#ok tag commentary time

[soundsdangeresque]

days 3, 4, and 5 of inktowbew!

i couldnt think of anything for day 3 so i mixed it with day 4 and drafted bixby o7

[arvoze]

[3/3] HHNFLARTAS - what's done is done

hell hath no fury like a rescue team association scorned not a fic or anything, i just ramble a lot about my pmd ocs in a digestible format that's more or less that kind of content. random yearly event for rescue teams. covers no more than like, one week of VV content

[ 1 / 2 / X ]

the rescue team association #1, again

there comes a point where it gets complicated. the RTA can't let you pass just because you completed their challenges -- you could cheat to win, and that wouldn't be reliable, after all. there's a million and one technicalities to consider.

yes, keith's team saved the rescue, who came back safe and unharmed. they also secured the item at the end of the dungeon. so what gives?

you never split the team. the rescue takes priority.

but they did the rescue. does it really matter? you can't just go off of stuff like this. there's specifics to it. it's a case-by-case basis.

both parties are right, in their own way. it's not a black and white case.

..

in the RTA's defense, they aren't wrong. you've got to consider how their actions would come across out of context.

a rescue has been secured. a member has split from their team, taking the rescue with them.

they split from the team. this puts them in immediate danger. they also have the rescue with them, so they're endangering the rescue as well.

if the solo member is incapacitated, the rescue is at incredible risk. the member is also at risk.

team splits can cause multiple problems to arise at once. it may also be seen as a disagreement.

extreme measures had to be taken to ensure the remaining members completed their goal.

the usage of a flood orb is not commonplace. team inventory will not always have this item available. it cannot be considered a reliable solution to a problem.

relying entirely on one item makes you a liability. it can be considered an easy way out.

the monster house was not fully defeated, simply temporarily disposed of. if the orb failed to work, the team would not have survived.

if the rescue was there, they could have been swept up in the confusion.

their general behaviour may be seen as too immature and unreliable.

this only checks out if they're monitored during their dungeon run. the three have a lot of chemistry with eachother, and have a lot of banter together. when you're unaware of how they talk to eachother, it can be seen as constant bickering and arguing.

regardless of how seriously they take the job when it's required (since they don't really like to be tense the whole way through), they have lapses of silliness and tomfoolery. this is because the RTA is incredibly boring and hate fun.

they barely even survived. let's be honest.

this is self-explanatory.

the rescue team association #2

in the defence of keith's team, you'd have to consider the following:

a rescue has been secured. mike has split from the team, taking the rescue with him.

he split from the team, a mutual agreement between all three members. they decided that this was the best way to get the rescue to safety. mike is strong and fast enough to get the rescue out of the dungeon with his remaining energy.

mike didn't become incapacitated. and if he was close to such, he can take matters into his own hands to really save his skin, and, more importantly, the rescue.

there was no disagreement, and mike was going backwards. he wasn't taking any new paths and discovering new things/triggering events. he was simply backtracking, taking the safest routes.

the rescue plant, an undetermined pokemon of undetermined rescue knowledge, agrees that this was the best decision to make given the circumstances.

extreme measures had to be taken to ensure keith's team could complete their goal.

this is because luwel prepared for the worst. when you plan for a rescue, you already know what kind of environment to expect, so you prepare thusly; this is no different. if it were a real job, and keith's team were the only pokemon available, it would be the exact same -- luwel would prepare the very same items as he did for this adventure.

they had the flood orb, which meant it was available to them at the time. a problem was predicted, planned for, and then solved. this is how it should be.

keith's team did not rely on a singular item. instead, luwel took the time into planning out the right items to carry with them, getting a rough estimate on the dungeon size and how difficult the job would be. to say the item is the sole reason they survived is to completely undermine luwel's ability to plan ahead.

a monster house does not have to be defeated in order for either goal to be met. if a third task was to defeat a monster house, then this would apply. but this was not the case, so it does not.

the rescue would have been accounted for. keith's team will make quick decisions, but they will never forgo the rescue to make them. the rescue, had they been present in the room at the time of the orb's use, would have been given a heads-up, and the team would take the initiative to keep the rescue safe before using the orb. additionally, the rescue was not even there at the time.

keith's team communicate with eachother frequently, including having light conversation, as well as constructive discussions about eachother.

sorry that you're too unfamiliar with a good relationship to understand their dynamic. the rescue would state that despite the circumstances, they did feel that keith's team had great communication. this is a non-issue, and exists just to make the cause for failure bigger than it actually was.

there's a lot of back-and-forths. guildmaster rime is not happy with the results.

the rescue team association #3

truth be told, there's… really not a lot that the team can do about the situation. what's done is done. they can fight their case if they really wanted to, but it's just resources wasted. as far as they're aware, at least.

guildmaster rime has always been in keith's team's ballpark. hell, keith is like a son to him, he is a son to him -- keith's going to inherit his guild, for goodness sakes! how can rime be succeeded by someone who failed the master trials for no real good reason? it won't do. it just won't do. the guildmaster is typically in agreement with the RTA when it comes to grading, as a seasoned explorer himself -- but to not consider keith's case? to fault them on technicalities alone? it's not right. it isn't fucking right. he'll do something about it. or at least, try to.

as a guildmaster, rime has some form of contact with the RTA. it's a required system in order to have a guild be truly recognised in the world, and additionally mandatory for any teams to earn ranking points. he drops a line of inquiry into the guild's connection orb, but there's been no response for several days. despite his grievances with the system, rime knows better than to push.

..

the boys have already forgotten about it, for the most part. they're discouraged, but they know in their hearts what they truly are: a good team who did the right thing. keith tries to distract himself by ranting and raving about the process of getting another flood orb. luwel's been trying to distract himself by writing up varying arguments to plead their case, which isn't really a distraction at all. mike is… unbothered. he cares, but doesn't have enough faith in the system, and settles more on the idea of "we know our truth and that's that, if they can't see it that's on them". every time luwel brings up a possible counter-point, mike gives him a thwap on the head. "best to keep it to yourself," mike says. "i dunno if keith can take it".

they cross paths with team PB&J occasionally, who, against all odds, ranked in the top 100. keith would say it was a total fluke that they did, and truthfully, he's right. it pisses him off further.

