#not about anyone following me to be clear

[itsnesss]

𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐞 𝐫𝐚𝐭 | thanos (player 230) × fem!reader

summary | Thanos constantly harasses you until you stand up to him

warnings | strong language, drug use, physical confrontation, kissing

word count | 1.6 k

author's note | it would help me a lot if you liked, commented and reposted so that more people read what I write and don't forget to follow me thanks ᡣ𐭩

It all started with a look—one of those glances people give you when they underestimate you. Of course, you were used to it. Here, no one expected much from a girl like you: small, quick, and quiet. And Player 230, whom everyone called Thanos, was no exception.

From day one, that jerk had decided you were his personal entertainment. He provoked you whenever he could, shoving you as he passed, making sarcastic remarks about how "weak" you looked, and making it clear that if he ever had the chance, he wouldn’t hesitate to crush you.

You put up with it because there wasn’t much choice. In this place, showing weakness was a death sentence, and an open confrontation with someone like him could be just as dangerous. But today, something inside you snapped.

It was the fifth game, a test of endurance and precision. Everyone was tense, including the guards patrolling the room. You focused on your strategy, ignoring the murmurs and stares. Then, as always, he showed up.

“Look who’s here, our little rat. Ready to run away when things get tough?”

His voice echoed behind you, and you could hear the smug grin in his tone. You didn’t bother turning around.

“Don’t you have anything better to do, 230?” you replied, trying to stay calm.

He let out a laugh. “No, not really. Watching you fail is the only entertaining thing here.”

He placed a hand on your shoulder, a gesture that was anything but friendly. You swatted it away, turning to face him.

“You know what? That’s enough. I’m sick of your crap.”

His eyes widened slightly in surprise, but he quickly recovered his mocking expression. “Well, well. The little rat has claws.”

Your heart was pounding, but you weren’t going to back down. Not this time.

“And what about you? What do you have? Besides a big mouth and a small brain?”

A murmur rippled through the room. The other players were watching the scene unfold with interest, some even smirking. It was rare for anyone to stand up to Thanos, let alone in public.

For a moment, you thought he was going to hit you. He stepped closer, and you could feel his heavy breath, mixed with the unmistakable stench of something chemical. Drugs. You’d noticed it before—his dilated pupils, his slightly clumsy movements.

“You know what’s funny?” he said, leaning toward you. His voice, usually loud and commanding, sounded almost… confused. Like he couldn’t decide whether to laugh at you or with you.

“What?” you snapped, not breaking eye contact.

“I like your attitude.” The grin on his face widened, but this time it didn’t seem mocking. It was different, disoriented.

What happened next took you completely by surprise. Before you could react, his hands grabbed your arms—not forcefully. He looked at you as if he were seeing something new, something he didn’t fully understand, and then… he kissed you.

It was quick, clumsy, and so unexpected that for a moment, you didn’t know how to react. Your brain took a few seconds to process what was happening, but when it did, you shoved him away with all the strength you had.

“What the hell are you doing?” you yelled, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand.

He stumbled back, a satisfied smile plastered across his face.

“You’re sexy when you’re angry, you know?”

Your blood boiled. The air in the room seemed to freeze. The other players stared at you—some horrified, others trying to stifle their laughter. The guards, as always, did nothing, letting the chaos unfold on its own.

“You’re insane,” you said, not bothering to lower your voice.

He took a step toward you, but this time, you stepped forward first.

“No. I’m warning you—don’t come any closer.”

Something in your tone must have reached him because he stopped. He blinked a couple of times, as if trying to process your words, and then let out a low, almost raspy laugh.

“You know, I think I like you more than I thought.”

You couldn’t believe it. This idiot was definitely high and didn’t seem to have any idea how inappropriate his behavior was. But instead of feeling intimidated, a wave of fury surged through you.

“If you ever touch me again,” you said, pointing a finger at him, “I swear you won’t walk out of the next game.”

For a moment, he just stared at you. And then, to your surprise, he nodded.

“Fine, little rat. But don’t be surprised if you change your mind someday.”

[totallyjustabunchofhocuspocus]

God, PLEASE bring back the kinky tomatoes and ship and let ship. I'm not some idiot waxing about the halcyon days of early fandom when everyone was soooo kind and reasonable. It was the fuckin' Wild West and there were plenty of assholes in fandom (hehe, anyone remember flame wars?)

BUT

There has definitely been an increase in the VICIOUSNESS in fandom. People ascribe morality to shipping at a rate and intensity that is disturbing to watch. Your online space is yours to do with and curate as you please, and I highly encourage you to seek out likeminded individuals to interact with. But if your response to encountering someone who doesn't curate their space the way you do, holds a fandom opinion you don't, ships something you don't like, WHATEVER, and your response is to spew anger and hatred and threats at them? You're an asshole and kind of an idiot. Yes, even if their ship involves stuff that's taboo as fuck. Yes even if it's toxic. Yes even if it's downright evil (and to get ahead of it, NO I'm not talking about someone encouraging people to join the Klan In real life or talking about how everyone should be a Nazi in real life--note the 'in real life's disclaimer) .

Our online fandom spaces need to remain neutral. There are PLENTY of takes, subjects, kinks, and stories that I find distasteful. Some I find disgusting. Some that I VISCERALLY hate. But it's not hurting me or others if people enjoy that stuff and it's not hurting THEM to enjoy it...so it's not my business. As long as it's tagged and warned for, it's not my business. Even if it's not, it is my business in the SOLE context of reporting it to GET it tagged and warned for, and that's it. I make no judgement on if it should exist or not. There were AWFUL stories infesting a tag I follow on AO3 recently. Stuff that was very obviously only meant to trigger people and make them upset. It was disgusting. The worst kind of subject matter you can think of. I wish nothing good for the person(s) who wrote them. But I still have to defend their right to put it up with clear tags and warnings because it is fiction and if I and the rest of us don't, those goal posts of what is acceptable WILL move and they will eventually move into places they shouldn't. I don't like it. I don't condone what was written even a little bit. But I cannot argue against its right to exist.

Fandom PSAs

Dont’ Like, Don’t Read

or DL; DR

You are responsible for curating your own online experience.

If something upsets you, makes you angry or queasy or triggers you, stop reading/looking at it. Avoid things that might make you feel that way.

Learn to use the Sort and Filter function on AO3, especially the Exclude tools.

On social media, block and mute accounts / tags / words when necessary.

If you hated something, you don’t need to tell that to the creator or start pointing fingers at them publicly.

The Back button is free. Use it.

Addendum:

Yes, for this to work, creators need to tag their works accordingly, so that people know what sort of content they are about to engage with and can nope out if necessary.

I will probably make another PSA about the importance of proper tagging later.

Ship And Let Ship

or SALS

You are allowed to ship whatever you want.

Everyone else is also allowed to ship whatever they want.

You are entitled to dislike or even hate a ship. If you want to do this online, in public, don’t use the ship tags for hate posts.

If you see someone posting about a ship they like and you don’t, there is no need for you to start arguing with them in their replies / comments / QRTs / reblogs. Don’t throw your hate in their face.

Do not harass fan creators or fans for shipping something you disapprove.

All of this also applies to liking / disliking an individual character.

Addendum:

”I agree with this, except when…”

No, then you are NOT agreeing with this.

Let me make this VERY clear. There are NO exceptions. None.

You don’t EVER harass real people over pixels.

If you disagree with this, kindly block and move on.

Your Kink Is Not My Kink

or YKINMK / YKINMKATO

The longer version is ”Your Kink Is Not My Kink And That’s Okay”.

People have different tastes. Not everything is for everybody.

Even if you don’t like a specific kink, other people are still allowed to use it in their creations.

You are entitled to dislike kinky content and think that it’s ”weird”.

Don’t kink shame or judge people based on their kinks.

This goes both ways: your kink is not someone else’s kink, so don’t push it onto those who are not into it.

Be Kind

or Don’t Be An Asshole

Focus on the things you like instead of the things you hate.

Create and unite instead of destroying and dividing.

Don’t harass real people over fictional things.

Stop stirring up petty drama just to get some attention on social media.

Stop trying to ”win”. Fandom is not a competition.

Remember that your own experiences aren’t universally shared. Your perception of things can differ from someone else’s, but that doesn’t mean either of you is necessarily wrong.

[tra-archive]

Please read this whole post and reblog it, radblr. I don’t want anyone to forget this happened to me and I also don’t want anyone to forget how disgusting the TRA community is.

Next month, it’ll be one year since I was harassed, doxxed, and targeted by a disgusting person and their sick followers. I won’t say their name because they still have a cult following, but if you need a hint, look up the drama with photomatt in February 2024.

On my old account, an anon told me about an account getting banned from tumblr and the ensuing chaos from TRAs. I answered the ask and posted a picture of the person’s new account so radblr could block if they needed to. I had no idea who this person was until I got that anon ask, just to be clear.

The person found the post and reblogged it, accusing me of being the one who led a “targeted harassment campaign” against them and got their account banned, and told their followers “you know what to do” or something like that. Keep in mind, I didn’t know who this person was at all so I obviously wasn’t the one who got them banned. I also *gasp* didn’t use their preferred pronouns, so that was a huge scandal as well.

After that, their followers began to harass me and send violent threats to my inbox. (Edit: oh and this evil person accused me of sending them to myself for attention, which is so fucked up and misogynistic I don’t even have words for it.) Here’s the worst one that I still have trauma from to this day:

My account was then termed by tumblr. I made a new account and called for radblr to report the account for sending their followers to harass me. Well, this made everything worse because the hate I got on this new account was a thousand times worse. This person’s minions created multiple posts about me (look up m3nrbad for proof, that was the account name). There were hundreds of comments calling me misogynistic slurs and calling for me to be doxxed and even lynched. They also found my Reddit account and harassed me there too. I even got a few text messages to my PHONE NUMBER. I have no idea how this evil person’s followers got ahold of it, but I changed my number and my mother took me to buy a new phone just to be safe. Here’s what one of them said about me, encouraging their followers to false report me:

A short while after this, the evil person’s blog was termed again and they were (I think) IP banned from all of tumblr. The CEO photomatt threatened to take legal action against them. It had nothing to do with me, but I can’t lie, it felt so good seeing that happen to them after the hell they put me through. Here’s me reacting to the news:

TRAs on tumblr of course threw a hissy fit and attacked Matt for months because their leader was banned. They also acted like this person was being systemically oppressed by tumblr of all fucking places. Keep in mind this person is white and born male, acting as if they were so oppressed by a website.

I eventually deleted that other blog and made this one. I spent hours and hours blocking every single person who reblogged, liked, and commented on posts about me, as well as blocking almost every one of a big tra’s followers. I was determined to stop being harassed.

Anyway, I know I shouldn’t be dwelling on this because it’s just internet drama, but people still worship this person and act like they’re such a poor victim, and in reality that’s not true. That month was hell for me and my actual safety was threatened. If it wasn’t for some of you gyns being so amazing and funny on here, I would’ve never come back to radblr.

Thanks for reading all the way through.

-Sirona

[icecream4starscream]

Spoiler Warning for Transformers One. Please go see the film, it's great.

Something occurred to me when rewatching Elita-1's firing scene:

Right off the bat, she's presented as an absolute unit in the mines. We see her being a very by-the-book character. She's incredibly competent, strong, serious, focused, and an effective leader.

Maybe a little too effective.

We learn that Sentinel goes out of his way to personally take care of any "anomalies" in his system and does so in a way where the blame always gets shifted away from him.

It's why he personally went to see Pax and D-16 after the Iacon 5000 race. He makes himself out to be the open-minded, compassionate leader he's been parading as.

When Darkwing throws Orion and D-16 into sub-level 50, neither bot suspects Sentinel for their demotion. In fact, they beg Darkwing to talk to Sentinel so he can sort out the "misunderstanding".

It's later confirmed that Sentinel never had any intention of talking with Orion or D-16 after their first meeting. When Orion reunites with his fellow miners later in the film, they mention that Sentinel put out a statement saying that they both died from "racing injuries".

Sentinel might've not even openly ordered Darkwing to dispose of them. Darkwing might've been manipulated into thinking everyone was mocking him for losing the race (thanks to lowly miners) making him want to get rid of them.

Subconsciously manipulating someone like Darkwing would've been easy for Sentinel.

Sentinel clearly does not tolerate anyone rising above the station he imposes on them.

So what does this have to do with Elita-1 being fired?

We see her rigidly following the rules, meeting all quotas, running a tight and efficient crew. She's doing her job as a miner, a role unknowingly forced upon her by Sentinel, perfectly.

Shouldn't Sentinel be happy about that?

Well sure...

If Elita wasn't actively trying to get promoted.

We don't get a lot of information about how promotion works in TFOne's mining system, but we do know that in other iterations of pre-war Cybertron, one of the only ways miners could rise out of the mines was by participating in ridiculously difficult gladiatorial fights in Kaon's pits.

In other iterations, this was how D-16/Megatron was able to escape his station and how he grew to be so strong.

So basically, whatever version you look at, the miners are told "if you work really, reeeeally hard, and do your job perfectly, and don't die in the process (which, odds are, you will) you might, MIGHT get a chance to get out of the caste you were born into."

It's BS.

It's an impossible feat. No one is actually supposed to be able to achieve that goal, but it's the metaphorical carrot dangling in front of the work mules so they don't notice the ever-tightening rope around their necks.

But every so often there's someone extraordinary, like Elita, who actually manages to meet this impossible standard and with whom it becomes increasingly difficult to deny this coveted promotion.

So what can Sentinel do about bots like Elita-1?

Simple.

Wait for a screw-up.

It must happen eventually.

A member of Elita's team, Orion Pax, in clear violation of evacuation protocol, goes back into the mines to save Jazz from getting crushed to death.

Despite managing to escape, the closing mine causes a tunnel support to be flung into nearby machinery (which doesn't look critical and could probably be easily fixed).

Then, right the heck outta nowhere, Darkwing drops in, SECONDS AFTER THE INCIDENT JUST HAPPENED, and immediately fires Elita.

No "What happened?" or "Who's responsible?" or "The supervisor wants to see you", he just pops into the scene and demotes Elita, arguably one of the best workers in the mine, to a bottom-tier waste management position.

As if he'd been on standby, actively waiting for a reason to fire her.

"But Elita herself wasn't the one who screwed up!"

Doesn't matter.

"But she told them to follow protocol!"

Doesn't matter.

"But Orion admitted he was the one at fault!"

Doesn't matter.

"But a bot was saved! Jazz would've died!"

Does. Not. MATTER.

Her firing is presented as the typical "one character says thing won't happen then thing immediately happens" joke, but given how so much thought went into so much of TFOne's background details, I can't help but wonder if this was a hint to how broken the system was and how it was always rigged in a way that ensures the miners will never get out.

Not to mention, once Orion, D-16, and Jazz safely escape, she chews Orion out by saying, "If I get fired for this..." meaning this abrupt, out-of-nowhere, baseless firing is absolutely typical.

That's what makes Elita's "I'm better than you" speech to Orion that much more meaningful, because in many ways, she is better than him.

She's a better worker, better fighter, better at completing the task at hand, better at making sure things run smoothly. She is, ironically enough, an efficient and perfectly-running machine.

But had Orion not dragged Elita to the surface, she probably would've spent her whole life obediently following the rules, never questioning why things were the way they were. She was so focused on rising up within the system that she could never look beyond it.

Elita might be the cog by which other cogs turn.

But Orion is the spark that shows them a better way.

That's why he was given the Matrix.

[honourablejester]

I was watching a video on top battlefield moments from science fiction, and I was delighted to see included the moment from the Babylon 5 episode ‘Severed Dreams’ where Ambassador Delenn of the Minbari shows up to the Battle of Babylon 5 to invite the enemy Earth Alliance ships to run the fuck away. Because yes. That moment is always a correct choice.

“This is Ambassador Delenn, of the Minbari. Babylon 5 is under our protection. Withdraw, or be destroyed.”

“Negative! We have authority here. Do not force us to engage your ships!”

“Why not? Only one human captain has ever survived battle with a Minbari fleet. He is behind me. You are in front of me. If you value your lives, be somewhere else.”

Followed by the EA ships proving that they did, indeed, value their lives. Heh.

