#the ladies who own the house were very nice

[writerdownbookworder]

The princess smiled at him happily from across the battlefield as she rode away. 

Edmund smiled back and waved. The minute she was out of sight, his hand dropped and he ran it through his hair nervously as he returned to work, carting away the bodies of the enemy and friends alike. It was hard, emotional work, and thankfully, it took his mind off of the explanation he would have to give his family in a few short hours.

Finally, he was able to go home. As soon as Edmund walked in the door, he was bombarded with hugs from all six of his little siblings. They were all between the ages of 2 and 10, and the smaller ones tried climbing him like monkeys. Edmund laughed as he hugged them all, then his parents and grandparents who all lived with them in the four bedroom house. 

After Edmund finally got the little ones calmed down and regaled them with some of the tamer stories he had, he looked at his mother. 

Reading his mind, she started corralling the kids. “Come on, everyone,” she called. “Bedtime!” She ignored the groans and moans that came as she whisked them into their bedroom.

Edmund shifted awkwardly in his chair as he waited for her to come back. When she did, taking a seat beside his father, Edmund took a deep breath.

“I have some news to share,” he began. “I am…engaged.”

His grandmother hooted with joy. “Ha! Finally!”

“Really, Mabel,” Edmund’s mother said reproachfully. “Let the boy speak.”

His father turned to him. “Do we know the girl?”

Edmund wouldn’t meet any of their eyes as he mumbled, “Sort of.”

His grandfather crossed his arms. “It’s not that Katrina, is it? You do know she’s a bit strange. I don’t think you should marry her. Can you call it off?”

Edmund sighed and rubbed his forehead. “It’s not Katrina. And that’s not very nice, Grandfather.”

“Hmph!” his grandfather pouted. “Well, then, who is it?”

“Itstheoldestprincessprincessisolde!” Edmund said, all in a rush.

His grandmother put a hand to her ear. “Eh?”

Edmund took a deep breath. “It’s Princess Isolde.”

“What?!” came a shriek from behind them. Everyone whipped around, only to find seven-year-old Avalie peeking around the corner and eavesdropping. 

She started bouncing on her toes with excitement. “You’re gonna marry Princess Isolde?! She’s my favorite!”

Edmund’s mother put her hands on her hips. “Young lady, you are not supposed to be up. You weren’t supposed to hear that.”

Edmund sighed. “She might as well stay now.”

Avalie ran over and jumped on his lap. “You’re my favorite! How did it happen?!” she asked eagerly.

He couldn’t help grinning at her. “Well, last year, remember when I was gone for so long? I was one of her personal guards. A few days ago, we ended up near each other again, out on the battlefield. I thought…” he let his voice trail off, remembering he was talking to a seven year old. The adults in the room knew what he meant, so he continued his story. “I knew I loved her, and I was pretty sure she loved me too. We grew close last year. I asked her to marry me, and she said yes. And…here we are.”

“Are you gonna go live in the palace?!” Avalie shrieked, ignoring when five adults shushed her. “That’s so exciting!”

Edmund laughed. “Yes, I suppose it is. I believe she said she would send word in a few days. I’m…not too sure what to do next. We did just get out of a war.”

Avalie clutched him tightly. “Can I come with you?” 

He laughed again. “Fine by me! You’ll have to ask Isolde though.”

Avalie’s eyes went wide.

She, Avalie, was going to meet a princess! And not just any princess. Her very favorite one!

And Princess Isolde was going to marry her own brother!

That would make them sisters!!!

The rest of the adults were not as excited as Avalie, to say the least. The minute she was shooed off to bed for a second time, the questions resumed.

“How?”

“Why would you do such a thing?”

“What in the world possessed you?”

“Her?”

“She’s the heir to the throne! What does that make you?”

“Why would she even say yes?”

Edmund glared at his grandmother, who had asked that particular question. “Gee, thanks.”

She shrugged. “Don’t mention it.”

The soldier had proposed to the princess out of a mix of getting it out now and the belief he wouldn't make it. Now that the two are alive after the final battle, she intends to make good on what he promised and he's now wondering on how to explain it to his family.

[cartoonsinthemorning]

Hi forgive me if this has been addressed before! I'm a little new to your fem!stan stuff (I saw your ask reblogged by Boston and snuck out of the back of their foodtruck to send this) but I love the idea and was wondering does stan pretend to be Stanford when he falls in the portal? (If that is the route that's taken in the au at least) because it would be really interesting to see if constance would enjoy the freedom that comes with being a man but at the same time I think it would drive (incel) ford up the wall if he came back and saw his sister running a successful business out of his house. There would be this extra layer of tension as ford has to grapple with his own learned misogyny. Though I also imagine exploring the multiverse and seeing the way gender is explored or even ignored in other worlds would probably force him to have some realizations before hand but whether or not hed really allow himself to internalize those realizations is another story. Bros got an easy excuse to not analyze his own sexism since hes trying to hunt down bill

And then when he comes back and sees his sister is doing just fine would probably wound his pride a little bit. All those fantasies and unfair expectations of their roles hes built in his mind are forced to come crashing down once again

I'm also just kind of obsessed with the idea of constance finally learning how to be /stan/ in gravity falls because she never had the freedom and safety to do so before. I'm sure a large part of rejection of any femininity whatsoever came from not having the option to do so in the past. But then she watches the kids over the summer and sees mabel embracing makeovers and grappling hooks hand in hand. Dipper is insistent on being a "man" but never once tries to tell mabel she needs to be a "woman"

This ask is all over the place sorry I think i had a point to the start of this and now I'm just rambling about your own au to you lmfao

Anyway love the concept (and your art!!)

-🐶

Hello! Thank you for passing by and sending me such a nice message, sharing your own ideas with me! and many thanks for the compliments too, of course ❤ That said, I'm afraid my answer will be a tad disappointing. Because, the fem!Stan I enjoy to imagine is cis, and I can't imagine a cis woman being able to consistently pretend to be a man for thirty years, without losing their mind (in the same way it's detrimental for most trans people to supress their true identity for a lifetime, non?). Especially, in the same way canon Stan is very masculine (with a sprinkle of femininity, despite his shame about it), I like to imagine Constance as a lady who is very proud and comfortable in her womanhood- despite her loud voice and direct and somehow brash manners. Even in her younger years, when she was classified as a tomboy by most, she loved girly things- dresses, make up, gossip magazines, etc. without issues. I think of Stan in her 60s wearing tacky jewelry, lipstick, and hair-curlers at night, tbh. That's why, in this AU, my mind skirts around the part were Ford gets stuck into the portal.

For example, I sometimes imagine 30s Ford simply having a change of heart and dismantling the portal, and (now former) Drifter!Constance living with him from that point on (and, of course, I elaborated this one up until Stan and Mabel get into the picture, but for the sake of brevity I'll stop here). Or, I bend canon a little, making up that the people of Gravity Falls only heard of some researcher who was gonna build and live in a shack in the forest, but they never actually got to see them, let alone find out if it was a man or a woman. It's a version were the chaos Ford caused in town while posses by Bill either never happened or he did it without getting caught by police or getting seen. And, about the name on documents and stuff-- Constance was a marinated and resourceful conwoman at that point, she simply found a way to make things work. Hell, they have the same last name- maybe this time she registered Ford as deceased, passed herself as his wife, and inherited the Shack and the rest of Ford's possessions. I know many, reading this, would think it's heartless of Stan, but to me this trick is fucking hilarious. Especially, I'm grinning like a maniac imagining how mad and appalled Ford would look as he realizes the trick Constance pulled- not only because what a fucking ASSHOLE she's been, to use his "death" to appropriate his stuff- but also!! secretly!! because WHAT the FUCK- he often fantasized about Stan being his wife, but this is the most cruel and ironic monkey paw situation EVER!! To reconnect back to your speculations about sexist!Ford being humiliated and mad about Constance running a business independently: I like it! it's fun to read! But, I have to go deeper. I usually think of Ford's sexism toward Constance to be the outside layer, so to speak. I think deep down Ford always knew Stan had the potential to be strong, resourceful and independent, despite what their ma, pa, teachers and other people said. Ford grew next to her, he knows what this girl is capable of, how determined she is. And that's the point...What he really dreads, what he really hates, is the idea she doesn't need him, at all. That's what would make Ford actually upset about Stan running a business: knowing that, hadn't she brought him back, she would had been fine, without him. Sexism would be the mental shield Ford uses to protect himself from this painful acknowledgment: He's just mad because his fraud of a sister thinks she's being successful, but all she accomplished was using her physical appearance and womanly ways to seduce and manipulate. That's all, really. I roll my eyes at him, here, which is a good indicator I got him in character, if I can say so myself. The last scene you shared, with Stan realizing her nephew and niece aren't as oppressed by gender roles as she herself used to be- and bypassing them, even- is SO sweet 🥺 I have absolutely no doubt in my mind: one thing that does NOT change in either the canon universe and the genderbend one, is that Stan would love and adore Dipper and Mabel- and learn a lot from them ❤ PS: is the puppy icon your anon signature? it's so cute! 🐶 look at this fine boy. Great choice.

[insanelyadd]

Neighbor of my aunt’s had slurs spray painted on their fence because of their pride flag, so the neighborhood came together to sand it off and paint new things onto the fence, both rainbow themed. One they did as a neighborhood a few nights ago, and yesterday I came by to finish it up because I have steady hands, which would be good for outlining the words in black. Designed up the second picture on the fence and started working on it yesterday. I finished it today (pictured above).

The entire time I had a lot of people honking in support and three people pulled up the curb to tell me what a good job I did (I told them the majority of the other one was a group effort) and also how mad they were hearing about the vandalism in the first place.

Anyways today I heard one person potentially yell out their window at me "fuck off" though it could have been the other f word because about 45 minutes before I finished it up a work truck (no logo) drove by and one of the dipshits in the truck yelled "f*ggot" out their window at me and about 5-10 or so minutes later the clown patrol drove by again and all three of them yelled it out their window at me with one loser full on sitting out the window. Unfortunately, I didn't get their license plate. Equally unfortunate, they didn't get hit by a car as they almost ran a red light through the intersection by the house.

Imagine being that big of a loser, couldn't be me.

[swordmaid]

i am wide awake thinking about that post canon jb au again when I should be sleeping …!!! such is the nature of the jbrainrot…

[gunpowder-gemini]

Controversial statement since I know it's super popular (at least on booktok for whatever that's worth) but I finished Acotar and it was mid

[gremlingottoosilly]

König x Housekeeper!Reader? He was expecting some little old lady, not a college student looking for an extra side hustle to pay their tuition. He can already picture them as a housewife as they work around his mess of a place.

You're playing with the poor man's heart! When he was signing up for the weekly maid services, he hoped that it would be different people each time. Calling in for a housekeeper and a cleaner is already embarrassing enough at his grown age - there is a voice inside his head that tells him he should man the fuck up and stop being so damn difficult about watching over his own house, but having a regular maid who would know just how messy his life is...yeah, he was not having it. He needed someone old and boring, someone who, preferably, doesn't even speak German so he won't have to awkwardly master the conversation. He got you instead. You're...you're fucking perfect. In cozy and comfortable clothes, nothing that hugs your body and suggests something innappropriate - and yet every time you bend over, he can't help but imagine the way your ass must look under these baggy pants and has to fight the urge to just grab your waist and slam his erection against the curve of your hip. You're eager to work, you buzz around the messy house like a busy bee you are - there isn't much of his personal items inside, but his clothes and various gear laying around does make it a messy space. You were wondering if he is either a soldier or a serial killer, judging by the amount of weapons you got laying around...but it's better to not ask this question. You just needed some money, and the maid services are paying on the day of work - with repeating clients actually sometimes leaving you a nice tip or something to eat if you were to clean their houses at the dead of the night...it's really nice, somehow. Konig just can't keep his hands to himself sometimes. You look too adorable not to compliment on how you look - although he never dares, usually just staring at you from the corner. You're probably thinking he is afraid of you stealing something, but it's not like you really care about any of this, to be completely honest...you just want to keep your head low and get money. Unfortunately for you, Konig has a thing for housewife and domestic life. One time you were doing the routinely cleaning and it got really late - and with Konig literally having his house as far from civillization as possible, ass the buses were already leaving from the stations, leaving you stranded until the morning...and you'd be fucked or in for a very hefty taxi bill if it weren't for Konig oh so generously allowing you to spend the night at the guest room. You knew each other for a few months already, and the guy is harmless...naturally, you agree. Naturally, you never left this house without him again.