..

it's been about a week. the RTA responded to rime, after sending a rotom drone or two out to survey the boys. none of them noticed. nothing really fun or exciting to report on. the drones were simply just monitoring their day-to-day, to see how they've decided to take the results. it's invasive, and certainly not something they consented to, but the RTA can do whatever they want if you more or less work for them. thankfully, they do not find luwel's musings, as he gave up before the first surveillance.

rime's call is short-lived. there's not much to say, according to the RTA. the final findings were, essentially, "agree to disagree". they'd argued that because the case wasn't black and white, a true, rightful verdict couldn't be settled on; this uncertainty meant it was safer to fail keith's team than it was to pass them.

nobody had the desire to combat the RTA of all people about the decision any further. failing due to just barely missing the mark was better than failing due to sheer ineptitude, which lead to some sort of small victory for the team in the end. at least we aren't total failures, i guess, keith would think to himself.

not that they'd expected things to go their way. they knew that by now.

..

end.

[szappan]

im also increasingly sure that im autistic but we'll never ever confirm that </3

[house-of-tales]

"The Honorary Knight is going to give Klee some siblings?"

[welcometoteyvat]

ive been reading too much wuwa hate cannot tell if it's unnecessary doom and gloom or genuinely like terrible storywise

[supermarketcrush]

heyyyy phoenix🫶 have you read or watched anything good recently? would really like some recs! hope you're doing well<3

hiiii jess💕💕💕💕💕 i could lie to seem cool but sadly i haven't been watching or reading anything cool lately, im trying to finish the vampire lestat but i cannot in good conscience call it good 💔 but my most recent movie was the devil wears prada and i enjoyed it plenty!!

hope u have a stella day too x)

[soulesplinters]

The Dragon and the adventurer

Most, if not all, were hapless victims to the twisted dark woods of the Crumbling Castle.

Whether it were for pride or innocent curiosity, the reason for these travelers' venture into the forest never mattered in the end, as it always ended in the same fate: disappearance.

Eventually... there was one who came that proved to be "quite" different than the others before them.

They had a playful happy go lucky attitude, treating the dangerous woods as if it were a mere sports obstacle. An attitude that could've been easily mistaken for foolish ignorance.

Despite this, they've shown to be clever- clearly having experienced similar feats beforehand.

And despite the dragon's efforts... the adventurer still remained.

...

(continued in link below)

[torchflame]

(click for better quality since tumblr DESTROYED IT)

*giggles and kicks my legs and twirls my fingers around my hair* first torchflame post on this acc 💪time to get consumed in brainrot

their absolutely gorgeous design was by @almighty-shortest (look look look I drew them 😎)

[bronanlynch]

obsessed w the choice to have reinhard & hilda hook up for the first time in the context of. reinhard is having a breakdown over his guilt at the death of his boy best friend like. very heterosexual of him, I'm sure

[thebananwithaplan]

. "I-isn't this too many sponsorships we're paying out...?" He can only afford so much...

[chipped-chimera]

Gonna just chime in and add - a lot of traits that are associated with Autism and ADHD are actually 'normal'. The difference here between it just being part of the human experience and actually Autism/ADHD is frequency and/or sensitivity, or even the severity.

For example, in the case of Autism - anyone can experience sensory overload/overwhelm. The mechanism is the same and just goes with 'you have a brain'. You've gotta remember brains are actually sitting in a dark room, all the time interpreting data from the sensors wired into your body (eyes, ears, sense of touch etc.). You bombard those sensors with enough information, they will get overloaded. If you think I'm talking shit as a neurotypical - think shopping centers/malls during Christmas shopping period. Heaps of people, voices echoing off tiles, Christmas music constantly blaring from every corner playing a different song out every door, kids screaming and crying, smells of food and perfume mixing together (idk they always have pop up stalls here in Australia right in the thoroughfares) people jostling your elbows, if you're where I am add 'probably sweaty af because of the heat outside before you came in'.

Anyone would feel absolutely wiped having to deal with that for a few hours straight. That is sensory overload.

The difference between a neurotypical (normal neurology) and someone with Autism is our sensitivity is jacked up way too high. There's various theories as to why, I think the current? front-runner is it's reduced synaptic pruning - basically meaning Autistic's possibly retain more synaptic connections from infancy than others. To put it into an analogy, imagine you have a 'volume' knob for your senses. Yours is sitting (as a neurotypical) at a nice level that you can manage in daily life. The Autistic person however, has it turned up to maximum volume - double your own experience. Suddenly it becomes clear how something that would normally be overwhelming for one person can trigger a complete meltdown in their neurological system resulting in either a meltdown, shutdown or total disassociation from the body in the brain's attempt to mitigate harm. Also given Autism is considered a spectrum, everyone's volume knobs are set a bit different. Some might be really strong for some things, but not others and that'll vary from person to person.

Now for an ADHD example - yes, we all forget things. Everyone has probably experienced the phenomenon known as the 'Doorway Effect' whereby entering a room to go get something - you've suddenly forgot why you're there. And then have to go retrace your steps back to the previous room to 'remember' it, as if you left your brain behind when you changed rooms.

The theory around this is due how to the brain encodes memory, and this might mean a few things get chucked out by accident when you change rooms because your brain is, unawares to you, having to change gear the moment you cross that threshold as it 'processes' the different room. Your brain is relating the memory of what you needed to get before in time and space so it can tell what has passed, what is present etc. (if your brain didn't do this, you'd have a detached sense of time which is a major component of Schizophrenia) This also explains why going BACK to the room can bring back the memory. Your brain just dropped it on the way out.

But for someone with ADHD, if you're doing this so often to the point you feel like you lack object permanence or you feel like unless you can see it constantly, your brain will probably forget it exists? That's ADHD. An ADHD brain has problems with binding dopamine receptors which help us stay motivated and attentive. It's a bit like your short term memory is like a table in front of you where you line up all the things you're supposed to currently be 'remembering' but the ADHD component is the cat that's constantly prowling the table and smacking off things that don't generate enough dopamine. So the memories often end up on the floor and now it's been the fourth week in a row you forgot to put the bin out (me, btw 💀).

This of course, can happen to 'normal' people too - we are running virtually the same hardware. But the differences I am describing here are what we consider disordered.

