#mantis would not like AM at ALL

[magickpancakes]

quick crappy lil comic i made

[miscgallery]

It's me ya boi Duska 😎

Since you're now a fellow Mantis (and if you have her), her voicelines are genuinely really sweet and her Monitoring events are very funny.

But if you don't have Mantis, you can listen to her voicelines here 😎🫴✨️:

https://path-to-nowhere.fandom.com/wiki/Mantis

hii!! i don't have mantis yet, though i plan on saving up to pull for her after i get adela ehe

even before i read her event story i loved her design 😭 her voicelines are genuinely so cute and her little cricket chirping is equally adorable<3 lovely little bug my hero

i plan on looking for those supervision events + her interro (if there is one) on youtube bcs i really want to see more of her

quick doodle of the darling bug<3

[sleepless-in-starbucks]

getting invested in your own au is so dangerous because sometimes you'll start wanting to make an au of your au, and you'll come to a tough split point decision where you have to decide if you do that Or if you just make your idea canon to the first au, because no one can stop you

anyways. i need to be physically restrained from touching lucky jumbo right now

[bugborgs]

in lieu of actually telling you guys anything can i interest you in some more werewolf au art instead :]??

im so glad y'all seemed to like werewolf au lol im sure there are alien species out there that also have red blood just let me have this

it's cool this is fine mantis is about to put her to sleep don't worry about it

[gaywineauntsstuff]

Dick Grayson:

*runs the titans*

*works for the league*

*has a day job*

*solo patrols bludhaven*

*solo patrols New York*

*on call 24/7 for regularly scheduled Gotham crisis(es)*

*training at least 40% of new gen heroes at any given moment*

*infiltrating the current annoying cult, corrupt gov, spy organization, company, mafia group, evil underground ancestral foundations of a city and random corrupt modeling industry*

*monitoring drug pedaling in 3 cities*

*emotionally regulating 80% of his family bc why would they do it themselves? Nah let’s just ruin relationships for fun -cough Bruce cough-*

* maintaining civilian cover*

*canonically does volunteer work*

I am beginning to think nightwing doesn’t have anger issues he’s just overstimulated bc wtf

Like Dick take a break what is this?

————

Dick currently working on infiltrating the mob, after 4 days of 6+ hour patrols bc bludhaven has no chill an Arkham breakout, a performance review at work that took too long, organizing a titans outer space mission, just got back from training Jon Kent: no one call me plz god no one call me I can’t do this I have so much work no one. Call me plz

*phone rings* -it’s tim

He could ignore it but last time he left Tim alone for a month the dumbass lost his spleen and decided a cowl was a fashion choice (equally bad in his opinion)

Dick picking up the phone with his non broken arm: yello

Tim: so I accidentally maybe got kidnapped and maybe also started a cult around the concept of Batman and I’m out of energy drinks. (All equally dire in tims opinion)

Dick popping 4 caffeine pills: shut up I’ll be there in 30 don’t DO ANYTHing.

—————

Jason: sooo I might be engaged to an alien princess

Dick about to pop a Xanax: tell me it’s Kori or at least in this galaxy

Jason: nope

Dick: …. Can it wait

Jason: she wants to eat me, their species is like a praying mantis knockoff but with space and mind control.

Dick: yeah okay give me an hour I’ll call raven

————

Damian: hello Richard

Dick: what did you do.

Damian: I have been kidnapped by my mother

Dick: again

Damian: I feel it would be redundant to say anything

Dick: …….. alright I’ll call the nearest flying hero be there in a bit… keep ur spine where it is Damian or I swear to god-

——————

Bruce: cult

Dick who just got done with an undercover mission: anddd?

Bruce: we need someone to infiltrate it

Dick: I swear to god I. will. hurt. you

Bruce: hnnnn

——-

Babs: I have… acquired a child

Dick who is fighting deathstroke : …okayyyy

Babs who is watching the fight: she’s a little bit … traumatized

Dick, dodging a katana: preaching to the choir

Babs: can you do your whole, human empathy and kindness tell me ur life story I have puppy dog eyes.

Dick: ….

Babs: you owe me

Dick: … one day I will delete all your numbers and disappear

Babs cheerfully: you know no matter where you go I can find you hunk wonder see you in 3 hours don’t die before then!

[ruthytwoshakes]

team furries twoooo. And scalies. And whatever birds are.

please share and donate to this family of four, the youngest being only 2 1/2 years old. They need funds to safely cross to Egypt. If you donate something, send me a message with proof and I’ll draw you something nice as a thank you :)

Species and concept art under cut!

Sniper: so for some reason I was under the impression that Crocs were native to new zealand. They are not. Uh. Well. yup. 👍 it fits his personality. snappy n dangerous but real easy to get around if you just zig-zag. Why the long fa

Spy: Grey Fox. I was gonna go with a wolf because of his fursona but fox fits better wahhhh. Also means that scout is half fox! I’ll show that in more detail one day. Probably.

Medic: just like his Doves! The tail coat is actual his real tail. Featherrrrrs. Why are his nasty claws out? I don’t know he’s kinda weird like that.

Demo: TIGER!!!!! He’s always kinda reminded me of Hobbes from Calvin and Hobbes :) why did I draw him so cute. Somebody stop me before I draw them all adorable ough.

Engineer: the bulllllerrrrrrrrr. Sorry. He’s a bull, with a nose ring. Epic. Hooves for hands, gunslinger would look like a hoof too, gotta design that later.

Heavy: big badass brown bear. Love him. Instead of bullet he has honey sticks. It costs four hundred thousand dollars to harvest honey… for 12 seconds.

Pyro: fucking dragon. hell yeah. In pyroland they see themselves as a unicorn. Baller.

Scout: Bunny scout truther over here. You can thank @/teamfurtress for that. Please check them out, commissions are open! In my version he’s a hare but that is significantly less fun to say lol. Jackrabbit kinda guy.

Soldier: regular ole dog. ouppy to da max. He’s the most dog of the alol time and I’m tired of pretending he’s not. THE STRAPS ON HIS HELEMT ARE HIS EARS. HIS BIG TEETH AND OPEN MOUTHED SMILE. THE WAY HE MOVES. DO YOU UNDERSTAND ME?!???!??????! That’s a grown man with dick n balls what am I doing

Some designs for the side characters that I couldn’t be arsed to finish. Saxton is kangaroo because of corse he is. Admin is a bat because she never leaves her room, Pauling is mouse because is cute, Zhanna is bear like big brother, Merasmus is praying mantis, and Gray Mann + Olivia Mann are vultures! She’s so fluffy oh my god

Concept time. I fell in love with wrinkly floppy dog sniper. Adorable. Unfortunately I already had a dog so he had to go </3 kangaroo sniper was also axed. rip girl. Lots of diff designs for admin! Curtesy of @stangeranfanficion (thank u for the ideass) eagle soldier because it’s funny. Also zebra Pauling! I really like this one. If I make a horse au she’s going to be a zebra.

[chisatowo]

Screaming and crying as I give up my pmd randomizer save with a dialga and celebi as my starters because I forgot to change the settings from default and I'm not puting myself through that

[valentine-cafe]

˖⁺. “ professor's pet ” : 

﹙ top uni professor male reader x bttm bratty nerd hyrbid ﹚.𖹭 ݁

. . . rishen 781 x male reader !! 🍒 : ﹙ peppy nerd  ˖  brat  ˖  mantis-moth-spider hybrid ˖ hero character﹚

you've always had a soft spot for mr herrera. boy-genius and all. but there is something about the way he looks at you. speaks to you. one day - when he corrects you rather smugly during a lecture. you cannot help but decide to remind him who's the one with the phd. 

﹙ cws ﹚: explicit content ˖ prof/student ˖ rough sex ˖ brat taming ˖ classroom sex ˖ oral ˖ handjob ˖ use of boypussy | wc : 1.0k 

﹙ receipts ﹚: i've been wanting to write this piece with rishen for a bit because come oonnnn

꒰  other treats : guidelines ˖ m.list ˖ characters ˖ our lore  ꒱

he’s your favourite student. but oh do you hate him. those pretty doll eyes that greet you in combination with a bright smile whenever he enters your class. earlier than anyone else, as always. the way you have to look for mistakes in his exam papers. yet most importantly - that innocent way he has at correcting you in the middle of a lecture.

you would call yourself a modest man. one who can accept criticism. but it was different when it came from him. mister herrera. the pretty, preppy nerd of uni who just had so many different ways of making your heart stutter. the brat.

“Oh, I meant no disrespect, professor.”

Those thick lashes batting will be the death of you. Combined with those glossy lips you yearn to drown in?

He’ll make you lose your job. Surely.

“Really?” Is all you can muster, leaned against the edge of your desk. Anything to sate the burning desire in your palms to wrap around his throat.

“You know me, Sir. I am the most earnest.”

Earnest indeed. Earnest in how he presses up against you. Earnest in the way his hands slide onto the desk on either side of you. In the way his head tilts up so that his curls fall from around his face and he smiles oh. So. Sweetly.

“Forgot my assignment sheet.”

His murmur is all you can imagine the sweetness of his lips before he’s off again. How unprofessional.

Like the throbbing bulge in your trousers.

“Such a pretty boy,” you tut over him. One hand yanking on his curls while the other pistons behind him. Fingers curling into spots that nurse out whimpering moans and bucks of his hips against your desk. He’s spilling all over your test papers.

you tried with all your might. but it wouldn’t take long before you have him bent over your desk in the week to come. finally feeling the soft flesh of his thighs under his skirt. finally seeing the way his maroon eyes roll back as you finger his tight little hole.

“How can you be this tight? No one treating this darling hole right?”

“P-Prof - ah - Sir-!”

you quickly found out that he loves to fuck his hips back into you. especially when you got him full of your cock. the noises he lets out. what a dedicated student he is indeed. bouncing his pretty ass back onto you.

“Can you give me the answer now, boy? Hmm? Correct me now?”

well, until you’re shoving his head into the desk. holding him down and pounding his poor thighs into your desk. murmuring rough little degradations to his ear. making him cream all over the wood.

Your cock snaps into that one spot. Rough hands pulling his soft hips back. The wet plapping of his skin fills the classroom. If it weren’t for your hand wrapped firmly around the underside of his jaw - his moans would surely spill all the way down the hallway.

“A-Angh! Ah! Hng- S-Sir - siiirr - ‘m s- so - sor- fuck -!”

You palm along his dick. Stroking it into another squirt as you sneer into his reddened ear.

“Asked you a fucking question, pretty. Where’s that smart mouth of yours?”

through further escapades, you learnt that the most satisfying thing of stuffing him full is when you have fucked him dumb. with eyes rolled back and lips parted. unable to murmur out a single thing other than spluttered drool and a whining - “p-pro-prof-s-s-si-ah!”

another thing he is so earnest at? sucking your cock. you’ve had him under your desk more times than you can count. his glossy red lips wrapped so skillfully. eyes full of tears as your flex fingers into his curls and force his head down further. choke him all the way to your balls. until he’s whimpering. crying.

you always make it up to him by letting him bounce on your dick after. leaned back into your chair as he grips onto your shoulders and shows you that he’s more than just a pretty nerd. he always takes it so well.

amongst various other acts that are sure to get you fired once someone finds out - you must say that your favourite is when he calls you in the middle of the night. grinding into his pillow and pleading that you come up to his dorm and fuck his ass full.

“H-Hngh - an- p-please sir - fuck-!”

of course you do. you’re a good professor - after all.

Your hips drive his into the sheets. Pressing him down in his favourite position: prone bone. It gives you the perfect opportunity to bruise his soft skin with your merciless thrusts.

Rishen’s face presses into the pillows. Hands tightening around the softness as the headboard slams against the wall. His moans pouring through dorm room.

“Can’t even wait for after class tomorrow,” you grunt into his ear. “Jus’ need a cock filling you constantly huh pretty boy? Yeah? Yeaah,”

You rise up if only to crush him with your hips. Slamming into his quivering form with purpose. Stress from endless marked exams taken out on his supple flesh.

“Constantly need your physics professor’s cock pounding at your pretty boypussy huh? Fuck.”

He’s so small beneath you. So full of your cum. So fucked out.

You can’t help but grip his hair. Steer his crying face more into the pillows and plough him sore. Anything to see the way he’ll prance on into class with scarlet heels and a bit of a limp.

“S-Siiir - si -hiir - I-I - I can’ttt - dios-”

His whimpers are sinful. All of this is.

But you will risk you job for it any day. Any day if it meant having the little bratty nerd under you and hiccupping your name.

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[feyrischan]

What the fuck did you just fucking dare say about me, you little cutsleeve? I’ll have you know I graduated top of my sect in the cloud recesses, and I’ve been involved in numerous secret raids in the sunshot campaign, and I have tortured over 300 demonic cultivators. I am trained in uncle warfare and I’m the top leader in the entire Yunmeng armed forces. You are nothing to me but just another frog in a well. I will whip you the fuck out with precision the likes of which has never been seen before in the mortal realm, mark my fucking words. You think you can get away with saying that shit to me at the annual conference? Think again, impudent. As we speak I am contacting my secret network of spies across China and your clan's location is being traced right now so you better prepare for the storm, maggot. The storm that wipes out the pathetic little thing you call your core. You're the mantis that stalks the cicada, unaware of the oriole behind, fucker. I can be anywhere, anytime, and I can break your legs in over seven hundred ways, and that’s just with my bare hands. Not only am I extensively trained in martial art, but I have access to the entire arsenal of the yiling laozu fierce corpses and I will use it to its full extent to fuck your ancestors to the eighteenth generation, you little shit. If only you could have known what unholy retribution your little “clever” comment about my nephew was about to bring down upon you, maybe you would have held your fucking tongue. But you couldn’t, you didn’t, and now you’re courting death, you dog fucked idiot. I will shit fury all over you until you don't know whether to laugh or cry. You’re fucking dead, sect leader Yao

[arabellasleopardcoat]

Capital (Daemon Targaryen x Reader)

Summary: You think you married the plainest woman on earth, and you look away for one second and suddenly she is not. Typical. At least, for Daemon.

Warnings: Mature language, sexual thoughts, canon typical violence.

Requested: Yes! But since I am particular about my aesthetic, I didn't answer there. Jealousy + arranged marriage. Brought to you by the seven deadly sins.

Gluttony /ˈɡlʌtəni/

​the habit of eating and drinking too much.

Claw Island is as good as getting vanished from the court. You know it. Your Lord husband knows it. Even the tenants know it. Why else would the King order your marriage to Daemon Targaryen?

