at him in that last great quarrel— “get away, leave before you turn on us and murder us like you murdered that boy”—interspersed with the sound of your screams, and perhaps they are the screams you let out when birthing his children, or perhaps they are screams of a different kind, a version of himself making good on the implication of your words, steel in hand and pursuing his love, his life, his blood—

These figments blur with reality to the point that he becomes unsure of what is before him and what exists only in his head to haunt him. He comes to dread the resting hours, only to find their horrors bleeding into daylight. Whatever strange power has come to roost in his mind serves only to bring him torment.

Perhaps this is why he is not immediately suspicious when he comes face-to-face with you once more.

You stand by the window, the dim light filtering weakly over your bare form. Your back is to him, curls spilling to brush the tops of your buttocks. Their gentle sway—the barest kiss to your skin—is tantalising, and his mouth dries even as he watches your neck crane, sly smile tossed back over your shoulder at him.

“Daemon,” you beckon. Like a cuntstruck fool, he is helpless to resist the call.

His hands settle to the familiar divots of your waist, up and up and up to cup the fullness of your tits. You lean into him, a quiet huff of pleasure escaping as his fingers squeeze and his lips fall unbidden to the slope of your jaw. He inhales deeply, stirred even now by the simplicity of your scent, a throbbing line straight to his groin. You turn in his hold, nose nuzzling against his chin.

“You were right,” you say, eyes shining. “You were always right.”

He is under some enchantment, surely, for he is incapable of coherent speech. All he can do is feel the satisfaction heat his veins, allow it to tug at the corner of his mouth. I knew it, he thinks. I knew her will would bend eventually.

You speak still, even as he backs you toward the bed. “Papa was weak. Rhaenyra is weak. Only you are the true blood of the dragon.”

You shift backward onto the mattress, legs parting invitingly. The split of you opens, revealing flushed folds and the teasing glimmer of want, shining slick for his hungered gaze.

“Fearless”—your hand trails down your belly, fingers tracing around your pearl—“brave”—you venture lower, pressing teasingly at your cunt, your lip caught between your teeth—“strong.”

Daemon drops to his knees before you, tongue licking through the spill and catching on your finger. He bullies it out of the way, arms locking around your thighs as he gluts himself on the sweet tang of you, senses clouding and narrowing to a singular point of existence. You grip his hair, the arches of your feet digging against his back.

“It is not my place to question you,” you breathe, twisting and writhing with his ministrations. He watches your face, enraptured by the toss of your head and the shape of your lips as they form moan after moan. Your release is quick, a final sobbing yelp followed by a flood of slick warmth. When your eyes reopen, they are blazing with reverence. Reverence for him. Your knees flex up, your lower half folded almost to your chest. Your cunt contracts, fluttering like the wings of a butterfly. “I live to serve you, my king.”

His head feels heavy as he rises just barely to crawl over you. He frowns. When he lifts his hand to extricate yours from his hair, he finds not flesh, but cool metal. A crown.

“My king,” you coo below him.

Your surroundings are changed. It is not the meagre offerings of Harrenhal that frame you now, but the sumptuous trimmings of the king’s chambers in the Red Keep, only brighter, more lavish than they ever have been. Jewels sparkle at your throat, in your hair, at your wrists. The sheets are molten gold against your silver-pale, and you wind your hips up at him provocatively, catching his cockhead against your opening.

“You belong on the throne, husband,” you say, fist closing around his shaft and pumping once, twice. You lead him back to the core of you, nudging him just inside. “Uncle. My love. And I belong at your side—at your feet—under your body.”

“My queen,” he gasps, driving forward with a grunt, and oh, he has missed you, missed this, missed the clutch of your walls like a mother’s embrace and the sound of your breathy cries as he plunges deep. Plunges home.

“My king,” you call out, rising into him with unrestrained abandon, precious gems clinking frantically with each fevered hitch of his hips against yours. “My lord. My master. I was made for you.”

“Yes…”

“Chain me to this bed, my king.” Your spine arches toward him, hands grabbing for his own and leading them above your head. He takes this for the encouragement it is, pinning your wrists to the pillow and rutting harder. You shout, elbows flexing to no avail. “Give to me my purpose. Give me your heirs.”

He is helpless to stop the noises escaping his mouth, feral and uninhibited, fucking with near painful intent. You take it all, curving yourself deeper, holding yourself more open so that he may lay claim to his conquest. As only a king can.

