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justpoliteconversations · 9 months ago

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Apple Merchant [BOTW!Link x Isekai!Reader] (Part 4)

Link learns some things. And so do you.

Yet another for the ever growing pile of self-indulgent garbage refuse. Enjoy the process of decomposition with me for a while.

Part 1 / 2 / 3 / 4 / 5 / 6

Alternate Extras: Embrace

Masterlist

TW: Choosing not to display warnings. Read at your own discretion.

Disclaimer: Don't own The Legend of Zelda franchise.

---

The yiga. A faction of Ganon worshipping traitors formerly of the Sheikah clan, whose main objective is to kill the Hero known as Link (in other words, himself). Known for their distinctive red body suits and white masks. And, strangely enough, their love of bananas.

They were also currently at the very top of Link's (until recently non-existent) shit list, because AM had deemed their threat level too great to allow them to meet each other freely. As Blue had told him, AM's profession placed them at greater danger than the average citizen to the assassins' blades. What that profession was, Link was not told (despite his pleading and intense stares and even one memorable attempt to bargain for the information), but it was deemed necessary to maintain distance because of this.

There were plenty of other useful things in the book too. Not a letter or a note or even a small bundle of documents. A book. An honest to Goddess book. Because there was nothing else the ridiculously thick, neatly piled collection of leather bound miscellaneous papers, maps, diagrams, notes and documents could be. It was the thickness of Link's hand for goodness sakes.

Thankfully, Blue had taken mercy on him (and his desire to get moving as soon as possible) and bookmarked the pages and maps that would be most useful to him. All while giving him that bland, graceful smile of hers and explaining that AM was a very proactive information gatherer, but that they didn't always consider that not everyone wanted to know the exact region Sneaky snails bred in or where the highest priced wheat could be found.

Link very deliberately didn't tell her that he did, in fact, find those very interesting topics to learn about (and that he would be reading through the entire book when he got the chance. later). Because he was still stung that she'd given him a condescending little smile (smirk, it was a damned smirk and Link knew it) when he'd tried to bargain with her for more information on AM.

In total, he'd spent three days in Hateno, gathering information (as though the book wasn't enough), gathering supplies (because as many as were in the slate, it didn't have everything a warrior would need to maintain his gear. Blue's words, not his) and getting to know the people around the area.

Also, armor. Costume fitted (Link didn't think too hard about how Blue had gotten his measurements) as to AM's specifications before they'd left town. The order arrived a little later due to his (apparently) small size causing complications with some of the straps.

Honestly, it felt good. It felt familiar with a hazy kind of comfort that spoke of his body's remembrance of such armor resting upon it often. And suddenly, in that moment, the thought that he had once been a knight didn't feel so far off, despite having no memory of it and very little desire to become as such again.

Ready to go (finally) he put on his boots, tightened the straps of his new (fitted. maybe he'd see about getting his Sheikah armor fitted as well if he was in the area) hyrulian armor set, and took one last shot before departing.

"Where can I get more bananas?" Link tried, going for casual but coming off far too intense for it to be anything but prying. "For the Yiga problem."

Blue just smiled (small and condescending, and so frustrating) before replying evenly. "AM has that well in hand I'd imagine." The knowing glint in Blue's eyes put a pout on Link's face. "It's best you focus on your mission, Courageous One." Then she smiled genuinely. Just a bit, but enough to ease Link's heart as she continued. "Fear naught for your beloved AM. No harm shall befall them while my sister haunts their shadow."

Link believed her. And with that little bit of reassurance, the Hero of Hyrule set out into the world once more. With courage in his heart and his goal ever at the forefront of his mind.

Defeat the Calamity guy. Meet AM. Travel this vast, wondrous world with them for the rest of their days. Or, maybe one day settle down more permanently in Hateno and open a food stand.

Anywhere life took them. Whatever you wanted. This was the beginning of his new life after all, and he was so eager to spend it with you.

---

You stared up at the quickly growing pile of bright yellow fruit with something like regret stabbing at your heart. Just thinking about how much rupees you were about to drop on this one purchase alone was enough to put a hitch in your throat. It was enough to have you contemplating a long walk off that equally long (absurdly long) wooden bridge just next to the stable.

When you'd stopped at Lakeside Stable for the night and told Adino you'd pay him market price for any bananas he brought back to you before you left. You hadn't expected him to take that as a challenge. You hadn't expected Skims to get involved in it as well. And you most certainly had not expected Red to show up out of nowhere with a pile rivaling (and maybe even surpassing) Adino's.

And thus, within the span of a few short hours, you were suddenly several thousand rupees poorer (not that that pantry amount even scratched the surface of your accumulated wealth, but you digress) and many, many bananas richer.

At least they tasted good.

"Not that I'm against your presence. But why are you here, Red?" You asked the red clad woman after (with a heavy heart) passing out everyone's pay for the bananas they'd brought you. (Skims and Red didn't even have the grace to look ashamed for muscling in on the quick profit either, the jerks.)

She didn't even pause from where she'd been fingering through her newly acquired (ill gotten) gains when she hummed playfully. "Oh. Gran thought it'd be wise to send along a little extra protection to ensure The Hero's benefactor remained unmolested during these most crucial of times."

The look on your face must have been confused enough to spur Red to explain. "Gran told us to keep you in the dark about our motivations, but I like you. So I'll tell you the truth, since you seem like the reasonable sort." She finally put the rupees down and turned to face you, eyes hardening into a serious shade of near black as she explained.

"The Hero is without his memory, and until recently, was without motivation to see his mission through with the urgency it requires. Had he been as he was before, just the mention of the Princess would have been enough to send the guy running, if you believe the rambling of nostalgic old gossip crows." Her lips twisted into something too complicated to decipher before it was neutral again.

"But he's not the man he used to be. He's not the princess's knight anymore for all his destiny would push him to be. And so, he needed a new motivation to get him moving." She gave you a smile, but it wasn't a nice one (it was one full of spite and pity, though only the pitying part was directed at you). "That's you. The guy loves you already. Call it situational stockholm or just that damned knightly instincts of his, but you are the apple of his eye." She tried to soften her smile into something humorous, but it fell short.

"Bottom line. You're the replacement motivation. Just until he gets enough of his memories back to get invested in the Princess' wellbeing." She flicked a rupee off the stump she'd gathered them on, expression very closed off as she continued.

"Whenever Mr. hero gets a little too comfortable playing house, we're supposed to dangle you in his face and get him interested again. That you seem invested in his success was just a bonus. Be it the Will of Hylia or just simple coincidence, doesn't matter. You're useful, and if it gets the Princess out of that Hell, we're willing to use that."

Another smile, sharp but honest. "It's our duty after all, to serve the royal family. I'm sure you understand." Despite the way the information settled sourly in your stomach you nodded, keeping your expression as even as possible.

She noticed though, and suddenly her hand was on yours (you hadn't noticed it tightening into a fist). "Don't fret, Apples." She smiled again, softer this time. Eyes lighted with a compassion that held such raw honesty despite her earlier words. "My sister and I are not going to let the elders use you like that. You might have asked yourself why Bluey isn't here instead, since, you know-" She smirked, side-eyeing Adino who'd gone some distance off to try to find more bananas (to take more of your rupees, the little bastard).

"We will fulfill our duties. For the protection of Hyrule and everything we love. But not at your's or your dear Hero's expense. At least, not like that. You see, Bluey has something I do not, and that is a gentle touch. She'll take care of the Hero in the way he needs, not the way that'll get the fastest results." Her smirk widened. "And she's got more of a rebellious streak than me too. Trust in her. She'll protect your dear Hero. Even if she has to spit in the elders' eyes to do it. She never could put her heart aside for the sake of duty."

You were silent for a time, digesting her words with the weight and attention they deserved, before looking back to her. A smile on your lips, and your hand out before her in the gesture of a shake.

"I look forward to doing business with you then, Red." You began, letting the edge of your resolve sharpen your eyes and embolden your words. "Let's do our best to protect Link and save Zelda. We'll give it everything we've got."

Red grinned, full and bright and smug (so unbearably smug, like she had won the lottery. which they didn't have here, and you were not interested in introducing any time soon either). "I knew you were gonna understand. The Goddess wouldn't choose just anyone to guard her chosen's heart."

You blinked. "What?"

Red picked up another rupee, flicking it at you. "What~?"

---

Now, off to work! And then the shadows to rest.

#botw link #botw x reader #link x you #link x reader #isekai reader

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kisseobie · 8 months ago

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okay but on the arguments with seob imagine the lovemaking after a long days of being far apart and it's just so hshsjsjsjjsj and full of sopsososjdj 😔

i’m literally the biggest slut for needy big dick bf seob…

oh my god yes, he’s usually pretty touchy with you in general but it’s so much more evident when he’s been away from you for a few weeks, reuniting with you and immediately seeking solace in your skin. when he’s away on tour, he texts you daily updates to show you how much he thinks about you, including good morning and good night texts, daily selfies, pictures of his food, the photos he took on his digicam that week, etc..

he’s also really bad at hiding his need for your touch, even when he’s miles away from you. his neediness to be close to you is most evident when he goes from texting you 3 times a day to 5, when he’s sending you more photos of himself than usual and asking for more in return.. and if he’s especially horny, sending you a voice message while his fists his cock and whimpers because the contact from his hand doesn’t compare to your cunt :( just misses you, your face, and your body so much. send him some risqué pictures or videos of you touching yourself and he’s a mess, begging you for more..

when he does eventually travel home, he’s texting you the entire commute about how much he misses you, and how excited he is to finally have you in his arms again. sends you his flight and airport intinterary so you can see him right when he lands, because he doesn’t think either of you could wait any longer. when you catch sight of jongseob wheeling his luggage to the visitor section, you run up to him and can’t help but jump into his arms, kissing him with all your might, the the point where onlookers are gawking at your shamelessness. he’s honestly taken a bit aback, not realizing that you craved his touch just as much, and maybe even more, than he did for yours. the lyft home is disgustingly sweet, you and jongseob’s bodies incredibly close and you think you may have heard the driver scoff when seob leans in to kiss you again. there’s a feeling of anticipation hanging in the air, and you feel yourself getting wet at just the thought of seeing your boyfriend naked again..

the pair of you enter your apartment building with your fingers interlaced, lips connected for the nth time whilst your free hand blindly searches for the light switch. your boyfriend effortlessly picks you up, wrapping his arms around your frame as you both lean in to devour each other again. he messily shoves his tongue in your mouth and you audibly whine, a reaction that he’s become quite familiar with in the past few years, a reaction that tells him you want more. he continues to carry you all the way to his bedroom, throwing you onto his bed as he strips himself in record time. cut to a few minutes later and you’re both on top of jongseob’s sheets, your back laid against his silk pillows as he plows into your heat as hard as he can. the only sounds filling the room are the bed creaking and the noises being pulled out of you and your lover, whether it be your loud moans for more, or jongseob’s curses mixed with sweet praises. time slips by as your boyfriend continues to fuck into you, never speeding up his comfortable pace and just basking in finally having you like this again.

and i can 100% envision marathon sex after jongseob comes home to you for the first time in months, with you praising him for his hard work, and him telling you how much he missed feeling your tight walls around his fat cock. you fuck for hours, until it’s late at night and your limbs are too tired to continue. the scent of sweat and sex doesn’t even bother you, and you tuck your head into your boyfriend’s chest and doze off, content that he’s finally here, and satisfied with the feeling of his cum oozing out of your swollen hole…

a/n: can u tell i want to be bred

taglist: @woozixo @hearts4chanhee @kyokopi @astro-doll-the-star @soobiary @kyaaramello @t3ssamoodboard @angelcbf @idontknow-1s-world @vivienne-sim @elissasimp @imjustayapper @ihatewreckingballmains @sosaverse @seobing @www90kitsch @khfviq @barbiekh86t @bbyjjunie @taeyangi @fullsunstrawberry @jihnyah @intheemptymirror @watamotee33 @dreamer1299 @jixnnsie @wonootnoot @yukx-x047 @cysier @fishsquishh

❤︎

#kpop writers #jongseob x reader #p1h #p1harmony #p1harmony x reader #jongseob #p1h jongseob #piwon #kim jongseob #p1harmony drabbles #p1h smut #p1harmony smut #p1harmony scenarios #p1harmony reactions #p1harmony hard hours

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mariacallous · 2 months ago

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A long trip on an American highway in the summer of 2024 leaves the impression that two kinds of billboards now have near-monopoly rule over our roads. On one side, the billboards, gravely black-and-white and soberly reassuring, advertise cancer centers. (“We treat every type of cancer, including the most important one: yours”; “Beat 3 Brain Tumors. At 57, I gave birth, again.”) On the other side, brightly colored and deliberately clownish billboards advertise malpractice and personal-injury lawyers, with phone numbers emblazoned in giant type and the lawyers wearing superhero costumes or intimidating glares, staring down at the highway as they promise to do to juries.