It was not as much of a punishment as the King had hoped. The Celtigars are a prestigious family, one of the few left with Valyrian blood. While not ones to flaunt their riches or seek for great power, you led a luxurious lifestyle.

The finest wines. Myrish rugs. The newest books. And of course, the riches from the surrounding sea. Beautiful pearls, a fleet that, while small, sailed with speed. The best foods.

The small island was your perfect little world, sequestered away from the troubles of the mainland. What else could a person long for, when they lived in a paradise? Claw Island had it all. Miles and miles of tempestuous sea, soft sands and gorgeous wildlife not seen anywhere else. Humble, but good people. Natural riches enough to last a lifetime.

But as of late, your breathtaking lands did nothing to bring you peace. Sometimes, in truth, as you walked along the shoreline, you wished for a tremendous sea wave to swallow you whole.

It would be better than this. Among the crabs, the sea life and wreckage of old ships, you would feel at ease. At home, even. And finally, finally untroubled. But things were not as you wanted them to be. With your Lord Father at court, someone had to mind the island. And no one knew the lands as you did.

You shuddered to think of something happening to you. In that case, the island, and its people, would go to your husband. Considering how much he hated it here, Prince Daemon would make a poor ruler.

You glare. He glares right back. Remembering your manners, you serve him a cut of spider crab seared in butter. The meal is rich and decadent, a show of the best Claw Island has to offer.

“Crab, Lady Wife?” Daemon raises both eyebrows. “Again?”

“What else does the Prince wish to eat?” You do your best effort at keeping your tone even. You try hard to not raise your voice at him, remembering the rumors about what happened to his last wife. So far, it seems to be working. Despite being older than you, the man behaves as a child. You have found he benefits from being managed as one, too.

Ever since you got married, he has been desperately trying to rile you up. The Prince always seemed to deflate when you refused to engage. He was clearly itching for a fight, but you refuse to give him the satisfaction.

“You seem too willing to indulge in cannibalism for my tastes.” Daemon, in what he surely believed to be the absolute demonstration of cutting wit, smirks. You smile at him, sedate. You have heard enough remarks about crabs to last a lifetime. “It’s worrying.”

You could answer him. Perhaps make a mockery of his inability to perform in bed and the behavior of the female praying mantis. You do not. Instead, you force yourself to give him a tight smile.

“Don’t worry. I will ask the servants to bring you fish.” You took your napkin out of your lap and placed it on the table. Dutifully, you rang the bell to call for a servant.

“Again?” Daemon complained, sounding much like a petulant child. You smiled and went back to your seat. Your crab was getting cold, and it would most likely be by the time your husband’s fish was served. But good manners dictated you could not start eating without him. You resigned yourself to another night of eating a cold dinner.

“You should write to the King, my Prince. I would serve you venison, were it not for the fact that your dragon has nearly extincted the population here.” While you were by no means poor, feeding a dragon was an expense you didn’t care for, especially one so picky as Daemon’s was showing to be.

While a dragon was a marvelous creature, and having one guarding your lands was a great perk, it was also hard. Caraxes ate the same as five grown men in a day, if not more. He didn’t eat just anything you served him, either. Much like his owner, he was picky. He had come with dragon keepers, and needed to be built a shelter.

You had hoped that his serpentine appearance would mean that he would eat a lot in one sitting, then hibernate, but no such luck. Your island couldn’t keep up, no matter how hard you tried. Animals didn’t reproduce at the pace required.

“Of course, my Lady. Of course.” Daemon says, in a dismissive tone. It’s then, when a servant comes in with his fish.

Your crab is cold. Again. Daemon is not pleased with the fish, but seems wary of extending dinner even more. For once, he doesn’t complain.

Dinner is eaten silently. In your head, you make plans for tomorrow's meals. Perhaps oysters, served cold, will withstand the wait better. You finish dinner and settle down to read some before bed.

When the time comes for it, you close your book. Daemon departs with a cold kiss to your cheek. You go to your bed, just as cold and empty as the kiss was, and fall asleep.

It’s around the witch's hour when he comes back to you, getting into the bed next to you. He stinks of cheap perfumes and oils. As he pulls you closer, to be able to hide his face on your neck, you can feel the smell of sex and alcohol induced sweat. It comes from the clothes Daemon hasn’t even bothered to shed before getting in bed with you.

You don’t like him drunk. He gets sloppy. You do better when he hides his indiscretions, the proofs of your failure as a woman. As a wife. He seeks his pleasure from other bodies, never yours. With you, he is unable to perform to completion.

Perhaps the same happens to him with others, on nights like these. That thought soothes you, and it’s the only reason why you allow Daemon to seek comfort in your arms. Sometimes, he has nightmares. It’s expected then, too, that you are the one to soothe him back to sleep.

Shifting in his grip, you rub his back, gently. You card your other hand through the matted strands of blonde hair, as a mother would do to his child. In many ways, you guess he is one. You pity him, your husband. A man with a void so deep, not even all the vices in the world could fill it.

You are unable to fall back asleep. You lay there for hours, staring at the ceiling. When you hear the rooster’s first crow, you roll out of bed. Sleep is not coming for you. Daemon, unperturbed in his slumber, only sprawls more. You tuck him in.

When you get to your vanity, you catch the servants leaving the correspondence for the day on it. She giggles when you point at the bed and the mess of clothes, gesturing for silence. It makes you feel better, that they think your husband comes from the pleasure houses straight into your arms for more than just cuddles.

One of the letters catches your eye. It’s written in the strange alphabet used for High Valyrian, bearing both the royal seal and the King’s name. You don’t mean to pry. In fact, you open it because you are worried your husband has upset his brother even more.

Marriage is like being tied to a ship. When the tides are good and the ship strong, you soar above the sea. But no one wants to be tied to a sinking ship. It’s that fear what leads you to heating a knife on your candle’s flame and lifting the seal.

You read as you brush your hair, unrushed. You know Daemon won’t be awake for at least six more hours. But the more you advance, skipping polite greeting, the more your stomach sinks, and you jump from sentence to sentence.

“And while I understand your dislike of Claw Island, it is a less harsh punishment than you deserve. Much you complained of wanting a Valyrian bride, and now the opportunity presents itself, ripe for the taking. Yet, you do not seem keen on it. Is it, again, the lack of a throne you find off-putting? Perhaps, the lack of a child bride you can manipulate? Your Lady Wife might not have purple eyes or silver hair, as you mention, but she is a maiden in the bloom of youth. Tales of her beauty have graced the court, shared among the eager mouths of her family and previous suitors. Both Lord Velaryon and Lord Mooton agree that the woman is a delight, well-mannered and easy on the eyes. She has impeccable breeding and education. I will not grant you the annulment. I will not allow you to go back to your whore.”

There is a coppery taste in your mouth. Blood, you realize. From biting your tongue so hard to avoid letting out a scream of rage. It feels like being stabbed, countless times. In your back, and in your heart. Betrayal and deep, hurtful sorrow.

What have you done to deserve this? To be blindsided so? You have stood firm through all the humiliations your husband puts you through. Never once reproaching the way he goes out after dinner and does not come back until sunrise. Never complaining of his audacity to search comfort in your arms when he is drunk and stinking of whores. Never once raising your voice at the insults to your people, your home, your family.

But for Daemon Targaryen, it wasn’t enough. You would never be enough. Childishly, when you had first heard of your betrothal to him, you had hoped for companionship, if not love. At least, you thought, you would have a friend. But you hadn’t been enough of a woman to keep him in your bed, you had not been enough of the blood of Old Valyria for him to give you children, and you had not been enough for him to stay married to you.

He took from you, and took from your island and from your family, and not once was he satisfied. Not once, he was sated. And now, Daemon has done the unspeakable. Not satisfied with making a mockery out of you, with his constant unfaithfulness, he seeks to ruin you further. It’s only King Viserys who protects you and your family from further embarrassment.

You have underestimated him, pitying him while he planned your demise. The ruin of your house. You have been sharing your bed with the enemy. The thought frightens you and fills you with anger at equal parts. What will happen, when the King dies and the awful Princess with whom your husband was so taken ascends? Will you be put to the sword, accused of an imaginary crime to get you out of the way? Treason, perhaps? Hands shaking in anger, you fold the letter and reseal it as carefully as you can.

That is the day you decide you will retreat into your shell, like any good crab. You will close yourself over, put up walls and keep him as far away as you can. And you will wait for the day to stab at his heels until his physique reflects exactly the useless kind of man he is inside.

One day, this man might kill you. You will have to make sure he does not get away with it.

Envy /ˈenvi/

​the feeling of wanting to be in the same situation as somebody else; the feeling of wanting something that somebody else has.

It’s not often you are summoned to the court. But your father is about to be named Keeper of the Keys, a prestigious position often held by members of your house before being promoted to Master of Coin. The implication is clear. Soon, another Celtigar will be handling the finances of the Kingdom. It’s a ploy, to intertwine you further with the Royal Family. As soon as King Viserys dies, it will be your father who serves on Princess Rhaenyra’s council.

Hence, the need for a celebration. Traveling from Claw Island to King’s Landing is exhausting, especially considering that you do the journey by ship while your husband does so in his dragon. He seems overjoyed about it, but you can only think of how much the separate travel is costing your purses.

Daemon arrives early, because of course he does. Meanwhile, you spend your time preparing to put on the play of your life. You must be the most dutiful wife in the Seven Kingdoms, or else he might find a reason to get rid of you. Setting apart your most fashionable dresses, preparing gifts for the King and Queen and otherwise looking radiant.

Knowing Daemon, he is already whispering poison in his brother’s ear. You need to dazzle the King and the whole court, convince them you are not only an adequate wife but a perfect one. No stain must be perceived in your reputation.

You arrive punctually, just in time to prepare for the feast. It’s inside the Hall where you meet Daemon, and greet him with a kiss on the cheek. Chaste, but affectionate, performed under the King’s approving look. You are radiant in your house’s colors, with subtle references to Targaryen’s ones.

The feast is torture. Viserys, Daemon and Rhaenyra are all seated at the same table. They get along wondrously, while you, Queen Alicent and Ser Laenor are ignored despite being next to them.

The only thing that calms your heart is watching your father, sitting at the table of the Master of Coin.

“My Queen.” You say to her, hoping to curry favor. The Gods knew you needed as many allies as you could. “I brought you this.”

You take out a beautifully engraved rendition of the Prayers Book. It’s a gorgeous edition, with a gold finish. You hope that at least, if she doesn’t like it, she would think it is a gift to the babe she carries. It’s a thoughtful gift, the kind of thing you excel at.

“Oh, Lady Targaryen!” The Queen says, and takes it, admiring it in the light. Fortunately, she seems truly charmed by it. “It is the most wonderful thing!”

“I have one myself.” You tell her, as if you had not purchased it for exactly this moment. “When I heard you were from Oldtown, I couldn’t think of a better thing to bring.”

“It’s lovely.” Alicent says, as your husbands ignore both of you. Viserys and Daemon are too busy having their fun to care about what women are doing. “Will you join me in prayer tomorrow?”

“I would be delighted to.” It’s the first genuine smile you wear since your arrival. And it’s the first time that someone from the royal family smiles back.

You do attempts towards Rhaenyra and Laenor. They both ignore you, and so, you decide to keep strictly to conversing with Alicent. You decide to leave Viserys out of it, despite your gratitude to him because you would rather not look like much of a sycophant.

Your happiness at finally making a friend between your in-laws makes you oblivious to Daemon’s silence. During the whole dinner, he barely taunts you. None of the crab-based insults he so favors are present, either. That should have warned you. If you have learned something about your husband is that there is never a time when he is quiet.

He bides his time. The desserts are already served when Daemon delivers his greatest insult up to date. Some couples are even swaying to the rhythm of the music already, no matter if the tables have yet to be cleared.

“I wish to dance, I think.” Daemon says, getting up from his seat. You start to get up too, knowing you cannot refuse him, but he turns towards Rhaenyra. “A dance, niece?”

Rhaenyra preens under the attention and takes his hand. For a second, you stay frozen, hand falling uselessly by your side just when you were about to reach for him. You feel like you are being stabbed. Again.

The humiliation is so great you wish for some great disaster, perhaps one of the couples bumping against a table and overturning it, just to get the attention away from you. Half the hall has now seen you get rejected by your husband. In a celebration meant to honor your father, nonetheless.

You struggle to keep your face emotionless, curved into a polite little smile. You have made a fool of yourself. Hot tears gather in your eyes, threatening to spill.

Noticing your despair, Alicent places a hand on your arm, softly.

“Thank you, Lady Targaryen.” She exclaims, loudly. “With the babe getting bigger and bigger every day, I find it harder to stand. You are very thoughtful.”

Her rescue, as she stands and walks down the dais, helps you save face. Your smile turns more genuine.

“It’s but good breeding, my Queen.” You answer, just as loud. “What kind of noble could see a Lady of your station and not aid her?”

Alicent smiles, and she cradles her stomach.

“Indeed. Only a savage, I would think.” Her glance at her own husband is unmistakable. But Viserys is too busy watching Rhaenyra and Daemon dance to help his pregnant wife. His eyes never leave his brother and daughter, his expression twisted into one of annoyance.

Alicent makes her way towards a table where a few knights sit. Most of them are from Oldtown, and you cannot help but smile at her doing the rounds her husband so neglects. But her rescue, and quick exit, leave you in an uncomfortable position. King Viserys and Ser Laenor are engaged in conversation, including you only when they remember your presence, which means once every half an hour.

Without Queen Alicent, you have no conversation partner. The only thing you can do is watch. Daemon twirls around the room as if he were not a married man, taking every eligible bachelorette in the room for at least one dance. He is enchanting, pulling blushes left and right. He dances twice with Rhaenyra and Laena Velaryon.

You play your part to perfection. Each time he glances your way, you give him an indulgent smile or a sweet tilt of your head. Even when he dances again with Rhaenyra, your expressions don't shift. Instead, you lift your cup to them and even find it in yourself to give a small clap.

It’s torture. It’s exhausting, having to play the devoted but never jealous wife, when he is doing his best to embarrass you. Finally, the King retires, but orders that the celebrations do not stop. You consider making your way towards your father, uncaring if leaving Laenor sitting on his own is rude.

Just as you are getting up, a knight, dressed in a fine green gambeson, steps in front of you. You look up at him, wondering what he could possibly want.