“And when I have birthed one,” you say, though now it is more a prolonged keening sound, “give me another. Never stop. Oh! Make me—make me take it—”

He does not know if he is imagining it or if it is happening before his eyes, but he can see it: ruling the Seven Kingdoms, sitting the Iron Throne the way his brother never could, striding down the halls of the keep as the commons bow and scrape to their sovereign, bursting into his chambers after small council to find his queen, to find you where you always are, naked in his bed and belly round and leaking milky white between your thighs, for it is his kingly law that the only part you play here is this, waiting for him to find you and fuck you and fill you and keep you, his little niecewifequeenpet—

He snarls, pulsing and burning. You squeal as he pushes past onslaught and straight to violence, bodies colliding so forcefully that his bones ache and his brain feels like jelly wobbling in his skull. What leaves his mouth can only be bestial in nature now. “I’ll make you—”

“Yes, make me take it until I cannot. Until my cunt is ruined by you.” He feels his end rushing up with every word you wail, his joints locking and grinding and gut roiling with the anticipation of it. “Until my womb is destroyed. Until I bleed myself dry, my king. Only for you.”

“Wha—”

The horror of it escapes him, for it is too late: the release crashes on him like a tidal wave, shoving him below its surface and imprisoning him in its current. He makes a noise like a wounded boar, chasing through the high despite the alarm in his mind, so at odds with the soaring rhythm in his loins.

You laugh, tilting welcomingly to receive him. “Make me bleed, my king. Make me bleed like my mother.”

It is enough to chill the heat in his blood to ice, destroying any semblance of enjoyment. But he cannot stop the unsteady eking out of what remains of his peak. He tries, but he cannot stop.

“No,” he says, a contradiction to the enthusiasm of his flesh prison. “No, no, I cannot. No—”

“What do you mean?” you ask, a strange quality to it. A duality. It crystallises into something comprehensible with every word that comes from your lips. All at once, it is not your voice he hears, but something much higher, younger, blending and overlapping with the cadence he recognises. “You already have.”

He looks down as he makes his final groaning thrusts, only to feel his stomach drop through the floor. Your thighs are soaked in blood, his cock sluicing a path through it all the while. All that flesh covered in red, and he glances up, only to see that you are gone, you are replaced by someone so small, so frightfully small, and he realises you are not replaced, it is you, but it is a you he has not seen for well over ten years, eyes wide and frightened and gleaming like game stuck through by an arrow and taking its final breath.

Daemon rears back, but it is too late. You begin to cry. A dark patch spreads out from underneath your broken body, from where he had torn your fragile opening apart. What have I done? he thinks.

“It hurts, kepus,” you say. “It hurts.”

“I’m sorry,” he chokes out, fixed to stillness by revulsion. “I’m sorry. I never meant to—”

“But you did,” you insist, childish pout despite your obvious agony.

Your hands reach out, and he leans away, too horrified to touch you—and he doesn’t know if it is you or he that he is more afraid of in this moment—but you are not searching through the air for him, no. Instead, a bundled weight is settled in them, and you bring it into the crook of your arms, gripping it as though it is the most precious of objects. You smooth the fabric from the top of it to reveal a tiny head of silver hair. The babe gurgles and roots at your flat chest, absurd and awful.

“This is what you wanted,” you say, eyes filled with betrayal. “Am I going to die now, kepus?”

Your Grace…

He shakes his head, but he is no fool. You are too little to withstand the sheer volume of blood you have lost if the bedding is anything to go by. He feels it stain his legs. He feels it drying on his cock.

“Your Grace?”

“I will, though. I’m too young. You’ve killed me.” The babe begins to suckle, and you cry harder. Your body isn’t built for this task, not yet, not like this. He wants to protest, to tell you that this is not his work, cannot be, for he has and would never do something so foul, so wholly inhuman, that the you he has gotten with child has only ever been a woman grown, but it is like you know his thoughts for you scoff and say, “You’re lying to yourself. I was always too young. You just refused to see it.”

He stares down at you, immobile, unable to even think. The metallic scent of your life leaving you fills the air, floods his nostrils with stinging heat.

“… Your Grace?”

Daemon jolts, blinking. Ser Simon Strong looks back at him. “Is the duck not to your liking, Your Grace?”

All at once, you are gone. The king’s chambers are gone. He is not even within his dank chambers at Harrenhal. Instead, he sits at the table in what passes for the dining hall here, a plate full of food steaming before him. The smell makes him ill.

“There’s also goose, if you’d prefer…”

He swallows, trying to ground himself in the present. Voices waft all around him, but he finds it difficult to pay attention.

