#does anyone recognize this train line?

[biwachan]

2024.02.26

had to go into the office today for another interview with the health center. they released me from my limit on overtime, but still want to do another followup around golden week.

although it was so difficult to get up when my alarm went off this morning, once I arrived at the office I felt ok. honestly, I guess it was refreshing working there. years of telework gets tiring after a while.

[wonderjanga]

So there is that headcanon where Captian Marvel looks a lot like teth Aman (Black Adams kid) and him mistaking cap as his kid and trying to reconnect in a way making people think that Black Adam is Captain Marvels dad

*throws this idea at you and runs away*

*idea smacks me in the head*

Teth was furious. For good reason too. The Wizard literally sealed him away for nearly five thousand years. Then, the old man replaced him with some, from what he’d heard, bumbling idiot. So yes, he was furious, and he also wanted his job back. Something he could only get if the current champion was put down. Which he was on his way to this place called Fawcett to do.

When he got there, he could practically feel the magic emanating from the city. Were there magic ley lines here? Then it’s a no wonder the Champion chose to set up base here rather than one of the major cities. As of now, Adam was above the city surveying the terrain. Meanwhile, Billy in Marvel form is sitting on a roof, wondering who that weirdo hovering above the city.

Solomon: “Oh… Billy you have to kill that man.”

Marvel: “WHAT?” *gobsmacked and concerned because other than a couple times, Solomon has never been one to hop on the ‘kill that villain’ train*

Achilles: “Yeah, we’re sorry, but like, no joke, you actually gotta kill him.”

Marvel: “The other times were jokes?”

Mercury: “Kinda, but you absolutely have to kill this guy or he will kill you.”

Marvel: “Oh. Uhm… okay?” *sounds extremely nervous as he stands up* “So what do? Do I just…?”

Hercules: “Yeah, just like charge him, and beat him. To death.”

And that’s how Adam literally blinked and the next thing he knew, he was hurtling through the air and to the ground, far from the so called Fawcett. Damn it. The current Champion had found him first. When Adam crawled out of his crater, he was met with a face he didn’t think he’d ever see again. Aman.

Had that blasted Wizard brought his son back from the grave? Adam didn’t know whether he should be grateful, or enraged. On one hand, the Wizard brought his boy back. His boy whose life had ended too early. On the other hand, his boy had been thrust back into a life of danger as the Champion. Gods, how long had Aman been the current Champion? How long had the Wizard waited until he decided that doing this was acceptable?

As for Billy, he just stared down at the guy wearing black in confusion. Why did the Gods want him to kill this guy so bad? He isn’t attacking anyone. He’s kinda just there, staring up at up at Billy with the same confused expression Billy has. He also has the same lightning bolt? Billy had thought that was only reserved for people connected to the rock. The Wizard had never mentioned this guy before if that’s the case.

Black Adam: *mistakes Billy’s confusion as recognized* “…Aman?”

Marvel: *heard “a man” and just thought Adam just had some type of accent* “Yes…?” *now extremely confused*

Black Adam: “I can’t believe it.” *flies over to him and tries to reach out to him*

Marvel: *moves out of his reach because he does not know this rando*

Black Adam: *sounds slightly annoyed* “What did the Wizard tell you?”

Marvel: “Nothing? I just don’t know you.”

Black Adam: *looks absolutely disturbed* “He erased your memory?”

Marvel: *just about to answer when some monster starts attacking Fawcett* “Look, I gotta go. We’ll talk later.” *flies off to the monster*

Zeus: “How interesting.” *probably stroking his beard* “He didn’t immediately kill you.”

Solomon: “Be on watch Billy. He could still attack.”

Now, Adam obviously didn’t do that. He immediately went to Kahndaq, made himself pharaoh again and remodeled the palace as best as he could in such a short time. It wasn’t until about a week later that Adam came back to see his boy again.

Marvel: *finishes helping an old lady cross the road*

Black Adam: *lands beside him and clears his throat*

Marvel: “Oh, it’s you again!” *smiles*

Black Adam: “Yes. It is I.”

*silence*

Marvel: *desperate to fill the awkward silence* “I’m sorry, but I don’t think I caught your name the last time we met.”

Black Adam: “I am Teth Adam.” *is super hurt that his boy doesn’t remember him and is plotting on the Wizard*

Marvel: “Cool. I’m Captain Marvel. I’m fine with Cap, or Marvel, or whatever you can come up with.”

Black Adam: “So that’s what he has you going by…”

Marvel: “What?”

*another silence*

Black Adam: *clear throat again* “When… are you coming home?””

Marvel: “Home?”

Black Adam: “Home. Kahndaq. If you’re worried about becoming a slave again, after your…” *clears throat* “The point is, I worked to get rid of it.”

Billy honest to the Gods just assumed this guy was both lonely and another Champion.

Marvel: *confused at the mention of slavery* “Sure, I’ll come by. That’s in like Africa, right?”

Black Adam: *a little relieved that he’d visit, but also filled with a little dread because Marvel not knowing where Kahndaq is kind of supports the memory wipe theory* “I believe so.”

Marvel did visit. And sure, he might’ve had to work himself up for the awkward afternoon, but it wasn’t that bad. Teth seemed a little happier after the whole thing. Billy’s pretty sure at least. It’s a little hard to get a read the guy’s emotions.

Also, someone caught the end of their conversation, more specifically the coming home bit. Thus, the rumors of this new guy in black being Marvel’s father were born. These rumors were fueled by Adam trying to be fatherly, albeit awkwardly, and Billy just accepting it because he just thinks Adam is being nice.

Like the time Adam brought him a modernized version Aman’s favorite food because he thought he might still like it.

Achilles: “WAIT BILLY IT MIGHT BE POISONED-”

Marvel: *takes a big munch* “Wow, this is really good!”

Black Adam: *relieved* “It’s good you still like it.”

Yeah, Fawcitizens are like ninety percent sure Adam is their hero’s dad. And they’re here for it. They just want their big guy to be happy.

[aeralux]

"Mine" - Aemond Targaryen

Summary: You find Aemond in the Keep's library one evening. You thought that maybe reading a few history books might bore you to sleep. Aemond knew another way to tire you out...

Words: 6.5k

Warnings: SMUT! but more specifically: targcest; degradation; name calling (slut, cocksleeve etc); he uses the term "princess" a lot; rough sex; possibly breeding kink (he does cum inside); mention of Jace and the word "bastard" (by Aemond ofc); fingering; squirting; dirty talk; just straight up filth yknow?

Other notes: Reader has long white hair in this story (reader is Targaryen) but no other physically descriptive words are included. English is not my first language so it may seem like I'm trying too hard at times to sound "real". If you wish you could always leave me a comment <3

-- aera xx

In the quiet library of the Red Keep, evening light poured through tall, narrow windows, casting an amber glow on the shelves filled with dusty books. The scent of old parchment filled the air, creating a nostalgic feeling of ancient knowledge. The soft rustle of turning pages added a gentle rhythm to the library, which was filled with whispered stories.

Aemond Targaryen, exuding a regal presence, sat in this historic space. His silver hair shimmered in the soft light as he read a thick book about the ancient history of House Targaryen. His sharp violet eye was focused on the tales within the pages.

When the door creaked open, it interrupted the library's silence. Aemond lifted his gaze from the book, recognizing your entrance. He closed the heavy tome with a soft thud, changing the atmosphere as he acknowledged you.

You stepped into the peaceful library, bathed in the evening glow, with a quiet energy surrounding you. Aemond nodded, a gesture that was both formal and restrained, before asking, "What are you doing here?" His voice was low and deliberate, breaking the silence. Each word carried authority and thoughtfulness. His one visible violet eye—his other hidden by a black leather eyepatch—lingered on you, silently prompting you to explain.

"I beg your pardon, my prince. I was unaware that visiting the Keep's library was not permitted for someone of my stature," you respond with a playful curtsy, gracefully toward the venerable history section. Your long, flowing white hair cascades behind you like a silken waterfall. While your floor-length night dress, rich with elegance, glides softly with each step. A delicate, deep blue shawl adorns your shoulders, offering a subtle shield against the evening breeze that whispers through the grand hallways. You gaze at the ancient tomes that line the shelves, for knowledge is a treasure worth pursuing, as said by your father many times.

Aemond's gaze followed your graceful movements, his one visible eye tracking you as you glide through the hallowed halls of the library. The sway of your silken garments and the shimmer of your hair caught the dim light, creating an almost ethereal aura around you. His lips curled into a slight smirk, intrigue and amusement playing across his features.

"A library, you say?" His voice, low and rich, echoed in the quiet space. "Since when has the Red Keep's library been open to anyone?" He rose from his seat, his tall frame unfolding with a fluid grace that belied his martial prowess. The click of his boots against the stone floor marked his approach, each step measured and deliberate. "Or perhaps," he continued, his tone taking on a teasing edge, "you've been granted special privileges that I'm not aware of?"

As he drew closer, the scent of leather and a hint of smoke clung to him, a reminder of his time spent training or perhaps riding his majestic dragon, Vhagar. His hand reached out, fingers grazing the spine of a nearby tome, the touch light yet purposeful. "Tell me, princess," he murmured, his voice dropping to a husky whisper, "what brings you to these hallowed halls? Surely not just idle curiosity." His one visible eye locked onto yours, the intensity of his gaze palpable. The air between you seemed to thicken, charged with an unspoken tension. Aemond's presence filled the space, commanding and alluring, a blend of danger and magnetism that was unmistakably Targaryen.

You let out a soft huff, your lips curving into an incredulous smile as you surveyed the rows of books above you. The scent of aged parchment and leather filled the air, mingling with an undeniable sense of history. "Surely, I assumed this esteemed library would be accessible to all residents, particularly those of Targaryen lineage," you stated with poise. Your voice carried a subtle lilt of defiance, a challenge lacing your words as you turned to face the prince. "I fail to see why I should require written permission from the King to peruse the tomes housed within these walls. A noble mind seeks knowledge freely, after all." Your demeanour was resolute, fully aware that your words were a test of the prince's patience and authority.

A soft chuckle escaped Aemond's lips, the sound rich and warm, like aged wine. He closed the distance between you, his towering frame looming over you as you perused the bookshelves. The scent of leather and smoke intensified, mingling with the dusty aroma of ancient tomes.

"Ah, but there's a difference between being allowed and being… expected," he murmured, his voice a low rumble. His hand reached past you, fingers grazing the spine of a particularly old-looking book as he pulled it from the shelf. "Some things in life require… invitation, princess."

He turned the book in his hands, tracing the embossed title with a calloused thumb.

Aemond's gaze drifted from the book to you, his one visible eye roaming over your form with an almost palpable hunger. The air between you seemed to crackle with tension, a silent acknowledgement of the unspoken desires that simmered just beneath the surface.

"Tell me," he purred, leaning in closer, his breath ghosting over your ear, "what secrets are you hoping to uncover in these dusty tomes?" With a deliberate grace, you turned to face him, your eyes sparkling with a mixture of challenge and defiance. The air was thick with unspoken tension, and your voice, steady and composed, cut through it like a blade. "You dare to insult me, my prince. Do you truly believe that merely because I am a woman, I am devoid of the intellect to read and comprehend?"

You took a moment to let your words sink in, the candlelight casting flickering shadows around you. "For your information," you continued, your tone both firm and elegant, "I immerse myself in the written word far more than you may presume. Through hours spent in the quiet company of books, I have delved into the intricacies of the ancient language of High Valyrian."

With that, you leaned back gracefully against the towering bookshelf, the scent of aged parchment enveloping you, further emphasizing your knowledge and poise. Your stance was not just defensive; it was a proclamation of your strength and determination to be seen as more than just a princess.

Aemond's lips curled into a smirk, a dangerous glint in his eye. He leaned in closer, invading your personal space, his tall frame towering over you. The scent of leather and smoke enveloped you, a heady mix that stirred something deep within.

"Is that so?" he purred, his voice low and rich, like honey dripping from a spoon. "The ancient tongue of High Valyria, hmm? Impressive for a woman."

His hand reached out, fingers grazing your cheek with a feather-light touch. The calloused pad of his thumb traced the delicate curve of your jaw, a gentle caress that belied the intensity of his gaze. "But tell me, princess," he murmured, his breath ghosting over your ear, sending shivers down your spine, "what good is knowledge without the wisdom to wield it?"

Aemond's body pressed against yours, the hard planes of his chest a stark contrast to the soft curves of your form. The heat of his skin seeped through the layers of your clothing, igniting a fire within you that threatened to consume you whole.

As you linger in the hushed confines of the library, the air is thick with an almost palpable tension. Dust motes dance lazily in the moonlight that filters through the tall, arched windows, casting delicate patterns on the polished wooden floor. Your lips part ever so gently, the subtle movement accompanied by a playful flick of your tongue against your cheek—a gesture that hints at the complexities of your thoughts swirling within.

“What makes you say that? I believe you do not know me well enough to make such harsh accusations,” you murmur, your voice a silken whisper that cuts through the silence like a soft breeze. The starkness of the cold seems to conspire with the palpable tension in the room, causing your body to respond instinctively. You can feel a faint shiver suffusing your frame, and you —betrayed by your undeniable vulnerability—your soft nipples perk up in reaction. In a bid to maintain your composed facade, you fleetingly draw your thin shawl closer, attempting to shield yourself from the wintry draft and Aemond's intense gaze.

Your gaze, steady and unwavering, locks onto the source of the accusation. A lingering silence stretches between you, thick with unspoken thoughts and emotions.

Aemond's gaze dropped to your chest, a knowing smirk playing on his lips as he noticed the way your nipples strained against the fabric of your dress. The air grew thick with tension, the silence broken only by the soft rustle of pages and the pounding of your heart.

"Oh, I believe I know you well enough, princess," he purred, his voice low and seductive. "Well enough to see the hunger in your eyes, the desire that lurks beneath the surface."

His hand moved from your cheek to your throat, his fingers wrapping around your slender neck in a gentle but firm grip. The warmth of his skin seeped through your flesh, sending a shiver of pleasure down your spine.

"You may hide behind your books and your knowledge, but I see the truth of who you are," he murmured, his breath ghosting over your ear. "A woman with needs, with desires that cannot be satiated by mere words on a page."

Aemond's lips brushed against your earlobe, a feather-light touch that set your nerves ablaze. His tongue darted out, tracing the delicate shell of your ear, a teasing promise of the pleasures that awaited you.

"You seem to have lost track of yourself… my prince," you say, your voice flowing like velvet, rich with an alluring undertone that dances in the air between you. The candlelight flickers, casting warm shadows on the towering shelves laden with bound volumes. He arches an eyebrow, a smirk playing at the corners of his lips. "Every woman has her needs and desires; I don’t believe I’ve ever denied that," you reply, your tone teasing.

You take a step closer, the scent of aged paper and polished wood swirling around you. "I truly came to the library seeking a few books," you assert, letting the words linger like a sweet melody as you survey the vast collection that surrounds you. "Yet, it seems fate has intertwined our paths, for it is you, who cannot seem to find satisfaction among the pages."