His voice is soft and eloquent, with the barest hint of an accent. His voice reminds you of someone, but you cannot quite place who.

“Lady Targaryen. You look beautiful tonight.”

“Thank you.” You answer him, politely. Is he about to ask you for a dance? Is this a ploy for your husband to embarrass you further?

The knight smiles. He is tall and slender, very different from your husband, yet handsome just the same.

“If I had a wife as pretty as you, she wouldn’t be sitting here.” He compliments, and startles a laugh out of you. It has been months since the last time a man complimented you so. Before marrying, you had quite the suitors, but no one dared practice courtly love with the Rogue Prince’s wife. And your husband never once spoke to you kindly.

It’s a thrill, to feel wanted and appreciated again. You love having his eyes on you. It fills you with a forgotten kind of confidence. As the daughter of the man whose star in court is rising, as a beautiful woman and as the wife of a Prince, you deserve to be admired. It’s not your fault your husband can’t see it, you are desirable. People should be currying for your favor. You shouldn’t be begging for the scraps of a man whose only interest is his niece.

“Would she be on the dance floor?” You tease the knight, falling back into the practiced flirtations that had made you so popular before. You feel like you are glowing again.

The knight shakes his head, a hint of mischief appearing in his brown eyes.

“I would forbid her from leaving my chambers.”

At that, you laugh again, blushing. Despite how charming he is, you are still a married woman. You cannot give anyone reason to suspect or judge you, else Daemon might have basis to rid himself of you.

“I am not your wife.” You say, politely. The knight gasps, as if wounded, making you laugh again. You do not realize someone is glaring daggers at you, entranced as you are by him. “But perhaps a dance might suffice?”

The knight gives you a cheeky grin. He takes your hand and pulls you to your feet, gently.

As he leads you towards the dance floor, you barely notice Daemon looking disgruntled on the edge of it. You look over and see Rhenyra dancing with some tall and broad knight. He is probably jealous of him.

“You must give me your favor, for tomorrow's tournament. We are, after all, celebrating your family.” The knight says, making you focus back on him. His eyes are brown and kind, so soft. They remind you of someone, but once again, you can’t tell who.

“Ah, I see you are a tough negotiator.” You tease, your tone turning slightly more girlish. This time, it is the knight who laughs.

“What can I say? It’s in my blood.” The man winks, as he starts to twirl you around.

“I think, my lord, you have yourself a deal.” You grin.

It’s only when a Hightower knight approaches the stands the next day and offers you his lanze, you realize the mistake you have made.

Wrath /ræθ/

​extreme anger.

Daemon can’t believe his ears. Out of nowhere, a sweet sound reaches him. It’s the sound of a Lady’s laughter, but something about it makes him turn his head.

Perhaps, the fact that the sound has managed to catch his attention at all, despite the loud music, chatter and other laughs. Perhaps it is that the sound is familiar to him. He doesn’t know what it is, but as the piece finishes, he steps aside and tries searching for the source.

It’s then he sees you. His wife. Glowing and laughing on that Hightower cunt’s arm. And no, it’s not Alicent he is referring to. Otto’s spawn seems to have a proclivity for you because this is the other one. The elder.

Gwayne. His hands all over you, a gentle touch to your lower back to guide you forward. And are your eyes brightening? For him? As you pass by Daemon, you barely spare him a glance. He manages to hear a piece of the conversation.

“Your favor, for tomorrow's tournament…” The man has the gall to ask, as if he could win you the flower crown! The nerve of that Hightower pup, to think himself able to win. It’s clear he doesn’t remember the last time he faced Daemon, and while he was already planning on entering, now he knows with absolute certainty he is competing. Gwayne Hightower seems to have forgotten his lesson. He needs to remember his place.

“… Tough negotiator…” Your cheerful voice answers. Probably telling him he has to win if you do so because you are Valyrian and proud like him. Surely, the idea of getting crowned Queen of Love and Beauty appeals to you. You want a flower crown? Daemon will get you the damn thing.

When he was no more than a boy, his father used to have a particularly overzealous hound. Daemon had taken great delight in setting him free just when ladies were visiting. The dog loved sniffing beneath the ladies' skirts and humping their legs. The whole scene often ended up with Daemon getting yelled at, either by the ladies or their husbands. Now, as he looked at the proverbial dog humping his wife, Daemon understood why the ladies' husbands were so enraged.

He should cut his hands. Hightowers. No sense of shame at all, with their whorish ways. They were all the same. There went Alicent, throwing herself at Viserys when poor Aemma was not even in her pyre. There went Gwayne Hightower, placing his paws all over you and trying to charm you when Daemon was still in the room.

Couldn’t he tell you are his? It’s not that Daemon likes you, but it’s an affront to his honor. You are the wife of a Prince. The mere fact that a measly knight thought he could compare it’s outrageous. And the fact that he dared touch you! The nerve!

It’s Daemon who shares your bed, back in Claw Island. It’s Daemon you hold during the night, who pays for your silly little dresses. It’s for him you have clearly gotten all pretty today. How dare he, that Hightower fool.

He can’t have you. Gwayne Hightower is not allowed to just swoop in and try to steal his woman. You are meant to sleep by his side, be his solace. You are not the kind of woman for whom a simple knight would be enough. Just like him, you love the lush life. Could Gwayne Hightower buy you a dress like that? Could he use a dragon to protect your little island?

Daemon clutches at his cup so hard, he thinks he might bend the metal. You are his bride. He is the only one allowed to have you. If he doesn’t want to, he doesn’t want to, but it doesn’t mean someone else can.

Rhaenyra approaches him again, no doubt wanting another dance. But not even her allure, which is usually so hypnotizing to him, manages to get him out of his bad mood. He hates when other people touch what is his.

Daemon decides to retire for the night, before she can reach him. He needs to think. How he longs for your shared rooms back at Claw Island. At least that way, he wouldn’t spend the night tossing and turning, wondering if the Hightower cunt escorted you back to your rooms, and if so, at which hour.

Strange, isn’t it? Such a small act can cause such a big shift in perspective. So many months, he had spent thinking of Claw Island a prison, longing to be able to come back to court. Now, he sees it as it was. A shell made to protect the most valuable pearl the sea had produced.

Had Daemon known men at court would try to steal his bride, he would have never authorized this trip. Your father could have been named Hand, but you would have never stepped foot outside your castle if Daemon had known. You would not be taken with Gwayne Hightower if he had a say in it.

He had a plan. The knight would make a fool out of himself. Daemon just had to encourage him in the right direction.

Daemon is up and about as soon as the sun is. He strolls towards the space prepared for the tournament, armor in hand. He changes slowly, giving plenty of time for Gwayne Hightower to arrive.

The foolish knight does. So do you, sitting next to your father in the stands, all pretty and glowy under the sun. You wear a red gown that compliments not only your skin tone, but pays homage to both of your houses. After all, both House Targaryen and Celtigar have red on their coats of arms. A clear show that you were meant to be his, and his alone. What would you even look like, if you were married to a Hightower fool? Red and green would look hideous in a dress.

As the highest-ranking competitor, Daemon gets to make the first challenge. To no one’s surprise, he picks Gwayne Hightower.

Daemon waits with bated breath, already seated on his horse. Does the man dare? Oh, he dares! The Hightower cunt gallops towards the stands. You don’t rise, looking towards the Hightower whore. It’s then he realizes you must be truly innocent. You are either doubting the boldness of the man or are not aware of his house, and do not recognize him under the armor.

But as Gwayne Hightower reaches the stand, Daemon close on his heels, he takes off his helmet. You gasp.

The Hightower whore makes a move as if to get up. Her brother’s voice cuts her off.

“I was hoping to get a sign of your favor, my Lady.” The man says to you, and your eyes widen. You stand, shakily. You look at Daemon, then at the cunt, then at him, then back at the cunt. Daemon arches an eyebrow, visor lifted. “For you have already struck me with your beauty, and the fact that you cannot be mine. Allow me the consolation of placing a crown of flowers upon you, and soothe my wounded heart.”

You gasp at the bold declaration. Daemon has to admit it, the cunt has some nerve. Not only has he praised you in ways that are too bold even for a couple courting, but he has slighted Daemon in front of the whole court. He has made explicit mention of your marriage to him.

Viserys eyes him warily. Daemon scoffs. The distrust is unnecessary. Why would he slaughter the Hightower now, when he has the chance to plummet him into the ground without consequences in just a few minutes? Besides, it would be in bad taste, slaughtering the brother of his sister-in-law.

Your father urges you forward, with a forced laugh. You grasp one of the favors from your box, which has only two, and place it upon the Hightower’s lanze. The pretty ribbons sway in the wind. White and red from House Celtigar proudly displayed.

Daemon clears his throat, and presents his own lanze.

“How touching.”

You ignore him, as Rhaenyra approaches. Surely thinking how he will want to wear her favor, after his rejection of last night. Curse him, Daemon thinks. He should have danced with you. If he had known that up jumped son of a rat was going to try his luck, you would have not left Daemon’s arms the whole night.

“Thank you, niece. But today I fancy wearing my wife’s favor. For it would be a shame for her to be lacking her crown once her champion undoubtedly disappoints.” He loudly declares, uncaring if his niece’s face falls. Rhaenyra will get over it. But this has turned into a manhood competition. He can’t let Gwayne Hightower, of all people, win.

“Can I do that?” Daemon hears you whisper towards Viserys and his whore. “Can I have two champions fighting each other?”

Viserys, as if this is the most fun he has had in a while, answers cheerfully.

“Of course, my dear girl.” It probably is the most fun he has had in a while. Really. It must be very amusing to him, after hearing Daemon complain about you for months. Who would have known he would have to fight some Hightower for your attention? Laughable, really. A Prince groveling. “Double the chances for you to get the flower crown, is it not?”

“Of course.” Your father jumps in, clearly trying to prevent a scandal. “Go on, love. Give the other one to your husband. If more are needed, we will get more ribbons.”

You approach Daemon, pretty little favor on your delicate hands. You smile at him, pleasantly. But this close, he can tell you are shaken by the power play happening right in front of your eyes.

Daemon lowers his lanze as you stretch to place your ribbons. You give him a confused and hurt look. He stretches closer.

“Save that one.” Daemon says, as he places a hand on your hair and pulls out the red ribbon that holds it back. “I’m your husband, I get some privileges.”

His gesture makes you laugh. Daemon feels on top of the world. He gives a superior glance to the Hightower cunt, as if saying: Look at me, I do not need half your effort and get double the results.

Daemon is not so deluded as to think the laugh is more than half nervousness and half playing the part of the dutiful wife you are, but to Daemon is still a win. He can see why the other lords want you. With your hair loose, smiling and with your skin glowing from the sun, you are actually quite pretty.

He ties the ribbon around the pommel of the lanze.

“A kiss, for good luck?” Daemon knows he is pushing, but cannot help but be smug. His pretty wife gave him her hair ribbon to tie around his chosen weapon, for all the court to see. Smugness radiates out of his pores.

Without any expectation, the sweet peck you give him is even more of a delight. Even more sweet is the disgruntled look on Gwayne Hightower's face.

Safe to say, the man gets unseated so fast, it has to be the quickest defeat ever registered. The crunch he makes as he falls from his horse it’s the most satisfying sound Daemon has ever heard. The crowd gasps and cheers. The man does not get up.

That will teach him, he decides. Gwayne Higtwoer will never again even look your way. Daemon turns his horse back around, ready to face his next opponent, but it’s stopped by the pages.

“Ser Gwayne Hightower has requested to continue with the sword.” At that, his blood boils. He nearly jumps off his horse, discarding the lanze and unsheathing Dark Sister.

“What will it be, boy? First blood?” He saunters towards the man, and the sight of him this close only serves to anger him more. He shares Otto’s slender build, tall and slight. In Hightower armor, he even looks like him. Daemon is going to enjoy this.

“Why stop there?” The knight asks, hatefully. “Until one of us yields.”

“As you wish.” Daemon charges, forgoing his shield. He is just too angered for politeness. This is not jousting anymore, it’s his hate for Higtowers, and the fact that this man has tried to take something that’s his. He should have never looked your way. Never. And if it’s up to Daemon, perhaps he will leave the arena without the ability to repeat the feat.

The fight is quick and dirty, but even when he has disarmed and cornered him, Gwayne Higtower refuses to yield.

“What are you..?” Daemon asks, utterly confused because the little savage is grabbing Dark Sister with gauntled hands and pulling.

“Just as marriage is not an excuse for not loving…” He grins, teeth bared in a feral little grin, and Daemon lets go of his sword in surprise at the boldness of the fool. “No weapon is no excuse for yielding.”

He loses it, then. Later, he will only remember red. Daemon throws himself at him and starts punching him, until the asshole goes limp on his arms and has to be pulled away from him.

Only the fact that the Hightower fought back is what allows him to keep participating in the tournament, instead of being exiled again. The split lip and bleeding eyebrow do serve to build a case in his favor.

He wins the tournament without any opposition. With bloody hands, he places the flower crown on your head. Your horrified look is not as satisfactory as he would have thought.

Pride /praɪd/

the feeling that you are better or more important than other people.

Daemon manages to get a hold of you before you vacate the stands. You are trying to avoid the crowds, waiting patiently in your seat. He doesn’t allow it, urging you towards his chambers with a firm grip on your wrist.

Some other ladies titter and giggle, pointing towards the two of you. No doubt, they think he is about to ravish you. They are not wrong.

It’s not often Daemon feels desire for you. In truth, while you have a pretty mouth and a soft body, you do little for him. But today, you are enchanting. The flower crown still sits atop of your windswept hair, making you look like a forest nymph. There are a few red stains along your temple, left there by Daemon’s hands when he placed the crown on top of your hair.

Never has there been a woman more deserving of the title of Queen of Love and Beauty. As you walk with him down the halls, he feels a smug sort of satisfaction. Here is the woman half the court wants, Daemon wants to scream. Here is my wife.

The feeling is not unfamiliar to him, but it is in relation to you. His possessive nature so far has only extended towards members of his house. The lust is new, too. Daemon has experimented it many times, but never towards whom he should.

As soon the door closes after you, he kisses you forcefully, only for you to shove him away.

“What are you doing?” You ask, as you spit out some of his blood. You are remarkably strong, having been able to push him while still in armor. But what shocks him the most is the fact that you did it at all. Months of marriage and you have done nothing but smile, regardless of what Daemon does.

“Shh, Lady Wife. Nothing unusual, I assure you.” He pulls you back in, kissing along your neck. This time, you push him even harder.