This is what I think a lot of people forget when accusations of self-diagnosis/statements like 'everyone's a bit x' are thrown around. We're forgetting it's in the name, Autism Specrtum Disorder, Attention Deficit/Hyperactivity Disorder. The defining characteristic of all of these 'symptoms' that get talked about, is they are at a disordered level that is interrupting day to day life and/or making it unable for someone to function as well in our societal structure (this is your hint to go look up the Social Model of disability btw).

So yes, everyone forgets things. Everyone can feel overwhelmed by music that's too loud etc. The difference is this - take whatever that thing is that annoys you, now double it. Now it's a problem. It's disordered.

So yeah, next time someone tries to tell you you're maybe making shit up or you're seeing a lot of people on what I'd arguably call the Autism webbed site (there is a BIG correlation between neurodivergence and fandom btw) going 'oh me too?' maybe it's not a good sample size and if you've got the feeling something about you is off - do your research (from reputable sources, and no an Autistic person cannot be a perfect source because it affects everyone differently) and talk to your doctor.

Also P.S. self-diagnosis if you consider yourself adequately informed and find it useful and/or supported by a medical practitioner like your doctor or psychologist but cannot legally diagnose you - IS. VALID.

Costs - especially for adults - to get diagnosis are often prohibitive, and considering most studies confirm if you're Autistic you're more likely to be unemployed in the first place it's a massive catch 22. My diagnosis' cost me about 4-5k AUD in total. I did not pay for it, my parents did - and I know not everyone will get access to that.

So be kind people. And talk to your doc pls.

(P.S.S. No this isn't to rail on OP or anything this is just a thing I've been thinking about and think needs clearing up for a lot of peeps. We're forgetting what 'disorder' is. Talk to a health professional if you can. Do your research too.)

Edit: I realised I goofed and repeated myself, that's fixed also changed the link for the synaptic pruning to a better one. Shit happens when it's due more ADHD meds o'clock lol.

Pro tip if you see at least 50 people say "wait that's not normal??" In the comments of some neurodivergent relatability post then it probably is, in fact, normal. Daydreaming to songs is normal, I promise you. Most everything about being neurodivergent is normal, it's just the degree to which it affects you and your life that makes it abnormal.

[phagodyke]

allons-y.......😭😭😭😭😭😭😭

[wolverinedoctorwho]

sometimes when i charge my phone, it will be on 15% after a long day of use. i plug the charger in, expecting it to stay at 15% and then charge back up afterwards.

instead, what it will often do is continue to deplete the battery all the way down to 0%, sometimes very quickly, and then it will very slowly charge back up to 100%.

that's what's happened to my body in the last 24hrs.

i apparently have been chucking spoons out the window this whole time and didn't realize it until the whole drawer hit the concrete.

[theinsanecrayonbox]

Saw this tag meme, wasn’t tagged and not tagging anyone, but I wanted to play…despite not having written anything in a year ^^;

Ao3 first lines tag meme:

Rules: Share the first lines of your most recent ten fanfics and tag ten people. If you have written fewer than ten, don’t be shy and share anyway

Happy Birthday Misha (March 2022)

Mornings. Just another dull start to a dull day. Same in and same out for the past nine months. The monotony was bordering on being lethal.

Random OmegaTooth Drabbles: Escape to NYC (Feb 2022)

It wasn’t the sounds of the midnight traffic that had woken him. A streak of moonlight (though more likely street lights) painted its way across the room from the balcony door. He sat up slowly, realizing before his eyes had fully adjusted to the dim lighting that the bed was empty beside him. In that second it all clicked, the balcony door was left uncovered because someone had gone outside.

The WandaVision Episode (Feb 2022)

You have been found guilty. And so then you will be sentenced…You are exiled…

A sharp chirping cut through the darkness of slumber, causing him to almost fall out of bed as he startled awake. What…bed? In an instant he went from surprise to defensive.

When You’re Close Up, You Give Me The Shivers (Nov 2021)

It had been about a week since Siberia. General Zaslon had smoothed things over with the Russian authorities, so for the time being, Arkady was a free man…well, a free man “paroled” into the care of this team…this “Weapon X-Force”. And what great highlights had been accomplished with this freedom thus far? Well, mainly being cooped up in a penthouse in Madripoor, owned by Mystique.

Training Belle (Nov 2021)

This cabin, deep in the Canadian wilderness, had stood for half a century now. The original had collapsed after a few trees had fallen one harsh winter, but its owner had rebuilt it exactly the same. A monument to where it all started. And as he pulled his truck up to park outside of the rustic lodge, he couldn’t help but wonder yet again, why he hadn’t burned it all to the ground yet.

Children of Kaine: Circle Back Around (Nov 2017)

The first thing he felt was cold, wet tiling against his cheek. It’d be a lie to say that this was not a familiar sensation, or situation for the former football player. The darkness still held his vision, but other senses started to come back in waves; it was quiet, save for the semi-regular drip of water, the air felt heavy like it had been humid, and his body started to ache too. He groaned a little as he moved to push himself up into a sitting position.

Children of Kaine: The Lost, The Found, and The Lost (July 2017)

It was a new day, which meant there were about 20 different new ways for Jessica Jones to get into trouble, at the very least. The 18th precinct had closed down about a year and a half ago, but the records were still locked up tight. Ben was on lookout while she tried to pick the locks that barred the outside from taking refuge inside the police station, but as the minutes ticked on and the thing still fought against her attempts, her agitation just grew into frustration. And a frustrated Jessica Jones was not a happy Jessica Jones.

Children of Kaine: The New Normal (May 2017)

Nothing felt right. No, that wasn’t entirely true. Nothing felt like anything. No right, no wrong, there was just no feeling whatsoever.

Children of Kaine: Holiday Special (Dec 2016)

The holiday season was on in full swing at the Parker house. May had always been fond of the season; all that good will was like catnip to her. And having the house full of teenagers again (not that it wasn't these days it seemed) just made it all the better.

Children of Kaine: Symbiote Saga (Nov 2016)

The late matinee was just letting out. A small throng of people came from the innards of the theater out into the street, chatting about this or that, or how bad the movie had been. In amongst the people was a small group of teenagers, all dressed in various hand-me-down looking clothes; nobody was saying it, but everyone assumed they'd just snuck in without paying.

[just-some-random-blogger]

The Salt In My Blood

You were the beloved Jewel of the Realm, the youngest Targaryen born to Alyssa and Baelon. Though your nature resembled more a lamb rather than a dragon, you posed a threat at court, for a single word out of your mouth inspired a thousand actions from The King and The Rogue Prince. Thus, your match with the Lord of the Iron Islands.