“I’m not hungry,” he says shortly. It sounds stronger than he feels.

A pause, and then—

Simon clears his throat, turning to his companions. “I was saying, given the rather dire news…”

Daemon tries to concentrate. He does. He knows the others are speaking of matters of utmost importance. Of  Rook’s Rest, of his nephew, of the war. But his mind can only turn over his encounter—his vision? His nightmare? Or is it merely truth finally unveiled to unworthy eyes?—with you, the last of your words haunting him near to madness.

“I was always too young. You just refused to see it.”

He has grown restless here, revolving between the frustration of securing an army from those who see naught in him but the very worst and the torment of these terrible visions that seek him out at their pleasure, heedless of his duty or desire. Tedium or terror—when he is entrenched in one, he wishes for the other, and there is always a sick sort of irony in the granting of said wishes. In truth, he is able enough to tolerate the resistance of these riverlanders, insulting as it is. The phantasms that pursue him have almost become too much to bear.

What is worse? The accusations from the mouth of a juvenile Rhaenyra, full of admonishments for the way he’d so thoroughly undermined her claim before she ever got the right to exercise it? The condemnations from Viserys, a retracing of steps trod so long ago, brought to life once more and forcing Daemon to relive the very worst of his brother? The boy’s laughter darting through the stone halls, an ominous prelude to the sickening sound of steel sawing through skin and the rolling of his head, landing always at the feet of the one responsible for his fate?

They are all bad enough as they are, but for the simple fact that they do not surprise him. Monster, they call him, and he wears the name well. In most all aspects, he is a monster. But never has he thought himself monstrous to you.

He has come to despise the sight of you here, sometimes docile and worshipful, sometimes angered and raving. Sometimes you appear as a siren come to lure him to iniquity, and like a fool he always falls into the trap. Other times, you are battered, caged, a shell of yourself. No matter how it begins, the end is always the same: bloodied, beaten, fading from the world, and it is always his hands he finds the cause of it in. A new reminder every time of all the ways he has thought of taking you, owning you, keeping you. Always, he thinks to save you—to protect you. Always, he destroys you.

Just as he thinks himself finally driven to the edge of all reason, the Rivers woman beckons him to the godswood.

“When you came here,” she says, “you were a closed fist. You wished to bend the world to your will. But you’ve discovered, I think, that… this world will not be governed. There are omens here for those who seek them.”

She pauses. The air seems to whisper, to creak in the dark. Daemon suppresses the urge to shiver. Her eyes move to him, an odd little quirk to her mouth. Amusement, he thinks. Or pity.

“You do not scoff?” she asks.

How can he, after all he has seen here? He has been brought to the very edge of sanity by these omens. What irony, it is, after the great complaints he has made of superstition in past weeks (and months, and years).

“I’m no longer inclined to,” is his short reply.

She laughs. “I’m pleased to hear it.”

She stops before the heart tree and turns to him, expression solemn.

“Do you wish, then, to learn what is given to you?” The answer must lie in his face, for he cannot do anything but stare, silent, tense. “All your life, you have sought to command your own fate”—she takes his hand—“but today, you are ready.”

Gentle pressure at his wrist, and something in him knows to move past her, to take those final few steps so that he is close enough to make out the details of the face carved into the wood. His arm raises by itself, acting on its own power, or perhaps some higher power, his fingers brushing bark and the hot pulse of… blood? But he has no time to truly question it for—

He is flying—

No—

He is a raven, staring at the face of a pale-haired man with a wine-dark stain on his face and he flies into the forest, towards an army, only there is something wrong with the soldiers, they are blue and their eyes glow ice-cold and their breath is frosted with death and their bodies carry the look of corpses stood upright once more—

And then the dragons are dead, all of them, the ground wet not with water but with blood and he walks through it, falls straight into the ground and he is drowning, steel plate armour dragging him down into the depths and he looks up at the sky—

A red comet bursts through the air, hot like fire, and he sees eggs embroiled in flame, a girl sat in ash cradling the bodies of three newly-hatched dragons, a whisper of a memory on the air, “we are the only ones able to bring the fire to life… It is the secret”—

And he is before the Iron Throne, suddenly silent.

Rhaenyra stands before the seat. Viserys’s crown is in his hands. She moves toward him, down the stairs of the throne. He hears her speak.

“From my blood…”

But she does not finish. A roaring conflagration engulfs her and she screams, twisting and warping before him, burning, only not, because you step from the flames, unburnt, voice mingling with that of your sister’s, a haunting echo.

