#sunset rose cocktail

[lackadaisycats]

Lackadaisy Rhapsody ~

The Official LACKADAISY Pilot Soundtrack is now up on YouTube, accompanied by animations of the Lackadaisy Speakeasy house band!

Watch it here!

[l0ser-nicolaz]

[araaltoo]

[anngelbaby]

Girl next door

Caitlyn Kiramman x Fem!reader

Summary: An heir to a rich family comes to Piltover seeking more suitors than her home land has to offer.

Warnings: There's probably a lot of pov changes. idk how to write. im sorry. 😓 uses of y/n but only like twice.

Reader being so down bad after like 3 seconds. (because we all were bffr) and cait being very charming (?) From the start and probably being pretty ooc.

You are from an island next to Piltover, your family being particularly wealthy and having connections to practically every rich family who lives here.

Which is how you find yourself in your current situation, in a quiet corner of a crowded large hall.

You're at the Kirammans estate, your parents being close friends with them had asked them if they could hold a party at their house during their next visit to help you in your "search of finding love" which they happily agreed to.

You had met the Kirammans afew years prior along with their daughter, Caitlyn. She was a very composed girl, quiet, and very polite.

You'd yet to see her since your arrival early this morning, though. Not that it really bothered you. You hardly know the girl.

Leaning against the wall, a cocktail in your hand that you occasionally sip as you scan the area, looking for anyone to mingle with, just to pass the time but noone particularly catches your eye till you see a girl, in enforcers uniform walk through the doors. You're pretty sure enforcers can't just waltz into a party, but with a closer look, you quickly reconise the dark blue hair, basically a staple of Kirammans. Your brain finally registers it must be their daughter, Caitlyn.

She looks so.. different now, your eyes locked on her as you watch her walk over to her parents, who are, of course, talking to yours. She's very pretty, her hair flows so nicely, it's so shiny and her face is beautifully sculpted.

Your mother points over to you, waving her hand, signalling you over.

You take your eyes off of Caitlyn before walking over to your mother, you quickly make it to her side, standing to face Caitlyn, having to tilt your head very slightly to look her in the eyes.

"Nice to see you again."

You say, hand placed out in front of you for her to shake. Now that you're closer to her, you can see her face so much better. Her enchanting eyes, the way her brows are almost stuck in a slightly furrowed position, she's just so pretty.

"The same to you."

She says, voice smooth, as she takes your hand, turning, leaning down slightly, before gently kissing the back of it.

You feel yourself freeze, eyes going slightly wide with shock, simply nodding with a hum, keeping as calm as possible as she let's go of your hand.

As your parents now continue in conversation, you look around, unsure of what to do now, not really wanting to go back into the corner.

"Did you want to come for a walk? I could show you around the gardens."

You hear Caitlyn ask, having probably noticed you looking slightly unsure.

"Yes, please."

You reply with a gentle nod, taking her outstretched hand as she leads you out of the crowded room and out of the large double doors.

The light glow from the sunset illuminates her face so perfectly you can't help but stare.

"You look different, in a good way of course. I guess I just mean you're really pretty."

She chuckles lightly looking down at you for a moment, still walking.

"Thank you, as are you."

She says, pausing for a moment before asking.

"If I may. Why have you and your parents come to piltover? I haven't seen you in years, so there must be a reason."

"Oh, um, my parents are very adamant that i find a partner so they've taken me to visit some of their friends from different islands in hopes of finding people my age to pursue me, I mostly agreed to get out of the country, but its not been all that bad."

She hums with a small nod.

Conversation continues until you come to the entrance of a archway woven in blue roses, behind which is an beautiful garden with an array of colourful flowers, butterflies dancing around them.

"It's beautiful."

You say, voice gentle as you take in the scenery.

"Isn't it? I find it's also very peaceful."

She leads you through the arch way and into the garden to a hand carved bench. She gestures for you to sit, taking a seat beside you.

The silence between you is comfortable, hands still holding eachother before you speak up.

"Thank you for taking me here. The party was a bit to crowded for my liking."

"I could tell, you looked quite lost."

She says with a gentle laugh.

The light conversation continues between you both until you notice people slowly leaving the building.

"Seems like the party's over, we should probably head back in."

She let's out sigh

"A pity, but i suppose we should."

You both head back in, hands still intertwined, no need to still be holding, but also no need to let go.

As you approach the entrance doors, you notice how the sun is now fully set, moon casting a blue-ish light over everything around.

She opens the door, allowing you to go through first, hands slipping from eachother as you enter.

As you walk though the doors, Caitlyn shutting them behind you, you hear her mother speak.

"Caitlyn, could you please show Y/n to her room?"

"Of course."

She reply quickly, taking your hand once again and leading you up the large set of stairs, through a corridor filled with doors till she stop outside of one. Opening the door to reveal a expertly decorated navy blue and gold room.

"Thank you."

You say, face her, nodding your head slightly.

"Of course, if you need anything my rooms just nextdoor, don't hesitate to come get me."

With a nod you walk into the room and she shuts the door behind her.

You see your bags have already been placed to the side of the room and there's a small tray with littke gifts on which you thought was sweet.

You grab one for your bags, searching through it for some comfortable sleep attire before heading to the bathroom attached to the room to change.

Once you've, changed, brushed your teeth and done your skincare you walk back into the bedroom, getting comfortable in bed, falling asleep almost instantly on the comfortable mattress.

It's been 2 weeks since your arrival in Piltover, today being your last day here, and you're still yet to find someone who's caught your eye. We'll aside from Caitlyn, but she's made no obvious moves and you've been to nervous to say anything.

You've been spending everyday together, her showing you around, taking you to all the nicest shops etcetera, you've gotten much closer. Little do you know, she's been planning something special for you as a parting gift.

You're both walking through the garden where she took you on your first night here. She leads you to the center of it where a circular stone path connects to all four pathways.

Holding your hands in hers, she turns to face you.

"Y/n, the time I've spent with you these last 2 weeks has been amazing, you're such an amazing woman to be in the company of and I have come to the realisation that I'd like to pursue a more romantic relationship with you."

You feel yourself flush, blinking in shock, half doubting this is even real but the feeling of her warm, soft hands in yours keeps you aware that this is reality.

"I.. feel the same way Cait and I'd be honoured to continue this relationship as romantic with you."

You say, still in shock and trying to seem as composed as possible.

You feel her hands on your cheeks as she gently pulls you in, placing a light kiss to your forehead.

"I'm glad to hear that. I was slightly worried you'd say no."

Your stood by the docks, your parents on their boat, waiting for your luggage to be loaded on so you can head home. You and Caitlyn stood at the bridge, saying your goodbyes.

"I'll text you as soon as I'm home."

You assure her, hands intertwined with hers.

"I'll be waiting."

She hums with a smile, bringing your hands to her lips to place gentle kisses to the back of them.

You hear your parents calling you onto the boat, turning to look over ti them before back to Caitlyn. You pull her into a tight hug.

"I'll miss you. I promise I'll visit again as soon as possible."

"I'll miss you too."

She replys, before ushering you gently towards to boat. You quickly get on, waving her goodbye as it pulls away from the docks.

Word count : 1,434

@9ngels

Reblogs are appreciated!

Please don't copy and repost or translate and post my works <3

[world-in-a-nook]

"And upon his name was a crown of jewels, and the brightest was Hope"

character : Aventurine pairing : Aventurine (drunk!Aventurine at the end) x avgin!gn!reader (specified blond hair) ; angst/comfort art : @しかく

synopsis : Aventurine, while sitting in a bar, finds you performing at a bar in Penacony. Surprised to see another Avgin, he watches your dance performance and comes to see you after it. inspiration : dance ; warnings : spoiler for 2.1 (all of the Aventurine's backstory) ; Avgin racism (implied prostitution); alcohol ; petname ( little gem ; darling ;) ; survivor guilt ; might be ooc lore taken from : Signoia, Unclaimed Desolation (I went full on worldbuilder and might have expanded a bit) wc : 3.1k author's note : not my native language

The night had long started inside the bar with drinks passing from hand to hand, chatters getting loud. The cocktail, an Imagined Sunrise, in Aventurine’s hand swirled the sweet colour of sunsets. He was seated in an obscure corner, far from anyone’s gaze. Although his client had long left, he decided to stay anyway to pass time. Why stay in the boring room when you can have fun outside?  His bodyguards would have preferred the former since it meant being less alert but Aventurine wasn’t the type to cooperate especially after a frustrating deal.

Through the rose-tinted glasses, he looked at his surroundings. The bar was crowded like any night of Penacony, people sipping on the dream syrup or on some Soulglad. The chatter filled the room mixing with the clicking of the ice and the music. The coloured bottles shined in the dimlit bar creating drinks. His own was gleaming like some dawn, one that he dreamt so much of. He took a sip before looking at the clock, curious to see if the casino might still be open. His thought process was interrupted by the bar’s owner standing up on the stage:

“Tonight, folks, I’ll present you with an exotic flower from a faraway land. This desert bloom will offer you a performance like none other!”

It was at this point that you appeared on the stage, waiting for the musicians to start. Though Aventurine was already captivated because he could now grasp what the owner meant with “faraway land”. He recognized the patterned clothes, the colourful jewellery and golden hair gracefully swaying with each movement. And when he finally saw your colourful eyes, he felt as if the ground was breaking before him. Each one of your movements seemed like turning his world upside down. He followed the movements of the colourful fabrics, of the golden jewellery. The fabric moving like the wind in the golden dunes, your hair like the rays of gold that warmed his skin. The jewellery chimed together as making a melody on its own. He crossed your gaze through his glasses and couldn’t resist to lean forward in disbelief. Those movements reminded him of the time faraway from now, a time where each shimmering aurora had the warmth of comfort, of home; a time in which he danced with his family and rejoiced in the Kakava festival; a time which felt so far away, yet he yearned for it.

His contemplation continued: how the fabric’s colours and your movements was a wildfire swaying to your liking, each of the golden jewellery was a spark for every new flame, the chiming of it like the crack of the firewood. The dance sending him into a spin of fascination and disbelief. Each step like an acknowledgment of your presence, each beat of the music making him realize that he wasn’t the only one left. The fire continued to dance and show off its movements with the rhythmic music. The drums beating as hard as his heart, the graceful sway of the fabrics leaving him in a daze. With each new melody, he took a sip of his own drink. His head spined with the dance, the alcohol, and your twirls.

Before a stop, the dance ending, and some applauses. Pearls of sweats had appeared on your body completing your jewellery set. You bowed with the applauses and toss of coins, though Aventurine could hear some of many murmurs:

“An Avgin? They’re just some snake, manipulating their charms for money.”

“They’re just trying to find a fool for the night!”