Your gaze locks onto his, and the air between you crackles with unspoken tension. The deep hue of his eye mirrors the mystery and allure of the old library, pulling you in like an enchanting tale begging to be read. You stand defiant, fearless in your challenge, as the study envelops you both in its quiet embrace, the world outside forgotten in the presence of such undeniable chemistry.

Aemond's lips curled into a wicked grin, his eye gleaming with a dangerous light. He leaned in closer, his body pressing against yours, the heat of his skin seeping through the layers of your clothing. The scent of leather and smoke enveloped you, a heady mix that made your head spin and your heart race.

"You're right, princess," he purred, his voice low and seductive. "I am a man with… insatiable appetites." His hand slid down from your throat to your chest, his fingers toying with the edge of your bodice. The rough pad of his thumb brushed against the swell of your breast, sending a jolt of electricity through your veins.

"And you, my dear girl," he murmured, his breath ghosting over your lips, "are a feast I am eager to devour." You observed his hand gliding gracefully across my body, each deliberate movement igniting a fire within you, while you struggled to maintain a steady breath. The air was thick with tension, a blend of desire and playful banter. "Do you truly see yourself as a dragon?" You teased him, your voice soft but laced with challenge. In the world of the Targaryens, such a title was often worn like a badge of honour, and most of them, like Aemond and you, embraced this fierce identity. There was a certain magic in declaring oneself a dragon, a symbol of strength and majesty.

As you gazed into his eyes, you could sense the latent power and pride he carried within him. At this moment, the noble essence of our lineage intertwined with the unmistakable charge of tension. Aemond's eyes flashed with a dangerous light, his lips curling into a wicked grin. He leaned in closer, his body pressing against yours, the heat of his skin seeping through the layers of your clothing. The scent of leather and smoke enveloped you, a heady mix that made your head spin and your heart race.

"A dragon?" he purred, his voice low and seductive. "Oh, I am much more than that, my dear." The rough pad of his thumb brushed against the swell of your breast again, making heat pool between your thighs and your breath stutter. He murmured, his breath ghosting over your lips. "And you are the prey I am eager to hunt."

Your breath catches in your throat as Aemond's fingers graze over the sensitive peaks of your breasts, sending electric sparks racing through your body. You can scarcely believe the words tumbling from his lips, the raw hunger in his voice as he confesses his forbidden desires. "Aemond…" You breathe, your own need rising to match his. "If you've already caught me, then what's left to hunt?"

You lean into his touch, revelling in the feel of his calloused hands on my bare skin. At this moment, nothing else matters - not your duty, not your honour. There is only the heat building between you, the promise of pleasure and passion. "Prove it then," you challenge him, your eyes gleaming with mischief and desire. "Show me the depths of your obsession, the lengths you'll go to claim me as yours."

Your heart pounds in your chest, your body aching for his touch. You know you should resist, should push him away and cling to the tattered remains of your virtue. But Aemond has awakened something in you, a hunger you never knew existed. And now that you have had a taste, you fear you'll never be satisfied again. "Oh, my sweet girl," he growled, his voice low and dangerous. "The hunt is just beginning."

With a swift motion, he swept you up into his arms, carrying you towards the nearby table. The books and scrolls scattered to the floor as he set you down on the polished wood, his body pressing against yours, pinning you in place.

His lips trailed along your neck, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin of your throat. One hand slid between your legs, his fingers pressing against the damp heat of your core. "And I always catch my prey," he murmured against your ear, his breath hot and heavy. "No matter how hard they try to escape." You yelp as Aemond suddenly picks you up, laying you on the wooden table. His sapphire eye glints with a predatory hunger as he realizes your lack of small clothes, his fingers grazing over your slick, aching core.

A whimper escapes your lips, but you quickly clamp your hand over your mouth, your cheeks flushing with embarrassment at how much you are enjoying his rough touch. Your body trembles beneath him, your breath coming in short, sharp gasps as he looms over you, his presence overwhelming, his desire palpable. You have never felt so vulnerable, so exposed, and yet so eager for whatever comes next. Aemond's hands are everywhere, roughly skimming over your skin, leaving trails of fire in their wake.

"Please," you whisper, your voice barely audible over the pounding of your heart. "Please, Aemond, I need… I need you" You gasped and moaned as Aemond's fingers plunged deeper into your sopping wet cunt, your tight hole clenching and fluttering uncontrollably around his thick digits. Clear juices oozed out, dripping onto the table below. You weren't a maiden, having occasionally "relieved stress" with your cousin Jacaerys, but you had never felt pleasure this intense before.

Your hips bucked and writhed shamelessly against Aemond's hand, lewd whimpers and whines spilling from your lips as he finger-fucked you roughly. You threw your head back, eyes squeezing shut, your mind going blank from the overwhelming sensations. "Ahh! M-my prince!" You cried out as Aemond's teeth closed around your sensitive nipple, biting and sucking the tender bud. Electric jolts of pleasure shot straight to your core, making your pussy clench even tighter. You were losing control, surrendering completely to Aemond's dominant touch.

Aemond's lips curled into a wicked grin as he felt your tight heat clench around his fingers, your wetness coating his skin. He could tell that you were no maiden, but the way you responded to his touch was intoxicating nonetheless.

"That's it, my little minx," he growled, his voice thick with desire. "Let go and give yourself to me completely." He bit down harder on your nipple, his teeth grazing the sensitive flesh. You cried out, your hips bucking wildly against his hand. Aemond could feel your body trembling beneath him, your thighs quivering as you teetered on the brink of release. He added a third finger, stretching you further, his thumb circling your clit in maddening strokes. Your moans echoed through the library, the sound of your pleasure filling the air.

"Come for me," he commanded, his lips moving to your neck. "Let me feel you come undone on my fingers."

You sat up on your elbows, your breath quickening as you watched Aemond's skilled fingers playing between your thighs. The scene was so erotic that you couldn't help but let out a loud, wanton moan. "W-wait, this feels… weird," you stuttered, your voice shaking as he continued his relentless ministrations. The pleasure was unlike anything you had ever experienced, building in intensity with each thrust of his fingers. A strange tension coiled in your stomach, unfamiliar yet tantalizingly close to release.

Your head fell back, your long white hair cascading down your back as you arched into his touch. You bit your lip, trying to stifle the whimpers and gasps that escaped you. "Aemond, please," you breathed, your hips rocking against his hand. "I've never felt anything like this before. It's too much…" But even as the words left your lips, you knew they were a lie. It wasn't too much, and Gods, you didn't want him to stop.

Aemond's eyes darkened with lust as he watched you sit up, your chest heaving with each ragged breath. The sight of you spread out before him, your skin flushed with arousal, was almost too much to bear. "Weird?" he chuckled, his fingers never ceasing their relentless pace. "Oh, my sweet girl, this is just the beginning."

He could feel the tension building in your body, the way your muscles tensed and quivered beneath his touch. He knew you were close, teetering on the edge of something profound and all-consuming. "Embrace it," he whispered, his lips brushing against your ear. You cried out loudly, your moans escaping in broken sobs as the intense pleasure overtook you. "N-no! S-stop!" You pleaded, but it was too late. Your climax hit you like a massive wave, washing over you with a force that left you gasping and trembling.

Your body convulsed with the sheer force of your release, your inner walls clenching and fluttering around his fingers. Clear, sticky essence gushed out of you, coating his hand and splattering onto the table below. The sensation was overwhelming, leaving you drenched and shaking.

As the final waves of ecstasy subsided, your arms gave out, and you collapsed back onto the table, limp and spent. Your core continued to twitch and spasm, empty and aching for more. You panted heavily, your chest heaving as you struggled to catch my breath.

At that moment, you felt utterly vulnerable, exposed, and at his mercy. The intensity of my orgasm had left you raw, your defences stripped away. You lay there, trembling and gasping, your body still humming with residual pleasure. You couldn't help but wonder what he would do next, how far he would push you. But one thing was certain - you had never felt anything quite like that before. Aemond watched with rapt attention as your body convulsed in ecstasy, your cries of pleasure echoing through the library. He felt your essence coat his fingers, your release dripping down his wrist and onto the table below.

He continued to work his fingers inside you, prolonging your climax until you were nothing more than a quivering mess beneath him. Your chest heaved as you struggled to catch your breath, your skin slick with sweat, and your hair plastered to your face. "Look at you," he purred, his eyes roaming over your trembling form. "So responsive, so eager for my touch."

He leaned down, his lips brushing against your ear. "And we've only just begun, my love. There is so much more I want to show you, so many ways I want to make you come undone." "W-wait", you cried out as Aemond's fingers began to slip free from your sensitive, cum-soaked pussy. Your release dripping down your thighs, the table below you slick with your wetness. Your legs trembled uncontrollably, the aftershocks of your intense orgasm still ripping through you. Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes, threatening to spill down your cheeks at the overwhelming sensations coursing through your body.

Your pussy continued to pulse and flutter around nothing, still recovering from your intense climax. But you knew you couldn't take anymore, not yet. You needed a moment to catch your breath, to gather your scattered wits.

"Please, Aemond," you gasped, your voice hoarse and desperate. "I need a moment. You've undone me completely." Aemond smirked at the sight of your tears, your body still trembling from the aftershocks of your climax. He knew that he had pushed you to the brink, that he had taken you to a place of pure, unadulterated pleasure.

But he also knew that it was too soon to stop, that he had to continue to push you, to mould you into the perfect lover for him. "Shh, my love," he murmured, his fingers gently wiping away your tears. "I know it's overwhelming, but you must trust me. I would never hurt you."

He leaned down, his lips trailing kisses along your jawline and down your neck. His fingers continued their gentle ministrations, his thumb circling your clit with a feather-light touch.

"Just breathe, my darling. Let yourself feel everything." You whimpered as you felt his fingers brush against your over-sensitive clit, sending shockwaves of pleasure through your body. You couldn't help but moan softly, your hips arching into his touch, seeking more, craving more.

"It never felt like this with Jacaerys…" You whined absentmindedly. You had never been so wanton, so desperate for another's touch. But with Aemond, you couldn't help myself. He brought out a side of you that you had never known existed, a side that craved pleasure and passion and the sweet oblivion of surrender. A low growl rumbled in Aemond's chest at the mention of your former lover's name. The thought of Jacaerys touching you, pleasuring you, filled him with a jealous rage that he could scarcely contain.

"Forget him," he snarled, his fingers tightening around your wrist. "He is nothing compared to me. I am the only one who can truly satisfy you, the only one who can make you feel like this." He leaned down, his lips crashing against yours in a bruising kiss. He poured all of his passion, all of his desire, into that single moment, claiming you as his own.

His hand moved lower, his fingers delving into your slick folds once more. He could feel your walls fluttering around him, still sensitive from your previous climax. "I will make you forget his name, my love. I will make you scream mine until the very walls of this library shake."

You whimpered as you felt Aemond's fingers delve into your sensitive folds once more, the obscene wet sounds of his ministrations filling the room. Your hips bucked involuntarily, trying to escape the overwhelming sensations even as your body craved more. "Aemond, please…" you gasped, your voice breathy and desperate. "I need… I need you inside me."

Your mind was hazy with lust, coherent thoughts slipping away like grains of sand through my fingers. All you could focus on was the heat building between your legs, the ache of emptiness that only Aemond's cock could fill.

"Please, my prince," you begged, your hips rolling shamelessly against his hand. "Does that mean I can't fuck Jace anymore?" You whined, biting your lip, your words leaving your mouth before you could stop them.

Aemond's eyes narrowed at your question, his grip on your wrist tightening to the point of pain. "No, you cannot fuck him anymore," he growled, his voice low and dangerous. "You belong to me now, body and soul. I will not share you with anyone, least of all that pathetic bastard."

He thrust his fingers deeper into your cunt, his thumb pressing firmly against your clit. He could feel your walls clenching around him, trying to push him out, but he refused to relent. "You are mine. Mine to fuck, mine to claim, mine to ruin."

He leaned down, his teeth grazing your earlobe. "And I will ruin you, my love. I will break you apart and put you back together again, moulding you into the perfect lover for me." You let out a broken whimper, your body trembling from Aemond's touch. His hands roamed over your naked form, igniting a fire deep within you. You had never felt such desire, such raw, primal need. "Please, Aemond," you breathed, your voice barely above a whisper. "I want you inside me. I need you."

You reached out, your fingers tangling with his, guiding his hand to the slick folds of your sex. He groaned at the contact, his eye darkening with lust and longing. Aemond's eyes darkened with lust at your desperate plea, a wicked grin spreading across his face.

"As you wish, my love," he purred, his voice low and seductive. He withdrew his fingers from your dripping cunt, bringing them to his lips. He licked them clean, savouring the taste of your arousal. "Delicious," he murmured, his eyes never leaving yours.

He stood up, quickly shedding his clothes until he was completely naked. His cock sprang free, hard and ready for you. He pushed you down onto the table, spreading your legs wide. He positioned himself at your entrance, the head of his cock nudging against your slick folds.

"Beg for it," he commanded, his voice rough with desire. "Beg for me to fuck you, to claim you as mine." You whimpered as you felt Aemond's hard, leaking tip tease your slick folds. Your body ached for him and craved his touch like nothing you had ever known before. "Please, Aemond," you breathed, your voice trembling with need. "I need you. I've wanted you for so long, dreamed of you claiming me as yours."

You looked up at him, your eyes glossy with desire, your lips swollen from his kisses. "I've touched myself thinking of you," you confessed, your cheeks flushing with shame and arousal. "Imagined you taking me, using me for your pleasure. Treating me like your personal slut." Your heart raced, your body trembling with anticipation. You had never wanted anything so badly, never needed anyone so desperately. Aemond was the only one who could satisfy the hunger that consumed you, the only one who could make you whole. Aemond's eyes darkened with lust at your confession, a feral grin spreading across his face.

"Such a naughty girl," he growled, his voice low and dangerous. "Touching yourself while thinking of me… I love it." He thrust his hips forward, burying his thick cock deep inside your slick heat. You cried out at the sudden intrusion, your walls stretching to accommodate his size.

"Fuck, you're tight," he groaned, his fingers digging into your hips. "I'm going to ruin this sweet little cunt of yours." He set a brutal pace, pounding into you with reckless abandon. The table shook with each powerful thrust, the sound of flesh slapping against flesh echoing through the room.

"Take it, you filthy slut," he snarled, his eyes boring into yours. "Take my cock like the whore you are." Aemond's hips pistoned faster, harder, driving his thick cock deeper into your aching cunt with every powerful thrust. "Ah!" You cried out, your inner walls clenching around his throbbing shaft, the delicious stretch and burn of his girth filling you completely. The broad head of his cock battered my inner barrier, striking that secret place deep inside that made sparks of pleasure explode.