A new Tocqueville considering the landscape would be certain that all Americans do is get sick and sue each other. We ask doctors to cure us of incurable illnesses, and we ask lawyers to take on the doctors who haven’t. We are frightened and we are angry; we look to expert intervention for the fears, and to comic but effective-seeming figures for retaliation against the experts who disappoint us.

Much of this is distinctly American—the idea that cancer-treatment centers would be in competitive relationships with one another, and so need to advertise, would be as unimaginable in any other industrialized country as the idea that the best way to adjudicate responsibility for a car accident is through aggressive lawsuits. Both reflect national beliefs: in competition, however unreal, and in the assignment of blame, however misplaced. We want to think that, if we haven’t fully enjoyed our birthright of plenty and prosperity, a nameable villain is at fault.

To grasp what is at stake in this strangest of political seasons, it helps to define the space in which the contest is taking place. We may be standing on the edge of an abyss, and yet nothing is wrong, in the expected way of countries on the brink of apocalypse. The country is not convulsed with riots, hyperinflation, or mass immiseration. What we have is a sort of phony war—a drôle de guerre, a sitzkrieg—with the vehemence of conflict mainly confined to what we might call the cultural space.

These days, everybody talks about spaces: the “gastronomic space,” the “podcast space,” even, on N.F.L. podcasts, the “analytic space.” Derived from some combination of sociology and interior design, the word has elbowed aside terms like “field” or “conversation,” perhaps because it’s even more expansive. The “space” of a national election is, for that reason, never self-evident; we’ve always searched for clues.

And so William Dean Howells began his 1860 campaign biography of Abraham Lincoln by mocking the search for a Revolutionary pedigree for Presidential candidates and situating Lincoln in the antislavery West, in contrast to the resigned and too-knowing East. North vs. South may have defined the frame of the approaching war, but Howells was prescient in identifying East vs. West as another critical electoral space. This opposition would prove crucial—first, to the war, with the triumph of the Westerner Ulysses S. Grant over the well-bred Eastern generals, and then to the rejuvenation of the Democratic Party, drawing on free-silver populism and an appeal to the values of the resource-extracting, expansionist West above those of the industrialized, centralized East.

A century later, the press thought that the big issues in the race between Richard Nixon and John F. Kennedy were Quemoy and Matsu (two tiny Taiwan Strait islands, claimed by both China and Taiwan), the downed U-2, the missile gap, and other much debated Cold War obsessions. But Norman Mailer, in what may be the best thing he ever wrote, saw the space as marked by the rise of movie-star politics—the image-based contests that, from J.F.K. to Ronald Reagan, would dominate American life. In “Superman Comes to the Supermarket,” published in Esquire, Mailer revealed that a campaign that looked at first glance like the usual black-and-white wire-service photography of the first half of the twentieth century was really the beginning of our Day-Glo-colored Pop-art turn.

And our own electoral space? We hear about the overlooked vs. the élite, the rural vs. the urban, the coastal vs. the flyover, the aged vs. the young—about the dispossessed vs. the beneficiaries of global neoliberalism. Upon closer examination, however, these binaries blur. Support for populist nativism doesn’t track neatly with economic disadvantage. Some of Donald Trump’s keenest supporters have boats as well as cars and are typically the wealthier citizens of poorer rural areas. His stock among billionaires remains high, and his surprising support among Gen Z males is something his campaign exploits with visits to podcasts that no non-Zoomer has ever heard of.

But polarized nations don’t actually polarize around fixed poles. Civil confrontations invariably cross classes and castes, bringing together people from radically different social cohorts while separating seemingly natural allies. The English Revolution of the seventeenth century, like the French one of the eighteenth, did not array worn-out aristocrats against an ascendant bourgeoisie or fierce-eyed sansculottes. There were, one might say, good people on both sides. Or, rather, there were individual aristocrats, merchants, and laborers choosing different sides in these prerevolutionary moments. No civil war takes place between classes; coalitions of many kinds square off against one another.

In part, that’s because there’s no straightforward way of defining our “interests.” It’s in the interest of Silicon Valley entrepreneurs to have big tax cuts; in the longer term, it’s also in their interest to have honest rule-of-law government that isn’t in thrall to guilds or patrons—to be able to float new ideas without paying baksheesh to politicians or having to worry about falling out of sixth-floor windows. “Interests” fail as an explanatory principle.

Does talk of values and ideas get us closer? A central story of American public life during the past three or four decades is (as this writer has noted) that liberals have wanted political victories while reliably securing only cultural victories, even as conservatives, wanting cultural victories, get only political ones. Right-wing Presidents and legislatures are elected, even as one barrier after another has fallen on the traditionalist front of manners and mores. Consider the widespread acceptance of same-sex marriage. A social transformation once so seemingly untenable that even Barack Obama said he was against it, in his first campaign for President, became an uncontroversial rite within scarcely more than a decade.

Right-wing political power has, over the past half century, turned out to have almost no ability to stave off progressive social change: Nixon took the White House in a landslide while Norman Lear took the airwaves in a ratings sweep. And so a kind of permanent paralysis has set in. The right has kept electing politicians who’ve said, “Enough! No more ‘Anything goes’!”—and anything has kept going. No matter how many right-wing politicians came to power, no matter how many right-wing judges were appointed, conservatives decided that the entire culture was rigged against them.

On the left, the failure of cultural power to produce political change tends to lead to a doubling down on the cultural side, so that wholesome college campuses can seem the last redoubt of Red Guard attitudes, though not, to be sure, of Red Guard authority. On the right, the failure of political power to produce cultural change tends to lead to a doubling down on the political side in a way that turns politics into cultural theatre. Having lost the actual stages, conservatives yearn to enact a show in which their adversaries are rendered humiliated and powerless, just as they have felt humiliated and powerless. When an intolerable contradiction is allowed to exist for long enough, it produces a Trump.

As much as television was the essential medium of a dozen bygone Presidential campaigns (not to mention the medium that made Trump a star), the podcast has become the essential medium of this one. For people under forty, the form—typically long-winded and shapeless—is as tangibly present as Walter Cronkite’s tightly scripted half-hour news show was fifty years ago, though the D.I.Y. nature of most podcasts, and the premium on host-read advertisements, makes for abrupt tonal changes as startling as those of the highway billboards.

On the enormously popular, liberal-minded “Pod Save America,” for instance, the hosts make no secret of their belief that the election is a test, as severe as any since the Civil War, of whether a government so conceived can long endure. Then they switch cheerfully to reading ads for Tommy John underwear (“with the supportive pouch”), for herbal hangover remedies, and for an app that promises to cancel all your excess streaming subscriptions, a peculiarly niche obsession (“I accidentally paid for Showtime twice!” “That’s bad!”). George Conway, the former Republican (and White House husband) turned leading anti-Trumper, states bleakly on his podcast for the Bulwark, the news-and-opinion site, that Trump’s whole purpose is to avoid imprisonment, a motivation that would disgrace the leader of any Third World country. Then he immediately leaps into offering—like an old-fashioned a.m.-radio host pushing Chock Full o’Nuts—testimonials for HexClad cookware, with charming self-deprecation about his own kitchen skills. How serious can the crisis be if cookware and boxers cohabit so cozily with the apocalypse?

And then there’s the galvanic space of social media. In the nineteen-seventies and eighties, we were told, by everyone from Jean Baudrillard to Daniel Boorstin, that television had reduced us to numbed observers of events no longer within our control. We had become spectators instead of citizens. In contrast, the arena of social media is that of action and engagement—and not merely engagement but enragement, with algorithms acting out addictively on tiny tablets. The aura of the Internet age is energized, passionate, and, above all, angry. The algorithms dictate regular mortar rounds of text messages that seem to come not from an eager politician but from an infuriated lover, in the manner of Glenn Close in “Fatal Attraction”: “Are you ignoring us?” “We’ve reached out to you PERSONALLY!” “This is the sixth time we’ve asked you!” At one level, we know they’re entirely impersonal, while, at another, we know that politicians wouldn’t do this unless it worked, and it works because, at still another level, we are incapable of knowing what we know; it doesn’t feel entirely impersonal. You can doomscroll your way to your doom. The democratic theorists of old longed for an activated citizenry; somehow they failed to recognize how easily citizens could be activated to oppose deliberative democracy.

If the cultural advantages of liberalism have given it a more pointed politics in places where politics lacks worldly consequences, its real-world politics can seem curiously blunted. Kamala Harris, like Joe Biden before her, is an utterly normal workaday politician of the kind we used to find in any functioning democracy—bending right, bending left, placating here and postponing confrontation there, glaring here and, yes, laughing there. Demographics aside, there is nothing exceptional about Harris, which is her virtue. Yet we live in exceptional times, and liberal proceduralists and institutionalists are so committed to procedures and institutions—to laws and their reasonable interpretation, to norms and their continuation—that they can be slow to grasp that the world around them has changed.

One can only imagine the fulminations that would have ensued in 2020 had the anti-democratic injustice of the Electoral College—which effectively amplifies the political power of rural areas at the expense of the country’s richest and most productive areas—tilted in the other direction. Indeed, before the 2000 election, when it appeared as if it might, Karl Rove and the George W. Bush campaign had a plan in place to challenge the results with a “grassroots” movement designed to short-circuit the Electoral College and make the popular-vote winner prevail. No Democrat even suggests such a thing now.

It’s almost as painful to see the impunity with which Supreme Court Justices have torched their institution’s legitimacy. One Justice has the upside-down flag of the insurrectionists flying on his property; another, married to a professional election denialist, enjoys undeclared largesse from a plutocrat. There is, apparently, little to be done, nor even any familiar language of protest to draw on. Prepared by experience to believe in institutions, mainstream liberals believe in their belief even as the institutions are degraded in front of their eyes.

In one respect, the space of politics in 2024 is transoceanic. The forms of Trumpism are mirrored in other countries. In the U.K., a similar wave engendered the catastrophe of Brexit; in France, it has brought an equally extreme right-wing party to the brink, though not to the seat, of power; in Italy, it elevated Matteo Salvini to national prominence and made Giorgia Meloni Prime Minister. In Sweden, an extreme-right group is claiming voters in numbers no one would ever have thought possible, while Canadian conservatives have taken a sharp turn toward the far right.

What all these currents have in common is an obsessive fear of immigration. Fear of the other still seems to be the primary mover of collective emotion. Even when it is utterly self-destructive—as in Britain, where the xenophobia of Brexit cut the U.K. off from traditional allies while increasing immigration from the Global South—the apprehension that “we” are being flooded by frightening foreigners works its malign magic.