“You know Sigonians, rotten to the core…”

He didn’t care when those insults were about him. He had heard them so many times now that it felt numb, but he wasn’t the target of it, another Avgin was, and it felt so different. Someone like him was insulted. His eyes darted to see your reaction if you would say anything back. Though you had already escaped from his gaze, the only remain of your performance was your faint perfume.

He wanted to follow you through the narrow corridors, through the dazzling streets of Penacony, through each planet, through the desert dunes until that moment where he could go back to that very moment, that impossible moment in which the festival took place in joy. The faint perfume did bring him back to reality after a moment and like the good businessman he was, he knew how to use his tongue. A slight gesture and the owner approached:

“Good evening, Mr. Aventurine. Thank you for choosing our humble establishment!”

“Oh, but I must thank you, my friend, for the atmosphere, the drinks and even the entertainment!”

“Oh, did you like tonight’s beauty? A rare gem…”

How he objectified you felt repulsing, you were a being, not some sort of possession limited to its beauty. Aventurine bit his tongue, though he had led the conversation where he wanted to, so he asked:

“Oh indeed, a one-of-a-kind. May I ask if it could be possible to see that gem?”

“I’m sorry sir but they don’t accept visitors…”

He gazed upon the owner facing him. It was easy to see his lies: the crossed arms, the slight bite of the lip and this twitch of the eyebrow he had seen in some gambler he provoked. He had encountered so many liars like him, so confident yet wearing their emotions under the spotlight. He didn’t mind it, after all that’s how he won. So, he asked:

“My friend, I have heard that your establishment lacked customers. I might be able to do just that… Some of the Strategic Investment Department needs a place to have fun time. Would you be able to grant that?”

“Yes Mr. Aventurine, of course. Our humble establishment would gladly welcome your colleagues. They would also have a price. The IPC, and yourself, have done so much for us !”

“Then make me another drink for me and your generous patrons! It’s on me!”

The owner rushed to the bar, urging his employees to start serving drinks to all patrons. A big investment for just one fleeting moment. Drinks appearing and going from left to right, up and down, cheers coming from one side to another, praises for the generous esteemed guest. Yet he knew how they were just hypocrites, esteeming him during their drunken state. One moment, he was one of the avgins “rotten to the core” and the other he was an “esteemed guest”, what a joke. He looked back at the owner, now was truly time for the gamble:

“If I may bring a drink to the precious gem…”

“Oh of course, Mr. Aventurine. Let me show you the way…”

A few corridors later and they entered your dressing room, knocking on your door. You were facing a vanity taking off the jewels resting on your forehead and chest. The owner introduced:

“Little gem, one of our esteemed guests wanted to give you a drink. So, I brought him to you. He is a particularly important guest which is giving us new clients which means you could get more money for your performance. Treat him well…”

The owner escaped while Aventurine sighed at the owner’s lack of subtility. He signed his bodyguards to stay outside the door and after a few seconds, you finally spoke for the first time:

“I’m not selling my body…”

“Oh no need to inform me, I’m not here for that…” replied the businessman.

To confirm his saying, he sat down on the furthest couch and laid your drink on the nearest table to you. More seconds of the awkward silence, silence in which he delighted because as a gambler he knew it was a silence of thinking, of calculation. You asked politely while turning:

“Then why are you here sir?”

“Because I think we have something in common.”

“Oh really?”

Aventurine, for the first time, took off his glasses to reveal his colourful eyes while his left hand went inside his pocket. Your gaze met and there was this moment. He could see emotions passing through your mind and body: first, the slight widening of your eyes from the surprise, the lips parting as if trying to find words, the quivering fingers as if grasping for reality and then seating back as in disbelief. At last, the nod of acknowledgment. Both of you stayed staring at each other, like staring into mirror. Two beings that started the same but ended up as opposites. You broke the silence:

“I’ve heard rumours about an IPC debt collector being Signonian but are you…?”

“I’m an Avgin.”

The sentence was short, but it felt like a revelation for both of you. An acknowledgment of each other’s fate, each other’s hardships and despair. The realisation of each other’s suffering by the mere gaze, the lack of shine in each other’s eyes. He broke the silence by sipping some of his drink, it was easier to numb the pain. You took again the lead in the conversation:

“May I ask for your name?”

“They call me Aventurine.”

“Doesn’t sound avgin…”

“As I said, darling, they call me that way.”

Behind the dismissive use of the petname and the play on words, he didn’t expect your wit. Although you were quite right to not trust him at first in this cold world. He couldn’t bear to see you slip between his hands like the golden sand. Another gulp of alcohol, of courage. For a second, his vision blurred and his head spinned. For the first time, through sheer will or maybe was it his thoughts blending into a mess, he broke again the silence:

“And may I call you something else than what that man called you? May I have your name?”

You replied, after a few seconds, with your stage name which he immediately got:

“Oh, come on darling, it’s not that much of a big risk to give a name.”

“Says the one who didn’t give his name either…” you retorted.

“Touché! But I did it because I’m known as Aventurine and besides, I’m part of the IPC. As a member of the Ten Stonehearts, I shall reveal no secrecy and invest in my persona.”

You could hear the sarcasm dripping from his lips and he started to be more talkative, probably from the alcohol ingested throughout the night. Even if you wanted to go, you had to stay and treat him well because of the owner’s order. You would be interrupted in your thought process by the blond:

“Those jewels… Are they from turquoise meteorites?”

“Yes, they are. Mama Fenge has blessed my family with it and so I carry them to each performance”.

“Can I see them up close? No touching you or them if you would like to, it’s just been a long time since… Well, it’s been a long time since I’ve seen some… Would it be possible?”

He silenced himself by taking another gulp of his drink and he put the fedora away, starting to feel hot from the alcohol. He let out a small sigh of relief when you approached to let him look at the golden chain, which was previously attached to your belt, with turquoises and charms. The melody of the chain lulled him into deeper memories, and he started to talk again:

“You know, I’ve heard that these turquoises were as beautiful as Gaiathra Triclops’ eyes, but I wander if they are as valuable as hers. If turquoises are that valuable, then is that why our land was destroyed? Why were our valuable land and people left for dead?”

You didn’t respond because of the sudden emotion. The alcohol had certainly turned the gambler into a sentimental. You didn’t know how to quite manage to those questions because, you too, didn’t have the answer to that question. The dreading question that didn’t come in each other’s mind since a time long ago, a time that felt like forever. Yet your thoughts were again interrupted by him:

“I have a lucky charm too, not as valuable as turquoises but a gold lucky charm my mother gave me. Lucky charm to a lucky child, quite an irony. Big sis’ told me that it was to symbolize my name. “Blessed by Gaithra Triclops”, Kakavasha, lucky child yet received a lucky charm.”

You didn’t comment on how he just told you his name, his mind obviously elsewhere, probably drowning in the memories and the alcohol’s fog. You parted your lips as if trying to find your words, they didn’t come. The small details in his drunken speech seemed to confirm his identity as an avgin. It wasn’t one of the silver-tongued men but of an avgin, one of the last. You tried to continue the conversation:

“But you were blessed by Gaithra Tricolps. You are here, and you are someone powerful and you are quite fit at gaining money at the roulette.”

“Blessed… Lucky me, I guess! Luck makes powerful but my destiny not lucky, not just…”

“Then, how about we pray to the mother goddess for such luck and a happier destiny?”

His eyes widened at your proposition. You showed him your left hand to initiate the prayer, yet you saw his glassy eyes look at your hand like witnessing some kind of miracle.

He was about to take another gulp of his drink, but his hand was too shaky. He didn’t even know now if it was from the alcohol or the emotions, perhaps both, perhaps one facilitating the other. He approached his gloved hand and, after some clumsy movements, rested upon your hand.

You started the prayer, his voice being quieter. With each sentence, the blond went quieter and staring at the joined hands. You didn’t yet notice, at first closing your eyes in this ceremonial moment but when the prayer ended, you could see how his glassy eyes turned teary. You parted your lips trying to say something, hoping you didn’t do anything wrong, yet your surprising reflex was to embrace him.

You were shocked by your sudden gesture, and you couldn’t see Aventurine’s reaction. Though you could sense how tense his body was, how his shoulders were trembling. At first, you thought he would immediately pull away, and he didn’t. You let out a sigh and wrap your arms around him, not sure how it ended up like this. First you were dancing on stage, swirling to the tambourines and bells, and now you end up with a man – you didn’t quite process that he was an avgin just yet- in your arms.

You thought it would be another moment of silence. Not an awkward one, like when he entered your dressing room, but one of acknowledgment. One of contentment in which each other saw pain and sorrow. Yet this silent was broken by his slurred words:

“I should’ve saved her… I should’ve…”

You should hear the slurred words mixed with the throat tightening. The shoulders continued to shake in your embrace. Blond locks following his shaking. The taste of alcohol blending with the salt of the tears. Slowly dripping on your performance outfit, yet you didn’t care. It wasn’t about your outfit or treating him how the owner wanted. It was about helping him in his pain, comforting him. And you didn’t even know but it was the first time that anyone had treated him that way, that anyone had seen him in such despair, that any miracle had managed to quell his solitude.

Everything felt numb, his muscles tensing as if he couldn’t breathe. How would he dare to live? How was he allowed to? He was blessed, yet it was like a curse. He couldn’t bear to think that the one who didn’t come one was the closest to him. He had selfishly followed and ran, as far as he could, even though he knew something horrible was coming. And when he came back, it was too late: the cackling Katicans, blood drenching the golden sand, the fire devouring the tents. And of course, he had survived. He hated that he survived. Tears running down his cheeks and drenching the colourful fabric.

Yet, in this tender embrace, he could smell your perfume. Eyes slowly closing into those nights he longed for so much time: the warmth of the bonfire, the feast with spiced meals, the laughter and conversation swaying, music echoing in the valleys. It was the night of Kakava. Jewellery and colourful fabrics blending in the dance, his sister looking as beautiful as a gem, inviting him for a dance. The well-known steps coming back to him and following the music. You had come into the dance, and all laughed. He took his sister’s hand to give her a turquoise necklace, as precious as Gaiathra’s eyes, just for her to wear in this special occasion. He told her about all the travels he did, journeying far beyond Sigonia, of all the riches he gathered, of all his schemes that worked and some that didn’t. The tender embrace exchanged afterwards bringing him the warmth he so much desired. Sparks going back into his eyes as the warm embers of Hope coming back. They smiled and dance until the blinding dawn came. He turned to his sister and saw her smile, as bright as the sun.

Yet it was the same sunlight that awoke him. He rubbed his eyes and slowly looked around: he was laid down in his bed, with the same outfit as last night – well what he could remember of it – and his headache reminded him of his alcohol consumption. He could almost hear Ratio’s sermon about how alcohol kills his liver. He took out his phone and checked his messages and bank account, thankfully he didn’t spend anything drunk nor text any weird messages. There was only him in his bed, so he didn’t bring anyone home or they might’ve escaped before he woke up.