[wintertime-in-june]

Reverse Arranged Marriage

Colonel!König x Recruit!Reader

The Colonel.

Your Colonel.

König.

You looked at him, twisting a strand of hair around your finger, big eyes shining adorably up at him, hanging on his every word...

So you can imagine the shattering feeling you felt when he arrived back to the base after a short sabbatical back home in Austria with a woman at his side.

His fiancé.

König has no experience when it comes to women. No previous relationships, no dates, not even an attempt at obtaining one... and his parents to be quite frank were worried.

Their little boy... their not so little boy... turning 30 and not so much as an interaction with a women to their knowledge.

When he had returned to Austria for his birthday, they decided to surprise him. Waiting back home was a woman, Katharina, 'a good Austrian woman' his mother had described her as.

König, well, he didn't say anything. His parents took this as a good sign. They had everything already arranged, the two of them would stay in KorTac military housing, Katharina would work as a nurse at the local hospital and they would return to Austria for the wedding in June.

Katharina was nice enough, there was nothing explicitly wrong with her... but König felt nothing. He didn't even try to feel anything. He didn't kiss her, he didn't hug her, he didn't even speak to her.

Since their meeting they simply just walked together, around his parent's house in Austria, through the airport and now through their house on base.

It didn't take long for König to move his things over, he wasn't a very materialistic person, he helped Katharina unload her boxes from the lorry, still, wordlessly.

That's when she heard it for the first time. You.

"Colonel, do you need help with that?"

And it just progressed from there, like a high pitched drone in her ears, annoying, inescapable.

"Colonel please help me with..."

"Colonel can I show you..."

"Colonel do you want to maybe..."

"Colonel this..."

"Colonel that..."

She was sick of it, and she was sick of you.

How come he would pay attention to you? You were just some dumb little recruit, she was his fiancé and he didn't even give her a word most days.

He didn't even take that stupid mask off in front of her, but he lifted it up for you to kiss the grazes on your knees, the tiniest scratches on your arms, even a frickin' paper cut. He couldn't have his little recruit get hurt in his training sessions and not kiss it better!

They slept in their bed, on opposite sides, untouching, rigid, mask on. But if you had a nightmare, he was there in an instant, tucking you up tight in your covers only to stay and hold you when you said...

"Please, Colonel, I'm scared..."

The final straw was when you had come round to their house one evening, uninvited, to give them some Topfenstrudel you'd baked... because you just so happened you made too much... yeah right.

She didn't buy it, not for a second, you just so happened to make too much of this dessert, an Austrian dessert, an Austrian dessert that just so happened to be the Colonel's favourite.

She was seething with she had one and it was... well, delicious.

As the Colonel showered you with praises, saying what a good young lady you were, how you'd make a man very happy one day, how you know the way to people's hearts. She glared daggers into your very soul, a glare that you answered with a sweet, innocent smile.

I mean who comes round, uninvited, in their little silky pyjamas, acting all innocent and cute, she could see right through you... but the Colonel couldn't.

"It was lovely chatting with you two, see you at training tomorrow Colonel!"

And with that the door shut and you walked with a skip in your step back to the recruit's barracks.

If you hadn't been so all consumed in your own little world you just might have heard the arguing that ensured as soon as you had left...

That next morning the Colonel came in with a smile under his mask, not that you'd have known, he placed a firm hand on your shoulder, looking down. After a pause, he eventually spoke.

"Katharina had to go back to Austria."

"Oh, how come?" you say feigning worry, as though your heart didn't skip a beat.

"It seems we were not a good fit for each other."

You hold back a smile, instead putting on a look of concern. "Aw that's such a shame! I hope she finds who she's looking for."

He chuckles at your sweetness, you were always thinking of other people in his eyes.

"I'm sure she will." He said with a little sigh.

"You know, I was thinking, I still have the military housing until the end of the season, how about you come over and show me how to make that Topfenstrudel, ja?"

You smile up at him, nodding profusely.

"For sure! It'll be cool me teaching you for once." You giggle.

The Colonel may not have a fiancé but he was more than fine with that...

Besides, perhaps his parents wouldn't need to cancel the wedding plans set for June...

[submattsmxmmy]

🥀🕊 dead dove: don't eat (this fic contains dark material - read at your own risk)

hiiii, it's @ariestrxsh (this is my backup account, and here is my contribution to kinktober 🖤 no taglist included on this account bc it would be really complicated)

🥀🕊 content warning: smut, prey/predator dynamic, primal kink, establishment of safeword, knifeplay, rough sex, degradation, daddy kink, roughdom!chris

🥀🕊 author's note: if the idea of being chased around in the forest at night and then being brutally fucked by chris sturniolo doesn't sound fun to you, don't read this!!! i don't ever want my writing to trigger, offend, or upset anyone, so please just skip this one if the material sounds unpleasant to you. this is just for those of us who have this little dark fantasy. 🖤

🥀🕊 summary: while housesitting for your boss, an unsuspecting visitor drops by, and the night takes a twist.

a forest

"I'll give you a two-minute headstart," he rasped into your ear, sending shivers down your spine.

You took off, sprinting into the vast forest that was lit up by the full moon. Your sneakers crushed twigs and dead leaves as you wandered deeper into the woods.

You stopped for a moment to take in the sound of your surroundings, but the silence was eerie and unnerving. So quiet you could hear your heart about to pound out of your chest, along with the sound of adrenaline pumping your blood through your veins.

The thick, grey clouds in the sky slowly moved into the way of the moon, obstructing the light it emmited momentarily. You were excited to be chased, but something about this situation still triggered a primal fear in you. You started to run again, trying not to lose your sense of direction along with all the other sensory deprivation you were experiencing.

Suddenly, your shoelace snagged on a branch that had fallen, launching you forward into the forest floor beneath you.

*flashback to several hours earlier*

Your car made its way down the winding dirt road as you navigated directions to your boss' house, the branches above creating a dense canopy above you while you meandered through the tunnel of trees.

She was a sweet lady who owned the dog grooming business you worked at, and she was offering you some extra money to house sit for her, feed her cats, and water her plants while she was away on vacation.

It was a nice way to make some extra cash, and a nice way for you to get away from your roommates for a little while and enjoy some peace and quiet in the little woodsy area she lived in. An even bigger plus, she told you to help yourself to any of the food in her fridge and pantry, so it wouldn't spoil or go stale in the time that she was gone.

You slammed on your brakes, nearly losing traction and kicking up dirt as a fawn leaped out of nowhere and into the path of your car and stopped a few feet in front of your headlights. Your heart raced, but you immediately let out a sigh of relief as it got away safely and trotted off in another direction.

You'd never been to your boss' place before, but it wasn't hard to find, considering it was the only house around, and the nearest neighbors were at least a couple of miles away. You located your destination, and as you slowly ascended the driveway and admired the wooden structure, the full clouds above you started to release a light drizzle of rain.

It was a big, gorgeous, and charming home. You could tell a lot of work and money had gone into it, and you were even more excited to see the inside. You slung your bag over your shoulder, stepped out into the rain, and found the creepy owl statue, which the house key was hidden under. You put the key in the lock, turned it until you heard the click, and let yourself in.

It had a very rustic vibe, which really fit your boss, and you were so lost in the decor and the architecture that you were startled when a sweet, long-haired, black cat appeared at your feet and started rubbing up against your bare leg. She placed her two front paws on your black Converse shoe and peered up at you. "Hi, sweetie," you whispered, squatting down to let her smell you.

After she sniffed you for a few seconds, she drove her sweet face into your hand, and you scratched her under the chin. She started walking off in the other direction, looking back at you as if she wanted you to follow her.

You walked through the hall, through the living room, and into the dining room where two empty food bowls sat on the ground next to the fridge. "Awh, are you hungry?" You asked the cat as if she could respond to you, and you emptied a bit of dry food into both of the bowls, and as the sound of kibble ricocheting off the metal containers filled the room, another cat came bounding into view.

He was a short-haired brown tabby with white paws and a bit of white at the tip of his tail, but he stopped dead in his tracks when he got a look at you and ran the other direction to find something to hide under. "Can't win them all over, huh?" You said, peering down at the black cat as she gobbled up her food. She glanced back up at you and let out a soft meow as if she understood and went back to snacking.

You slowly walked through the rest of the house, acquainting yourself with the layout. You found your way to the guest room, which was right where you were told it was. Two doors down on the left after you walked through the second hallway that connected the kitchen to the bedrooms.

You set your bag down on the bed you'd be sleeping in tonight and backtracked to the kitchen to check out the drink and snack selection. You found a bottle of bourbon stored in the pantry that looked pretty fancy. You were of age, and your boss did say you could have any food or beverages she had, so you poured yourself a glass of bourbon over ice after you'd found her stash of whiskey glasses.

You grabbed some garlic stuffed olives from the fridge along with some aged cheddar and crackers you found, and you made your way to the living room to check out the entertainment. While you were flipping through apps on the television, you noticed some pictures above the fireplace.

Your boss had mentioned she had a son your age, but you'd never seen him until your gaze landed on his senior photo. "Holy shit," you whispered, admiring his beautiful smile and his lovely, blue eyes. Why hadn't your boss told you her son was so hot?

You popped an olive into your mouth and washed it down with a small sip of bourbon as you studied the picture collection she had on the mantel above the fireplace. Your eyes were immediately drawn to all the pictures of her son, and you couldn't help but allow your mind to wander while you looked at his photos. You'd never seen a man so attractive before.

You picked up a photograph of him in which he was shirtless and carried it back over to the couch with you. After looking at his picture a bit longer and taking a few more sips of your alcoholic drink, you turned your attention back to the television.

The sun had set by now, and you'd settled on watching Jennifer's Body. You'd seen it a dozen times before, but it was the only movie that sparked your interest after looking through several films on several different streaming services. Plus, you thought the movie was fitting, given it was October.

You were drinking your second glass of bourbon while you snacked on cheese and crackers when the scene came on where Jennifer and Needy make out. You were so lost in the steamy kiss that you had no idea anyone was in the room with you.

"Whatcha watching?" A voice came out of nowhere. You snapped your neck around, nearly dropping your drink, paused the movie, and asked, "Who the fuck are you?" before you could take in any of the boy's features. "I'm Chris. Who the fuck are you?" He returned the question, snorting at you.

"Sorry, you must be my boss' son," you quickly apologized, realizing he was the same man in the pictures. He was even more attractive in person. You stood up, wiping your crumby hands off on your striped shirt and your cut-off jean shorts.

You introduced yourself and extended your hand to shake his, but his gorgeous blue eyes flicked to the photo you had of him on the coffee table in front of you. "Like that picture of me?" He flashed you his million-dollar smile.

You ignored his question that felt like more of an accusation. "Sorry, I didn't know you'd be here. I was told I'd be staying here all alone," you responded, still caught off guard by his presence. "Well, I didn't know anyone would be here either. My mom told me someone was watching the cats, but I didn't know that meant you'd be here full time," Chris said, still caught off guard by your presence.

"Well, your mom told me I could sleep here and eat what you guys had in the fridge. I'm not doing anything weird," you replied. "Sure, you're not," Chris smirked, his gaze flicking back up at the frozen frame on the television of the girl-on-girl kiss scene you were watching. "It's not weird at all to watch porn on your boss' couch while you have a picture of her son next to you."

"Oh, my god, I'm not watching porn. This is just some horror movie on Hulu," you turned bright red, reaching for the remote and shutting off the film. "Well, either way, I won't tell my mom you're drinking her bourbon and watching softcore lesbian porn in her living room as long as you don't tell my mom I stop by here sometimes when she's out of town. I have a long weekend, and I just wanted to get away from my dormmates and come spend some time alone here," Chris told you.

"It's not porn.. whatever," you shook your head, giving up trying to defend yourself. "Your secret is safe with me," you said, taking in all his aesthetically pleasing features. "You don't mind if I hang out and stay the night here, do you? I just drove like two and a half hours, and I'm pretty tired," he bit his lip at you, and you nearly melted.