"Hngh! Oh gods, Aemond!" You moaned wantonly, your body quivering like a leaf in a storm. Your fingers scrabbled for purchase on his sweat-slicked shoulders as he pounded into you relentlessly, the obscene slap of flesh on flesh echoing through the chamber. "Have you ever… mph!… ever thought of me like this?" I managed to gasp out between his brutal thrusts, your eyes glazed with lust. "Thought of me while you touched yourself?"

You gazed up at him with hooded eyes, your lips parted and kiss-swollen, silently begging for more, for everything he had to give me. At that moment, you were his completely - mind, body and soul. Nothing else mattered except the feel of him moving inside you, claiming you, branding you as his own.

Aemond let out a dark chuckle at your question, his hips never ceasing their brutal rhythm. "Oh, I've thought of you plenty, my sweet," he purred, his voice dripping with sin. "Late at night, alone in my chambers, with my cock in my hand and your name on my lips."

He leaned down, capturing your lips in a searing kiss. His tongue plundered your mouth, claiming every inch of you. "I've imagined bending you over every surface in this keep, fucking you until you scream," he growled against your lips. "I've pictured you on your knees, choking on my cock, begging for more." He sat back up, gripping your thighs and spreading your legs even wider. He pounded into you with renewed vigour, the wet slap of skin on skin filling the room.

"And now here you are, my filthy little fantasy come to life," he snarled, his eyes wild with lust. "And I'm going to ruin you for anyone else."

You bite my lip, hearing his words, whimpers of pleasure spilling out. "Yeah?" You breathe, your voice barely above a whisper. "Have you thought about using me in front of everyone, just to show them who I belong to? Who's the only one who gets to fuck me?"

Aemond's eyes darken, his grip on your hips tightening almost painfully. "Poor you," you murmur, a wicked smile curving my lips. "You must have been so jealous of Jace…" You can hardly think, hardly speak, as Aemond's thrusts grow more brutal, more demanding. Each stroke sends shockwaves of pleasure coursing through your body.

Aemond's eyes flashed with rage at the mention of Jace, his thrusts becoming even more punishing. "That bastard doesn't deserve you," he snarled, his hands gripping your hips hard enough to bruise. "You're mine, do you understand? No one else can have you."

He pulled out suddenly, flipping you over onto your stomach. He kicked your legs apart, mounting you from behind. "I should take you in front of the whole court. Let them all see who you belong to," he growled, his fingers tangling in your hair. "I should fuck you in front of that smug bastard. Make him watch as I claim what's mine."

He slammed back into you, his cock hitting that spot deep inside that made you see stars. "Yes, my prince," you moaned, pushing your hips back to meet his thrusts. "Parade me around the castle like the fucktoy I am. Let everyone see how you've claimed me, body and soul."

"This cunt belongs to me," he snarled, punctuating each word with a brutal thrust. "No one else gets to touch you. No one else gets to fuck you. You're mine."

You let out a sharp gasp as Aemond thrust into you from behind, the head of his cock slamming against your cervix. The pain mixed with pleasure, sending shockwaves of ecstasy rippling through your body. "Fuck, Aemond!" You cried out, your voice high and breathy. "Harder, please! Use me, ruin me! I'm yours, all yours!"

You had never spoken like this before, had never even imagined yourself capable of such lewd, wanton behaviour. But Aemond's cock was driving you mad with lust, turning you into a creature of pure, unadulterated desire.

You couldn't believe the filthy words spilling from your lips, the depraved fantasies unfolding in your mind. But you were too far gone to care, lost in the throes of passion, the heat of Aemond's body against yours.

"I'm yours," you gasped, my nails gripping the wooden table as he pounded into me. "Now and forever, I belong to you. Use me as you see fit, my love. My body is your plaything, your toy to break and remake as you please."

Aemond grunted in approval at your filthy words, his hips snapping forward even harder. "That's right, you're my fucktoy," he growled, his fingers digging into the meat of your ass. "My personal cocksleeve to use as I please." He reached around, his hand finding your clit and rubbing it roughly. Your back arched, a silent scream tearing from your throat as your orgasm crashed over you.

"That's it, cum on my cock like a good little whore," he snarled, his fingers working you through your climax. Your pussy clenched around him, milking his length. With a roar, he buried himself to the hilt, his cock twitching as he filled you with his seed.

"Fuck, I love you," he panted, his forehead resting against your shoulder blade. "I love you so much it hurts." You creamed all over his cock, painting it white with your releases. You came with a loud scream of pleasure, your eyes wide with disbelief. You looked up at Aemond, your gaze searching his face, trying to read the truth behind his words.

"Do you actually mean that?" you asked, your voice trembling with a mix of shock and excitement.

Your cheeks flushed a deep crimson, the memory of your passionate coupling still fresh in your mind. You could feel the sticky residue of your combined releases on your thighs, the slight soreness between your legs a testament to your intense lovemaking.

But to hear Aemond say it out loud, to put words to the deed, made it feel somehow more real, more tangible. More forbidden. Part of you wanted to deny it, to pretend that it hadn't happened, that you hadn't surrendered to the taboo desires that burned within you.

But another part of you, the part that had been awakened by Aemond's touch, his passion, his love, couldn't deny the truth.

And as you lay there, naked and vulnerable before him, you knew that you would do it again in a heartbeat. Aemond pulled out of you slowly, his softening cock slipping free with a wet sound. He turned you over, his lilac eye intense as it met your gaze.

"More than anything," he said seriously, his thumb tracing your bottom lip. "You're the only one who understands me, the only one who sees the real me beneath the arrogant prick everyone else knows."

He cupped your face, his expression softening. "I love you. I've loved you since we were children, playing in the gardens of the Red Keep. You were always my favourite cousin, the one I felt most connected to."

His thumb brushed away a tear you didn't realize had fallen. "I know I'm not good enough for you, not with my temper and rage. But I promise you, I'll spend every day trying to be the man you deserve. The man who can give you the life you want." He leaned in, pressing his forehead to yours.

You smiled gently at the memory he conjured from your childhood, a soft glow lighting up your eyes. “You were such a sweet boy,” you said, your voice warm and reminiscent. With a tender touch, you caressed his hair, your fingers brushing lightly through the strands, evoking a sense of familiarity and affection.

Leaning closer, you continued, “I liked you from the very moment you helped me when Aegon tripped me.” The scene played in your mind like an old tapestry, vibrant and full of life—the laughter of children mingling with the rustle of leaves, the way he had reached out with such kindness.

A long-forgotten warmth filled your heart as you spoke, your voice barely above a whisper. You could feel the heaviness of sleep gradually overcoming you, your eyelids fluttering as you struggled to stay present in the moment. With a soft sigh, you smiled at him, cherishing the connection that transcended the years—an unspoken bond woven through shared memories and gentle gestures, a bond that still felt as rich and regal as the day it was born.

Aemond chuckled softly, a low, melodic sound that resonated in the quiet room, his hand instinctively covering yours as it rested in his hair. "I was a boy who found trouble at every turn," he corrected with a charming grin, his violet eyes glinting with mischief. "Yet, despite my flaws, I always sought to extend kindness to you, even when my temperament faltered with others."

With a graceful sweep, he lifted you effortlessly into his arms and carried you toward the grand sofa nestled between the ornate cupboards. As he laid you down with the utmost care, he settled beside you, repositioning himself to envelop you in his warmth. His arm encircled your waist possessively, drawing you close so your head rested upon his broad chest, the steady rhythm of his heart echoing a soothing lullaby. "I shall always protect you," he murmured, his breath a gentle caress against your skin as his fingers traced intricate patterns along your back, each stroke imbued with affection. "No matter what trials may arise or who dares to come between us, I vow to remain steadfast by your side." With tender reverence, he pressed a soft kiss to your forehead, a promise sealed in that delicate gesture. His breathing began to slow, a tranquil cadence as he held you close, a knight sworn to guard his cherished queen against the world.

[repulsiveliquidation]

Did I Cross The Line? || Alexia Putellas

warnings : angst. i am not entirely happy with it but if I kept editing, it would only become worse lol. Loosely inspired by the meaning of ‘Wildflower’ by Billie Eilish.

summary : There were two people to love. Alexia could only have one.

You started off as best friends. Two peas in a pod. One never without the other. You and Alexia were never seen apart from each other. Her mother was like your mother, and vice versa. Both families were like one big one all because Alexia decided she wanted to be friends with you at 4 years old and she kicked a football at you in kindergarten. 

You cried, of course, and she got so scared when the teacher scolded her and called her mother to school for it. She sheepishly apologized and when you accepted it, she kissed your cheek where the ball smacked you. 

“Mami always kisses my booboos so they feel better faster!” 

“Really? My mami does too…” 

A football to the face was the price you paid for a girl whom you would give your life for. 

That was until Jenni came along. 

Alexia looked at her differently. It was new. She’d never been this happy in a relationship before and you could not have been happier for your best friend. 

Alexia was someone who loved her friends. She wasn’t shy to show her affection and to boldly display her feelings. You were more reserved and outwardly didn’t like it when she was being touchy. 

Deep down though, her touch brought calm to your storm. You were always anxious before games and Alexia knew this; she made sure to stand beside you and hold your hand to squeeze three times before you left the tunnel. 

Today, Alexia stood beside you in the tunnel, chatting away to Jenni who was only half listening. Your hands shook with adrenaline and fear, palms itching to reach for Alexia’s hand to calm you down. 

The kind of friend she was to you showed itself in times like these. She could feel the fear radiating off you and without even looking back at you, her hand reaches for yours and you feel your body relax and react to the heat from her palm. 

“You okay? You look pale,” she whispers, looking concerned at you. You look up at her slightly taller figure and nod, gripping her hand tighter. 

“Fine, just nervous for the big game,” you lie, hoping she didn’t see the slight bit of jealousy that creeped into your head. 

“You’ll be fine, hermana, we’ll win this.” 

You nod again, feeling sweat on your brow. She squeezes your hand three times and faces forwards, walking out while you follow. The game went smoothly and you sailed to a 3-0 win easy peasy. 

At training a few days later, you arrive at the changing room a little energized only to be met with screaming. 

You stood at the door and listened carefully, not wanting to interrupt anyone when you recognized the voice yelling her head off. 

Alexia was yelling. 

“She’s my best fucking friend, how could you make me choose?!” 

“Well, she’s all you talk about! If I wanted to know her, I would have wanted to date her instead of you!” 

“You’re not good enough for her!” 

“I’m not good enough?” Jenni laughs, “You’re the one who got rejected when told her I love you while piss fucking drunk! May I add that we were already dating at that point; I knew you loved her and not me!”

”How dare you?!” 

You hear bags being zipped and boots clamoring all over the changing room. Alexia storms out of the room and you back away from the door just in time. She doesn’t even see you standing there pretending you didn’t hear them, seeing Jenni try to run after. She, unlike Alexia, notices you standing there looking like a deer in headlights. 

“Speak of the devil,” Jenni quips mockingly, “you were listening weren’t you?” 

“You didn’t make it hard not to,” you say as you roll your eyes, pushing past Jenni to put your kit bag in your cubby and run after Alexia. 

“Ale!” You call, running through the stadium looking for your best friend. She’s sobbing in her car, crying more when you knock on the passenger window gently. The doors unlock and you quietly climb in. 

“You heard.” 

“I didn’t get there in time to hear all of it, no.”  

“Jenni’s leaving,” Alexia takes a deep breath to stop herself from crying before she continues, “and she’s asked me to come with her.” 

“Why did you say no?” 

The tears start to flow again and she cries harder, now unable to catch her breath. She grabs the steering wheel and still can’t breathe so you take her hands in yours and hope she calms like you do. 

Her panic attack exhausts her and she’s in no condition to drive. A quick text to the group chat and you’ve got both your bags in her car and are on the way to her house. She’s passed out in the passenger seat and snoring a little, still holding your hand in the center console. 

Your hand holding hers feels familiar and comfortable. You’re sure she’s passed out and can’t really feel anything but unbeknownst to you, she was quite aware of her surroundings and knew she was close to home. 

Close to you. 

You really don’t want to wake her but you’ve pulled into her driveway and can hear dogs barking so you tap on her shoulder gently. You’re tempted to kiss the back of her hand but you refrain from it, feeling the restraint tug at your heart. 

She rouses and smiles softly at you, eyes puffy and nose red. She shuffles into the house with you right behind her. 

You make yourself at home, brewing two cups of tea. It fills the house with a lovely smell of jasmine, which eases your anxiety. She takes a mug from you, eyes filling with fresh tears. Her body shakes with fear, brain in overdrive. 

She was always open with you. But this time, her lips stayed sealed. It broke your heart. 

“Alexia, talk to me,” you whisper, eyes searching for hers. She doesn’t look at you, teary eyes instead glued to the floor. 

She sips the tea and it burns her tongue, the sudden rush of pain makes the tears she was fighting with win. They stain her cheeks and reveal her true feelings. 

She loved you. 

And she has for longer than she cares to admit. 

Dating Jenni was just an attempt at denying her feelings. She loved you. But she loved Jenni too. 

It was like she was having an out of body experience. She was sitting right in front of you and she had never seen like you she did right this second. But she knew now that she did in fact see you this way. 

She looked at you differently from Jenni. She took care of you differently from Jenni. She saw you differently from Jenni. She may have loved both of you, but there was a clear difference. 

She did those things differently because she loved you differently. 

She didn’t know you felt the same. You loved Alexia too. Boy did your heart break when they first got together. You wanted to break things she got you. You couldn’t wear her clothes you had in your closet anymore. You pulled away when all you wanted to do was crawl into her skin. 

You had to lie that day at the bar. You had to break her heart. She loved someone else didn’t she? You couldn’t let her be hung up on someone like you when she had someone like Jenni begging for her attention. 

She was La Reina. Two time Ballon d’Or winner. Queen of FC Barcelona. 

You were just…you. 

“I love you!” Alexia yells; fresh hot tears stream down her face. She looked like a weight had been lifted off her shoulders. There was a clear release of tension in the room and it was magical.

When her lips touched yours, there were feelings shared that could be left unsaid. Feelings only the two of you needed to know. She loved Jenni, and there was a conversation to be had tomorrow but for today, she had all that she needed to make it through the night. And quite possibly the rest of her life. 

Alexia pulled you into her lap, hands resting on your waist in a deathly grip, clearly afraid you’d just disappear into thin air. 

“I love you too,” you whispered against her lips, feeling her perfect smile adorn her face again. 

As Alexia held you in her arms the rest of the night, you realized something. You were not just…you. 

You were the girl who took a ball to the face like a champ, though it left your cheek bruised for days, all because a 4 year old was too shy to say hello. 

You were the girl who fought a boy twice your size when he tackled Alexia dangerously. 

You were the girl who walked in and out of her house like it was your own. 

You were the girl so scared of walking out onto the pitch you needed your best friend to hold your hand. 

You were the girl Alexia, from the moment she laid her eyes on you at the kindergarten playground, wanted to be friends with her entire life. 

You were wanted, needed and cherished by your best friend. But there was more, so much more left for you to uncover. 

Was the next step in your relationship a line you wanted to cross? 