He slowly sat up, leaning on the headboard, and heard something fall onto the sheets. After rummaging a little, and taking a sip of water, he found a turquoise charm. He couldn’t quite remember when he bought it or if he won it yet there was some sense of familiarity. He approached it, made it shine in the golden rays before the realisation hit him: it was one that once was on your golden chain. As precious as Gaithra’s eyes yet you accepted to give one to him, a fellow Avgin. He swallowed his tears and stood up, one day he hoped to thank you. He didn’t look at his reflection this morning but if he had, he would see that glimmer of Hope back in his beautiful eyes.

[catladyoftheyr]

🎲 .☘︎ ݁˖𝙏𝙧𝙤𝙪𝙗𝙡𝙚𝙢𝙖𝙠𝙚𝙧.☘︎ ݁˖ 🎲

𝘚𝘵𝘢𝘯 𝘗𝘪𝘯𝘦𝘴 𝘹 𝘍𝘦𝘮 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳 (18+ Smut!!)

Synopsis: You walk out on your date after getting dumped in a restaurant and call Stan to take you home. He comforts you and you end up in his bed 👀🤫

Warnings/highlights: alcohol use, cigarette smoking, shoplifting, blood mention (skinned knee), arguments, implied age gap (I envision reader in your mid-late 20s), protected sex, condoms, romantic sex, cunnilingus, pet names, strong language, enthusiastic consent at multiple points.

Notes/ word count: 3.2k ish, about as slow burn as a one shot smut can be lol, uhhh this took like a week on and off almost so I hope you guys like it 🫠

✦•┈๑⋅⋯ ⋯⋅๑┈•✦ ✦•┈๑⋅⋯ ⋯⋅๑┈•✦

“I want to be more serious about my future. I have a lot of important plans and responsibilities. And… I don’t think you’re the right kind of woman for my future. I’m sorry.”

You coughed, choking on a sip of your cocktail. You’d thought things were going really well. You hadn’t expected to be dumped, especially not over a candlelit dinner at a nice restaurant. The look in his eyes didn’t seem sorry to you either, rather he looked chagrined to have to explain this to you. “You’re leaving me? You dragged me all the way out here to dump me?!” Your voice rose and attracted stares but you didn’t care at the moment.

“Please, let’s be rational. I understand you’re upset by my decision but there’s no need to act out like this.” Your date's voice remained steady, but hints of embarrassment were clear on his face.

“Of course I’m upset! You drove me to a nice dinner, held the door for me, told me I looked nice, and then we sit down and you tell me I’m not good enough to be part of your future.” You felt the tears start to well in your eyes. You were angry with him or course, but you were truly heartbroken. You’d just said ‘ I love you ‘ two weeks ago and now it was over.

“You’re causing a scene,” he hissed under his breath. “This is what I’m talking about. I want to run for Mayor, take over family estates, things that require class and sophistication. I just don’t think someone from your, um, background would fit in with that kind of lifestyle. It’s just not compatible.”

You swallowed more of your drink, hoping the alcohol would calm your nerves. Tears were flowing by now, and the surrounding tables were gawking at the ongoing argument. “So you’re breaking up with me because I’m not classy enough for you? Because you think I’m trailer trash? Fuck you.”

“Can’t we at least finish our meal? I wanted to do one last nice thing for you. You’re acting like a child. Have some decorum, please!”

Something about that sentence sent you over the edge. You grabbed the whiskey glass sitting in front of him on the table and splashed its contents down the front of your date. “How’s that for decorum? I’m out of here. The check’s all yours.” You grabbed your bag and stormed out of the restaurant, tears streaming down your face. You pushed the front doors open, intending to sulk on a curb for a while and collect yourself. You heard your date calling after you and saw him weaving through tables and waiting patrons with “sorry” and “excuse me”.

“Hey! Wait up please!” He called after you, reaching out to grab your hand. You yanked it away and stumbled through the threshold into the parking lot. Your heel caught in a small pothole and sent you tumbling onto the asphalt. You swore and pushed yourself into a sitting position to inspect the damage. The heel was cracked, but seemed walkable for now. You’d skinned your knees and roughed up the skin on your palms though. You picked gravel from your skin and sighed as a thin line of blood dripped down your calf. Apparently your date had gotten the message, because he’d stalked back inside the building. You saw his car parked nearby, shining in the sunset, and considered letting the air out of his tires but decided it wasn’t worth it.

You stood, wobbling on your damaged heel. You ambled down the street, not ready to have to find a ride home. You knew there was a gas station a block or 2 over and headed in that direction. You saw the familiar lights of a convenience store and went inside, immediately going toward the coolers and shelves in the back. You grabbed a small bottle of whiskey off the bottom shelf and glanced toward the register. The cashier was involved in a newspaper and hadn’t glanced up once since you’d come in. The security cameras seemed to be long since operational as well. You slid the bottle into your purse covertly, fishing out some cash at the same time.

You strolled toward the register and asked for a pack of cigarettes. You handed over the cash in exchange for menthols and stuffed the change in your bag. You walked out only having paid for one of the items and with no one the wiser. You sighed and sat down on the curb, pulling the liquor from your purse. You might as well drink your sorrows away, you figured. You pulled out your cell as well and scrolled your contacts while knowing there was really only one option.

You pressed call and held the phone to your ear waiting for him to pick up. Soon enough you heard a gruff voice on the other end sounding surprised to have you call him. “Hi. Yeah, it’s me. Um things didn’t go well tonight and I kinda need a ride home. I don’t wanna talk about it right now.”

“Where are you? Give me 20 minutes. No, no it’s no big deal. Quit apologizing. I'm grabbing my keys right now.”

“Thanks, Stan. I owe you one.” The line clicked and you lit a cigarette. The lung cancer warning on the box was starting to seem like a promise rather than a threat. Life was a shitshow. Your leg had stopped bleeding and now there was a trail of dried crust on your leg. Your palms still stung from your fall and the skin was raw. Soon enough a shiny red Cadillac pulled up in front of you and your boss was getting out of the front seat.

“Jesus, Doll. You look like hell.” The older man’s face wrinkled with disapproval as he glanced over you.

“Thanks, Stan. You really know how to boost a gal’s self esteem.” You cracked a smile anyways, his presence was familiar at least. You knew he was just ribbing you anyways.

“Seriously though. Must have been a helluva bad date to leave you like this.” He sat down next to you on the curb and draped his suit jacket over your shoulders. “You’re gonna catch pneumonia, it's cold out here.”

“Thank you. Do you want a smoke?” You offered the carton toward him. Stan pulled one out and pulled his own lighter from a pocket. His face turned sour as he inhaled.

“Yuck! Menthols? I thought you were better than that!” He handed you the cigarette and pulled out his own box. You couldn’t help but laugh at him as you smoked. He was technically your boss, but he’d been letting you stay in the extra room at the shack rent free. He’d told you that you were welcome as long as you wanted or needed and that helping out around the shack was more than enough for him. You’d settled into a comfortable routine in the last couple months since you’d been in town.

“Thanks again for coming to pick me up. I really appreciate everything you’ve done.”

“Hey, like I said, it’s no sweat off my back. I’ve had my own problems in life. I might be a cranky old man but I’ve got my good qualities. And you’re a real help around the shack. Those teenagers don’t know what they’re doing.” Stan put out his cigarette on the curb and looked over at you again. “You wanna talk about it?”

“Can we go home first?”

“Alright, doll. Let’s get going.” Stan got up, wincing slightly after an audible pop in one of his joints. He still offered you his hand and you took it. He held the car door and shut it softly after you. He turned the key in the ignition and turned up the radio. “Buckle up, sweetheart. You’ve had enough trouble tonight.”

You drove home in relative silence, staring out the passenger window and fighting the urge to cry again. Once you arrived at the Mystery Shack Stan made sure to grab the car door for you again. You tried to convince him you could walk without leaning on him, but after wobbling on your broken shoe he pulled your arm over his shoulder. Once inside he flipped on one of the light switches, leaving the room dim but still visible.

“Hold still” Stan said, and lifted you onto the shop’s counter before you could protest. He pulled up a chair and sat in front of you, his jacket still draped over your shoulders. “My God, girl. What the hell happens tonight?”

You flushed sheepishly. “It’s a long story.”

“I’ve got all the time in the world. But first let me grab the first aid kit; we’ll get you cleaned up.” Stan went into a back room and rummaged around, swearing when you heard something fall. He returned with a large first aid kit and a damp towel. “Thought you might wanna wipe off your makeup.” You took the towel and cleaned your face, touched by the thoughtful gesture.

Stan sat on the chair in front of you, assessing the damage you’d done to yourself after the tumble in the parking lot. “Let me see your leg” you obliged, lifting your leg and resting your foot on his knee. He unbuckled the straps of your heels, tossing them aside. He opened the first aid kit and pulled out alcohol wipes and bandages. “You talk, I’ll fix. Deal?”

You nodded and started to try and explain the events that had transpired earlier this evening. Stan interjected at regular intervals, using less than pleasant words to describe your now ex lover. When you’d told him that you’d dumped the drink on your date at the table Stan chuckled and “atta girl!”ed you. You winced when he wiped your knees and the alcohol stung.

“I know sweetheart. I know it hurts.” His tone was gentle, like he was speaking to the twins or another loved one. He placed a bandaid gently on your knee and wiped your palms. “I think that ought to do it. That guy’s a real piece of work, you know. You’re better off without him. All these rich folks think they’re better than us, but money can’t buy everything. I’m getting off track. Is there anything else I can do for you tonight, hun? How’s that knee treating ya?”

His eyes were soft and his questions genuine. Tonight had proven that Stan cared for you. It also awakened something in you. He was handsome for his age, and there was a soft side under his gruff exterior. “Well, you could kiss it better?” You asked, giving him your best doe eyes. Stan swore under his breath, probably cursing your name.

“You’re gonna be the death of me, you know that?”

“I’ve seen the way you look at me. You stare when you think I’m not paying attention. When my shirt rides up because you just really needed help getting that box off the shelf?”

“Fuck me, darling. You’re a troublemaker.” Stanley took a step closer and brushed the jacket off of your shoulders. “Such a pretty sight. You really are beautiful, I hope you know that. Any man would be lucky to have you.”

“Let’s get lucky tonight, Stan.” You placed your hands on his shoulders. “Kiss me” you whispered.

He couldn’t hold back anymore and closed the gap between you. His lips met yours and it was gentle. He cupped your face in his hands softly as he kissed you. When he broke the kiss he still cradled your face. “I haven’t kissed anyone in a very long time. You’re something special, sweetheart.” He kissed you again, a hint of sensuality deepening it. “Let me show you how a gentleman is supposed to treat a lady.” He murmured as he helped you off the counter. Stan took your hand and let you to his bedroom.