"No, I don't mind. After all, it is your house." Chris plopped down on the couch next to you and pulled out some rolling papers and a bag of weed. "You smoke?" He asked, looking up at you. "Yeah," you responded, sitting back down on the couch beside him.

"Smoke this joint with me on the deck?" He offered, while he packed the paper full of ground weed. "Sure," you accepted. He looked into your eyes while he licked and sealed the joint. "Follow me," he muttered as he stood up and started to make his way to the back door that led out to the wooden deck that wrapped around the back-half of the house.

The rain had let up by now, but the scent still lingered in the air. The two of your found yourselves leaning over the railing, staring up at the full moon and the few stars that were visible between the clouds while you passed the lit joint back and forth.

"Guess I should have asked this before I invited you to smoke with me, but how old are you?" He wondered. "Twenty-one. How about you?" You asked, giving him the joint back after blowing a puff of smoke into the air. "Same. You like working for my mom?" He wondered, glancing over at you.

"Yeah, actually. You know, everyone really respects her because she's a little bit of a hard ass, but she's really understanding. She doesn't treat us like cogs in her machine like some of my former employers. She treats us like we're actually human," you shrugged. "That's been my experience with her, too. She's a no-bullshit type of woman. Kind of hard on you when you need it. But a really caring and genuine person," Chris told you, taking another hit.

"What are you studying in school?" You asked him. "I've changed my major like a dozen times because I can't focus on any one thing, but right now, I'm leaning towards something in finance," he replied.

"I like the taste of these rolling papers," you told him. "Yeah? They're vanilla," he responded. "That's the best flavor. Except when it comes to sex," you mumbled under your breath and giggled. "Oh, yeah?" Chris raised his eyebrows and glanced at you, smiling and shocked to hear you say such a thing. "How freaky are you?" He asked, taking another puff off the joint.

"Well, freaky is subjective," you started off. "And that's how I know you're a freak," Chris glared in your direction, still smiling. "If you'd given me a definitive no, when then, that answers that question. If you'd given me a definitive yes, that could have meant that your definition of freaky is like getting your hair pulled while you're in doggy or something," he replied, passing you back the doobie. "Well, I do like that," you chuckled. "Yeah, but what other freaky shit are you into?" Chris' curiosity had been sparked.

"I'm not telling you. I just met you," You widened your eyes at Chris and shot him an embarrassed smile. "You're the one that brought it up. I'll tell you what I'm into if you tell me what you're into," Chris promised, dying to hear you confess all your naughty fantasies to him. You rolled your eyes at him while you heavily blushed.

"Okay, fine. I really like being tied up, spit on, choked, slapped around, having my hair pulled.." You started to say, but your voice trailed off. "What else, pretty girl? I can tell you're holding back with me," Chris lowered his gaze to your lips. "Well, you might judge me," you said, taking a puff of the joint and returning it to Chris. "I don't kink-shame," Chris chuckled in a low voice.

"Okay, well I like being degraded, humiliated, talked down to, that kind of thing," you responded, nibbling on your lip and looking for Chris' reaction. "Keep going," he encouraged you, intrigued to hear what else you were going to say. "I kind of get turned on by things that would scare the average person. Like knives, blood, and like being chased. Stuff like that," you admitted, gazing down at the ground, afraid of what he'd think of you.

"Such a little whore," he said in a seductive tone. Your heart raced, and you peered up at him. "What a coincidence, because I like degrading and humiliating girls like you, and I love to hunt my prey before I fuck it," Chris curled his lips into a menacing smile while his dark eyes piercing through you. He put out the joint and clenched his jaw at you waiting for you to say something, but the words were caught in your throat.

"I mean, I'm making assumptions here, but I think you're into me, and I think you want me to chase you," Chris sneered at you, tilting your chin up at him. You hesitantly nodded your head. "You can be my little fawn, and I'll be the hungry coyote," Chris cooed, running his thumb along your bottom lip that was pink with arousal. You nodded again. He took a few steps closer to you until you could feel the warmth coming off his body.

"Just remember. I know this forest better than you do, princess," his words triggered the hair on the back of your neck to stand up. "In honor of Halloween, your safeword is Beetlejuice."

You weren't sure how long you'd been running for. It could have been forty-five seconds, or it could have been ten minutes. You felt disoriented, your perception seemingly disconnected from reality as time seemed to fold in on itself. The smell of wet dirt filled your senses as you got a face full of it. You placed both of your hands on the soil and grass beneath you to prop yourself back up onto your feet, but your shoelace was still stuck.

Instead, you scooted yourself down towards your feet, frantically reaching around for the branch you were caught on. After fiddling around with it for a few seconds, you whispered to yourself, "Shit." You ultimately decided to pull your shoelace untied, and tried to knot it back up quickly before getting to your feet and bounding further into the woods.

You weren't sure if you were even running the right way or if you were tracing your footsteps back from where you just came. That's when you heard his footsteps, dead autumn leaves crushing under his weight, and you whipped around in the direction you heard the crunch.

You hoped it was the attractive boy you just met, stealthily setting his sights on you through the trees where he could see you but you couldn't see him, rather than an actual coyote, but you expected him to chase you and tackle you right away. Instead, he was behaving like a four-legged wild animal - stalking you. Hunting you.

You heard a few more brittle leaves and twigs crack as he slowly stepped closer to you. You took off, sprinting as fast as you could, still a bit unsure about what was chasing you. He was hot on your heels, and you made it only a few more feet before he lunged forward, grappling you to the forest floor.

You fell on your stomach, and the pressure knocked the air out of you. You were almost relieved when you felt human hands tearing at your clothes, and you heard Chris whisper, rasping in your ear from behind you, "Gotcha!" He ripped your shirt off of your torso in a swift motion, and you gasped as you tried to get away from him, but his hands were strong, and he had all his body weight on you, his erection stabbing you in the backside as you squirmed, digging your nails into the soil beneath you.

You grew increasingly wet as you heard him fiddle with his belt buckle and his zipper. Then he tugged your shorts down and took them off you. He didn't waste his time, pulling your panties to the side and lining his length up with your entrance.

He roughly pushed into you, causing you to sharply inhale and whimper as he started moving his hips back and forth, stretching you out. You'd been caught and defeated, but you loved every second of the way Chris took you. You began arching your back and leaning back into the boy while he fucked you senseless.

You could hear his deep, animalistic grunts in your ear and you could feel his hot, shallow breath on the back of your neck. You couldn't conceal how much you loved it. You threw your head back and let out a few loud, satisfied sounds.

Your hands and your knees dug into the soft ground beneath you while you graciously took Chris' rod. He pounded into you, the sound of his hips slamming into your ass echoed throughout the forest and reverberated through your body. Chris placed his hand on the back of your head and pressed the side of your face into the dirt while he began to fuck you harder.

"You fucking love it, don't you? Such a worthless little cunt," Chris grunted breathlessly. You responded by rolling your eyes back into your head and moaning at his words. "I'm gonna flip you around, slut, and if you try to run away from me, it's not gonna go well for you," he whispered in a raspy voice.

As soon as he pulled himself out of you and went to grab you and turn you onto your back, you jumped up and took off running in nothing but your thong and your sneakers. You couldn't wait to see what he had in mind.

"Bitch!" Chris growled as he pulled up his pants and started chasing after you again. You didn't get far before he tackled you to the ground again and flipped you onto your back. "What did I fucking tell you? Defiant little brat. You're gonna be sorry you ran from me," Chris chuckled under his breath as he nudged your legs open and pinned both your wrists above your head with one of his strong, veiny hands.

You watched Chris pull something out of his pocket, and you noticed the way the moonlight bounced off of it and made it glimmer. It was something long and metal. As well as sharp, you noted as Chris started teasing you with it. He took the blade and started running it along the center of your rib cage.

He brought the knife up to your chest and started grazing the curve of your breasts. Your breath quickened. You shuddered at the feeling of the cool metal as he subtly grazed your nipples with it. He did this over and over until adrenaline was flowing through you. You were both worried and excited that he may actually draw blood.

He dragged the cold, sharp edge down your stomach and replaced the tantalizing feeling of the blade against the sensitive buds on your chest with his soft, pouty lips. He engulfed each nipple, swirling his tongue around and eliciting sweet whines from you while the knife grazed the insides of your thighs. You felt it rest up against your vulva through your panties, and suddenly, Chris took the switchblade, hooked it into the strap of your underwear, and sliced them off of you.

You gasped and squirmed beneath him, fear and excitement flooding your system. The forest was so eerily quiet besides the sounds of your desperate mewls that Chris could hear your heartbeat. "Do you trust me?" Chris whispered in a creepy voice as he took the switchblade and held it up to your neck, nestling his cock back into your sweet, wet pussy.

You barely knew him, but you had to trust him. After all, he was weilding a weapon and holding it about an inch away from your carotid artery and one subtle move, purposeful or accidental, could end your life or at the very least, put you in critical condition. "Yes," you managed to choke out.

"Your pussy is all mine. You're nothing more than my little cock sleeve. Isn't that right?" Chris degraded you while he thrusted into you, still holding your wrists down overhead. It turned you on even more that you were letting a stranger fuck you, and not just any stranger - your boss' son.

"Fuck, you take daddy's cock so well," he chuckled, causing you to smile and letting your eyes roll back into your head once more. You hadn't even told Chris about your daddy kink, but it's like he could smell it on you. "Yes, daddy," you whined as he pounded deep into you, hitting the spot with every stroke. He knew just what to say and do and how to fuck you just right.

Chris loved the way your cunt swallowed his length perfectly and how warm and wet you were as he did what he pleased. He loved the way you were getting off on your own fear and adrenaline. He could feel you losing control, your body convulsing beneath him and your tight hole rhythmically clenching around him. Waves of euphoria traveled through your veins, filling every one of your senses with pleasure.

"You're so pathetic and needy to cum, aren't you?" Chris cooed in a condescending tone. "Yes, daddy," you whimpered. "I don't know if you deserve to. You've been such a naughty girl," he shot back. "Please, daddy," you whined, squirming around. He relished in the way you begged over and over, flirting with the idea of letting you cum with every desperate plea that escaped your lips.

"Beg harder for it, slut," Chris replied in a deep voice. "Daddy, please, I need it," you cried out. He delivered a few more hard thrusts before he gave in to your whining. "Okay, fine. Cum on my daddy's cock, slut," Chris huffed, pressing the knife to your neck with just a bit more pressure.

All you needed were those magic words, and you reached the point of no return. Your orgasm swept you under like a strong current you couldn't stop, carrying you in its flow, and you surrendered to the feeling. It ripped through you mercilessly, leaving you in a pool of your own drool and cum. You spasmed around Chris' cock while you finished onto him.

The way your body reacted tipped Chris over the edge as well, sending him through the same euphoric sensations. He loudly moaned, slammed his eyes shut, and slacked his jaw before he pulled out and finished all over your stomach. He admired the way the moonlight caught his load and made it glitter against your flesh. "Fuck, I needed that," Chris breathlessly mumbled, squeezing out every last drop.

He switched the blade shut, put it back into his pocket, and pulled up his pants while the two of you caught your breath. Your legs were numb, and you couldn't think straight, recovering from the thrilling experience. You laid still for a few moments, your gaze fixed on the stars that were scattered overheard and barely visible through the storm clouds.

Chris grabbed you, slung your naked and mud-covered body over his shoulder, and then climbed to his feet to carry you back to the house. "Don't worry. I know exactly where we are. I'm gonna get you back safe."

[jjkarmy091]

Second Best - Jungkook

Summary: Being friends with someone who has your heart it’s already hard, let alone when that special someone ends up falling in love with your best friend, the one you think would never make anything to hurt you . Will you be able to ignore it and move on? what will happen when everything gets too much for you to handle?

Genre: Friends to lovers; angst; body insecurities; bullying; friend betrayel

Pairing: Jungkook x female!reader

Y/n and Sewoon have been friends for a very long time. They met each other on the playground nearby their house. Y/n was eating a strawberry lollipop when two boys tossed it away. Y/n’s face turned red and she was about to cry until a girl her age appeared. She was wearing a white dress with her midnight black hair tied into a ponytaile. 

“That was so rude!” The girl in the white dress shouted.  

“Well, she got the lollipop. Not me.” One of the boys grumbled. 