Daemon Targaryen x Targaryen!Reader x Dalton Greyjoy | 6k+ | cw: fem!reader, targcest (sister!reader), reader has valyrian features (silver hair, violet eyes), power imbalance, graphic depictions of violence/assault/murder/death, canon divergence/inaccurate timelines, ye old misogyny, fuckedupedness of men, smut (dub con, loss of virginity, piv, biting, marking, breeding kink, corruption kink, baby trapping, cockwarming, cunnilingus), internet translated high valyrian, angst, social commentary, typos, etc.

A/N: !!mind the warnings!! This is really yucky because it is. all men do is hurt women. Also I did basic research for Dalton Greyjoy and just used him cuz I needed a character. idk what he's actually like and I'm 99% sure this timeline doesn't add up so, just roll w it ok? Ok. If my internet translated high valyrian sucks, well, it be like that. And surprise surprise i made another song for a fic because i should make use of my music degree while im jobless 💔 my heart goes out to @arabellasleopardcoat because her fic capital really poked my brain and got me fired up enough to write/create again, even if just for this fic. i love you.

Tagging: @pinksirensong @aralezinspace @sloanexx @delicious-xx @deniixlovezelda @targaryenmoony @risefallrise @thebullship @sa3losa @sloanexx @azperja @happilyhertale

Father, father, shining star, save my brother from the war. Mother, mother, hold me close. I fear brother won't come home. So, I pray, night and day, I do my duty here. Find me, oh [a] husband, so fierce with not a fear. Father, father hears my prayer. Mother, mother dries my tears. All my strife ends tonight for my husband's here.

"But what if someone sees," you whisper.

Daemon clutches your hand tighter as you hurry down the hall. He looks over to you, your expression matches your shaky voice.

Perhaps, had the conditions been different, he'd be softened by your words. The ferocity of his protectiveness would have made him stop in his footsteps and clutch your cheek. Perhaps he would have promised to safeguard you.

But these conditions did not elicit such urges from him. No. It stoked the fires bacchanal in his gut. The stolen taste of your honeyed lips in the garden was not enough.

Daemon finally brings his darling sister into his bedroom, and there, he answers you, "who would dare spy on the king's heir, the prince of the realm?"

Your breath quickens at the sound of your brother locking the door.

The prince of the realm stalks over to you, a dragon gazing upon a meek lamb.

Again, you whisper, "what if someone finds out?"

Daemon could growl. He almost did as he grabs your waist and sinks his head into the crook of your tender neck. You don't even react when he does this, save for your gasp.

Oh, how like you, how docile and doe-like, never one to raise your voice, or fight back, especially not with him.

"Let them find out, sister," he claws your clothing, "then they will not steal you from me."

You are so pliant as he squeezes you, so soft as he roughs you back to his bed. You let him handle you like he did your dolls growing up. He treated them with less than a quarter of the gentleness you would; they'd end up tattered and broken because of him by the end of your playing session, much to your heartbreak.

Though you cried about it, you never once held it against him, because each time, Daemon would wipe your tears and apologize. He liked breaking your dolls. He liked being your comfort.

He knew without a sliver of doubt you'd let him do the same to your body. You'd let him break you, then kiss the tears off your cheeks. You'd let him, for he was your star, and you were his doll.

Daemon presses you beneath him. He lays you down where he sleeps. He kisses you, the way he has sometimes imagined he would while touching himself, or while in the arms of another. His long, silver hair cascades down his shoulder, joining your long, silver hair that's spilled on his pillows.

For so long, he's denied himself of you, because you were too pure, too darling to be tainted.

You whimper as he pushes your skirts up, bunching them by your ribs.

But now, it's all different.

His mouth suckles its way to your neck.

"Daemon."

Now, it's not about denial. It's about what's right. It's about what you deserve.

"Daemon-" you whimper when he reaches into the waistband of your smallclothes, "-wait."

He breathes hotly against your jaw. He grabs your knees and parts them for himself.

You push his shoulders back, catching his attention. He is displeased, and not even your glassy eyes could quell it. He warns you with an annoyed sound.

You gulp but mutter anyway, "this is wrong."

"Wrong?!" snaps he.

You tense at his anger, yet even then, you caress his cheek gently, "I am to be married to Lord Dalton Greyjoy."

"And you would have me believe you want him?" Daemon quips, "that you do not want me?"

You push yourself up on your elbows. Tears begin to spill from the corner of your eyes, "Daem-"

"Why do you think I am doing this?" He pushes himself against your core.

You whimper at the contact. He is hard.

He grabs your wrists and pins them to your sides, "I do this for your sake, little girl. To save you from your prison."

You gulp and blink rapidly, your silver lashes lace with tears.

The slightest semblance of remorse flashes on your brother's face.

With your head lifted, you watch as Daemon brings his hands to your ankles instead. He rids you of your shoes and chucks them over his shoulder.

Slowly, he strips you naked until you are left in nothing but the jewelry and the stockings he bought you once before.

You cover your breasts, and he lets you while he kneads at your slightly parted thighs.

His eyes are glued on your womanhood, on the curls that don't see the light of day and the flesh that's never been touched by a man.

Daemon clenches his jaw as his fingers inspect the heat there. The two digits find molten wetness flooding your entrance. You make a breathless sound and squeeze your thighs, trying, with pointless effort, to stop him. His eyes flick to your face, the look of embarrassment, of shock, of pleasure visible to him. He debates forcing your legs.

He licks his you-coated fingers and tuts instead, "open."

You look at him, your Daemon, with a faint line between his brows. You close your mouth and lick your lips. Your hands find their way back to your breasts.

The sight is maddening, especially with how the jewel of your necklace looks between the squished mount of flesh.

"Open," he commands with less patience.

Daemon watches his darling princess part her legs for him. His trousers strain more than it did already.

He watches you closely and motions with a finger to your chest, "those too."

You do not immediately comply. In fact, you look at Daemon with pleading eyes. He raises his brows at your bratty demeanor, and shakes his head, "are you disobeying me?"

You see the threat in his eyes.

"Kessa nyke mazverdagon ao rūnagon aōha dīnagon?" Shall I make you remember your place?

You shake your head and pipe softly, "daor." No.