He kissed you firmly as you both tumbled onto his bed. His hands continued to cup your face as you kissed, and yours tangled in his hair. Your legs twist around each other, allowing you to feel Stan’s erection through his pants. You moaned into his mouth, trailing your hands down his back. He pulled back for a moment, staring down at you on his bed. “Are you sure about this, sweetheart? Say the word and it stops now. I don’t want to do anything you don’t want to.”

“I want to do this. Please, Stan. I want you.” You ached for his touch, the pressure of him on top of you, hips lips on yours. Stan nodded his head and kissed you once more. He sat you up and slowly undid the zipper on your dress, watching it pool on the floor. You laid before him in just a bra and panties, barefaced and messy hair. Stan looked at you like a priceless painting.

“Shit, sweetheart. You’re so goddamn good looking. I’m the luckiest man on earth tonight.” Stan licked his lips before kissing your collar bone. You tugged at the buttons of his shirt, wanting to feel his skin on yours. Stan helped you unbutton and remove his shirt, gray chest hair trailing down beneath the waistband of his slacks. You wrapped your arms around him and pulled him down to meet you. Your kisses were passionate, tongues melting into each other and hands intertwining.

Stan kissed down your neck and chest with a trail of light pecks. He unhooked your bra and paused, seemingly marveling at your bare breasts in front of him. “You’re an angel,” he whispered in the dark. You smiled in between breaths, unsure if he could even tell. Stan kissed down your breasts and gently took one of your nipples into his mouth. You gasped softly as he sucked, careful to never use his teeth. His rough hands fondled the other one and you felt his erection grow stronger as he worked on you.

Stan kissed his way down your stomach, stopping at the waistband of your underwear. “May I?” He asked as he glanced up at you.

“Please” you murmured softly. You needed more of him desperately. Stan nodded and ran his fingers gently against your sex through the fabric. Though light, the touch sent electricity through your body. His fingers found your clit and kept circling it over your panties, the fabric dulling the sensation; you arched your hips in an effort to gain more friction and pressure. Stan smiled and pulled you closer to his face, kissing your inner thighs. He hooked his fingers in your underwear and pulled them off. “My god, angel” he whispered before planting a soft kiss on your folds.

You gasped as you felt his tongue slink between your folds. He licked and sucked around your clit with the expertise only age and experience could lend him. Stan lapped at you with a sincere focus you’d never seen in a partner before. Someone being so focused on your pleasure rather than going through the motions was an incredible turn on. “Fuck. Please-don’t stop” you moaned. Stan took your words of encouragement and became even more voracious.

You gasped as you felt one of his fingers enter you and work its way back and forth. The added sensation led to the beginning of that swell of pleasure. He added one more finger and pumped them in and out with steady rhythm, hitting your g spot on every forward movement. You could feel your pleasure building and wrapped one of your hands in his hair. He wouldn’t have dared to pull away anyways but the grip reassured you that you wouldn’t float off the bed. “Stan! Oh my god. I’m gonna cum! Please keep going” you were almost breathless as your orgasm reached its breaking point. Pleasure burst through you and you cried out, gripping the sheets and Stan’s hair with enough force to make a grown man shudder.

Stan pulled back once you released your fist from his hair, his erection straining his pants now. “You taste incredible sweetheart. You really are an angel.” Before he could say anything else you sat up and were pawing at the buckle of his belt.

“Please. Let’s keep going” you said in a low voice. Stan chuckled and helped you undo his belt and drop his trousers to the bedroom floor. The outline of his cock stood proud in his white boxers. You’d never looked closely before and he was large. His size was intimidating but you were already imagining it inside of you, pulsing against your walls.

“Slow down a little, sweetheart. I’m not as spry as I once was. I don’t want to break a hip.” Stan was smiling as he swatted your hands away. He discarded his boxers and his member stood at attention in front of you. You felt a flush of arousal in your lower core as he stroked himself. Stan fished a condom from his nightstand and smoothly rolled it onto himself. “Too old to become a dad, doll. The twins are already a handful and they’re only here in the summer.” He leant in to kiss you and your bodies tumbled back onto the mattress.

Stan’s cock was at your entrance but paused. He locked eyes with you to ask for one more silent confirmation and you nodded, whispering “I’m ready” in his ear. He pushed forward and you gasped as he fully entered you. “Oh my god” you murmured as he began to slowly pump back and forth. You wrapped your arms around Stan’s back, pulling him into a tight embrace as he fucked you.

“You feel so fucking good, baby” he panted in your ear. Stan nipped and kissed at your ear lobes while he thrusted. He couldn’t get enough of you and wanted to kiss every part of you he could manage. He grabbed your legs and pushed them up against your chest, allowing him to enter at a deeper angle. The switch in position ensured that every thrust sent you deeper into your own pleasure.

You were lost in each other’s bodies and you couldn’t think straight, only wanting him to keep pushing into you. You were digging your nails into his back, trying to find a way to pull him even closer to you. “Fuck, Stan! I’m so close!” You cried out. You were surely loud enough to wake anyone else up in the house, and Stan kissed you to quiet you. His thrusting was getting faster and he was surely close to his own release. Moments later you felt your second orgasm begin and your eyes rolled back as you rode the wave. The sensation of you clenching down on him sent Stan over the edge as well. He groaned into your mouth as he came, panting as he pulled out slowly.

He discarded the condom before joining you in the bed again. He slid in beside you and pulled the covers around you both. He wrapped his arms around you, pulling you tightly into his embrace. “It’s been so long since anyone else has been in this bed,” he murmured softly. “Kind of hope it doesn’t change.” He kissed your cheek with a sleepy softness. “Good thing I like trouble” was the last thing you heard before you dozed off in his arms.

[novlr]

What are some ways to describe summer ?

Summer is not just a season; it’s a vibrant setting that can add life and color to your writing. Whether you’re crafting a sun-soaked romance or a beach thriller, the way you describe summer can immerse readers in your story. Let’s dive into how you can capture the essence of summer, focusing on the various senses and elements that make this season unique.

Sights

Sunsets that paint the sky in hues of orange, pink, and purple.

Children chasing ice cream trucks down suburban lanes.

Sunbathers dotting the coastline.

Sprinklers casting rainbows across freshly mowed lawns.

Flower gardens in full bloom, a riot of colours.

Sunglasses showing reflections of the bright world.

Sun hats and flip-flops scattered around pool decks.

Fireflies illuminating the night.

Street markets bustling with locals buying fresh produce.

Hikers on forest trails.

Sounds

The cacophony of cicadas in the late afternoon.

Waves crashing against the shore in a constant rhythm.

The sizzle and pop of barbecues in backyards.

Children’s laughter as they play outside.

Ice clinking in glasses of lemonade or cocktails.

The distant whirr of lawn mowers.

Splashes and shouts from swimming pools.

Chirping songbirds greeting the morning.

The crackle of bonfires during cool summer nights.

The melodic chimes of ice cream trucks roaming the streets.

Smells

The salty tang of sea air at the beach.

The overpowering scent of chlorinated pools.

Freshly cut grass after morning lawn care.

The scent of sunscreen and tanning oils on warm skin.

The smoky aroma of grills at a neighborhood cookout or family barbeque.

Fragrant blossoms like jasmine and roses in full bloom.

The earthy smell of rain on hot pavement.

The mix of fruits, vegetables, fried food, and flowers at an open-air market.

Melting tar with an accompanying heat shimmer on hot roads.

Campfire smoke clinging to clothes and hair during outdoor adventures.

Activities

Beach volleyball games, sand flying as players dive for the ball.

Leisurely picnics in the shade of ancient trees.

Hiking trips taking advantage of the long daylight hours.

Sailing and boating, the wind filling sails on sunlit waters.

Outdoor concerts, where music floats on the warm night air.

Road trips with car windows down, hair whipping in the wind.

Fruit picking in orchards and berry farms.

Camping under the stars, a tent and a sleeping bag for a home.

Water fights with hoses, water guns, and balloons.

Attending summer festivals full of food, music, and dance.

Character body language

Wiping sweat from the brow or fanning themselves to cool down.

Squinting against the harsh sunlight or seeking out spots of shade.

Sipping cold drinks, or gulping down water.

Lounging lazily, limbs relaxed and sprawled out.

Applying sunscreen meticulously.

Adjusting sunglasses or hats for better protection.

Dipping toes tentatively into the sea or a pool.

Tugging at clothes sticking to sweat-dampened skin.

Laughing with carefree abandon, a reflection of summer’s ease.

Turning pages of a paperback with fingers damp from pool water.

Positive descriptions

The liberating feeling of diving into cool water on a scorching day.

The tranquil peace of a sunrise beach yoga session.

The simple pleasure of ice cream melting on the tongue.

The bliss of a hammock nap swayed by a gentle breeze.

The joy of endless blue skies promising adventure.

The warmth of sun-kissed skin after a day outdoors.

The satisfaction of a well-tended garden coming to life.

The contentment of sharing a sunset with loved ones.

The thrill of catching the perfect wave while surfing.

The comfort of balmy evenings spent on porch swings.

Negative descriptions

The oppressive heat making the air feel thick and suffocating.

The relentless buzzing of mosquitoes on a muggy night.

The sting of sunburn after a day of neglecting sunscreen.

The frustration of packed tourist spots and overcrowded beaches.

The exhaustion induced by long days and sweltering heat.

The discomfort of air thick with humidity.

The annoyance of sand finding its way into every nook and cranny.

The disappointment of a rained-out picnic or canceled event.

The lethargy of a heatwave, energy sapped by the relentless sun.

The discomfort of trying to sleep in an overheated, uncooled room.

Helpful Adjectives

Scorching

Balmy

Sultry

Languid

Radiant

Dazzling

Parched

Breezy

Rippling

Sweltering

Sunny

Lush

Blistering

Tropical

Vibrant

Humid

Verdant

Golden

Glowing

Fragrant

Torrid

Tranquil

Crisp

Sizzling

Flaming

Steamy

Refreshing

Shimmering

Lazy

Stifling

Invigorating

Sparkling

Zesty

Fervent

Stuffy

Arid

Saturated

Juicy

Sunbaked

Fetid

[mpreglover225]

Cristian, an 8-month pregnant man with a sculpted, beefy physique, was enjoying his babymoon in the breathtaking paradise of Maui. Accompanied by his baby daddy, Callan, whom he had met at the gym and with whom he had shared a steamy hookup turned love affair, Cristian was indulging in the beauty of the island before their lives would be forever changed by the arrival of their bundle of joy.