“Apologize to her now! That's so rude of you. Gonna tell mom” The girl said sternly and calmly to her brother and his friend. The two boys huffed and said sorry to Y/n. Y/n looked at her in adoration. She was so young, just like her but she sounded way more mature.  

“Thank you for that” Y/n said softly and the girl just smiled and offered her hand. “I’m Sewoon.” Y/n looked at her in surprise, it was the first time someone her age would talk to her nicely. 

Y/n took Sewoon’s hand and smiled, “I’m Y/n.” Sewoon smiled wider when she heard Y/n’s voice and said, “Okay Y/n. From now on we’ll be the best of friends” And just like that, a fresh new friendship blossomed. 

-- 

Y/n works as a waitress in a small coffee shop. She’s trying her best to save up some money to open up her own coffee shop one day. Meanwhile Sewoon, she’s a new uprising model and singer. It’s not that Y/n is not beautiful. Both girls are beautiful, just painfully different to one another. Sewoon has this luscious long black hair almost at the end of her back. Her eyes are a mix of brown and green, the most sweet eyes you’ll see.  She has defined structured cheekbones and her smile is her best feature. Whenever she smiles, anyone would involuntarily turn their heads just to admire her.

Sewoon’s beauty can charm anyone in the room, while Y/n’s beauty is so soft and warm. Y/n loves wearing baggy sweater while Sewoon loves dresses that would show her curves. Y/n prefers the natural look while Sewoon loves the glamorous look. Y/n would love to sit back home binge watching a new tv series while Sewoon loves going out and meet new people. The two are total opposite but their friendship stays strong. They balance out each other well.  

“Y/n!” Sewoon’s cheery voice broke Y/n’s attention from the old lady she was serving. She was waving and smiling widely that Y/n couldn’t help but smile back. 

“Would that be all, mam?” Y/n asked politely and the old lady nodded and went back to the stall and gave the note to the people at the back. Y/n rushed over to Sewoons sitting near the stool bar.  

“Is there anything I could help you, mam?” Y/n asked teasingly when she reached her best friend. Sewoon rolled her eyes and said  

“You know what?”  

“What?” Y/n asked trying to hide her excitement meeting her close friend. “I GOT SIGNED BY THE AGENCY TODAY! The one I told you about remember?” She shouted so loud with her eyes twinkling with happiness. Y/n mouth opened and she jumped so high giving Louisa the biggest hug she could. “OMG! NO WAY! I KNEW IT!” You worked so hard. I was sure you’d be able to get it. I’m so proud of you.” Y/n said hugging her. The two girls were so happy that they didn’t realize someone else has entered the coffee shop.  

“Y/n! Lover boy is here.” Sana, one of your co-workers said. Y/n turned around and looked over to the other end of the stool bar to where her hidden not so hidden crush was. Jungkook was wearing button up clothes and smirked at her. Y/n flushed red and wiped some of the imaginary wrinkles of her aprons.  

She then looked over to Sewoon and nodded quietly, telling her she needs to go back at work. She was about to walk over to Jungkook until Sewoon grabbed her arm, turning her back. “Is that the Jungkook, JUNGKOOK?” she whispered and yelled at the same time. Y/n’s face went even more red and it made Sewoon’s dimple pop up. 

Jungkook is a regular customer that made Y/n’s heart beats abnormally fast. Y/n would always gush over Jk to her best friend. So it was obvious that Sewoon knew about him. It was a wonder why Y/n has not introduced him to her, maybe at the back of her mind, Y/n knew that Jungkook would fall over Sewoon and selfishly Y/n wanted him all for herself. 

She reluctantly nodded and left to take jungkook’s regular order. “Y/n! I missed you!” He shouted exasperatedly that she lightly hit his head because all of the attention he attracted. 

“Shut up, you saw me just yesterday.” she answered and jokingly rolled her eyes. “Is it hard to believe that I miss my favourite girl?” He smiled so big that made her heart skip a beat. She was turning red and jungkook laughed knowing how easily Y/n can be flustered.  

“So what is it that you want today?” Y/n asked him while pretending to be uninterested. “just the regular as always.” he said still smiling at her.  “Hey..Who’s that girl?You know... The one you were talking before coming here” Jungkook nodded his head at where Sewoon was standing, smiling down at her phone glowing like a beautiful goddess. 

Of course Jungkook would notice her, who doesn’t? Just the thought of  them together made Y/n’s heart crumpled and an unwanted feeling rising at her pit of the stomach. Y/n cleared her throat and smirked, “That’s my best friend.” She answered confidently to cover up her heart breaking into pieces. 

“You’ve got a really pretty friend there and you didn’t even think of introducing me to her?” Jungkook grinned so wide knowing that Y/n would eventually give in. 

“Well, you’ve got too many competitions and the probability of you getting her is too low.” Y/n sassed her crush and Jungkook mocked hurt. 

“You know? For a second there I thought you were jealous.” He answered smirking which made her cough, “Oh please, why would I be?” while Y/n’s heart thumped loudly. 

“If you’re not jealous then I dare you to introduce me to her.” Jungkook stated confidently and for a sudden second Y/n felt her heart crumble and break a little. But she was a very stubborn girl and her pride got into her way. Although at the back of her head she hoped Jungkook was different. That somehow, he would choose her over Sewoon. 

“Ughhh, fine… only because you’re THAT desperate.” Y/n groaned and gives in. With every steps she took, her heart felt heavier and heavier because she knew. She knew that Sewoon would snatch Jungkook from her. Even if she didn’t intend to do so. 

-- --

As soon as Y/n introduced Jungkook to Sewoon, her heart broke. Jungkook’s eyes looked at her best friend with such admiration. He fell head over heels for her. It was no surprise to Y/n because it happened countless of times.  

Whenever Jungkook pays a visit to the coffee shop, the once silly banter turned into a question and answer about Sewoon. He would ask simple questions about her. What’s her favourite ice cream flavour? What’s her favourite flower? What’s her ideal man? 

All the questions Y/n would know about him but never once did Jungkook ask those questions to her. Sometimes he would prefer to gush over Sewoon in front of Y/n which squeezed her heart every single time.  

“My god! Sewoon’s recent picture on Instagram was perfect. She looks absolutely gorgeous in that pink dress.” He said with his eyes shining with adoration and lips curved upwards.  Y/n could only nod her head, “She’s always gorgeous.”  

“That, My friend, is right.” jungkook said nodding his head while pointing his index finger on Y/n. She felt like her heart was ripped apart and shoved back inside her stomach. She hated this so much but couldn’t even think about a way to avoid this feeling.  

“Anyways, I gotta go! I’m picking up Sewoon tonight.” He hurriedly grabbed his things and waved her goodbye. Y/n nodded her head with her eyes brimming with tears but Jungkook was way too far to notice those tears. It was just the middle of the day yet Y/n felt ultimately tired. After hours that definetely felt like years she’s finally back at home.  

She was preparing some food for herself when she heard a knock on the door. First being startled, but then remembered that the only person who could be it was Sewoon, since she is one of the only people who knows where she lives. Opening it, she stares at Sewoon and lets her step in her small apartment, smile lighting up the whole room. It made Y/n happy for a second until she remembered the reason behind that smile and that it was his favourite feature of hers which made her mood turns sour.  

Sewoon ran inside and gave Y/n a quick hug and helped her out. When the both of them were bundled in the living room with thick blankets and some food on their hands, Sewoon’s hand turned fidgety. She was watching the movie but her mind wandered far away. Y/n didn’t fail to notice her best friend weird behaviour that made her ask, “You okay, Sewoon-shi?”  She turned her head to look at Y/n her eyes full of panic and Y/n’s heart clenched at what was the reason behind that reaction.. 

 “Do you still like Jk?” She asked timidly. 

Y/n furrowed her eyebrows and asked, “Jk?” Sewoon cleared her throat and smiled, “Jungkook.”  Oh, she got a nickname for Jungkook already.  

“Why do you ask?” Y/n smiled widely that may seems like she’s teasing Sewoon. “Do you still like him, Y/n?” She asked persistently that hammered Y/n’s heart. She took a deep breath and asked, “Do you?” Sewoon’s head glowered and nodded softly. Y/n’s heart dropped but managed to give her a convincing smile.  

“He likes you too you know, both of you would look great together.” Y/n said softly and reached her arms out for Sewoon to give her a hug.  

“You think so?” she asked Y/n once again, unconvinced. Y/n closed her eyes and nodded her head knowing that if she opened them Sewoon would straight away know she was lying.  

I mean who was she to stand between two people that liked each other? She always knew she wouldn’t stand a chance with someone like Jungkook. Was she ever gonna be made for someone to be honest? She always tried so hard not to feel less than everyone else, but loving herself was never something Y/n was able to do. Not when everytime she was into someone or something that was immediately taken from her.  

When Sewoon felt Y/n’s head nodding she squealed. Which only made her stomach churned and tears burned inside her eyes threatening to spill which she only closed and tried to sleep it off, in hope that Sewoon woudn’t notice.

It was gonna be a long night, and Y/n already regretted open the door for the girl she always thought was her best friend.

[targs-on-zorses]

A Good Night

Pairing - Cregan Stark x Reader Warnings - 18 + Smut, Sparring Summary - “A good night then, my Lord?” he said, loud enough for you to hear. You blushed deeper. Cregan glanced at himself, seeing the marks and smiling.

A/N: Very little to say here other than: I hope you enjoy reading this as much as I enjoyed writing this. Thank you to @ewanmitchellcrumbs for beta reading, and to my hype-people: @just-some-random-blogger @thenameswinter99 and @sylasthegrim. I hope you enjoy. I do not have a taglist as of yet

The day is brisk and cold, as it always is in the North, and yet the men of Winterfell get hot enough during sparring to remove their shirts, leaving scars and muscled torsos on display. Something that attracts the attention of many a lady or maid of Winterfell. Packs of women surround the battling men, giggling and whispering behind gloved hands. 

You rush down to the training yard, seeking out your husband, Cregan. The pleasant ache between your thighs punctuates every step, yet despite the heat emanating from your womanhood, you rub your hands together to stave off the cold, regretting having forgotten your own gloves in your haste.

It does not take you long to find Cregan in the throng of moving men, he stands taller than most. His Greatsword, Ice, is far larger than any sword you have ever seen. He is deep in his sparring with his good friend, Arnolf of House Locke, his shirt mercifully still on. The ancestral sword of his house, Ice, glints sharp and deadly in the soft morning light. You would be afraid for poor Arnolf were it not for his skill at dodging a blade. His other friend, Maynard Knott, prepared to spar nearby. 

You stood some distance away, not wanting to accidentally walk into the path of an axe or a sword. Your worst fear was being accidentally dealt a blow by a morning star.

Cregan had Arnolf flat on his behind with a few twirls of Ice. The man laughed, gracefully accepting his defeat, and the outstretched hand of his lord to get back on his feet. 

“It is an honour to be bested by my Lord Stark,” Arnolf panted. 

Cregan laughed, the rich sound carrying across the sparring grounds. As he walked to his starting position, ready to fight Manyard, he lifted the hem of his shirt to wipe the sweat from his forehead. You took the chance to ogle at the light muscle of his torso, but you were not the only one staring at your husband, and you felt the bitter bite of jealousy, before pushing it away. Cregan did not care for those women who had thrown themselves at him; he only saw you, and no other.

He does not remove his shirt though, letting it drop amid sighs of disappointment from female onlookers, including you. It would have been such a nice sight, to watch the muscles of your husband’s biceps flex with the weight of his sword.

Your mind wanders to the previous evening, when all that strength was focused on you, as he had thrust into you, holding your face to keep your eyes focused upon his own, even as the pleasure reached such heights you could scarcely keep them open.

You shake your head, as if to clear your thoughts, for they are improper. Your septas had always instructed you that purity of mind was a virtue, and yet the feelings your husband elicited from you were the furthest thing from it. You feared what he would say if he knew you were thinking such things, thinking about his bare chest, the muscles of his arms, his weight pressing into you.

No, no! You would not think such things, they were most improper.

You turn your attention back to the sparring before you. Cregan seems to not have noticed you yet, but Arnolf had.

He approaches Cregan, tapping his friend’s shoulder. You cannot hear his words, but you guess them when your husband glances around. Arnolf chuckles and points in your direction. 