Finally, you reveal your breasts to him.

He smirks, "good girl."

Your brother kneads your delicate flesh and grinds his clothed groin against your weeping cunt. The sound you emit makes the feel of the clothes on his skin unbearable.

He grabs your hands and places them on his waistband. He looks down at you as he rids himself of his top. By the time his burning chest is free, you've gotten half the wits to undo his breeches.

His eyes don't leave you as he takes off his shoes.

You timidly pull his pants down, sitting up slightly as you do. You make a soft sound when his manhood flings free. Daemon shoves you back and does the rest himself.

"Daemon. I don't think-"

Your voice is crushed by the feel of his cock sliding into you. A rush of heat ripples through your body. He leans down and kisses your shoulder as you whine.

"Enough," he pants. He uses all his restraint not to fuck you dumb then and there. He grabs your thighs, pressing them into your chest. He can feel your tension. If he fucks you now, he could leave you unable to walk straight. But as sweet as that sounds, he doesn't actually want to hurt you, not that way.

Daemon sinks down to your jugular and kisses you there before he brings his hungry mouth to your breast. He sucks and nips, imagining it being heavy with milk for his babe, the babe he'd put into your belly.

The thought makes his moan and rut his hips.

You make a strained sound and your hands push at his arms. You call his name again, soft and shaky.

Daemon tries to ignore you, his palm coming to your lonely breast on the other side, but the persistent call of his name makes him sigh.

He lightly grazes your nipple before he releases your flesh. He trails kisses up your skin until he lands on your face, your face, which was now wet with salt.

"You need to relax. Mmm?" he coos, kissing your lips, "skoro syt gaomagon ao limagon? Hm?" Why do you cry?

You adjust beneath him, repositioning your thighs, digging your fingers into his nape. You whimper, "lēkia."

Daemon's belly burns. Look at you, crying for your older brother.

"Kessa, ñuha hāedar?" Yes, my little sister?

"Iksan zūgagon," you mutter, tears streaming down your temples. Your nails scratch up his scalp. I am afraid.

Daemon, selfish as he is, does not like the fact that leaves your lips. His brows furrow. He rubs your thighs in an attempt to comfort you. He kisses the corner of your lips, "hen lēkia?" Of your older brother?

You shake your head quickly, rubbing your thumb on his jaw.

His brows furrow tighter. His hold on your thigh tightens, "hen bona Āegenka Āzma?" Of that Iron Born?

You stay still. You take a moment before mumbling, "Viserys said I should marry him for my own good-"

"Fuck that cunt Viserys," he spits angrily.

Your lips quiver.

The anger in Daemon's chest dissipates as you rub the deep line between his brows. He props himself up, sinking a hand by the side of your head. He looks down at you.

"You cannot protect me forever," you whisper, finally relaxing beneath him.

Daemon watches as you lick your lips.

You gulp, "I am a Targaryen princess. I have duties to the realm, to my family."

"Your duty is with me," he grabs your hand, bringing it to his chest.

Your violet eyes sparkle as you examine his features. You tuck the long tresses that block his face behind his ear. Your belly ignites at the fierce beauty of your beloved brother.

"I burn for you," Daemon says, "I know that you burn for me."

"But Daemon-"

The gentle thrust of his hips stifle your words.

You whimper and instinctively mold your body against him. Your legs tighten around his torso as his thrusts grow more and more confident.

"Enough," Daemon repeats this time softer, head sinking back into the crook of your neck, "you have always belonged to me, and you know it."

Daemon kisses you, delighting in the gasp you give when he plays with your pearl. He muffles the sound of your mewls with his mouth.

"They insult us all by daring to mix dragon blood with fucking sea squid," he pants, "you were meant to carry my seed, be my bride."

You moan, feeling a foreign force in your belly.

"I will not let that sewer monster be the one to make you a woman," Daemon licks a stripe up your neck.

You tangle your fingers into the roots of his hair, "Daemon."

His nails scratch up your sides, "twas I that watched you blossom into womanhood, tis I that should be the one to take it."

Neither of you speak after he says this. You both simply whimper, wordlessly agreeing your bodies were made for each other.

The prince had not a single care in the world. He urges you to scream out to him with the flick of his pelvis. He didn't care if anyone could hear, neither did he care that anyone would see the viscious marks he was leaving all over your throat.

You were better than he had ever imagined, and he was determined to make you his. He was intent on emptying his stones, over and over again, until you could take no more, until you were too exhausted to leave, until your body had no other choice but to carry him a child.

And when he finally does spill into you, coming with a grunt and a soft, "you're mine," you, the virgin princess finally understand the fuss over sex, and reply to him with an, "I love you."

Daemon fucks you until his bed is soiled with a mix of your come. He fucks you until every minute movement from him makes you shiver and whine. He fucks you until your skin is marked with tender bites. He fucks you until you beg for respite, and then he keeps himself inside you after.

You were a worn little thing, and yet you managed the energy to still cling to him as you dozed off.

He kisses your temple and sleeps soundly, knowing he's done it, he's made his claim; you were his. That was irrefutable. Only a madman would deny him of you now. He basks in the pleasure of your body, and in the knowledge his baby sister so wholeheartedly trusted in him to let him do this.

One can only imagine, then, the mortified horror you felt when you were given to Lord Greyjoy anyway.

This was not part of the plan. You were meant to meet Daemon. He told you you were going to speak to the king together, and yet here your eldest brother was, ushering you towards your captor-husband to be.

"My princess," Dalton says, reaching a hand to you.

You stare at his glimmering eyes, finding nothing but malice and lust behind them. You turn to your brother for help. You do not want to touch this man.

Viserys offers you none and looks away. It hurts when he does so, especially since he does so with such apparent scorn. He smiles at Dalton, "greet your lord. You will soon be wed to him, sister."

You muster enough artificial interest to smile. Goosebumps form on your skin when he kisses the back of your hand.

He notices and chuckles, rubbing where he kissed, "such demureness. Do not be frightened of me, my dragon. I would not hurt such a pretty thing."

You clasp your hands together after he releases you.

"Not unless you ask," he adds, bursting into a laugh.

Neither you or Viserys return the amusement. In fact, the latter's face contorts at the distasteful joke. His nostrils flare, "you dare jest such uncouth things in front of your king?"

