#the truest of stans

[armyofpsychictrashcans]

Something I love about Agatha all along is that she's lowkey giving old woman with dementia (keeps zoning out, appearing confused, acts without thinking) and teen just looks at her like yeah this is my idol whos also 378.

[dteamain]

Anytime twt stans do shit like this I wish I mained George the way I main dream bc the fans while over lapped are so different but alas Dream has me in a choke hold by his puppy dog eyes and wet cat bad luck sigh 😔

I win the stan game because I am a natural George main so I can main dream the same way I do George and I just win win win

[ifmywishescametrue]

i'm growing more and more feral with every minute closer we get to speak now tv

[misteria247]

The first time Stanley gets a gift from Fiddleford that's handmade, he is immediately fighting tears. Cuz it's something heartfelt and it's obvious that Fidds put a lot of effort and time into it. It's not the best gift in the world but it's something so genuine and full of love and damn Stan can see and feel it in the gift. And the last time he'd gotten a heartfelt gift from someone it was from his twin back before they'd fallen apart.

So he fights the tears and lump in his throat and puts on a grand gesture of nonchalance. But Fiddleford sees his eyes are all watery and his voice is thick and choked up and he doesn't say anything about it. After that Fidds makes little gifts and treats for Stan all the time. And each time Stanley holds it like it's the most precious thing in the world and his room is full of everything Fidds has ever made or gave him. And Fiddleford grows to love how Stanley always looks so surprised and touched and his eyes get all misty and light up and he handles each thing with such tenderness. It's seeing it that makes the mechanic fall hard because it's the truest form of Stanly on display and he's a sucker for what he sees.

[merakiui]

MERAAAAAA Octavinelle stans got fed sooooo well yesterday. Toddler tantrum Azul... that's how he acts if you turn down his confession /j

Floyd & Riddle first meeting... Floyd grabbing Riddle's hair and went hey it's red but it's not hot LMAO. You know Riddle got so mad he's vibrating so hard both Trein and Vargas gotta restrain the whole 160cm of him.

Jade <3 he's so silly and now we got canon proof that he thinks he's better looking than Floyd. Oh how his heart breaks if you pick Floyd over him :<

I still can't get over it...... the way he looks so much smaller when he doesn't have his coat,,,,, the sheer panic and fear on his face and in his actions when he scrambles,, THIS FACE!!!!! SEEING THE REAL AZUL AND NOT THE POMPOUS TAKO HE USUALLY ACTS AS!!!!!

.·°՞(≧□≦)՞°·. my heart.... it shatters for poor tako,, as much as I clown on his tantrum, it's still so sad to see him in this way. But also,,, that sort of broken expression is too attractive. ;;;; forgive me, Zuzu, but tako tears are so appealing.

And the first meeting between Floyd and Riddle!!!! I love how Floyd is sent flying across the room from the magic blast all while Jade is dying from the laughter. I saw someone say it's not a meet-cute, it's a meet-ugly and if that isn't the truest thing!!!! The mental imagery of Riddle having to be physically held back by Trein and Vargas is so funny LOL. He was absolutely fuming.

I should say I'm shocked that's how Jade sees his brother, but as someone who has a sibling that's just average sibling behavior. T_T those eels are so silly. The sibling rivalry when they're both in love with the same person would be extreme,,, Jade who thinks his chances with you are significantly better than Floyd's. Just look at this dopey version of Floyd. Surely you can't see anything promising in that. Oh, they would sabotage each other whenever they had the chance. >_< it's over when or if they both decide to work together to achieve the mutual goal of having darling all to themselves.

[ckret2]

I honestly think that Ford is the only character in Gravity Falls that don't have moments of cruelty and unkindness... He's my favorite character because he's the one who is most near to perfection, in contrast to Stanley, who is the character most near to imperfection.