Cregan smiles, and all of those wanton thoughts you have been trying to banish come rushing straight back. Images of his smirk of satisfaction when he had brought you to peak for the third time that night, when you had tugged at his soft brown tresses, pulling him away, only for him to smirk again, and dive back into your cunt, feasting as you screamed his name. 

You blush under his gaze, and his smirk widens.

Arnolf notices this exchange and laughs loudly, as always. Cregan spares him a bemused glance before shaking his head. He plunges Ice into the cold hard ground, and, with one hand, yanks his shirt right over his head. Your breath catches in your throat as you behold him in the daylight. In the candlelight of your chambers, everything had been mercifully dimmed. Yet in the bright morning sunshine of Winter, the scars that criss cross his body, and the definition of his muscles, are luminated for all to see.

He grins again, wide as he watches your expression, and the way you shift to ease the ache between your thighs. You bite your lip, attempting to keep your face neutral, but you can feel the blood rush to your cheeks, betraying your flustered state.

He turns his back, and you gasp. Angry red lines marr the skin of his shoulders. You cannot remember seeing those before, and you had seen his bare back many times over. These marks were new, and you were the cause of them, a reminder of the previous evening’s exploits.

It had been too much, so much pleasure as he had thrust deeply, sucking your neck, determined to leave his mark. He’d cradled your head in one large hand, while the other held you to him. You had tangled your hands in his soft hair, tugging, to pull him from your neck. He released you, only to bury himself between your breasts, alternating between one and the other, licking, and pressing his lips all over.

“Cregan,” you whimpered breathlessly, “please.”

He chuckled, not slowing his thrusts. You gasped at the rush of air over your sensitive nipples.

“Please what?” he groaned at a particularly harsh tug of his hair from you.

You could barely speak for pleasure. You tugged wordlessly, moans and gasps escaping your lips. He relented, hauling himself up your body, capturing your lips with his. As he did so, his cock reached new depths within you. You cried out at the sudden wave of bliss, a cry that was muffled by his tongue invading your mouth. He kissed your face, licking away the tears, not tears of pain, but of pure ecstasy.

You clenched around him, knowing the apex of your pleasure was rapidly approaching. You nails dug into his shoulders, clinging onto him, desperate for something to ground you as your pleasure reached new heights.

Cregan moved back to your neck, muffling his groans. One hand cupped your head, while the other snaked its way down to your mound,seeking out your pearl.

Your peak crashed over you in white hot waves, and you bit into Cregan’s shoulder, your nails simultaneously digging into his back, needing something tangible to cling to as torturous bliss threatened to carry you away. You were grateful that he held you down as you arched against him.

He pulsated within you, groaning into your neck, as he found his own release, the warmth of it causing you to whimper and shudder beneath him. You laid there afterwards, panting in his arms, feeling his weight on top of you as his cock softened inside. He pushed himself up and off you, rolling to the side, and you moved after him, coming to rest upon his chest, still needing him close, having been rendered boneless from the intensity of the pleasure you had experienced.

You did not know how many times you had peaked that evening. You did not know what time it was, or how long you had been so passionately engaged for, the only clue was the fire that had burnt to embers. Cregan’s gentle hand in your hair soon soothed you to sleep. You were not aware of him cleaning you up, or tucking you in, or leaving a soft kiss on your forehead that morning.

You watch him now, cheeks flushed with the memories of your shared passion.

Manyard spots the marks on his back and chuckles to himself.

“A good night then, my Lord?” he says, loud enough for you to hear, causing you to blush more intensely.

Cregan glances at himself, seeing the marks and smiles. He turns to take in your mortified face, and chuckles. “A good night indeed, my friend. A very wonderful night.”

[idiopath-fic-smile]

this one goes out to all my Singin' in the Rain ot3 truthers—

Cosmo Brown had always known it would end like this.

Cosmo was a lot of things—in fact, you could argue he was too many—but he wasn’t dumb.

From the early years, when Cosmo and Don were just kids playing for pennies in pool halls, to their stint dodging rotten vegetables on Vaudeville stages across the very backwaters of America’s backwaters, to their first real breath of success in Hollywood (and then the second and the third and the fourth), Cosmo would catch a glimpse of his handsome, charismatic friend from the corner of his eye—a flash of dark hair, that perfect tooth powder ad smile—and know that for all Don’s protestations, someday the guy was gonna meet a wonderful girl and get married, settle down, and very gently slip off to the far edge of Cosmo’s life.

So yes, Cosmo had seen Kathy Selden coming. Not the details, not her sense of humor or her musical little laugh or the madcap way she really threw herself into dancing with them around Don’s place at 1:30 in the morning—and okay, certainly not the part at the beginning where she had jumped out of a cake at a party, but he thought a fella could be excused for not correctly divining that. 

The general outline of the thing, though, how Don’s eyes followed her around a room...he had been preparing for Don to propose to Kathy ever since she’d tried to throw a pie at Don’s face. And when the happy day came, Cosmo had been ready with his best man suit, his best man speech, a slightly updated version of “Here Comes the Bride” that’d had Don and Kathy laughing all the way down the aisle.

Don and Kathy would buy a house together. They would have a swimming pool and a dog and then inevitably, a small parade of adorable little snot-nosed kids who would call him Uncle Cosmo, and they would spend less and less time with him, not on purpose but busy with the rest of their lives, and ultimately Cosmo would learn to make his peace with it because he’d have no other choice and he would have to try to move on and not live too much in his memories. He could picture it so clearly, he figured if the songwriting gig with Monumental didn’t pan out, he could always return to the backwater circuit with a new act: The Amazing Cosmo of the Cosmos—ladies and gentlemen, he sees the future, he reads the stars, he silently pines for his best married pal and all the while tap dancing!

Don and Kathy inviting him along on their honeymoon, though—that part was a surprise.

“What?” said Cosmo, hands frozen over the piano keys. He’d been busy with a brand-new assignment; on the heels of The Dancing Cavalier, offers were pouring in and he’d taken the first one scoring a movie that didn’t star anyone he was secretly in love with.

Don had looked a little wounded when Cosmo broke the news last week, but a guy had to start making his own way in the world. Besides, orchestrating layers of strings to swell as the camera zoomed in on Don and Kathy blissfully locking lips in radiant monochrome, oblivious to the rest of the world—well, Cosmo knew that dance, he had mastered the footwork, and he didn’t especially feel like a reprise.

It wasn’t lost on him that Kathy had dropped by his rehearsal space alone today. Of course, he had no idea what this meant—he didn’t think it was about the new job; Don didn’t tend to stay sore at him for that long—but Kathy was acting perfectly natural, and so probably the smart thing was to follow her lead.

“It’s a two-week transatlantic cruise,” she said now, gracefully dropping beside him on the piano bench. “We thought it would be nice to see Europe, take in the sights, get away from all the cameras.”

“Ah yes, such a wallflower, our dear Don,” said Cosmo solemnly. “Besieged on all sides by the love of his public, a tragedy of our times, up there with Lear! Hamlet! Caesar! The one with all the Greeks and the giant wooden horse, nay, nay, neigh.” He played a tragic little trill, for effect. Kathy huffed a laugh and smacked his arm.

“You know that’s not it,” she said. “Being watched all the time—we can’t always do what we want. It’s rotten.”

Tell me about it, thought Cosmo.

He was sort of seeing a fight choreographer named Archibald, who came from old money and was a “the third” or a “the fifth” but nice enough Cosmo might even forgive him for that. Archibald was trim and athletic, with dark brown hair that was just starting to go gray at the temples and enough discretion that Cosmo didn’t think they’d get caught. The only problem was that he didn’t laugh at Cosmo’s jokes, seemed to just tolerate them.

“What do you two even talk about, then?” Don had asked, when Cosmo had let this slip over drinks the same night he’d explained about the new movie project. (Cosmo had been trying to spend less time with Don and Kathy since the wedding but Don had said, “C’mon, pal, we miss you” and Kathy had laid one hand on his arm and peered up at him with her big green eyes and Cosmo was only one man.)

Cosmo had frowned, because Don hated Archibald, for reasons that were frankly mysterious. Then he’d looked up and grinned a grin he didn’t exactly feel and said,

“Tell you when you’re older,” and then Don had choked on his dry Martini even though Cosmo knew Don knew about Cosmo’s tendencies. It wasn’t something they discussed, and Cosmo had never properly gone with a guy before, but whenever a big-shot producer started complaining about all the degenerate queers in showbiz, Don always sharply steered the conversation someplace else. It was all very gallant and noble and knightly, and someday Don would play King Arthur and Kathy his lady Guinevere—

“Honestly, sometimes it feels as if we’re living in a fishbowl,” said Kathy now, in the present.

“And so your solution is to relocate,” said Cosmo, “to the biggest fishbowl on this here magnificent earth. The mighty ocean!” He struck up a sea shanty. “Oh blow the man down, blow the man down / way ay, blow the man down…”

Not everyone appreciated his musical flights of fancy, but when Cosmo turned, she was leaning with her elbow on the side arm of the piano, watching him with her chin on her hand and laughing. 

“Just for two weeks,” she said. “So, are you coming?”

“With you two,” said Cosmo, just so there could be no misunderstandings. “On your one and only honeymoon.”

“Yes,” said Kathy.

“As what, your first mate?”

“Sure.” She grinned and threw him a quick salute. Cosmo was almost never attracted to women but in this case, he understood the appeal.

He swallowed. “You are aware of that ancient saying, ‘Two’s company and three’s a fast track to divorce court’?”

“You’re hardly a threat to our marriage, Cosmo,” she said, and he agreed, of course, in both directions, even, but it still stung to hear her say it out loud. For want of anything better to do, he gasped, clutched a hand to his chest and reeled backwards so hard, he threw himself off the piano bench, landing in a somersault on the floor.

Kathy spun around fluidly on the bench to face him, pleated skirt whirling a little, heels of her shoes clicking together. 

“Oh, I said that badly,” she said. “I only mean that it’s more fun when you’re around. We have a better time, Don and me both. Remember the night we decided to make Dueling Cavalier a musical?”

“Do I remember the best night of my life?” Cosmo peered up at her from the hardwood. “Why yes, madam, now that you mention it, I believe it might ring a bell or two.”

“The best—” She frowned for a moment, and he remembered then that as a newly married woman, a newly married woman to Don Lockwood, no less, she’d no doubt experienced any number of evenings that blew that one out of the water.

Even besides that, it felt awfully revealing all of a sudden. Cosmo threw an arm over his eyes. He felt naked. He wished he was naked, because that might at least distract from whatever his face was doing.

“So it beats your time with Archibald, then?” said Kathy shrewdly.

Cosmo uncovered his eyes. He forgot, sometimes, that new as Kathy was to the moving pictures business, she was still a city girl, with a city girl’s worldliness. Also, Don had probably told her; that seemed like the kind of second-hand secrets married people shared with each other. He wasn’t sure how to feel about that.

“Hardly a topic for mixed company,” he said.

There was a pause.

“So yes,” she said and smiled with a smugness that would’ve been unbecoming were she not as cute as a button.

“What do you and Don have against the poor man anyway?” he groused. “He’s never done so much as sneezed in your direction, and if he did, I’m sure he’d use a handkerchief.”

“For one thing, we know you could do better,” said Kathy, folding her arms.

Cosmo elbowed his way back to sitting, brushing himself off with dignity. “Well, better’s not exactly knocking on my door right now.”

“This town doesn’t have an ounce of sense.” She reached down to offer him a hand up, pulling Cosmo to his feet; she was stronger than she looked. “Listen, two weeks away, it’ll be good for you.”

“What about you two?” Cosmo protested as he reclaimed his spot on the bench, Kathy sliding to make room.

“What about us?” said Kathy with wide eyes.

“Two newlyweds might want some alone time?” he offered weakly.

Kathy shrugged. “I told you, there won’t be reporters or cameras. It’ll be plenty private.”

“What about your matrimonial needs?”

“Which needs?”

His eyes narrowed; she was a terrific actress but suddenly he wasn’t sure he was buying it. Kathy wasn’t dumb either.

“You have to know what I mean. Don’t make me play Cole Porter at you,” said Cosmo. She hesitated, and Cosmo began to pluck out a melody: “Birds do it, bees do it / even educated fleas do it…” He wiggled his eyebrows.