Dalton Greyjoy is unbothered, but stifles his laughter. He clears his throat and bows, "my apologies, my king. Tis the Ironborn in me. I cannot help my nature, much like you cannot help yours."

You feel light headed the entirety of this interaction. The room feels like it was closing in on you, and you kept glancing at the door, praying that your other brother free you from this torment.

He does not. He does not come. In fact, you do not see Daemon anywhere the entire day.

Dalton keeps you by his side, taking your arm in his as he makes you stroll him around the Red Keep. You do so, of course, no matter how strong the urge to run away and hide from him was. The entire time, Dalton recounts his stories of battle, his stories at sea, his stories of life. He's sincere enough, but you are not interested in the slightest.

"I think you'd enjoy the feel of sea salt against your skin, just as much you enjoy the whip of the clouds," he grins with genuine enthusiasm.

Any response you have is put out by his next words.

"I can introduce you to my salt-wives."

"Salt-wives?"

"Aye," he says proudly, "I'd say I have about twenty, but I cannot assure you its accuracy."

You are horrified. Finally, you have the gall to pull away, "what?"

Dalton chuckles, somehow amused, but his brows furrow, as if irritated, "we Ironborn keep salt wives in our ships, to give us comfort and warmth when the sea gets too rough. Is this princess so sheltered to not know this?"

You curdle when he reaches for your neck.

"You needn't be jealous. You'd be my one and only rock wife."

You scowl at his condescending tone, "I thought that was just a wives' tale."

He laughs. It is rich, amused, and foreboding. He shakes his head, "it's about as much of a wives' tale as your dragons are, princess."

Later that night, you weep at the king's feet, begging him not to marry you off to such a man.

Viserys does not hear it, and it is only then that Daemon finally appears.

When he does, it's as if the gods themselves breathed life into you. Quickly, you run into him and sob into his chest.

Daemon holds you tightly and glares at the king, "what have you done to her?"

Viserys scoffs. The dark room, illuminated only by the fireplace and a few lit candles, feels to him like it's darkened because of Daemon. He shifts where he sits, "I? I found her a husband."

Daemon's eye twitches, "you gave her to me! You said it just this morning."

You look up at Daemon, hopeful at the sound of his words.

"I said I would think about it once you report your patrol at the City Watch to me."

Daemon releases you to impose on his brother, "I kept your city clean from crimes and safe for the people."

"And where did you go after?" Viserys narrows his eyes.

You rub your arms as you watch your brothers argue.

Daemon does not respond.

Viserys turns to you, "tell your beloved sister where you went after your patrols."

Daemon does not move.

Your chest tightens at the silence, "... Daemon."

The said man opens his mouth, "I went to get a dri-"

"A whorehouse!" Viserys blurts, rising from his seat to glare at Daemon. He turns back to you, pushing past him, "I would know. I paid every whore in Fleabottom to seduce him."

Your heart leaps into your mouth, "w-what?"

Daemon is stunned.

"See now," Viserys is close enough to clutch your cheeks, "your beloved brother is a man like all the rest. No more is the dragon righteous than the kraken."

Your eyes begin to fog with tears. Your hands begin to tremble. Why was he doing this to you?

"Greyjoy is no less a dog than the rest of us. He at least, is honoring a tradition. Daemon honors only his cock."

You turn to Daemon, hoping to find this was not the case, but his expression says it all. You let a pained whimper, "you teach me so cruelly, brother."

"I teach you," he swipes your tears with his thumbs, "for your own good."

"You fucking--"

You scream in terror as Daemon lunges at Viserys. You reel back and watch as the two crash down to the floor, the younger of them finding the upper hand. They roughly struggle against each other.

You can no longer remain simply screaming when Daemon grabs Viserys by the collar and slams him repeatedly against the ground, especially not when Viserys claws at Daemon's face to get him off. You dash forward just as the guards order the prince to stop.

It only takes another scream from you, begging them to stop, for the kingsguards to burst into the room.

You grab Daemon's arm, and out of instinct, he swats you back, hand hitting your nose with rage powered force.

You shoot back into a kingsguard, feeling your face throb in pain. You swipe your philtrum and find red on your fingers.

It takes Viserys screaming your name for Daemon to stop and realize what he's done.

The impact of hitting the armored man makes your back twinge, but it does not hurt nearly as much as the back handed hit you received from your brother.

The kingsguard catches you and stands you upright. He quickly asks if you are alright, but doesn't wait for an answer because he's then shoving Daemon back, putting himself between him and you when he tries to come near.

Daemon glares in offence.

"Throw him in the fucking dungeon," Viserys spits out as he is helped up by another guard.

Daemon fights back, but is no match against three guards.

He screams your name as he is dragged off.

You clutch your face as he tells you he didn't mean to hit you. You face throbs as he tells you he loves you, and only you.

For once, you doubt his words.

Viserys comes to your side, placing a gentle hand in your shoulder. You watch as he commands a servant to get something for your injury.

He clutches your cheek that was struck and sighs, "if you wed the Red Kraken, you will strengthen our hold on the Iron Lands. Dalton Greyjoy is a formidable warrior. I couldn't think of a more capable man to safekeep the Jewel of the Realm."

As he stroked your hair, you realized that Viserys was right. It didn't matter who it was, all men were the same. When your septa warned you of men's depravity, you believed your brothers to be the exception. Now, you knew exactly why you were called-

"Little lamb," Viserys coos, "I only want what is best for all of us."

You were too naive to believe in good things.

And so you marry Dalton Greyjoy the next day.

The haste with which the wedding is prepared is to prevent you from changing your mind, you figured. That, and to keep Daemon in prison for the least amount of time.

Part of you wanted to visit him, but part of you wanted him to suffer. In the end, you realized you were too weak to behold your brother as a prisoner.

Daemon screams and bangs at his bars, demanding he be released. But the prison guards have handled worse and throw cold water at him to shut him up.

He knew by the time he was free, he would be too late to stop your marriage, but still, he meticulously planned what he would do the moment he was.

That night, after the wedding festivities were over, Dalton takes you to your room and makes you his wife.

"It's been a while since I've had a virgin," Dalton says, caressing your cheek, "don't worry, I will be gentle."

You want to scream, you want tofight him back, but you remember you're not a virgin, and fear paralyzes you. You mumble, "m-my dragon riding."

Dalton pushes back bour silver hair and kisses your shoulder.