I think you can make some cases for a couple of moments—like, you could easily make a case for "standing by doing nothing while Stan was kicked out" being pretty damn cruel—but you could also just as easily make a counter argument that it wasn't really because it was Filbrick doing the kicking out and it's possible Ford was too scared to speak up and maybe he thought Stan would be fine since he'd already made globe-traveling plans and maybe at that moment he really believed that if Stan stayed at home he'd keep trying to sabotage Ford's future etc etc—like, everything he does that's Not Nice, how Not Nice it is depends on which literary analysis lens you choose to peer at the event through.

Part of this could well be due to the fact that he only got five and a half episodes; but I think the truest thing you can say about his character is that we don't see him act out of spite the way other characters do. Like, if Gideon had stolen Ford's perfect pool chair, he absolutely would have shown up at the pool in the middle of the night to claim the chair for the next morning, but he wouldn't have tried to blind Gideon with his wristwatch. If his nemesis had challenged him to mini-golf, I doubt he'd have conspired with the Liliputtians to cheat. If he was stuck in the house with an annoying pig he'd PROMISED not to put outside, he'd be more likely to storm outside in a huff and leave the pig in the house than he would be to break his promise and put the pig outside.

When Stan or Dipper want to be king of the hill, they're quick to turn to dragging their competition down; but when Ford wants to be king of the hill he tries to climb twice as fast as his competition. I feel like playing dirty to drag his competition down wouldn't even occur to Ford unless it's an "if I lose, somebody dies" situation. Winning by cheating would make him feel like he hasn't really won.

[rustyparable]

Hello, your local Stanley simp is having a fucking✨️euphoria✨️ atm, please disregard.

I love being the truest, dudeliest me in history

Your regular stan stuff continues soon. Swearsies.

[ladythornofrivia]

Kingdom of Fire & Blood || (Part Six)

🐉 MASTERLIST 🐉

Next Chapter

summary: modern!reader reborn as lady greenstar. it was no secret as aemond’s admiration grew.

pair: aemond x reader

warnings & disclaimer: smut, violence, p in v sex, sexual content, aemond being arrogant, modern reader doesn’t know how the world of GOT works but is a Aemond stan, praise kink, breeding kink, spitting kink, voice kink, fluff, angst—family drama, oral sex, hate sex, stalking, jealousy, virginity loss, size kink, obsession, reader being sassy and aroused, sweet moments with reader and Aemond. Reader is a huge GOT & HOTD fan. Pro-Green, Reader is a green supporter. Aemond becomes king instead of Aegon. (P.S. Alys who? I only know Aemond x Reader)

a/n: this chapter is ONLY in Aemond’s pov. ooc aemond, but still is a cold-stone, charming prince we all love. Thank you for being patient with me; i took so long to write. I used a reference from Nanami’s line from JJK—he said “Being a child isn’t a sin.” And the trailer of HOTD S2 is 😍😭🔥❤️‍🔥👏

Chapter Six: The Rebirth of Lady Greenstar

~Aemond’s POV~

Aemond couldn’t stop gazing at you in your sleep, no matter how often he saw your chest rise and fall with soften breath drawing past through your lips—sinful lips, droning out soft noises, he recalls the day where he undressed you. Moles engraved on your lower lips and neck, and several others spotted on the collarbone. Some at the back. The shape on your smooth legs sprawled and tucked at turns you rotated whilst in dreamland—he recalled your skin marked in red outline of a dragon on your right thigh, and a green dragon on your whole backside.

Slender arms rested beneath your head despite the ivory pillows are there, all fluffed and cleansed with new ivory sheets, aglow under a yellow sun.

Quenched as he is, Alicent’s word stung; his hands and teeth clenched. “But the truest of your heart—your love must be hidden in secret,” she told him once.

He knew what she meant.

Studying the histories of the Targaryens—of those who had children out of wedlock for an escapism in horrid and loveless marriages assigned from previous kings are often ridiculed and reigned in contempt, in curse—bastards.