“Alexia?” you asked, looking back at her. She was smiling and you felt your heart melt. But you remained steadfast. 

“Sí?”

“What are you going to say to Jenni?” 

Alexia’s smile dropped, her arms around you slacked and her face turned into fear. 

What was she going to say to Jenni? She was going to break her heart for sure but what would be the right words? Were there the right words to tell your girlfriend you loved someone else and you were only with her because you were in denial? 

The night dragged on that day, on one hand you were over the moon to have Alexia to yourself but you felt bad for Jenni who was also a close friend, knowing she was in for a day she would want over as fast as possible tomorrow. 

“Jenni, just listen to me, please!” 

“There’s nothing to listen to, you’re in love with her and not me. Moving away was a good idea, that way I won’t be a constant reminder of a barrier in your relationship,” Jenni says calmly, standing right in front of the door outside the changing room. She turns, a pained smile on her face. 

“You two deserve each other. Please don’t break her heart like you did mine.” 

Alexia asked you to wait outside and you did, trying your best not to eavesdrop like before. Jenni walks out and you can see how hard she’s trying not to cry. She sees you and sits beside you, an awkward silence in the air. There was a war going on inside you, one that made your anxiety skyrocket. You were shaking, sweat building up on your brow. You tried to hold your own hand to no avail. It was nothing like Alexia’s palm in yours. 

Jenni takes your sweaty palm and rubs the back with her other. 

“Please don’t feel like this is your fault,” she starts, looking at your hand in hers. “We were having problems from the start. She has always loved you in a way that was reserved only for you.” 

You look at her and tears of your own begin to prickle. You felt bad for her; you should be comforting her since she was the one affected by all this and yet here she was comforting you. 

“Jenni…” 

“No, please. She loved me,” she pauses, taking a deep breath, “but she loved you more. More than anything in this world. She told me she was terrified of losing you when we got together. She was always your girl. She was never mine to love.” 

Jenni stands, leaving your hand in your lap and using hers to wipe her tears. 

“She always wished I was you," Jenni says, taking a deep breath, "now she’s got her wish. I just hope she doesn't regret it.”

[katescorner]

thinking about olympic athlete!oikawa tooru today who made it to the paris olympics, representing argentina (proudly, he might add), and his whole story leading up to the games is full of drama and expectations because of course fate would line things up perfectly for the two nations he held in his heart to rival each other on the world's court.

he hears the cheers of fans and friends along with the jeering boos from the locker room, and he thinks, has he really betrayed his birth country when "home" no longer feels like home? with rising pressure, competition tastes like a bitter word when the opposition is all familiar faces. but he didn't make it this far by being sentimental. he trained for this. he sacrificed for this. he—

"the world is watching, tooru."

your voice is soft, but it cuts through the static of his thoughts. it parts his negativity with gentle movement until all he sees is you, and suddenly, he can breathe again. so he does. he draws in a long, deep breath, and you wait for him to speak to you.

"i'm scared," he whispers. "i don't want to disappoint anyone."

his admission is proof alone of how far he's come already, willing to admit insecurity and allowing vulnerability in difficult moments. oikawa tooru is not the same man he was when he left the land he'd known all his life (leaving claw marks into the grass and ground of his hometown; they forget he was only eighteen when he uprooted himself in the name of his passion) and when he let his mother tongue fall flat so he might have a chance at becoming the best (people forget that learning languages isn't some indirect relationship, when one rises, the other does not always fall; he remembers the words he came from, the intonation and the vocabulary, the slang and the meaning of it all; he remembers, still).

oikawa tooru is not the same man he was when his childhood friends saw him last. he's grown in his time apart from them; they all have. he's miles tallers and his horizons have expanded. he's changed, but that doesn't mean he's a stranger to himself.

(i'm scared they won't recognize me.)

"you are still the person they all befriended and the man i fell in love with, and i am so so proud of you," you answer his underlying question with a kiss to his cheek, a reminder of your love. "you aren't disappointing anyone with your decisions."

"but the people of—"

"the people will cope. they'll have to." you shrug. "what else can they do? what you do isn't up to them. it isn't up to the public because the roster that made it all this way and achieved this much lists oikawa tooru, starting setter, not the guy in the eighth row calling you names, not the displeased broadcaster with a combover, and certainly not anyone else."

you take his hands into yours. you're careful because these are the instruments of his success. his fingernails are always cut short and his skin is soft except for the pads of his fingers which are rough but not calloused. he doesn't let anyone else handle him the way you do, drawing circles and hearts into his palms and pressing kisses into his joints.

"as long as you are happy with the decisions you've made to get here, no one can take that away from you." you look into your fiancé's eyes. "are you happy, tooru?"

and he thinks about the uneasiness he felt landing in argentina, the finality in not buying a return ticket, and the eagerness for volleyball that earned him an easy spot under the guidance of jose blanco. he thinks about the sleep that he lost from being hungry in an unfamiliar country, missing his mother's cooking and the smell of yakitori and takoyaki when he walked down crowded streets filled with vendors.

but he also thinks about the first word that he learned in argentina, hermanito, tossed around during practice when he didn't even know how to ask for a pass because he didn't lose a brotherhood when he left japan, he just gained one in argentina. he thinks about the grueling process of overturning his birth citizenship, the uproar he caused in a country across the globe and the apology he almost let slip for it because everyone thinks it was just for volleyball. oikawa tooru, the athlete who doesn't know loyalty, but what do they know of the open arms he received in argentina when japan turned him away?

he thinks of how stress melted from him that first night after receiving his new passport, walking to your shared apartment with his stomach grumbling at the smell of choripán and alfajor as he hummed along to lamento boliviano. he thinks of how joy spilled into him, realizing he was finally home.

so he nods at your question and he draws stuttered hearts into your palms and he presses a kiss to your temple.

(thank you for seeing who i am.)

"i'm happy."

[giuliettagaltieri]

A Hundred Sleepless Nights

Pairing: Husband!Coriolanus Snow x Wife!Reader

Chapter Synopsis: The Beloved

Warning: perversion, explicit smut, unprotected sex, sexual euphoria

Word Count: 3988

5 of 7

Coriolanus thinks he might have made a mistake in choosing your honeymoon destination.

Mrs. Plinth apparently owns a private beach down in the south. She insisted that you spend your honeymoon there as it was more private.

Private.

A scowl made it to Coriolanus’ face the moment you arrived in the secluded beach town. He was still in his suit and you were still in your wedding dress.  Anybody with eyes can see that you were just married.  But the locals knew no shame.

The men, their skin bronze from being on the coast, fit from constantly moving, their faces sculpted manliness. And they seem to have taken a liking to you.

“May I help you with that, Miss?” A man asks you for the third time that night, referring to the handbag you carried. It has your personal effects, you would not trust anyone with it.

“That would not be necessary.” Coriolanus quips, his arm circling around your waist.  The man straightens up and looks Coriolanus up and down before he grins

“Her other baggage, then? You won’t be able to carry them all.”

Coriolanus scoffs and you politely smile at the man. You know Coriolanus is more than capable of lifting baggage but there is too much of it, it seems unreasonable to make your husband carry them all.

“Oh, we have more than enough help. Thank you.” You say sweetly and as if on cue, peacekeepers and porters appear to start putting your bags in the yacht.

The man frowns, his mind whirring before he comes to a realization.

“You’re those politicians who just got married.”

Coriolanus looks at him, his eyes now sharp.

“Does the Capitol news not reach this part of Panem?” He raises a brow.

The man chuckles as he rubs his stubble. “Nah, just don’t watch any of that bullshit.”

“You watch your words very carefully.” Coriolanus grins, the iciness in his tone not matching his charming face. “The Capitol is not very kind to those who call our affairs ‘bullshit’.”

You look at the man with much fascination. You have to commend how he stands his ground, now sizing Coriolanus up, but his lax posture was breaking apart on the surface. Ignorance really has a feeble power to it.

Despite the burliness of this person, you are not too worried about Coriolanus as he had his fair share of training. And the peacekeepers are just waiting for the man to cross that fine intangible line, their postures tight and ready to spring.

“Now, if you’ll excuse us. My wife and I have other places to be.”  Coriolanus leads you to the yacht where your luggage has been placed.

“The impudence of some people.”  Coriolanus spits.  “He does not even recognize the President.”

“I will talk to the mayor.” You attempt to soothe him but he clicks his tongue.

His jaw tightens before he takes a deep breath. “We agreed not to work while we are on our honeymoon.” He says but you can see how excruciating it was for him to say.

You grimace before breaking to a smile.

“If you say so, my love.”

You glance behind you and see the man still staring at you. You turn away when he sends you a boyish smile and a wink.

Coriolanus grunts when you cling to his arm tightly.

“Hurry, Corio.”

He straightens his back and slows his pace. “I see no purpose in rushing.” He’s not running away from anything.

It makes you roll your eyes but you match his pace anyways.  You enjoy the night stroll, the cool breeze refreshing your skin that is trapped in your wedding gown. You wanted to get out of it the moment the reception ended but Grandma’am almost dropped her turban when you mentioned a change of clothing.

Perhaps it was an old Panem tradition but she said only the groom must free you of your bridal gown.

Again with the superstitions but Coriolanus and you both decided you’d listen. A way to apologize after that stunt you pulled in the middle of the reception.  Coriolanus tightens his hold around your waist as you board the yacht.

“I’m hungry.” You tell him. 

He nods. “So am I.”

With the pressure of the ceremony and reception, you did not get to enjoy the food served despite them being of the finest qualities.

“I’d love to have that filet mignon again.”  You sigh as you sit on a sofa.  Coriolanus watches you with a smile.  Your face was full of disappointment and you looked adorable as your poofy gown swallowed you. “And posca.”

“Mhh, agreed.”  He sauntered over to the glass windows. Watching how the hydrofoil cuts the waters below.  The ruffling from your gown makes Corio turn to look at you once more.

You have occupied the entire sofa, now lying on your back as you stared into the tall ceiling. Your eyes have glazed over and he can see how your fingers picked at your gown.

“Tell me what you are thinking.”

Sighing, you close your eyes. He’s always so commanding.

“Nothing.”

He walks over to sit on the armrest. You look up to meet his glacial eyes with your own.

“There is definitely something in there, wife.”

Wife

You bite your bottom lip to contain your smile. Coriolanus raises a brow, his lips quirked up.

“Wife?”

You giggle as you reach up to pinch him but he easily swats your hand away.

“Are you regressing to your teenage self?” He pulls you up and slots himself under you so you are sitting on his lap.

“No.” You answer quickly. Too quickly.

You play with your ring as he watches you, still waiting for you to talk.

“I will hold you the entire night if you refuse to tell me.”

You shrug.  “I’m comfortable.”  His nimble fingers slip to your waist and your breath hitches.

“Yeah?”

You nod hastily.

“Tell me what is going on in that head of yours.”  He whispers against the shell of your ear, sending a shiver to crawl up your spine.

“Corio!”

“Yes?” He flashes you that charming smile again.

“Stop it.” You say, your cheeks are now bubbling.

He tilts his head to the side.  He is fooling nobody with this pretense.

You try to get off but he keeps you in place with a hand.  He is looking around the room now, acting nonchalant to your struggle.  He looks at you with his face passive and you eventually settle.

“Stop making me flustered.”  You raise a finger at him and he grins lazily at you.  The glint of those rather sharp looking canines had you retreating your finger back.

He sets a steady bounce of his leg, jostling you and you click your tongue at him.  “What are you doing?” You grab at his coat to steady yourself.

“Trying to calm your tantrum.”

“I am not a child.” 

His eyes return to the carpeted floor and now just leans back on the sofa.  “I can see that.” You ignore how his eyes roam to your bosom.

“If you must really know, I was thinking of having a new signature.”

A perfect blonde brow was raised. “Signature.”

“I want to keep my maiden name in it but I also wanted to add yours.”

“Ours.”

“Ours.” You echo as you smile at him meekly.

“You are a Snow now.” He reminds you sternly and your cheeks warm up as you nod.

“I know that, Corio.”  You shift in his lap and he rubs your waist.

The air shifts, making it difficult for you to keep still. 

A knock pulls your attention to the door.

“Mister and Missus Snow, we have arrived.”

Coriolanus looks at you and raises both brows briefly as if making a point.

You roll your eyes and get off, he lets you this time.

The private beach.  Well, more like a private island.  It was like how every beach shown in brochures is.

The staff is already waiting by the docks, standing tall and in uniformed clothing.

“Don’t worry, Missus Snow.  The staff will be here only until seven in the evening.”  The head butler tells you as he escorts you and your husband off the yacht.

“The security?”  Coriolanus looks around the island, taking in every face that was present.

The butler nods, a proud smile on his lips.

“Stationed just in this dock and on the ocean.”

You would love to have privacy but not if it meant compromising you and your husband’s safety.

“Peacekeepers are also stationed on the coast.”  The head butler reassures you.  “This island is also being covered by the most recent security offered by District 3.  We have sonars covering the waters.  There is no need to be uneasy.”

It was these kinds of over the top operations that reminds you that it is the President you have married.  His security can easily topple the peace that the retired President Ravinstill tried so hard to maintain.

“The staff will come to prepare your meals and leave after the dishes are cleaned up.  The day after tomorrow, the cleaning crew will take care of the linens and your laundry.”  The staff bows at you as you pass by them.  “Should you need something else.  We are a call away.  We are stationed in the ocean to respond right away to your every need.”

You share a look with Coriolanus.  It was a bit overkill, you both can agree.  But nothing less for the Presidential couple.

“Food is being prepared right at this moment.”  The head butler continues.

The villa is nice and airy.  Spacious and a perfect place to relax in.  And the smell of food, oh it is divine.

“The gods heard you.”  Coriolanus jests and you scan the table to see a glistening filet mignon.  Coriolanus pulls a chair for you and you thank him.  The head butler pours you a glass of posca and you smile gratefully.

Coriolanus and you eat your dinner quietly.  Giving compliments to the chefs who are standing in anticipation behind you.  You are generous in your praise, just to help in easing their anxiety.

You bid them goodbye as they all board a boat to take their leave.

When they are a considerable distance away, you and Coriolanus are able to drop the pretense. 

“Ugh.”  You groan as you grip your gown up to head inside the villa.  “I refuse to see anybody for twenty-four hours straight.”

Coriolanus follows after you, his hands clasped behind his back in a relaxed manner.  “Does that include me?”

You look at him briefly.  “What a stupid question.”  You link your arms to his and he glances at the clam expression on your face.

Now that he is standing so close, he notices just how much your childhood features remained in your face.  Your eyes and lips stayed the same.

“There was this one time I found you under the tables during a banquet held by our fathers.”  Coriolanus tells you and you don’t look up to him.  “I accidentally kicked you.”

You only hum to acknowledge him.

“I slipped under the tablecloth and joined you.”  He recalls.  “And you stole my first kiss.”

“Corio, stop talking.”  You groan.

“You told me you will be my wife.”

You purse your lips, not knowing how to respond.  