As the sun began to set, casting a warm orange glow across the ocean, Cristian watched with admiration as Callan emerged from the water, his muscular frame glistening with droplets of saltwater. With a cocktail in hand, Callan strolled back toward their oceanfront patio, a contented smile on his face.

Feeling a surge of desire, Cristian's hand instinctively caressed his swollen belly as he gazed at Callan's captivating presence. The combination of the serene sunset, the ocean breeze, and the undeniable attraction between them filled the air with a palpable erotic tension.

Without a second thought, Cristian rose from his seat and followed Callan onto the patio, where a plush couch awaited them. As Callan settled himself onto the cushions, Cristian approached him, his heart pounding with anticipation. The sound of crashing waves and the distant songs of tropical birds provided a seductive backdrop to their intimate moment.

With a mischievous glint in his eye, Cristian knelt between Callan's legs, his hands gently caressing Callan's thighs. The scent of the ocean mingled with the musky aroma of their desire, creating an intoxicating atmosphere.

"You've been such a good daddy-to-be," Cristian purred, his voice laced with desire. "Let me show you how much I appreciate you."

Callan's eyes widened with anticipation as Cristian unzipped his shorts, revealing his prominent erection. The sight of him, strong and virile, combined with the knowledge of their impending parenthood, ignited a fire within Cristian that could not be contained.

With delicate yet purposeful movements, Cristian took Callan's throbbing cock into his mouth, enveloping it with warmth and wetness. The taste of salt lingered on his tongue as he eagerly pleasured his lover, their moans blending with the crashing waves.

The couch became a sanctuary of pleasure and connection as Cristian's skilled mouth worked its magic, taking Callan to the edge of ecstasy. With each flick of his tongue and gentle suction, Cristian brought Callan closer to release, his own desire growing with every passing second.

As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting a final burst of fiery hues across the sky, Callan's body tensed, his grip on the cocktail tightening. With a primal grunt, he surrendered to the euphoria coursing through his veins, releasing his essence into Cristian's eager mouth.

Cristian, still hungry for more, savored every drop, his own arousal pushing him to new heights. The taste of his lover's pleasure mingled with the salty air as he swallowed, a satisfied smile playing upon his lips.

[humanpurposes]

My Heart Belongs to Daddy part ii, modern!Aemond

Series Masterlist // Main Masterlist // And if it feels good, then it can't be bad

modern!Aemond x step-daughter

Warnings: 18+, smut, daddy kink, spanking, degradation, questionable relationship dynamics, infidelity, mentions of grief/loss, no underage elements

Words: 5900

A/n: Thank you for the love on the first part! Let me know if you want to be tagged in upcoming parts or follow me @humanpurposes for updates. Also available to read on AO3.

The wedding of Daemon and Rhaenyra Targaryen is turning out to be exhausting and a little overwhelming. It’s been built up for months as the event of the year in King’s Landing, extravagant and scandalous, which describes the family rather well.

Every room in the Red Keep has been booked to accommodate the city’s elite. It’s a beautiful venue, an ancient redbrick castle overlooking the bay, once a home for royalty, now the flagship of a chain of luxury hotels, and the crowning jewel in the Targaryen empire. 

She glances around the ballroom where the guests are mingling while they wait for the arrival of the newlyweds. It doesn’t take her long to spot her mother, martini in hand, making smalltalk with Corlys Velaryon, who just happens to own the largest shipping company this side of the Narrow Sea. Alys Rivers is nothing if not efficient. 

They had been surprised to receive an invitation at all, but then Rhaenyra has always valued appearances above everything else. They had hardly heard from her since Harwin’s funeral, and even then it was funny half-smiles and overcompensating niceties to gloss over the obvious pain in her eyes. That’s the thing about Rhaenyra, you can never really tell what she’s thinking.

She looked other-wordly floating down the aisle in a white satin and lace gown. Her father, Viserys, CEO of Targ Corp and patriarch of the Targaryen dynasty, walked beside her. Maybe it was the lighting in the Sept or the red and black suit, but he looked pale, and his eyes were heavy and tired. Rhaenyra’s step-daughters, Baela and Rhaena, trailed behind them in matching maroon dresses, while the three Strong boys lined up beside Daemon at the altar. A picture perfect family.

She tried not to judge Rhaenyra too harshly for wearing white– damn purity culture and the misogyny that comes with it, but she couldn’t help but think how she preferred the vintage cocktail dress she wore when she married Harwin.

She’d been too young to remember that wedding, but she’d seen the photos enough times. There was one she especially loved, of the bride and groom on the front lawn of Dragonstone, smiling to each other like they had a secret (turns out they did when Jace was born eight months later), while she and Helaena stood in front of them. Their faces were round and chubby, scrunched into the confused frown toddlers make when they’re made to wear pale pink dresses and carry round baskets of rose petals.

Alys fell out with her parents in her mid teens. She always said it was her uncle Lyonel who was there for her, who saw her through to adulthood, who offered her a room when a shitty ex-boyfriend left her with no money and a positive pregnancy test when she was twenty-two. And having no siblings, she said Harwin was more like a brother to her than a cousin.

Losing one of them would have been hard enough, but losing both had been devastating. In a lot of ways it still is.

“Harwin was so dear to us all,” was all Rhaenyra had said to them on the day of the funeral. So dear it took her just over a year to marry her own uncle.

Not that she’s in much of a position to judge.

A large, gentle hand settles on her back and Aemond hands her a flute of champagne. “Beautiful, isn’t it?” 

He means the ballroom. Gold paints the vaulted ceiling and trails down the walls, the pillars and the archways, as sunset bleeds in through the windows. 

“Wouldn’t expect anything less,” she says, trying to hide a grin. 

They’ve managed to avoid each other all day until now. He sat with his siblings at the ceremony, while she and Alys were on a bench at the back of the Sept.

She allows herself a better look at Aemond’s suit; midnight blue, with a subtle floral pattern that would be easy to miss if her eyes were only skimming over it, and a baby blue tie that matches his eyes perfectly. He’s cropped his hair for the occasion too, it’s shorter at the sides but still long enough at the top to run her fingers through, to tug on. He looks beautiful. He always looks beautiful.

His hand stays in place against her back, unassuming but just firm enough to keep her on edge as he leads her further into the hall. “The decor was inspired by Versailles, but the hall itself dates back to the original Keep. You’re into this sort of stuff, aren’t you?”

She doesn’t know why he needs to ask. At this point he knows better than anyone what she’s ‘into’. 

“This used to be the throne room,” she says, nodding to the platform at the end of the hall. “Imagine, the Iron Throne used to sit there and now it’s a stage for fucking a jazz band.”

The corners of his mouth curl into a reserved smile that makes her heart hum. Aemond is rarely one for obnoxious laughter, but then every time she can make him smile it feels like a little victory. It hurts a little too.

They settle at the edge of the room and his hand slips away, but he makes up for it when he leans into her, close enough that she can smell the dark, almost boozy scent of his perfume on his neck. “How are you doing, by the way?”

It’s a question she’s avoided asking herself. She spots Jace, Luke and Joff across the room, sitting down at a table with Aegon, Daeron and another guy she doesn’t recognise. They look happier than she feels, and suddenly she feels ridiculous for wallowing in her own self pity.

She shrugs. “Alright I think.”

Aemond’s face is somewhere between a frown and amusement, the face that means I can see right through you.

She shifts on her feet, looking for something else to focus on.

Larys Strong, she notices, is standing by the bar. They had run into him at the Sept, and though they’d definitely made eye contact, he made no attempt at conversation. He keeps his head low, only looking up to glare at Alys.

“Gods that man’s pathetic,” Aemond mutters, following her line of sight. “Not still upset about Harrenhal, is he?”

“Considering mum took half his clients when she left, I’d say yes. He’s always been good at holding grudges, creepy uncle Larys.” Harwin’s brother, director of what used to be King’s Landing’s most successful PR firm, recently overtaken by Rivers PR.

“Shouldn’t that be ‘creepy second cousin Larys’?” Aemond says with a little smirk.

“My version has better ring to it, rolls off the tongue easier.”

A hand suddenly slaps her shoulder and she nearly drops her glass. Aemond quickly takes it from her as Viserys Targaryen pulls her into a stiff embrace and makes a grand exclamation about love and family that she forgets to pay attention to.

She’s a little bewildered but manages to smile. “Good to see you again, Mr Targaryen,” she says. As she pulls away she catches the eye of the woman standing over his shoulder. Alicent Hightower has donned her usual shade of dark green in a velvet dress that compliments her auburn hair and elaborate gold jewellery perfectly. She has a particularly sour look on her face this evening.

“How are you, love?” Viserys asks. “Doing well I hope?”

A thousand thoughts flood her head, but she can already see the interest dying in his eyes. So she just nods.

“How is school, you’re still at school, aren’t you?”

“She’s at the university, dear” Alicent corrects him, “final year, yes?” Her lips thin as her eyes finally spares a glance for her son. “Two years behind Aemond.” 

Mother and son exchange a vacant look.

“Yes,” she says, making her best attempt at Alys’ networking voice, “I study History–”

“Excellent! Well wonderful to catch up, and good to see you too, son.”

Aemond nods in acknowledgement as his parents move away to offer a similarly shallow greeting to the next group of guests. His breath tickles over her neck as he sighs. At least Rhaenyra tries to act friendly. 

“I’m sorry–” she blurts it out, not really sure why she assumes it’s her fault.

He smiles. “You have nothing to be sorry for.”

There’s an uneasy feeling of guilt settling in her stomach. She knew Aemond wasn’t on the best of terms with his parents, but she hadn’t realised it had gotten to a point where they would hardly even look at him.

Her fingertips brush over his as he hands her back the glass.

She watches his eyes as they start to skim over her lavender summer dress, the thin straps running over her shoulders, the dainty gold necklace on her neck and the gathering of silky fabric at her bust. 

“You look lovely by the way,” he says.

For a moment she forgets how to breathe. Maybe she should be used to his compliments and praises by now, but it still makes her nervous. “For a lovely occasion,” she says, taking a tentative sip.

“Hmm.”

“Not a fan of weddings?”

“Not overly fond. This…” he briefly sweeps his gaze around the room, at the endless arrangements of orchids and roses, the crystal centrepieces on the tables and the perfect smiles that are just a little too forced. “It’s all very pretentious.”

“I would have thought you like that, all the pomp and ceremony.”

He huffs a laugh as he takes her glass and casually brings it to his lips. “Call it a combination of circumstances.” He keeps his eyes on her as he tips the glass back. 

She does the same, admiring the sharp features of his face, his jaw, his chin, his neck and the way it bobs when he swallows.

He “tsks” at the dryness of the champagne and hands her back the glass. “Things with my family have never been straightforward.”