Daemon stumbles and blinks, hard. Are you rejecting him? He sits down on the bed and takes off his helmet. He has beaten the Hightower fool half to death and won you the silly flower crown. Why would you reject him?

“You prefer him, don't you?” That has to be the answer, surely. You must be having an affair with the cunt. Why else would you reject him? It’s not allowed. While Daemon is not particularly keen on forcing you, you are his wife. He has a right to your body, and you shouldn’t deny him. You know it. Never before have you refused him, due to the same reason. So this must be something else.

“What nonsense are you on, now?” You barely lift your eyes from your work, busy with pouring some water in a bowl and taking out clean linens. Efficiently, as if a seasoned healer, and not a soft lady from Claw Island, you rip them apart.

“Don’t play daft, wife.” Daemon reproaches, scowling. Your innocent act is starting to tire him. You can’t possibly believe him so dumb. “It doesn’t suit you.”

“If this is about Ser Gwayne…” You start and he feels the urge to scream. He can’t help but cut you off.

“Of course it is! Of course it is about that fucking Hightower.” Daemon’s voice goes high-pitched, imitating yours. “Ser, Ser.” He rolls his eyes. “How easily they hand titles now. Is every scum in this realm a knight?”

Your face doesn’t even twitch. That is one of the things about you that drive him to insanity. No matter what Daemon says, he never seems to get a reaction. It’s infuriating. You are all manners and dimples, even in the face of the most vile insults he throws your way. You either have no honor, letting him stomp all over you, or you think him right. Pathetic. Even the Bronze Bitch bit back.

His nostrils flare. Softly, you step between his parted legs and dab at the cut on his brow with a soaked linen. Ever dutiful.

“You do know adultery is a crime.” Daemon says, in a low, threatening tone. You give him a pleasant smile, squeezing water out of the cloth. It runs red and fast down your wrist.

“So is incest.” Your voice is far too cheerful for someone who just got accused of a crime that’s punishable by death if he so chooses. And not only that, but you have the nerve to threaten him.

“I am a Targaryen.” Daemon practically growls. You glare at him. He should be angry, but instead, his loins seem to heat up. Who can fault him? Any man would feel the urge to take you over and over, when faced with those eyes and those lashes.

Surely, after it, you would understand you were his and not Gwayne Hightower’s. It was not such an ambitious plan. Perhaps a lesser man would have trouble with it, but not Daemon. Give him ten minutes between your legs and you would be singing his praises.

“And I am a Celtigar.” His pause has allowed you enough time to form a retort. You press down on the cut on his brow with a viciousness that startles him. Daemon winces in pain. No getting distracted, he notes. Less you murder him when he is not paying attention. “To stifle the blood flow.” You explain, but Daemon can see the bloodlust in your eyes. You want him to hurt. The past few months have not gone in vain, it appears.

“Mine, you are mine.” He replies, gruffly.

You let go of the cloth, hands on your hips. Your mouth opens and closes, astonished.

“You don’t have any right to speak those words to me.” How he longs to grab you and show you exactly who is in charge. There you are, screaming! You! The woman who Daemon doubted knew how to make sounds louder than polite conversation. “Am I not the bride you never wanted? Your chain? Well then, sail free. Go!” You scream, and Daemon needs to pick his jaw off the floor because never has he seen you this angry.

Are you screaming at him? He feels the urge to pinch himself, to see if he is dreaming. But the way you are pointing your finger towards the door seems very real. Still a bit confused by the sudden personality change, Daemon does not obey.

It feels like a dream. Like stepping into a parallel world. The words that come out of his mouth are spoken by a stranger, and he can only watch as you turn more and more furious.

“No. Come here.” Daemon grabs at your gown, trying to pull you into him. He doesn’t really know what he is going to do if you budge. Place you in his lap and placate you with a kiss? He doesn’t get to find out. Grabbing you has clearly been the wrong move.

You slip out of his grip with a harsh jerk. Daemon is not as young as he used to be, but the sight makes his lust bubble up. You are alluring when angry, all passionate lines, and bloody temples. Valyrian, in a way you had never been before, with your darker coloring and soft manners. Yet, when mad? You are a conqueror goddess made flesh.

“No! I will not. I am not yours. We might be married but I will…” You stomp your foot at him, all angry little crab. For the first time, he sees fire in you.

Such a shame this is the moment you chose to grow a spine. He couldn’t understand where you had been all this time. So many months wasted with the meek little wife, when he could have had you instead.

Why had you decided to show you had a personality now, of all times? It was not fair, if it was for that Hightower cunt.

“Why Gwayne Hightower? Out of all the men on earth?” Daemon mutters, clearly not low enough because you answer him.

“This is not about Gwayne Hightower.” You glare, crown of flowers balancing precariously on top of your head. As you move, a few petals fall down. Angry little dryad that you are, you bat them away.

“If not, what is it about?”

“You!” You scream at him. It’s hateful, it's rage filled, it’s everything you are usually not. A true Valyrian goddess, letting mere mortals feel her might. Daemon would have enjoyed the display more if he wasn’t the mortal in question. “I forgot what it felt like to be wanted. To be looked at as someone who was desirable. Do you know how I have felt? Begging for scraps of attention, trying to make this work?”

“Wife…” He pleads because now there are tears in your eyes, and while Daemon doesn’t do begging, he doesn’t do comforting either.

“Do not call me that! Didn’t you petition for an annulment?” And how had you found out about that? While he had not been exactly secretive with his correspondence, he didn’t believe you to be proficient in High Valyrian. He has no time to ponder on it because you intend to go further. “Well, you are in luck! I will make my own request!”

“Viserys will not allow it.” Even if Daemon has to go beg him on his knees to not grant it, you are not annulling this marriage. Not when he is just starting to see the real you.

“Fine! Then I am going back to Claw Island. Stay here.” You scream, and you look so determined it scares him. For a second, he actually thinks you have the power to ban him from the island and force him to stay, giving you plenty of time to receive visitors. Male visitors, all surrounding you, courting you, as if he were already dead and not just exiled.

“Look. I’m sorry. Can we start over?” Daemon offers, in his most pleading tone. He has not apologized since… Gods. He barely remembers how to do it.

“You made me forget I deserved more than scraps.” You laugh at him, as his first apology to someone in more than ten years is the funniest joke existing. Then, enraged. “It will be a cold day in the Seven Hells, when I give you another chance.”

Hurt. He realizes, as you throw the flower crown at his feet and slam the door. Hurt. You are hurt, not angry. He has done the worst thing a man can do to a woman. Damage her pride.

Lust lʌst/

very strong sexual desire, especially when love is not involved.

Much to your dismay, every time you try to speak alone to the King, you are swiftly intercepted. If it’s not Corlys Velaryon asking you to help him pick a book in the library, it’s your Lord Father summoning you to his chambers. It seems like the whole palace is in it because even Princess Rhaenys asks you to stroll with her through the gardens when you lurk too close to Viserys’s chambers.

Daemon was smarter than you thought. He had taken to using your own weapons against you. The need to be polite kept you from rejecting all these new invitations, and so, you often ended up stuck an entire afternoon with nonsensical plans.

As time passes, your rage starts to subside. Much to your disgust, it morphs into shame. You cannot believe how you lost control in front of Daemon. Everything you have worked so hard on could vanish for a single afternoon pf foolishness.

You would rather not be his enemy. When the time comes for the two of you to go back to Claw Island, Gwayne Hightower is still bedridden, despite it already being days. Daemon is a dangerous man to cross.

Strangely enough, he doesn’t seem angry, or even resentful. In fact, your husband has never been more attentive. With the talent of existing just at the right moment, Daemon appears at your side each time there is a door to be opened or a chair to be pulled.

“No one has ever seen him like this.” Queen Alicent marvels, as he watches him go fetch you a blanket in case the room is too cold for your liking. “Whatever you did to him…”

“Nothing, I assure you.” You answer, sternly. You don’t want her getting funny ideas, like that you are dabbling in witchery or the Seven knows what. It’s not something you can afford. Already balancing on a tightrope after the fight, any accusation could be your ruin. You do not trust Daemon’s change of heart. He is probably just biding his time.

Noticing something is amiss, Daemon comes back with the blanket, wrapping it around you. Alicent falls quiet.

Daemon stares at you, his hands lingering on your back more than necessary. He seems to be taking you in. His eyes fixate on your bosom a tad too long before you realize what he is doing, and you cover yourself more with the blanket.

Your cheeks heat up. You cough. Alicent’s brows raise.

“You are so beautiful, wife.” Daemon says, a bit dumbly.

“And you are a fool.” Your response is heated, and stupid, too. But you feel too embarrassed to care. Alicent is still sitting there, with a scandalized look on her face. Anyone would be ashamed to be the object of such obvious ogling, much less when they have never been exposed to it.

You are unused to this side of your husband. At most, when trying to consummate, Daemon would glance at you with disdain and proclaim it was all your fault. His eyes would never watch the heaving of your chest as you breathed, or the sway of your skirts when you walked. Were you superstitious, you would have thought him a man possessed.

Daemon laughs, either at your comment or your expression. It’s good, you suppose. At least he has not taken offense. You would have thought he would be angered, never one to suffer affronts to his pride without reacting.

“Your fool.” He leans down and places a kiss on your forehead, before walking away.

You stare at him. Alicent stares at you. Neither says anything. You are not sure what to make of it. It’s strange. It’s him now, who serves you dinner. The choicest cuts of meat, the sweetest of wines and meads, never asking for anything in exchange.

He has gotten unusually affectionate. Or possessive. Whatever it’s going through his mind, you don’t know. Daemon has never been open about his thoughts and feelings with you, unless they stem from displeasure.

Perhaps it’s a burst of boastfulness. He flaunts you, a hand on your waist, lower arm, whatever he can get away with. He is suddenly interested in the dresses you wear, commenting on them and gifting you new ones just because he thinks they would suit you. You do not miss the fact that the dresses are always in his house’s colors or styles he personally favors, with intricate needlework and embroidery.

It’s interesting. Once again, his testing of boundaries seems to come back. His hands are always playing with the curls at the nape of your neck, or the folds of your skirt. You have even caught him toying with the buttons of your bodice. It borders on the inappropriate.

“You are pushing it.” You say to him when his hands curls around yours as you dance. He is supposed to keep his hand extended for this step. He doesn’t seem to care. The other guests give him amused looks. No one is about to chide a Prince for his lovesick behavior towards his wife. Especially in a goodbye feast for the couple.

In truth, you are starting to think most of the fathers at court are relieved. If the Rogue Prince is chasing after his wife, then he is not chasing their daughters.

“Holding your hand is pushing it?” Daemon holds your hand more securely, as he makes you spin. This is another new and unexpected development. Now, he only dances with you. No heated looks at Rhaenyra, no longing glances towards Laena. You are not sure how you feel about it.

“It is. You are inconveniencing everyone.” You say, as he spins you again with a flourish. Despite wanting so badly to keep being cross with him, you cannot help but laugh with childish delight. What girl doesn’t want to be twirled around and made to feel special? “You are supposed to exchange partners.”

The balance of the dance has been thrown off by his refusal to let go of you. Any time there needs to be a switch, the couples flounder around the two of you. It’s childish on his part, but he seems unwilling to let you dance with another man.

“Oh, you haven’t seen me pushing it yet.” Daemon laughs, and pulls you in until your body is flush against his. It’s improper and probably not allowed. Scandalous, even. Yet again, no one is about to say anything.

Much less you, suddenly realizing that being pressed so close to Daemon is quite enjoyable. He smells surprisingly clean this evening. No trace of alcohol on his skin, or other women’s perfumes. Instead, he smells of the soap he usually favors and some sort of aromatic oil.

“Will you push further, then?” You raise your brows. It’s sort of amusing that Daemon is trying so hard. You would have not taken him for the seducing type, not when he had been so keen on dissolving your marriage.

“I will.” Daemon leans in, to whisper in your ear. His voice is low, thick with desire. It makes the hairs on the back of your neck stand up. “I want you. I burn for you. I need you in my bed, on top of me, under me, any way you will let me have you.”

You give a scandalized little gasp, softly hitting his shoulder. Daemon grins, pulling you in even more. The two of you are so close, you imagine you can feel his heart beating against yours.

“I’m not done.” He chuckles, leaning in to kiss your jaw. Daemon’s lips trail kisses towards your ear, teasingly blowing some air against it. “I want to spend the nights feasting between your thighs, on the valley of your breasts…”

“Stop it! We are in public.” You squeak, yet you look up at him like a flower searching for the sun. The attention he bestows on you is flattering, and you can't help but want to hear more.

“Do you want to hear a secret, wife? Every time you walk, I find myself lost in the sway of your hips. I want to drown on it. Drown on you. Until no trace of another remains, until the taste of your lips is the only thing I know.”

By this point, your skin feels so hot you worry you are about to combust. You gape at him. Not only has he dared to make a bold declaration, but he has done so in a room full of people.

You take a moment to gather yourself. Daemon could be bluffing for all you know, and so, you decide to match him. You brush your thumb against his cheekbone, feather-light.

“Then do it. No one is stopping you. Come to bed. Drown on me. Drink me, take me, ravish me.” You are trembling, and you only realize it when Daemon holds you tighter against him. You feel feverish, voice lowered to an urgent whisper. “Give me Valyrian sons, to hold my island when we are both gone.”

“No. No.” He says, against the curve of your neck, embraced much closer than the dance requires, making a spectacle. “I want them to have your smile and your eyes, and that infuriating curve of your shoulder. Give me daughters with your smart mouth, and your even temper. I want them to be proof of the love I had for you.”

You tremble more. Love. He really said… Oh, by the Seven.

“You are shaking.” Daemon kisses your brow. “Don’t. Unless it is from pleasure.”

Laughter rings in your ears. It's yours, but it feels foreign. You are too stunned to think clearly. Daemon tucks a piece of your hair behind your ear.

“Are you still there, Lady Wife?” He taps at your lower lip with his thumb. There is a teasing tilt to his smile, but his eyes are nervous. Vulnerable. Daemon was clearly not planning on confessing tonight. “Or have I broken you?”

“Prove it.” You say, still caught up on the love part. His declaration has sent your mind reeling, and shown you all of your latest interactions in a new light. You don’t know if Daemon knows what he is doing. He is a deeply passionate creature, much like his house’s sigil. Daemon doesn’t do infatuations, nor does he do dislikes. He loves or hates, and there is no in between.