Sighing, you finally say,  “You were distraught.”  

“I was five.”

“In the Academy.  You hated me.”

“I envied you.”

Coriolanus opens the door and lets you pass first.  You continue to walk until you find the bedroom and he follows suit.

“Is that why you preferred Clemensia Dovecote’s company?”  You say sharply and Coriolanus looks at you as he leans on the vanity to undo his coat.

“She was pretty.  A nice accessory.”

You walk over to him, throwing your arms on his shoulders as you look deeply into his eyes.

“You think she’s pretty?”

He shakes his head.  “Not anymore.  She’s more of a snake than a dove now.”

“But you thought she was pretty.”

Coriolanus places a hand on your waist to steady you.

“That was because I did not want to admit my attraction to you.”

You pull away, doe eyes looking up at him meekly as your brows raise hopefully.  “You were attracted to me?”

“I am attracted to you.  How could I not be when everything about you tells the entire Capitol that you are mine?”

With utmost shyness, you focus your attention on his tie, not quite able to meet his eyes.  “You didn’t care.”

“The rosettes you used to wear in your hair were pretty.”  He smiles as he tucks your hair to the side.  “And so were the rosette patterns on the lace of your panties.”

Your movements have gone still.  Your eyes wide as you feel like a bucket of ice was dumped on your head.  Your eyes are frantic as you look up at him.  His face was passive, not betraying him.

“You think you were sneaky?”  He taunts as he starts to pull at your dress.  “You thought I would not know about your naughty little secrets?”

You gasp when he rips a stitch of your dress as he tugs it.

“Corio.”  You say breathlessly.  “How did you-”

“That initiation we had in our first year.”  He says gruffly as he pulls your gown once more until your breasts come spilling out.  “You were to exit the academy with just your skirts and blouse.”

Your face flushes.  “Y-you saw?”

“Everybody did.”  He tells you and you bury your face in his chest.  “It worked in my favor.  No boys came after you in the Academy.”

You cursed the wind that day.

Coriolanus pulls your gown and his fingers hook on the dainty fabric that cupped your innocence.

You place your hands on his shoulders as he tugs them down.  You cover your face as he gets the fabric off.

“Oh, will you look at that?”  He chuckles as he examines the lacy fabric.  “Still adorned with rosettes.”  He twists the fabric in his long fingers and you swallow as your throat has gone dried up at the sight.  You grab his arm when he brings it up his nose.  He looks at you sternly.  “Smells like roses too and feminine musk.”

You have had enough.  After securing your gown, you turn your back to him and head to the closet, muttering angrily but he chases after you and pulls you to the lounge instead.

“You are a…a sick man!”  You say angrily as you pull away.

“If I am sick, then so are you for liking it.”  He laughs as he finishes his work with your gown until your torso is bare but he never quite got it off you just yet.  “Come here, my love.”  He sits on a plush chair and beckons you by patting his thighs.

You attempt to sit sideways but he clicks his tongue and with much reluctance, you straddle him instead.

He keeps his eyes on you as he holds your hips, his fingers digging in the large poof of your gown.

“You look so bridal.”  He says.  “I’d want nothing else but to ruin you while you still have the dress on.”  Coriolanus noses your cheek. 

“You’d let me, won’t you?”  He asks in a deeper voice, making you nod your head with your eyes closed and lip caught between your teeth.

He chuckles at your startled gasp as he prodded at your petals.  His fingers spread to your lips, creating a wet noise that had you wrapping your arms around his neck once more as you hid away.

“She’s wet.” 

You buck your hips against his when his thumb presses flat on your pearl.

“You like it?”  He smiles against your hair and you hum.  “Words, darling.”

“I do, Corio.”  You murmur against his chest.  “More please.” 

He swallows thickly as he lets a finger slip between your folds and he winces lightly when you bite his shoulder.  His finger was met with resistance but he pushed it further, willing you to relax.

“There you go.”  He says as you start to grind against his hand.  You throw your head back as your hands grip his shoulders.

“Mmh!”  You mewl, your eyebrows pinched as hot puffs of air escape your lips that have bloated after being nibbled.  “F-feels sooo good!”

Coriolanus watches your face as you move above him, his fingers dripping with your sweet honey.

The thickness of his fingers nudged at your quivering walls, it had soft sighs spilling from your lips.  He curls his fingers upward and you melt as it massages the sweet spot inside you.

You suddenly gasp, bowing your head as your hands grasp at his hair.  “C-Corio…I’m-…Oh!”

Your body seizes up as you pull him close, your walls pulsating around his fingers as you cum.  Your honey stains your thighs and he revels at the look on your face.

Coriolanus carries you to your bed as he dips his head to kiss you.  You are mewling his name through the kiss as his fingers keep massaging your walls.  He gently slips his fingers out of you, the sensation most frustrating.

He slips out of his coat and you admire him for a while before trying to tug your gown off but he glares at you and your hands retreat from doing it.  The gown is soon tugged from you and you find yourself covering your feminine parts as his eyes roam around your body. 

Warm rough hands cup under your knee to part your legs further.  You whine in embarrassment and you make an attempt to pull your knees together.  Still so shy from him seeing your body.

“Don’t.”  He warns and your bones turn weak, you feel shameful with how much your body responds to him.

“I’m sorry.”  You say meekly.

Both of you are thrumming in anticipation as he unbuckles his pants and you wait with bated breath as he frees himself.

Coriolanus grunts as he grips his cock, pumping until you feel a warm dribble land on your stomach.

You watch his face contort with concentration as he guides his leaking tip on your entrance and you bite back a moan as the tip catches, the head slotting itself between your petals.

“If you hold back on your sounds, I would get upset.”  He says pointedly and you nod at him, your hand running on his arm to soothe him and to get him to hurry.

Coriolanus hooks your legs over his arms, he holds your waist as he slips himself inside you.

Your pained gasp had him gritting his teeth. 

“Just a bit more, darling.”

But that was a lie.  He was barely in.

Your nails are biting at his arms, forming red angry crescent moons.

“Almost there.”  He groans and you let out a choked sob, feeling the burn from the tight stretch.

Coriolanus inhales sharply as your tightness keeps him from filling you.  He places your legs back on the mattress and he clicks his tongue at how your walls reject his size.  He glances at your face before he tongues his cheek.

“I’m sorry, my love.” 

You don’t get to ask why when he crawls on top of you, his corded arms slipping under you so he can grip your shoulders.  He pulls back slightly and your juices, now painted pink with the mixture of your broken innocence, slips to coat your inner thighs.

Coriolanus murmurs apologies on your hair and makes shallow thrusts, your hands gripping his nape with the conflict of pleasure and pain, making you wetter and wetter.  And in one full thrust, he sheaths himself.

Your eyes shot open as you clawed on his back, feeling yourself tipping before you came crashing down.  Your flower clenches as it pulses around him, your slick overflowing with his tip kissing your cervix.

You are making noises that Coriolanus never thought you were capable of.  Your words were more of like babbles as wet sobs spilled from your lips.

The sight of you, so debauched, makes Coriolanus laugh.  “You come from just being stuffed full?”

Your glare up at him but your tongue is still unable to form words as pleasure makes tears leak from your eyes.

“Yeah, feels good, doesn’t it?”  He chuckles while he rocks his hips against yours.

He watches with amusement at how you throw your head back when he pounds on you.  He can see your pulse jumping and he wonders if you know how vulnerable you are right now.  He grazes his teeth on the thinness of your skin and to his surprise, you mewl wantonly, only tightening around him.

“Naughty girl.”  He chuckles but you look at him, offended.

“I’m not.”

He kisses your pouting lips.  “Hm?”

You shake your head.  “I’m not.”

“You’re not naughty?”  He snickers and you nod.  You are acting no different to a drunk.  “That’s right.  You’ve been a good girl, haven’t you?”

Coriolanus wonders if the look you are giving him are what they say heart eyes are.  

He realized that he feels most powerful when he is on top of you and making you feel good. 

Your feet absentmindedly slide to caress his leg and he smiles at your adorable display of affection.

Nobody would believe the sight of you right now.

So docile, so submissive.

The damp fabric under you was uncomfortable and it was too warm, but such tiny discomforts flew over your head when Coriolanus was making you feel too good.

Your big teary eyes look at him as your brows curl in pleasure, you were too adorable he had to kiss you.

You break the kiss with a whine, your heels digging on the mattress as your back arches off the bed.

Coriolanus understood and fucked into you rougher, trying to keep a steady pace but it was getting harder and harder for him to do when your soft wet walls rub against his sensitive cock.

“Corio, Corio please!”  You beg him as your hands cupped his face in desperation.

He seethes through gritted teeth, his hands leaving a red print on your shoulders as he crushed you with his weight.  You were sobbing, just needing him all to yourself.

And you cum once more.  You are lost as every coil in your body snaps.  You are unraveling beneath him and Coriolanus grunts, chasing his own high and he slots the tip of his manhood deep inside you and spills his seed.

You wince at the warm spurts of his spend and you pull him to share another kiss.

Coriolanus breathed heavily against your lips.  He felt invincible yet ready to go down on his knees for you.  No wonder why so many empires collapsed for women.  He would gladly die if you asked him to at this moment.

Your sob pulls him from his thoughts and looks at you with concern.

Coriolanus tucks your damp hair to the side as he kisses your cheek.  “What’s wrong, sweetheart?  Did I go too rough?”

You shake your head as you pull him closer, your legs crossing over his posterior, burying him deeper inside you, making him groan, the tendons on his arms popping in an attempt to control himself.

“I love you.  I love you, Corio.  It felt so good.”

He chuckles at your words and he nods, dipping low to kiss your lips once more.  “I love you too.”  He looks deep into your eyes and starts moving his hips once more, determined to make love to you again.

You give him a tired smile but you encourage him by tracing his nape sensually with your manicured nails.

You share a look of pure fondness, so in love and lost in pleasure.

It was then you realized that you need nothing else but each other and you would do everything to protect this love you found.

Quest for Happiness

[visenyaism]

in the cersei/rhaegar au, would cersei favor her younger daughter for being jaime's, or would having a younger version of herself who's allowed to pursue masculine interests and express attraction for a brother make cersei so jealous that she goes back to being a boymom

honestly i think she would oscillate pretty rapidly between apathy and disgust. in my mind palace visenya ii targaryen (lannister) is the thirdborn child and both her sister and her brother are rhaegar’s for real. she has an unhealthy fixation on violence and a weird relationship to the concept of power, but what else is new for either of those families.i like the idea that despite being zero percent actually targaryen she inherits a little bit of that eau de gender fluidité from Rhaegar. She gets some sword training not because anyone’s a huge feminist, but because of her proximity to the prophecy and also because her uncle jaime thought it would be funny for like a week. Cersei, with her own gender troubles and binary way of thinking, recognizes herself in the other and can only feel disgust.

Aegon, her boy, the boy child she was groomed from birth to have and want, is going to save the world. She spends most of her time fixated on him and when her marriage falls apart, she spends most of her time competing with Rhaegar over him. I think Cersei being Cersei spends so much of her time and attention on her son that genuinely she does not think about her second daughter that often unless she’s in her direct line of sight and then it’s like “how did Jamie and I have an ugly child?” this pushes visenya ii and her uncle tyrion closer together as the family rejects which makes Cersei distrust her even more. the whole situation is a messy psychosexual enmeshment time bomb

[mmani-e]

I've finally finished my Danganronpa AU personal project! I personally call it

DANGANRONPA: DEMIX

See Demix 1 here

And yeah, all the swaps as you can see above, and these guys in the middle are the replacements for Monokuma and Usami respectively:

Check out under the cut for some design insights on my take AND closer pictures of each pair:

Finally finished my personal AU project. I hope it's to everyone's liking!

I can go on forever about these designs but I'll limit myself to one-two sentences on some facts about the designs.

Mikan: Mikan's face tattoo was commissioned on her against her will so that she can never hide her nature as a Yakuza, but her leg tattoo was done on purpose, and she and Nagito have matching tattoos on their legs, his is just hidden most the time.

Nagito: He is usually seen with a spear and prefers the weapon over the sword, but he is more famous for his natural skill with the blade. That said, he resents the blade and wishes he could be recognized for the things he actually works hard to do, like throwing spears or protecting Mikan and her family.

Ibuki: I kept her design very similar to her base design because she pretty much just looks like a student, and I don't want to change anyone's personality so there's no reason for her to not get highlights. But I gave her some more symmetry in this design and gave her a cute little semi ahoge I guess with a hair tie, bc she doesn't naturally have one.

Imposter/Gamemaster: Yeah I made the big brain choice to keep him with his colors as "Byakuya" because it made for a more striking visual, and more recognizeable as the impostor. Also I made him too tall because I wanted to give him big legs lol.

Hiyoko: Her four cats are named Heart (scraggly cat), Mr. Pearls (sleepy cat), Big Red (Giant cat), and BB (black cat) bc canonically the four dark devas are named after shonen manga, I named her cats after pokemon games, which she canonically likes playing. Also chickens are her favorite animal, despite her love of cats.

Kazuichi: Kazuichi's not a natural born prince, through shenanigans it turns out he's extremely distantly related to some royal line in a microstate north of germany called "Nordsumpf." Their main exports are cars and Kazuichi is still new to being a prince.

"Kyoko": She'd try her best to act like Kyoko, but she's a little too meek and openy affectionate to pull it off properly. Also her knockers are way bigger than Kyoko's, so there's an immediate discrepancy to the trained eye.

Also in my au of DR1, Kyoko is the ultimate affluent progeny and Makoto is author/serial killer.

Hajime: His hair is actually extremely long back there, he just keeps it tied up. On shows he lets it all out and a wears red contacts, his stage name is "Izuru."

Sonia: Sonia became a team manager because she was escaping an assasination attempt, strolled into a junior laegue soccer game, took over for the coach and started just barking orders and the team won. They were the worst team in the whole league and after that she just sorta stuck around them and won them the championships.

Gundham: Gundham was orginally meant to wear the japanese flag… but there was too much white in his design so I cut it. He has names for all of his gymnast moves and he announces them very loudly when he does any of them.

Peko: I tried to give Peko a unique sort of "zombie survivor" kinda vibe so while she's clearly a mechanic first she can also just fucking kill you by braining you with that monkey wrench. Most of the time she's cool though, she's just like horribly dependent on other people to tell her what to do, so she attaches to Kazuichi because he's the most immediately available authority figure.

Fuyuhiko: He's got that sort of machismo that makes him not like to admit he loves dancing, but the moment he's complimented on it he'll really appreciate it. Also he's still part of a crime family, but it's just not as strong as Mikan's.

Akane: She really looks sporty still, but don't worry she's definitely "lucky," she's just much more focused on the future than her bad luck in the moment… which can be very bad, actually, and can make her come across as kind of aloof.

Nekomaru: Why is nurse Nekomaru not as common a thing. Just think about it, it's perfect. Nekomaru here got inspired by the bravery and hard work of the nurses that treated him and boom he became a nurse, nobody tougher than healthcare professionals after all.