But even less so over the last year, she imagines. For most of her life, the Targaryens existed at a distance. She and Alys used to see more of the Strongs– Harwin, Rhaenyra and the boys– for birthdays, the occasional family dinner and that summer they joined them at Dragonstone. But that was before things really started to get messy, before the lawsuits and the infighting.

None of it is helped by the fact that Viserys and Alicent despise Alys. They think she’s an opportunist, desperate for some profitable connections, stealing away their golden boy. She knows her mother better than that. Alys is less of an opportunist, more of a pragmatist, and to her credit she doesn’t pretend to be oblivious to the benefits of dating the son of the wealthiest man in Westeros. 

She likes to think Aemond’s more than that though. A little less entitled than Rhaenyra, and certainly more motivated than Aegon, but brilliant in his own ways. He has a first class degree in International Relations from the University of Oldtown, a quiet but mysterious public persona, with a Hightower work ethic and an understated confidence, usually wrapped up in a Prada suit or a vintage leather jacket. 

She finishes her drink before she asks, “have you spoken to Jace and Luke yet?”

His face darkens. Another point of conflict. Aemond had a falling out with the Strong boys when they were kids, something to do with inappropriate use of a kitchen knife on Luke’s part, resulting in the scar slicing down the left side of Aemond’s face. By some miracle it managed to spare his eye.

“Might be worth saying ‘hello’ at least?” She suggests.

He glances over at their table with his lips pressed together, rubbing his thumb over his index finger.

Before she knows it her hand is on his bicep, stroking her thumb over the fabric of his suit. It’s her usual reaction when she notices he’s anxious.

His eyes meet hers. His nostrils flare as he takes a deep inhale. “Maybe later,” he mutters.

A rush of cheers and applause announces the arrival of the bride and groom. Rhaenyra has changed from the elaborate gown she wore to the Sept to a black slip dress, with rows and rows of diamonds dripping from her neck. They make their way to the high table and the guests begin to settle at the round tables around the hall. She doesn’t look back to Aemond before she heads for Jace and the others.

Jace is in his first year at KLU studying politics. It’s a small campus and she often sees him hanging around the humanities block or in the library. Understandably he’s not been himself these last few months.

“Alright?” he says brightly, pulling her into the first genuine hug she’s received all day.

“Yeah,” she sighs. “You?”

“Yeah.”

“Sure?”

Jace seemed so much younger a year ago. All three of the Strongs seem to have grown up far too quickly. “It’s just been… things have changed so quickly.” He runs his fingers through his dark curls, grown down to his shoulders, she notices. “I just miss him, you know?”

 She offers him a bittersweet smile. “Yeah, of course.”

“But Daemon’s great. He makes mum happy. That’s what matters most.”

She sits between Aegon and the other guy at the table and realises she vaguely recognises him. He looks older than Jace, with dark hair, surprisingly sleek stubble and silver direwolf cufflinks on his sleeves.

The dinner is infuriatingly exquisite; seared tuna, steak that almost melts in her mouth, followed by a raspberry and rose pastry and a lemon posset topped with purple primrose petals. It’s all pretentious and so very Targaryen.

Her eyes keep wandering. There’s a haunting kind of beauty about watching Daemon and Rhaenyra. They keep their fingers intertwined and share smug, knowing glances. They fit perfectly together, despite the taboo of it all.

Alys and Aemond are at a table with the Velaryons and Aemond’s sister, Helaena and her girlfriend. Alys keeps a hand over Aemond’s as she talks to Rhaenys and Corlys about some (no doubt dull) business venture, but she’ll make it sound brilliant. Her skills of persuasion are second to none.

She had half expected Aemond to follow her, but that was a stupid expectation, wasn’t it? She’s enough to fuck behind closed doors, not enough to sit beside at a wedding dinner.

She needs to stop getting her hopes up. She needs to stop looking for more from him because she’s only setting herself up for failure. But that’s just the problem, she wants to cling to every look, every hand against her back, every whisper in her ear, and convince herself that, whatever this is, that it’s for something more than just carnal desire.

She often finds herself wondering if Alys really loves Aemond. It started off as a casual thing, from what she could gather without wanting to know the details. Alys would go on these overnight ‘work trips’, which she suspected were really dates.

Her suspicions were confirmed when she came downstairs one morning to find Aemond Targaryen in the kitchen, leaning over the island and sipping an espresso. That was after his last fight with Alicent and Viserys. He had been planning to retreat to Aegon’s, but ended up spending the night with Alys instead.

She watches Aemond, running a slender finger over his fork, his eyes moving sceptically around the room, until they settle on her.

He smirks, and then he turns to strike up a conversation with his sister. 

Alys certainly likes him enough to get him involved in Rivers PR, to let him live in their house and sleep in her bed.

What does he get out of it, she wonders?

“Got your eye on someone?” 

The unfamiliar voice snaps her out of her trance. The boy with black hair is leaning into her.

She glances down at his cufflinks. “Stark?” She guesses.

“Cregan. My dad’s an old mate of Viserys’.”

He’s a politics student too, a classmate of Jace’s and captain of the KLU rugby team with the muscles to prove it. She recognises him a little better as they talk; he was at Baela’s Halloween party last year, though they hadn’t spoken then.

Jace shoots her a quick wink from across the table and inclines his head ever so slightly towards Cregan. She swears under her breath and rolls her eyes at him. Gods, as if she needs help from her cousin to get laid. 

It’s Aegon who starts ordering rounds of shots. She tries to stick to champagne at first, until she looks across the room again. Aemond leans into Alys, as though he might kiss her, but she turns her head and his lips settle on her cheek.

After seeing that, she reaches for the tequila, met with cheering from Aegon and Daeron. 

Daemon and Rhaenyra take to the floor and sway to a dreamy number played by the jazz band. Rhaenyra soon takes Helaena by the hand and Daemon grabs his girls to join them on the dancefloor.

She smiles as she watches them all, Rhaenyra and Helaena spinning around each other, Baela and Rhaena giggling at Daemon’s smooth moves that come straight from a 50s movie.

“I feel like we should go up,” Jace says. 

Luke starts to groan but Joffrey is already up  and dragging his brothers with him.

Aegon turns to her in his seat. The oldest of the Targaryen Hightower siblings and undisputedly the messiest, but she had found him the most approachable that Summer at Dragonstone. “What do you say, kid?”

How could she say no to that sly, self-assured grin and those puppy dog eyes? They’re a little duller than Aemond’s, closer to grey than blue. She lets him lead her to the dance floor. 

As she and Aegon sway to the charming brass and bass, she wonders if Aemond is watching them. She doesn’t want to give him the satisfaction of checking. Not just yet.

Aegon leans into her ear. She ignores the sour, bitter smell of alcohol on his breath. “How is Aemond?”

It takes her off guard. She finds herself a little perplexed, eyebrows raised and lips parted as she tries to think of an answer that won’t seem suspicious.

But having to think about it at all must be incriminating.

Does Aegon know? If he did know, why would he want to bring it up?

“Good, as far as I’m aware.”

Her internal crisis seems to evade his attention. His eyes move between the space over her shoulder and the floor as he gnaws slightly on his lip. “Look, I know this isn’t your problem, but I just worry about him.”

Aegon Targaryen, worried about his brother?

“He said things were difficult lately.”

“Gods yeah, things have been tense with dad trying to sort out his will. Mum and Rhaenyra have been at each other’s throats, then there’s granddad trying to get something out of it all. It’s a fucking mess.” 

Realistically she doesn’t know him that well, but between their few interactions and what she’s heard from Jace and Luke, Aegon is easy to understand. It’s strange seeing him so concerned, about anything really.

He sighs heavily. “Then Aemond went and completely fucked up a contract with Storm’s End and mum was livid.”

“That’s it? They fell out over a work issue?”

“She needed it. She’s really pushing for Aemond to take over from dad, because Gods know once Rhaenyra’s in charge she’s not letting the Hightowers get a fucking look in.”

“What about you?”

“Me? I’m the designated disaster child, no one expects anything from me. Aemond’s always been perfect. And now he isn’t.”

It would explain the dramatics of it all.

“Are they happy? Him and Alys?”

She’s not sure how she should know, or what the criteria for ‘happy’ would even be.

“They must be. I don’t see why he would stick around otherwise.”

Aegon’s lips flash into a crooked smile that disappears as quickly as it comes. “I think he wanted to get out. I said he could come live with me, hells, he could afford his own place.”

“So why doesn’t he? Get his own place, I mean.”

“He likes the distraction, something to get him away from Targ Corp, and the rest of us, I suppose. I think he needed an escape.”

The pace of the music picks up in a flourish and Aegon spins her under his arm. Aemond is looking at them.

At some point in the night, the band is swapped for a playlist of songs everyone knows the words to, and closer to midnight the hall becomes a haze of thumping bass and sparse bursts of red and green lights. She loses count of the number of cocktails she’s had, all she knows is her mind is buzzing blissfully. She feels happy and careless, but one drink away from a nasty hangover in the morning.

Aemond is still at his table, sipping a glass of what she guesses is whisky. He loves an old fashioned, if they’re out for dinner or if he makes it himself at home. He talks to Rhaenys and Corlys, and has a brief exchange with Daemon and Rhaenyra when they come over to him, but other than that he just sits and watches her.

She’s not sure how she ended up dancing with Cregan. He wraps a large, muscular arm around her waist and holds her close against him. 

He brings his lips to the shell of her ear, shamelessly letting them brush against her skin. It feels nice. “Sure you’ve not got your eye on anyone?”

She smiles even though he can’t see her face. “Why is it important?”

“I’m trying to figure out what my chances are here,” he says as his mouth moves along her cheek.

She giggles as she pulls away from him. “You’re lovely,” she says.

“But?”

A hand lands firm on her shoulder. She recognises his perfume and a cool steel ring against her skin.

She turns into Aemond and puts her hands on his chest. “Are you going to dance with me?” 

Aemond holds her wrists and leans into her so that she can hear him over the music. “I think you look tired.”

“I don’t feel tired. Where’s Alys?”

He cocks an eyebrow like he’s irritated she would ask. “She went to bed an hour ago.” Then his mouth curls into a smug pout. “Do you want me to take you upstairs?”

He starts to stroke his thumbs over her hands and his eyes, though hard to make out through the darkness, are fixed on hers. She can’t quite catch her breath. “Yeah, I do.”

They don’t speak as they head up. Her room is on the third floor, and they could take the lift but a few other guests have had the same idea. Quicker and quieter to take the stairs.

Occasionally her hand brushes against the sleeve of his suit but he doesn’t react. She listens to his breath, heavy and pointed, and imagines he might want to say something but keeps deciding against it.

They reach the hall on the third floor, lined with mahogany panelling, vintage gold lamp shades mounted on the walls and patterns of dragons swirling in the red carpet. It’s empty, so she weaves her arm through his. 