With no context whatsoever, this moment is still boss as hell. One lady shows up with three cruisers and a dinky little White Star warship, and she makes the opposing side, which two seconds ago had the station and all its exhausted defenders dead to rights, literally run away. She says go and they do. Immediately, no questions asked. And she implies why, she implies that Minbari are people humans just don’t want to fight, but if you don’t have context, it might not be clear to you the scale of what she’s talking about.

Which is that, fifteen years ago, Ambassador Delenn of the Minbari, in her fury and grief over what she saw as the murder of her mentor, cast the deciding vote that lead to the Earth-Minbari war, which is a nice thing to call what was essentially a genocidal religious crusade on behalf of the Minbari to completely annihilate the human race. And they damn near succeeded. She regretted her decision almost immediately, but by the time she managed to halt what she’d started, it was during the Battle of the Line. The final annihilation of Earth itself. Earth, humanity, fought them for every inch of space in between, but they lost every single fight. All the way to Earth. No one, except Sheridan, the man behind her, survived battle with the Minbari. And Sheridan, it has to be said, basically cheated, to almost war crime levels, by using a distress call to lure a Minbari ship into a nuclear minefield. That was the only victory humanity eked out. The Minbari just steamrolled them, an implacable tide of annihilation that literally nothing they had could stop. The Earth-Minbari War was not stopped by anything humanity did, it was stopped by Delenn herself showing the Council of Nine that humans had Minbari souls (aka that humans and Minbari could reincarnate as each other, making them in religious terms the same species), granting the Council a religious ground to halt the war. Humanity was, essentially, annihilated by Delenn’s fury, and saved by her compassion, and there was nothing they could do to influence either of them.

That, in this moment, is what just appeared on this battlefield. Embodied in this woman. A fifteen year shadow of the end of their race. The Battle of the Line is etched in every human memory in this setting, the moment when they evacuated their homeworld, evacuated Earth, while every fighting ship they possessed died in orbit trying to delay, not stop, just delay, the implacable tide of the Minbari onslaught.

When Delenn shows up and, in cold, quiet fury, says ‘withdraw or be destroyed’, she fucking means it, and there is not a single human being in this galaxy (or, to be fair, anyone else either) who doesn’t believe her. The Minbari have proved it. You can piss off anyone else in the galaxy you like, you can fight gods, but you do not, ever, piss off the Minbari. Especially not this Minbari.

Because she’s learned since then. She has seen the horrors of war, she has felt the almost incomprehensible stain of blood on her hands, she has fought to stop what she started and realised how infinitely more difficult it is, and she has learned. So if she goes to war now, it is with full knowledge of the cost and the consequence. If you tip her over that line, woe betide you. Because it means she’s decided that your death is worth whatever she can’t stop in the aftermath, and if your death is worth that much, then there’s nothing in this galaxy that will prevent it.

God, but Delenn was such an absolute tour de force of a character. This quiet, gentle, soft-spoken woman whose fury had destroyed races and whose compassion had saved the galaxy. She’s not even warrior caste, she’s religious caste. She’s not, technically speaking, a fighter. But hers is the voice that starts and ends wars, and she has never once flinched from personally standing in the face of annihilation to do so.

If she told you to stop being silly and go home before something bad happened, I promise you, you would listen too. Heh.

(Also yes, I’m aware I’ve posted pretty much exactly this several times before, but literally every time I rewatch that scene it brings this wave of giddy awe and wild ferociousness back. Literally. It’s a scene that makes you want to fist-fight god, and a scene that makes you think you could maybe win too. If Delenn is behind you, then even if you don’t win, you will mess them the fuck up in the process. She’s inspiring that way. Heh).

[kaisaerinlover]

dark content

tw: abuse

laying in bed with kaiser after an extra rough day, a day where he was so much worse than usual. a day where your whole body is left aching in pain. kaiser doesn’t offer you any help or care other than picking you up where you lay limp on the floor to toss you onto the bed so he can feel your warmth next to him.

you’re laid on the pillow trying your hardest not to move, every time you move it feels like a thousand bricks are being tossed at you nonstop. feels like hammers are beating at you. you’re so broken right now it hurts. but that’s what you get for dating someone like kaiser; you shouldn’t play angel with a guy like him. shouldn’t play the “i can fix him” game with someone who is more than just sad inside. someone who’s pain and hurt from the precious years of childhood manifested into a terrifying amalgamation of twisted morals and sick behaviour. you shouldn’t play those types of games with a man like kaiser, because he’s not like anyone you will meet or have ever met in your life. any therapist would truly have a field day with this boy because the amount of times he would have to be in their office is more than infinite, if it’s even possible. it’s impossible, but not for him. fitting for him. he could get better, but his mindset doesn’t allow this. he won’t change it anytime soon, that’s why you’re laid in complete and utter agony trying to bite back the tears that threaten to fall from your eyes. even breathing is painful.

he’s next to you, looking like nothing even happened at all. he looks beautiful, hair tied up into a neat little bun at the back, glasses on, face illuminated by the awfully expensive antique lamp you insisted he buy the other month. he’s reading something, your vision is too blurry to see what he’s reading. the sound of him flipping the pages every so often is soothing, you could almost forget about the burning pain you have all over your body. almost forget how he looked as he punched you over and over; screamed at you again. how terrifying it is to be beneath him as he gets so violent with you.

it’s not fair, it’s really not. it’s not fair how he treats you when you are so kind to him; so gentle. sometimes he treats you with the same sweetness you taught him, but it’s not common. but you are different; you would never react back to him with the same brutality his actions teach you. you are a good person, your heart is big and your compassion swells for him even after he treats you like this. you couldn’t explain why even if you wanted to, human nature of this degree is wordless, unexplainable and weird. it’s illogical, but that’s one of the most beautiful things about humans.

that’s kaiser’s opinion anyway, he has you wrapped around his pinky finger. he can hear your shaky breathing next to him; he smirks to himself.

you look at him when you hear him fold the corner of the page of his book so he can find it easier later, and place his book down on the bedside table. you’re waiting for him to turn off the lamp, but he doesn’t yet. your boyfriend clears his throat and looks forwards into the rest of the very luxurious bedroom you both share. “hey, engel” he doesn’t even bother looking at you as he talks. he obviously lacks respect for you. and you acknowledged this long ago. and you stay. you stay with him. you wait silently for him to continue. silence is the best answer after a day like this - he’s impossible to predict. whatever is inside of him follows no logical pattern, if you say the wrong thing you’ll anger him more. “do you know why i hurt humans?” he still isn’t looking at you. you don’t talk still, you don’t bother looking at him anymore. the bruise on your neck that’s darkening even now, hours after the beating, is hurting too much. you stare at the ceiling as you listen to him talk.

he’s smirking as he talks, looking out into the bedroom with his hands behind his head. he carries on again, his voice never lacks confidence “it makes me feel alive.” you never quite understood that about him, you’re still quiet, listening to him, but you extend your arm anyway and lay it awkwardly on his chest despite the pain that shoot’s up the entirety of your arm from doing so. he acknowledges your smaller hand messily splayed across his chest by bringing his own bigger hand to squeeze it tightly, painfully even. he bent your fingers back today a lot, they still ache.

he doesn’t look you in the eye still as he talks. and you don’t want to look him in the eye either. you just both stare into the dimly lit surroundings as you maintain some semblance of skin to skin contact. “i’ve hurt a lot of humans before” he laughs a little. you gasp a bit and jump as he squeezes your hand painfully tight, obviously intending to hurt you. “but hurting you makes me feel the most alive.” your chest is hurting and your hand is crushed so immensely between his much bigger one. you heard the sickening crack of your fingers. you sort of wish he wouldn’t let go, you don’t want to see the damage. purple is a pretty colour, but not when it’s on your fragile skin.

kaiser squeezes hard, he can’t feel alive in any other way than this. than checking his heart rate in a morning. than looking in the mirror and seeing himself standing there, seeing himself in the flesh and knowing he’s alive. he loosens his grip on your hand though and turns to lay on his side to face you. he looks pretty like this, you’re looking at him as well; head propped on his free hand, the other reaching out to caress your battered cheek. he likes seeing what he did to you earlier, likes when he can assess the damage himself. it makes him feel so alive. and even though you won’t admit it his battery makes you feel equally as alive as he does. “you know, prinzessin, i’ve never been hurt before though.” blatant lie, he knows it is, you’ll believe it. he chooses to push his childhood far far behind him. he doesn’t associate with that time of his life, any memory of it that replays will only be viewed in a third person point of view. he doesn’t know that weak child anymore. “wanna know why?” and you give him a response for the first time. you nod and look up at him with your big glassy eyes. you’re like a broken toy, but you know that someone like kaiser can appreciate a broken toy. poor kids who grow up with nothing will accept anything. wealthless kids, abused kids who grow up and enter society as sickeningly ill in the head adults will stop accepting anything, they’ll only accept the familiar brokenness they know best. and if it’s not there in the person they want, they’ll make it themselves.

“it’s because i’m not human.” kaiser doesn’t see himself as human, the opposite actually. having a superiority complex is fun, but it’s less fun when it’s to cover up the hideous truth beneath. he’s caressing your beaten face so tenderly right now, as you deserve. for once he’s treating you kindly. he’s subhuman. but he’s also something better, he’s above everyone else. his intellect is a mean feat in any terms of human endeavour. his talent is unrivalled. he can do things no one else can. michael kaiser can make the impossible into a reality. michael kaiser can give hope to those who thought they could never dream again. he looks at the tattoo on his hand instead of your eyes, the tattooed hand that’s caressing your face; the face he’s grown to both love and despise over the years. the face he wants to destroy beneath his rough fists. the face he wants to hold gently and leave a kiss on. his tattoo is a reminder he’s above everyone else, but also that he’s a piece of shit. he has narcissistic tendencies but it’s mostly a cover up. even he doesn’t believe in his delusions sometimes.

poor you has to bear the brunt of that, but whilst he’s caressing your face you can forget about all the burden you’re forced to carry because of the emotional baggage your boyfriend brings to the relationship. he sighs. he can’t even look you in the eye. he stares off into the window, the one that rain is trickling against now. the city is beautiful at night, but you’re more beautiful. you’re pretty. so cute. süsser prinzessin. but he can’t bring himself to look at you right now. “i’m not like the rest of you, and i never will be.” you can’t tell what he’s thinking when he says that; but you’ve always been an empath. your hand finds its way back to his and you push it from your cheek and intertwine it between the fingers he hurt so much.

you make him feel so alive, hurting you is the best thrill he could get in life. bringing any harm to you is also the most saddening thing. you’re so nice to him even now, someone like him doesn’t deserve it. he’s a subhuman piece of shit and you love him. he’s also a god, renowned by many. he’s a subhuman who needs to be loved and he’s a cruel cold hearted god who needs to be taught gentleness and kindness. he just rubs his thumb over the back of your smaller hand and sighs. he’s a confident guy, no doubt about it, but maybe you won’t be around forever. maybe you will pack up and leave one day - he’s tried every trick in the book to ensure you stay, not that he even has to do that, because you would undoubtedly, but he can’t help but be worried.

it’s shameful to admit that maybe an emperor does need a princess sometimes. he rubs your hand in circle motions and presses a kiss to your forehead. he’s sorry, he’s so fucking sorry for doing this to you. he doesn’t know why he’s like this; you deserve so much more than this. infinity times infinity more. you’re really his princess, he’s sorry. sorry that he treats you like this. sorry that instead of affection all you get most of the time is his fists bearing into you over and over, a barrage of attacks until he’s finally decided you learned your lesson.

you don’t have anything to learn. kaiser loathes you because you’re a perfect human. you’re beautiful and you’re compassionate. you have a big heart and a big personality and he likes your stupid jokes you tell. and he hates that you stay with him. you’re so perfect, you really are. you notice his eyes are glossy. he hates to cry; kaiser fucking hates crying. you also know your boyfriend hates crying, so you open your mouth for the first time tonight. “i love you, micha.” a sweet whisper of love. he feels your other hand, your other thumb wiping up the small amount of wetness beginning to form on his lashes. only you could notice that, god he fucking hates you. “i love you too” he confesses in a rare moment of vulnerability.

you fall asleep in his arms, and he falls asleep too. he’s squeezing you so tightly, he’s holding you so close like you’re something so precious; like a thief of the night might come and steal you from him. every inch of your body aches from his earlier barbarity, but you didn’t care whilst falling asleep and you won’t care when you wake up. your heart is so pure that you simply don’t have the capacity to care about anything other than your boyfriends wellbeing and happiness.

kaiser is thankful he gets to even lay next to you. you’re not one of the same at all. but sometimes he debates your humanity as much as his own; you’re an angel.

[sorchathered]

Got my sights set on you- Jake Seresin x reader

Pairing- Jake “Hangman” Seresin x reader

Warnings-language, drinking, Jake being a massive flirt

A/N- I don’t have much of a summary for this, just clearing out my wips for you all and found this little gem I wrote last summer! Hope you enjoy!

———————————————————————————

If there was one thing you knew about Jake Seresin it was that he was a massive flirt. Men, women, non-binary, didn’t much matter your gender he was a tease and everyone knew it. Lately he’d set his sights on you, and he was relentless. You had to admit you liked the attention, and dropping him down a peg with snappy comments was always entertaining. You enjoyed the banter between the two of you, it had been fun and games until one night you noticed another girl from the bar had seemed to catch his attention, pulling out all the stops for her instead of sitting and chatting you up. It shouldn’t have bothered you, it was just a game right? Neither of you had ever made a move and he had every right to talk to whoever he pleased. Rooster could see through all your bullshit, sidling up next to you as he followed your eyeline to Jake and the brunette that seemed to have him enthralled in conversation.

“So Vixen, when you gonna admit to yourself that this little thing you’ve got going with Hangman is more than a schoolgirl crush?” You glared up at him and opened your mouth to snap at him but it died in your throat when you saw the sympathetic look on his face, you hated that he could see how transparent you were. “It was just a crush, really, I thought I just enjoyed the back and forth but… shit rooster what am I supposed to do here? It’s Hangman we’re talking about, he doesn’t do relationships, and in the end I’ll just get hurt so what’s the point?” You cradled your head in your hands against the bar top as Bradley patted your shoulder. “Kid I hate to be the one to burst your doom bubble but if you gave that man the time of day he wouldn’t know what to do with himself. I've seen him when he’s just looking for a hook up and that’s not what this is with you. He may be chatting that girl up but he won’t take her home, in fact I don’t think he’s taken anyone home in months, most of the time he just moons over you. I bet if you walked over there right now and told him to take you home he’d be putty in your hands, you wield more power than you know honey.”

You rolled your eyes at him, there was no way in hell he was into you like that, but as rooster passed you a shot of tequila you glanced back at Jake and he was looking right at you. Fuck it, you were going for it. Tossing back the shot you squared your shoulders and swayed your hips as you walked towards him, he wasn’t paying a bit of attention to the girl talking his ear off anymore, eyes completely focused on you. “Hey Vix, haven’t seen you all night-“ he said as you pressed yourself between him and the brunette, shock crossing his features as you waved her off.

“Uh we were talking!”

“And now you’re not, see how that works?”

You hit her with an icy glare and blessedly little miss tag chaser seemed to take the hint, off to lick her wounds with god knows who. That wasn’t your business or your problem. Right now you need to keep the momentum going and get your man.

“So a little birdie told me that I should shoot my shot, how about it, Seresin? You talk a big game, wanna take me home?” For once in your life Jake Seresin was at a loss for words, mouth opening and closing like a fish, completely in shock.

“Uh-I- yeah-yeah absolutely. Sweet Jesus darlin’ please don’t fuck with me, I don’t know if my heart can take it.” The cocksure grin is back, but you can tell he’s still unsure, so you slide even closer and press your lips to his. It starts out completely innocent, just reassurance that you are actually into him, but you quickly remember who you’re dealing with and Jake Seresin certainly isn’t all talk, sliding one hand into your hair and the other into the back pocket of your jeans, running his tongue along your lips as you give him entrance, letting him make out with you right here in the middle of the bar, where all your coworkers can see.