You can't help but think of Daemon in this moment, but it makes you feel sick, and so you will him out of your head. You mumble again, "my dragon riding may taken my womanhood."

Dalton pulls away and stares at you for a moment.

"I- I was told as a child, it happened to many Targaryen princesses."

He pulls his hands, which were on your hips, away then shoves you down on your bed. He smirks as he undoes his clothing, "then I can be rough with you, aye?"

You quiver at his gaze.

He laughs, shaking his head, "didn't I say I would not hurt you? Unless under your request?"

You inch back as he crawls over. He grabs your ankle, then the other, causing you to panic. You instinctively kick him off, but instead of being deterred, he is excited.

"Sh, sh, sh," he hushes, "it will not be unpleasant, my dragon."

Your skin pricks with gooseflesh when he removes your shoes, your socks, then sneaks his hand up your skirt.

You whimper and turn away, finding you could no longer kick back when he seizes your knees.

"Please-"

"Shhh," he hushes, giving you the first solemn look he has this entire day he's been smug, "I've had much practice from my salt wives. You, my rock wife, will taste the fruits of my practice... as I taste you."

You gasp when he suddenly rips your underwear off.

"I swear to you, your body will enjoy it, even if your mind wants you to believe otherwise."

You muffle your mouth with your palm when you feel Dalton sink in between your thighs.

He was right.

The entire time he touches you, it feels like your skin was being scorched. Your heart was not in it, but your body twisted in pleasure. You hated that you longed for Daemon, even after the fact you were not enough for him; he was still the only one you, and this moment proved it.

You were brought to tears at how pathetic it was. Tears streamed as you reached your peak, one of the many you receive from your... husband.

He handled you with carnal instinct, just as Daemon did, but unlike him, Dalton did not kiss your tears. In fact, he did not kiss your face once. It is you that initiates such a thing, amidst the throes of your lewd pleasure. He grabs your jaw when your lips connect, and quickly releases his load into you after.

Your peak is cut short because he pulls out just when you reach it.

You watch as he rolls over and goes to sleep without another word.

The next morning, the servants call you Princess Greyjoy and it haunts you.

"No need to look so sullen, wife," you hear over your shoulder.

If the cold from the early morning wasn't enough to make you shiver, the kiss on your shoulder was.

The ship rocks as you tear your gaze away from King's Landing, King's Landing that looked so tiny now from where you stood. A sea of tears laid between you and the home that will never be yours again. You turn to Dalton. He leans his elbows on the edge of the ship and looks up at you, "we can do many things to liven your mood."

You watch him as he rubs your hips. Your stomach curdles but you manage to offer a smile, "I... am flattered, but I do not want to distract the captain of this ship."

Dalton chuckles and straightens up, "trust me. The crew would appreciate it if you did."

You squeak when he yanks you into him.

"Right boys?!" he calls loudly, "shall I make a salt wife out of my rock wife?!"

The crew cheers and it makes your skin burn in mortification.

The next thing you know, you are thrown over his shoulder. He slaps your ass and takes you to his quarters. The crew laughs as he does.

You helplessly grunt when he drops you on his bed-- your shared bed. You silently peer up at him as he stares at you. You are relieved he paces across the room, towards his table. He grabs something and chucks it at you. You flinch but manage to catch it.

He sits on the table as you inspect the pouch. You open it, finding herbs inside.

"I heard you've been drinking that," he says.

You look up at him.

"Haven't you?" he asks.

You smell it and wretch. It smells exactly like-

"Moon tea," Dalton says, making your blood run cold, "for the bastard in your belly.*

You are frozen in your spot. Your stomach drops when he stands and walks over. He grabs your chin. It is not harsh, but it strikes fear in you anyway.

"I asked you a question, wife."

You open your mouth, but no words come out.

"HAVE YOU BEEN TAKING THE FUCKING TEA OR NOT?" he screams, grabbing your neck.

Your hands fly to his grip. Your fingers attempt to pry him away.

You wheeze when he squeezes you. Your flail your legs and try to kick him off. You can't. Just as your vision begins to go dark, he releases you. You fall onto the bed and frantically try to catch your breath. You cough and hear him smash things around the room.

And so you behold the man who said he would not hurt you unless you asked him, brutalize the furniture.

You think your chances are better in the sea rather than on this boat. You slowly maneuver towards the door while he is distracted. Just as you are about to sprint, he grabs you and throws you back down on his bed.

"You stupid slut!" he screams, "you think you can run?!

You try to scream for help, but the pain in your throat when you try to stops you. Not a second later, you scream anyway.

He slaps you across the face, promptly silencing you. The sting is ten times worse than what Daemon did.

"I was promised a Targaryen princess, not some whore of a dragon!" he screams, kicking the chair by his desk across the room.

You feel lightheaded. You see double.

He laughs angrily, shaking his head, "dragon riding, my arse."

Indistinguishable sounds leave your lips.

Your heart drops as he storms over.

"Who's the father of your bastard child?!"

"ANSWER ME!" he demands, grabbing your shoulders, dragging you to your feet. Your head recoils at the sheer force of it. You take a moment to steady your head.

Your eyes search Dalton's enraged features, hoping to chance upon a sliver of compassion... in vain. The sound that leaves your mouth is response to the bruising squeeze of your arms. You cannot help but whimper as tears stream down your cheeks, "you're hurting me."

He is further angered by this. He gives you a powerful shake. Your head lashes back again and you scream.

"Give me a name!" erupts the lord.

You no longer have it in you to hold your tongue, and so you confess, "Daemon!"

Dalton releases you. He is repulsed, "your brother?" He scoffs, "you revolting, little worm," he slaps you again, making you lose your balance.

Before you crash into anything, he grabs you and keeps you upright. You can feel your cheek and lips swell at his assault. You taste iron on your lips.

"And here they had me believing you were some meek lamb," he laughs dryly, brushing your hair back, "you're nothing but a whore, grown from perversion and abomination."

Your expression hardens. You glare at him and rebut, though your head was pounding, "and your sea rituals are more righteous than my family traditions?"

Without another word, Dalton shoves you back, propelling you into his desk. Your skull crashes against the edge with a horrendous thud.

You fall limp onto the floor. Dalton cares little if you were dead or unconscious. He walks out of the room right before he can witness the red staining your white hair.