Mahiru: Mahiru as a nurse is honestly a really really really fun concept but I feel like I wasn't very ambitious here, and I can't really show it through the drawing but one of my early drafts had her look more like a european chef a la gordon ramsey bc I headcanon her as a scot.

Teruteru: Decided to give him a raincoat which my sister pointed out to me could also be a trenchcoat, which is just PERFECT for a creep like him. It just writes itself man, though seriously he's mostly a landscape photographer who specializes in pics of the countryside. Still a huge perv tho.

Usowa: Name is a combo of Usagi and Chowa, the word for Harmony. She's less like a chaotic force of nature like Monokuma and more a manipulative and hardline teacher who coaxes the students into doing awful things by playing into their insecuritoies with motives, and which then causes them to kill, allowing her to punish them, "weeding out the weak and undisciplined among their ranks." She replaces Monokuma.

Kyojuma: Name is a combo of Kyoju (professor) and Kuma. He's a pretty silly guy with an easy temper to poke at, but he's good at heart and tries his best to be a more sort of "fun" teacher than the rules lawyer Usami kinda was. He just wants to help his students, too bad Usowa showed up and decidedly does NOT like his approach.

[dabisbratz]

I GOT WHAT YOU NEED — yuta okkotsu x male reader

w.c: 2.1k

WARNING: jealousy, semi-public sex, praise, degradation, finger sucking, kissing, doggy-style, creampie, undepicted aftercare, possessiveness, exhibitionism

a/n: they are not highschoolers!! jjh is a college in this:)

There’s something about the high blush on the apples of his cheeks that makes people believe he’s vulnerable. Maybe it’s the curve of them, the way his naturally wide eyes blink. Maybe it’s his timid nature, the way he carries himself alongside his peers. Sure, he doesn’t exactly exude confidence, but that doesn’t mean he isn’t. In fact, Yuta is confident in his abilities, he understands his limits. He understands intentions.

So when he sees you, his pretty boyfriend speaking to a few guys, he sees red. He knows there’s probably nothing malicious brewing in their minds, but he recognizes those looks. The lingering gazes, eyes stuck on your lips as you smile and laugh, subconsciously leaning forward. His perfect boyfriend, too popular for his own good. You have a habit of breaking people down, seeing past their exteriors and embracing them from the inside out. Clearly, you’ve gotten to these delinquents.

He hates it.

Yuta likes to keep to himself. He keeps his hands to himself, stuck in his pockets or to his side, you won’t catch him latching onto anyone, even on a good day. So why does he want to touch you so badly? The men are handsome, he can admit that, with slim faces and piercing eyes. He’s not insecure, Yuta knows you love him, he knows you only want him. But the lines are blurring, everyone’s just too close, too shameless— had he not made it known you were taken, perhaps? That you belonged to someone already?

His mood is souring, eyes narrowed into slits as he bristles. It irks him. The closeness, the leaning in, the trailing eyes, the hands reaching for what’s his. Yuta’s never been this bold before, stuffing his hands deeper into his pockets as he walks over, pushing past the small crowd until he gets to you.

If your face wasn’t bright then it certainly is now, twinkling in the sunlight as you grin at him, all pearly teeth and plump lips. He wants to kiss that dumb look right off your face, press his lips against yours until you’re breathless and ditzy. He wants to show you off, his boyfriend. No one else’s.

Then there’s an arm digging into your waist. It certainly isn’t his, clearly belonging to an individual much older than him. Much more bold. Heat bubbles in his veins, straight through the ones protruding in his forearms, cascading into his bloodstream. Some nerve. He’s sure you can hear his teeth grinding, with the way you wince at him as they dig into his gums. It’s clear you’re uncomfortable, just too kind to say anything.

“What?” His voice is mocking, he stares at Yuta through the bridge of his nose, but it’s more like a glance. As if he’s not worth the eye contact. “He’s busy.”

“C’mon,” It’s clear he’s talking to you, but his eyes are glued on the man trying to pull you in closer. Yuta’s vision swims, his strong hand clasped right over the stranger’s to squeeze until it hurts, searing hot pain in his wrist as he tears his arm away from your waist. He wishes there were more, more screams of pain, more evidence that it hurt, but all he gets is a clenched fist and an equally clenched jaw. “I want to teach you a new training technique.”

The walk around campus was tense. The air was thicker than blood, despite being outside. Yuta lugged you along, squeezing your hand when you trail too far behind. Truthfully, you didn’t expect him to hold your hand. Not in public, anyway, his warm palms clasped over your own was almost sweet. Whatever it was, it’s enough to make you smile, knees turning to jello as he dragged you toward an empty space between buildings.

“Yuta? Are you—”

“Whose are you?” You nearly trip over your feet, jaw going slack as Yuta pulls you into the alleyway, pressing your back against the cold building walls. He’s dead serious, eyes blazing as he holds you by your shoulders, breath panning over your face. You blink. Once, twice, again.

Whose are you?

“Yours, I’m… Only yours,” The sincerity lacing your voice nearly breaks his resolve, the furrow of his brow briefly dropping because you’re just that sweet. His sweet boy. “Always.”

“Did he touch you anywhere else?” He asks, already unbuttoning your shirt to inspect your bare body, warm hands tracing the skin until you’re squirming. Sly bastard. You shake your head, wary of your voice, by now it’s surely not trustworthy. Yuta tilts his head, a small smile spreading across his face as his thumbs brush your nipples, tutting when the silky skin hardens beneath the pads of his fingers. “Here? Seems sensitive… Did he bruise you?”

An animalistic sound leaves the back of his throat, surprising the both of you. Just the mere thought of someone touching you, hurting you, leaving a mark on you… He growls. Yuta’s hands are quick to pull your pants down to your ankles, watching the fabric fall until it’s bunched up and holding your legs together.

“Nobody else’s,” He repeats, pulling your cock free to fist at the head, marveling when precum immediately beads at the tip. Your gasp is just as sweet as you, hands shooting out from your sides to grip his wrist, knees buckling under the weight of his iron grip around your cock. “This cock too, right? So pretty, isn’t it? Whose is it?”

“Yours, yours,” Your head is swimming, nails digging into your boyfriend's wrist as he twists his fist along your shaft, steady and tantalizingly slow. You feel yourself clench the second he spits down on your cock, lubing it up to pump faster and faster, until you can’t tell your pants apart from the wet, rhythmic squelching of spit and precum. The head is so sensitive, twitching in Yuta’s grasp as he lets out a breathy chuckle, locking eyes with you. “S’all.. all yo—urs!”

He nods in approval, swatting your wrists away so he can thumb your slit, circling the precum at your tip with his thumb. He lets go, briefly tasting you on his tongue before hooking his thumb into your mouth, letting you have a taste too. You hum around it, eyes blinking rapidly when he presses it against your tongue, moving it deeper into your mouth until you’re almost gagging. Your complaint comes out gurgled, but it’s obvious you’ve let out a frustrated, “Yuta!”

“Need you to cum for me,” His Aegean eyes are full of warmth, despite the last remnants of dark circles resting beneath them. Your boyfriend has always been so cute, under a different circumstance you’d have kissed him silly. “Can you do that for me? Make this pretty cock cum while I feed this hole my cock? Huh?”

Maybe you relied on the cute part a bit too much.

“Uh-huh,” You nod, twirling yourself around on shaky legs. You’re not sure how long you have, soon it’d be time to get home before they start kicking students out of public areas that aren’t the library. Yuta’s hands ghost your waist, careful to catch you in case you fall. But you don’t, instead arching your back toward him until he’s digging his nails into the soft surface of your ass, hard enough to leave indents on the skin. You shiver. “I can— I can do that. For you.”

“Goood boy,” His hands are back on your dick, enveloping it with an overwhelming amount of warmth until you’re drooling onto your arm, hips rutting into his palms. Your hips move so you can fuck into it, cock throbbing so hard you start to wail. It’s too much, the hands relentlessly pumping your cock, the squelching in your ears, Yuta’s teeth nipping at your earlobe while his hardon presses against your ass. He sighs straight into your ear, open mouthed and breathy, feeling your cock jump in his hands. nearly out his hand. You can hear his smile in his voice, body rocking to and fro as he slides his clothed erection between your cheeks. “My good boy.”

His fingers end up finding your mouth again, pressing against your lips until you swallow them down, sputtering all over them as you moan and whine. He has to shut you up somehow, keep you from alerting anyone who may walk by. Keep those cute sounds you make to himself.

The sound of his zipper falls on deaf ears, had it not been for the weight against your rim you wouldn’t have noticed it. You wish you could see it, the dusted brown head of his cock sliding down the space between your asscheeks, wet with precum and— oh, did he just spit on your hole? — saliva. The trail dribbling off his cock must look obscene, and part of you wants to pull away and catch it in your mouth before it can go to waste.

“Ahh, look! Your sloppy hole is drooling on my dick,” He sounds just amazed as you do aroused, your ass fluttering around air as he slaps his cock against your tight rim. If he could just push, impale you on his dick already and bounce you on his cock. “But this isn’t really your hole, is it?”

“Uh-uh,” You sound like a broken record, but it’s all you can say as your mind starts to fog and your brain feels floaty. “S’yours, Yuta. Belongs t’you.”

Your rambling is cut short by the stretch of his cock, longer than it is thick, but enough to make you feel worn out and thoroughly stretched open nonetheless. Yuta goes back to shushing you, pushing himself deeper inside, inch by inch. He could cum now if he focuses too hard on it, on your gooey walls gripping him like a vice. On the spit pooling at his shaft. On your eager efforts to thrust for him, your ass jiggling as you wiggle on his dick.

But that’s not all, it’s the approaching footsteps. The gradually rising voices. The familiar ones from earlier, at that.

Fuck.

He just can’t help himself, pistoning his hips into yours until he hears that delicious clap of his balls against the back of your thighs. Sweat gathers at his brow, Yuta’s free hand bunching up the fabric of your unbuttoned shirt so he can hold it up and watch your hole take his cock like it was made for it. It’s hard to suppress his own groans, a pure erupting from his throat when the realization slowly enters your eyes, slow and delayed because you were too focused on getting fucked silly by his throbbing dick.

“Keep crying like that and the whole school will know all it takes for you to be happy is some dick.”

Your eyes roll back, slutty and shameless as he pulls you closer, getting his cock inside you as deep as he possibly can.

“Don’t want everyone to know how sweet my pussy feels around a cock, do we?” His grunts spark electricity straight down to your cock, which twitches and jumps against your tummy until your toes curl, warmth rallying in your stomach. “S’right, it’s mine. And it’s gonna cum for me.”

He can’t make out what you’re saying, not when his thrusts cut you off every time and his fingers are stroking your warm, wet tongue. Your thighs tremble, finally giving out, as you fall back on Yuta’s cock. He smiles, holding you close until his thrusts are choppy and rushed, voice raspy as you gag on his fingers. You shoot at the same time, his cum reaching deep inside you, thick, creamy ropes of cum leaking out your sensitive, used hole.

Maybe it was the excitement of it all, the thrill of nearly getting caught while you were getting pummeled within an inch of your life. Maybe it was Yuta’s words, driving you crazy and emptying your brain. You’re not sure, but it has you spraying hard against both your stomach and the wall, dollops of cum sticking to your shirt and trailing down your abdomen.

Everything is fuzzy. Your brain, your hearing, your sense of touch. You can barely register Yuta pulling out with a hiss, or the way he gently peppers kisses across your face until he reaches your lips, but you’re absentmindedly melting into the plush skin with no complaints. Beneath it all, though, you can see the way your boyfriends aegean eyes brighten in admiration, his pink lips moving in what you assume is the sentence:

“Wow…you’re too cute..”

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

I think malleus mentions, maybe in his dorm vig, that he tried approaching other students when he couldn't find the meeting place but they scream and run away from him in terror. If this is how people have been reacting to him approaching them then it makes sense for him to stop trying at one point. also think the senators never allowed anyone to meet him. Remember melanoir blessing. She blessed him to be feared by humans. Perhaps that is also at play. I would like to hear your thoughts on this.

One thing I take issue with is how inconsistently written the world’s reactions to Malleus are. On one hand, we're constantly told that people fear him and run away at the sight of him (which does happen with various mob students). On the other hand, we get dozens and dozens of instances of Malleus interacting with his classmates, staff, and the locals of Sage’s Island (Magicam Monsters) and other countries without issue. (Granted, the locals of other countries did not recognize him as Malleus due to how he was dressed, but the point still holds that Malleus can have normal interactions with people.) How he is received varies greatly across the main story, vignettes, and the events. You cannot have it both ways because it creates this cognitive dissonance about how we’re supposed to perceive his presence.

As for the senators, it is canon that Malleus was often kept inside the castle. However, that doesn’t mean he was entirely barred from interacting with people and that doesn’t mean Malleus never left. Clearly he still had tutors and servants around (although interacting with them would be different than interacting with peers), and surely he would have met his grandmother or foreign dignitaries as part of his training. He has also visited Silver and Lilia in their cottage which is far away from the capital city. Malleus has realistically had opportunities to engage with people, no matter how much the senators try to leash him.

Finally, on the subject of Meleanor’s blessing: firstly, there is no immediate indication that Melanor cast a spell of any kind. If you compare the scene where she utters the “blessing” (7-77) to when Lilia blesses Silver and changes his hair color (7-81), there is no sparkle effect to indicate magic. Meleanor asks Lilia to take care of her kid, hands her egg off to Lilia, summons thorns to drag him away, then vanishes away to fight, so the sparkle effect that proceeds is most likely to show her teleporting off to combat (which is finally when the sparkle effect comes in). Right before leaving, she says, “May the Night bless you/Night's Blessings (in EN)”, which is where I believe people got the “Meleanor blessed/cursed Malleus to be feared by humans” headcanon comes from. However, the phrase “May the Night bless you/Night's Blessings” is not a magic incantation as far as we know; it seems to be a saying among nocturnal fae to wish one another good luck. We see Lilia and others saying it in other parts of book 7. However, Lilia does utter “May the Night bless you/Night's blessings” prior to Silver’s hair color change, so I imagine this also plays a part in the fandom interpretation/headcanon that Meleanor blessed Malleus in a similar manner.

Even if it was a real blessing, it doesn’t work for me with how they’ve set up Malleus’s interactions with his peers. If the blessing/curse is supposedly making him feared by humans, how come there are several blatant exceptions who don’t fear him at all? This includes the light trio and arguably even characters like Leona or Rollo—because even feelings of hate or rivalry are still not fear. Additionally, Meleanor’s phrasing is that she’s sure that Malleus will be a good omen/“auspicious star” for the fae of Briar Country but a “fearsome, malevolent star” for humans. With the coming of book 7, Malleus is posing a real threat to both fae and humans alike. Furthermore, she directly follows up these lines by saying she entrusts her son to Lilia. She’s emphasizing the importance of Malleus to their country’s future before handing him away; it does not read like she’s blessing her child. This, combined with the very delayed sparkle effect in 7–77, leads me to believe that Meleanor’s words were not actually magically binding or a blessing, but rather a hope or a prayer about the kind of person Malleus would be someday: a leader that their country needs and someone who will strike fear into humans (who were enemies of the fae at the time). Until the canon says otherwise, this is how I interpret Meleanor's "blessing" for her son (ie it’s not a magical one).