You can hear whoops and whistles from your friends and it breaks you both apart, taking in deep breaths between your giggles. “Still up for taking me home?” You whisper as you smooth your hands through his golden hair, and where you expect more sexual innuendo and banter you’re left with something more. He smiles down at you and kisses your nose, the look he’s giving is melting you from the inside out, maybe Rooster was right; maybe this wasn’t just fun and games. “I can definitely take you home sugar, but I don’t want just a hook up from you, I’m thinking tomorrow you let me take you on a real date, you deserve to be treated to all the bells and whistles baby girl.” If you gave him the chance he’d wife you up on the spot if he was honest, but he’d give you some time before he told you all the ideas he had for the future.

You looked a little shell shocked at that, sure he’d been flirty but he’d never once made you think he was interested in more than a night or two.

“I can see the wheels turning in that pretty head y/n, don’t overthink it baby, just let me show you how good I can be.”

And he was, in fact, very good.

———————————————————————————

Tagging- @roosterforme @shanimallina87 @jessicab1991 @honeytwrites @heavenssins @dizzybee03 @kissmecaitie @sio-ina-bottle @sunsetsimpsblog @mynameismckenziemae @trickphotography2 @seitmai @callsigns-haze

[siwolism]

i was just going to ignore this because like a good three quarters of it is yap from someone who clearly doesn’t know me but yk what im sick and i have nothing better to do with my time

You spearheaded a conversation posting misinformation about Black American soldiers and tried to make a ham fisted correlation on how 'every American regardless of race is deeply evil' and are agents of imperialism.

black american soldiers are agents of imperialism. i don’t know what you a referring to when you say “misinformation” if you are referring to the fact that i said african american soldiers committed war crimes then that’s not misinformation that’s just a truth. yes every american regardless of race is evil.

Youre taking the comments of some random ni—s on tiktok about fried chicken as fact (it's not) and using that as 'proof' on how Black Americans (also how tf is this harassment) are on par with whites when it comes to privilege granted by imperialism.

point to me as to where i said that african americans are granted all of and the exact same privileges as white americans. if you can’t see the fact that having people who’s military still has 73 bases in your country and who has 25,000+ of their own soldiers stationed in your country talk about the fact that african american soldiers brought some of their culture over to korea while actively involved in genociding us as a positive little history funfact might make some koreans uncomfortable you must be severely lacking in empathy for anyone beyond yourself.

And it is especially hypocritical coming from , you, a South Korean. You are still part of the first world as well! South Korea is not a third world country!

yes, i know this, which is why throughout my post i never just say the global south i say “the global south and over america’s many neo colonies” & “global southerners and people from the “east”” learn to read pls & thank you. also fuck off. im only a south korean citizen because as a child the sanctions your country put on mine (earth to chilewithcarnage… i was born in hamhung) were so severe that having the type of cancer that runs in my paternal family was a death sentence. it was a death sentence for my uncle and for my grandad and for my own father. i am a south korean citizen because my scared widowed mother snuck us across a border illegally in the middle of the night. i am a south korean citizen because i am genetically predisposed to the cancer that kills 90% of its carriers in under 5 years and south korea has one of the world’s highest cancer survival rates. i am a south korean citizen because when i was a child south korean authorities took out a lighter and burnt my passport in front of me. i am only a south korean citizen because your country made it had to be so. also im moving to china in august my stint in the first world has been very short. unlimited genocide upon the first world

so you should be fine with me regarding you as an agent of imperialism as well?

go ahead. im taxed 6%. that goes to the south korean military and the wider military industrial complex.

You're talking about the global South in reference to Korea, do you think I'm stupid or something?

im not. which is pretty clear if you can read. if im ever referring to “korea” as being in the global south it will be because im talking about the dprk. but when im talking about the dprk ill usually just say the dprk. or north korea. and yes i do

Will you also acknowledge that Korea is taking part in the modern colonisation of Africa and that there are many Korean tech companies that are benefiting from the genocide in Congo?

yep. south korea is a genocidal neo colony of the united states and follows in the footsteps of its overlord. i think ive made my position on south korea pretty clear

Do you wanna talk about the fact when Korean women did have babies with those Black GIs they would dump them in orphanages or abandon them outside to die?

me when i blame the colonised instead of the coloniser. also do you think that the women giving up these children are in loving relationships with these african usamerican soldiers. or do you think these women are prostitutes who are too poor for children (hint: that’s why they are prostituting themselves) or flings who can’t afford to have the children of an absentee father because nobody in south korea can afford to have children. that’s why we had one of the lowest birthrates in the world for like. ages. and if you are talking about directly after the post war period then like. 1 in 10 koreans died. i also would not want my coloniser’s child. also do you know about comfort women and what was essentially sex slavery during the war? i don’t think many of the children were the result of consensual sex.

Do you wanna talk about the large amount of Korean men that are engaging in the sex trafficking of east/west African, South Asian and Pacific Islander girls and women? Do you wanna talk about that?

yes. made a whole post about it. spot-the-antisemitism called me racist north korean bot and misandrist against south korean men for it. i also made more but unfortunately they are lost to the void, this blog is only a couple weeks old. but i will continue to make more because south korean men are a plague on the earth. as i said in that post, “unconditional support to any seasian or pacific islander woman who saw a south korean man and immediately killed him.”

Do you wanna acknowledge the antiblackness and colorism that has existed in your country long before the Korean war?

yes. this doesn’t excuse committing genocide against us. also im part korean part chinese my skin is brown do you think i’ve never encountered colourism? obviously elements of anti blackness existed before the korean war east asians can be an incredibly racist population. also just after making my original post i made a post partially explaining race dynamics in south korea where i literally said one of the groups targeted by us military personnel is often african south koreans because they are some of the most discarded and least cared about people in this country and therefore us soldiers can get away with basically doing anything to them with no recourse. a lot of you seem to be implying that i think that anti-blackness after the korean war would be justified, which just no??

Do you wanna talk about the fact the Republic of Korea army also fought in the Iraq war & the war in Afghanistan?

yep. ive done that in the past and ill probably talk about it again. ive also said on this blog verbatim: “the south korean military is a us proxy force and every past and former member should be killed” btw i would think this even if they weren’t a proxy force solely because of their involvement in many a imperialist war and their many many many war crimes. i pray every south korean soldier gets severe ptsd and kills themselves.

Do you wanna talk about how the billion dollar Kpop industry culturally appropriates and steals Black music and aesthetics and almost never credits and properly compensates the Black American producers that make a lot of y'alls tracks?

yeah i mean ive never personally talked about it because it’s not something im super educated on and i think it’s been talked to death by people more informed on african usamerican culture then i am but like i can. i agree

Do you wanna talk about the way African immigrants & half black people are treated in your country?

yes, done that, will continue to do that

as for your last point, i do agree it was out of line. do know i refer to like. all usamericans like this and it wasn’t intentionally malicious. it was late, i was typing quickly. i didn’t think it through. not my best moment.

a small collection of posts ive made so you know that i didn’t just change view on the rok for this post

and this post from my old blog that you’ll just have to trust me bro about it being me

goodnight. 미제와 대한민국족속들을 무자비하게 짓뭉개버리자

[wolfbon3z]

I do agree with you on that! This reblog is not meant as hate is disapproval of your statements, simply an addition, even though unrelated to the actual point of your post :,3

One of my issues with this is, that these are kind of „requirements“ for getting attention on tiktok, which kind of ruins the idea of, well, self expression.

If you are alterhuman and u don’t show exactly this type of creativity or flexibility/endurance, then you won’t get attention, which on tumblr is completely fine, but on tiktok it’s just kind of not how that works.

Yes many creators make posts talking about how these things aren’t requirements nor do these make you a therian, but every time I stumble upon posts that say these things, show self expression in another way or simply aren’t „good“ enough at the things, they do not get to be seen for their actual skills.

Even though this isn’t really criticizing tiktok therians, I feel it is absolutely to complain about tiktok as a platform, which I could get into an entire rant about. To put it as simply as possible; on tiktok, for anyone who does not use it, you can either be famous and made into a content machine, or you are simply, a consumer.

If you are famous, it is either because you slowly built your audience through constantly joining trends and appealing to your general audience, or one of your videos accidentally blew up and got a bunch of attention, gaining you followers and people who do find interest in your content. Either way, you need to become a content machine thst posts regularly in a similar style or else you will lose interaction, which again, as stated, removed the entire point of SELF expression and rather puts you into this little cage like in a zoo, doing only tje tricks that the platform wants you to do (trust me, I was a small-ish content creator for a while and my neurodivergent ass decided to analyze this stuff)

The issue is that your creativity isn’t yours anymore once put out to the public cuz either you are unique but unseen, or you are mass-printing into trends but then really popular, to extend this metaphor even further. With this in mind, remember that if you are famous, people will listen to YOUR opinion, which causes issues involving drama, which spreads quite regularly on there. This also means that if you use labels and you give the definition, people will use that instead of actually looking things up before believing what they read on the internet (isn’t internet safety ironic).

Linking back to my statement about personal creativity being taken away from you; many people (especially on here) have made the statement that therian tiktok is ableist, which may seem confusing to many; here’s why. When you think of tiktok therians, you probably imagine people aged 14-18 doing VERY realistic quadrobics with the cat-base masks, wearing hippie or „fairycore grunge“ outfits, most being feminine presenting. This image often messes with any therians who are either older, have physical disadvantages either through disability, body shape or other physical factors, not getting them the reach they want, even if they try just as hard. This also goes for people who live in urban areas or live in a very violent/judgmental environment, making it unable to get time for yourself to try out this fun sport, which, again, means you aren’t getting any views on social media.

I coukd honestly do a whole study on the retention rate of therian tiktok and seeing what factors make what videos blow up more just to prove this, but I think my point is clear enough.

With all this 'tiktok therian' argument going on, let's say what we appreciate about the community despite the negatives- i'll go first I love seeing how creative tiktok therians are. Gear tutorials are readily available, and I love looking at how artistic folks can be. I love the POV quad videos, it's like i'm running through nature!! Its quite impressive how well folks can do quads, they're a pretty good workout! And quad tutorials that prioritize correct form and comfort so you dont get injured! I love seeing how brave folks are to go out in public with gear or do quads, unapologetically. I'm too nervous to do that.

I love my fellow therians, no matter what platform, and you should too.

[mattysketchup]

bf!matt streaming with influencer!reader

warnings… swearing, mentions of the doggy position (no actual smut), making out, unhinged twitch chat, use of y/n, slightly suggestive towards the end, use of y/n, matt gets a little jealous

(masterlist)

blessings and riches, tessa

“we’re streaming chris” nick spoke, warning chris before he said something stupid on live.

“oh hey guys” chris said with a goofy smile. “we decided to stream because it’s been so long since the last one”

“yeah, also matt is here i just think he’s just getting us some food” nick says to clear the air.

about fifteen minutes pass and the boys have been, well, chaotic.

“ ‘cause you can keep a trophy that you don’t deserve-”

“chris actually shut the fuck up please” nick begged. chris hadn’t stopped talking the entire stream, which led to nick snapping at him.

chris rolls his eyes at the comment, and looks at his phone.

“matt texted and said he was going to in n out, what do you want to eat” chris reads.

“just some fries and a dr pepper” nick says.

chris texts the orders to matt and begins to read the chat.

“people want matt up in here now” chris says, after reading a couple comments from the chat.

“everybody keeps asking if we’re gonna film with y/n again soon” nick says, squinting at the screen.

“yeah, we probably will” chris says. “she might be here right now or she left to get food with matt”

the second chris even mentions your presence, the chat goes wild.

the chat is filled with questions; when is your new video coming out? will you collab with the triplets again? are you dating anyone?

“yeah she’s out with matt but we can ask if she wants to hop on the stream later” nick says as chris offers to text you and ask.

| chris

hey when u and matt r back do u wanna hop on the stream

| me

yk what sureee

“she said sure” chris repeats your text, causing the chat to go crazier. (if possible)

around ten minutes pass, and the sound of you and matt walking in the house is noticeable by the boys.

“what up pussy gang” chris says as matt places the food on his bed, where the boys had been streaming

you follow behind him, awkwardly waving to the camera and sitting on matt’s bed.

the chat, once again, goes wild.

“so introduce yourself, give us a fun fact or two” nick says sarcastically, motioning to you.

“uhm hey, i’m y/n l/n, and i do youtube” you chuckle softly, the awkward silence speaking for you.

you and the boys talk some more while eating, until boredom starts to get the best of nick.

“should we play dress to impress?” nick suggests.

matt looks at the chat with his eyebrows raised. “chat should we play dress to impress?”

everybody in the chat starts saying yes, which ultimately led to the group playing the game.

“ok wait, y/n you start” nick says, moving out of the main seat so you could sit.

“okay the theme is…” you begin, waiting for the theme to be known. “famous youtuber. oh i’m about to fucking cook”

“wait how do i like move my screen?” you ask, turning to matt.

“you jus’ gotta…here” he brings his hand over yours, your cheeks turning a light shade of pink as he adjust your screen.

“ah thanks” you say, hoping no one notices the way you were hardcore blushing.

you put on the exact outfit you’re wearing; blue jeans, cropped shirt, grey jacket, the outfit is sort of basic but nonetheless a good choice.

you finish your outfit and it’s time for the runway. it’s your turn, and you start doing poses.

“wait i’m gonna put y/n l/n in the chat so people know who i am” you say as you do that.

“oh my f- you ate down” nick compliments you as you thank him.

“yeah y’look great” matt says, smiling. “aw thank you” you swoon.

you hit the pose where you are on your hands and knees, leading to matt’s disapproval.

“i hate that fucking doggy position” he says, and everyone goes wild.

you begin to laugh at the joke, looking at matt with a slightly alarmed face.

the audience didn’t know you were dating matt, and you didn’t need them too. however matt saying this was ironic, seeing as, well, you and matt have tried that position before.

the people vote, and that leaves you to see what you got. the results are in, and you won first place.

you start cheering and laughing, moving out of the way for matt to do his turn.

a while passes, the boys do their rounds and get a couple victories, which leads to boredom.

“should we answer some questions from the chat?” chris suggests in an attempt to cure the bored haze in the room.

you all agree and the chat gets filled with questions.

“ooh okay this one is for y/n” nick begins. “when is your next collab with carrington coming out?”

“i don’t know actually but we should definitely collab again” you smile. “i had a blast last time we did”

the moment another guys name is mentioned, matts head turns. he’s now very invested in the conversation.

although he knows that you’re his girlfriend who wouldn’t leave him, he couldn’t help but feel jealous that another man made you so happy.

the group reads a couple more questions and statements from the chat.

“someone said they got their back blown out in fresh love…” nick reads. “what the fuck.”

everyone laughs in pure shock and disbelief at why someone would randomly say that.

“can i have a sip?” you ask matt, motioning to the drink sitting in front of him.

“yeah, ‘course” he says, handing you the drink. “chat we’re probably gonna hop off soon”

another fifteen minutes pass and matt was being touchy, touchier than normal.

you knew matt wasn’t all about pda, especially on stream, so you knew it was something rather urgent.

“okay guys that is all for todays stream, thank you so much for tuning in and there will be a new video out on friday, bye!” chris says, ending the stream.

the moment chris closed out of that stream matt was quick to rush his brothers out of his room, wanting to be alone with you.

once the boys were gone, matt cupped your face into a passionate and hungry kiss.

a little bit passes and you pull away to catch your breath.

“matt hun what’s up?” you giggle from the sudden embrace.

he pushes you down on the bed, planting soft kisses on your neck and jaw.

“please sweetheart” matt whispers. “i jus’ need y’so fuckin’ bad”

your heart starts pounding harder than normal and you feel a familiar heat growing between your legs.

let’s just say, matt got what he needed.

tessa’s notes… i am so sorry for being inactive ! thank u all for reading, this is rlly long yet so rushed lol. thought i would bring this au back, lmk if i should make a proper introduction !!

more bf!matt x influencer!reader

comment 👾 to be added to the taglist !

[mywitchyblog]

hello! I really love your content, and I’ve been following you for quite some time. i think your opinions on various topics are very thoughtful and accurate, so i have a question.

i’ve been noticing a subject (particularly on shiftok😭) where many people express their dislike of others scripting traumatic events into their realities, included to create a more intense backstory for them. for example, scripting that they lost a parent when they were younger or went through psychotic depression as a child.

i’d like to hear your opinion on this. do you think it’s okay to script some kind of trauma or disorder? personally, I don’t see an issue with it since it doesn’t affect my life or anyone else’s, but i’d love to hear your perspective on this topic!