“… come the Prince Who Was Promised…”

You are before him, taking the crown from his grasp and retracing the steps your sister took, and then you are stepping over a charred body, Rhaenyra, oh gods, and ascending the steps. You sit. You lift the crown. You place it on your head.

“… and his shall be the song of ice and fire.”

He is on his knees now, right on that final step at your feet. He feels the warmth of you as you bend forward, your palm caressing his jaw. You look otherworldly in the shadow, backlit silver and gold and wearing a king’s accoutrements far better than any of your predecessors.

“You know what must happen now, Uncle,” you say gently, kindly. “You know what you must do.”

He bows his head to kiss your ring—the seal of the king—no, the queen—and then wind is whistling in his ears, chilling him to the bone and spraying his hair about wildly, so much so that he can barely hear the words yelled at him by the boy sitting astride Vhagar.

“You have lived too long, nuncle.”

—and he wrenches away, panting, body collapsing before the heart tree like a puppet with its strings cut. The world comes back to him in fragments: the scent of dirt and woodlands, the sharp sting of cold, the ache in his muscles that has since settled like sludge at the bottom of a river, ever-present and persisting. Finally, finally, he withdraws with hands washed clean, free of his many sins.

At last, he has come to the crux of it. At last, he understands.

He sits at the base of the tree, stunned and overcome, as faint words slither on the breeze, a final knell from the liminal space of prophecy. Your name. A cheer.

“Long live the queen! Long live the queen!”

Read on AO3:

Taglist:

Now in the comments!

To be on the taglist:

Click here to apply for the general taglist! Click here to apply for the terms of endearment taglist!

[vgilantee]

YES. The answer is always yes we want to hear more about how many wrinkles your brain has. 👁👄👁

My own hc for trans!Soap is that he uses strap on most of the time and doesn't really enjoy being penetrated vaginally

so i have 2 versions of pricesoap x reader with trans soap but my current worms are for the reader and soap dating and price coming in after the fact.

price comes into the relationship cock first. cock first in that johnny asks his captain if he can have a dildo moulded like his cock because his bonnie lass said she just knows price is thick, and that johnny would be too if he was born with a cock. price’s only condition? he wants to see a video of johnny fucking his girl with price’s cock in the strap.

the video you send price is of johnny taking you from behind, back to his chest while he pulls you up with a hand on your throat, the camera clearly propped up on the bed by a pillow or a book. something unstable but the perfect angle to see your cunt stretched over the silicone.

“what do you say to the captain, hen?”

“thank you thank you oh fuck. so good so big ah ah!”

the video ends as johnny lets go of you and you collapse forward onto the phone. the last thing john hears is your pitched moan right into the shitty phone microphone

john sends back a photo of his lower stomach and thighs covered in his cum, hand still wrapped tight around his cock.

~✧

i had dialogue of johnny asking price for the dildo but i sent it to glossy @glossysoap aaaaages ago and we yap so much it’s been buried :(

[huellitaa]

𓍢ִ໋♡𓂃 ࣪ ִ receiving your blessings! ୨🧸୧

˚₊‧꒰ა roots ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

• feeling guilty about being given things you supposedly "dont deserve", like lots of love or gifts or whatever it may be, comes from a lack mindset.

• that is where you feel there is not enough of these things like love, gifts, money, etc. to go around. you think of the world as though there is always "not enough" and feel the need to push away the blessings you receive for someone or something else, or hold on to every little scrap of everything you find bc you fear you wont find it again.

• this comes from having a lack of things like love, money, affection, etc. in childhood and continues on as you grow up & get older.

one thing i've noticed is a lot of people actually treat this as a normal thing to push away the things youre given because you think "this is too much" or "i dont deserve this" or anything along those lines.

🧸𓂃 ࣪˖ "i dont feel worthy of this" if you werent worthy it wouldnt be given to you. everyone and everything comes into your life for a reason, good or bad, and its your job to accept that and learn the lesson that comes from said thing or person. if someone offers you a gift, money, a job offer you've wanted, etc. if you know its safe then take it !!

── there are people with less money than you, less talent than you, less potential than you, out living your dreams just because you were too scared to take that opportunity you were given and just go for it. dont look back and think "oh, i should have taken that". dont let yourself have regrets when you know you can avoid them. life is to be lived, not feared.

🧸𓂃 ࣪˖ "im not sure if i should" the opportunity wouldnt arise if it wasnt 100% certain it would benefit you in someway. obviously if you feel its sketchy or unsafe for whatever reason stay away from it and obviously do not go through with it or take it but if you know its safe and fine but youre still not sure then what are you doing!!! take it!!!