“I will.” He promises, playing with a stray piece of hair that has fallen out of your up do. “Our whole lives. But perhaps I can start tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow?” You frown, puzzled. You even pull back from his embrace to be able to look at his face. What an odd thing to say. Despite it, you admire the utter shamelessness he has about it. Were it you the one accidentally confessing, you would be a bundle of nerves.

Daemon doesn’t even blush. Of course, there is the small fact that he believes himself to be the Seven’s gift to humankind. You suppose if you believed yourself to be irresistible, you wouldn’t be nervous either. Cockiness wasn’t something you thought did it for you, but it seemed like you were learning new things every day.

“You will see.” Daemon smiles. You let him keep his secret, figuring it can’t be anything that bad.

You discover what he means when you arrive at Claw Island. A dragon egg waits for you, the fireplace clearly modified in a hurry, judging by the new stones and bricks that were added to the hearth.

“Even if it never hatches, I want you to have it. For you are as Valyrian as we are, and I was a fool not to see it sooner. You are worthy. It should have been on your cradle as a child.”

Greed /ɡriːd/

​a strong desire for more wealth, possessions, power, etc. than a person needs.

The way his eyes trail after you now, it’s quite unfamiliar. Not lust, nor disdain. Something entirely new. Heavier.

Your afternoons have been filled with new entertainment. You coo at the egg, holding it over the fire. Sometimes, Daemon kneels beside you and helps you hold it, making a game of it. How long before either of you gets burned? How long can you endure, hands so close to the fire, before you are yelping and giving it to him?

When you think he is not looking, you speak to it in High Valyrian, whispering soft promises of how loved him or her will be once it hatches. There is no doubt in your mind it will. Perhaps not in weeks, or even months. Yet, your heart tells you there will be a dragon before your life ends.

Every night, you place the egg in the bed next to you. On your side, you curl around it, trying to share your warmth. Daemon reaches forward, sometimes. When he thinks you are asleep, his hand will curl over your waist and touch the egg, pressing it more against your stomach. You wonder what he means by it.

Does he know what he is doing? The low lullabies he half sings, half mutters under his breath indicate a yes. The way his lips curl into a soft smile against your nape show a longing that’s very much not subconscious.

Just as a pot of boiling water, the egg hatches a night no one it’s looking at it. Both Daemon and you are curled in a love seat, engrossed in a book. He is reading something about the doom of Valyria, your legs over his lap. You are submerged in a text about a man’s travels around the Free Cities.

One of his hands is wrapped around your ankle, in the sweetest of chains. Each time he flips a page, he will brush it with his thumb, softly. While not unwelcome, it’s strange. You are not used to being comforted in the same way you did for him during the first months of marriage. While Daemon doesn’t expect any kind of retribution, you find yourself granting it anyway.

The domesticity is quickly broken, however, when a strange noise fills the halls of your home. At first, you are unable to hear it through the background noise, but if you strain your ears, you can just make it out. It’s a shrill cross between a bird’s chirps and someone crying.

“Daemon?” You close your book and stare at him. Unable to help it, you get a little sidetracked, watching his face. His mouth is pursed in concentration, the candlelight giving his features a golden glow. Despite him being several years older than you, you cannot help but find him terribly handsome. Age has only turned him more distinguished. You betted he was dashing when younger, but unlike his brother, he has aged like a fine wine.

Sensing your eyes on him, he gives you a lazy smile.

“Little wife.” His voice comes out in a pleased rumble at having caught you looking. Your face heats up. Daemon's eyes shift from yours, to your mouth, then back to your eyes. You squirm under his gaze, trying to focus.

“Do you hear that?” You force yourself to utter.

“Hear what?” Daemon leans more towards you, his hand squeezing your knee. You give a small, delighted shiver. Good gods, what is it about him that gets you to turn into a puddle of want with the simplest touch?

“Some sort of animal crying.”

Daemon frowns. He tilts his head to the side, as if to listen better. You keep quiet, hoping to aid him. Then, his face breaks out in the biggest grin.

“It hatched! You amazing, wonderful woman.” He praises, pulling you into him. The hug is awkward, but it doesn’t last because you are too eager to see the baby dragon. Your dragon. You squirm out of his hold and rush out of the room, not even bothering to put on shoes, Daemon hot on your heels.

When you open the door to your chambers, you find the cutest thing ever. A baby dragon, slimy and confused, sits in the middle of his egg in the fireplace. It’s all big, dark eyes and long limbs, much like a baby horse. Unable to resist the temptation, you reach towards them.

“I do not…” Daemon tries to stop you, but the baby dragon climbs right up into your arms, curling close to your chest. Eager to touch it, you let it climb over your shoulder and nuzzle you, even if the sudden weight makes you stagger a little.

“That was really dangerous.” Your husband reprimands, trying to lift it away from you. The baby dragon snorts towards his direction, as if attempting to breathe fire. It only manages to give a cute little sneeze. Daemon glares.

“Aw, you are just like a baby.” You coo at the dragon, petting its head. Daemon looks even more disgruntled.

“Your dragon tried to burn me.” He complains.

“It’s a baby, husband. They don’t know any better.” You rub the scales on its back, soothingly. Unwilling to let go, you find yourself looking around your bedroom. “Let it stay here? Just for tonight.”

Daemon glares. You give him your biggest, most pleading eyes. He relents.

“Fine. But it’s not sleeping on the bed with us. And only for tonight.”

“Only for tonight.”

A month after, and the baby dragon is still sleeping in your bed. He has taken to laying between Daemon and you, leeching off your warmth. Daemon complains of having to sleep on the edge of the bed and his back being sore, but despite it, never once asks you to send the dragon outside with Caraxes.

The trouble starts, how not, with a trip to King’s Landing. This time, you ride with him, as a passenger to Caraxes, while the baby dragon follows. When Daemon lands, the dragon keepers fret around your baby, unsure of what to do with the unexpected visitor.

You command him to stay by your side, despite the protests of the dragon keepers. You are arguing and complaining and shielding your baby while Daemon only watches, amused.

Perhaps the commotion attracts more people, or someone calls for them, but you end up cornered as King Viserys makes his way to the dragon pit.

“What do we have here?” He asks, smiling at you. You give him a nervous look. Your dragon has gotten bigger, and so, you can not pick him up gracefully, but you usher him behind you regardless.

“Nothing, your grace.” You say, lacking your usual charm. You feel nervous about leaving the baby dragon on his own in the dragon pit. What if the other dragons don’t like him? What if he gets lonely?

With one hand, you reach for Daemon. His fingers meet yours halfway, squeezing reassuringly. More often than not, being a woman, your orders were not taken seriously. But if your husband gave an order, people would rush to obey. You hope he intercedes in your favor.

“Daemon, please.” You say, under your breath. “Don’t let them send him away. He will behave.”

“What do I gain, little wife?” He asks, interlocking your fingers together. Daemon gives his most charming grin to his brother, before pulling you into him. You go willingly, body lax and pliant for him. “A kiss, perhaps?”

“Please.” You turn to look at him, hoping to move him. This close, once again, you feel slightly distracted. Your husband smells so nice, and his hands feel so good around your waist, it’s no hardship at all. You press a kiss to his cheek.

“Must you always arrive with such a ruckus?” Viserys frowns. Daemon gives him a small smile.

“You know me.” Slowly, he starts to lead you towards the Red Keep, a hand placed protectively on your lower back. The message is clear. Daemon wants you to make your dragon follow you. You don’t even need to order it because your baby, smart as it is, is already following. The dragon keepers step back, muttering unhappily.

“Is it going inside?” Viserys point at your dragon. Foolishly, you had been hoping he didn’t notice, and so, your stomach drops. But Daemon doesn’t falter, strolling confidently inside as if he owned the place.

“He will behave. As long as no one touches her.” Normally, you despise when people talk about you as if you are not there. Currently, though, you can only feel relief that your dragon is not getting sent to sleep outside in the cold. He is just too little for it.

Viserys walks you towards his private dining room. A blonde child runs around, playing. The Princess and Ser Laenor are already there. And Alicent is even more heavily pregnant than before.

“How have you been?” You ask Alicent, sitting next to her. You half expect to be left out of the conversation as you were a few months before, and so, choose to sit next to someone who has been kind to you. The baby dragon hops on your lap when you take your seat.

Alicent looks absolutely horrified.

“Good enough.” She speaks, blinking slowly. It’s clear she cannot believe her eyes. She stares at the dragon in a mix of awe and fear.

“He is harmless.” You explain, petting it as if it were a small dog and not a baby dragon. “Do you want to pet him?”

Alicent reaches forward with a trembling hand. The dragon sniffs her, and curls to sleep again.

“… And I was thinking of changing the layout of the hall, to make sure he fits…” You hear Daemon complain, and your ears immediately perk up. Is he talking about your baby?

“So you keep it inside?” Viserys asks, sounding disbelieving.

“I have never seen such a close bond.” Daemon boasts. He sounds as if he is proud of you, you realize. It makes something warm flutter in your stomach. No longer are you the wife he never wanted and tried to get rid of. “Damn thing sleeps on the bed with us. It’s better trained than a dog, seriously. We should have given Celtigars dragons a long time away.”

“Why not leave it outside?” From where you are seated, you can’t see his face, but you imagine by his tone, Viserys is smiling.

“She will riot. She loves him as her own son.” Daemon explains. You keep your eyes trained on the nervous Alicent, who has managed to lay her hand on top of your dragon’s head. She looks about to bolt.

“Isn’t he the nicest thing?” You say to Alicent, excited. “He thinks I am his mom, or something. Isn’t it great?”

Alicent does not look as impressed as you hoped for, but she gives you a kind smile. She seems willing to tolerate your eccentricities if for the sake of not having to make conversation with Rhaenyra.

“Very nice.” She compliments. “Pretty colors. Prince Daemon was very kind, giving it to you.”

“He is.” You smile, softly. “Although he complains all the time.”

Alicent shrugs. This time, both of you tune in the conversation between Daemon and Viserys.

“Perhaps, as you build him something outside, you can distract her with an actual baby.” Viserys says. Alicent looks torn at the comment, and you can’t help but feel slightly embarrassed by the topic.

It’s not something you had thought about before. Well, you had. Never with him, though. As a girl, you dreamed of being a mother, and as a woman, Daemon and you had discussed the issue of heirs already. You had spoken about it during your last goodbye feast, in this same castle. But those words had been spoken in the height of passion, and neither of you had done anything about it.

“Trust me. Next time she holds a babe, it will be a proper human one.” Daemon says, and his hand finds yours over the table. You look up at him, meeting his purple eyes. He looks hungry. Starved, even.

You lower your eyes demurely. Viserys laughs. And Daemon, greedy as he is, lifts your hand to his mouth and presses a soft kiss to your knuckles.

Sloth /sləʊθ/

the bad habit of being lazy and unwilling to work.

The light filters in through the open curtains, giving the room a soft glow. Daemon’s face scrunches up, bothered by the sunlight in his eyes. He has tried to convince you to sleep with them drawn, but you are unwilling. To you, the best way to wake up is slowly, with the sun. Or so you say. He is not very convinced.

Daemon stretches. You reach for him in your sleep. He gives himself a moment to savor it, the fact that he can finally pull you closer. The dragon is finally gone from his bed, although he is no way near distracting you with a babe.

Dragons are not pets. Daemon had been taught that since the cradle, even before he had a dragon of his own. Their control over them was only an illusion, and so, they should be trusted but feared. He had lived by that rule, never once questioning it. Until you.

Watching you raise yours as if it were your own child had proven interesting. You lacked his education about them, but you made up for it by sheer enthusiasm. The fact that your dragon had not bitten your hand off yet or burned you to a crisp could only mean two things: You were some sort of forest nymph, or they were mistaken about their approach to dragons. He knew which one he thought was true.

How much was nature, and how much was nurture in their relationship with dragons? Trying to answer that question would occupy his entire lifetime. Daemon hoped that watching you gave him some insight. Even if he ended up discovering you were a nymph in disguise or some sort of goddess of the hunt. He wouldn’t regret it, fascinating as you were.

No matter how much food for thought you gave him, Daemon had been enjoying the joys of marriage. Perhaps, a little too much. Seeing you with the baby dragon had awoken some unexpected feelings. Targaryens were dragons, after all. When the time came, you would make a good mother. Not only were your instincts well-developed, but you seemed to thrive on having something to nurture.

Ah, the joys of domesticity. Daemon loves that you trust him enough now to allow him to witness you at your most fragile. Asleep and wearing a soft white night shift, you are deliciously innocent. Giving, too. You do not complain when his hands find your hips or when he pulls you flush against him. Nor do you move away when his face hides in your lovely locks, mussed with sleep.

Your expression is open and vulnerable in ways you are never when truly awake. Your eyes open just the tiniest sliver, before you hide your face on your pillow, rubbing against it like the sweetest kitten.

He adores you like this. Worships you, even. Obsessed with the curve of your hip, or the soft flesh above your womb. Daemon can’t help but rub it, hoping to manifest a child into existence without actually fucking you.

If he believed in such a thing, as so many fools in this realm did, Daemon would say this was the Seven Heavens. But he knew the truth. Just like you, who worshiped the Old Gods of Valyria, Daemon did too. How could he not when he had a tiny goddess sharing his bed?

Your nose scrunches up. You twitch. Worshiping a little nymph, now that was hard work. Especially when the nymph in question does her best to escape his personal worshiping time.

If Daemon could spend all day in bed, just like this, he would. He would trace your features with his mouth, peppering your face with soft kisses. He would feast on the soft curve of your neck, drink up all your sweet little noises. Trace a path down your soft limbs, draw nonsensical patterns on your stomach. But you are an energetic little thing, always jumping out of bed, no matter the pleasure he tempts you with.

Convincing you to stay is hard, but Daemon likes to think it’s an art he has perfected. It’s not a ritual, by any means. Each morning goes differently. Sometimes, you need to be kissed silly. Sometimes, you need to be gently worshiped and coaxed back to sleep. But his favorite mornings are the ones that go like this.

“I have to go check on the tenants, down by the shore. The rain season just started.” You complain, as he noses along your hairline. Suddenly, Daemon’s arms are empty. He opens his eyes to find you sitting up and pulling your robe over your night shift.

You look delectable in red. He should buy you more robes like that one. Especially because he is about to ruin it.

“Did you say at what hour you are going?” Daemon sits up as well, toying with the edge of your robe. You bat his hands away, playfully.