Dalton is no fool. He knows better than to disfigure a Targaryen princess.

He walks towards the wheel of the ship and continues the course to what his crew believed to be a shortcut to home. In truth, he was bringing the ship to its doom, to face you with with a trail of the sea.

He would crash the ship into a chokehold of rocks, and if you survived, if he found your floating body, he would keep you, as you proved your resilience. But if you were swallowed into the depths, if he was unable to find you in the debris, he would praise the Drowned god for your riddance.

The same want with his crew.

Of course, there was a bit of this that felt like suicide, but he knew he was too vengeful to die, so he knew he had nothing to fear.

When the Greyjoy ship finally reached the rocky pass, Dalton was promptly warned of the danger by his lookout, who he obviously ignored.

He ordered to hoist the sails, and, blindly, the crew followed, even through apparent worry.

It didn't take very long after for the ship to crash into the cliffs.

The crew clamors. They scream and panic, turning to their captain that could not care less. He pretends to steer them to safety, but he actually slammed them further into their demise.

The deck begins to crumble. The mast snaps. The sails break off. Dalton calls to abandon ship.

The crew don't need any more convincing.

One by one, each man for their own, they try to escape with their life.

By the time Dalton jumps off the ship, the thing is half submerged in the water, crumbs of it on the side of a rock.

It was pure chaos.

Dalton swims far enough from the destruction, and knows his god smiled upon him and his decision when he sees a large wooden slab he can climb on.

He does just that and looks out to his crew, helping the ones that manage to swim over, commanding the others calling for help to simply swim or drown.

He looks around, trying to make out a body of a woman, a blob of a dress, a head of silver hair in the aftermath.

"My wife," he screams, "has anyone seen my wife?!"

He wasn't concerned, of course. He just wanted to know his fate as a husband, but this did make for a good alibi.

His surviving men look and swim around for you. They find no trance.

Dalton presses his lips, "little dragon couldn't fly away."

They take refuge on a cliff. Lord Greyjoy tells his crew not to bitch and panic because they will surely be found by a passing ship soon enough.

He had planned this shipwreck after all.

By the time Dalton and his remaining men were saved, a flash of red circled in the setting sky, hovering over the massive rock that held the shipwreck that bore the sigil of Greyjoy.

Caraxes screeches as his rider commands him to get closer to the scene. The dragon hesitates but eventually lands on the cliff. Waves crash upon the area, causing the beast to bleat when he is wet.

Daemon is frantic as he gazes upon the destruction. He is distressed unlike he's ever been. His voice is distinctly desperate and hysterical. He screams out your name, even though it was nothing against the roar of the splashing waves.

He heaves heavily as he erratically decides to dismount and jump into the water.

As he wades, he tries to convince himself that what he was doing was for naught-- perhaps you were not here to begin with. But the gut feeling was overwhelming; it was sickening.

He tries to believe that bottom feeder, Greyjoy, saved you before his ship crumbled. He tries to convince himself that cunt's lust for you was enough reason to keep you alive.

But he remembers the servant he threatened with a knife whilst demanding to know which route your ship would take. He thinks of how he almost shit himself while confesssing to Daemon that Greyjoy planned to pass through a rocky region as a shortcut. But Daemon's flown over that area, and knew it was out of the way to the Iron Islands.

After squeezing out what's left from that servant, Daemon's face falls when he mentions that rusted octopus had an argument with a servant girl that came to serve the princess a cup of tea.

Daemon was no fool. Dalton was a butish barbarian. If he found out you were drinking Moon Tea, he would do his worst on you for blemishing his pride.

And so he swam. Daemon swam, dove down, and searched for your body until he had to stop because Caraxes was getting restless. He commanded him to calm down, but he could only do it so many times until he, himself, was the same.

He eventually gets back on Caraxes. Daemon can't bring himself to leave just yet however, and finds himself praying to whatever god out there to return his love back to him.

Caraxes circles the area one last time before heading off. For some reason, Daemon feels the urge to check underneath a large slab of shattered wood. He commands his mount to lift it, and the dragon screeches as he does what he can with his hind legs.

The sound that leaves the prince's mouth is what could only be described as pure anguish.

A head of silver hair floats up and wafts in the water along with a tattered dress. Your body garnered a horrid tone of grey and you were missing your shoes.

Daemon cannot contain the tears that gush out of his eyes.

Caraxes carries your body in his claws all the way to the Keep.

The way in which he commands his ride to set your body down is frantic and incredibly detailed. Part of him realizes Caraxes probably recognized you, considering the way he laid on his belly and sniffed you as Daemon buckled to his knees and lamented over your frigid body.

He speaks to you in High Valyrian. His salty tears drip on your salt water drowned body. He promises he will never trick you, never argue with you, and never make you cry ever again if only you open your violet eyes.

He rocks back and forth with you in his arms, unsure which of you he was soothing by doing this.

He swears he will turn the sea red with blood and burn the whole Iron Islands to avenge you.

He is incredibly uncomfortable of the chill of your skin. He shakes his head, telling you dragons must not be kept cold. He kisses your face in an attempt to warm it up. He recounts a time where you accidentally spilled candle wax on him, burning his skin, and tells you that you still need to make up for your offence. He tells you he will forgive you if you simply hold him back.

Viserys had to account for three dragons by the time he found out what was happening, one was Daemon, whose grief morphed into murderous spite. He threatened to slay anyone who wanted to take you from him. Not again. Another was Caraxes, who refused to leave his heartbroken rider's side. The last was your dragon, who felt the loss of your connection, and went into a rabid state mourning.

It takes 5 people to secure your dragon in the pit, 5 people to subdue Caraxes, and 3 people to separate Daemon from your corpse.

The king takes a moment to clutch your hand. His face flinches. Where once your hand was so warm, no warmth now remained. He steps back and watches the maesters cover your body and take you away.

[koushirouizumi]

(Because I'm still really happy about this discussion and I need to rewatch Fiddler on the Roof while cross-checking the full Yiddish script---)

For reference, there's Yiddish version of "Do You Love Me?" at that link (if slightly off sync), the English version of same song is here, and the full Yiddish script can be found here! (If the links die down the road, please check the script!)

The fundamental difference between Fiddler on the Roof and Fidler Afn Dakh:

English Tevye: Tradition!

Yiddish Tevye: Got iz a foter un heylik iz zayn toyre!