It’s an old but persistent delusion that far-right nationalism is not rooted in the emotional needs of far-right nationalists but arises, instead, from the injustices of neoliberalism. And so many on the left insist that all those Trump voters are really Bernie Sanders voters who just haven’t had their consciousness raised yet. In fact, a similar constellation of populist figures has emerged, sharing platforms, plans, and ideologies, in countries where neoliberalism made little impact, and where a strong system of social welfare remains in place. If a broadened welfare state—national health insurance, stronger unions, higher minimum wages, and the rest—would cure the plague in the U.S., one would expect that countries with resilient welfare states would be immune from it. They are not.

Though Trump can be situated in a transoceanic space of populism, he isn’t a mere symptom of global trends: he is a singularly dangerous character, and the product of a specific cultural milieu. To be sure, much of New York has always been hostile to him, and eager to disown him; in a 1984 profile of him in GQ, Graydon Carter made the point that Trump was the only New Yorker who ever referred to Sixth Avenue as the “Avenue of the Americas.” Yet we’re part of Trump’s identity, as was made clear by his recent rally on Long Island—pointless as a matter of swing-state campaigning, but central to his self-definition. His belligerence could come directly from the two New York tabloid heroes of his formative years in the city: John Gotti, the gangster who led the Gambino crime family, and George Steinbrenner, the owner of the Yankees. When Trump came of age, Gotti was all over the front page of the tabloids, as “the Teflon Don,” and Steinbrenner was all over the back sports pages, as “the Boss.”

Steinbrenner was legendary for his middle-of-the-night phone calls, for his temper and combativeness. Like Trump, who theatricalized the activity, he had a reputation for ruthlessly firing people. (Gotti had his own way of doing that.) Steinbrenner was famous for having no loyalty to anyone. He mocked the very players he had acquired and created an atmosphere of absolute chaos. It used to be said that Steinbrenner reduced the once proud Yankees baseball culture to that of professional wrestling, and that arena is another Trumpian space. Pro wrestling is all about having contests that aren’t really contested—that are known to be “rigged,” to use a Trumpian word—and yet evoke genuine emotion in their audience.

At the same time, Trump has mastered the gangster’s technique of accusing others of crimes he has committed. The agents listening to the Gotti wiretap were mystified when he claimed innocence of the just-committed murder of Big Paul Castellano, conjecturing, in apparent seclusion with his soldiers, about who else might have done it: “Whoever killed this cocksucker, probably the cops killed this Paul.” Denying having someone whacked even in the presence of those who were with you when you whacked him was a capo’s signature move.

Marrying the American paranoid style to the more recent cult of the image, Trump can draw on the manner of the tabloid star and show that his is a game, a show, not to be taken quite seriously while still being serious in actually inciting violent insurrections and planning to expel millions of helpless immigrants. Self-defined as a showman, he can say anything and simultaneously drain it of content, just as Gotti, knowing that he had killed Castellano, thought it credible to deny it—not within his conscience, which did not exist, but within an imaginary courtroom. Trump evidently learned that, in the realm of national politics, you could push the boundaries of publicity and tabloid invective far further than they had ever been pushed.

Trump’s ability to be both joking and severe at the same time is what gives him his power and his immunity. This power extends even to something as unprecedented as the assault on the U.S. Capitol. Trump demanded violence (“If you don’t fight like hell, you’re not going to have a country anymore”) but stuck in three words, “peacefully and patriotically,” that, however hollow, were meant to immunize him, Gotti-style. They were, so to speak, meant for the cops on the wiretap. Trump’s resilience is not, as we would like to tell our children about resilience, a function of his character. It’s a function of his not having one.

Just as Trump’s support cuts across the usual divisions, so, too, does a divide among his opponents—between the maximizers, who think that Trump is a unique threat to liberal democracy, and the minimizers, who think that he is merely the kind of clown a democracy is bound to throw up from time to time. The minimizers (who can be found among both Marxist Jacobin contributors and Never Trump National Review conservatives) will say that Trump has crossed the wires of culture and politics in a way that opportunistically responds to the previous paralysis, but that this merely places him in an American tradition. Democracy depends on the idea that the socially unacceptable might become acceptable. Andrew Jackson campaigned on similar themes with a similar manner—and was every bit as ignorant and every bit as unaware as Trump. (And his campaigns of slaughter against Indigenous people really were genocidal.) Trump’s politics may be ugly, foolish, and vain, but ours is often an ugly, undereducated, and vain country. Democracy is meant to be a mirror; it shows what it shows.

Indeed, America’s recent history has shown that politics is a trailing indicator of cultural change, and that one generation’s most vulgar entertainment becomes the next generation’s accepted style of political argument. David S. Reynolds, in his biography of Lincoln, reflects on how the new urban love of weird spectacle in the mid-nineteenth century was something Lincoln welcomed. P. T. Barnum’s genius lay in taking circus grotesques and making them exemplary Americans: the tiny General Tom Thumb was a hero, not a freak. Lincoln saw that it cost him nothing to be an American spectacle in a climate of sensation; he even hosted a reception at the White House for Tom Thumb and his wife—as much a violation of the decorum of the Founding Fathers as Trump’s investment in Hulk Hogan at the Republican Convention. Lincoln understood the Barnum side of American life, just as Trump understands its W.W.E. side.

And so, the minimizers say, taking Trump seriously as a threat to democracy in America is like taking Roman Reigns seriously as a threat to fair play in sports. Trump is an entertainer. The only thing he really wants are ratings. When opposing abortion was necessary to his electoral coalition, he opposed it—but then, when that was creating ratings trouble in other households, he sent signals that he wasn’t exactly opposed to it. When Project 2025, which he vaguely set in motion and claims never to have read, threatened his ratings, he repudiated it. The one continuity is his thirst for popularity, which is, in a sense, our own. He rows furiously away from any threatening waterfall back to the center of the river—including on Obamacare. And, the minimizers say, in the end, he did leave the White House peacefully, if gracelessly.

In any case, the panic is hardly unique to Trump. Reagan, too, was vilified and feared in his day, seen as the reductio ad absurdum of the culture of the image, an automaton projecting his controllers’ authoritarian impulses. Nixon was the subject of a savage satire by Philip Roth that ended with him running against the Devil for the Presidency of Hell. The minimizers tell us that liberals overreact in real time, write revisionist history when it’s over, and never see the difference between their stories.

The maximizers regard the minimizers’ case as wishful thinking buoyed up by surreptitious resentments, a refusal to concede anything to those we hate even if it means accepting someone we despise. Maximizers who call Trump a fascist are dismissed by the minimizers as either engaging in name-calling or forcing a facile parallel. Yet the parallel isn’t meant to be historically absolute; it is meant to be, as it were, oncologically acute. A freckle is not the same as a melanoma; nor is a Stage I melanoma the same as the Stage IV kind. But a skilled reader of lesions can sense which is which and predict the potential course if untreated. Trumpism is a cancerous phenomenon. Treated with surgery once, it now threatens to come back in a more aggressive form, subject neither to the radiation of “guardrails” nor to the chemo of “constraints.” It may well rage out of control and kill its host.

And so the maximalist case is made up not of alarmist fantasies, then, but of dulled diagnostic fact, duly registered. Think hard about the probable consequences of a second Trump Administration—about the things he has promised to do and can do, the things that the hard-core group of rancidly discontented figures (as usual with authoritarians, more committed than he is to an ideology) who surround him wants him to do and can do. Having lost the popular vote, as he surely will, he will not speak up to reconcile “all Americans.” He will insist that he won the popular vote, and by a landslide. He will pardon and then celebrate the January 6th insurrectionists, and thereby guarantee the existence of a paramilitary organization that’s capable of committing violence on his behalf without fear of consequences. He will, with an obedient Attorney General, begin prosecuting his political opponents; he was largely unsuccessful in his previous attempt only because the heads of two U.S. Attorneys’ offices, who are no longer there, refused to coöperate. When he begins to pressure CNN and ABC, and they, with all the vulnerabilities of large corporations, bend to his will, telling themselves that his is now the will of the people, what will we do to fend off the slow degradation of open debate?

Trump will certainly abandon Ukraine to Vladimir Putin and realign this country with dictatorships and against NATO and the democratic alliance of Europe. Above all, the spirit of vengeful reprisal is the totality of his beliefs—very much like the fascists of the twentieth century in being a man and a movement without any positive doctrine except revenge against his imagined enemies. And against this: What? Who? The spirit of resistance may prove too frail, and too exhausted, to rise again to the contest. Who can have confidence that a democracy could endure such a figure in absolute control and survive? An oncologist who, in the face of this much evidence, shrugged and proposed watchful waiting as the best therapy would not be an optimist. He would be guilty of gross malpractice. One of those personal-injury lawyers on the billboards would sue him, and win.

What any plausible explanation must confront is the fact that Trump is a distinctively vile human being and a spectacularly malignant political actor. In fables and fiction, in every Disney cartoon and Batman movie, we have no trouble recognizing and understanding the villains. They are embittered, canny, ludicrous in some ways and shrewd in others, their lives governed by envy and resentment, often rooted in the acts of people who’ve slighted them. (“They’ll never laugh at me again!”) They nonetheless have considerable charm and the ability to attract a cult following. This is Ursula, Hades, Scar—to go no further than the Disney canon. Extend it, if that seems too childlike, to the realms of Edmund in “King Lear” and Richard III: smart people, all, almost lovable in their self-recognition of their deviousness, but not people we ever want to see in power, for in power their imaginations become unimaginably deadly. Villains in fables are rarely grounded in any cause larger than their own grievances—they hate Snow White for being beautiful, resent Hercules for being strong and virtuous. Bane is blowing up Gotham because he feels misused, not because he truly has a better city in mind.

Trump is a villain. He would be a cartoon villain, if only this were a cartoon. Every time you try to give him a break—to grasp his charisma, historicize his ascent, sympathize with his admirers—the sinister truth asserts itself and can’t be squashed down. He will tell another lie so preposterous, or malign another shared decency so absolutely, or threaten violence so plausibly, or just engage in behavior so unhinged and hate-filled that you’ll recoil and rebound to your original terror at his return to power. One outrage succeeds another until we become exhausted and have to work hard even to remember the outrages of a few weeks past: the helicopter ride that never happened (but whose storytelling purpose was to demean Kamala Harris as a woman), or the cemetery visit that ended in a grotesque thumbs-up by a graveside (and whose symbolic purpose was to cynically enlist grieving parents on behalf of his contempt). No matter how deranged his behavior is, though, it does not seem to alter his good fortune.

Villainy inheres in individuals. There is certainly a far-right political space alive in the developed world, but none of its inhabitants—not Marine Le Pen or Giorgia Meloni or even Viktor Orbán—are remotely as reckless or as crazy as Trump. Our self-soothing habit of imagining that what has not yet happened cannot happen is the space in which Trump lives, just as comically deranged as he seems and still more dangerous than we know.

Nothing is ever entirely new, and the space between actual events and their disassociated representation is part of modernity. We live in that disassociated space. Generations of cultural critics have warned that we are lost in a labyrinth and cannot tell real things from illusion. Yet the familiar passage from peril to parody now happens almost simultaneously. Events remain piercingly actual and threatening in their effects on real people, while also being duplicated in a fictive system that shows and spoofs them at the same time. One side of the highway is all cancer; the other side all crazy. Their confoundment is our confusion.

It is telling that the most successful entertainments of our age are the dark comic-book movies—the Batman films and the X-Men and the Avengers and the rest of those cinematic universes. This cultural leviathan was launched by the discovery that these ridiculous comic-book figures, generations old, could now land only if treated seriously, with sombre backstories and true stakes. Our heroes tend to dullness; our villains, garishly painted monsters from the id, are the ones who fuel the franchise.