Aemond holds her arm tight. “Had a nice time?”

It was nice to see her Strong cousins. It was nice to chat to Baela, and get to know Rhaena a little better. It was nice to dance with Cregan and to know Aegon cares about his brother.

“Yeah,” she sighs, letting her head drop against his shoulder. “You?”

Aemond starts to tell her about a conversation he had with Corlys about some new customs regulations that could screw over his company. She likes to watch him when he’s explaining something, how he moves his hand around, how he tilts his chin up and presses his lips together when he’s thinking.

When they come to her door she drags herself away from him and swipes her keycard over the lock. The door is heavy and Aemond reaches over her to prop it open as he follows her inside. 

He switches on the low lights and hovers by the door to the ensuite, muttering about tariffs while she slips off her heels and places her jewellery on the vanity.

He looks deliciously casual and self-assured, leaning against the wall with his hands in his pockets, the warm lights dancing over his cheekbones and the shape of his nose. “...they just can’t compete with the Triarchy, not to mention the extra costs…”

His eyes drift to where she stands. They stare at each other for a moment. The silence is screaming at her.

“Who was the guy you were dancing with?” He asks.

“Friend of Jace’s. He studies politics.”

Aemond hums and smiles to himself. “Looked like the two of you were getting on very well.”

She could point out his poorly placed frustration and that their entire involvement revolves around someone else.

“Is that why you came over?”

He’s still smiling but there’s an intensity to his stare. He puffs his chest a little as he takes a slow breath. He taps his fingers three times against the wall. “Did you like him?”

Restraint is one of Aemond’s most defining traits, she thinks, everything about him is meticulously planned, and every decision is a considered one. Restraint is also his downfall in some cases. He rarely raises his voice or gives into his impulses, but he tries too hard to hold back and craft his perfect image. It excites her whenever she sees the cracks and inconsistencies in him. They feel sacred, another secret she gets to keep.

She takes a few slow steps towards him, until she can smell his perfume again. “I might have done.”

“Might,” he echoes. “If it weren’t for what?”

She tilts her head. His eyes are soft and his lips are parted. She holds the scarred side of his face in her hand and kisses him. She intends it to be slow and reassuring but it’s too easy to get lost in him. She presses herself into him and caresses the back of his neck and she deepens the kiss.

Until his other hand cups her head, lightly pushing her away. “I should go back to the party,” he whispers. 

“Why?”

He takes a breath through his nose.

“Stay with me for a little while,” she says, nudging her forehead against his. “I need you.”

His face starts to light up, a familiar playfulness in the curl of his mouth. “Need me?”

She trails her fingertips down his shirt, tracing over his chest and the ridges of his abs, dangerously close to his belt. “Aemond, please.”

He walks forward and she stumbles with him until her back is against the opposite wall. He grips her chin between his fingers, forcing her to look up at him. “Try again, sweetheart.” His voice is low and it makes her feel weightless.

“Please, daddy,” she whispers. 

He half growls a “hmm” before he pulls her into him to claim her mouth. His kiss is firm, slow and hungry. She was right about the whisky. She can taste it on his tongue and feel it tingling on her lips.

His knee slides under her dress, between her thighs, and pushes up. She gasps at the pressure and starts to rut her hips against him.

“You’re so eager,” he hisses, “what a desperate little slut I’ve made out of you.”

His hands slip under her thighs to carry her to the edge of the bed. He’s careful as he draws her dress over her head and lays it out over the armchair by the window.

He leans over her, laying her down, working lips, tongue and hands over every inch of her bare body. He starts by kissing her neck, sucking at the soft spot that always makes her melt. His hands run over her collar to her breasts, kneading and pinching her nipples between his fingers. Then he goes lower, planting a trail of kisses down the valley that leads to her waist and her stomach. Usually he likes to drag this out, treat her to divine torture until she had to beg, but tonight he is urgent, no less desperate than she is.

His hands run down her thighs, skimming one moment and squeezing the next. And then she feels his lips against her panties.

“Oh you do need me, don’t you?” He teases. “You’re already so wet for me, baby.”

She writhes against his mouth, desperate for just a little more friction. “Oh fuck, please, daddy, just–”

“Not yet.” He stands over her, slips off his suit jacket and starts to roll the sleeves of his shirt, exposing the pale skin of his forearms. “I’m going to take care of this pretty pussy, but first you’re going to tell me why the fuck you thought you could flirt with Stark, right in front of me.”

She gazes up at him. His expression is stern and intense, and she finds it thrilling.

He pulls her to her feet and takes her place sitting at the edge of the bed, running his hands over the silky fabric covering his thighs. 

“Come here,” he orders, taking her hand and guiding her to drape herself over his lap. She can feel the bulge in his pants pressing into her stomach.

He’s gentle at first, stroking his palm over her ass, toying with different pressures and patterns.

The first slap is gentle. 

“How many– ah!”

The second slap is harsher and she groans at the sting it leaves behind.

“You’re gonna take what I give you,” he says, stroking softly again while his other hand rests on her neck. “We’re done when I say we’re done.” Slap. “Understood?”

“Fuck!” She gasps, “yes, daddy.”

“Hmm, that’s my good little girl,” he says, running his other hand through her hair. It’s comforting, lulling her into compliance. “Now, have you got an answer for me?”

“I wasn’t trying to flirt,” she utters.

Her answer is met with a few succinct blows. She doesn’t care to count them. She breathes through it, focusing on the burn and controlling her reactions to it. She tries to keep her hips still, but she can feel her pussy throbbing and her arousal dripping between her legs.

“Don’t play dumb with me,” Aemond warns. “You’re smarter than that, baby, I know you are.”

He switches between tenderness and pain so easily. Every time she feels his hand against her flushed skin her belly tightens and she starts to shiver, never quite sure what to expect.

“Do you know what I think?” He asks, slipping finger underneath her panties, circling through the wetness and the sensitive flesh of her pussy. “I think you’re just a needy little whore, desperate for my attention. But it’s okay baby, I know you can’t help it, right?”

She can’t help the broken whimper that escapes her throat as he inches closer to where she needs him most, or the cry that comes when he withdraws his touch delivers another stinging slap.

“Shh, baby,” Aemond coos, “I know it hurts but I need you to know you’re mine,” a point he emphasises with another few strikes that have her squealing and squirming over his lap. 

“I’m yours,” she mewls.

Slap. “Say it again.”

“I’m yours, daddy!” She cries, “only yours.”

He strokes his palm over her again and she grips the duvet, expecting another slap. Instead, he curls his fingers over the hem of her panties and slowly drags them down over her thighs. “I’m going to take care of you, baby,” he says, planting a kiss at the base of her neck, “just like I always do.”

Unable to form a response, she nods absentmindedly. The anticipation is driving her crazy but she trusts him completely.

He positions her with her back on the bed again, and kneels before her. He kisses along her thighs, groaning with satisfaction at her little whimpers and moans.

He leans in and kisses her pussy as sweetly and delicately as he would her cheek, letting his lips linger against her. “I’ve been thinking about you all fucking day,” he says, teasing her with gentle pecks and licks while his hands knead at her thighs. “You looked so pretty in your little dress, I couldn’t wait to take it off and have you laid out for me, just like this.”

She runs her hands through his hair as he deepens his movements, that delicious feeling rising and rising as he draws his tongue from her entrance, up to tease her clit, and back down again.

He slides a single finger in, letting out a soft groan at her slick and the sound it makes as he inches further in.

Her hips buck when he starts to flick his tongue over her clit, met by the weight of his hand against her stomach to hold her in place.

“Just relax, sweetheart, be a good girl for me, that’s it.”

Her eyes start to glaze over as her orgasm builds slowly. Agonisingly slowly. She stills her hips, fighting the urge to grind against his mouth. She’s left panting and groaning, desperate for more but she has to be good for him. 

“Daddy,” she chokes, feeling a single tear stream down her temple. “Please… please…” she whimpers as she feels herself hurtling closer and closer to the edge. Just a little more and she’ll fall apart.

“There you go,” he hums, pushing deeper and working his tongue faster. “I want you to cum, baby, want you to finish all over my mouth.”

Finally she comes with a stuttering moan, back arched and pleasure rippling through her body, leaving her pleasantly numb in the afterglow.

Aemond presses a sweet kiss against her quivering cunt, trailing back up her body, coming to nuzzle into her neck.

“You alright?” He whispers. “I’m not being too harsh, am I?”

She turns her head to look at him. His eyes are so bright and his breath washes over her skin. He’s still wearing his shirt. She wants to tear it off him, feel every inch of him with no barriers or modesty.

It just slips out, mindless and simple, like a breath or a heartbeat. “I love you.”

He looks at her, wide-eyed and vague. She leans up to kiss him and he pulls away.

Then he comes to his feet, looming over the bed. He wipes his hand over his mouth and drags it over his chin. 

She’s sure her heart has stopped beating. Why is he staring at her? Why hasn’t he said anything?

“I should…” His eyes dart around the room, to his suit jacket discarded on the floor. Then back to her, trembling, breathless and bare. 

She props herself up onto her elbows, drawing her legs together. She’s never felt ashamed of herself in front of him before. 

“Aemond?”

Suddenly he snaps out of whatever trance he’s been under.

“Night,” he mumbles, disappearing around the corner of the ensuite. The door opens. The door clicks shut.

Her hands shoot up to her hair, tugging and gripping, if only to have something to do with her hands. When it gets too painful she smooths her hands over her neck. Her pulse drums under her skin and beads of sweat trail down her back.

What the fuck was that?

Tags : @marthawrites @randomdragonfires @urmomsgirlfriend1 @aaaaaamond @boundlessfantasy

[lackingdaisies]

sunset rose molotov cocktail

[petetarus-blog]

Everyone has gathered around the old tablet eagerly awaiting the premier of the next exciting episode of The Amazing Digital Circus, and all they need now is Kingers sick as Hell Sunset Rose cocktail to enjoy while watching the show

[lackadaisycats]

Thank you for 900k subscribers on YouTube!

It's a pretty big deal for us since we were just cresting 100k as we released the LACKADAISY Pilot. And, of course, the support and viewership means everything to a small indie studio.

Find us here!

We've been posting lots of short animations while Season 1 is in development.

-----------------

Thank you to Kristina Hays for the Rocky edit! Rocky's voice here is @kovox! The music is "Sunset Rose Cocktail" from our OST, composed by M Gewehr!

[homestuckreplay]

Favorite Homestuck Character: 27th US President William Howard Taft

(page 556-566)

8/29/2009 Wheel Spin: Dramatic Irony Verdict: Puns, The Lower Form Of Humor

8/31/2009 Wheel Spin: Parent Bad :( Verdict: Brother Truly Awful And Horrendous

We begin these pages with John, followed by a quick cut to Dave. Both of them navigating the dangers of their home and the possibility of being watched, but in very different ways.