I feel like none of these should completely dissuade Malleus from like... I don't know, going out of his way to locate a few open-minded people (again, like the light trio) and trying to make conversation with them? Maybe invite them over for tea? Taking little steps like that. I understand why he would be hesitant to try or adopt a defeatist attitude, but again Lilia is right there to help facilitate or to ask questions to. But he doesn’t really do that or seem to truly take what anyone says to heart; instead he gets moody, pouty, and sulks when he feels rejected because the situation is artificially set up for failure 💦

It sometimes feels like TWST wrote itself into a corner with Malleus’s presentation due to the nature of the original game format. His lore calls for him to be sinister and feared through all the land, but the devs are simultaneously compelled to write him in cute and silly social scenarios to show how likable he can be (so open up your wallet for him/j)… He’s supposedly always forgotten but you’d think that someone with a presence as fearsome as his would be remembered vividly or make a strong impression regardless of the contrived ways they try to keep him out of the picture… and that results in the clashing tones I notice now.

[silverwhittlingknife]

OKAY SO i have been rereading dustorange's wonderful post here about Dick in an UtRH-esque scenario where he dies & then comes back to life

AND I HAVE INCOHERENT BRAINSTORMING THOUGHTS:

so first, i think Robin!Dick would be just as hurt by the discovery that Bruce has a new Robin, and brood about it - but i think the shame of having died would stop him from confronting Bruce about it the way Nightwing!Dick does in canon.

and I do NOT think that he would expect Bruce to kill anyone for him (or even be upset that he doesn't? I just don't think this would be a consideration for Dick. he's gonna be fixated on "I failed." so he'll be upset about being replaced but not about the lack of revenge. and if Bruce did take revenge, i think he'd actually feel angry and betrayed about that because it'd feel like the choice was taken away from him, a la how upset he gets when he thinks Bruce has arranged to have Zucco killed - even if he intellectually knows that Bruce wasn't deliberately undermining himbecause he didn't know Dick was gonna come back to life.)

anyway so what WOULD he do??

what comes to mind is something along the lines of "Dick obsessively keeps an eye on Batman & Robin even while telling himself that he's not"

and then - say - if it's Robin!Tim (i feel like this has to be Tim because in the world where Dick dies there is no way that Bruce is voluntarily picking a new Robin), then maybe the moment when Dick steps in is when Bruce is in danger & he's furious / critical of Tim for not protecting Bruce well enough

and i feel like that's how he'd channel the hurt feelings - it'd all be deflected under shame and obligation, and then translated into the anger of "you replaced me & yet you're failing to do the job that you're supposed to do" (which is actually about projection/self-hatred because Dick would actually be mad at himself for having died & not doing that job anymore)

and Dick wouldn't want to see Bruce at all because of the shame over dying & subconscious fear that Bruce doesn't want him back, plus every little thing that Tim does differently would drive him NUTS because it implies that maybe the way Dick did things wasn't good enough for Bruce

i'm actually kind of fascinated by this now. because i am me and i have (1) obsession i am mostly invested in the dick & tim side of it sdfsdfds

so i'm picturing Tim very stung by whatever critical things Dick said to him & tracking this mysterious vigilante down, and then Dick doesn't want to spend ANY time with him BUT he's also subconsciously desperate for news of Bruce!!! so then something something Dick starts sorta training him a la Tim's various contacts with edgy non-batman-aligned vigilantes, and Tim's very defensive about how he IS a good robin so THERE but of course he's also defensive because he's secretly worried he's not good enough.

normally i would have tim Recognize dick since recognizing dick is tim's most basic skill HOWEVER i think it would be much more fun if tim doesn't recognize him so he can give dick a speech about legacy & the first robin: "i do x and such because that's how the first robin did it so it is Objectively Correct." which Dick will find incredibly infuriating but will be unable to counter since he cannot counter with 'the 1st robin was ME'

…hmmm i do think Dick ought to be angry about SOMETHING about batman's methods/attitude just because that's more dynamic? I feel like in order to make the adaptation work, there ought to be SOME kind of argument with Bruce right before he dies that he can still be mad about, a la the garzonas fight for Jason and Bruce. unsure what though?

okay let's see: I feel like Dick's main arguments with Bruce aren't about vigilante issues per se so much as they're about working in a team - so e.g.

1) Bruce being controlling/demanding, and 2) Bruce being secretive and doing stuff behind Dick's back, and 3) Bruce not allowing Dick enough autonomy, 4) just generally a perceived lack of trust.

SO maybe whatever The Frustrating Thing that bruce was doing when dick died is a thing he's STILL doing with this new robin, and dick is getting frustrated all over again sorta on tim's behalf but mostly on his own behalf because he never got to resolve this with bruce

but anyway that way when Bruce finally spots disguised!Dick, then they can have the fight again before Bruce realizes who he is <3

[remotepixel]

Hi, it is a bit angsty, but imagine yandere platonic avengers with an outcast/wanderer teen mutant reader (maybe some elemental powers like fire) who is cynical because her parents kicked her out because they discovered her powers and thought of her as a freak? Can you please write how would they react to her and what kind of thing would they do to make her trust them? Thanks a lot.

Hiii! Thank you for requesting and sorry this took me so long <3

TW: yandere themes

-Assuming the reader didn’t want to become a hero in fear of being outcasted even further, it’d probably be someone like Clint who met you first - someone who isn’t immediately spotted by the public.

-As a father (or, to be fair, just a normal empathetic person), seeing an obviously homeless/mistreated kid would be setting off a series of alarm bells and a want to help. Since he’s trained for stealth, I think he’d be able to recognize the distrust in your overall posture and gaze, so he wouldn’t push too much. He’d probably hand over some money, a simple suggestion to stay safe, and head on his way.

-Obviously, his concern starts to grow into obsession (you’ll start seeing him more, he asks a few more questions than last time), but he wouldn’t mention it to the avengers unless he felt there was a higher need to: like seeing you start a fire with just your hands.

-As you can probably guess, they’re not a big fan of hearing some kid could just burn down the entire street if they wanted to, but, since, at the end of the day, you’re just a kid using your powers to survive, they wouldn’t be trying to hunt you down or anything of the sort. In a mixture of sympathy or some member’s wariness, they would be joining Clint in his (now daily) check up on you.

-Natasha is an expert in reading body language and changing hers to get what she wants, so she could smell your distrust from a mile away. She’ll keep up a emotionless façade despite your best efforts to make her leave.

-It’d probably annoy you more at first, the fact she’s so calm when you’re having the worst time of your life, but she’s careful to not cross any boundaries she knows she won’t come back from and you start to feel bad later on, thinking of your emotional outbursts against her stoicism.

-When you’re starting to trust her more, she opens to you in return. She don’t ask about your home life or what happened, she mostly listens or sits in the quiet with you, with the hopes of becoming a safe place against everything (or anyone) else.

-Bruce would be another more comforting figure out of them all. He knows how it feels to be judged for something - destructive - out of your control, and it would offer a comfort to know you’re not alone.

-I don’t see him visiting as often as some of the others (he’s too nervous to do so - just in case he messes anything up), but normally brings something when he does; something small like a trinket or a book. He doesn’t want to come off as pitying, and he assumes you won’t be accepting of any ‘extravagant’ gifts, so he hopes you would at least accept those - a way of showing he cares and something to do for you.

-He wouldn’t push his luck, similar to Nat and Clint, but he would suggest moving into the tower or similar thanks to him being science bros with the pushiest member of the team: Tony.

-Tony would be the worst person in this scenario. Sure, he knows his way around the social scene, but normally that’s with fellow arrogant businessmen, not angsty teens.

-Despite understanding your distrust, he doesn’t have the subtle cues mastered like Nat. His first line to you is probably a question/joke about your powers, which definitely doesn’t help when that’s the reason you’re cynical in the first place. He’ll attempt to be casual, then just blurt out how the tower has extra rooms - an not-very-subtle offer you have declined too many times in the past week.

-What he makes up with badly-formed conversations, he tries to make up with gifts: blankets, shoes, way too much cash he just shoves into your hand before leaving. He doesn’t view you as a charity case, but he hopes his attentiveness to your needs/wants solidifies the fact that he’s trying to help.

-Steve’s a 50/50 I think. He’s an easy person to trust, but once his obsessive thoughts start taking over, he gives off heavy ‘i’m going to gaslight every interaction into something positive and you’re never getting rid of me’.

-Like, even if you don’t trust him (yet), he’ll be sitting next to you with a smile on his face thinking about how well this is going. It clear he’s trying though. He’s persistent in his efforts - making sure to visit everyday at a set time - with either food or maybe his drawing kit if you’re interested in that.

-He’d probably pull out the ‘:(’ face if he deems you haven’t opened up enough to him, and basically try and guilt-trip you into doing so (because he’s the epitome of goodness, right? Shouldn’t you trust him at least?)

-Thor probably doesn’t realise you don’t trust him. As long as you stick around, cowering in the corner or not, he’ll happily talk about his newest adventures or how much you would like Asgard (never mind the fact you won’t even think of the idea of following him somewhere and he’s already trying to bring you back to his home realm).

-He’d be similar to Tony in terms of being overly-interested in your powers, but his is out of such pure enthusiasm that’s it hard to completely brush him off. He doesn’t even flinch if you decide to show how dangerous your powers can be on a stray piece of trash, he’s just happy to see you using them.

-When you eventually open up about your parents, the avengers aren’t happy obviously. They knew you probably weren’t living in the streets for fun, but to hear that the people you were supposed to trust most were the reason?

-Don’t be surprised if you hear your parents have suddenly gotten fired from their jobs and moved across the state (or, at least, that’s what people think since they’ve also cut off any contacts they had).

-However, in a twisted way, there is a sense of satisfaction that your parents were fully out of the picture, no ways of them ever being able to regain your trust. It leaves an open spot for the avengers to swoop in; pick up the broken pieces and claim the number one spot in your heart.

-You can happily stay in the tower with them, far above the streets you once lived in, knowing that they’ll never let you leave go back.

[calisources]

THE   ROYAL   TREATMENT.   all   sentences   are   either   taken   from   fantasy   or   fictional   and   historical   novels   about   kings,   queens,   royal   blood   and   some   sparked   romance   and   magic.   change   all   pronouns   and   names,   locations   as   you   see   fit.

“You are enough to drive a saint to madness or a king to his knees.”

“She was a ray of sunshine, a warm summer rain, a bright fire on a cold winter’s day, and now she could be dead because she had tried to save the man she loved.”

“He was a man known for the violence of his temper as well as the deliciousness of his touch.”

“Am I making you nervous, Natalie?”

“Sad it is, the fate of kings.”

“Go to this masquerade ball with your new friends, put on a pretty gown, and dance the night away.”

“Repentance is like a royal cheer.”

“Even the small joys are worth cherishing, and they will lead to greater ones.”

“when you become king shall find many difficult tasks and you shall have to hurt others and yourself.”

“The throne brings trouble and grief along with the glory.”

“Anger is a feeling afforded only by royal blood. Ordinary people ask for mercy in such situations.”

“True leadership is serving others; follow Queen Elizabeth's noble example.”

“Success isn't wealth or status; impact matters.”

“The power of empowerment can change the world, one person at a time.”

“Leadership is service, not a throne to seize.”

“I have in sincerity pledged myself to your service, as so many of you are pledged to mine.”

“Proper training is key, it allows one to accomplish a great deal."

“Oh honey, someday a real man is going to make you see stars and you won't even be looking at the sky."

“Royalty comes with a cost. My great-great-grandfather was one, and he left me no royalty but loyalty to empower people.”

“At all times an empire is more important than emperor and empress, prince and princess.”

“You might have to ask yourself, however right your claim is, if you are the leader the realm needs and wants.”

“You’re Royal. Get used to it and that involves a lot of burdens and things you don’t want to do.”

“I’m in awe of you, Rowan Palotay.”

“Slow down there, princess. How do you know what kind of first impression you gave me?”

“Prayer is a royal power.”

“You forget yourself and who you are speaking of.”

“Anyone young, famous and beautiful who dies young is forever frozen in time and fascinating to all of us.”

“Youths are the life blood of any nation.”

“I am not yet come of age, my lord. How can I be queen?”

“To crown her is to kill her.”

“He didn't marry you to become king. He became king because he wanted to marry you.”

“Little by little, the old world crumbled, and not once did the king imagine that some of the pieces might fall on him.”

“I believe we are what we make ourselves, and as such, you, Crown Princess, are nothing.”

“Rule with the heart of a servant. Serve with the heart of a king.”

“There’s a fine line between gossip and history, when one is talking about kings.”

“We kings do develop a certain ability to recognize objects under our noses.”

“...alone is such a nebulous state when one is queen.”

“I respect you as my king, and I respect you as my father, but I do not respect you as a man!”

“She was made to be a queen, just like her mother.”

Protect Myrcella with your life. Defend her... and her rights. Set a crown upon her head.“”

“You’re my princess, right? You were always going to be my princess, no matter what you were born.”

“For dogs we kings should have lions, and for cats, tigers. The great benefits a crown.”

“This marriage had resulted from impulse.”

“The king is a saint and cannot rule, and his son is a devil and should not.”

“One does not ask if one likes the Blood Royal. They simply are. It is like asking if one likes the Gods.”

“You are a king worthy of their allegiance . . . with a queen full of fire and promise.”

“The idea that how you are born or the name you are given dictate the sort of person you really are.”

“You seem to think that you can still turn back, but it’s too late. You’ll have to face it, Princess. Maybe not today or tomorrow, but soon enough. And you can’t be this scared when the time comes.”

“Was it worse, she wondered, to be wanted dead or wanted Queen?”

“My royal status is both a shield that protects me and a sword that impales my heart.”

“Respect shouldn't be hereditary; it must be earned.”

“You know, for a pampered princess, you have a certain gift for violence.”

“There is nothing sharper than a well mannered princess’ words.Their true meaning are a mystery.”

“People are born great but yet need to grow into greatness”

“Kings needn’t raise their voices to be heard.”

“She was their witch queen, and they adored her.”

“To be fair, I don't quite see any difference between an assassin and a knight. They both kill people, only one "in the name of Honour '' and the other is just a "monster"

“Crowns belong to those that serve.”

“I have the softness and meekness of a daughter but I also have the boldness and Braveheart of a Son.”

“Will you visit my chambers tonight?”

“A throne won in blood will soon be drenched in it.”

“Even when she's dethroned by hardship, she still wears the sun as a crown.”

“The Princess knew in her heart she is strong, smart, and capable because it is in her blood.”

“There is the matter of succession that has to be settled. You don’t start a reign without settling how it continues.”

“My reign has been anything but traditional. Let’s not start now, shall we?”