“No.” You are hurriedly standing up, perhaps knowing what comes next. Daemon grabs your robe, and pulls you back in, using all his strength.

No matter how much you try to keep your feet planted on the floor, you end up tumbling back into bed. You give a girlish shriek, a smile already forming on your face. You struggle, kicking the blankets off the bed.

“Come back here, you little minx.” He tugs you by the ankle, making you laugh. Your hair is sticking up in all directions and your chest heaves up and down with the exertion of putting up a fight.

Daemon secretly loves it. He would never tell you because you would be outraged, but he enjoys the idea of overpowering you. Perhaps, once you fully trust him, he could ask you to play like that. But for now, he takes what he can get.

“Or else what Lord husband?” You tease, still trying to escape him. More blankets and furs are sent flying off the bed. You give a mean little tug to his hair.

“That was it!” Daemon complains, and starts tickling you. The night shift rides tantalizingly up your hips, giving him an unintentional show. He feels his blood warming, arousal turning into a dull throb in his loins. Your legs kick wildly, you squirm on the bed, and your eyes fill with tears from laughing so much.

It’s only when your poor body can’t take it anymore, and you are crying from laughter that he stops. He thinks of how it would feel, to overwhelm you in a different context, make your body take and take until tears ran freely down your temples. A different sort of crown for his forest nymph, one made from her own silver tears. The visual is too much for him to take without giving himself away.

Daemon lies on top of you, smothering you with his weight. He licks a few stray drops of sweat from your neck, making you flay once again. There will be a day when play wrestling will turn into something much less sweet. That day, though, it’s not today.

“Get off!” You complain. “That’s disgusting.”

“I could eat you up.” He teases, nuzzling into your neck. It's the truth. Daemon loves the taste of your skin and your smell. If he thought he could get away with it, he would crawl between your thighs and feast on you. “You are delicious, wife.”

“Daemon.” You push lightly at him, trying to get up. Again. But your words lack their previous conviction. Daemon can tell he is getting to you. “It’s getting late.”

“The tenants can wait. Let us hide from the world a little longer.” He pleads, clinging to you. Under him, exhausted after the play wrestling, you go limp. He knows he has won then.

You spend the whole day in bed. The tenants end up being visited closer to sundown. Daemon does not regret it one bit.

[rassicas]

my general Side Order thoughts:

I don't have much of anything groundbreaking to say. I haven't publicly said much in relation to side order in the first place, i don't want to build up crazy expectations, and I've seen much of the fanbase making solid theories anyways. also there has been a lot less information compared to ROTM which is great, I don't want to be able to predict the whole story before the game comes out. I'd rather be surprised like i was with octo expansion! here I just want to put out my thoughts real quick so people know where I stand and that yes i am aware of the Hints and Foreshadowing

Marina's quote at the end of her interview in Splatune 3 is relevant of course, gives us a sense of what this whole world of order is. But did she build it this whole digital simulation, or was it something she found? (mix of both perhaps? found it, contributed to parts of it and it went out of her control?)

Mem cakes, agent 8, cerebral theming...very interested where this all goes. love all the references to OE keep em coming

People have been talking about this already, and the foreshadowing was acknowledged back in haikara walker in 2018. the hat logos on dedf1sh and paul gotta be connected to this thing.

It'd be a huge waste for a more grown-up paul to not show up in s3, either as someone mentioned by Acht or for him to make some sort of musical return post side order.

Glen fiddler has always been interesting to me (in that i anticipated he would become plot relevant somehow) with how he was fully 3d modeled in his sunken scroll. im not 100% on if hes gonna be in side order but the copy machine connections in side order (the fish skeletons in splatoween, also the recent poster?) are sus

^has to be agent 4. of course. seeing enemy inklings instead of enemy octolings sounds awesome btw

I'm expecting the inkopolis square hub to come back as a thing you can access post-game. pearl and marina splatfest concerts

iso padre please come back to me (maybe in said inkopolis square hub world)

who the fuck are you. not a mantis shrimp, looks too soft to be a crustacean to me. closest thing i can compare this to is a black dragonfish nymph but i kind of doubt it. maybe it is some guy who was created to manage things, like CQ to the deepsea metro?

[bestanimal]

Round 2 - Arthropoda - Malacostraca

(Sources - 1, 2, 3, 4)

Malacostraca is the second largest class of crustaceans, and what most people picture when they hear the word crustacean! It contains over 40,000 species separated into 17 orders: Leptostraca, Stomatopoda (“Mantis Shrimp”), Decapoda (“Crabs”, “Lobsters”, “Crayfish”, “Shrimp”, and “Prawns”), Euphausiacea (“Krill”), Thermosbaenacea, Mysida (“Opossum Shrimp”), Stygiomysida, Lophogastrida, Spelaeogriphacea, Mictacea, Bochusacea, Cumacea (“Hooded/Comma Shrimp”), Tanaidacea, Amphipoda, Isopoda, Anaspidacea, and Bathynellacea. Many are scavengers, some are predators, some are herbivores, some are filter feeders, and some are parasites.

Malacostracans live worldwide, in marine, freshwater, and terrestrial environments, and have a large diversity of body forms. They are united by their segmentation of 20-21 body segments divided into a 5-segmented head, an 8-segmented thorax, and a 6-segmented abdomen with a telson, except in Leptostraca which has 7 abdominal segments. They have a pair of jointed appendages on each abdominal segment, though some groups have lost them secondarily. In some, three thoracic segments may be fused with the head to form a cephalothorax, the associated legs becoming maxillipeds. They have two pairs of antennae, which often branch into two parts. Their mouthparts have a pair of mandibles, maxillules, and maxillae. Many taxa have compound eyes on moveable stalks. Some have a carapace which covers the head, part or all of the thorax and some of the abdomen. The carapace may be fused with some of the thoraacic segments or hinged with two parts. This is one of the most diverse classes in the animal kingdom, and their anatomy and behavior would be hard to summarize further in just one paragraph!

The oldest malacostracans are the Leptostracans, which first appeared as fossils from the Cambrian period.

Propaganda under the cut:

“Carcinisation” has become a meme meaning “everything becomes crab”, but it actually only refers to the phenomenon of decapods convergently evolving crab-like anatomy. The Infraorder Brachyura contains the “True Crabs”, but at least 5 groups of unrelated decapods have evolved similar anatomy: a flat and broad cephalothorax.

Stomatopods (“Mantis Shrimp”) are known for their excellent color vision, but they probably can not actually see “shrimp colors.” They can see ultraviolet and polarized light, but their excess of photoreceptor cells actually lets them process their environment faster than we can, rather than differentiate between a multitude of different colors. This allows them to have quick reaction times, either to escape predators, fight or flee from rivals, or strike at their prey with amazing speed.

Malacostraca contains the largest living arthropods: the Japanese Spider Crab (Macrocheira kaempferi) with a legspan of up to 4 metres (13 ft) long, and the American Lobster (Homarus americanus), which can get up to 20 kilograms (44 lb).

Many species of malacostracans are commonly kept as pets, including crabs, crayfish, shrimp, mantis shrimp, and isopods.

Cute creb eat a cherry:

[birdsandbeetlesandmoths]

So. Sonic 3. That was. certainly. hoo boy *collapses to the sound of a metal pipe falling*

Spoilers and thoughts under cut (LONG POST)

Well, my pre-movie post was SO WRONG. I think most stobotnik fans were, thinking that Stone would be the one dying. I- truly wasn’t expecting it.

I’ll get back to that in a second, let me get all of my silly things out of the way/the things i was hype about/had to crush my partner and friend’s hands about while witnessing.

The antics between Gerald and Ivo were expected but oh my GOD JIM CARREY. you are a national treasure, have fun in retirement. we will miss you greatly, but this being your final movie (probably) is a great thing to culminate your absolutely stunning career.

Anyway, their dance sequence was fucking insane, and as much as I was cringing, I was grinning through it too. The fight on the Eclipse cannon was also questionable BUT HOLY FUCK NOW I GET THE PRAYING MANTIS/FLY REFERENCE. (Thank god it wasn’t directly about stone and robotnik but i’m already cooking how i can connect them). Spanking? Also in my Sonic movie. But yeah.

Gerald and Ivo could never be more alike in intellect, but different in morals. Evident through Gerald’s fixation on avenging his daughter with no remorse or thought for whoever will get in the way, throwing away Ivo and the whole of the world as a result). He’s willing to kill himself, but as Shadow says and believes, that isn’t what Maria would have wanted.

I used to not like the Wachowskis. I was already a little unsettled when the first movie released by the fact that characters unrelated to previous Sonic media were being utilized as major plot elements, but during the second and third movies, I began to absolutely love them.

This third movie cemented that love. The father-son relationship between Tom and Sonic specifically. My heart was aching in the first scene at their little campsite, Happy BEarthday, and their heart-to-heart in Sonic’s old cave, talking about Choice (an analysis incoming) and that you always have a choice, and that your lungs (heart) will help you find the right one.

I think this movie might’ve done. One of the best jobs of displaying found family. The sibling relationship between Tails, Knuckles, and Sonic was the most heartrendingly beautiful and achingly real thing I’ve seen in a while. And it really hits you, the fact that they’re kids.

And the amount of silly little jokes, Tails having his gadgetry and Knuckles with his blunt personality, Sonic tying them all together with his wit and charm, it all became slightly surreal to see. To see something so happy, so delicately real.

Oh my god, on the trio, Knuckles saving both Sonic and Tails from falling to Earth. I was gasping that whole time, truly being sent into the moment. Movies and media rarely do that to me in the emotional sense.

AND AS FOR SHADOW AND MARIA

Holy fuck at least I was right about that part in my pre-movie wishes. I thought it was interesting how they adapted it, and it definitely made for it to be slightly more believable and less complicated.

But oh my gosh them. Skating around the lab, messing around together, introducing Shadow to that great 70s music and dancing, watching movies together and just being kids!! And don’t even get me started on the rooftop scene. Shadow was so vulnerable and self-conscious, and Maria comforted him in a way that touched me. Understands him in a way that no one else ever has, as everyone else only saw him as the experiment and the subject, while she saw him as his own person, with thoughts and emotions and curiosities.

It paralleled Sonic and Tom in the cinematography too, and the sentiment was all the same. That Shadow can choose who he wants to be. (I Am All I Am and Choice. Trust, it’s coming soon)

Maria and Shadow made me unbearably happy. It was all I could’ve ever asked for and more.

Shadow and Sonic were an absolutely crazy duo this show. Dude, in their fight versus each other? Both going Super and absolutely going at it, and Shadow having the absolute gall to accuse Sonic of not caring about his friends, that he was clearly here alone because he abandoned them, and mention Tom, which caused Sonic to go completely over the edge, and actually punch him straight into space and lose his Super.

Sonic and Shadow reconciling over their shared feeling of grief, Sonic sharing his pain, emphasizing the love that will be able to help them heal, Shadow reciprocating, and then Shadow remembering Maria after looking up at the stars, realizing, from Sonic’s words, that this truly wasn’t what Maria wanted, just that whole moon scene between them is living in my head rent free and I need to see it over and over again.

HOLYYY SHIT THEY PLAYED LIVE AND LEARN WHEN SUPER SONIC AND SUPER SHADOW TEAMED UP AND BEAT THE EVER LIVING FUCK OUT OF THOSE ROBOTS. Me and my friends were going so fucking insane in that theater.

Shadow remembering Maria (possibly for the last time) as he sacrifices himself to push the Eclipse cannon away from the place that Maria loved. Remembering all of the good moments, the love between them, that is all he wanted if he was going to leave the world for good. (Well, I mean, he’s still alive, but the amnesia route is still optional)

Sonic actually going slightly insane this movie was also very interesting to watch. His absolute- like, his vision went RED when Shadow mentioned Tom. That was what set him OFFFF. His abuse of the Master Emerald and even threatening his own best friends/siblings over this— god the emphasis of choice in this film I want to sob.

Also, yall already KNOW I WAS BALLING ABOUT THE AKIRA SLIDE, SNAPCUBE REFERENCES, AND EVERY TIME SHADOW BREATHED OR MOVED. Literally could not contain myself from absolutely sob-cry-screaming at Shadow and (Keanu did a great job btw) his entire story, his joy with Maria and his pain all after. (His Super form looked fuck beautiful, a new colorful hue every time I saw it)

All in all, Robotniks were hilarious, Maria and Shadow were beautifully tragic and just generally so so SO adorable and loving. I’m so glad that Tails and Knuckles got more serious appreciation and screen time this movie as well, because as much as Sonic, Tails, and Knuckles were sidelined in this movie (to put forth Robotniks and Shadow, understandably so), it still felt more fulfilling and real than in the second movie. Super forms continue to be beautiful onscreen, I would like to collapse and die from hearing ONE OK ROCK and Live and Learn.

AHEM. Now, clearly, I will be making a separate post solely about Stobotnik. Along with the multiple Stone-centric fics burning a hole in my brain and the choice and grief analyses awaiting my attention. Bear with me as I have SO MANY THOUGHTS.

We won. . . but at what cost.

My friends, my partner, you already know. We died and were promptly revived together in that theater.

[kirans-underland]

I'll be honest: Rook is never on top. Never. Even if it's straight sex, he's being ridden. The ONLY exception to this rule is if he's asked to do the work. That's it.

Oh, and gay sex? Yeah there's cum up his ass. No changing my mind. This guy plays it cool and then crumbles at the first bit of pleasure. First he's, "Mon amour, I cannot promise to be gentle..." and then he gets some stimulation to his dick and he's all, "Please, please, I want to t-taste you!" Or, "Mon amour, please, I-I need you, I need you, I need- ah~" and that's if his mind hasn't melted to the point of being unable to articulate his thoughts.