“Let’s do it,” sang Kathy, finishing the stanza in her lovely alto, “let’s fall in love.”

Cosmo stopped playing.

“I do know,” she said simply, “of course I do, and we’re not worried about it, alright? Listen, do you want to go?”

Cosmo, who had been carefully not asking himself that question, stared down at the piano keys. Did he want to go? He thought back to that night at Don’s, the three of them giddy with excitement and inspiration and sleep deprivation, running through the house, clowning around and dancing with no audience except each other—he hadn’t felt like a hanger-on then, like a third wheel or an extra limb or a chaperone. He’d felt like he was exactly where he was supposed to be, one note of a perfect chord.

Still.

“I can’t swim,” he said.

“They’ll have lifejackets,” said Kathy.

“I’ll have to work.”

“We’ll bring a piano.”

“All my houseplants will die,” said Cosmo.

“All your houseplants are fake,” she said. This was true, although he wasn’t sure how she knew since she’d never been to his house. She sighed. “Remember the night of that first screening, when you were about to expose Lina and instead of explaining what was happening, Don told me I had to sing, that I didn’t have a choice?”

He winced, thinking of Kathy’s heartbroken, tear-stained face before they’d pulled up the curtain and revealed who was really singing when Lina moved her lips.

“Yes, and I feel just awful about it.”

“Well, Don doesn’t,” said Kathy. “Because he knew it would take too long to convince me to do something that mean to her.”

“Mean?” Cosmo echoed. “She tried to trap you in a lifelong contract and steal your voice. A common sea witch wouldn’t stoop so low.”

“But there wasn’t time,” she pressed. “And anyway, he knew how it would end.”

“What’s your point?”

“We already bought your tickets,” said Kathy.

Cosmo gaped at her.

“We’ve cleared the trip with everyone at Monumental and anyway, like I said, we’ll have a piano on the boat.”

Distantly, he was aware his mouth was still hanging open. Kathy reached over with one light finger under his chin and gently closed it. 

“That’s better,” she said, folding her hands daintily in her lap. It was around this time she seemed to realize it wasn’t some routine, that Cosmo really was well and truly stunned. “Of course, nobody is going to force you to go with us if you truly don’t want to,” she said into the silence.

“These tickets,” he said at last, “are they refundable?”

“Gosh,” said Kathy easily, “I can’t imagine they are, no.”

The thing was, none of them were hurting for money or work anymore, so the fact that Don and Kathy might be out even a few hundred dollars didn’t catch at him the way it might’ve some years earlier. No, the thought that really seized his imagination was the mental image of Don and Kathy planning this together, Don and Kathy discussing the matter with each other, maybe over breakfast—toast and coffee in their dressing gowns, so sure it was the right thing to do that they’d decided to just go ahead and make preparations: oh and a ticket for Cosmo, of course.

He could do it, he realized. He could go. He wanted to go. It was foolish, but Cosmo was an entertainer; he’d been doing foolish things in front of a roomful of witnesses since he was in shortpants.

“I’ll pack tonight,” he said.

“Perfect!” Kathy hopped off the bench and straightened out her dress. “And bring something nice to wear at dinner for a night or two; it doesn’t need to be black-tie formal, a good suit will do.”

He nodded. “I shall leave the top hat and monocle at home. Two weeks, you say?”

“Yes, and another half-day on either side flying to the harbor and back.” She reached into her coat pocket, and pulled out a folded sheet of paper. “The itinerary,” she said. “Don and I are so glad you’ll be coming.”

“Uh-huh,” said Cosmo. “Say, where is that fella, anyway? What’s the big idea, can’t even stick around to ask his best pal to his own honeymoon?”

“He’s planning the trip,” said Kathy brightly. “Last-minute details. Anyway, he thought you and I should have a chat, one on one. He thought it might help.”

He blinked. “Help what?”

“Help us,” she said.

It was all starting to feel like a farce, like one of those old Vaudeville acts with a lot of fast talking.

“Did it?” he asked.

“I think so,” said Kathy warmly. She turned and began to walk towards the door. “See you at the airport tomorrow. Six AM sharp.”

“Six AM,” he said, and then, foolishly, “You know, I can see why he likes you.”

Kathy dimpled. “Oh, likewise!” She tossed him another smile and then she was heading out of sight down the hallway, shoes clacking rhythmically on the tile.

“Well,” said Cosmo to no one. He felt pole-axed, he decided. He wasn’t sure he had ever felt pole-axed in his life before, but there was no other word for it.

He played a chord, then another chord, then a few more.

“Pole-axed,” he sang, “out of whack, when you are near there’s only one drawback: I can’t be clever, no I lack the knack, Darling, I’m pole-axed, out of whack around you!”

It wasn’t exactly Cole Porter, but he’d take it, he thought, reaching for his pen. There was still an hour or two left before he’d need to race traffic home and dig out his suitcase. Apparently, he had early morning plans.

(ETA: if you didn't see, there is now a second part here!)

(ETA THE SECOND: the whole finished thing is now here!

[katakaluptastrophy]

Can we talk about Magnus in Harrow the Ninth? Because there's a tendency to paint him as this constantly cheerful figure and he's not - he's just very Fifth.

He's the only person who seems even slightly upset about the whole gun-toting horror thing:

“Did the Sleeper get them?”

“Only by assumption,” said Harrowhark, while Abigail’s dolt of a husband said, “I bloody hope so.”

“Magnus,” Abigail said, a touch disapprovingly.

“Well, if the Sleeper didn’t, that’s two maniacs with an ancient weapon and a love of blowing off faces, dear,” said Magnus.

And he's got a very low opinion of Silas:

"She won’t tell me what he said to her, just that he ‘was horrid.’”

“Cheeky little so-and-so,” said Magnus. “If he were my son, I’d give him something to think about. I’m not surprised he’s gone to ground.”

“I would hope your son might be of different character,” said his wife, half-smiling.

“Protesilaus should have biffed him.”

“It’s strange,” said Abigail, ignoring her husband’s exhortations to biffing.

Behind the jolly Jeeves and Wooster-esque talk of biffing people, let's remember that this is Magnus - who from Gideon's POV never saw a teenager he didn't want to adopt - earnestly wishing that a grown man had hit a 16 year old kid.

And when Harrow explains that she thinks she saw him jump to his death, Magnus isn't particularly sympathetic:

“We should have made him a greater priority,” said Lady Pent.

Magnus said, “I’m not certain.”

and

“We didn’t need him,” he said bracingly.

Abigail said, “We need everyone.”

“I never thought he was quite the thing.”

This "never quite the thing" line is the same one Abigail uses when she says Ianthe shouldn't have become a Lyctor and you get the sense it has a quite specific meaning on the Fifth. You get the distinct feeling Magnus is saying "good riddance" in response to a teenager's apparent suicide.

And then of course there's Magnus' conversation with Harrow as the River bubble collapses, as Harrow debates whether she should leave her body to Gideon:

She said: “If I go back, it will finally destroy her soul.”

It was Magnus who stepped forward and looked at Harrow face-to-face. And perhaps she felt that more keenly: that he was the man who had, in Gideon’s own words a lifetime ago, been nice to her cavalier. His mouth was hard now, but his eyes were as kind as they had ever been. And kindness was a knife.

He doesn't pull any punches in laying out his understanding of the situation to Harrow:

“This whole thing happened because you wouldn’t face up to Gideon dying,” he said, which was a stab as precise as any Nonius had managed. “I don’t blame you. But where would you be, right now, if you’d said: She is dead? You’re keeping her things like a lover keeping old notes, but with her death, the stuff that made her Gideon was destroyed. That’s how Lyctorhood works, isn’t it? She died. She can’t come back, even if you keep her stuffed away in a drawer you can’t look at. You’re not waiting for her resurrection; you’ve made yourself her mausoleum.”

His wife looked at Harrow’s face and murmured, “Magnus, you’ve made your point,” but he uncharacteristically ignored her.

He's trying to get through to her in a very fraught situation, but he's certainly not pulling his punches:

“You’re a smart girl, Harrowhark. You might turn some of that brain to the toughest lesson: that of grief.”

Abigail is also trying to talk her out of things, but she's much more discursive and apologetic. Magnus is kind, but it's kindness as a knife, not a cushion.

Magnus is so often written off as just a silly, goofy character, when he's more complicated than that. He's allowed to have a very real frustration with the River bubble and with Harrow, however much he does also care for her and want to help her.

And you know what, he's a CFO stuck in a horrorscape with his delighted ghost nerd wife and a bunch of soldiers. He runs with it - he cracks one of his House ordinal jokes while physically tackling a gun-toting ghost and makes a decent go at it before getting shot. But he's very much out of his comfort zone, angry, and no longer entirely held back by propriety.

[missglaskin]

Yan!Great Bastards/Targs house (Platonic) HCS

Characters-Aegon IV, Naerys, Aemon (mention), Daeron II, Daenerys, Daemon Blackfyre, Shiera, Aegor, Brynden

Note; reader is adopted and female, mostly platonic but some relationships can be interpreted. The timeline is inaccurate/messy

Ever since Aegon brought you to court, many whispers assumed you must have been a bastard of his. Yet there was a lack of any sign that the blood of old Valyria coursed through your veins. It also didn't help that there were whispers claiming you already had a family of your own, adding to the uncertainty surrounding their fate. Still, even with doubt, the lord and ladies accept Aegon's claims.

Aegon has kept you close ever since you arrived at court. He has proven to be a man of envy, despising the thought of anyone else stealing your time and attention from him. Despite his best efforts to keep you to himself, Naerys and Aemon were still able to become quite involved in your life.

You quickly won the favor of Naerys, as she would spend alone time with you at any given chance. It's her who also gave you and Daeron and Daenerys the opportunity to finally meet. With Naerys, you can come to expect that she'll hand you clothes that she herself embroidered and sewed.

With you around, Aegon treats Naerys with a little more decency. Aegon is a man who seeks praise and validation, so noticing your frown and distant demeanor in the way he treats Naerys will hurt him just a little. Unbeknownst to you, it only deepens Daeron and Aemon's attachment to seeing you care for Naerys.

Aemon is the last person Aegon ever wants to see you bond with. There is considerable conflict between the brothers, whether it's believed to be over Naerys or the allegations regarding Daeron's legitimacy. The more Aemon spends his time with you, the more bitterly Aegon feels toward his brother.

Daeron, along with Aemon and Naerys, is possibly the most "normal" out of the family. He treats you with such tenderness and care—it's impossible not to warm up to him. Given that his father brought you to court and paraded you around, you initially assume that Daeron would harbor some resentment. But all Daeron's eyes convey is warmth.

Daeron and you are told to spend most of the day together whenever you could, either playing cyvasse, going for a walk in the gardens, or having dinner together. Aegon didn't give much thought if you chose to carry out your princess responsibilities, but Daeron and Naerys did. They had you be taught how to dance, courtesy, and embroidery while he wasn’t around. 

Aemon would always try to accompany you, either walking you to your chambers or through the gardens. He guards you with the same degree of vigilance that he does with Daeron and Naerys, stepping in to help if he notices you in distress. He also permits you to go horseback riding if you choose, as Aegon never lets you.

These are rare moments in between, as Aegon immediately steals you away to his usual spot by his side. As has been said, Aegon was a demanding man. He anticipates your unceasing praise, telling you of something "nice" he has done for Naerys or giving you a gift just to see you smile. It was best for you to pretend he's the favorite of the family.

When Daeron wed Myriah Martell, both of you grew quickly fond of each other. As expected, Aegon did not like the little friendship you developed. When the two soon introduced Baelor (Breakpear) to the court, they made you among the first to hold him. Daeron couldn’t help but smile as he watched you interact with his baby son. Little Baelor was often used as an excuse for Daeron and Myriah to take you away.

While you were very attached to Daeron, he was older (and very busy), so you spent your free time with (Aegon ofc), the ladies of the court and most of all with Daemon and Daenerys. Rumors occasionally circulated that you were spotted in the gardens, showing young Daenerys the lovely view of the flowers with Daemon watching you both from afar.

The tranquil realm Viserys ruled over quickly came to an end when he passed away. Aegon, the fourth of his name, soon sat the throne. The moment the crown was put the crown on his head, the dynamics of the family were entirely shifted. Aegon’s first act was to ensure you were legitimized before the whole court. Giving you the name Targaryen was probably the only time the family came together. 