During the debate last month in Philadelphia, as Trump’s madness rose to a peak of raging lunacy—“They’re eating the dogs”; “He hates her!”—ABC, in its commercial breaks, cut to ads for “Joker: Folie à Deux,” the new Joaquin Phoenix movie, in which the crazed villain swirls and grins. It is a Gotham gone mad, and a Gotham, against all the settled rules of fable-making, without a Batman to come to the rescue. Shuttling between the comic-book villain and the grimacing, red-faced, and unhinged man who may be reëlected President in a few weeks, one struggled to distinguish our culture’s most extravagant imagination of derangement from the real thing. The space is that strange, and the stakes that high. ♦

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boytumms · 1 year ago

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Okay but consider... a young elven man, overconfident in his abilities as a fighter and hunter and tracker, ventures too deep into the dark woods while tracking some game. By the time he realizes that something in the woods is tracking him, he's well and truly lost, there's no way he could find back to the safer parts of the forest in time to get away.

He doesn't even have the time to react when some monster - rather like a panther, only larger, with horns and odd tendrils and strange, subtle but hypnotic patterns to its fur when light hits it just right - pounces on him and pins him down. He expects to die then and there, but though the creature shreds his clothes and its claws scratch him bloody, it never bites him. Instead, he feels something thrust suddenly, painfully, deep into his hole. He screams and writhes to no avail for what feels like hours, until finally the monster's need is satiated, and the young elf is left trembling, in pain and terrified, on the ground.

Months later, weary and half-starved from the long, terrible wandering in the dark woods, the young wlf finally finds his way back to within the borders of the elven realm. The way his belly bulges almost grotesquely from his otherwise thin frame makes it obvious what happened. He is carrying the spawn of one of the very monsters that elves have made it their sacred duty to fight, to protect the rest of the world from...

(yes i've been reading too much fantasy again, why do you ask)

AAA YESSSS knocked up elf boys <3!!!!!

Even if he's found by his people, they refuse to help him. He's been ruined by the monsters and has become infected with their spawn, he's clearly a disgrace to their clan and so unworthy to return. They leave him out in the forest where he must try to survive with the ever growing burden of his monster filled belly. Alone until he gives birth, sobbing and screaming for help as he struggles to push out a litter of beasts, only to be helplessly bred again and again by the dark forest creatures that now own him.

#ask #anonymous #mpreg #birth #belly kink #writings

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umnitsa · 9 months ago

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The Sailor's Knot

Summary: Thinking about what you lost throws you into a depression spiral. A handsome man brings you some help.

A/N: I had a dream and made it into a fanfic. This is written fully for myself and it's just two old people bonding over an old dog. <3 It's written from my experience with ADHD and I hope you guys enjoy it. Banner from @cafekitsune <3

Written with unholy eagerness and no proofreading!

Pairing: ADHD!Reader x Joel (Reader is also plus size, it just isn't an issue yet. Reader is about Joel's age.)

CW: Giant dog. Just that, this is very sweet and sad, in fact. Porn may come in later parts, because I enjoy it! <3

“So, what do you miss from before?”

The question took you by surprise as you raised your fork. You stopped, thinking of the zombie apocalypse, how life was and how happy you were for having reached Jackson. You shook your head, trying to avoid the bad feelings and memories from the early days of infection.

“To be honest? Dogs. Cats. Fuck, I miss house pets.” You sighed, looking at your friends. “I really enjoy the horses, but sometimes I wonder if we will ever be able to domesticate them again, I mean, the ones who were not spayed turned feral by now. And bred with wolves and wildcats.” You rambled away, and the people nodded around you. “Hell, I’d try if I ever knew how to do it. I mean, I know some about training dogs, but only the ones that are socialized from birth with humans… And cats… Damn, they chose to live with us, I never taught a cat to do one thing, just fed them and loved them.”

People nodded, smiling, and the older traded their memories with the younger as dinner continued. You felt it was a good way to keep history alive with these children. As you looked around, you tried to smile.

You missed your medicine too. It made life easier then, and it would make work damn easier now.

At least you could make yourself useful in the kitchen, and taking care of kids. You learned enough to help with the horses and the livestock, you learned to fix small things.

At least the community didn’t take your rambling as annoying. Most of them. And your distracted, wandering overactive mind, focused in all the wrong things at the wrong time, your bursts of weirdly philosophical irrelevant questions were seen as if you are a fae. An old soul. Someone disconnected from time and space, but useful and entertaining. You were a good storyteller and people enjoyed your silly performances and the comedy nights.

At least people know better than to get angry with you.

At least you found a way to survive.

You also missed books being widely available. And you missed all the stories that didn’t get to be told, drowned by natures own revenge. All the songs you didn’t get to hear, because they never existed. All the beautiful people that didn’t get to touch your heart acting, and singing, and performing.

You missed comedy. And the close proximity of a stranger in a crowded movie theater.

You missed the quiet inside your mind.

You felt two tears running through your cheeks. A hand heavily descended over your shoulder. You nodded, blindly. With a sad smile, you pat the person’s arm and stand up; you finish your food quickly, wash your plate and leave. They could take care of themselves for one day. ***

You loved Maria. And she really liked you back. She understood whenever you needed some time for yourself. She knew you would pay it back with work later.

That innocent question threw you into a wave of memories, and you had to ride your feelings by yourself. You felt glad you could.

The kids still came into your house to borrow books. With shy smiles, they quietly made their requests and politely asked how were you doing (as their parents asked them to do). You made an effort not to cry in front of them.

You were reading when you heard noise in front of your house. You opened the door, carelessly.

A man was standing in front of your house, with a giant dog in a makeshift leash.

You blinked, the surprise taking your ability to even process the moment.

��Found this fella in patrol.” The man’s voice was grave, almost a growl. “Thought you would like to meet him.”

The man was tall, his shoulders large. His hair unruly, more pepper than salt (probably looked like yours). He had round brown eyes, squashed by a frown. He had something heavy about him. An air of someone who had seen everything and the scars on his face alone are the only proof you need to believe it. You wondered how he would look laughing. His hawkish nose towered over thick, plush lips. You knew him.

Joel. He was ‘Tommy’s Brother’. And Tommy was ‘Maria’s Husband’.

The dog was immense, just like Joel. He looked like a german shepherd, with thick caramel fur blending into black, his ears floppy. You marveled looking at his massive frame, your heart tightening as you noticed a scar on his head, close to his eye, covered by the fur. The dog had the biggest, roundest dark eyes you’ve ever seen. He looked immensely dangerous, he could snap your hand off with his powerful jaws, but his eyes made him look gentle. The tip of his snout had a ring of white hair, silver peppering his snout gently. An old dog. Old like Joel, like you.

You approached, slowly, palms facing the dog, giving him time to get used to your presence. The dog leaned forward, sniffing your palms, huffing and shaking his giant head gently, floppy ears moving around his head. You kept your palm turned to the dog, who pressed his snout to your hand, watching you with his big eyes.

“He started following me out there.” Joel cocked his head. “Shared my hunt with him, and he slept around the fire. He’s well behaved. Think he lost his owner.”

“You should keep him.” You said softly, feeling into yourself to be generous. This dog was Joel’s luck and he should take him. It didn’t occur to you to ask him why he was bringing the dog, you weren’t even that close. “He’s a very handsome dangerous-looking gentleman. Like you.”

Joel blushed, a small smile on his face. He looked down and shook his head. You felt like he was saying something, you just couldn’t understand.

“I heard you the other day.” Joel held your hand and placed the leash in your hands. “I know…” Joel looked around awkwardly, like he was trying to piece a feeling into words. “I know this fella won’t fix things. I understand. But maybe he can bring our sunshine back.”

Joel nodded, looking into your eyes, and you could see his brown eyes peering into your soul, for one moment. It made you want to cry. You nodded, swallowing your feelings.

“Thank you.” You turned your eyes to the dog. He seemed to understand, sitting with his whole body pressed against your leg, up to your waist. His head heavily pressed against your hip, the dog waited patiently.

“Talked to Maria. It’s ok.” Joel cleaned his throat, clearing his voice. “You can keep him. Keep him inside, I’ll build the fence so you can have some space for him.” Joel shifted his weight from one leg to the other and got a fabric wrapped package from his pocket. He puts the package on your free hand. The dog raises his head, interested, which makes Joel chuckle. “Those are treats. He ate today, we just arrived, brought him right here.”

You nodded, smiling.

“We need to make sure he’s safe and you can help.” Joel nodded. “You can walk him in the leash, I’ve already asked Tommy to help us make a good one. Just for safety, I think he’s a good boy.”

You just watched as Joel offered his palm to the dog, then scratched behind his ear.

“He was really well behaved on the trail.” Joel said, softly, his fingers running through the dog’s fur. “I… I would like to visit. Play with him. Maybe help you. He was good company out there.”

“Of course!” You eagerly accepted, infinitely grateful for his gesture. You didn’t overthink why he brought you the dog, what did it mean that he saw your outburst. That would be for later. You just accepted, the dog’s eyes bringing you more joy than you could imagine. “You found him, you were the first friend he made around Jackson. Why shouldn’t you visit him?”

“I’ll be here in the morning. I’ll try and get him some hunt, then we can build the fence.” Joel nodded, stepping back. The dog sniffed the air, gently. Joel scratched the dog’s chin and stepped back, moving away from you.

“Thank you!” You shouted one last time, and he waved. The dog followed you inside. You locked the door, not wanting one of your frequent visitors to get scared with your new roommate, hid the treats in the cupboard, then placed a water bowl on the floor. The dog quietly watched you, sitting in the living room.

You finally sat, and the dog curled up against you, between your feet. He slept, leaving you to your tears as you caressed his scar.

#joel miller #joel miller fic #joel miller x you #joel miller x oc #pedro pascal characters #joel miller x reader #joel miller fanfiction #the last of us fanfic #the last of us fanfiction #mayb writes

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mychlapci · 6 months ago

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https://www.tumblr.com/mychlapci/754100660611563520/elita-1-and-megatron-having-a-birth-off-where-they

This right here is just too good! Earthspark Megs and Elita are my favessss. I can’t believe everyone just ignore thing beautiful idea. I’m just to shy to talk about then being bred till they can’t walk. Fuck it!

The two are pretty competitive I’d be cute if they just have small bets and competitions, like who can cum the most or how many dildos can they stuff in their valve, just things two buddies do. Elita would suggest a breed off as a joke, but when Megs agrees saying that it’ll barley be a competition for him. He’s bigger, has thicker thighs, wider hips and a big fat valve. But Elita is determined! her valve looks like it belongs to a princess but really its super stretchy and really strong, it’s like her forge is made for drinking up tons of cum.

Optimus would make a fantastic stud. Op not knowing about the twos little bets gets thrown head first into the deep end. Optimus has always had a crush on Elita and Megatron but not wanting to ruin the friendship they’ve had for years his insecurities got the best of him and Oppy decided he wouldn’t make his feeling know. That is of course till his crushes are rubbing their wet pussies on his thighs. Both Elita and Megs whispering dirty promises in his audio receptors occasionally nipping and licking his antennas, saying how they are going to give him sooo many babies and how they want him to make them mommies.

In typical Op fashion he rises to the occasion and will fuck them both through the floor. For Megatron it’s easier to convince Op not to tire out, constantly goading him into another overload, telling Optimus how he knows he’s always wanted to breed him and to not disappoint him. Optimus is tired but he’s not gonna let Megatron win! Op is competitive too damnitt. When Optimus has Elita under him he’s cumming early constantly but without stopping, he’s always loved her so much she so strong and dominant. What a treat it is to have her being so submissive and letting him rut into her like a mad animal. Honestly Optimus feels that way about both of them, he’s pretty sure he died that morning because this is heaven, Op thought for sure he’d have to take both of their spike before he’d even get to do this.