Oh, honey, you just brought up one of my favorite rant-worthy topics. Grab a snack because we’re diving in! 🍵✨

My ✨Personal✨ Take:

First, thank you for the love, darling! It’s always a vibe connecting with someone who actually gets it. 💅 Now, let’s talk trauma scripting, because whew, the discourse around this is hotter than Satan’s sauna.

Here’s the thing: your DR is YOURS. Period. Full stop. You can script a Disney princess life or the tragic backstory of a brooding anti-hero—it’s entirely up to you. If you want to script a life-altering trauma, go off, babe. As long as you understand what you’re doing, it’s valid.

Let’s debunk the idea that “scripting trauma is bad”: In your DR, you’re living that experience. It’s not just words on paper; it becomes your reality. So if scripting something intense—like losing a parent or battling a mental health condition—helps you process, heal, or simply add depth to your DR self, that’s your business. Trauma, when scripted thoughtfully, can even be therapeutic. For some, it’s about reclaiming control over a narrative that felt chaotic or unresolved in their CR.

But let’s be clear: this isn’t playtime. You will feel what you script. The loss, the grief, the psychotic depression? It will be as real in your DR as it is for someone who’s endured it in their CR. So, if you’re scripting trauma for kicks or because you think it’s “dramatic,” you might want to take a hard look at your intentions.

The Fanfic Shifters Rant (Aka I Hate These Hoes):

Now let me pop off on these Shiftok clowns for a second. 😤 You know exactly the ones I’m talking about: the “everything’s just a quirky little fanfic” crew who waltz into shifting spaces treating their DRs like a bad Wattpad draft.

These hoes (yes, HOES) script trauma the way they’d order a pumpkin spice latte—casually, without thinking. “Oh, I’ll just throw in some childhood abandonment and sprinkle in an abusive relationship for ✨character development✨.” Like, are you dumb? Trauma isn’t a fucking aesthetic. It’s not “flavor” for your DR backstory.

When these people romanticize trauma, they trivialize the pain that real survivors experience. And worse? They make the whole shifting community look like a joke. Imagine someone who’s genuinely trying to use their DR to heal from their CR trauma stumbling upon one of these idiots? Embarrassing. I hate these hoes with the fiery passion of a thousand suns. They treat shifting like a sandbox where nothing matters and then complain when they end up spiraling in their DR because “oops, I didn’t realize depression would feel like that.” 🤡

I cannot stress this enough: your DR isn’t a fanfic. It’s your LIFE. You’ll live it, breathe it, feel it—all of it. If you’re not prepared to shoulder the weight of the trauma you’re scripting, don’t do it. And if you’re scripting trauma because you think it’s cute or cool? Stay far, far away from me. You’re not just irresponsible—you’re dangerous.

TL;DR (But Make It Iconic):

Scripting trauma is okay—as long as you’re doing it with intention and understanding the consequences.

Don’t treat trauma like it’s a quirky little accessory for your DR backstory. It’s serious, babe. Respect it.

To the fanfic shifters romanticizing trauma: I hate you hoes. Y’all are the reason people side-eye our entire community. Fix it.

Remember, shifting is about creating your dream life, not trivializing the experiences of others or glorifying pain you’ve never lived. Be mindful, stay informed, and, most importantly, don’t be a clown. 🤡✨

[cjlouwho]

I Like the Taste of Vanilla

Start from the beginning on ao3, or read today's entry below.

Day 4: My Heart is Racing in a Weird Way

Tommy wasn't sure what was happening as Buck led him through the bar. Eyes lingered on them as they passed by each table until they reached a door that read Employees Only.

“Evan, what are we doing?” Tommy asked, scooting in closer to his boyfriend as people passed behind him.

“Hang on, you'll see.”

Buck knocked on the door and waited, glancing back at Tommy with a nervous smile.

“Did you get a job here?” Tommy asked. “Babe, are you hurting for money? I can-”

Buck pulled Tommy to his side and patted his chest. “Tommy, relax. Let's just... just wait.”

After waiting a few more seconds, the door opened just a crack. A man wearing far too much glitter, in Tommy's opinion, peered out. “Password.”

Buck grinned. “Paradise.”

The man eyed them both, then opened the door and let them inside, leading them down a hall.

“No touching unless given permission, although looking is highly recommended,” the man began to recite like he was giving a college tour, “use condoms, clean up your mess. No kink shaming. Sharing is caring.” He opened a door at the end of the hallway and moved to the side to let them through. “Have fun, newbies.”

“Ev- Evan, what are-”

“I do have a couple rules,” Buck interrupted, moving so he was directly in front of Tommy. “I really don't want anyone else touching you, and I don't want them touching me either.”

“Well, thank God for that,” Tommy mumbled, barely audible over the music and the moans. He cleared his throat, speaking a bit louder. “I don't want that either.”

Buck nodded. “Okay... Okay, good. I guess, um, we should f- find a spot then, right?”

“Um, oh, sorry,” Tommy moved as far into Buck's space as he could as a man in head to toe leather walked behind him with another man following him on a leash. “I, Evan, I don't know if there's any space here.”

“Sure there is!” Buck replied with a nervous laugh. “We don't take up that much space. Come on.”

They continued through the room, and Tommy couldn't help but feel far too overdressed in his blue jeans and black henley. He was sweaty, a bit panicky, and- “Is that... is his whole arm in there?” He froze, eyes wide at the sight of it.

Buck leaned in close to Tommy's ear. “No kink shaming,” he muttered.

“I'm not shaming, I'm impressed... and having some sympathy pains,” he added with a grimace. “Damn, he's going hard. I hope that man has good health insurance.”

Buck tugged at his arm, moving them along. “What about back here? Not too crowded. We c-”

He was cut off by the sound of a whip cracking nearby, followed by a yelp and a moan.

“Oh, Evan, my-” Tommy brought a hand up to his chest, flinching as the whip struck down again, “my heart is racing in a weird way.”

Alarmed, Buck held onto Tommy's arm, looking around until he found an exit. Making his way through the maze of bodies, Buck led them out of the building.

Tommy took the opportunity to take in a deep breath, the cool evening air hitting his face. “Sorry,” he said, leaning against the brick wall, “I know you wanted to do... whatever in there, it's just- that's not really for me.”

Buck's eyebrows furrowed. “Tommy, I don't care about any of that stuff. I thought it's what you wanted.”

“Hmm? Evan, why would I want that?”

“The movie!” Buck exclaimed, as though that explained everything.

“The movie? What movie?”

Buck groaned. “The movie we saw a couple weeks ago. They had a scene in the back of a seedy bar where all kinds of kinky shit was happening. You popped a boner in the theater!”

“That's because Cheyenne Jackson did full frontal and I'm human!”

Buck put his hands on his hips. “S- So it didn't have anything to do with the, uh, the chains or the, um, the other stuff?”

“God, no,” Tommy replied with a shake of the head. “I mean, sometimes things can be hot in theory, but it doesn't mean I wanna do it. This, however,” he said, pointing back toward the bar, “scared me more than war.”

Buck laughed, rolling his eyes. “I highly doubt that.”

Tommy held his arms open, waving Buck toward him. Without hesitation, Buck wrapped himself up in Tommy's arms. “Okay, maybe it didn't scare me more than war,” Tommy admitted, pressing a kiss to Buck's temple, “but it did leave me with some phantom pains. Did you see how hard that fist was-”

“I saw, I saw,” Buck interrupted with a shiver. “I know I always say I want to feel you the next day, but I'm not sure I'd want you rearranging my organs like that.”

Tommy laughed, tapping at Buck's side until he leaned back enough for them to look at one another. “You spent the last two weeks researching this place, didn't you?”

“It was the only one with five stars,” Buck whined. “And I wanted to go somewhere that I knew no one would just start touching you, or me.”

“I will say that, in the forty-five seconds we were in there, they were all very respectful,” Tommy admitted. “I just don't think I'm the fuck-you-in-a-room-full-of-people type. I also hated how they were all looking at you like they wanted to eat you.”

“Oh, please!” Buck huffed. “They were looking at you like that, not- not me. I was so close to jabbing some eyes out.”

“I disagree. Not about jabbing eyes, but about where the eyes were focused.”

“Agree to disagree.”

They were silent for a moment. Tommy looked off to the side, lips pursed.

“What is it?” Buck asked.

“Can we just talk about the fact that the place cannot be sanitary? I know they say to clean up after yourself, but God, Evan, there's no way-”

“I know, I know,” Buck soothed, running his hand over Tommy's chest. “I thought about that too.”

Tommy eyed Buck briefly before reaching up and cupping his face, pulling him in for a gentle kiss. “Can you do me a favor?” he asked, his thumbs stroking Buck's cheek.

“What?”

“Next time you think there's a kink I wanna try out... ask me.”

“You mean you haven't loved my surprises?” Buck joked.

“Oh, they're great,” Tommy answered sarcastically. “I am afraid the next one might actually kill me though.”

With a smile, Buck took hold of Tommy's hands and pulled him away from the wall. “Ready to go home?”

“Hell yeah. Can we get in bed and do none of the things I just witnessed in there?”

Buck cocked his head to the side. “You mean you don't wanna shove your arm so deep inside me you could pull out my heart?”

Tommy shivered. “Evan,” he whined, “I'd almost forgotten about it.”

“Honey, there are some things the mind will never forget,” Buck replied as they reached the truck. “That was absolutely one of them.”

[hisfavegirl]

A Forbidden Flame - Modern!Daemon Targaryen x Girlfriend!Reader

Summary : The story of love, loss, and regret began in the shadows, but it would soon unfold in the most painful way. Daemon’s heart would be shattered as the consequences of his reckless love echoed through his world. What had started as a passion-driven affair would become the deepest regret of his life—a regret that would haunt him for as long as he lived. And so, as the storm brewed on the horizon, Daemon Targaryen was about to learn that the greatest cost of love was not the sacrifice of the heart, but the devastation of losing it all.

Daemon Masterlist.

You never imagined that working with Daemon Targaryen would lead you down this path. What began as a professional relationship quickly spiraled into something far more complex, far more dangerous. The world knows Daemon as the charismatic and ruthless executive, always a step ahead in the cutthroat world of business. But behind closed doors, he is something else entirely—yours.

Your relationship is a well-kept secret, hidden from the prying eyes of the public and, most importantly, from his wife, Rhaenyra. She often travels abroad, handling international ventures or attending exclusive events that demand her presence. Whenever she’s away, it’s as if the world belongs to you and Daemon alone. In those moments, he is yours, and you are his—completely, passionately, and undeniably.

Daemon made it clear from the beginning: you are his and only his. His possessiveness is both thrilling and terrifying, a constant reminder of the precariousness of your situation. He whispers it to you in the dark, his voice laced with a promise that no one else will ever have you. “You are mine,” he says, each word a declaration, a claim that leaves no room for doubt.

Despite the secrecy, the stolen glances, and the heated moments in his office when the world outside fades away, you can’t deny the intensity of your connection. It’s a dangerous dance, one that could unravel everything if ever exposed. Yet, you find yourself unable to resist him, the allure of his presence too strong to deny.

You know the risks, the consequences that would follow if anyone ever found out. But in the quiet of the night, when it’s just the two of you, none of that seems to matter. All that exists is the fire between you, burning brightly in the shadows of your hidden world.

The grand hall is alive with the hum of conversation and the clinking of glasses, the air thick with the scent of expensive perfume and the soft glow of chandeliers casting a golden light over the gathered elite. You stand by Daemon’s side, your elegant black gown hugging your figure in all the right places. It’s daring, yet refined, commanding the attention of everyone in the room. Tonight, you are his companion, the one who stands beside him when Rhaenyra chooses not to.

Daemon’s hand rests possessively on your lower back as he leans in, his lips brushing against your ear. “I don’t like how they’re looking at you,” he murmurs, his voice low and edged with a quiet warning. “They forget that you belong to me.”

You chuckle softly, a delicate sound that only he can hear over the murmur of the crowd. “Let them look,” you tease, glancing up at him with a playful smile. “It’s not as if they can have what’s yours.”

His grip tightens slightly, his gaze flickering with a mixture of pride and frustration. He enjoys the attention you garner, but only to a point. It feeds his ego to have the most captivating woman in the room by his side, yet it stokes his possessiveness to see others admire what he considers his alone.

Before he can respond, a movement from the corner of your eye catches your attention. Aegon and Aemond, Daemon’s nephews, approach with their usual confident stride. Both dressed impeccably, their sharp features mirror the unmistakable Targaryen lineage. Their eyes, however, are locked on their uncle as they draw closer.

“Uncle,” Aegon greets with a smirk, his gaze briefly flickering to you before returning to Daemon. “Mind if we steal you away for a moment?”

Aemond, more reserved but no less observant, nods in agreement, his single eye—hidden beneath a patch—studying you with quiet curiosity. “There’s something we’d like to discuss.”

Daemon’s hand lingers on your back for a moment longer, a silent reassurance before he turns to face his nephews. “Of course,” he says, though his voice holds a trace of reluctance. “But make it quick.”

As Daemon steps aside with Aegon and Aemond, you’re left momentarily alone, the weight of their curious glances lingering on you. You can feel the subtle tension in the air, a silent acknowledgment of the complex dynamics at play. Though the room continues to buzz with conversation, you can’t shake the feeling that eyes are still on you—not just from the crowd, but from the two young men now engaged in a hushed conversation with Daemon.

You take a steady breath, reminding yourself of your place beside Daemon. This world, with all its secrets and power plays, is as much yours now as it is his. And no matter how many eyes linger, you know that in the end, Daemon’s attention—his fierce, unyielding devotion—belongs solely to you.

The lively chatter of the room falters for a moment as Daemon’s voice, sharp and heated, cuts through the air. He’s nearly shouting, his usual calm exterior cracking as he glares at Aegon, his frustration bubbling over. You can feel the tension escalating, the attention of the nearby guests subtly shifting toward the unfolding scene.

Concerned, you step forward, placing a gentle hand on Daemon’s arm. “Daemon,” you murmur softly, your voice soothing, “please, not here.” Your eyes plead with him to calm down, aware that the spectacle is drawing too much notice.

But before Daemon can respond, Aemond reaches out, his hand brushing yours as he grips it firmly. “Everything is fine,” he says in a low, measured tone, his gaze steady and composed. There’s something about his calm demeanor that contrasts sharply with Daemon’s simmering anger, and for a brief moment, the tension seems to ease.

Daemon’s eyes darken as he watches Aemond’s hand on yours, a flicker of possessive fury flashing across his face. Without a word, he steps forward, swatting Aemond’s hand away from yours with a forceful gesture. His jaw clenches, and his hand finds its way to your lower back again, guiding you firmly away from his nephews.

The air between the four of you is thick with unspoken words and lingering tension, but Daemon doesn’t look back. He leads you through the crowd, his grip firm, as he maneuvers you both toward a quieter corner of the hall, away from prying eyes.

Once you’re alone, his gaze softens slightly, though the remnants of his anger still linger. “Are you alright?” he asks, his hand brushing a stray strand of hair from your face. His concern is genuine, though tinged with the frustration that moments ago had threatened to boil over.

“I’m fine,” you assure him, your hand resting on his chest. “But you need to calm down. This isn’t the place for confrontations.”

Daemon takes a deep breath, his eyes searching yours for a moment before nodding. “I just can’t stand them interfering,” he admits, his voice quieter now. “Especially when it comes to you.”

You smile softly, leaning in to press a reassuring kiss to his cheek. “I’m yours, Daemon. No one else’s. Let’s not give them the satisfaction of seeing us rattle.”

His arm tightens around you, pulling you closer as he sighs. “You’re right,” he concedes. “I won’t let them ruin our night.”

Together, you both turn back to the gathering, a united front once more. The storm that had threatened to erupt has passed—for now—but the undercurrents of tension remain, a reminder that in this world of power and pride, nothing is ever truly at rest.

The evening had begun to settle into a comfortable rhythm once more. Daemon, though still watchful, allowed you a moment to yourself as you requested permission to fetch a drink. His eyes lingered on you as you moved through the crowd, a quiet reminder of his ever-present vigilance.