Your honor he's pathetic and I'd ride him

anon… anon anon anon whoever you are we are getting married then I am eating your delicious brain like a praying mantis..

this is scrumptious..

~~~~~~ Rook would be the type to be in control of the making out.. to begin with. But as soon as your hand brushes over his crotch, all his resolve leaves him. He begins to whimper and beg you to remove his pants.

If you’re riding him, he’s a whimpering mess with hands everywhere. His hands grip your thighs, hips, the sheets, his own hair. He’s desperately trying to hang on to sanity. The warmth of your insides and the feeling of your skin bouncing off his is ecstasy. His hips weakly buck up against yours as tears brimmed his eyes.

“Please amour~.. hard.. please~ anything you like.. use me~”

If you were penetrating him, he’s a whole other level of pathetic. He’s laying prone on his stomach with his face buried in the pillows. His moans and whimpers are muffled into the pillow as you thrust into him from behind. Grab a fistful of his hair and pull his head back and he may just start crying. But keep going, he loves it. Move your hand down to his neck and jaw to hold his head up and he’ll cum on the spot.

Rook sitting in your lap while you’re penetrating him. You don’t move and he pathetically rocks his hips against you. He needs you. He craves you. He wants to breathe you as if you are oxygen itself. The way to absolutely break him is to start stroking his cock in this position. The man starts to short circuit and shake like a leaf.

He will cum until he’s shooting nothing but blanks and will still beg for more.

Your honor he is pathetic and I need him.

[loveisanimaginarydagger3000]

The Babysitter (42)- Flour Fights

MILF Wanda Maximoff X Reader 18+

Summary: In need of money and a way to escape the problems at home, you get a job babysitting two lovely boys named Billy and Tommy Maximoff. What happens when you start to feel things you shouldn't for their mother? Will it bloom into love or leave you heartbroken?

A/N- I would just like to say that there will be some sensitive issues in this story such as alcoholism, homophobia, anxiety as well as more mature content such as smut so, if you continue to read this, please consider this warning.

The Babysitter Master list | General Master List

Chapter 42- W/c 5.8k

Flour Fights

Wiping the counter top down, you ensured that marble top was clean of the small amount of coffee a customer had spilt before turning around to continue your conversation with Peter and Gamora, a playful expression on both yours and Gamora’s face as you teased the brunette, his head shaking at your antics.

“I should report you both to the manager for bullying,” he grumbles in a joking manner as he expertly pours the milk into the drink to create a beautiful piece of art in the liquid, the way he effortlessly completes the task making you a little jealous as you had been trying to learn how to do latte art for a while and had failed miserably. “Oh wait, I am the manager,” his tone is laced with a hint of theatrics as he turned to his girlfriend before looking at you, raising his brow in faux warning. “Stop bullying your co-worker or I’ll put both of your shifts on rush hour,” Peter threatens with little conviction, knowing he wouldn’t be able to as all the shifts had been arranged specifically to fit around the last of the summer holidays, the man complaining less than an hour ago about how long it took and how he never wanted to plan shifts again. His words simply earnt a roll of Gamora’s eyes and a small smile from you at her reaction, the two of you trying your hardest not to tease him again when the bell at the front door rang, signalling a new customer.

At the sight of a familiar set of auburn locks and two very energetic boys, the corner of your lips lifted at the sight of them as Wanda’s eyes flickered around your place of work for a table, quickly spotting a nice booth to sit in before ushering the twins into it. A motherly look appeared on her face, the familiar sight endearing for you to see as her hands fixed Tommy’s hair as he sat down before caressing Billy’s shoulder in an affectionate way, the older woman murmuring something to them before making her way over, a mischievous smile on her face as her alluring green caught yours, heat instantly rising to your cheeks.

“I’ll get this one,” you murmur to Gamora as she approached the countertop to take Wanda’s order, her brow raising at you suspiciously at the pink tinting your face and that enamoured look in your eyes before letting you take the customer, moving further back to join Peter at the coffee machines, the two of them keeping their eyes on you as Drax, Rocket and Mantis returned from their break, preparing to serve the other customers entering the café.

“Hi, what can I get you?” You asked, putting on your ‘work’ voice for the older woman whilst trying your hardest to not smile at her like an idiot in love, your heart fluttering at the way her hands glide across the freshly cleaned countertop, fingers tapping indecisively as she looked at the boards with the menu on it.

“Can I get two small hot chocolates with whipped cream and extra marshmallows on them,” her tone shows how she is unable to hide her happiness as she ordered for the twins, the older woman smiling at you lovingly as she hadn’t seen you properly today due to how early your shift had started, part of her like a teenager in love as she felt almost giddy in your presence. It shocked her at how you could still cause so many feelings to bubble inside her, the way a simple look could ignite a warmth to wrap around her heart effortlessly and she adored every single minute of it, having always wanted to love someone like she loved you and be loved the way you passionately loved her.

Your smile grew even wider at her order for the twins, the emphasis on extra marshmallows not being missed by you as you knew how much they loved them on their drinks, your finger tapping on the screen to write down her order as you glance up at her, noticing the way her teeth subtly bite down on her lower lip to not grin at you. You blushed a little under her gaze as she met your eyes, her enticing green hypnotising you as you let the look linger, the sound of a coffee machine beeping snapping you back to reality as you waited for her to continue with the order.

“Can I also have…” she started, trailing off as she skim reads the rest of the menu, part of you already knowing what she was about to order as your finger hovered over the screen, ready to tap, “A flat white espresso.” You smiled to yourself as you entered in the item, oblivious to how Peter lingered nearby to see how you were doing with the customer, Gamora hiding near the coffee machine and eavesdropping too, your co-workers unaware that this was Wanda, having never actually met her before.

“Is there anything else?” You ask once you had logged everything you needed to, watching the way Wanda’s fingers tapped against the countertop, her smile tugging up in a mischievous manner as her gaze flickered up to meet yours, a hint of mirth in them at her next words.

“Is your number an option?” She teased with a charming smile, your eyes widening at her words before you went along with her joke, a small, shy laugh escaping you as you felt heat rise to your cheeks, her captivating smile and stare making you flustered.

“That depends, are you single or am I going to get in trouble?” Your tone signals your amusement as you murmur the words, letting your gaze switch between the pools of green and her plump lips, admiring her angelic features as you wait for her to respond.

“You won’t get into trouble, I won’t let you,” she rasps out, purposely letting her voice drop an octave and her accent seep into it, knowing you couldn’t resist the way her words gracefully fell from her lips when she did so, her smile widening at the way your pupils dilated noticeably, your mouth parting a little bit as she leaves you speechless for a moment until you can compose yourself.

“I’ll uh, bring your order over to you when it’s ready,” you stammer out in response, avoiding her gaze as you could tell she was humoured by how easily she could fluster you, an infectious laugh briefly escaping her as she chuckles at your adorable form, quickly paying for the drinks before putting you out of your misery and walking away.

You can’t help but watch as she walks away, the older woman seeming to know you were staring and looking over her shoulder at you, winking playfully before moving to sit next to Billy so she could continue to watch you work, smiling at the way your co workers quickly move over to you after your interaction.

“What are you doing?” Peter’s tone is slightly raised as confusion laces his voice whilst you turn around to face him, his wide eyes and tone puzzling you as your brows furrow, your hand stilling the way you were writing your number on the cup, his fingers slipping the item out of your hand. “You can’t just flirt with customers like that, what about Wanda?” It clicks in your mind when he mentions the other woman, a laugh escaping you as your gaze flickers between Gamora and Peter’s concerned gaze, neither of them wanting you to ruin what you had with your girlfriend as they had heard such amazing things.

“That is Wanda,” you say after a moment, unable to stop chuckling to yourself at their reactions, part of you grateful for their intervention as it just showed how much they cared about you. You watch entertained at the way their faces drop from worry to confusion, to disbelief and shock, Gamora’s gaze moving to where the twins and Wanda’s were sitting whilst Peter just looks at you, bewildered.

“How?” Is all that leaves his lips before Gamora’s hand smacks the back of his head, shooting him a warning look as he rubs the spot his girlfriend just hit, his cheeks turning a little red in embarrassment. It wasn’t that he didn’t think you weren’t beautiful or an amazing person because you were, everyone around you knew that you were, it was more the fact that Wanda looked like a goddess among people, something about her just making her all the more radiant. “I mean, how… come we have never met Wanda?” He sheepishly mutters out, grimacing himself at how poor his recovery of the situation was, your brow raised at him as Mantis overhears the conversation, excitement swirling in her eyes at the mention of the older woman, your friend eager to meet her.

“Wanda’s here? Where is she?” Her voice conveys her giddiness as you smile at her reaction, the two of you growing closer over the last couple weeks as your shifts were on at the same time, the black haired woman taking an interest in your love life as she could tell how smitten you were. Before you could respond, Rocket spoke up, the casual man leaning against the countertop on his phone, clearly pretending as though he was busy with work stuff, his eyes never leaving the screen.

“Who’s Wanda? Does she need her order taken over?” His voice lacked any real conviction as to find out who she was, simply acting as though he was contributing to team as he messaged Lyla on his phone, your head shaking as you made the two small hot chocolates, making sure to swirl the whipped cream perfectly and add as many marshmallows as you were allowed to.

“Why are we talking about Wanda again?” Drax asks from your side, making you jump a little as you hadn’t realised he was standing there, his body so still it was as though he was invisible.

“She’s here,” Mantis emphatically answered him, the man seeming to be just as disinterested as Rocket as he was only interested in relationships and love when it meant he could tease someone, his eyes following to where Mantis was looking before flickering his gaze back to you, a laugh escaping him.

“Yeah right,” he chuckled out, a look of shock forming on your face at his dismissal that it was Wanda, your features pulling into a look of offence as he smiled in disbelief at you, a glint of determination appearing in your eyes as you wanted to wipe that smug smile off his face.

“I’ll prove it,” you muttered out to the man, his smile widening as he refused to believe you, his arms crossing over his chest nonchalantly as he leaned against the countertop, watching you in amusement as you carried over the order to the booth they were sitting at, looking at Wanda with a shy but mischievous look before turning your head to make sure your co workers were watching, in particular Drax.

“Two hot chocolates and a flat white,” you say with a polite voice, the slight change to your tone amusing the twins as they mimic your voice to each other, making you playfully stick your tongue out at them for their teasing you as Wanda shakes her head at your antics, biting down on her lower lip as she admires you in your work uniform as you hand the twins their drinks, marshmallows overspilling from the cups. Your gaze flickers over to her appreciative stare when the twins become distracted by the sugary treat, the older woman loving the way your tied apron exaggerates your curves as she eventually lifts her gaze to your face, an enamoured look evident in her eyes as she can’t stop thinking about how adorable you look right now, the slightly shy smile on your face as her green has your heart pounding in your chest, warmth wrapping cosily around it.

Smiling a little to yourself, your tear your eyes away from hers to break the lingering gaze to focus on her drink sitting on the tray in your hands, moving to pass her the drink when her fingers brush yours on purpose, the older woman innocently smirking up at you as steals the drink from you, revelling in the way you seem to blush a little in embarrassment at the effect she has on you.

“Thank you,” she murmurs out whilst taking a sip of the drink, making sure to keep eye contact with you to further torment you, her lips tugging up into a smile around the mug as you linger nearby, trying to figure out how to prove to Drax you were with her without making it obvious to Wanda that you wanted a kiss.

“Is there any chance my service deserves a tip?” You ask with a hint of cheek seeping into your words as you offer her a charming smile, her brow raising at your words as you still play along with the joke from earlier, excitement appearing on her features.

“What did you have in mind?” She murmurs out, letting her gaze drift over to the counter where your friends were not so discreetly watching the interaction, the older woman trying her hardest to not roll her eyes as she could tell you had made some sort of bet at the way they were so interested in what was happening, that look in your eyes only Wanda could notice also giving it away as she could easily read your body language.

“Something that might get me in...trouble,” you whisper out, Wanda letting out a small chuckle before shaking her head lightly at your actions, her hand moving to your collarbone, sliding against the fabric of your shirt teasingly before grabbing the collar of your button up blouse, pulling you down to meet her lips.

The kiss was tender and loving to keep it appropriate for the setting, the two of you instantly smiling into it when you hear a contrast of reactions, the twins as usual pretending to be grossed out by the action whilst a small, elated noise could be heard from where Mantis was, her body buzzing with joy as she just loved seeing people happy, her smile practically reaching her ears at the way you shyly pulled back from the kiss.

You couldn’t stop the way love and adoration swarmed through you when Wanda softly waved towards your co-workers before sitting back in her seat, relaxing with her drink in her hand as you simply stood there, admiring the woman you loved.

“You might want to stop staring Detka,” she teases after a moment, “You’ve still got twenty minutes of your shift left,” she gently reminds, prompting you to pick up the forgotten tray from the table and return back to work after telling her you would meet her back here when you had finished your shift.

The prominent blush on your cheeks was engraved there as Peter and Gamora offer you suggestive looks as you returned to the counter, Drax’s arms dropping as he simply stood there with his mouth parted, somehow lost for words, not a single teasing remark lingering on his tongue which seemed to be a first.

“You should have put money on it,” Rocket teased as he patted Drax’s shoulder, joking with the man who still remained frozen and confused as to what had happened, your head shaking at the other man before letting your gaze inevitably drift back over to the table where she was, catching her curious stare. You watched intently as she placed her drink down and lifted her hand, the smile growing on your face fading when she motioned for you to turn around and stop staring at her, your eyes rolling theatrically at her before you did as she said, returning to cleaning the machines as the last twenty minutes of your shift dragged on.

***

Untying your hair, a deep sigh left your lips at the relief of returning home, the promise of having another family night exciting you as it was a time to unwind and simply enjoy being with the twins and Wanda, the bag of ingredients in Wanda’s hands intriguing you as she hadn’t told you what her and the twins had planned for tonight.

You made a beeline for the kitchen as that was where she had wandered to, walking past the framed photo of her on the ride at Asgard with a smug smile before your eyes searched for her auburn hair as you leaned against the doorframe, taking a moment to observe her. Her fingers rummaged through the plastic bag for various items as she stayed oblivious to your presence, her back to you as you continued to watch her, unable to stop the love coursing through your veins at the domestic sight of her expertly and swiftly moving around the kitchen, her green eventually catching your figure at the door.

The corner of your lips instinctively  lifted at the simple look before you pushed yourself off the frame to slowly walk over to her, your body tired after your long shift at the café, wanting to feel the comfort of her body against yours as you have been deprived of her touch for far too long in your opinion. You practically melted into her body as your arms snaked around her middle, your head resting against her shoulder as you placed a kiss to the fabric of her jumper, expressing your love to her silently.

The two of you adored the fact you could easily show your care and affection for each other without having to explicitly say ‘I love you’, your actions, looks, and kindness enough for one another. You purposely let your hands squeeze her body gently, encouraging her to lean back further into your embrace, knowing she cherished being hugged from behind and listened out for the satisfied sigh that would spill from her lips when you would do so.