If possible, Aegon’s treatment of his son and brother worsened. Any disputes he had with Aemon led to the king forbidding his brother from ever speaking to you. It wasn’t beneath him to threaten Daeron with the same thing as well.

As king, Aegon publicly had numerous mistresses. Who all knew to get on your good side as Aegon was persuaded by your opinion. It was told how much he liked a mistress by how much he allowed her to interact with you.  Falena Stokeworth, Jeyne Lothson, Bethany Bracken, and Sereni of Lys were among the familiar faces. You even bonded with their bastards, which one is compelled to believe is a jab at his son.

The court also knew to get on your side; after all, it wasn’t filled with noble or wise men, but those who flatter and amuse. It’s said that if one made you laugh, it was enough reason for Aegon to gift them land.

Aegon always showered you with gifts, but as king, he made sure you were the best dressed at court. From silks taken from Qarth to being showered with all sorts of jewelry—diamonds, gold, rubies, and pearls. And if you asked for it, he would gladly name hills, mountains, and even castles after you.

Aegon assumed that with all he had done for you, you would always be on his side. So one can imagine his fury when rumors of Naerys’s adultery and Daeron’s legitimacy were whispered among the court, and you took his wife and son’s side. Even more when you seemed to admire his brother for defending the queen’s honor.

It was a tragedy when Aemon’s life was taken when he stepped in between the king and his assassin. His death sent Naerys into grief. And while you were grieving for Aemon, you had to also grieve for Naerys as she soon followed him to her grave. Aegon pretended to comfort you, but secretly, in all his selfishness, he was glad to have some competition taken out. 

Daenerys already saw you as her sister, but with her mother’s death, it only made her cling to you far more and made the two of you closer than ever. You did always have a way of cheering her up. In the evenings, either one of you would sneak into each other’s bedchambers just to spend time conversing. 

Daenerys loved when you would do her hair, sending away any of her handmaidens to do it instead. Even when you think you did a poor job, Dany was quick to compliment you. She was affectionate in general, embracing you either when she greeted you or when she said her goodbyes.

With Naerys and Aemon dead, Aegon continued spreading the rumors of his son’s illegitimacy, and tried getting you on his side more than once. But it only made him despise his son more seeing your intense loyalty towards him. Made worse with the queen dead, the mistresses were far more bold, pushing their children to get closer to you as a way to gain more favor in court. 

Aegor was the first to catch your attention. Even as a child, his protectiveness and possessive were evident to the whole court. If it wasn’t your father pushing away the other children, it was Aegor. In his eyes, Aegor saw you as a sweet thing to be protected, and he was willing to do anything you asked of him.

He was easily jealous and bitter of anyone taking your attention away from him. Whether it’s your lady friends, to which Aegor stands in the corner glaring at them, or Daenerys, who’s having some tea time with you. Worst of all, his anger was all directed towards Daeron to which Aegor had to hold himself from lunging at the prince whenever Daeron took you away from Aegor.

Though there’s no bigger rival to Aegon until Brynden comes into the picture. Between the half-brothers, there’s no familiarity. Not only do their houses hold a long rivalry that passes generations but Aegor’s mother was passed over by Brynden’s.

Aegon allowed you not only to know Melissa Blackwood but also to become familiar with her three children: Myra, Gwenys, and Brynden. Aegor hated how Brynden seemed to easily catch your attention. You didn’t notice the way Brynden slowly inserted himself into your little friend group with his sisters. And when you add Shiera to the mix, Aegor only grew to loathe Brynden more.

As said, while Aegor is more aggressive and demanding, Brynden is much more subtle. He has a way of getting you to open up to him, and he is a great listener, remembering every little bit. Brynden also seems to have a knack for noticing the little details from your rings to your headpieces. 

But like Aegor, Brynden is also a jealous man. You have no idea how many he has sent away, whispering doubts into your ears about the "suspicious" acts of your lady friends. Even as a child, Brynden had a way of pulling the strings and somehow he knew all there was to know. 

Shiera takes any opportunity to steal you away, locking arms as she guides you away when the two half-brothers are at each other’s throats. She would spend many hours with you if she could, listening to your sweet voice. One of her favorite things to do is get you ready for feasts in your chambers; she is fond of ivory and lace and incorporates it into your style as well.

Though none of Aegon’s bastards are closer to you than Daemon Waters. You would usually catch him in the corner of your eye, and you didn’t mind his company with how nicely he treated you. Giving you advice when needed, complimenting your dress, or gently tucking anything in place.

He was your father’s (second) favorite, and it’s evident in how he allowed Daemon the privilege to become closer to you. History remembers all too well when he handed Daemon ‘Blackfyre,’ but what history doesn’t know is that it secretly made Daemon feel as if he’s more worthy of your attention.

As expected from an Heir, Daeron resided in Dragonstone for a few years. He promised to exchange ravens and he kept to his word. As much as Daeron missed you terribly and desired nothing more than to bring you along, he knew his father’s answer. 

The more Aegon sat on the throne, the more your seat was right to next to it; a little throne of your own, one made comfortable instead of his. It was the last years that made Aegon actually never leave your side, not even Daemon could interact all that much with you. 

When Aegon’s reign ended, he demanded you to be on his side as spent his last moments on his deathbed. And it made you a witness to his last decree: legitimizing all his great bastards; a last spite against Daeron.

Upon learning of his father’s death, you and Daeron reunited once more, a happy moment instantly overshadowed by the realization that Daeron must do his supposed duty, crowning himself with you as his witness. He spent his time repairing all the damage his father did. Daeron would go as far as to include you in the council, and like his father, would look forward to your advice, but unlike his father, he can choose to make his own decisions.

Daenerys being sent off to Dorne was upsetting for both of you. You both promised to exchange letters and gifts. Dany would send letters detailing her time in Dorne, how she grew fond of the place and the people, but that she missed home and, most of all, she missed you. Daeron made promises to have you visit her, but secretly the two of you knew that wouldn’t happen. 

Daemon and the rest of the bastards being legitimized was an incident that made everyone hold their breath; they all knew the consequences of doing such a thing. But for now, it seemed as if not much had changed. Daemon took the name ‘Blackfyre’, and he and the rest were strangely treated well by Daeron and allowed at court.

With Aegon no longer around, they were all allowed to spend time that they could not have. A secret among everyone was that it was a relief Aegon’s passed. Daeron, of course, had more authority than anyone else, but he strangely did not hold his father’s intense possessiveness and jealousy, and the same went for Myriah, who treated you so well and convinced her husband to give you some freedom.

It meant you were permitted to be entertained in court as much as you wanted. Dancing with the other lords and ladies even if it led Daemon and Shiera taking all of your time.

You were also permitted the freedom to attend many dramatic performances and the jousting where many men competed for your hand. But something that Daeron and all the others agreed on: was that you were off limits.

While Daemon sat well in court, it was Aegor who whispered things to his ear. Aegon’s intense envy and bitterness never dissipated; if anything, he found himself resenting Daeron more and more over the years. He thought while the king presented smiles and courtesy when taking you away, he assumed the king was a fox behind a sheep’s clothing wanting you all to himself.

And we can assume the resentment never stopped towards Brynden. Not only did he take the woman he loved, Aegor is forced to share you with the man he hates more than anything. Brynden gives him passing looks that Aegor knows all too well what it means. But a sight that makes him clenches his fists is watching you read with Shiera and Brynden, sitting too closely between the two of them.

Family dinners, while on the surface seem nice,  all the servants and the guards could feel the tensions rising. You are obviously seated next to the king, or at times seated next to Myriah. They all exchange pleasantries, but one can notice the glare Aegor gives when Brynden speaks to you, how Shiera and Daemon tend to only seek you out in conversations. How the rest tense when you compliment or thank one of them. 

And while everything seems pleasant at the moment, it no longer does when Daemon Blackfyre announces himself as the rightful king with Aegor on his side. When Daeron has you locked in your chambers or has guards watching your every move for your safety, but most of all to ensure you are not taken under his nose.

Shiera and Brynden who take Daeron’s side reassure they all want the best for you. There is a war brewing between the family and everyone is well aware you are stuck in the middle.

[bogleech]

I love the town of Port Deposit Maryland. It's all these incredibly old houses build onto levels carved into the side of a mountain overlooking a river and it's not actually "far" from anything else yet there's still a good few miles of little to nothing on all sides making it feel very much like an isolated bubble. I want to say it has never changed, but the residents are constantly building more stuff onto the homes as they deteriorate. They have been doing this since I was a baby, so does that mean it always changes, or does that mean it never changes, because constant change is its natural state?! It's like a bunch of different game assets clipping through each other, assembled by someone with a rough understanding of what a town looks like and how to make it look relatively normal from just certain angles.

Today there were all these vultures at a park there

Port Deposit also declared its own two genders, but they are both welcome to use any restroom they please

I grew up 20 minutes away from it but I never met anyone who lives there or works there. People definitely DO. We met a super nice lady today who owns her own little coffee bar there. But it is difficult to accept that anyone in Port Deposit really exists concurrently with the current timeline of this universe. It will blow my mind if there's a single person on tumblr who lives there. The population feels like it's just 20 or 30 aunts and uncles. I don't know whose aunts and uncles. But they are somebody's.

[starogeorgina]

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐛𝐞𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐲 𝐨𝐟 𝐬𝐢𝐧

Warnings: Incest

Pairing: Cregan Stark × reader, Aemond Targaryen × reader

1.02

Lord Stark’s mouth hangs slightly open; your comment seems to have shaken him. A moment passes, and you hold each other's gaze and only break eye contact when a young man of the night's watch approaches.

“My lord, princess.”

You avert your gaze as the man says something to Lord Stark quietly. In the distance, you hear Vermithor roaring; most would call you crazy, but you felt as if he was trying to tell you something. Licking at your cold, dry lips, you press your gloved hands against your cheeks.

“Yes, my lord.” The man quickly starts towards the lift to take him back down to the ground, “princess.”

You look back over and meet the Lord's eye; the gray in his eyes reminds you of clouds darkening while a storm brews. A drastic change has happened; all the softness in his face has gone and is replaced by a hardened expression.

Many men of the night's watch continue to walk by, yet it felt as if only the two of you stood atop the wall. You swallow thickly. “What is wrong?”

“Prince Jacaerys is on route to Castle Black on Dragonback.”

The sight of Vermax approaching will be what irks your own dragon. “I suppose I should go and allow my nephew the courtesy of speaking with you alone. I fear my presence will only distract him.”

Stepping closer to you, Lord Stark says, “Did it ever occur to you, princess, that when you came in support of the king they call a usurper, I might have you hanged or taken as a prisoner?”

“Did you think I might use my dragon to burn the north when you told me House Stark would remain loyal to Rhaenyra?”

His lips curl into a smile. “Vayon, the man of the watch I just spoke with, I asked him to send word to Winterfell for quarters to be made available to you if you choose to stay.”

“Thank you, my lord; that is very gracious of you. I will stay the night.”

“Mayhaps you can tell me how a princess who’s lived all her life in the south knows about the threats beyond our walls.”

—

You were grateful for the extra layers of clothing provided by one of House Stark’s ladies-in-waiting. You knew the North would be cold, but you hadn’t anticipated the ice… the ice. The strong winds that blew in your face while on dragonback were nothing compared to the feeling of ice touching your bare skin.

The guest house in Winterfell was beautiful; the thick, soft furs that covered the bed and fireplace gave the bedchamber a unique warmth that you’d never felt before. On one side of the guest house was the courtyard, and on the opposite side was the godswood.

Stepping out of the guest house, you face the courtyard and smile, watching children chasing each other. It was nice seeing them so free and happy.

You notice one young boy sitting alone on the wooden steps, resting his chin in his hands. Noticing what he’s staring so intensely at, you go and join him. His eyes widen when you sit next to him, “p-princess.”

You smile at him. “Mind if I join you?”

He shakes his head. There was no doubt he was Lord Stark’s son, Rickon; the resemblance was uncanny. Vermithor, Silverwing, and Vermax were now flying together, but occasionally, when your nephew's dragon would speed by, Vermithor would let out a roar. Jacaerys dragon looks tiny in comparison, yet it shows no signs of fear.

The boy looks back up at the sky and asks, “Is he angry, your dragon?”