Elita is smaller so getting her to bloat up with his cum is super fun to see. It only took Optimus 3 overloads to make it look that way. Megs off to the side witness her Belly jiggle and grow with Optimus relentless pounding makes him antsy. He wants that too! He wants his tummy to bulge like that! His womb is pretty full but she already looks pregnant! He starts making a show of touching himself to get Optimus attention he’s not going to lose just yet, it works and Elita too fucked out to stop him. Maybe a break will be ok. Mounting Op mounting him again makes Megs squeal, Op is being so much more rough now. The Prime doesn’t seem like he’ll ever quit. This time around Megatron doesn’t have anything smart to say, all he can do whimpering and squirm like a bitch. His big spike slamming in and out of his full forge is just too good. Optimus asks is Megs has anything to remark and Megs just squirts with his latest overload. It take Megatron tummy longer to start to show how full he is but the subtle strain he feels are his stomach stretches with each thrust has him pissing himself all over again. Elita has regained consciousness and is begging Op for his attention again.

After many more rounds Optimus get to have two of his favs of either side of him. Their warm cum bellies pressing on his sides. He tries not not to thinks too much about his thoroughly fucked mates cause he’ll just get hard again. Optimus cum is so potent those two are definitely pregnant with more than one baby. Who has more, only time will tell

Months later Megs and Elita are fit to burst. Their bellies are the only things that have gotten bigger, Megatron on Elita’s big milky tits have come in too. They like to squish and squeeze their breast together to seduce Optimus to give them transfluid, that on top of their bellies bumping each other works every time on him. Op at this point even wonders if there’s a point retracting his spike.

Finally when the babies are here Megatron gives birth to two twin chunky sparklings. Megs is glowing with pride and pretty sure he won. Elita gives birth to gorgeous triplets she’s super smug. Optimus finally finds out about their little breeding game, he’s not upset because it’s just so them. Megatron is so pissed he lost, he knew he could’ve fit more cum in his womb.

Best 2 out of 3?

aughhh you understood the assignment perfectly. Elita and Megatron would have an easy time seducing Optimus into their competitions, he's basically a melted puddle of heat when he has Megs on one side and Elita on the other, toying with his finials and rubbing his panels. You can't blame him for breeding them both <33 He's a good stud who knows how to treat mommies, after all.

Of course Elita wins, with three cute little sparklings hanging off of her, but Megatron insists that since his twins are big and chunky, he would've won if the competition was about size. Optimus is just happy to have five babies, and two wives that are just waiting for the right opportunity to get knocked up again <33

#valveplug #pregnancy mention #texty

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imjayjayjoestar · 7 months ago

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Aaravos Headcanons

yall saw this coming

Lemon headcanon and Reader is gender neutral

• First things first, This man is the seducing GOD you should already know this

• Like if he generally likes you (and not try to use you to take over the world or something like that) he might take you out on a nice date. Candle lit, seats reserve for two, you name it.

• He likes knowing what makes your heart melt, so he'll try everything in the book to get you blushing. It strokes his ego.

• After all that romantic dinner stuff, it's time to get freakie deakie.😂(I'm sorry I had too)

• This sexy elf goes by many titles, one of them should be The Rizzler of Oz. All those sweet little things he would whisper in your ear just to get you riled up. He gonna send you took the moon.

• "Starlight, in all lives I've lived. I have never seen something as beautiful as you~" (I dont know about you but if it was me... I've would've fallen to the floor)

• I feel like he'll go slow at first just to tease you but then soon after speed up when he finally feel pity for you

• Aaravos is a everlasting being..... he can last about lemme do the calculations.... hmmm about.... a week maybe even more. Say goodbye to your privilege to walk😊

• I would say his favorite body part is his chest. And his favorite body part on you is whatever makes you different( uneven body pigmentation, two different eye color etc.)

• and bro can you talk about so much not really just to tease you just maybe the gas you up( supportive boyfriend/ husband energy)

• Even though he has a independent type attitude I would say that he is VERY touch starved I mean being locked up for 5000 years ALONE could do something to you. So make sure he gets all the kisses in love.

• The only kinks this man has I feel like is body worship, bondge, biting and maybe breeding( Yas even if your a boy, boys can get bred too)for the both of you.but if you wanna try something new hes definitely up for it

• no matter how arrogant he might seem he really just wants to please you he's afraid that you might leave him and bear the thought of that. He doesn't want to be alone again.

• This man's shlong gots to be 8 or 9 inches, I mean.... your gonna be sore when hes done with you.

• Praise him. DO IT. kiss him, bite him, touch him it all gets him going(like I said body worship kink)

• if you're bigger or taller than him (if that's even possible) definitely take control of him he'll get him REALLY going. I think it's just might be the fact of he's the most powerful being and he's just getting dominated by weak human/ Elf or whatever being you are really turns him on?

• trust me hes gonna have you seeing STARS(get it? IM SO SORRY😂) When hes done with you. Gonna make you finish at least 3 or 4 times A ROUND.

• When it's all said and done (if you haven't passed out already) he might get you a snack and run you some water well just sit and laugh and talk about stuff. Then he'll carry you Bridal style to the bed and then just to talk some more. Y'know pillow talk.

• then in the morning he'll tease you about it talking how good you were, maybe even moan like how you did just to tease you.( but even though I feel like he'll do that in your ear randomly) and yes you do punch I'm for it.

• Overall he really loves you and he never wants you to leave his side and hopefully you won't betray him. (like his kind did)

Alrighty that's all. Sorry for posting this so late I said I was going to do it a week ago.... But I do hope you enjoyed it. My request are still open! Ask away but I might not be quick about it... sorry. Goodbye my little Munchkins see you later~

#aaravos #the dragon prince aaravos #i get so weak in the knees #the dragon prince #The dragon prince headcanons #tdp

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gabessquishytum · 1 year ago

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Idk what specific au this is besides just a human one but skinny little dream with a big pop out pregnant belly he cant hide by month two... lets go w office au like last anon said bc the implications of everyone calling dream a slutty breeding bitch is sooo hot to me. Hes showing so soon bc hob put such a big baby in him and hes always sore and whiny and cries at the drop of a hat even at work now.. hob gets massive kudos for knocking him up and this would be perfect w omega dream i just realized bc "bitchy little omega learned his place". Hob finally taught the omega who thought he cluld boss everyone around some humilty.. hes gonna be out of work barefoot in their apartment soon enough and the alphas who hate him are sooo excited for both not having to be around him and also the bitch being "humbled". The problem? Hob is a LOT more territorial and protective now and hardly will agree to play along even when he knows dream gets off to it.. when someone gets a bit too close to a THREAT to dream instead of just venting? Its a good thing dream has a whole staff of lawyers on retainer and theres laws allowing an alpha to protect their mated omega!! Hob doesnt leave dreams side after that. Ever. And any time he even gets a wiff of dreams arousal hes dropping everything and holding dreams hips down to eat his pretty cunt out until hes come so many times he cant even speak<3 hob knows dream will be going back to the office. Hes gonna be the one at home and dream is going to work from home as much as possible now as well.

Also! Im getting distracted by the belly again and how dream was always all sharp angles and slim cut suits and now hes.. soft. Omega like. His wardrobe changes completely and hob thinks its the sweetest most adorable thing in the whole world when he gets all cozy in comfortable clothes and starts nesting like 100x as intensely. His tits are filling with milk and everyone can smell it on him, how fertile and bred he is.

-🔪

EEE yeah!!! YEAH!!

I love Dream being horny about all the alphas in the office saying mean stuff about him. It turns him on so much to see them leer at him and mutter under their breaths about how he's just a dumb, bred omega bitch now. Hob really wants to smack them all for talking about Dream like that, but Dream is like nooooo 🥺🥺 let them do it, it makes me so wet.

Dream starts showing up to work in maternity dresses and cute cardigans and Hob is constantly clawing at the walls with overwhelming horniness. He catches a glance at Dream’s belly and immediately starts getting hard every single time. He can't believe how massive Dream gets, and it happens so quickly!! His back hurts and his feet are swollen but he's determined to enjoy being pregnant. He grits his teeth through all the discomfort and only yells at Hob a little bit! He does have a bit of a breakdown later in the pregnancy when he finds out the baby is in the 99th percentile for size... damn Hob and his super sperm!

Hob is so looking forward to being a stay at home daddy for their little one - he imagines that he'll probably be bringing the baby into the office for visits a lot, when Dream can't work at home. They're so domestic now <33 Dream wants cuddles and Hob can't stop rubbing against him to make sure he smells claimed. 10/10, an absolute unbearable couple, everyone else in the office is totally sick of them.

A few weeks before he's due, Dream is meant to be on leave but he ends up popping into the office (he's a workaholic). Everyone is astounded by his massive belly (which is currently stretching one of Hob’s old t-shirts to the absolute limit). Considering how tiny and flat he's always been, it's a shock to see the boss so round, with his generous tits bouncing in time with each cautious step he takes. Every alpha in the office has a crisis over how innately sexy Dream is now. He's still a bitch, but now he's also a very sexy omega!!! Oh the dichotomy!!!

He goes home and gets his pussy eaten by his alpha, and totally gets off on knowing that Hob is going to knock him up again ASAP. If Dream gets his way he'll spend the next 10 years pregnant as fuck.

#🔪 anon #the sandman #dreamling #nsft #cw omegaverse #cw pregnancy

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cowboywithacunt · 6 months ago

Note

🦌 again! Hope I'm not being annoying, but I saw your bottom-y post and immediately forgot the specifics, but I wanted to give it a try.

We're both deer boys, (shocker I'm sure considering my little emoji guy) but you've been bigger than stronger than me for a while, able to pin me down and rut into me whenever you want. This breeding season, however, I've gotten bigger thanks to T. Not only do I weigh more, but I've got significantly more muscle than I did seasons before and much more of an attitude. At first I'm only clashing antlers with you to establish us as equals, but when I realize you can't knock me down as easily, I get excited. Excited enough that I can overpower you completely, pinning you against the dirt and grinding against your holes. Maybe I growl at you to shut up and take it, it's only fair, you bred me so many times before. I'm panting and damn near feral when I decide you're wet enough to fuck, filling you up with one hard thrust before rutting into you hard and desperately, still wrestling to keep you down while I fuck you full of my cum and tell you to be a good boy and quit fighting me. Unfortunately for you, I'm not the most sensitive buck in the pasture, and it takes me a damn long time to get close. I end up ramming into you for hours, completely oblivious to how many times I make you cum as I chase my own pleasure. By the time I've filled you up, you're exhausted and the whole herd knows I've fucked you. I don't give you much of a break, however, flipping you over and spitting on your ass before shoving my cock in there too, mumbling that I "wanna try something" and "just take it". It's night by the time I'm done, and I'm still grinning like a cat with a canary when I stumble to my feet and look down at the mess I've made of you.

I might regret it later, but in the moment, I'm damn proud of myself for making you my buck.

Hmm <3 exhausted and filled with cum, my big fluffy deer tail twitching above my ass as it leaks cum into the grass and dirt like a whore.

Maybe after you manage to pin me down and mount me, the other bucks and does will start doing it too. Pushing me down every day, overpowering me no matter what, holding me still as a big cock slides into one of my loosened up holes...

#mine #ask #🦌#ftm nsft #t4t nsft #p3t play #primal play

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slutnali · 8 months ago

Note

part two 💌

💋 Intimacy HC

💖 Pregnancy HC | 💐 Family/kids HC

ty again💖💖 I'm going to try to answer with different sashmiranetra au's<3

💖 Pregnancy HC

Okay so, honestly, I think it just makes sense for Mirage to be afraid of pregnancy across any au. I can't really envision her wanting to be pregnant in any universe. In fact, she got an abortion in fake dating au back in her early 20s and it was the best decision she could've done.