You smiled against her sweater when you heard the familiar sound, the older woman stilling in your arms as she relaxed, a soft, tender expression gracing her features as you both savoured the moment before the twins would eventually come running downstairs, ready to start the fun family night.

“Can I have another kiss or is that going to get me in trouble with your girlfriend?” you tease, breaking the brief silence, your words slightly muffled by her shoulder as you mumbled against her, the corner of her lips tugging up at your playfulness whilst her head shook lightly before she turned around in your arms, mirth clear in her eyes.

“I don’t know, that might get you into trouble,” she rasps out whilst you move one of your hands to tuck the stray strand of her hair behind her ear, a tenderness wrapping around you both comfortably as you joke with each other.

“That’s a shame, it was such a good kiss,” you murmur out, tilting your head so that your lips ghosted hers, the feeling of her lips briefly brushing yours intoxicating, the thought of pressing them together consuming your mind and sending a heat throughout your body.

“Yeah?” she hums out, sliding her hands further around your waist, the pads of her fingers toying with the hem of your shirt and grazing your warm skin. “Maybe one more wouldn’t hurt after all,” she husks out with a smirk, lowering her head at a tantalising pace as you await the delicate feeling of her plump lips slotting over yours, your body craving the feeling again as you wait what feels like an eternity before her lips finally claim yours.

Much to your dismay though, the sound of footsteps interrupts the kiss, breaking off the affectionate moment far sooner than you wanted, a small groan leaving you as you sink into her embrace, your face hiding at the crook of her neck, basking in the warmth and safety it provided for a moment.

“You’re such a tease,” you mumble against her skin, earning a gentle chuckle as her fingers run up and down your back, the twins storming into the room after having cleaned their rooms, knowing they had to finish that chore off before the fun could begin.

“You’re the one who started it,” she whispers tauntingly before pressing a kiss to the top of your head, sliding her body away from yours to check their rooms were done properly before starting the activities planned for tonight, your dumbfounded figure left to watch her walk away, still thinking of the feeling of her lips.

***

A baking competition.

That’s what family night was for this evening, a look of shock, confusion and excitement appearing on your features as it was everyone versus everyone on who could make the best cookies, the thought of the twins trying to make their own worrying you a little bit as their version of baking cookies meant eating as many chocolate chips as possible before you would notice, too busy doing the actual work involved.

“Are we sure we don’t want to have teams?” you ask once more as you sit on the chair at the kitchen island, your head leaning against your palm as you stare at Wanda who was sorting out all the ingredients into an efficient system, her face pulling a look that suggested she wanted to agree with you, Tommy speaking up instead.

“No teams!” he exclaims, clearly excited about doing it all himself as Billy nodded along with him, the twins adamant that they could make them themselves, assuming it was much easier than it was. “Unless you want to team up with Mom because you’re scared you’re going to lose,” he teases, making your jaw drop, Wanda failing the stifle her laugh in time as your bewildered expression meets her humoured one, her smile soft as she bites down on her lip to stop herself giggling at her son’s words.

“I make good cookies,” you mutter in response, thinking about all the times you and the twins had made various types of cookies and the way they’d absolutely devour them, your mind then soon replaying the way they’d run across the house to get their mothers, the older woman’s skills in the kitchen superior to yours.

“Not as good as mine though,” Wanda whispers as she moves around to stand behind you, pressing a chaste kiss to your temple to help comfort you at the fact your abilities had been undermined, her head leaning against yours as your hand reached out for hers, letting your thumb brush over the back of her hand as the twins decided on the rules and how the winner would be decided before you could start.

Eventually, the four of you were ready to start measuring out everything needed to make the signature Maximoff family recipe of chocolate chip cookies, Billy fighting with the bag of flour you and him were going to share whilst Wanda effortlessly opened hers and Tommy’s, a look of sympathy growing on your face as he struggled. He wanted to remain independent during the entire baking process so you offered him a reassuring smile as you could understand how frustrating it was to open packets like that, something deep inside you hating bags of flour after the many times they had split open on you. The packaging was just always so impractical, white powder inevitably getting everywhere as soon as you tore it open, your gaze watching as he put a little more force into trying to tear it open, a grimace forming on your face as you could predict what was about to happen.

“Let me try-” your words were cut off by the bag tearing open vigorously, flour puffing out of the bag and all over the countertop as well as yours and Billy’s hands, a cloud of it filling the air around you two as Wanda sighed, her smile still present on her face though.

After a sheepish look in the older woman’s direction, you turned your gaze back to the pile of flour now on the marble top, your hand coming up to your forehead as you try to figure out the best way to deal with the situation, not realising the amount of flour coating your hand.

A humoured expression grew on everyone else's face as you managed to have a streak of flour across your head, the twins trying their hardest to not laugh and give it away, wanting you to continue looking silly, whilst Wanda seemed to pause, a nostalgic look in her eyes.

Her mind recalled the memory of when she came home from work to see you baking with the twins whilst you were babysitting them, the way warmth spread throughout her at the adorable sight of you with a similar streak of flour on your face. She remembered fondly the way you seemed to grow flustered as she gently wiped the mark away, her heart fluttering in her chest as she realised how far the two of you have come, how you have managed to change her life for the better.

“What?” you chuckle out as you notice her staring at you with love overflowing from her enchanting green, Billy helping get the remainder of the flour into a bowl to weigh it out.

“I love you,” she whispers, your brows furrowing a little bit at the emotion underlying the words, the concern quickly dissipating as she comes closer to you, her fingers gently holding your chin like she did that day, tilting your head up as she grabbed a cloth to wipe the flour away, a hint of deja vu flowing through you both. “But sometimes I think you’re just as messy as the twins,” she mutters playfully, a mischievous glint appearing in your eyes at her words as she loses herself in admiring you, unaware of how your hand was moving near the table.

“I’m not messy” you whisper innocently whilst moving your hand up to cup her cheek, her face morphing into shock at the feeling of flour being smeared against her skin, an infectious laugh escaping you and the twins as they watch the scenes unfold, revenge swirling in the older woman’s eyes.

Before you know it, the kitchen turns into a mini warzone, flour flying everywhere as you all try to cover each other in it, the food fight amusing to everyone as laughter bounced off all the walls, a small scream leaving Tommy as you wrap your arm around his body, sprinkling flour all over him and wiping a streak on his cheek to mimic the face paintings warriors have. To torment the boy even more, you tickled his side, watching as he tries to squirm his way out of your grip, his giggles echoing around the room as Billy dodges his mother’s flour attacks, the woman giving up chasing after one of her sons as he was too quick, deciding to save her other one instead.

A squeal practically leaves you when Wanda steals you away, pulling you into her body so that her front is flush against your back, your body trying to fight her strong grip but failing, laughter constantly spilling from your lips as you feel the remainder of the flour being wiped across your face. Her fingers friskily remained on your face, tormenting you further as you could hear her chuckling behind you, your hand trying to stop her from drawing random shapes of flour on your forehead as you gripped her forearm, amused at the way her sleeve had a massive streak of white across it.

The core memory engraved itself into all of your minds, the sheer joy and happiness radiating through you all as Wanda eventually let her head rest at the crook of your neck, inhaling the scent of your sweet perfume as your giggles eventually died down, your ragged breaths filling the room. The four of you panted after the intense battle, Wanda’s arm unwrapping from around your middle, freeing you of her grasp so you could turn around to send her a mini glare, the expression never coming onto your face as you were too busy grinning at her, an avalanche of affection and warmth enveloping you at the sight of her. Flour sat on the edge of her nose almost comically, a couple light dusts also tainting the pink visible on her cheeks whilst your eyes travelled up to look at her hair, chuckling in amusement at the massive white streak in her auburn locks.

A teasing comment about her age was on the tip of your tongue, the older woman seeming to sense where your thoughts were heading as she tilted her head almost warningly, daring you to make the joke as you smirked up at her, your composure crumbling a little at the hint of dominance swirling in her eyes. Deciding it would be better to not be a brat, you stayed silent instead, a triumphant look flashing on her features before she let her gaze flicker away from you to around the room, taking in the mess you had all managed to create, her eyes widening a little bit at how far the four of you had gone.

“I’m not even sure we’ll have enough flour to make cookies anymore,” she said sceptically as she checked the remains of a bags of flour, noticing how there was only just about two cups left in one of them and maybe just under one cup in the other bag , the twin’s faces almost turning as white as the flour at the idea of not having any cookies, the two of them running to check the bag their mother was looking at before checking the bowls that previously had measured out flour in them.

You watched curiously as they tried to pile together as much of the leftover flour as possible in hopes there'd be enough, your head shaking softly as you decided to wipe your face, cleaning yourself up whilst the boys remained running about with the ingredient in their hair, seeming to make the mess worse as they kept moving about. Wanda copied you and started trying to clean herself up, observing the twins as you were before speaking up, deciding she didn’t want to clean any more mess than she had to, part of her wishing she had the powers Billy had given her in his drawings so she could just magic all the mess away.

“How about this,” she starts off, gaining everyone’s attention. “You two can go and have a shower now, making sure to get rid of all the flour in your hair,” she said, making a point as she ruffled Tommy’s hair, showing how white his locks had turned, “And when you come down there might be some cookies nearly ready to eat." Bright smiles stretched across their lips as they nodded emphatically to agree with their mother’s plan, the two of them wiping as much of the mess in their hair off in the kitchen before being allowed to sprint up stairs to shower, your brow raising as her gaze then met yours, an innocent smile growing on her lips which could only mean one thing- she was about to torture you.

“And what am I supposed to do?” you ask in a hum, leaning against the countertop in front of her after she had just measured the flour out, a small amount still left in the bag behind your body that you were oblivious to. At the suggestive tone to your voice, her hands move to rest on the marble behind you, bracing her body above yours as she trapped you against the island, her head lowering a little bit, encouraging you to chase her teasing and alluring lips. 

Just as you think she’s about to kiss you on the lips, your eyes fluttering shut, she moves slightly behind you, the action going unnoticed as her lips pressed against the corner of your mouth, driving you insane with the thought of her as warmth wraps around your heart and also travels down your body towards you core, the feeling of her smirking against your lips clouding your mind. 

“You can help clean,” she murmurs in a seductive voice, a groan leaving you at her addictive tone and her words, the false hope annoying but equally amusing as she pulls back to see your eyes gradually opening, your darkened pupils showing how excited her actions had made you.

“Have I ever told you how cruel you are?” you grumble whilst stealing a quick kiss from her, the older woman letting you after her tease, her fingers wrapping around something behind you, her right arm moving slightly to your side as you focus on pouting at her, trying to get her to feel sorry for you and kiss you again and again until you couldn’t remember why you were pretending to be so annoyed. You thought it was working at the way her head lowered once more, your tongue subconsciously swiping across your lips to wet them, ready to lose yourself to the arousal steadily corrupting your thoughts. 

“Just a few times,” she chuckles out, smirking at you in a mischievous way as you search her green, confused as to why her smile seemed to grow that little bit wider, your brows furrowing until your felt flour being poured over your head, your vision being covered by the powder spilling down your face. You simply stood still as the bag emptied above your head, unable to stop a shocked but also impressed smile tugging at your lips, your laughter light and contagious as Wanda couldn't help but laugh along with you as you fell for her plan. Shaking your head vigorously, your hands shot out to hold onto her waist to keep her close, keeping her in the firing line as the two of you acted like fools in love for the rest of the night.

The two of you were only just about able to make the cookies and clean the mountain of mess in time for the twins, care and adoration underlying all you actions as the rest of the night breezed by, the happiness of spending the night together as a family consuming you entirely.

[cringefaecompilation]

okay since i have felt i've been really negative i am going to be positive and talk about something near and dear to my heart. fanart redesigns!

this design of braius by @phi-guy is delightful, including the mustache variant. i'm not a big fan of him as a character, but this is a great compromise with the holstein patterns on his humanoid face that previously left a few furries disappointed.

fcg is a very tough character to stylize, given the whole... aeormaton of it all and that they're so intricately designed that any attempts to move any part of their body around tend to make things they do in-game not make sense. the blades of grass emblem being revealed as bloody fingerstreaks, for one. but this design by hugo cardenas strikes a good balance between canon and fanon where you don't have to sacrifice accuracy for imagination or vice versa

imogen sadly doesn't receive a lot of redesigns in fandom and even got hate (?!) for people putting glasses on her. but for the people that do a little more than that, i would have to give my favorite design to @rokiie! it's subtle, but i love that she's musclechubby and mixed, and her curly hair and ponytail is adorable. @jadequarze also has a nice looking mog, though theirs is more angular than bulky.

ashton is another character hard to redesign... because his original design is so damned complex it feels like a downgrade to change it. so not a lot of people do and focus more on his outfit and body type. so that's why these two, by @magscherer and @ladysantos are so great! little tweaks that make him fat or simplify him are so nice

@lyadrielle has the most complex chet redesign i've ever seen. i love how in-depth it is, and even if full head of hair chet isn't canon, i still adore the fluffiness of it. also quick shout out to @colealexart giving chetney a mustache because i love it.

conversely from her girlfriend, people love to redesign laudna, if not just to pump up her creepy factor over her "bizzarely beautiful" factor. @astoriacolumnstaircase and @paragonraptors do this in a fun-scary way! i love how spindly they make her, like a praying mantis. for a more scary-scary way, @cpprcoyote's laudnas are stunningly creepy and lovely. @galacticjonah's take on her is also very cute with her billowing fabrics surrounding her like a security blanket. good stuff!

being the mixed orym truther guy, naturally i love art that makes him a man of color, and this art by @therosecleric hits the mark for how i see him in my head. i love his curls, his jaw, and his strong nose, and it's always good to give him muscles in a way that don't make him look like a tween who powerlifts. the previously mentioned @magscherer's art of him is a bit more hobbit-y but still scratches the same itch. love me a brown eyed orym. @jennydolfen also gets points for her terrific hobbit/halfling proportions

@jam-etc's critical role redesigns might not be for everyone, but i love 'em all. dorian here looks so friendly and seeing his native culture depicted so overtly in his outfit is awesome! no whitewashed dorians allowed. on the same token, here's a repeat of @therosecleric's dorian art because it also is great to see him with curly hair and a wide nose. this design by @caitmayart with dark cloudy speckles on his body is incredibly nice as well.

and of goddamn course fearne gets the most art. it's fearne! there are so many good pieces of her i could not choose one. i love ones that play up her goat-y nature, like @willowbirds, @rainbow-roll-art, and @phi-guy again. and i love fat fearnes, like these two by @marmadelin and @countslimeula. this one by @maluspumilaa is so beautiful, making her a little more fey and extremely animalistic. all fearnes is good fearnes