As you stepped away, the cool air of the corridor offered a brief respite from the heat of the crowded hall. But before you could take more than a few steps, a sudden, forceful grip seized your arm, yanking you into the dimly lit hallway. The world around you blurred as you stumbled, your heart pounding in your chest.

You barely had time to react before a sharp blow landed on your shoulder, sending a jolt of pain through your body. The last thing you saw before darkness claimed you was the cold, unfeeling floor rushing up to meet you.

Back in the grand hall, Daemon’s unease grew with each passing moment. He checked his watch, his gaze flickering toward the spot where he had last seen you. Minutes stretched into what felt like hours as he waited, his foot tapping anxiously against the polished floor.

When you didn’t return, the knot of worry in his chest tightened. He scanned the room, his sharp eyes searching for any sign of you. His heart began to race as he realized you were nowhere to be seen.

Daemon moved quickly, his steps purposeful as he pushed through the crowd, calling your name under his breath. The anxiety clawed at his composure, each passing second feeding the growing dread in his gut.

Pulling out his phone, he dialed your number, hoping to hear your voice, to hear anything that would reassure him. But the shrill ring echoed from a distance, pulling his gaze toward the far end of the hallway. There, lying carelessly on the floor, was your phone, the screen glowing faintly in the dim light. Beside it, your handbag lay discarded, a stark and chilling testament to your sudden disappearance.

Daemon’s blood ran cold, his mind racing through the possibilities, each one darker than the last. His heart pounded in his chest as he crouched down, picking up your phone with a trembling hand. The realization hit him like a blow: you were gone, and someone had taken you.

Without wasting another moment, he rose to his feet, his jaw set in a grim line. Whoever had dared to take you would pay dearly. Daemon’s fury burned just beneath the surface, a dangerous storm brewing as he vowed to find you—no matter what it took.

Daemon’s fury was barely contained as he stormed towards Aegon and Aemond, his footsteps echoing in the silence of the corridor. His eyes burned with a cold fire, his jaw clenched tight in frustration. Without a word, he reached out and roughly grabbed Aegon by the collar, yanking him closer.

“Where is she?” Daemon’s voice was low, dangerous, as he demanded an answer. “What have you done with her?”

Aegon recoiled, his eyes wide with confusion. “I don’t know, Daemon,” he replied, his voice shaky. “I swear, I don’t know anything about where she is. I haven’t seen her since you sent me away.”

Daemon’s gaze hardened as he released Aegon, his grip tightening into a fist at his side. Aemond stepped forward, his calm demeanor a stark contrast to Daemon’s seething anger. Without hesitation, he placed a hand on Daemon’s arm, pulling him away from Aegon.

“Let’s take this outside,” Aemond said, his voice steady and measured, but with an underlying urgency. “We need to think this through, away from the prying eyes of the guests.”

Daemon didn’t hesitate, following Aemond’s lead as they both made their way out of the hall and into the cool night air. The tension between them was palpable, but Aemond knew this was the only way to prevent Daemon from exploding in front of the crowd.

Once they were safely out of sight, Aemond turned to Daemon, his face thoughtful but wary. “It could be the Lannisters,” he suggested, his voice low. “The rivalry between our families, the business competition… they have always been opportunistic.”

Daemon’s gaze flickered, considering the possibility. The Lannisters were indeed ruthless in their pursuit of power, but something about this felt wrong. “Why her?” Daemon muttered under his breath, pacing back and forth. “Why take her and not my children? Not my wife?” The confusion in his voice was evident, the question lingering in the cold air between them.

Aemond’s expression darkened, and he looked over at his uncle. “It could also be the Baratheons,” he suggested, his tone now tinged with suspicion. “The tensions between you and Borros… that conflict was months ago, but who knows how deep their grudges run? Maybe they see her as leverage against you.”

Daemon stopped in his tracks, his gaze hardening as he turned back to Aemond. “But why her?” he repeated, his fists clenching as frustration built inside him. “She’s not a pawn, Aemond. She’s not some piece in this damn game.”

Aemond’s silence was deafening as he considered Daemon’s words. He understood his uncle’s pain, but he couldn’t help but acknowledge the possibility that whoever was behind this might have had other reasons—reasons beyond simple political strategy.

Daemon’s mind raced with possibilities, but none of them made sense. Why take you? He couldn’t fathom the reasons, but one thing was clear: whoever was behind this had made a grave mistake. They had just provoked the wrong Targaryen. And Daemon would burn the world down to find you and bring you back, no matter the cost.

Daemon’s hands gripped the steering wheel with a white-knuckled intensity, his knuckles pale from the force. His eyes were narrowed, burning with a fury that seemed to radiate off him in waves. The road ahead was a blur, his mind consumed by thoughts of you, his heart pounding in his chest with each passing second.

He slammed his fist against the steering wheel, the sound of it echoing through the car’s interior as frustration and desperation collided inside him. “Find her,” he growled into the phone, his voice a low snarl. “I don’t care where you have to look, I want her found now.”

The voice on the other end of the line stammered, trying to reassure him. “Sir, we’re already—”

“I don’t want excuses,” Daemon cut in, his voice sharp and commanding. “I want results. Now. If I have to tear apart every Lannister and Baratheon stronghold, I’ll do it myself.”

The words hung in the air, a promise to burn every bridge and destroy anyone who stood in his way. He couldn’t afford to lose you, not now, not when everything in his life felt like it was slipping through his fingers. The thought of you in danger, out of his reach, made his blood boil with rage.

He disconnected the call abruptly and sped up, ignoring the speed limits as his mind raced. He wasn’t sure where to go, but he knew he couldn’t waste any time. Each second felt like a lifetime, each mile that passed without finding you adding another weight to his chest.

Daemon’s thoughts drifted to the last time he saw you—your smile, your warmth, everything about you that made him feel alive. He could still feel the lingering touch of your hand, the warmth of your embrace. And now, you were gone, taken by someone who dared to challenge him. The person who did this had no idea who they were dealing with.

“Come back to me,” he whispered under his breath, his voice hoarse with emotion. He had to find you. He would tear down the world if that’s what it took to bring you home.

His phone rang again, the voice on the other end speaking quickly, urgently. “Sir, we’ve checked the Lannister and Baratheon estates. There’s no sign of her.”

“Keep searching,” he snapped, his jaw tightening. “I don’t care what it takes. Someone has her, and I’m going to make them regret it. Keep me updated, or I swear I’ll handle this myself.”

He hung up and stared out into the night, his mind swirling with thoughts of the worst possible outcomes. The silence of the road stretched out before him, but Daemon couldn’t feel any peace. All he could feel was the burning need to find you, to ensure that nothing had happened to you, and to make those who took you pay for their sins.

Daemon parked his car haphazardly in the driveway, not caring about the angle or the crunch of gravel beneath the tires. His mind was a whirlwind of rage and desperation as he stormed into his home, his steps quick and purposeful. He was heading straight for his study, the place where he could think, plan, and command the search for you in secrecy.

But before he could reach the sanctuary of his workspace, a familiar voice called out, stopping him in his tracks. “Daemon?” Rhaenyra’s soft, inquisitive tone echoed through the hallway, laced with concern. She appeared from the shadows, her brow furrowed as she approached him. “Is everything all right? You look… tense.”

Daemon’s heart clenched at the sight of his wife, her eyes filled with worry. He couldn’t let her know the truth. The affair, the disappearance—it was a storm he had to weather alone. Quickly, he masked his turmoil with a feigned calmness, his lips curling into a tight, unconvincing smile.

“It’s nothing,” he said, his voice steady, though his hands still trembled slightly from the adrenaline coursing through his veins. “There was a misunderstanding with the Tullys at the party. It got a bit heated, that’s all.”

Rhaenyra’s eyes searched his, trying to read the storm behind his words. “Are you sure that’s all?” she asked, her voice gentle but probing. “You seem more than just upset.”

Daemon stepped closer, placing a hand on her shoulder in an attempt to reassure her. “It’s under control,” he lied smoothly, though his mind was anything but. “I just need some time to cool down.”

She nodded slowly, though the concern never left her eyes. “If you need to talk, I’m here,” she offered, her voice softening. “You know that, right?”

“I know,” Daemon replied, his tone warmer, though guilt gnawed at his insides. He kissed her forehead, a gesture meant to end the conversation. “I’ll be in my study. I just need to gather my thoughts.”

With that, he turned and continued towards his study, his expression hardening once more as soon as he was out of her sight. The weight of his secrets bore down on him like never before. The thought of you out there, missing, possibly in danger, consumed him entirely.

Once inside the study, he shut the door firmly behind him and leaned against it for a moment, exhaling deeply. The room was dark, save for the faint glow of the moonlight filtering through the curtains. He walked to his desk, picked up his phone, and began dialing furiously, issuing commands to his men with a voice that brooked no argument.

“Find her,” he repeated, his words a cold, unwavering directive. “I don’t care how you do it, just find her. And whoever is responsible, make sure they understand what it means to cross me.”

His fists clenched as he ended the call, his mind a battleground of fear, anger, and longing. He couldn’t let Rhaenyra find out, couldn’t let this scandal unravel the life he had carefully constructed. But above all, he couldn’t lose you. Not now. Not ever.

Daemon sat at his desk, his laptop glowing dimly in the darkened room. His fingers moved swiftly across the keyboard as he contacted everyone he knew—old allies, informants, anyone who owed him a favor. His messages were short and urgent, each one a call to arms in the desperate search for you.

But then, a soft chime pulled his attention away. A notification had appeared at the corner of his screen. His brow furrowed as he clicked on it, the screen shifting to reveal a video file. Hesitation gripped him for a brief moment, but he couldn’t afford to wait. He clicked play.

The video opened to a dimly lit room, the shadows swallowing most of the details. But what stood out, stark and undeniable, was you—unconscious, bound to a chair, your head slumped forward, strands of your hair falling across your face. The peaceful expression on your face, despite the circumstances, tore through Daemon like a blade.

His breath caught in his throat, the image of you in such a vulnerable state igniting a firestorm of rage within him. His fists clenched tightly, his knuckles turning white as he stared at the screen. The room around him seemed to blur, his focus narrowing solely on you.

The sound of his heartbeat thundered in his ears as he watched, helpless for the moment but brimming with a dangerous resolve. Whoever had done this had made their move, taunting him with your captivity. The video ended abruptly, leaving the screen black, but Daemon’s anger blazed brighter than ever.

His hand trembled as he shut the laptop, the echo of the closing lid reverberating in the silence. Standing abruptly, he paced the room, his mind racing with possibilities. Every second counted, every delay felt like an eternity, but now he had a clue—a glimpse into where you were and what you were enduring.

With a sharp inhale, he grabbed his phone again, his voice cold and cutting as he barked out new orders. “I have a lead. Find that room. Check every dark corner, every abandoned building, every place those bastards could be hiding. I want her found now.”

His gaze drifted back to the laptop, the image of you seared into his memory. His jaw clenched as he made a silent vow. He would find you. And when he did, there would be no mercy for those who dared to hurt you. They would learn the true extent of his wrath.

Daemon’s eyes were fixed on the video replaying on his laptop, scrutinizing every frame for any clue that could lead him to you. His mind raced through possibilities, trying to piece together the puzzle of your whereabouts. The dim lighting, the faint sounds in the background—every detail could be crucial.

But his concentration was broken when the door to his study creaked open. He looked up sharply, his expression softening just enough to mask the storm within as Rhaenyra stepped in, cradling their child in her arms. The sight of them, serene and innocent, was a stark contrast to the chaos brewing inside him.

“I wanted to let you know,” Rhaenyra began, her voice gentle but tired, “that I have to leave for Dragonstone tomorrow. There are matters I need to attend to.”

Daemon rose from his chair, crossing the room swiftly. He cupped her face gently, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “Of course,” he murmured, his tone warm, betraying none of the turmoil he felt. “You should rest then. We both should, if you have to leave early.”

Rhaenyra nodded, leaning into his touch, unaware of the turmoil that lay just beneath the surface. “Come to bed,” she whispered, her voice laced with concern. “You’ve been tense all night.”

“I will,” Daemon promised, guiding her out of the study, their child nestled between them. He walked alongside her towards their chambers, his steps steady, his demeanor calm. But beneath the surface, his mind remained a battlefield.

As they settled into bed, Daemon lay beside Rhaenyra, holding her close as she drifted off to sleep. He stared at the ceiling, his thoughts consumed by you. The frustration and fury he had buried for her sake simmered just beneath his skin, threatening to boil over.

He couldn’t let Rhaenyra suspect anything, not now. Not until he had you back, safe and sound. For now, he had to wear the mask of normalcy, playing the role of the devoted husband and father. But once the lights were out and the house was silent, his mind would return to the search, driven by the burning need to find you and end the nightmare that had gripped his life.

Cold water splashed over your face, jolting you awake from the darkness that had claimed you. Gasping, you blinked rapidly, your vision blurry as you tried to make sense of your surroundings. The air was damp and stale, the faint hum of distant machinery the only sound in the dimly lit room. Your wrists and ankles were bound tightly to a chair, the rough ropes biting into your skin.

As your vision cleared, you focused on the figure standing in front of you-a woman, unfamiliar and stern, her eyes cold and calculating. She watched you with a mixture of contempt and curiosity, as if deciding what to do next. Before you could speak, her hand lashed out, striking your cheek with a sharp, stinging slap. The force of the blow left your face burning, tears welling up in your eyes.

"Please," you choked out, your voice trembling.

"What do you want from me? Why are you doing this?"

The woman didn't answer. Her expression remained stoic, devoid of any empathy. She stared at you for a moment longer, then turned on her heel, her footsteps echoing as she walked away. The heavy door creaked open, casting a sliver of light into the room before it closed behind her with a resounding thud, plunging you back into near darkness.

Left alone, fear surged through your veins, your heart pounding in your chest. You struggled against the bindings, but they held fast. Tears streamed down your face as the weight of the situation settled over you. You had no idea who this woman was or why she had taken you. The uncertainty was suffocating.

In the silence, your thoughts drifted to Daemon. You knew he would be searching for you, relentless and unyielding. He wouldn't rest until he found you. Clinging to that hope, you steadied your breathing, determined to stay strong. You had to believe that he would come for you, that this nightmare would end.

Your voice, hoarse from hours of shouting, echoed weakly in the oppressive darkness. You had called for help, screamed until your throat was raw, but there was no response, only the deafening silence of the cold, damp room. The chill from your soaked gown seeped into your bones, causing your body to shiver uncontrollably. The thin fabric clung to your skin, offering no protection from the relentless cold.

You had lost all sense of time, the absence of windows or any sign of the outside world leaving you disoriented. The darkness seemed to stretch on endlessly, an eternal night that left you feeling isolated and vulnerable. You closed your eyes, trying to focus on the sound of your breathing, anything to anchor you in the present.

In the depths of your fear, your thoughts returned to Daemon. You could almost hear his voice, calm and reassuring, promising to protect you no matter what. You clung to that image, whispering silent prayers into the void, hoping that he could somehow sense your distress.

“Please,” you murmured, your voice barely audible. “Find me.”

Your heart ached with the longing to see him again, to feel his arms around you, safe and secure. The bond you shared with him was your lifeline, the only thing keeping you from succumbing to despair. You knew he would be relentless in his search, that he would stop at nothing to bring you back.

As the minutes dragged into hours, your body grew weaker, the cold sapping your strength. But you refused to give in. You had to hold on, had to believe that rescue was on its way. With each breath, you summoned the strength to endure, hoping that the next sound you heard would be Daemon’s voice calling your name, pulling you out of the darkness and into the light.

Daemon stood on the tarmac, his eyes following the private jet as it ascended into the sky, carrying Rhaenyra away to Dragonstone. As the plane disappeared from view, he reached for his phone, immediately dialing one of his most trusted men.

“Any updates?” His voice was clipped, laced with barely contained fury.

“Not yet, sir,” came the hesitant reply. “We’re combing through all possible leads, but nothing solid has come up.”

“Then dig deeper,” Daemon snapped. “I want every contact, every informant pressed for information. No stone unturned. Understand?”

“Yes, sir. We’ll find her.”