── you are refusing the gifts being given for what? worry? worry about what? who are you to doubt the gifts you are being given when you know its safe and you should take it? would you be concerned if someone gave you a gift on your birthday? this is the same thing. every day is your birthday if youve got the right mindset 🫶

🧸𓂃 ࣪˖ "someone else deserves it more" what. think if you got a present on your birthday and it was something you'd wanted for aaaaages. would you sit there and think "no, someone else deserves this more than me"? if the answer's yes then you need to get your priorities straight ml im sorry. this was given to you for you. why are you doubting the universe- the world????? what???? girl what

── ok this can go two ways. if its something someone else genuinely needs because they dont have it and could heavily benefit from like fresh water, a job offer, a housing offer, fresh food, i would give it to them if i already had those resources for myself too because everybody needs those. they're basic necessities to live & thats basic empathy. but if its something you dont need to live but really really want and are being given the chance to obtain then what. are you doing. girl. take it! what is your problem!

🧸𓂃 ࣪˖ i think if you find yourself saying or thinking these things often, pause for a second and ask yourself why you think this. is it something to do with growing up, the people around you, your financial status.. whatever it may be, it always helps to find the root of the problem. ♡

treat yourself to whatever you wish! you deserve it just because you are alive. that is a difficult task in itself. you deserve it just because you want it. you work so hard, so why shouldnt you have the things you want? take that gift, take that money, take that date, take that offer. life is too short to regret what you could have had 🫶💕

lots of love 💘

[trappezoider]

Horsing Around

A wholesome little audio drama of a farm boy Sebastian teaching Ominis how to ride a horse, muggle AU. Made this aaaaages ago, together with @waywardprintmaker and @silasbug, the cute art was done by Printmaker😭 Non-profit, just made for free for fans by fans. (p.s.: I take no responsibility for the quality of the mixing xD)

[angrelysimpping]

Someone did this to an obey me ask…

NPCS tripping and landing face first in PCS cleavage? (PC doesn’t even have to be female, since male PCS can have breasts in game!)

(When requests are open x)

ffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffff

Requests aren't probably gonna b open for a while but....I really liked this and it's been sitting in my drafts for aaaaages

Alex

Red-faced, nearly knocks you down pushing away from you. At higher dominance, they're more likely to laugh it off. At lower dominance, they scuttle away, unable to look you in the eyes for the rest of the day.

Anxious Guard

Freezes before jumping away from you. Tries to admonish you as if it's your fault, but can't stop stammering.

Avery

A bit flustered from tripping at all. Avery prides themself on being calm and in control. Probably won't acknowledge it. Don't bring it up.

Bailey

Bitter from having tripped in front of you and mostly doesn't acknowledge it. Mutters something about you putting your tits to good use to make their money.

Briar

Also doesn't like the fact that you've witnessed them trip, but laughs at having ended up face-first in your breasts. Gives one of them a playful squeeze and tells you to wear something tight on stage.

Darryl

A mess. Apologizing, asking if they hurt you. Face pink and stuttering. Cannot look you in the eyes.

Eden

Another one who gets flustered by you seeing them trip at all, let alone into your cleavage. Also, this fucker it big. You are on the ground, their face in your chest. They are taking advantage and acting like this was their plan all along.

Harper

Pink faced. Badly suppressed stutter. Insists on giving you an examination to make sure they didn't hurt you. Proceeds to grope your tits for half an hour.

Kylar

Death by tits. Feels like they've died and gone to heaven. Just stays like that for as long as they can before they realize they might have hurt you and starts asking if you're okay.

Relaxed Guard

Also a bit flustered for having tripped in front of you but laughs it off, groping one of your breasts as they go.

Robin

Starts apologizing immediately, hands fluttering over you as they try to see if they hurt you but not wanting to cause you any discomfort. Higher confidence Robin will ask if it's okay if they "kiss it better."

Scarred Inmate

Plays it off by pinning you down and groping you. They didn't trip, they just wanted their bitch under them and this was the quickest way to do that.

Sydney

Pure Sydney is blushing. Blushing so hard. Unable to move. Stammering mumbled apologies. Corrupt Sydney is just as red but gives your sternum a kiss before moving away from you.

Veteran Guard

Also a fucker who probably knocked you to the ground when they tripped into you. Grumbles at you to watch where you going before giving one of your tits a harsh squeeze before climbing off you.