“Every girl thinks about growing up in a palace. Few ever ponder living in a cage.”

“Often blessings and burdens comes hand in hand. The bigger the Crown the heavier the burden”

“If stubborness were all that was needed to be a good queen, I'd rule the world.”

“Some girls have a frightening killer instinct. Don't let the ball gowns fool you.”

“You don't turn your back on your destiny.”

[bcacstuff]

Day 2 Highlanders 7 con 20 July 2024 at the Hilton Metropole Hotel, Birmingham

Fan Meet with Richard:

If he's a betting man there will be Rebus 2 (with a wink)

Hasn't read more than 4.5 books (of OL) couldn't get through the Gathering in Fiery Cross

Everyone's really sad about it ending

Doesn't like the stickers chosen for the Rebus books but the author did so he was outvoted

Charles & David Q&A

As part of training for the roles, they were taught them how to stand and sit using the "Alexander Technique" Demonstrating the "Alexander Technique" of how to stand up straight 18th-century style 👇

Question: if you could play another character who would it be: David - BJR; Charles - didn't know - fusion of LJG and Jamie

What won't you miss after OL ends - David travel; Charles didn't answer the question but said he'll miss his friends in Glasgow

Who would you go to a convention to see - Charles Eddie Vedder & Robin Kimmerer (author); David couldn't name anyone

Richard, Charles and Jamie Roy play Magic the Gathering (red: a card game) together almost every day when not working

When asked about a LJG series, David said if people want it he'd be up for it and people need to speak up about it

David and Charles singing O Canada 👍

Charles can walk on his hands - went back and forth 3x

Richard & Sophie Q&A

What song would describe your relationship on the show: Sophie - Lover (Richard joked Tolerater)

What role would you like to play: Sophie - Black Swan; Richard - Wolverine or Iron Man

Richard & Sam made different animal noises each take during the birthing scene

Hardest scene they had to film: Sophie - physically the ones with the horses; Richard - one where Brianna tells Roger Jemmy might not be his

If you could take a character ahead in time to see something - Sophie BJR to see Frank; Richard Jamie Fraser into the modern world - Richard loves Sam's reactions to modern things

What are you binge watching? Sophie - The Bear; Richard - Queen of the South and BBT

Sophie spoiler: Joey and I were in a tent (Richard adds "in the 80s")

Who would you go to a convention to see? Richard - BBT, Peaky Blinders: Sophie - Friends

They don't really get recognized in the UK but yes in the US "people in England don't really watch Outlander" (Sophie) - when they started in S2/3 it wasn't really "present", especially in Scotland.

Taken anything from set? Sophie very tempted to take the pearls but hasn't taken anything yet; Richard not yet either (made a joke about the musket balls and Lallybroch in the 80s trying not to spoil anything)

What song represents your character - Sophie "Girl on Fire" because she powers through things

Ed Speleers & Steven Cree

Favourite role so far - Jack Crusher (Ed)

Cree - best part of Outlander is the conventions

Favourite scene was when Bonnet kidnaps Brianna and they explain how he became what he is

Ed read for LJG and they came back to him the next year with Bonnett

Cree auditioned for Dougal (who's the guy who raised $250K for a film then never made the film? - ouch!!). Then they cast Sam and had to make Dougal age appropriate

What era would you time travel to: Ed - 60s: Steven - his early 20s

Sam created MPC and whisky "unlike the guy who embezzled $250K" (ouch again!! Cree used the word "embezzled")

Cree to Sean - how does it feel to be a millionaire? Sean - pass me your phone I'll call Sam and ask him

Cree was offered roles in Bridgerton 1 & 2 and said no after he read the scripts

Cree went on for 5 minutes about how Claire brought Jamie back to life in Monsters & Heroes - it was hilarious

Seems that the 2 of them (Cree and Ed) go way back and are good friends (Ed said Cree was the most excited when he landed the star trek role. They wouldn't ever have crossed paths on OL. They know each other's families too.)

Caitriona

Funniest lines she couldn't get through - where she asks BPC if the bite was from a monkey and when Ian offers to go looking for Jamie and Claire says "but you don't have a leg"

Prefers to be called Caitriona

They talked about the ending of the books and someone yelled "Sam knows" then she said Sam THINKS he knows

Will be odd knowing they're not going back to Scotland when they finish filming. Couldn't say if they're staying but her husband is from Scotland and her in-laws live there so they will be there in some capacity

Costumes in S8 are her favourite since S2 Paris

Thanked everyone and said how much doing the show has meant to her

Asked if she and Tony share the same musical taste. She thought they said Sam and Steve said "no, your real husband" (she does with Tony, "definitely not" with Sam)

To prepare for Claire & Frank since they had a history, she and Tobias wrote each other letters. Tobias would redact his because he was in MI6. They didn't do anything to prepare for Claire & BJR because she didn't know him

During the rapid-fire someone asked "Sam's whisky or Graham's bourbon". She said Sam's whisky but hasn't tried the bourbon (she doesn't really like bourbon it's too sweet)

All credits to my reporter at the con (who chose to remain anonymous), including the pics.

[max1461]

I didn't know rationalism of the online rationalists was not the same as the one that has the Wikipedia article. When I first saw the term on Tumblr I went to that article and skimmed it and decided I don't really get what those bloggers' perspectives are. After your post I now have even less knowledge than I did before.

The following is an oversimplification, so for those who have quibbles with the history here, well, forgive me.

Online rationalism was founded by two guys named Eliezer Yudkowsky and Robin Hanson on the blog LessWrong. Of these two figures Yudkowsky has been much more influential. The ideology that Yudkowsky promoted is roughly as follows:

humans are, relatively soon, likely to develop a superintelligent AI which has the capacity to self-improve by rewriting its own code. This will cause the AI's intelligence to rapidly explode beyond anything we can imagine, a process which rationalists onomatopoetically call "FOOM".

This superintelligent AI, if it could be harnessed and controlled, could cure death, and possibly revive all already-dead humans in a simulated world, leading to a technological utopia in which humans have merged with machines; this is called "the singularity" (the idea of the singularity predates the rationalists, and is a broader transhumanist trope).

However, it is almost certain that a superintelligent AI could not be harnessed and controlled; in fact, if such an AI was created, there is a very high probability that it would end the world (in rationalist jargon this is called an "x-risk"), perhaps usurping all of the accessible matter and energy on earth, then in the solar system, then in the galaxy and beyond in pursuit of its inscrutable goals. Thus, humans have a responsibility to make sure we never create such a superintelligent AI (in a recent op-ed in Time, Yudkowsky went so far as to say that the US should use drone strikes to destroy any datacenter found to be training a large AI model).

The reason that people do not recognize the truths above is because people are too irrational to see them. Therefore, people need to be taught to be more rational, by Yudkowsky via the blog LessWrong. The tenets of being more rational are laid out largely in a series of blog posts known as "The Sequences", later published as a book. The main take-aways are: (1) use Bayes' Theorem all the time to estimate the probability of things, and (2) to eliminate one's various cognitive biases, as outlined in The Sequences.

LessWrong attracted a lot of people who did not agree with Yudkowsky about AI, but who liked the Bayes' Theorem stuff and the commentary on cognitive biases. There is a joke that "anyone who has ever disagreed with Yudkowsky is a rationalist". The people who settled on LessWrong were largely drawn from the milieu of Bay Area tech workers, economics blog enthusiasts, and sci-fi fans. They would come to be known as LessWrongers, rationalists, or aspiring rationals. From this group, two major subgroups worth mentioning were spawned:

First is the Effective Altruists. Effective Altruism, to my knowledge, isn't a strictly LessWronger phenomenon, and has also been influenced majorly by philosophers like Peter Singer. However, they have been so intertwined with LessWrongers throughout their history that I think they are worth mentioning as essentially an offshoot of rationalism.

Effective Altruists believe that, in order to do the most good in the world, one should use one's money in a way that does the maximum amount of good per dollar. Rather than e.g. donating to charities willy-nilly based on what feels important, one should use quantitative methods to estimate how much impact each dollar is making, and donate in a way which maximizes that. The Effective Altruists are split along one main ideological line: neartermism vs. longtermism. The neartermists are basically focused on what we would traditionally think of as charitable activities: fighting disease, giving people clean water, that kind of stuff. I think neartermist Effective Altruism is pretty sensible, and I think they've done a lot of good work evaluating charities and so on. GiveWill is an essentially neartermist Effective Altruist organization, and I think their activities are very worth supporting.

The longtermists, on the other hand, are focused on "the long-term interests of humanity". They are, well, in my opinion, basically a bunch of people trying to turn their sci-fi fantasies into a reality. They are often very worried about AI x-risk, like Yudkowsky, and they're often pro-singularity, and sometimes pro-eugenics, and a bunch of other stuff. Remember Sam Bankman-Fried, the guy who committed the largest act of financial fraud in human history? Well, he was an Effective Altruist with some longertermist sympathies. Some of the money that he stole he actually gave to worthwhile charities, but some of it he used on stupid longtermist sci-fi fantasy shit. His girlfriend Caroline Ellison, who helped him do a bunch of that fraud, was a member of rationalist tumblr. Some of my mutuals were mutuals with her.

The other major group spawned out of LessWrong were the Neoreactionaries, or NRx. These guys, too, weren't a purely LessWronger phenomenon; they were also majorly influenced by people such as the philosopher Nick Land (former student of Baudrillard, who took a far-right turn in the 2000s and started advocating for "hyper-racism") and blogger Curtis Yarvin a.k.a. "Mencius Moldbug". These guys are a rag-tag group of authoritarians, eugenicists, and racists, who are interested in rationality insofar as they view it as a path that leads to their desired sci-fi-inflected far-right future.

Oh, right, last but not least I should define the term "rat-adj". It means "rationalist-adjacent". Uh. So, I was never a LessWronger, and as I think my description makes clear, I find like 90% of this rationalist stuff either goofy or actively harmful. But I have, somehow, ended up basically acquainted with a bunch of people formerly or presently part of the LessWrong milieu, and in light of this I am what one calls "rationalist-adjacent". I talk to various rationalist bloggers somewhat often. And most of them are much more normal than all this would suggest, part of the rationalist discursive sphere but not really believers in the imminent AI apocalypse. Uh. So, there you go.

[kvothe-kingkiller]

I'm not the best writer when it comes to writing convincing essays or whatever, but I'm going to give this a go because it's something that I've thought for a long time that I've never seen anyone really acknowledge unless I bring it up first. (also I am sick and don't really want to do much editing here, just rambles, so good luck)

I think that when most (not all, but most) people get salty about 'modern art', they are not salty about the things people think they are salty about. When they say "this isn't art", theres an important bit that they're not articulating. What I think most of them mean is "this isn't art that should be in a museum." "this isn't art that should cost this much" "this isn't art that should be getting this kind of recognition". And there is a huge difference between that and just saying "this isn't art"

Firstly, all of the arguments about why modern art is in fact art straight up....don't apply. They don't address the problem, they don't answer the question. This isn't really anyone's fault per se, given that it is addressing the literal statement, it's just I think most people aren't actually thinking that literal statement.

So then what do they really mean? Like I said, I think they're trying to articulate why they're frustrated that this art is in a museum when "they could do it". So when you say "okay then, you do it" that doesn't address the core issue, which is "but why is this getting recognition for it, and I would get none" because yes, unless they are famous, they would get Zero recognition for it. Nobody would be lining up to buy their art, no one would ask to put it in a museum. Best place they can hope to have this displayed is a fridge door.

When you look at a piece of fine art, most can see the amount of effort put into it. They see how much training it took to get there, they see how much time it took to put those strokes on that canvas and they can go "yeah, that took skill, that took effort, not everyone can do that. it deserves recognition". And a lot of modern art does take skill, it's just skill that isn't easily noticeable to the average viewer, such as rothko's color fields, they do take a lot of skill and effort, you just can't see it if you don't know. But a lot of modern art that people complain about isn't something that has skill that's not recognized, it just requires very little technical skill at all (not a condemnation, btw).

When you're talking about something 'anyone can do' that piece's value is often not a recognition of skill, or even of the message, it's a recognition of a name. It's similar to having a gucci bag because it's a gucci bag, not because you care remotely about the bag. Yes, art isn't displayed because of how much effort went into it, but it's a huge industry that many many people are making money through from sheer name recognition alone.

Like that one painting of that one artist's (I forget which artist and my cursory google isnt finding it, but also its just an example) where it got replicated and sold to a bunch of people for a large amount of money so they could all have something that had a small chance of being a genuine painting by the artist, that's an excellent example of the fact that a lot of the gallery-level art world is Entirely about the name, not about the piece itself. If someone just made that painting but didn't say it could be from the artist, then who cares?

If you go to ringo starr's art website (https://www.ringostarrart.com/) then you can see that some of his work, especially his older work, is of that category of stuff that many people would say "I could do that" to. For instance, these two? 1,400 and 6,000 pounds respectively for a PRINT of these from his website

....okay this one I kinda enjoy.

but still. 2,000 pounds for a print.

All of this is possible because he's ringo fucking starr, he can sell his paintings for whatever he wants. If I tried to sell those for that much, I'd be laughed out of the room. All of it is just clout, it's just how big your name is and how much you can use that as leverage.

This is not to say that other forms of art don't also have this issue, they do, especially with people devaluing creative works so much today. But you could probably get a few commissions if you sell realistic art or do commissions of people's characters, while you Cannot get any money trying to sell stuff like ringos art unless you already have an audience who will buy it.

This does somewhat lead into a discussion of how art curators pick which artists are 'good' somewhat arbitrarily, but that's a whole other post.

Doing art for 'yourself' vs for other people or money is also a whole other post, one which I've actually seen quite a lot on here. But suffice to say if your response to all of this is 'just make art for yourself! Why do you need recognition?' then maybe go find some of those posts. It's not bad to want recognition, and it's not bad to question why that guy is getting much more recognition for the exact same thing you're doing just because he has a bunch of rich friends who are able to host fancy parties and go 'hmm. yes this is good art.' (not that all modern artists had rich friends, but they did almost all get Extremely lucky in some shape or another that led to them now being widely accepted as good artists).

You cannot make a living off modern art unless you're well known, and if you happen to be well known already, you could likely make a living off modern art without having any experience, and that's what a lot of people hate about modern art, even if they don't articulate it. While some would, most wouldn't say "my five year old could do that" to someone's personal piece that they made themselves and hung up in their home, or that their friend made and gave to them. They say that about the pieces bought for thousands of dollars or millions of dollars.

And I don't want people to think that I do hate modern art, I don't (though this is tumblr, so I'm pissing on the poor just by writing this). I don't hate any of the famous modern artists, I don't think modern art isn't art. I do hate the industry that says their art is suddenly worth something just because some rich fuckers somewhere decided they should be, and anything I tried to do in a similar vein, original or not, would be better suited to sit in a coffee shop and continuously marked down and never sold.

So next time you say "so why don't you make it", maybe ask yourself if you would buy it.