The only time she likes the idea of pregnancy is when she's super horny and needs to be bred or in the A/B/O au's.. WHAT. WHO said that?? I think there's ghosts in here.

I think the most gut wrenching pregnancy hc is in the sugar bb au with Sash wishing so badly she could have Neech's babies, to the point where its brought tears to her eyes late at night after Neech has made love to her. She'd make the most beautiful pregnant woman too, glowing and round, feeling the babies kicking and moving her wife's hand across her belly to feel it.

And you know Neech would be on her feet putting on a hoodie, sweats and shoes to get her wife whatever the fuck she was craving.

💐 Family/kids HC [fake dating]

the only family ever are the Amuro's from fake dating au. the family that took in stray Anetra when he was kicked out of his home at 17, the family that adopted him without legally adopting him, but thats besides the point!!!!!!!!

Miri's family becomes his family despite not being blood and later on Sasha will be able to call them family too. She gets to be a part of that community, gets to go to the carne asadas and parties, she's welcomed in with a warm smile from Miri's ma and offered home cooked food that warms Sasha from the inside out.

She sees the influence of Miri's dad on Neech, she understands him being such a provider when she sees the way Miri's dad treats her mom/family.. It's also confirmed how much of a princess Miri is, not that it was surprising at all eibeuirfbeiuf

Sasha gets to see her partners interact with kids for the first time. The way Miri's begged by her little cousins to get their hair braided or the panicked face she makes when she's handed a seven month old to hold while the parents dance. She sees Neech play with the littles asking him to lift them with his forearm which makes them giggle.. she sees him play soccer with the kids that are a little older.

And also, Miri getting to teach Sasha how to dance to their music.

💋 Intimacy HC [sugar bb au]

Depends what level of intimacy we're going for here.. so I'll do a mix

One thing is for certain in our au's, Miri's hypersexual and its a blessing and a curse but something that her two lovers enjoy playing with. They edge the poor girl for hours or days, depends on how they're feeling. Driving her to the point of frustrated tears time and time again.

Sasha lovesss rubbing over Neech over her pants, she's usually always hard packing. Whether its just the two of them making out and getting handsy or they're watching Miri strip for them.

Another thing that's also for certain is how touchy and affectionate Miri is. I looove Miri laying on top either of them when they're lounging on the sofa. Anetra sat down, typing away at her phone sending some last minute emails or something and miri laying her head on her chest. Even if Neech is busy she just wants to be there.

I just think it makes sense for Sasha to get kissed on her shoulders across any au, they look soft and they're so freckled.. shoulder kisses are cute and intimate!!!!1

#answered #sashmiranetra #writing meme #sugar bb au #fake dating au

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skin-of-my-teeth · 8 months ago

Text

Fresh on the Farm

Tags: Farm AU, Feedism, Vore, Hybrids, Hunting, Predator/Large wolf Namjoon, Preys/Fat piggies Jimin and Jungkook, Dumb little pigs, Fearplay, Teasing, Sadistic wolf Namjoon, Swallowing whole, Hard vore, Belly gurgles, Digesting, Gas, Forcing Jimin to watch, Unwilling prey, Poor lil babies. <3

Jimin and Jungkook have heard the rumors that a wolf was hunting around the neighboring farms devouring pigs, but they don't really believe it until their friend Taehyung disappears. The pig is said to have been eaten up by a large, fat wolf.

Their owner Seokjin keeps the two piggies safe and sound in their pens until the wolf sightings die off weeks later. Everyone assumes that the predator had moved on to new pastures. Nearly a month drags by with no news. Farmers open up their gates again, and Jungkook and Jimin are let back out to play.

Silly humans are too trusting with their fat livestock. They don't know how patient, sly, and cunning wolves are...

Namjoon watches the farmer's truck pull out of the driveway and toddle away down the road. He licks his lips, turning towards the red barn that houses a nice, fat pig that he saw from a distance.

The wolf bangs on the locked barn door, crashing it down with his strength. He hears a scared little oink somewhere inside and grins. Dinner. He sniffs the air. The scent of a fat little piggy fills his nose and his mouth waters.

"Here piggy piggy-" he calls into the dark, his predator eyes adjusting quickly to hunt. The pig must think he can hide. He should know better, but hogs aren't bred for their brains... they're known for being fat and delicious.

Namjoon begins stalking forwards, slinking through the dark shadows. "Come out to play..." he croons, "a fat little thing like you must understand how terrible it feels to be hungry..."

He slams open the first stall door and finds it empty. He slinks to the second.

"It's been so long since I've had a delicious... fattened hog in my gut." Namjoon shoves the next open, tearing the lock right off it's hinges. Empty. There's only one left. Namjoon sees a shadow tremble out of the corner of his eye and he turns, padding over to it stealthily.

His belly growls deep and loud in the silence, echoing in the barn and begging greedily for prey. The hungry sound is met with a muffled little squeal of terror followed by a near silent "hush, Koo".

Oh? There's two pigs? Namjoon grins even wider as he hunts. That must be why it smells so delicious. Double the fat. Double the feast.

He manages to circle around and sneak up behind two of the roundest pigs that he's gotten the pleasure of eating in a long time. They're even fatter than the last pig he got ahold of last month.

They're hiding behind stacks of hay and clutching eachother. Cute, dumb little things. The younger, fatter one must be the squealing pig Koo, while the older has their hands clamped over the chubby one's mouth. Namjoon licks his lips in anticipation as his mouth waters. The wolf loves when pigs squeal inside of his belly as he devours them. He'll gobble up the fatter, wider, more delicious one first. Maybe he can stuff the slightly less chubby one in the meantime and fatten him up even more...

The wolf sneaks right up behind them, the two dumb piggies looking in the direction he last spoke.

"What delicious, fat hogs~" The wolf purrs lowly in their ears, caressing their plump rolls with his claws. They both scream and scramble to get away.

Namjoon chooses the slower of the two. The thick, fattened one. He grips the chubby ankles and drags him back as his prey squeals in terror, "Minie!!"

Namjoon snatches and gobbles down the hog Koo without a second thought. The pig is safer in his belly anyways. The wolf gulps him down and grunts as the meal fills his gut, making it swell out heavy and round, drooping with the weight. Namjoon takes one moment to belch and pat his full belly in praise... and then he pounces on the second hog waddling slowly. Such an easy hunt.

Namjoon sits on him, crushing him and resting his heavy belly on the pig's chest so the poor little thing is forced to look at the wolf's massive gut filled with his friend. With his second helping safely pinned down, Namjoon chuckles and purrs. He loves eating pigs so much. He loves playing with his food even more.

The massive wolf brings his chubby paws up to the top of his belly, and he begins rubbing.

"What a fat, delicious treat you are~" He cooes down to his bloated gut and rubs the sides. The plump piggy inside oinks and squeals, muffled underneath the thick blubbery padding keeping his meal securely in place. The pig wiggles and fights, but Namjoon just chuckles. There's no way out once his meal is inside of his greedy, gluttonous belly.

He rubs over his gut in praise and belches deeply in satisfaction. "Such a fat little thing~ No more than a meal for my belly to devour. Piggies are meant to be eaten... Don't you think so too, chubby?" He asks the pig trapped underneath Namjoon’s huge gut and pats his chubby cheek patronizingly. The pig called Minie sobs, snorts and snuffles, wailing and oinking as he cries. "K-koo!"

The dumb little thing is confronted with the view of the predator's massive swell of weight, a deep navel right at the front. The fat jiggles on him as Koo struggles inside.

Namjoon barks a laugh and indulges in caressing his belly again, showing the hog that his friend is pork in his gut.

"You're next~" He grins over his huge middle crushing the hog. "Once I devour your fat little friend... you're my next meal. It shouldn't be long now..." Namjoon's stomach gurgles on cue, his predator belly so excited to digest the fat pig, and the wolf beams after another belch and a helpless plea filtering from inside of his gut.

"Ah! Perfect. Time to enjoy my meal. You get the pleasure of watching your plump little friend slowly be devoured and digested~"

He grunts and leans to the side to fart deeply, sighing happily as the pig in his belly squeals for help and settles in deeper, ready to be devoured by the greedy wolf.

Namjoon purrs at the sight as the prey crushed underneath his gut sobs and is forced to feel the deep, delicious gurgles sloshing on him as the wolf’s gut slowly bloats... getting softer, fatter, and heavier as the pig in his belly is gobbled up.

#bts fic #ladybug fics #🐞#v.ore #asks open #imagine farmer Seokjin's face when there is a fat lazy wolf in the pig pen. His belly stuffed round with Seokjin's prized piggies #poor piggies

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darkwingphoenix · 2 months ago

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@loominggaia AU OC Trivia

Some small trivia n stuff for Amber, Justinia and their family!

Clarity was born as a test run done by Bozzag to attempt to breed "Designer Sirene" to be purchased by rich people as essentially the equivalent of someone like Andrew Tate or Jeff Bezos getting a shark or something

She was specifically bred to be leucistic, making her extremely pasty compared to her relatively tanned father Jet (it just so happened he and Justinia had the right genes for a good chance at a leucistic sirene), who's pale but on a Cyana/Skylie level, and a totally different world to her much darker-skinned mother and sister Amber

Clarity has fairly bed eyesight as a result of her leucism (The sirene leucism genes are super close to the ones for average eyesight, and leucism makes them have worse vision in my headcanon), and often wears glasses or contacts. Due to how water destroys books, she has reading glasses for reading and sirene-safe contact lenses for underwater stuff

Justinia and Jet are also carriers for vitiligo and have a good chance for having kids with it (Which they just rolled super high on as 3 of their kids have vitiligo and the other's leucistic)

Maia was gifted Clarity by Rodrig and Cerulea as a 3rd birthday present, but Cobalt and Sai had zero input on it

Pissed off they'd separate a child from their mother so casually, Cobalt went off to hunt down Justinia and buy her too, winding up making a deal with Bozzag to have her come back in in about 4-8 years and he can have her 75% off and he can buy her stud male after her next breeding with the same discount

Her next breeding it with Jet, so he buys him as part of the deal

Saheli is born blind as, again, I headcanon the sirene vitiligo/leucism genes are super close to the vision genes, and it's an entire thing amongst sirene where many albino, leucistic and vitiligo sirene have worsened vision, if not congenitally blind like Saheli

These genes are also heavily sex-based and trend for females to have a higher chance for lowered vision or blindness, so while Mako has average vision for a sirene Amber actually has relatively poor vision (As bad as Clarity's) that she wasn't tested for until she was struggling in school aged 7

Both Justinia and Jet's families have a history of albinism, leucism, and vitiligo, with poor vision super common as a result. Both of them lucked out by not having any of the pigmentation genes and no vision problems, but they had no luck with their kids, and only one has good vision, with two being heavily visually impaired (Amber and Clarity) and the fourth is completely blind (Saheli)

Amber is also colorblind, specifically tritanopia (The right images are what she sees):

Amber actually had a terrible time at school initially as she had no clue she was color blind and near-sighted until her teachers advised Cyana and Angeline to get her eyes checked

Dr. Asha checked her vision via telepathy (Prolly a common occurrence when telepathy canonically allows someone to literally look through someone's eyes) and confirmed she was heavily visually impaired and tritanopic

A few weeks later, Amber got accommodations for her shitty vision at her school, which was being funded by Jelani himself (As he knew it'd be an issue and just decided that if he was gonna help one kid unrelated to him, he'd be helping all the disabled kids in Uekoro too while he's at it)

Clarity's vision is not color blind in anyway, but this is traded for near blindness (As in Cinnamon level, just sans hearing problems too), while Amber can see shapes and stuff but it's 95% blue and red, while for Clarity she can only see something in detail beyond color and shape within like a foot of her face

Clarity develops a love language where she favors being super close to her partner as she can see their face in detail, which usually doesn't happen and so she likes it

Amber has zero color coordination for her clothes due to her tritanopia, and as she develops skill in illusions, all of her illusions are tinted how she sees them: More blue and red, making them easy as hell to spot for someone without tritanopia, but she fights this hard, managing to make super convincing illusions, if still a tad blueish or reddish

Clarity, Amber, and Saheli all take up telepathy at Justinia's recommendation to counter their vision, or rather lack of a lot of it (Or all of it for Saheli)

Jet and Justinia aren't related in the slightest, with their last ancestors being some sirene in Chadrak, their genes were just perfect to fuck up their kids' vision for no reason

#ocs

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tomtenadia · 2 years ago

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Stranded

Good evening all,

I while ago I posted a snippet of a fic I was planning. The idea came to me after watching a Netflix mini series called Jules storm (A Christmas storm) in English. in the series a group of people get stranded at Oslo airport after a bad snow storm. For this floc I took inspiration from two characters in the series. I was watching it and realised it was a perfect Rowaelin. Rowan is the grumpy pilot and Aelin is the one keeping him company. They start as reluctant stranded passengers, until they realise the other is not too bad.