Whitney

Flustered as hell that they tripped and takes it out on you. Grabs your tits and makes some crude comments. Likely to pull at your top so they can bite your chest. Probably will bite hard enough to make you bleed.

Wren

Trys to play it off, laughing even though their face is a bit pink. Playfully bites one of your tits through your top.

[girl-bateman]

I was tagged by @zastraea and @dont-offend-the-bees aaaaages ago for a mutual catch up, thank you guys and sorry it took so long lmao <33

LAST SONG: Push (feeling good on a Wednesday) - Lorde/Randy Marsh

FAVE COLOR: Turquoise

LAST BOOK: Eroticism - Georges Bataille

LAST MOVIE: The Interview

LAST THING I GOOGLED: Kladdkaka recept (recipe for swedish mudcake)

CURRENTLY WATCHING: Young Sheldon (its the only media my brain can handle rn, dont judge) and (rewatching) House Md

THREE SHIPS: Nathan x Simon (Misfits), Mac x Dennis (iasip), House x Wilson (House Md)

FIRST SHIP: Destiel looool

PLACE OF BIRTH: Stockholm, Sweden

CURRENT LOCATION: Sweden right now, but im moving to the Netherlands this week <3

RELATIONSHIP STATUS: Single

CURRENTLY WORKING ON: Not spinning into a deep hole of misery !

LOOKING FORWARD TO: The psych courses im taking in the Netherlands !!! (philosophy of psychology, fictitious disorders and controversies of psychology)

I'm tagging: @jadedpoets @eel-guy @milfmacbeth @zomernacht @vampireroomba @hacked-wtsdz @lavenderfroggy @bredforloyalty

[kaeyachi]

Re: your latest post on the maybe-Kaeya-coded wolf: I DON’T THINK YOU’RE STRETCHING! Maybe I’m being delulu too, but there’s been some connection drawn between Kaeya and wolves before!

Back in act 1 of the Mondstadt archon quest, when we’re doing the test runs of the start characters in the 3 temples, Kaeya’s takes place in the temple of the wolf! And Kaeya says that “It’s a pity that the temple of the wolf has been disturbed by such an atrocity.” Interesting that he says that specifically about the temple of the wolf and not the others. Does he have a particular fondness for the temple of the wolf? Is he aware that Andrius, the wolf of the North himself, still exists in some form and he feels bad for his temple being disturbed? Does Kaeya just have a fondness for wolves? There’s also that glorious April Fool’s Day post this year where we got that image of Kaeya riding Andrius (in all his beastmaster core glory). Again, suggests some kind of connection, either between Kaeya and Andrius in particular or Kaeya and wolves in general.

It’s not much, I know. Maybe there’s other connections elsewhere that flew over my head. But even if not, if I had a nickel every time hoyo made a connection between Kaeya and wolves/Andrius, I’d have 2 nickels. Which isn’t a lot, but it’s weird that it happened twice!

And if this is a 3rd instance of that, well then, this is no longer a coincidence: it’s a pattern!

BESTIE YEEEES!!! I was also thinking of those facts!! There were just far too many connections for Kaeya and wolves!!! And this is exactly why I mentioned Rostam as well because if we are connecting them, then there's actually 4 instances! ( delulu with research and study ✌️)

To further explain to others who have not obsessively researched about Kaeya or Mond lore, Rostam is popularly the Kaeya equivalent in the story of him and Arundolyn (the Diluc equivalent), comparisons between them have been made for aaaaages! Childhood friends and rivals plotline for Rostam and Arundolyn and, just like Kaeya, Rostam also being known to handle a secret spy network/society that isn't afraid to do the dirty work to keep Mondstadt safe are some of the major connections.

Heres the spicy bit. Lately, hoyo seems to be casually pulling up connections for Kaeya and the wolves, which is fitting because Rostam is known as the "Wolf Pup"... but the wolves and stories aren't the end of their connection.

You see, in Kaeya's hangout, there is an instance where we get to see him act out as a prince named Qubad. This name is actually from one of the stories in a certain Persian book. Guess who else was in that very same Persian book? That's right, it's our wolf pup Rostam- one of the book's greatest heroes. Damn, even in source materials, they're connected...

Since I've been having "Kaeya dying" dreams, how much mora are we betting on that happening now? hihi 🤭

And when we continue with this line of delulu thinking...are we sure that Rostam wasn't a Khaenri'ahn? Aren't our fatui harbringers, in some way or form, connected to Khaenri'ah and/or the cataclysm?