He hated bastards. Lucerys and Jacaerys are one—they claimed to be as Velaryons throughout—and on a night of Laena’s passing, Aemond, at the age of three-and-ten claimed Vhagar and lost his eye, that damned good-for-nothing bastard—a Targaryen pretender who was out of Rhaenyra’s womb, bathed and born with brown locks and pug-like nose and sneering features—Velaryons tend to have delicate and soft features, but still manly in their own way like Targaryens do, but not Strong. House Strong are rugged and filthy.

But—

With your case, as a newcomer, as an outsider, he knew you don’t belong in this world, considering how you tried to avert Aemond with diversion. You’re neither a royal nor a bastard. Though punishment can be given to anyone in the royal court or outside the Red Keep. Anywhere in the Seven Kingdoms. Though of course Dorne accepted bastards.

Aemond’s intrusive thoughts overcame. A battle of restrain lashed out, when the prince approached towards the lush your sleeping figure. Your breath steadied at the rise and fall on your hilled breasts; the torn and worn out nightwear severely took a toll on the guards yanking you as if you’re a fragile doll.

If one’s act of taste that considers as a sin, then it’s a sin I shall give.

His head leaned forward, face closing to yours, tip of his tongue tingled as his left hand clasped on your head, the other rested on your waist as his tall body brought down on the bedside atop of your sleeping form. He had memorized, and counted the moles—once, as he lay himself to sleep in his quarters on the night after he first saw you. There’s a theory that moles came from a past lovers planting a kiss on empty spots. Aemond could offer you more. His tongue slithered on the soft line of your neck, and brought back to pucker with balmy smack, leaving a small trace of string silava coated on your now bruised skin.

Squirming underneath him, Aemond satisfied, humming, his right hand snaked on your waist, then fondling your left breast, pinching the taut nipple as he devoured the scent on you as he hungrily kissed your jawline and slope on your neck.

Earning a moan from you, Aemond spurred, his fingertips roamed on your breast and lowered down to your thigh, kneading. Your face—your lips—directly aligned to his, drawing a quiet sigh.

Adrenaline rushed in his veins, his body grew hot, trousers compacted with his engorged cock. He couldn’t get enough of you. The taste of you, your beauty and your fiery heart. He envisioned of what your face would be like, your voice would sound like, if you’re awake during the pleasurable intercourse or under his tantalizing fingers and mouth.

Countless footsteps skittered across the hall nearby. And so, Prince Aemond sat on the chair with his legs crossed and his elbows resting on the armrest behind the wall, spying on the maidservants passing by the opened door without batting an eye, maids chatting as always.