CW: it’s meant to be fluff but it has a smidge of angst and also mention of miscarriage.

I wrote a part 2 already and... if you want I might work on a further part 3 if anyone is interested.

The storm had been raging all through the night. An event that in Doranelle had been labelled as extraordinary.

All morning all Aelin heard on the tv was the news of the incredible snowstorm that had hit the land. People in Wendlyn were not prepared or used to it. It was very likely that some of them had never seen snow in all of their existences. She, on the other hand, was Terrasen born and bred and learned to walk in heavy snow since she took her first steps.

And it was because of that snow that now she was walking to the subway station instead of taking a taxi to the airport. She was going home. For good. She was closing a chapter of her life that had left her depressed, hollow and with a divorce at the age of 28.

It had been three months since that horrible morning when she woke up in blood soaked sheets and the scary realisation that there was something wrong with her pregnancy. Her husband was not at home so she had called an ambulance and was rushed to the hospital while the dreadful realisation spread in her. It was not long after that the doctor had confirmed that she had lost her baby girl.

She felt broken and hollow and alone. Her husband Chaol had showed up in the evening and while she grieved he just stood and offered little comfort.

Aelin shut down and pushed the world away while Chaol was never at home. Until one day the truth. He had been cheating on her with his secretary.

As soon as she was able to face the world again, Aelin grabbed her resolve to get out of bed and get an appointment with a divorce lawyer. A week later she strolled in his office and served him the papers. On that same day she had bought a ticket home to Terrasen and called her parents with the good news. Rhoe and Evalin had been delighted. She needed healing and felt that with her parents was the place where to start. She knew her mother had suffered with pregnancies too and she was positive she’d be the best support she could have.

Aelin tucked those thoughts away and climbed the stairs down to the subway station. Luckily Doranelle had a direct line from the city centre to the airport. She doubted that buses would be able to cope in those road conditions. She had missed the snow, the cottoned silence, the smell.

The subway was packed and arrived at destination a good thirty minutes later.

As soon as she stepped in the airport compound she felt a pang of joy. She was going home.

But the weather had other plans for her.

Rowan stopped at the big airport windows and looked at the runaways covered in deep snow. The vehicles could not clean the tarmac quickly enough, that a new layer of snow was already down again. He sighed. He had taken a flight in that very same early morning from Antica and it had been a shitty approach. He had almost asked ATC to abort the landing, but then managed to take the plane safely down without too much drama. Rowan was about to leave the crew offices when his phone rang.

“Hey.”

Rowan listened to the voice on the other side.

“ATC closed it. Good.”

His brows furrowed at the next pause “What do you mean you want to keep me on standby? Nothing is fucking moving. Doranelle is not equipped to deal with this, it will take days.”

With his right hand he pinched the bridge of his nose in pure exasperation “Fine. You owe me one. I will go and be lazy in the First class lounge.”

He closed the call and stared for a few more minutes at the airport operations grinding to a halt. The storm had even grown in intensity and the visibility was now close to zero.

He adjusted his uniform, grabbed his suitcase and walked to the lounge. Well, at least he had a big book that should last him for a while.

Aelin was still in front of the huge departure board. All flights were cancelled. The recorded voice over the tannoy kept repeating that due to extreme whether all flights will be heavily affected, please contact the airline desk. She texted her parents to let them know that she was stuck in Doranelle due to the storm. Her father replied to stay safe and that they were looking forward to have her back.

She went to check-in anyway and got rid of her heavy luggage and the assistant told her that for now the airport was closed, but she was on the list for the next available.

With a sigh she grabbed her backpack and stuffed her jacket under her arm and slowly walked to the customer service area as recommended and prepared herself for a very long wait on the airport’s chairs and numerous bored walks around the terminal.

Rowan made it to the lounge and greeted the assistants whom he knew already since he and the other pilots were regulars there when on stand down in between flights.

“Hey Ro, stuck here?”

The woman was called Lyria and according to all of his colleagues she had a thing for him.

“Yeah, looks like we are in for a long one.” He scanned his staff badge and the barriers opened for him.

The room was packed and it looked like a lot of other people had the same idea. He finally spotted an empty table and with his long legs strode there and crashed on the comfy seats with a heavy sigh. From his suitcase he pulled out his book and went to the buffet to grab some orange juice and food. He was technically still on duty so strictly no alcohol. A shame. A beer would be a dream right now.

Once back he deposited his bounty on the table and cracked open the book.

It took Aelin a good ten minutes to find the customer service desk. She was busy talking with the assistant when a tall blonde woman dropped her bag quite abruptly on the counter and pushed her aside.

“Put me on the next flight to Rifthold.”

“I am sorry ma’am, but the airport is closed and no one is going anywhere.”

The blonde woman took out her purse “I can pay, I have all the cards. Tell me a price and I will pay.”

Aelin stared at the customer assistant take a deep breath “I am sorry, but the weather does not take cards.”

The obnoxious woman grunted in annoyance “You must be one of those foreigners who stays here and don’t bother to learn the language, because you are not understanding me,” she slammed all the credit cards on the desk “Give me a ticket to Rifthold.”

The petite woman behind the desk pushed the cards away “I am sorry to disappoint you but I was born and bred in Doranelle and I can understand you perfectly.” Aelin noticed that her Wendlyn accent had become more pronounced almost as if on purpose “As I said, unless you have a direct line with the gods who control the weather, you are stuck like every other soul.”

The blonde woman took her cards back and stormed away.

“I am sorry, miss.”

Aelin shook her head and walked back to the counter “Don’t worry, you have held yourself very well. And nice touch on making your accent clear. That shut her up.”

The woman smiled “speaking of accents, you are not from here.”

Aelin gave her a timid smile “No, I am from Terrasen. Loved it here but it’s time to get home.”

The assistant started tapping on her computer “I should not really do this, but this is a shitty situation and I don’t care. Better you than her.” She passed a new ticket to Aelin “You are now upgraded to first class on your next flight which means you can enjoy the lounge. There’s food and it’s cozy.”

Aelin was speechless and almost hugged the woman “I…” words failed her “Thank you so very much. I hope the next customers will be much nicer to you. Than you, thank you.” She held the ticket closer to her heart and grabbed her stuff.

She could not believe it.

Aelin was excited at going into the first class lounge. She always travelled economy and had no idea what lay behind those doors.

At the entrance she saw barriers and stopped, unaware of what to do.

“Scan the boarding pass,” said the brunette at the desk.

Aelin followed the instructions and the automatic gates opened and took a step inside.

Rowan had grabbed his headphones and was now relaxing in peace while snacking on hummus, pitta bread and other foods offered in the lounge. He was stuck and was definitely making the most of the situation.

He was soo engrossed in his book that he did not notice the woman standing at his table and apparently talking to him.

Aelin stepped inside the lounge and was amazed. It was buzzing and at the centre there was a massive buffet table with what she discovered was free food. Technically complimentary, those people paid a first class fare, she didn’t and for an instant she felt like an intruder.

Without passing as too eager, she grabbed a tray and filled it with a few small dishes, then got a cup of coffee with a crazy amount of sugar as she liked it and started looking for a table.

The lounge was choc-a-block and there were no seats left. Getting into the first class lounge and then not finding a seat seemed like a cosmic joke. She wandered a bit until in a corner she spotted a man with silver hair occupying a four seats table all by himself. The nerve. She noticed his uniform and that he was a pilot. Aelin took a deep breath and marched to him.

“Do you mind if I sit?”

Fine, he had headphones and was reading.

Aelin waved her hand “Hey?”

Pine green eyes stared at her. The most stunning green eyes she had ever seen. And a face that promised murder.

“What?” He growled as he pulled down the headphones.

“Can I sit? The lounge is very full.”

The man in front of her exhaled a deep annoyed breath and pulled down his legs from the chairs on the other side and went back listening to the music, reading and ignoring her.

Why? Wondered Rowan as the stranger sat opposite from him. Why some people thought it was acceptable to occupy a table that is already taken? The lounge was full. She could just go back to the terminal like all of the other passengers. He was a pilot and needed his down time.

Sneakily, he looked at her and she definitely did not belong there. She was probably flying first class on mum and dad’s money. Oh yes, she was the classic naive rich brat who goes around the world and never has worked a day in her life. The man in him though, could not fail to notice that she was stunning. Her hair was almost as gold and the eyes. They were piercing blue, with a ring of gold in them. Yes, she was annoying but he could not deny the facts. She was probably the most stunning woman he had ever seen.

Rowan was busy secretly staring at her that he did not notice that the woman was talking. To him apparently. Hellas, fate had given him a chatty table partner.

“What?” Another growl.

“Is that Wendlyn airlines colours? Are you a pilot? You must be, you have the wings and the cuff-rings. Were you due to fly today?”

Rowan wondered how to murder her and how to make it look like an accident. He placed the book down, careful not to lose his spot and stared at her “Yes, princess. I am a pilot and now I am stuck here, trying to relax and I have this annoying woman ruining my day.”

Aelin glared at him “Mala save me, you are grumpy.”

In irritation, he straightened his back “I am grumpy? I landed this morning and I was due to finish. But then my boss asked me to be on standby because as soon as this hellish snowstorm is over I will have to fly out any poor irritating soul that has been stuck in this damned place.”

He was hoping that shut her up but the woman instead smiled at him “But you are taking these people home or on holiday or to work. You are helping them achieving their goal. And if they are going back home to their families, it’s a happy ending.”

Rowan’s mouth fell open in disbelief. Who was this woman? “I don’t care who these people are. For me they are a number on my manifest that I am safely carrying from A to B.”

“That’s a very cold way to see it.”

“I am sorry princess if I burst your bubble,” his tone now harsh “Next time fly with Unicorn airlines and the captain will vomit rainbows once you land.”

Aelin grabbed her coffee and tried to ignore the comments.

“You better be a good pilot, because you are a shitty human being.” Aelin stood and stormed out of the lounge and found a quiet spot in a corner of the airport. She sat down and let the tears flow. She was so tired and felt lost. Her life had been put on hold. She had a plan a goal but then all came crashing down and in the past few months she had just existed. Aelin sniffled hard. That arsehole. As if a pretty uniform allowed him to treat people like garbage. She had been trying to find positivity in the small things to cope after her post miscarriage depression. Maybe she seemed naive to strangers but it had become her coping mechanism not to plunge in the abysm of desperation once again.

She sat in silence and let the tears flow until she was spent, then grabbed her stuff and started walking. Her experience in the first class lounge had been brief and ruined by the worst pilot in Wendlyn airlines.