Daemon ended the call abruptly, shoving the phone back into his pocket. His jaw clenched, the muscles in his neck taut with tension. The frustration of your disappearance gnawed at him, the helplessness an unfamiliar and unwelcome sensation.

He turned and strode towards his car, his steps quick and purposeful. Sliding into the driver’s seat, he started the engine and sped away from the airstrip, the roar of the car echoing in the crisp morning air. The road blurred as he drove, his mind racing with thoughts of you—where you could be, who could have taken you, and why.

His hands tightened around the steering wheel, knuckles whitening as he navigated through the city streets. Every moment you were missing felt like an eternity. The image of your phone and handbag abandoned in that corridor haunted him, a grim reminder of how swiftly you had been taken from him.

As he neared the house, Daemon’s mind shifted gears. He needed to remain composed, at least on the surface. Rhaenyra might be away, but the rest of the household staff would be watching. He had to maintain the façade, to keep suspicion at bay while he orchestrated the search behind the scenes.

Pulling into the driveway, Daemon parked the car and took a moment to gather himself. His gaze hardened, determination flickering in his eyes. He would find you. And when he did, there would be hell to pay for those who had dared to take you from him.

Daemon entered his study, his sharp gaze immediately falling on Aegon and Aemond, who were seated casually, their expressions a mix of curiosity and impatience. He had summoned them here, knowing he needed all the resources and connections he could muster to find you. But the tension in the room was palpable, each man bringing their own agenda to the table.

Daemon moved to his desk, leaning against it, arms crossed as he assessed the two men before him. “We need to strategize,” he began, his voice low but commanding. “Every minute we waste is a minute she remains in danger. We need to track down every lead, every possible motive for this abduction.”

Aegon nodded, his usual nonchalance replaced by a rare seriousness. “I’ve already contacted a few people who might have information. We’ll get some answers soon.”

Aemond, ever the tactician, added, “I’ve dispatched a few of our men to shadow known enemies. If this is a power play, we’ll have something to leverage.”

For a moment, there was a semblance of unity, a shared goal. But then Aemond’s gaze hardened, his curiosity turning to skepticism. “But I have to ask, Daemon,” he said, his tone cold and calculating, “what makes her so important? She’s just your mistress, isn’t she? Is she worth all this effort?”

The question hung in the air like a blade, sharp and poised to cut. Daemon’s jaw tightened, his hands clenching into fists at his sides. A flash of anger crossed his features, his control slipping for a brief moment.

“She’s more than that,” Daemon growled, his voice laced with venom. “She is mine. And no one takes what is mine without consequence.”

Aemond’s eyes narrowed, but he held his ground, a subtle challenge in his gaze. Aegon shifted uncomfortably, sensing the rising tension. “We’re all on the same side here,” Aegon interjected, trying to diffuse the situation. “Let’s focus on finding her first.”

Daemon inhaled deeply, forcing himself to calm down. He couldn’t afford to lose focus. His priority was finding you, and petty rivalries would only slow them down.

“You’re right,” Daemon conceded, though his eyes never left Aemond’s. “We find her first. Then we deal with everything else.”

The room fell into a heavy silence, the weight of their mission pressing down on all of them. Despite the underlying tension, they knew they had to work together. Time was running out, and you were still out there, waiting to be found.

Daemon was pacing the room when Aegon’s voice cut through the tense atmosphere. “Daemon, wait!” Aegon called, his eyes fixed on the paused frame of the video on the laptop screen. “Look here, in the corner,” he pointed, enlarging the image to reveal a faint but unmistakable symbol etched into the shadowed wall. It was the sigil of House Baratheon.

Daemon’s eyes narrowed, his mind racing as the implications of the discovery sank in. Without hesitation, he grabbed the keys to his car and a pistol from the desk drawer. He was already halfway to the door when Aegon spoke again, his voice filled with urgency.

“Daemon, we need to plan this out!” Aegon shouted, moving to block his path, but Daemon brushed past him with a determined stride.

“Don’t be reckless!” Aemond added, stepping forward, his hand reaching out to stop his uncle. “We’ll go with you. You can’t just—”

But Daemon was already out the door, his mind singularly focused on one thing: getting to you. The roar of the engine echoed through the courtyard as he peeled out of the driveway, leaving Aegon and Aemond behind, their shouts fading into the distance.

The drive to the Baratheon estate was a blur, the city lights streaking past as Daemon pushed the car to its limits. His grip on the steering wheel was tight, his knuckles white with tension. His mind played through every possible scenario, each one ending with him bringing you back safely. The pistol on the passenger seat was a silent promise of what would happen to anyone who stood in his way.

As the grand gates of the Baratheon estate loomed ahead, Daemon slowed, his eyes scanning the surroundings for any sign of a trap. His heart pounded in his chest, but his resolve was unwavering. He was here to reclaim what was his, and nothing would stop him.

Pulling the car to a stop just outside the gates, Daemon stepped out, the pistol now firmly in his grip. His gaze hardened as he approached the estate, his mind a flurry of tactics and determination.

The hunt had begun, and Daemon Targaryen was a man on a mission.

The stillness of the night was shattered by Daemon’s furious shout. “Borros Baratheon! Get out here!” His voice echoed through the vast grounds of the Baratheon estate, filled with rage and desperation.

Behind him, the rumble of several cars pulling up signaled the arrival of his reinforcements—his own men, as well as some from Aegon and Aemond. Their presence added to the tension in the air, a silent promise of the lengths Daemon was willing to go.

The grand doors of the estate creaked open, and Borros Baratheon emerged, flanked by his guards. His expression was a mix of confusion and indignation. Before he could utter a word, Daemon raised his pistol, aiming directly at Borros.

“Where is she?” Daemon demanded, his voice like a whip. “Where are you hiding her?”

Borros raised his hands slightly, signaling his men to hold their fire, though they kept their weapons trained on Daemon. “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Borros replied, his tone measured but firm. “You’re making a mistake, Targaryen.”

Daemon’s grip on the pistol tightened. “Don’t lie to me,” he growled. “I saw your symbol in the video. She’s here, and I’m not leaving without her.”

“I don’t have your mistress,” Borros said coldly. “If someone used my symbol, it wasn’t with my knowledge.”

Daemon’s eyes narrowed. He didn’t believe him. Without lowering his weapon, he pulled out his phone and called his men. “Search the entire estate,” he ordered. “Every room, every corner. I want her found.”

Borros stiffened but remained silent as Daemon’s men and their allies stormed the estate, searching every inch of the property. The tension between the two men was palpable, each second stretching into an eternity as they waited for news.

Minutes turned into hours, and one by one, the search parties returned, their expressions grim. The leader of Daemon’s men approached, shaking his head. “We’ve searched everywhere, sir. She’s not here.”

Daemon’s jaw clenched, his fury barely contained. He lowered the pistol but kept his gaze locked on Borros. “If I find out you had anything to do with this,” Daemon warned, his voice low and dangerous, “there will be no place you can hide.”

Borros met his gaze without flinching. “I suggest you find out who really took her,” he said. “Before it’s too late.”

Daemon turned on his heel, marching back to his car with his men following closely behind. As he got behind the wheel, his mind was already racing, considering his next move. He knew time was running out, and failure was not an option.

Your head snapped to the side as the door creaked open once more, the dim light casting a shadow over the figure stepping inside. The woman approached you with a cold, calculating expression, her eyes filled with disdain. Without warning, her hand shot out, gripping your face roughly, her nails digging into your skin.

"Why?" she hissed, her voice laced with venom. "Why would Daemon betray Rhaenyra for someone like you?"

Tears welled up in your eyes, your heart pounding with fear and guilt. You remained silent, unable to find the words to respond. If this was the reason for your capture, you cursed your own feelings, the forbidden nature of your relationship with Daemon now a bitter weight on your soul.

The woman's patience was thin. Frustrated by your lack of response, she struck you across the face again, the sting of her slap burning your skin. "Answer me!" she demanded, her voice rising with anger.

Your body trembled, the cold seeping into your bones, exacerbated by the dampness of your dress. You could barely manage to whisper, "I don't know."

The woman's grip tightened, her face inches from yours. "You don't know?" she spat. "You ruined everything, and you don't even know why?"

You sobbed softly, the pain of her words cutting deeper than the physical blows. "| never meant for any of this," you choked out. "I didn't want to hurt anyone."

The woman released you with a shove, making you stumble back against the chair. She paced the room, her anger simmering. "You're nothing but a distraction," she muttered, more to herself than to you. "Daemon will pay for this."

You watched her, fear knotting in your stomach. The reality of your situation pressed down on you, the hopelessness of escape looming large. Yet, through the haze of fear, a glimmer of hope flickered-Daemon would find you. He had to.

Daemon stormed into his home, his emotions a whirlwind of rage and despair. His footsteps echoed loudly in the silent hallways, his heart pounding with frustration. In the dimly lit living room, Aemond and Aegon rose from their seats, their faces lined with concern as they awaited any news.

“Did you find her?” Aemond asked cautiously, his single eye narrowing with unease.

Daemon stopped in his tracks, his expression dark. He shook his head slowly, the weight of failure pressing heavily on his shoulders. Without a word, he lashed out, flipping a nearby table with a ferocious roar. The crash of wood against marble reverberated through the room, a violent symphony of his anguish.

He didn’t stop there. His fists found a vase, shattering it against the wall. Chairs were hurled across the room, curtains torn down in his fury. The servants, startled by the noise, peeked nervously from the corners, unsure of whether to intervene or flee. The house quaked under the force of his anger, the once serene atmosphere now a chaotic tempest.

Upstairs, the muffled sounds of Daemon’s rage reached the ears of his children. They huddled close, fear and confusion etched on their young faces. Their father, the formidable and controlled figure they knew, was unraveling before their eyes, a man consumed by his desperation.

Aegon stepped forward, trying to reason with his uncle. “Daemon, stop. Destroying your home won’t bring her back.”

But Daemon wasn’t listening. His chest heaved as he stared at the mess he’d created, his mind a storm of worry for you. The thought of you alone, frightened, and at the mercy of unknown captors drove him to the brink. “I should have protected her,” he muttered, more to himself than anyone else.

Aemond, always the more composed of the two, approached cautiously. “We’ll find her,” he said firmly. “But we need a plan, not chaos.”

Daemon’s eyes finally met Aemond’s, his gaze filled with a mixture of hope and helplessness. He ran a trembling hand through his hair, trying to regain control. “I can’t lose her,” he whispered, his voice cracking under the weight of his emotions. “Not like this.”

Aegon and Aemond exchanged a glance, understanding the depth of Daemon’s feelings. They knew this wasn’t just about possession or pride—it was about love, however complicated and forbidden it might be. Together, they resolved to stand by Daemon, to do whatever it took to bring you back safely.

The sound of the door creaking open made your heart race with a mix of hope and dread. You turned your head, and for a moment, you allowed yourself to believe that Daemon had found you—had come to rescue you. But instead, the figure that walked into the room was none other than Rhaenyra.

For a fleeting second, relief washed over you. She was here. But that feeling of comfort vanished in an instant when Rhaenyra’s hand collided with your cheek with a sharp, unforgiving slap. The impact stung, both physically and emotionally, and you recoiled in shock, your body trembling.

Rhaenyra’s eyes blazed with fury as she stepped closer, her grip tightening around your face. Her voice, usually calm and composed, was now a mixture of anger and disbelief. “How could you?” she hissed, her words cutting deep. “How could you betray me like this?”

Tears welled up in your eyes, but you couldn’t speak. You couldn’t find the words to explain, to justify the feelings that had developed between you and Daemon. Rhaenyra shook you, her voice rising as she continued. “I brought you into our lives, to help you, to make something of yourself—not to betray me! Not to sleep with him!”

Her accusations struck you like a thousand daggers. Every word felt like it was tearing apart the bond you once had with her, the trust that had always existed between you both, now shattered beyond repair.

You wanted to explain, to tell her that your feelings for Daemon were never meant to hurt her, but the guilt and shame suffocated you. “I never wanted to hurt you,” you whispered, your voice barely audible.

Rhaenyra scoffed, releasing her grip on your face with a forceful shove. “You’ve already done that,” she spat. “You’ve betrayed not just me, but everything we’ve built. You can’t be trusted.”

Her words, cold and final, left you feeling empty. You had no defense, no way to undo the damage. All you could do was look at her, the woman you once admired, and feel the weight of your choices crushing you from within.

And yet, beneath the anger, there was something else in Rhaenyra’s eyes—a flicker of pain, a wound she was trying to hide. It was clear she didn’t just feel betrayed by you. She felt the devastation of losing her trust in you, and in some twisted way, it mirrored your own heartache.

But it was too late for apologies. Too late for explanations. The damage had been done, and no amount of regret could undo the betrayal that had transpired between you.

Daemon’s frustration reached a boiling point as he paced relentlessly in his office, shouting into the phone to his men. His voice was harsh, desperate for answers, for any clue that might lead him to you. The tension in the air was palpable, his every move filled with the weight of his failure to find you.

Then, Aegon, who had been quietly sitting at the desk in the corner of the room, caught his attention. He gestured toward his phone, his face a mix of concern and urgency. “Daemon, you need to see this,” he said, his voice laced with an unspoken dread.

Daemon turned sharply, his mind already clouded with worry, but the moment his eyes locked onto the screen in Aegon’s hands, his heart sank.

The video was dark, cold, and haunting. You were sitting in a dimly lit, damp room, your body trembling with the cold. Your hair clung to your face, your clothes soaked through. You were calling out for him, your voice breaking with desperation as you screamed his name, pleading for help.

“Daemon!” you cried, your voice filled with anguish. “Please… help me!”

Daemon’s breath caught in his throat, his grip tightening around the edge of the desk. The raw emotion in your voice sent a shockwave through him. Every instinct within him screamed that he had to act now, but the reality of the situation hit him like a ton of bricks.

He knew that room.

He recognized the cold, desolate walls, the isolation. It was a place he had used in the past, a place where he kept those who had betrayed him, where he sought to punish those who had crossed him. It was hidden deep within Dragonstone, a place known only to a few, a place no one dared to venture unless they were prepared to lose everything.

And now, as the truth settled over him, Daemon’s mind raced. His own wife, Rhaenyra, had taken you. She had done this. She had taken you, and she had orchestrated your capture.

Daemon’s heart burned with fury and disbelief. Rhaenyra had known. She had known everything. The betrayal, the secret he had kept hidden from her, it was all out in the open now. The woman he had once trusted, the woman he had built a life with, had taken the one person who meant the world to him.

He turned away from Aegon, his chest tight with anger and guilt. His hand gripped the edge of the desk, knuckles white. His mind was a storm of emotions—rage, confusion, sorrow.

“Dragonstone,” he muttered under his breath. “Of course… it’s always been Dragonstone.”

The weight of the realization crashed down on him. Rhaenyra had known what was happening between him and you. She had seen through their lies, through their deception. And now, she had made a decision. A decision that would change everything.

Daemon’s eyes darkened, his jaw clenched as he turned to Aegon, his voice low and cold. “Get the men ready. We leave for Dragonstone now.”

There was no hesitation in his tone, no room for doubt. He would not let Rhaenyra have you. Not now, not ever. Whatever it took, he would bring you back.

As the plane soared through the sky toward Dragonstone, Daemon’s mind was consumed with the chaos that had unfolded. His thoughts spiraled back to the moment when Rhaenyra had asked for permission to go there, to handle affairs with the family. How had he not seen this coming? How had he been so blind to what she was capable of?

The weight of his own failure settled heavily on his chest. He had always thought he could control everything—his desires, his actions, his relationships. But this, this was different. The connection he had forged with you was a mistake he couldn’t undo. And now, that mistake was costing you dearly.

His eyes closed, a pang of guilt stabbing through him. The image of you, cold, wet, and trapped in that dark room, calling for him, was all he could see. He could only imagine how terrified you must have been. The fear in your voice echoed in his ears, and the thought of you suffering because of his choices made him sick to his stomach.

Aegon and Aemond, sitting silently across from him, exchanged glances, their faces serious. They had witnessed Daemon’s descent into turmoil but said nothing. They knew better than to disturb him in this state. His guilt, his frustration—it was palpable, suffocating even.

Daemon gripped his hair, pulling at it in frustration. “This is my fault,” he muttered under his breath. “I should never have let this happen. I shouldn’t have allowed myself to fall for you.”