A hushed sigh of relief drew from his lips. By then, he looked at you one last time, spotted a love bite on your neck, before ushering himself out to go at the hall and disappeared with his lips, licking—tasted and lingered upon more ravaging thoughts of you.

~~~

Into a wide-ranged room, roofs decorated like constellations and metal works of the orrery, and the broad balconies garbed in light and ruffled curtains swaying. The council planned to use this room to divert the newcomer and persuade her to join hands and swore oath.

They have hoped that a new change of environment will appease her. Aemond couldn’t blame her; the Council room is filled with discrimination and accusations, despite his interest on becoming a sovereign—unlike Aegon who he rather be a sovereign in between someone’s legs at the brothels upon the Streets of Silk.

Regardless of Alicent’s cautionary, both Green sons lurked and eavesdropped on the members, who are more frantic and belligerent in comparison to previous meeting.

“She’ll be here,” Aegon teased. “Ser Arryk is coming to fetch her. Poor girl lost her way in the Red Keep.”

Aemond folded his hands behind his back, abiding, cold and calculating, and twice as tall, passed from Aegon’s stature.

“How long will she last, I wonder? With all the skills, beauty and remarks she has gotten,” Aegon emphasized on the word “beauty” as sarcasm, “do you think she’ll survive, even after the council? This is no easy task, of course, residing in Red Keep. The Blacks are here again. And Daemon didn’t come here alone.” His head jerked, indicating towards Rhaenyra. “I don’t suppose you’re aware, but the poor girl might risk her life again. Shocking how the Blacks and Greens weren’t showing hostility despite our shared past.”

Aemond watched within the presence of the council—Blacks and Greens united—without bloodshed. A bizarre sight to behold.

The doors creaked, and entering (y/n), following Ser Arryk.

The Blacks and Greens gaze with watchful eyes, tension rose as (y/n) proceeded closer and sat down on a vacant chair nearby the entrance door but struggled; Ser Arryk assisted her and perched down as she thanked him, returning a similar unnerving gaze back, unyielding even when appearing fragile. Her posture eased; she glimpsed at the decorated ceilings and tables with constellations.

It appears she likes it, Aemond thought.

Until her eye landed on Aegon and Aemond himself with her elbows rested on the left armchair, back slouching, eye concentrated intensely.

Aemond’s heart skipped that she faced him, in devoid of sheepish demeanor. And there, she smiled.

“Shall we get started?” Rhaenyra insisted.

(Y/n) couldn’t stop gawking at Aemond and Aegon.

“My lady,” Rhaenyra called out firmly, and (y/n) snapped back to actuality. (Y/n) eyed on everyone, then looked down onto her hands on the armrests.

Silence ensued. Then (y/n) requested to their introduction since they came to know (y/n)’s. All have introduced themselves—Hightowers and Targaryens. When Green brothers are finally introduced, Aemond spotted (y/n)’s lips curled a little; her dimple dented. But overall, she seemed happy throughout the introduction.

“First, we must address regarding to House Blackwood,” Otto drew the scrolled parchment, and distributed to (y/n) through the sentinel. “This letter is sent from a raven at this morrow.”

Sleeking her wavy strands—long curtain bangs back, she read the lines in the parchment. “Is this supposed to be a joke or something?”

“House Blackwood demands for your head, since they accused you of murdering Remon Blackwood,” Otto said. “Anything to have say in your defense?”

Tongue in cheek, (y/n) chortled, aloud for everyone to hear.

“Does killing others amuse you?” Daemon challenged. “Or would you rather a quick execution by a dragon for your childish act?”

“I’m sorry did you say dragons?”

Daemon unanswered her question, but she knew he wasn’t lying.

(Y/n) recollected herself. “It’s three knights that chased me, remember? They killed Ser Remon Blackwood long before they chased me. I used the blade he gave me, not the large swords.”

“There are other reports that the three knights are imposters,” one claimed. “That their faces aren’t quite as recognizable. And their armor and breastplates are entirely soft—a forge through cheap metal. Their blades and blunt and uncared for.”

“Must’ve been the rapers from the North.”

“Ser Criston, what was the weapon she was holding when you first found her in the woods? Was it a sword?”

“A fine blade that belongs to Remon Blackwood,” Criston replied.

(Y/n) sat there and released several guttural coughs, which got their attention.

“Are you alright?” Alicent concerned.

“I’m fine,” (y/n)’s voice croaked. Alicent ordered the servant to fetch the hot tea, to which you drank after being served.

“Has she drank the Milk of the Poppy,” Otto asked the Maester.

“Apparently she hasn’t drank any since this morning; deeply fell asleep.”

Relaxing in the chair, (Y/n) tossed her hair over to the side before she took out two objects again from the pockets on her nightwear and placed it onto her lips, and blew out smoke, but away from their direction.