The Colonel Sassacre and Bathtub level ups are clearly just a setup for puns, so I’m not gonna read too much into the idea that everything can level up (yet). But Colonel Sassacre gained 9550 boondollars from his level, so he must be pretty far up the echeladder compared to the bathtub (490) and John’s meager 200. Sassacre’s new level is ONE MAN JULEP VACUUM. A julep is a chilled cocktail, today usually made with mint, bourbon and crushed ice, although historically used rose petals and was prescribed for health. In 1939, the mint julep became the official drink of the Kentucky Derby after being drunk there probably since its inception. For the ‘genteel, aristocratic southern colonel’ hoovering up a large number of juleps at the derby must be a sign of social status. A high achievement indeed.

Meanwhile, the bathtub’s levels are both references to apocryphal bathtub-related stories. ARCHIMEDED was the ancient Greek mathematician who got into the bathtub and realized that placing an object into a liquid would displace that volume of that liquid (and could therefore determine what metal an object was made from, via the relationship between weight, volume and density) and ran naked through the streets yelling “eureka!” So, his AQUACRADLE is the watery crib that nourished and inspired him. Meanwhile, William TAFT was the US President famous for being the heaviest person in office, who was believed to have gotten stuck, or JAMMED, in the White House bathtub. Although both of these stories are probably false, they’re famous and they’re fun references.

Finally, VAULTHALLA is a pun on Valhalla, the hall of slain warriors in Norse mythology. It’s horrific as a pun (complimentary) but I do think p.558 is the best looking page in all of Homestuck so far. The jewel tones streaked to create the sunset and the sea, the way the boat bobs on the waves and the fire flickers and is reflected in the water is way more beautiful than it needs to be to carry the pun.

LAD SCRAMBLE (p.560) is John’s equivalent of YOUTH ROLL (p.379) in terms of being acrobatic feats attempted and failed by these characters. Can’t wait for Dave’s Dude Scoot and GG’s Kid Tumble. But I am really glad this happened to our boy on the lowest flight and not miles above the house. The code violations on Rose’s building are scarier to me than the absolutely MASSIVE imp that shows up afterwards.

As predicted, this is the rook. It has a better moveset than the imps and is worth about five of them power-wise which is absolutely more than John can handle. The learning curve of Sburb continues to be really steep. I wonder if all the enemies are literally climbing up from below? It makes sense given that they’re part of the forces of darkness, and it sets the game up as a giant chase using architecture, where – at a certain point – just out-climbing the smaller enemies might be more effective than killing them, and only the higher level enemies will even reach the players.

Returning to Dave after a hundred pages away from him is like stepping from the normal world into the first layer of endless puppet hell. His mind is a complex and terrible place, but he – or the narrator – is getting closer to admitting some things. He feels ‘pangs of jealousy’ about his bro’s turntable gear and there’s a mention of getting worked up, and he acknowledges that his bro’s comic ‘get[s] under [his] skin’ and that he thinks it’s ‘just a little TOO ironic.’ He is also aware that ‘trouble’s a-brewin’ due to a missing sword. This feels like somebody getting sucked in too deep to a subculture that’s fine in moderation, but then somebody takes it way too far to the point that it’s harmful – but by then it’s too late to get out, especially when that somebody lives with you, has power over you and presents themself as an authority.

Today I learned that ‘Animal’ is the actual name of a Muppets character (along with Rowlf). This comic is of course puppet themed – Bro does not have a diversity of interests – being tormented by Jigsaw from the movie Saw, which I will watch soon. The art style is different to Sweet Bro & Hella Jeff, less pixelated and artifacted with some hand lettering instead of Comic Sans, darker in both tone and color palette. I’m sure this is post-post-post-post-ironic to some people but to me this is just every ‘what if we took a children’s story… and made it Fucked Up’ post that has been made on the internet in the last decade.

There’s also near-confirmation that Bro is hiding close by and messing with Dave’s mind via sylladex. On p.563, there’s a flash of the sword on the wall being captchalogued, and on p.564, the flash of Lil Cal being de-captchalogued – both from back towards the couch area if my mental picture of the room is right. Out of every character we’ve met so far, Dave’s bro is the one without a single redeeming quality; every new fact or insinuation draws him as an even worse guy.

[truckfreaks]

everyone's comparing dj crazy times to aqua but let me tell you

as a kid that used to be REALLY into euro dance......... aqua is the moment. barbie girl is the tip of the banger iceberg. aquarium RULES from start to fuckin finish.

happy boys and girls? INCREDIBLE opener.

my oh my? why wasn't this in DDR?

good morning sunshine? feels like melting into sunset honey

doctor jones? best onomotopoeia in music since always

heat of the night? we love a trilingual queen

be a man? bittersweet breakup ballad of the century

lollipop candyman? REBOUND FROM BITTERSWEET BREAKUP, we love character development.

roses are red? aight, you lil freaks, get it.

turn back time? remember that sunset honey you got melted into? now you're being mixed into a cocktail of complicated summer romances

calling you? educational. we learn how to spell things while we get our cardio in. visionary.

[sealochs]

I’ve just booked myself a three night solo trip to Edinburgh in April and would love some recommendations if you have any? I’m hoping it’s a trip of good food, leisurely mooching around some cultural spots and making the effort to look glamorous for myself when I go sample as many small wine bars as possible

oh my gosh of course! you'll have the loveliest time. so...

good food: taco libre does the best mexican food & massive margaritas, go to the one on rose street for the best vibes; the outsider on george iv bridge will do you a french classic and a glass of wine for like £15 at lunchtime; go to baba on george street for delicious middle eastern small plates dining; you want to go to dulse for simple & delicious scottish seafood cooking; skip anything tom kitchin, it's overpriced for what you get; i have however heard very good things about the witchery if you want to splurge.

leisurely mooching: wander through new town down to stockbridge for the weekend market, then along the water of leith with a coffee; calton hill at sunset is beautiful and less of a climb than arthur's seat if you want a view with minimal effort; walking round holyrood park to duddingston village is also very nice, & of course there's the meadows (hit up the vietnamese coffee truck for their famous hot chocolate) and bruntsfield links (incidentally where w. broke up with me, but don't let that spoil it for you)

bars: imo the best cocktail menu in edinburgh is always at the devil's advocate, & their food is lovely too; i'm frankly a sucker for the (indoors) rooftop bar at the johnnie walker experience; the port of leith distillery also has a beautiful (indoors) rooftop bar overlooking the firth, with gorgeous cocktails & good vibes; i like sandy bells or the ensign ewart for an honest pint & live folk music; & i haven't been yet but decanter in bruntsfield has a brilliant wine menu, including wine flights! the wine menu at the canny mans in morningside is also very extensive, the surroundings are fun and eccentric, & i've never had a bad meal there.

cultural spots: perhaps a basic bitch take but i think the national museum is perfect, has a little something for everyone; the national portrait gallery is also in the most stunning building!

[ohmytomorrowisthursday]

AOT characters taking you on a date pt. 2

Hi! part one is here 

A lil spice!

Reiner: Idk, Reiner is a hungry man and I feel like he wants a place with a lot of meat lol. Takes you out for southern style barbecue. Loves the low-key vibes and the good food; orders extra corn bread and beans. He is sooooo shy when it comes to his feelings for you  I feel like he would eat so much so that he doesn’t need to talk lol. Likes taking you to his favourite restaurant and seeing you in jeans. I feel like he would love going to a sunset outdoor concert or a drive in movie. Even going to a haunted house, he’d loooove the feeling of protecting you. Wants to hold you to the music, or cuddle you in the car. Physical touch is his love language and he just wants to go somewhere where he can feel your body and make out with you for hourrrrrsss. He cant keep his hands off of you. 

Sasha: ALL YOU CAN EAT. Not sure if its a buffet or like ayce sushi but a place where you can try a ton of dishes and eat as much as you can. Would love making you laugh and playing silly get-to-know-you games. Going to a theme park or fair or anywhere with rollercoasters would be her jam. I feel like she’d love Disneyland but hate how expensive all of the food is haha. Wants to go on rides, eat mini doughnuts and enjoy the fun until you’re both exhausted. Kisses you on the Ferris wheel and buys you both matching merch, like those Toy Story aliens hats. Taking photos in a Photo Booth and end up making out. Hiding behind corners and stealing kisses from each other so no one sees. 

Levi: Every minute of the date is planned perfectly. He has high standards and wants to take you somewhere really nice for dinner, a restaurant where you get multiple courses of food and there’s matching wine paired with each course. Dimly lit with jazz music playing. Has a list of acceptable places and it has to be at one of those. He doesn’t go out to restaurants often, but when he does he goes for a five star experience. Loves seeing you all dressed up, just so he can take it off later. Touches your thighs at the dinner table and is giving you the ‘fuck me’ eyes all night. Loves teasing you and seeing you blush and get flustered. Takes you to a quiet speakeasy after to drink cocktails. My man is definitely a whisky drinker, he is getting an old fashioned or a scotch on the rocks. Whispers dirty things in your ear all night but refuses to kiss you which drives you craaazy. When he drops you off back at home he brushes your hair behind your ear. “I want all of you,” he says before he kisses you. Doesn’t stay because he wants to leave you wanting more. 

Jean: He would be sooooo nervous while planning this date lol. Probably googles ‘romantic date ideas’ because his brain was too anxious to some up with his own ideas. Would pick a nice French restaurant and give you a red rose at the beginning. He’s super blunt and throughout the night he’d say things like ‘you are so hot’ and tell you how much he likes you. Something about him just makes me think he loves classic romance tropes. Like he’d take you to the Eiffel Tower and kiss you under it when its twinkling. Getting a cartoonist to sketch both of you and then keeping it on his wall. Sooo nervous when he asks you to kiss him and he doesn’t hold back at all. Lifts up your chin and look into your eyes kind of kiss. Wants to be your Prince Charming. You tease him about how sweet he is and he gets all red and flustered.

Erwin: I feel like Erwin is a gentleman and wants to take you on a really classy night out. I feel like he’d want to dress up and go to the symphony with you or a charity event at a museum of anthropology, followed by a dinner at a boujie restaurant. Wants to talk about work and your career with him. Would love asking you tough hypothetical questions because loves having really cerebral conversations. Drinking nice Bordeaux and eating oysters and steak. Shares chocolate cake with you after. I feel like he wouldn’t try anything because he’s such a gentleman, but he’d compliment you and kiss your hand. Takes you back to his place for a night cap on his deck. He’d tell you how that he finds you beautiful inside and out and ask for a kiss. He’s slow and holds back but as soon as you say the word, he’s ready to go. Tells you to take off your clothes and loves watching you undress. Loves making your toes curl.