Knowing that she had possibly many more hours ahead Aelin started walking back and forth in the terminal, noticing all the people who, just like her, were trying to pass the time.

Her feet took her again at the end of the terminal where all the lounges were. The first class had a window on the runaways and another right on the terminal. She looked up and noticed the table she had occupied before. What she was not expecting was the silver haired pilot staring at her from the big window.

Rowan had felt bad. Yes, she was a bit naive but he had been downright rude. Maybe he really had to start to keep his grumpiness at bay. He could not remove from his mind her dejected stare at his words. He had hurt her. Of that he had no doubt. He stood and went to window to stare at all the passengers walking around the terminal and thought about her words. Those people were not just a number on a manifest. He could see their smiles at the prospect of going on holiday or home, businessmen and women itching to get off to run to their meeting. The woman was right, there were stories behind those faces. But his job was to fly them safely to their destination and to keep his cool in a crisis. Having some sort of detachment made his life easier.

His eyes scanned the busy terminal until he spotted a mane of golden hair that attracted his attention. The woman stopped and looked up. Blue eyes stared right into his soul and in that instant his right hand took a life on its own and rose waving lightly in her direction.

He saw her eyes widen at the surprise and waved back, but no smile reached her eyes. A second later he was gesturing like a madman for her to come up.

Once she moved he ran to the bar and asked something to the bartender and once ready took it to the table and then walked to the entrance of the lounge and waited for her.

Behind him he could feel Lyria’s stare but he ignored her.

The woman arrived a few minutes later and scanned her boarding card to go back in.

Rowan pointed to the table and she followed.

“A peace offering,” he indicated the warm drink on the table “the bartender assured me it’s sugary and sweet.”

Aelin looked at the drink in front of her. It was a hot chocolate with cream, marshmallows and sprinkles of various colours and a few chocolate sticks popping out.

“That’s a drink you’d get on Unicorn airlines.”

Aelin chuckled lightly “I am Aelin by the way.”

“Captain arsehole, a.k.a Rowan.”

She took a sip of the drink and it was sweet just how she loved it and noticed he only had a black coffee “no hot chocolate for you?”

He waved his hand in a dismissive motion “nah, I will leave eating unicorn stuff to you.”

The smile he gave her was very faint and Aelin wondered how he’d look with a full smile.

“So, why the peace offering?”

He played with some of the olives on a small plate “I had no right to talk to you that way.”

Aelin took a sip as an excuse to gather her thoughts “I am not a princess, or a spoiled brat travelling with her parent’s money.”

A sharp air intake left Rowan’s lips.

“Yes, you had the face. You judged me as soon as I sat down and assumed that I was all of the above.”

He stared at her and once again he noticed that veil of sadness in her. He wanted to see her smile and lit up the room.

“Bad habit,” he chuckled “You know when you get off the plane and sometimes you have the captain there too telling you good bye?” He explained hoping to light the mood “Once the plane is empty, the crew and I love to comment on some of the passengers. Nothing cruel, sometimes is to destress after a long haul flight and have a laugh.”

Aelin gave him a weak smile “anything weird?”

“Once we were flying to Melisandre and one of my crew told me that this couple had their blankets all over them. They kept an eye on them, refused in-flight meals and then half way through the flight they got to the toilet one at a time. When they disembarked they were tomato red in their faces.”

Aelin burst out laughing “Holy shit, no.”

Rowan nodded solemnly “We have a feeling they went for another type of in flight entertainment.”

“Fuck, people can be so disgusting.”

“It was a good thing it was the last flight of the day. We managed to sanitise the seats heavily.”

Aelin munched on a chocolate stick “So, is being a pilot as trendy as it seems?”

Rowan went silent. He loved flying. He did a few years in the airforce and when he left he got easily a job as commercial pilot. He already had the training and a lot of flying hours. It had been an easy transition and less traumatic. But no, definitely it lacked all the romanticised aspects “It’s a job. I love flying.”

“But you can visit so many places.”

He snorted “On a short layover I have little time. If I fly domestic routes in Wendlyn it’s very much a back and forth.” He explained, playing with his spoon “Today I should have come off the Antica flight and got home and come back tomorrow to fly out to Melisandre.”

Aelin was silent.

“I don’t get to see much of the lands I visit. I put the plane down, there’s a lot of stuff to do, then I will probably have to go through customs, although crew has priority, and most of the time I go back to the hotel, eat and sleep.”

“That sucks,” she stuffed a marshmallow in her mouth “I love airports, the buzz and the excitement of a trip.”

Rowan rolled his eyes “you have seen one, you seen them all.”

Aelin shrugged and Rowan studied her reaction “How can you always be so positive?”

He stared at her face grow dark all of a sudden while staring outside the big window.

“To cope,” she said very, very quietly.

Rowan did not miss the pain in her voice. His hand slowly moved to hers and covered it gently. When he hard her sniffle he realised there was something hurting her. And for some reason, he felt the urge to comfort this stranger who had sat down at his table on a shitty day.

“Aelin…”

She brushed her face quickly and gave him a tired smile “sorry… I am fine.”

He stared at her. She was not fine.

“I know I am the last person to whom you want to bare your soul, but I am not as a bastard as I appear.”

Aelin broke. Heavy sob escaped her and her shoulders shook. All Rowan could do was to sit at her side and pull her face to his chest and hide her from the crowd.

“Your uniform will get wet.”

“Having beautiful women cry on you is part of the job.” He hoped that the cheesy line lifted her spirits a little.

“I am twenty eight and I am moving back to my parents because my life in Doranelle went to shit,” she sobbed hard “I am divorced and I was useless as a wife.”

Rowan felt the need to hold her tight “I doubt that.”

“While I was bleeding in bed after a miscarriage, my husband was busy fucking his secretary.”

Rowan did not know the man but all of a sudden he felt the need to smash his face.

“I lost our baby and…” her sobs intensified.

“I am so sorry, damn Aelin that… must have hurt.”

“I feel like a failure.”

Rowan pulled back and grabbed her face in his hands “No, I barely know you but you cannot call yourself a failure because you lost a baby and,” he paused “if your ex made you feel so, well it’s a good thing that the bastard is gone.”

“I am sorry…” she apologised “I just dumped all my troubles on you…”

He squeezed her “sometimes it feels nice to vent to a stranger or in our case to another stranded partner.”

That made her chuckle and he relaxed at the sound.

Rowan then stood and offered her a hand “Come.”

Aelin was not sure but then accepted and grabbed her backpack and jacket.

Rowan took her hand and they started walking. She followed him in silence until he stopped in front of the multi faith chapel.

“Come.”

Aelin was puzzled and followed him inside. The room was beautiful with wooden walls and a big window.

“When it’s quite I like to come here and sit. It’s empty and I find it relaxing.”

There were wooden benches along the wall and he sat down, patting the spot at his side.

Aelin sat and closed her eyes. The place was silent and a sense of peace descended on her. She felt Rowan’s shoulder brushed hers and she inhaled his scent. Rowan smelled of pine and snow. He smelled like home.

“I am sorry I cried all over you.”

At her side Rowan sighed “I am sorry for how I treated you. I assumed things…”

“We both said horrible things.”

Rowan chuckled “We can start from scratch again.”

Aelin turned her head to him “Hi, I am Aelin.”

“Hi, I am Rowan.” They shook hands and then they fell back in silence for a moment.

Rowan turned his head to the window and stared at the snow. It was even worse “I don’t think we’ll fly today.”

They spent a few hours in the room and talked and Aelin could not believe how easy it was to talk to him. She learned he was born in Doranelle, that he had been in the airforce for a few years and then retired and joined Wendlyn airlines. He had confessed that he was not a fan of sugary stuff and Aelin had almost left him alone in the room. She would admit that he was a pleasant person to be around.

When some people came into the room they left and Rowan gave her a tour of the airport but with a personal touch and from the perspective of someone who was in there multiple times a week.

In the end, they went back to the lounge and Rowan retrieved his suitcase from the bar staff and occupied a table with two comfy sofas at each side “Looks like we managed to find a much better spot,” Aelin smiled and sat down and looked at the window that now gave them a view of the runaway.

Rowan came back a bit later with food for both and a pitcher with orange juice “Hope this is okay.”

“Is the lounge staff staying here all night?”

He nodded “yes, staff for essential shops and lounges have been asked to stay open to help all the stranded passengers.”

Aelin took her food and they had dinner and chatted happily and got to know each other a little more.

The following morning Rowan woke up after falling asleep on the sofa. He had a lovely night with Aelin and realised she was nothing like he had pictured her. She was an editor and loved books just as much as him and they had talked for hours about their favourite authors. He had never felt that connected with anyone and it felt amazing. When she fell asleep he made sure to cover her with her coat and then stared at her sleeping. Her face peaceful in her slumber.

He went to grab some coffee and noticed that the sky was a deep blue and the snowstorm had cleared. The ploughs were busy scurrying around the airport and clearing near the hubs and the main runaways. That was a good sign. He took his phone and saw that he had been allocated a flight. It was the 14:00 hrs flight to Orynth. He smiled.

Back at the table Aelin was awake and was brushing the sleep off her eyes “Morning, princess, I bring coffee.” He then smiled “look outside.”

Aelin turned her head and squealed in delight when she noticed the sun and the blue sky.

Rowan had loved that sound and the smile that burst on her face.

“Are we flying?”

“Check your phone.”

Aelin quickly grabbed her mobile and noticed a notification from her airline telling her that she was booked on the 14:00 flight to Orynth.

“Yes, my flight is at 2 p.m.”

Rowan hid his smile behind the cup of coffee.

“What about you?”

“We’ll see.”

Aelin and Rowan had exchanged numbers before going separate ways. Somehow she wanted to stay in touch with him. He had promised her to text when he was in Orynth so she could be his guide.

Now she was finally at the gate ready to board her plane. Excitement was bubbling over her. After almost 24 hrs stuck in an airport she was ready to finally go home, but a pang of sadness hit her too. She wished she had more time with Rowan.

Aelin took her seat and was giddy at being in first class. Crew brought her wine and Aelin indulged and treated herself. She heard the voice from the cockpit tell the crew to put the door on manual and cross check.

“Good afternoon, I am Rowan and I will be your captain for this flight to Orynth. We are expecting to push back in about twenty minutes as the ground crew is finishing to load your bags. Flight time is expected to be around three hours. We might encounter some turbulence over the Great Ocean and then it should be a smooth flight as far as Perranth. Current weather in Orynth is snowy, but the guys up there are more equipped than us to deal with a bit of white stuff. Local temperature is -10C which I am told is basically summer.”

Aelin giggled and the rest of the plane did the same. Rowan was taking her home and her heart raced madly.

“Now sit back and relax and let the crew look after you. I will give you updates as the flight progresses.”

“

It was three hours later when they finally landed. The flight had been bumpy, but nothing majorly scary. She had worse.

Aelin waited till everyone was off to stand from her seat. Rowan had popped out from the cockpit and was greeting the disembarking passengers.

She grabbed her belongings and walked towards the crew.

He gave her a smile.

“Thank you for the pleasant flight, captain.”

He winked at her and she exited the aircraft into the tunnel.

She was at home unpacking her suitcases when a text reached her.

I will be in Orynth for a few days. I have been given extra layover time since I was not meant to be on duty. I will need a guide. Someone told me there is a great coffee shop in the old part of the town.

Aelin smiled and texted back whoever told you that is a wise person. I need today with my parents. Can we do tomorrow?

I am on my way to my hotel to crash and sleep. I will be rested by then. Text me a time and I will find my way there.

Just be careful in the snow, you Wendlyn people cannot cope with our levels.

I will see you tomorrow, menace.

Aelin squealed in delight and in silence she thanked the weather for stranding her in airport.

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