The question makes you chuckle. “No, Vermithor is almost a hundred years old and gets irritated easily.”

“Like old people with children?”

“Precisely. In the south, my dragon is known as the bronze fury, but I don’t see him as a fearsome beast.”

“Most people are afraid of my direwolf, Thorn. She’s not bad, just protective.”

“Did you choose the wolf yourself?”

“No, my father found the pup while hunting; she was trying to feed from her dead mother. My father warned me the pup may not survive long, but she did.”

“I’m glad,” you smile. “Why did you name the direwolf thorn?”

You immediately regret asking when Rickon looks saddened by the question. “My mother was from House Norrey, and their words are ‘Sharp as thorns’.”

“I think you chose the perfect name.” His answer causes the already faint pain inside your chest to worsen. Poor boy, he was honoring the mother he never got to know. Feeling your bum becoming numb from the cold, you say, “It was a pleasure meeting you, my lord; if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to the godswood.”

He suddenly perks up and says, “Princess, can I go with you to see the dragons?”

The look on his face reminds you of the one on Maitlands face whenever he gets excited. Your only doubt was if someone misunderstood and thought you were taking the boy over to them as a threat. “If Lord Stark agrees, I see no issue with it.”

—

The sound of snow being crushed under the weight of a footfall was something you’d heard many times in your dreams, but it never occurred to you that it was walking. Staring at the sap that resembles blood seeping from the weirwood tree, you clear your throat and say, “It’s beautiful here, isn’t it, nephew?”

Jacaerys says nothing.

“I can your anger from here.”

“I thought you were better than them,” he says. “But you’re not. You’re just as bad as Alicent, Otto, Aegon, and Aemond. Usurpers, all of you.”

“He doesn’t want it,” you turn to face a furious-looking Jacaerys. “Aegon has no taste for ruling or responsibility. He was content spending his days drinking, whoring, and dragon riding.”

“Then why does he call himself king and sit atop my mother's throne?”

The godswoods fall silent, birds can no longer be heard chirping, and all sounds of children laughing have stopped. How could you even begin to explain that Aegon had no choice? None of you did.

“Just because something is, does not mean it is right.”

He storms towards you, anger and grief threatening to spill from his eyes. “You could have refused, gone to Dragonstone, and bent the knee to the rightful heir.”

“And beg for mercy from your mother after my own has betrayed her? Do not take me for a fool, nephew.”

The sound of snow crackling in the distance alerts you to someone else approaching, but you don’t look back to see who it is. But you assume it's Lord Stark, which would explain the caution in his steps. Aegon once told you that a smart man observes dragons from a distance.

“The queen is merciful.”

“And Daemon?” You hold his stare. “Your stepfather has the same thirst for vengeance and blood as Aemond does. The moment your mother sits on the iron throne, all my family heads will be on spikes.”

“You have all committed treason.”

“I have no desire for war or to burn anyone, nor do Aegon, Helaena, or Daeron. Dragons are our house saviors; they should be cherished, not used as weapons.”

“And Aemond?”

You swallow thickly. “Each side has its own threat. There are only two ways this can end: Rhaenyra and Aegon reach an understanding before the first blood is spilled or we all die.”

He looks taken aback by your words.

“Surely, you must know that if our dragons go to war, then our house will tear itself apart.”

“If the hoary old bitch is the main threat—”

“Your dragon's teeth wouldn’t even prick a hole in Vhagar’s scales.”

“Not alone, but with multiple dragons, it would be possible.”

“I ride the second largest dragon in the world and would not dare go up against her or Aemond.” You scoff, “But ignore my words and take your sibling, mother, and stepfather and fly before her. Let your deaths be in vain; what difference will it make to me?”

“Do you expect me to do nothing but wait for one of your brothers to kill mine, or try to take my mother's head?” he snaps.

“The only dragon who could have gone against Vhagar and won was the black dread, and he is dead, as is his last rider.” The second the last word passes your lips, a pit forms in your stomach, and a sob escapes you. In the madness of everything, you hadn’t mourned your father's death. Pitying you, Jacaerys softens slightly and attempts to comfort you, but you back away from him. “I’m being ridiculous. Viserys doesn’t deserve my tears.”

He clears his throat. “What happens now?”

“Lord Stark is waiting on you; you should go.”

“Very well.”

“Jacaerys,” you squeeze your eyes shut, knowing very well what you were about to say would most likely suggest you will be rejected. “I know the word of a usurper means little and less to you, but if you’re willing, I’d like to try and find a way to help end this.”

“I don’t trust you.”

“If you believe anything, I say let it be my only goal to keep my boy safe.”

[animasola86]

🎃 A NIGHT TO REMEMBER

misc!monsters x f!reader 🔥 words: 1.5k

You are invited to a Halloween party in a mysterious house, promising a night full of surprises. Are you ready for this adventure?

GENERAL WARNINGS/SPOILERS: NSFW! Explicit sexual content! Sex with strangers! Knife kink! Slimes and tentacles! Werewolves! Vampires! (READ ON AO3!)

A/N: Welcome to this CHOOSE YOUR OWN ADVENTURE smut series! Please enjoy this "prologue" that will lead you into a night you won't forget! After setting the scene, you will have three choices as to what happens next! (You can also read these chapters in succession, whatever you like best!)

Staring up at the large house, you realize you have no idea where you are. You've lived here your whole life and yet you've never seen this particular house. You'd clearly remember it. It's too fancy not to notice. Old. Dark woods and black metal elements. Gothic almost. Definitely not your typical house, not around these parts.

You'd figured it might just be a themed hotel that had its grand opening only recently, hence why you've never heard of it before. The invitation came a few days ago, and quite frankly, at the best time possible. You didn't have plans for Halloween, and you were not in the mood to open your door to random kids that evening either, so being called away onto the countryside, to this fancy place even, and all of it for free? Hell yeah.

Your Uber driver had been a little confused by the address, but somehow still found the hidden place. And now you look upon the large entrance doors, and despite being alone, you are intrigued. This is an adventure, a step away from your boring day-to-day life. Sure it was all a little ominous, with this mysterious invitation and all, but you figured you've been randomly selected maybe, perhaps won something for the first time in your life? You should probably be more suspicious, but then again, why not?

You are young, this is Halloween, why not live a little, right?

Fumbling the sturdy envelope out of your purse and the thick paper out of its sheath, you take another glance at the printed words:

Welcome to a night you'll never forget! Come and enjoy an evening full of surprises! You are invited to party, drink and eat like you've never had before! Your adventure awaits! Stay till the morning breaks, if you can. Come in costume. Stay for free. Happy Halloween!

You chose to dress like Little Red Riding Hood, mainly because you had the short skirt, the blouse and the red cape from your last costume party, and you couldn't be bothered to buy a new one. Putting your hair into braided pigtails added to the innocence you tried to portray, and who knows, maybe you'll find a nice guy in a wolf costume to match your freak? You don't expect much, but that's usually the best thing to do anyway. It can only get better then.

Yet when you enter the house, its windows lit up by bright colorful lights, the low bass of the music making the floorboards vibrate, you realize this might just be your typical Halloween party. From the lobby you can take a look into the adjacent rooms, fancy sitting rooms with fireplaces, already filled to the brim with people in costumes.

You see a group of masked serial killers, from Ghostface to Michael Myers, there's even Freddy Krueger and the guy in the hockey mask whose name you always forget. The sight of them would normally scare you, but these guys stand around a beer pong table, and whenever they throw the ball into a cup, they lift their masks and expose their rather normal looking faces to drink it, acting like the frat boys they probably are.

In another corner you see a bunch of girls, cheerleaders, you'd say, all dressed very skimpy, but you are indoors (and you are dressed a little similar also, so you shouldn't judge), but seeing a sexy ladybug next to a sexy office lady, laughing with a sexy cow girl (as in cow girl, literally, with black and white spots and very distinctive udders), it does look a little ridiculous. Well, at least they all found their crowd.

As you turn your head to look around more, walking up to the large staircase leading to the upper floors, you are suddenly startled by a waitress carrying a tray with little shot glasses filled with a green liquid. “Oh,” you make, as you take a step back to not walk into her.

She smiles at you, her eyes sparkling under the light of the large chandelier above you, holding out the tray. “Welcome to the mansion!” she tells you. “Please, have a complimentary drink!”

You look at the shots and hesitate. Looks like jello shots. Vodka and gelatin never sounded appealing to you, but you told yourself to enjoy the night, let loose for once, so you grab one small glass and give the waitress a nod. She quickly hurries off again, focusing on another group of people filtering into the house. Looking around, you try not to dwell too much on the drink you slowly put to your lips. There's a strangely earthy smell to it. Ugh, probably some herbal liqueur to add to the green coloring of it.

Inhaling deeply, you tilt your head back and gulp down the shot in one go, feeling it slide down your throat, as slimy and unpleasant as you would have expected. But it does give you a little buzz, and that's a start, isn't it? Clearing your throat, you look around for the waitress or a place to discard your empty shot glass, and suddenly she's back, picking the glass out of your hand, gently nudging you further into the house.

As you enter one of the sitting rooms, you find yourself among more groups of people, laughing and chatting and having fun, their costumes ranging from vastly unimaginative (one guy just wears a white T-shirt that says This is my costume) to extremely elaborate and fancy. Leave it to the Goths to really celebrate this day. You admire their beautiful gowns and make-up a little longer as you feel your stomach churning slightly. You should have eaten more before you came here, you realize, but luckily you then come across a large banquet table filled with food and drinks.

There's a big bowl of chips, but there are also a couple of three-tiered platters filled with little canapés, and you decide to try the more fancy stuff first. As you put various things on your napkin (things you've never seen before and couldn't possibly name), you look around the nicely decorated rooms. They do look old and out of a different time period, even the furniture looks as vintage as it can get. There's a lot of dark woods and wallpapers with intricate designs, also countless ancient looking paintings of landscapes and people in period clothing, and to make it look really halloweeny the whole space is plastered in fake-looking cobwebs, with plastic spiders and bats hanging from the ceiling and walls.

The lighting is different in each room, from bright green to dark red, flowery pink and icy blue. You admire the work that went into decorating the place like this. You've certainly never been to a party like this before. It looks perfect. The food is good, the music isn't too loud or obnoxious and fits the vibe pretty good (you recognize a few horror film soundtracks), it seems like a good Halloween party. You don't regret coming here at all, though the social aspect still feels a little daunting. All these people stand in groups, laughing together, and you seem to be the only one who came alone.

You don't normally mind it that much, being alone, most of your friends had other plans or were too busy to indulge in some childish little party. It sucks to be in that age group where half of your acquaintances try to be the adults they supposedly are now, while the other half can't let go of their youth, but even those thought this party seemed lame, and as you are right in the middle, unsure where you fit, you decided to just go alone, hoping you'd meet someone here.

Maybe a bit more alcohol will help you get closer to the other guests. Shoving something baked into your mouth, you turn to the drinks. A bowl of fruit punch calls your name, but then you see the beer cans and grab one of those instead. You already drank that ominous jello shot, you shouldn't risk whatever was swimming inside that punch bowl. Cracking open the can, you take a swig, feeling the refreshing beverage rush down your esophagus, but as soon as it fills your stomach, another churn goes through you. Then a cramp.

Oh dear. Leave it to your sensitive guts to ruin a good night out. Putting down the drink and food, you press a hand to your belly and turn back, looking around for the bathroom you clearly need now. You push past people dancing to the music or standing in clusters, laughing and chatting, you even pass the occasional love or horn dog unable to hide their desires as they make out right there in the middle of the room, until you find a long hallway. You'd expect a long line in front of the bathroom as is usually the case at these parties, but you are the only one in the hallway.

It's lined with intricate wooden doors, left and right, and one at the end. No sign or anything to indicate what's behind them. Feeling another cramp, you let out a groan and stare from door to door.

Where to go?

You now have these choices:

Do you...

...reach for the door closest to you?

...go through the door a few feet on your right?

...walk all the way to the last door that seems to lead outside?

ALL PARTS: 1 🔸 2 🔸 3 🔸 4 🔸 5 🔸 6 🔸 7

End notes: By the way, justice for our boy Jason Voorhees, of course I remember his name, poor reader just isn't focused on serial killers that much. Or is she? :3

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