The words tasted bitter on his tongue, and his breath hitched. The last thing he wanted was for you to be caught in the crossfire of his own mistakes, yet here you were—taken, frightened, and alone—because of him.

His fingers trembled as he reached for the bottle of water beside him, but it did little to calm the storm inside. His thoughts raced with a thousand scenarios, a thousand ways he could’ve stopped this, ways he could’ve prevented Rhaenyra from ever discovering his betrayal. But what was done was done. All that mattered now was finding you, bringing you back safely.

Aegon, who had remained silent for the duration of the flight, finally spoke, his voice quiet but steady. “Daemon… this isn’t just on you. Rhaenyra made her choices too. She knew what she was doing, and she knew exactly what kind of effect this would have on you. You didn’t ask for any of this.”

Aemond, usually the more stoic one, nodded in agreement. “But you still have to fix it. You owe her that much… and you owe yourself the chance to right this.”

Daemon clenched his jaw, his fists tightening as he looked out the window, his gaze fixed on the endless expanse of the sea below. A storm was brewing inside him, one that would only be quieted once he had you back, once he had righted his wrongs.

“I have to make this right,” Daemon finally spoke, his voice a whisper full of determination. “I’ll bring her back, even if I have to tear down everything I’ve built to do it.”

The weight of his words settled heavily between them. Aemond and Aegon said nothing in return, both of them fully aware of what Daemon was capable of when pushed to the edge.

And now, in this moment, nothing else mattered. The world could crumble, alliances could shatter, but as long as you were safe, Daemon would do whatever it took to fix the destruction he had caused.

Daemon stormed into the grand house at Dragonstone, his steps heavy with urgency. His voice echoed through the halls as he called out for Rhaenyra. The tension in his chest was unbearable—he needed to know where you were, needed to find you, to make sure you were safe.

Minutes passed before Rhaenyra appeared at the top of the stairs, her face a mask of calm, as though nothing had happened. Her poise was unsettling to Daemon, who was consumed by the fear of losing you. He stared at her, his eyes wild with desperation.

“Where is she?” Daemon demanded, his voice sharp with anger and panic. “Where is she, Rhaenyra?”

But Rhaenyra did not immediately answer. Instead, she looked at him with a cold gaze, her lips barely parting as she spoke. “Why, Daemon?” she asked quietly. “Why would you betray me for her? Do you really think I would not find out?”

Daemon’s frustration reached its peak, but he didn’t have time for her questions, for her accusations. He was done with this. The only thing that mattered was finding you. Without another word, he pushed past her, his steps quick and determined as he moved toward the basement.

The door ahead of him was close—he could almost feel it. But as he reached for the handle, a voice stopped him. Rhaenyra’s voice.

“Daemon,” she called softly, the weight of the gun in her hand becoming clear. “Stop.”

Daemon froze. The cold, unmistakable sound of a pistol being raised sent a chill down his spine. His heart pounded, but he didn’t turn around. He knew what she was capable of, and yet, his focus remained solely on the door in front of him, on you, who he had to save.

His voice was low, a growl of frustration. “Move aside, Rhaenyra. This isn’t you. Don’t do this.”

But Rhaenyra remained silent, her presence behind him a looming threat. He could feel the tension in the air, but he didn’t let it stop him. Not when your safety was on the line. He was ready to face whatever came next, even if it meant confronting Rhaenyra, even if it meant sacrificing everything to get to you.

In that moment, Daemon understood the true cost of his actions. But no matter the price, he would not let you suffer. Not again.

Rhaenyra slowly approached Daemon, her steps measured, her expression unreadable. She snapped her fingers, signaling her men. Immediately, they moved toward you, their grip firm as they dragged your trembling body from the shadows. Weak and drenched, you were thrown to the floor at Daemon’s feet, your body shaking violently from fear and the cold.

Daemon’s heart shattered at the sight of you—helpless, vulnerable—and yet, he was powerless to act. His body tensed, his hands itching to rush to your side, to hold you, to protect you from the torment Rhaenyra had subjected you to. But he couldn’t. Not with Rhaenyra standing in his way.

You let out a soft whimper as you were unceremoniously thrown onto the cold stone floor, your body unable to bear the harsh treatment. Daemon’s breath caught in his throat, but his focus remained solely on you. He wanted to rush to you, to pull you into his arms and promise you that everything would be okay, but he couldn’t move.

Then, Rhaenyra moved toward you, her expression twisted in anger. She grabbed your hair roughly, yanking your head back so that you were forced to look up at Daemon. Her eyes gleamed with fury, a twisted satisfaction in her movements as she forced you to face the man who had betrayed her.

But what happened next was not what Daemon had expected. His gaze met yours, and what he saw made his chest tighten—your eyes, filled with pain and desperation. You looked at him, your voice barely above a whisper as you spoke through your trembling lips, “Please, Daemon… save our child…”

The words hung in the air, and for a moment, everything seemed to stop. Rhaenyra froze, her gaze flickering between you and Daemon, as if processing what you had just revealed. Daemon, too, stood frozen, his heart racing, his mind struggling to comprehend the gravity of what you had said. His world tilted in that moment.

You were pregnant. With his child. And he hadn’t even known.

Rhaenyra’s face twisted in shock, the shock that mirrored Daemon’s own. The tension in the room was palpable, thick with betrayal, confusion, and the weight of unspoken words. Daemon’s emotions surged—anger, guilt, and a deep, aching need to protect you, to keep you safe, to fix everything he had broken.

Rhaenyra’s hold on you loosened slightly as she processed your plea, her eyes wide with disbelief, but the damage had already been done. The truth had come to light in the worst possible way.

Rhaenyra’s voice rang out, sharp and filled with fury as she screamed. Without a second thought, her foot connected with your belly, sending a wave of pain coursing through your body. You gasped, curling up as the cold stone floor pressed against your aching limbs.

Daemon’s body stiffened in reaction. He took a step forward, instinctively wanting to rush to your side, to stop Rhaenyra from hurting you any further. But before he could move, one of Rhaenyra’s men stepped forward, the cold, metallic gleam of a pistol aimed directly at Daemon’s head.

Daemon froze. The cold barrel of the weapon left him helpless, his body taut with frustration. He stood there, powerless, unable to do anything but watch, his heart breaking with every agonizing second that passed. His eyes locked onto yours, filled with sorrow and helplessness.

He wanted to comfort you, to ease your pain, but there was nothing he could do. He was trapped.

Rhaenyra, her chest heaving from the intensity of her emotions, turned toward Daemon. Her face was contorted in anger, but there was something else there—something raw, something deeply wounded. She marched up to him, face flushed with fury, tears streaming down her face as she shouted at him.

“How could you do this to me, Daemon?!” she cried, her voice cracking. “How could you betray me like this?!”

Her words were laced with heartbreak and rage, the agony of a woman who had been deceived by the man she had trusted most. She was breaking before his very eyes, unable to hold back the emotions that had been building within her for so long.

Daemon stood there, helpless. He had never seen Rhaenyra like this—never imagined that his actions would lead to this kind of pain. His throat tightened, and though he wanted to speak, to explain, to beg for her forgiveness, the words stuck in his throat. All he could do was look at her, his eyes filled with regret and sorrow.

Rhaenyra’s anger didn’t subside. She screamed, her pain evident in every movement, her hands trembling with emotion. Her voice cracked as she shouted again, “You have shattered everything, Daemon! Everything I ever believed in!”

Daemon wanted to reach out, to hold her, to tell her he was sorry, but he knew it wouldn’t fix anything. He knew he had caused this, and now, there was nothing left to do but watch as everything he cared about crumbled before him.

And through it all, you—his love, his future—lay there in the shadows, suffering, while he remained a prisoner of his own guilt and her wrath.

Rhaenyra’s eyes burned with rage as she glared down at you, her breath shallow and erratic. The tension in the room thickened, the weight of the moment pressing down on everyone in the dark, silent space. Her hands trembled slightly, but her resolve was absolute as she aimed the gun straight at you.

Daemon’s heart skipped a beat. “Rhaenyra, no!” he shouted, his voice raw with desperation. He took a step forward, reaching out, but it was too late. The sound of the gunshot rang out, echoing in the small, dimly lit room.

The world seemed to slow down in that instant. You gasped, feeling the searing pain as the bullet found its mark. Time stood still as your body went limp, the excruciating pain taking over. You couldn’t process it fast enough. You tried to call out, to beg for mercy, but all that left your lips was a strained, choked gasp.

And then, chaos erupted.

Aegon and Aemond stormed into the room, their men following behind, moving quickly to subdue Rhaenyra’s guards. The air was thick with gunfire, the sound of combat mingling with the sharp cries of men in battle. Aegon was the first to reach Daemon, grabbing his arm to steady him as the sight of you bleeding on the floor shattered his composure.

Daemon didn’t look at them. He didn’t hear the chaos around him. All that mattered was you. His eyes locked onto your limp body, and without hesitation, he rushed toward you, his legs moving faster than his mind could comprehend.

“Please,” he whispered as he knelt beside you, pulling you into his arms. His hands shook as he cradled your body, the warmth of your blood staining his shirt. “Please, stay with me,” he begged, his voice cracking, the despair evident in every word. “For me, for our child… please.”

His hand pressed against your wound, trying to stem the bleeding, but the effort felt futile. He could feel your pulse—weak, faint, like a flickering flame in a storm. His mind raced, but there were no words that could fix what had just happened. All he could do was hold you, praying that somehow, you would pull through.

His breath hitched as he looked down at you, his world crashing around him. “I’m so sorry,” Daemon whispered, his voice broken. “This is all my fault. But you can’t leave me… not like this. Not now.”

Tears welled up in his eyes, and for the first time, Daemon felt truly vulnerable—his entire life and everything he loved hanging by the thinnest thread. He was terrified. The sight of you slipping away, of losing you, broke him in ways he couldn’t explain.

He didn’t care about his wife, the betrayal, or anything else. All that mattered was you—your life, your future, the life growing inside you.

Aegon and Aemond stood back, unable to offer more than their silent support. They knew the stakes were higher than ever now. But in that moment, all the Targaryens could do was wait and pray that it wasn’t too late for you.

Daemon, his heart shattered, held you close, desperate to keep you alive.

Without hesitation, Daemon scooped you up into his arms, cradling you as if you were the most precious thing in the world. His heart pounded in his chest, the fear gripping him tighter with each passing second. Blood seeped through your clothes, staining his hands, but he couldn’t let himself think about that now. He had to get you to safety.

“Out of the way!” he roared at the men surrounding the house, his voice laced with panic and fury. He didn’t have time to waste on formalities. His only focus was you.

He carried you to the car, his movements hurried yet careful. Placing you gently in the back seat, he climbed in beside you, pulling your fragile form close to him. The driver, sensing the urgency, started the engine and sped off, the tires screeching as they left the estate behind.

Daemon leaned over you, his face inches from yours. His fingers brushed against your cheek, trembling as he traced the outline of your face. You were growing pale, your breaths shallow, and it terrified him.

“Stay with me,” he whispered, his voice cracking with emotion. “Please, stay with me. We’re almost there.” His eyes glistened with unshed tears as he continued to stroke your face, his lips pressing against your forehead. “You’re strong. You can fight this.”

He clutched your hand in his, bringing it to his lips, kissing it softly. “I need you,” he murmured, his voice breaking. “I need you. Don’t give up now.”

The car sped through the streets, racing against time. Daemon’s mind was a whirlwind of thoughts and fears. He couldn’t lose you—not like this. The weight of his guilt pressed heavily on him, but he couldn’t let it consume him. All he could do was hold on to hope that you would make it, that the universe would grant him one more chance to make things right.

As the hospital came into view, Daemon shouted to the driver, “Faster! We’re almost there!” The car skidded to a halt at the entrance, and Daemon didn’t wait for help. He lifted you into his arms again, rushing inside, yelling for assistance.

“Help her!” he begged the medical staff, his voice filled with desperation. “Please, save her!”

As they took you from his arms, Daemon felt a part of himself break, his soul aching with the thought of losing you. He watched as they wheeled you away, his heart in his throat, praying to every god he knew that he wouldn’t lose you tonight.

Daemon sat in the dimly lit hospital corridor, his heart pounding in his chest, each beat echoing the turmoil within. His leg bounced uncontrollably, a physical manifestation of the storm raging inside him. His hands covered his face, fingers digging into his skin as if trying to claw away the guilt and fear threatening to consume him.

He couldn’t sit still. The wait was agonizing, every minute stretching into an eternity. Somewhere behind those closed doors, you were fighting for your life, and the life of the child you carried. The thought of losing both of you was unbearable.

Aegon and Aemond had taken charge of the situation, dealing with Rhaenyra and her man. Daemon barely registered their presence. His mind was trapped in a relentless loop of regret and fear, replaying the events that had led to this moment. His betrayal, his recklessness—it had put you in danger. He had failed to protect you, and now you were paying the price.

Tears streamed down his face, silent and unchecked. He didn’t bother to wipe them away. His chest heaved with silent sobs, the weight of his actions pressing down on him. He was no stranger to violence, to conflict, but this—this was different. This was personal. This was his fault.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispered to himself, the words barely audible. “I’m sorry for everything.”

He thought about the last moments before you were taken into surgery, the fear in your eyes, the trust you still had in him despite everything. He had promised to keep you safe, and he had failed. Now, all he could do was wait and hope that fate would be merciful, that he would have the chance to make amends, to be the man you deserved.

As the hours dragged on, Daemon remained in that chair, his body tense, his soul tormented. Every sound, every movement in the hallway made him jump, hoping for news, dreading what it might be. His heart clung to a fragile thread of hope, praying that you and the baby would survive, that he wouldn’t lose the two most important pieces of his life.

Daemon’s head snapped up as the doors to the operating room swung open. He rose to his feet, heart pounding in his chest, as a doctor approached him, a somber expression etched on his face.

“The operation was successful,” the doctor began, his voice gentle yet heavy. “She’s stable, and we managed to save her. However…” He paused, his eyes filled with sympathy. “The baby didn’t survive. The pregnancy was still too early, and with the trauma she endured over the past few days, it was just too much.”

The world seemed to tilt on its axis. Daemon’s knees buckled, and he sank to the floor, the weight of the news crashing down on him. His hands covered his face as the reality of the loss hit him like a tidal wave. His child—your child—was gone. His reckless actions had brought you both to this point, and now he had to live with the consequences.

After what felt like an eternity, he pulled himself together, forcing his body to move, to be with you. Once you were transferred to a recovery room, he entered quietly, his steps hesitant. The sight of you lying there, pale and still, tore at his heart. He approached the bed, sitting down beside you carefully.

Daemon reached out, his hand trembling as he gently brushed his fingers along your cheek. Your eyes remained closed, your breathing steady but shallow. He took your hand in his, bringing it to his lips, pressing a tender kiss against your knuckles.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispered, his voice cracking under the weight of his grief. “I’ve failed you. I’ve failed our child.”

His thumb caressed the back of your hand as he continued, his voice soft, almost a plea. “I’ll make it right. I’ll make sure nothing ever hurts you again. I swear it.”

He sat there, holding your hand, hoping that when you woke, you could find it in your heart to forgive him. But for now, he remained by your side, consumed by guilt, yet determined to never let you suffer alone again.

Tag list : @danytar @julessworldd @hangmanscoming @zaldritzosrose @yazzzmints @giirlinblack @callsignwidow

[rafe-jj-povs]

Hard Love : The Party

Summary: After two years in a relationship with Rafe you caught him kissing another girl at the Midsummer's party. He was kissing the very girl he promised was just a friend. You end things with him but deep down you knew it wasn’t over. You make a choice not knowing if you are going to regret it or not.

—

“You promised me! Rafe you fucking promised!” You yelled at him walking away from him down the beach.

“Wait no! Y/n please don't walk away!” His voice breaking. He chases after you and grabs your wrist but you pull away and turn to look at him.��

“Don’t touch me." Your voice is cold. "How could you do this?” You hit his chest with both of your hands. ”You promised me that she was just a friend! Did I mean anything to you?” You choked back tears.

“Yes of course you did.” 

“You promised me that you loved me. Did you mean that?”

“Yes! Baby I do love you.”

You shook your head. “No, you don’t get to call me baby.” You walk away and he doesn’t chase you this time.

…

It’s been about 4 months since Rafe cheated. Tonight Topper is throwing a party at his place. You sit on your bed debating if you want to go or not. You know you should go out and live a little. You look at the dress you picked out to wear tonight. You decide to go because you thought it would be good for you. You slipped the dress on and admired yourself in the mirror. The dress was black and it rested just above your knees, it had spaghetti straps with a very deep V-neck. It snatched your curves in all the right places. You took your time doing your makeup and curling your hair. You put on black heels and leave for the party. 

Once you arrive your eyes wander around. There were a lot of people drinking, dancing, making out and snorting white powder.

You stop in your tracks, Rafe had obviously shown up. To your right was a man with a tray that had drinks laid out on it. 

“Vodka on ice” The man said as he held the tray up to you. 

“Thanks.” You grab one and the man walks away.

You look up and lock eyes with Rafe over your vodka on ice, he's staring at you from across the room with those seductive blue eyes, beer in hand. You almost forget what he did to you.

His eyes send chills down your spine, you quickly look away. You turn and walk away to find the bathroom, to freshen up and clear your head. Once you find the bathroom you touch up your lip gloss and stare at yourself in the mirror for a long time.

You open the door to leave and bump into Rafe practically tripping over him. 

"Oh, sorry." You glance up to meet his eyes. 

"Hi" he says grinning. You didn't even realize his hand on your lower back. You guys are so close, you can feel his breath on your cheek.

"H-" you clear your throat, "Hi" You try to keep your voice calm, you are still so angry with him but he still makes you nervous.

“Can we talk?” His voice is quiet.

You guys are standing in the middle of a hallway, the party is going on just around the corner.

"Did you follow me to the bathroom, Rafe?" 

 "Maybe" He takes a step closer to you. You take a step back, hitting the wall behind you.

You breathe in, "Don't you want to head back to the party?" your breath is shaky as you exhale.

"Do you?" he asks.

"No" you say without thinking. What the hell am I doing? You think to yourself. He cheated on you, remember. 

"Good neither do I" he looks around to see if anyone was lingering. He grabs your wrist.

"Hey!" You try to pull back.

He ignores you holding your wrist tighter. He leads you down the hallway to a bedroom. You go in first, he follows and you hear him lock the door.

“Rafe what are you do-” You turn to look at him just as he grabs your face and smashes his lips into yours. He walks forward pushing you backwards, you hit a desk behind you. His tongue sneaks its way into your mouth and finds yours. He puts his hands on your lower back trailing them down below your ass and picks you up and sits you on the desk. Your legs wrap around his waist. 

How can he affect me this much? I hate him for what he did. But you've craved this for so long.

You pull your lips back, "Rafe? I thought you wanted to talk" you say with heavy breaths. He quiets you with a kiss. You don’t stop him, you don’t want to.

You run your hands over his chest to find the end of his shirt and you pull it over his head and throw it on the floor. Your hand is in his hair as he grabs your neck to pull your face closer to his. He then removes his hand from your neck and both of his hands meet your thighs, sneaking them under your dress. 

He pauses and meets your gaze, “Are you sure?” He’s breathing heavily.

You smile, “I’m always sure.” You pull his face toward you pressing your lips onto his. 

His hand reaches around to your back unzipping your dress. He slides the straps down over your arms. He pulls the dress down revealing your breasts. You stand giving him more access to take the dress fully off leaving you in just your lacy underwear. You wrap your arms around his neck as he walks you to the bed just a few feet away. 

Laying you down, he unbuckles his belt and takes his pants off along with his boxers. You prop up on your elbows, you can’t help but look him up and down. He notices and chuckles. He crawls up over you, your head resting on the pillow under you as you wrap your legs around his waist. He kisses you, your tongues tied. He pulls away, kissing down your body until he reaches your underwear line. He pulls them off sitting up, your legs lay against his chest with your ankles resting on his shoulders. He kisses from your ankle bending back down to kiss your inner thigh. 

You gasp as he flicks his tongue up and down your clit. Your hands grip the sheets as he forces his tongue deeper into you. You let out a soft moan, “Rafe…” 

He enters his fingers into you, your back arches at this pleasure. He licks up your body to your neck, your legs wrapping around his waist again. 

“Hi” He smiles at you, his eyes hazy.

You smile back, “Hi” 

His lips are pushed on yours, he pins both of your wrists in the mattress as he enters you. You moan into his mouth. His hips are thrusting into you. His mouth is on your neck. Your moans are loud as he grunts against your neck. 

You try to move your arms but he pins them harder. 

“Rafe..I’m gonna…oh” You moan and you arch your back. He looks at you, thrusting harder, faster. Your arms are still pinned. He’s sweating and breathing hard. He pulls out, letting out a tired sigh, smiling. He kisses you and then falls onto the mattress laying next to you and looks into your eyes. 

He pauses before he says, “I love you.”

Shocked, you sit up, not looking into his eyes. 

“What? What’s wrong?” He sits up.

“I-” You can’t get the right words out. “You love me? Are you serious?” You look at him. 

He looks taken aback. “Y-yes, is that okay?” He stammers.

You look at him, anger finally rising. “Is that okay?” You let out a pained laugh. “Is that okay? Rafe you cheated on me. So no, you don’t get to come here and have sex with me and then tell me you love me. I don't even know what i'm doing here with you." You scoff, your head in your hands.

“Y/n…what I did was wrong and I’m so sorry. I was drunk and that’s no excuse I know. I wasn’t thinking straight. She kissed me. I shouldn’t have let her. I regret it.”

Tears were filling your eyes. “You promised me.” You’ve lost it now. You're sobbing into your hands. 

“I know, I know and I’m so so sorry.” His voice was breaking. “I do mean it when I tell you I love you. I can promise you that.”

Your tears are falling uncontrollably. You don’t look up at him. “How do I know you won’t hurt me again?” 

“By giving me a chance. I promise you that it will never happen again. I love you.”

You want to believe him, you do believe him. Rafe lifts your chin up to meet his eyes. He kisses you deeply. You pull away, “Rafe...I need time. What you did hurt me. Let me have some time to think it over okay?” 

Even though you had sex, you still feel angry with him.

He sighs. "Okay. I understand."

You get up and throw your clothes and shoes on. You head toward the door and stop. You turn to look at him, he was getting dressed.

"Rafe?"

He looks up. "Hm?"

"I'll call you." You force a smile and walk out the door.

You head through the crowd of people, tears rolling down your face.

What am I doing? I'm not thinking straight.  You thought to yourself as you found your car. You didn’t know what you were doing. All you knew was that he won. He got you back.

I'm not sure if this is good or not, please let me know how you like it!

[freeuselandonorris]

iyaaaa please may i suggest 22 + lando/older man of your choice in case that sparks anything? <3

fanks lima that did spark something and it was lando/andrea and the MTC bathroom gloryhole 😌

Nobody tells Lando about it directly. He’s doing resistance band stretches in the back of the garage with Jon while the engineers are fiddling about with the rear wing assembly, and they’re talking about it. Pretty loudly, pretty shamelessly. About how there’s a certain bathroom on floor three of MTC, the small one just off the Composites department that only has two stalls in it. About the hole someone’s drilled into the dividing wall at waist height, the perfect height and width for —

“Oi,” Jon says, snapping his fingers in front of Lando’s face. “You’re meant to be stretching, not earwigging.”

”Yeah, alright,” Lando grouses, trying to switch his attention back to the chest stretches he’s been half-assing for the last five minutes. “Maybe you should be more interesting if you don’t want me to get bored of you, ever thought of that?”

“Noted, boss,” Jon says, cheerful, and spins him round to start on his shoulder stretches.

Andrea’s standing behind them, leaning against the central console with his big earphones hooked around his neck. Listening to the same conversation, one eyebrow minutely raised.

He meets Lando’s gaze as he turns, just for a second. Lando feels himself flush and looks away.

It takes about a week for Lando’s curiosity to get the better of him.

He knows it’s a stupid idea, but then surely as long as he’s quiet, discreet, there’s no real risk. Nobody would imagine it’s him. Or even better — they might want to think it’s him, but how could they prove it?

It’s tempting. Too tempting.

The factory is quiet by the time Lando’s finished for the day. Quiet, but not empty.

Lando excuses himself from the last few stragglers in the meeting room, waving his goodbyes and heading off in the direction of the lifts.

Glancing over his shoulder to check he’s not being followed, he pulls his hood up and cuts back to the stairs, climbing to level three. The bathrooms they’d been talking about are at the far end of the same corridor, tucked away. Hardly anyone uses them; hardly anyone knows they’re there. Lando can’t remember ever going in there before, which is probably why he’s never noticed the hole. But once he lets himself into the right-hand stall and latches the door behind himself, there it is. A couple of feet off the ground, a few inches wide, carefully and neatly drilled.

Beneath it, in black marker pen, someone has helpfully added instructions. Suck here.

*

He’s sat there for ages before anyone comes in. Perched on the toilet with the lid down, elbows on his knees, scrolling TikTok with the volume off. When fifteen minutes have ticked past, he wonders if he should just give up.

On the verge of standing, he hears the bathroom door creak open and freezes in place.

Fuck, maybe it’s just someone coming in for a piss. Or worse. Someone who doesn’t know about the reputation this place has, or knows about it but has decided to ignore it, thinks it’s weird or silly or gross.

Lando breathes as quietly as possible, sliding his phone back into his jeans pocket and pressing his sweaty palms against his thighs.

Footsteps cross the floor. The door of the stall next to him shuts gently; the click of the latch echoes off the tiles. There’s some shuffling, the whirr of a zip.

Then silence. Waiting.

Lando swallows, digs his fingers into his knees. Fuck, he should’ve googled this beforehand or something. Checked the etiquette. Is the other guy meant to just stick his cock through and hope for the best?

On the other side of the partition, the man clears his throat. It’s probably as close as Lando’s going to get to a come-on.

He exhales and taps the wall with a knuckle, just beside the waiting hole, hoping he’s telegraphing his meaning. I’m here, if you want it.

Nothing happens for a few seconds. Nausea rises in Lando’s belly. He’s fucked it. He’s creeped out someone from the Composites team who just wanted to use the fucking toilet. Oh Jesus, he’s going to get reported to HR.

A scuffle close to his head makes him jump. Whoever’s on the other side, they’re standing very close to the wall. Lando darts a glance downwards; the tips of two McLaren-branded trainers, the same ones they all wear, are just visible beneath the partition.

Lando looks up. The tip of a cock is poking through the hole in the wall, pink and flushed and slightly ridiculous.

He slides to his knees, shuffles closer, parts his lips and sticks out his tongue. Before he can chicken out, he licks the tip of the cock. Just a quick swipe, like he’s licking the swirl of an ice cream.

The man on the other side inhales sharply. There’s something faintly familiar; something tickling at the edges of Lando’s memory. He chooses not to think about it. Licks again.

Another shuddering breath. A soft word spoken under the breath in a language Lando can’t quite get a handle on, except he knows it’s not English. Well, at least he knows it’s not Oscar. Or Zak.

He parts his lips, closing them around the tip of the cock. His nose is pressed up against the wall, there’s no room to move. He taps the wall again, and as if by magic, the cock pushes further into his mouth, a pleasant wait on his tongue.

It’s still a pretty shit angle, and he can’t do much more than suckle on it; whoever it is, they’re not massively hung. There’s a slight upward curve to his cock, grazing the roof of Lando’s mouth as he thrusts through the hole as best he can.

Whatever the shortcomings of Lando’s blowjob, they don’t seem to be much of an issue. It only takes a few minutes of gentle sucking, teasing the slit with his tongue, before he can taste precum leaking. He can hear the man breathing hard, the fastenings of his trousers scraping against the wall where he’s humping against it. There’s something obscene about it, the way he’s making this man fall apart in a bathroom that smells of antiseptic spray and air freshener, the way he exists only as a mouth to fuck. It’s making him hard too, aching in his jeans. He undoes them with trembling hands, trying not to let the rhythm of his mouth and tongue falter as he gets a hand on himself.

The man grunts, and recognition stabs at the back of Lando’s mind again. He ignores it, hollows his cheek and sucks hard, tongue rubbing eager circles just below the head where he knows it’s good. A sharp, bitten-off moan, and salt spreads across his tongue. Lando’s swallowed it down before he realises he could have spat it into the toilet next to him.

He sinks to his haunches, jacking himself off frantically. The cock withdraws from the hole and Lando whimpers, involuntary. He’s vaguely aware that he should be ashamed about this, on his knees in a public toilet with the taste of anonymous spunk coating his mouth, bundling toilet roll into one hand so he doesn’t get come all over his jeans. But if there’s nobody to see it, why should he feel shame?

The stall door next to him unlatches. Lando listens to the tap running, the splash of the man washing his hands. He comes as the man dries his hands beneath the air dryer, muffling his moans beneath the noise.

*

Afterwards, he has to splash his face with cold water. He’s pink across the cheeks, eyes reddened where they’d watered with the effort. His mouth looks soft and swollen. He tries to fix his hair, smooth his clothes back into place.

Before he leaves, he peers into the adjoining stall. On the other side of the hole, written in the same black marker, a different set of instructions. Fuck here.

He closes the door behind himself as quietly as possible as he leaves, trying not to draw attention to anyone who might be walking past, and walks towards the lift as quickly as he can.

Someone holds the doors for him as he turns the corner to the foyer. Lando steps inside the lift.

“Lando,” Andrea greets him, inclining his head.

Lando nods, swallowing hard and digging his phone out of his pocket so he has something to look at in the hope Andrea won’t notice his freshly fucked face.

As he looks down, something snags his attention. The zip to Andrea’s trousers is undone.

His eyes jerk up to Andrea’s face. Andrea’s staring right back at him, at his swollen mouth, his mussed-up hair.

He swallows. His brain feels awfully blank; he can’t remember a single normal thing they might have a conversation about.

Before his panic can spiral, the lift pings to signal the ground floor.

As the door opens, Andrea reaches out. Touches his arm, a gesture that could easily be read as friendly. “It is good to see you working late, Lando,” he says, and meets Lando’s eyes. “I think I will be here in the evening all week, too.”

[desultory-suggestions]

"It gets better for everyone!" is a insultingly naïve mindset born from luck and having correct circumstances. It factually does not magically ""get better"" for everyone, but people like you get LUCKY and deem that its that way for everyone else, without reflecting that in another life it could have just as easily been different. Are you really going to tell people who have no support system, are in poverty "don't worry because it's JUST your depression making you sad silly!!!". I work with people everyday who have no family, no friends, and can't even begin to dig themselves out of that hole, but I'll make sure to pass on that a 20 year old tumblr user said to "decorate their bedroom" and it'd set them on the fast track to getting better :).

Hello,

I hear what you are saying, and it is clear from your words that you like so many of us have and continue to deal with the incredibly real systemic, chronic, or inherent issues that can make like so exhausting. Most mail like this is sent in the heat of emotional pressure and pain, and I hope whatever it is you are feeling now can be addressed in a meaningful way that supports you.

I thought about giving an answer to this, but it seems obvious to me (and I'd hope to anyone who follows me) that this just doesn't make sense to argue. This blog has never advocated that mental illness or suffering are "silly" or easily fixable, and I have talked candidly and often about how systemic oppression is causing so much of the suffering we are told is all in our heads. I have even talked candidly about how my upbringing, adverse experiences, and struggles with discrimination have effected me.

While many can benefit from the kind of content I share (which is less dense than it used to be, fair!) many will not. Even those who do benefit will still need meaningful help addressing real issues like housing, food, safety, community, etc. Those of us who are able to stop and enjoy a simpler positive post are privileged to do so, and we shouldn't forget that. It doesn't mean we cannot enjoy, support, create, or rely on this kind of content. We all respond to different things, and I know first hand this blog has helped many people. However, we must be conscious of how we can take action to support those around us who need it the most, who are struggling with being unhoused, unfed, unwelcome, unloved.

I am sorry that whatever post you saw sparked so much frustration for you, but I think you already know that not everything is for everyone. Some people are helped by the "little things" and that is wonderful. Of course it never has and never will mean we should ignore the big ones.

Best,

Evan