“What are those objects that you possessed?” Daemon asked.

Crossing her legs, (y/n) blew out another smoke, her eyes glazed darkly, her demeanor changed as if it was an illusion. “This is the cigarette, and this is a lighter.” She demonstrated the items again, but only she’s precisely shown the golden lighter, carved in detailed dragon, and fire lit from the metal.

“Where are you really from?”

(Y/n) clicked the lighter shut. “I already told you last time,” her voice crossed.

“Are you a slave?” Rhaenyra asked.

(Y/n) is taken aback, brows scrunched, bewildered.

“Everyone saw the markings on your body,” Rhaenyra pointed out.

“No, I got these since I was young. Let’s cut to a chase. What do you want?”

The members of the council baffled at your straightforwardness.

“Since we’re here, I don’t intend on wasting anyone’s time,” she resumed, her voice hardened. “What do you want?” Her voice darkened.

“Are you aware to why you’ve been summoned in the council?” Otto questioned.

“Oh please, do enlighten me,” (y/n) said in sarcasm.

“Lady Rhaenyra has planned on you becoming a knight—you both saved the children and experienced in combat during the battle outside the Red Keep.”

(Y/n) laughed again, though not as cruel. In anger, the knight trudged towards her, but she stopped the knight with her left foot stomped on his breastplate, revealing the red dragon tattoo, your hand ran through your luscious hair; Aemond stared for so long that he ignored his surroundings. He found himself yearning to taste you again.

“At ease, good sir,” Alicent ordered. The knight backed off and your leg lifted down, crossing over to the other.

“Why refuse?” Rhaenyra challenged. “Do you wish to be executed from false charges?”

“You misinterpret me, my lady. Do you want to know what happens when you put a woman as part of the Kingsguard? People will riot. No man would accept a lady knight because they don’t want to be ashamed of not holding much power.” With her elbows propped, the upper body slouched, leaning forward, intensely gawking at their familiar mortified faces. “If anything that you should be worry about,” her index finger pointed outside behind (y/n) at the open archway; behind her is the town of King’s Landing, “it’s the people. People hold you on the highest regard; anything you do, they’ll use it against you. You have dragons,” she reasoned, counting on her fingers, “legions of army and holds the utmost reputation—everyone knows your name and your appearances distinguished from others. If laying a single mistake, people will make an excuse to take the opportunity to tarnish—even bring hell to Westeros. If you put two and two together, it’ll be difficult for people to accept as much as I want to help,” (y/n) cautioned.

Unused cigarette wafted in the crisp air—and (y/n) stomped on it with her fingers.

“As a matter of fact, I couldn’t agree more,” Jason Lannister encouraged. “Ladies are not suitable to guard for the ascendance of a potential heir. Women take longer to dress than men, after all they’re made to be dulled for a tedious hobby.”

Aemond disagreed, otherwise.

“Why save them?” Rhaenyra asked.

(Y/n) blinked.

“Being a child isn’t a sin,” (y/n) said, solemn. “They don’t deserve to what they’ve gone through.”

“Never thought you find this miserable,” Daemon said.

“I have soft spot for children and those who are broken.” She darted her eyes to Aemond once more.

Rhaenyra sighed, her hands enveloped, glancing at neutral Daemon next to her, poised. “We shall find an alternate option for you to abide here in King’s Landing—tasking the vital aspects of being part as the Red Keep’s vessel—everyone has their own role to play, knowing their place, and you’re no exception.”

Refusing, (y/n) inclined back into a relaxing position. “Figures,” (y/n) muttered, posture sank into the chair.

“I know it’s difficult to accept, but should you stay, you’ll learn a thing or two of the culture and the history, everyone around you included,” Rhaenyra suggested. “And we shall do the same to yours. Though the customary traditions in Westeros must steady. But it won’t mean you’re limited from freedom at the assets of your personal values and desires and expression.”

“It would be the wisest,” Rhaenyra added. “People won’t know and comprehend this, but us, despite you’ve given simplistic explanation of your vast side of the story.”

You pondered; fingers tucked on her chin.

“They’ll never accept me,” you lectured, locks undulated in steady motion. “No matter how you vouch or reason for me, they won’t adapt; I’m just an outsider—anyone who has a brain knows that outsiders aren’t something to be cordial. It wouldn’t be as upsetting once I get hurt. They won’t understand yours or my intention if I decide to stay here. Or worse.”

“But there’s still a chance for you to prove yourself, allow your presence to be seen and heard,” Alicent coaxed.

Rhaenyra contemplated. “Or perhaps you could join us at Dragonstone,” she proclaimed, rather blithe. “Of course you’re free to choose.”

Aemond disliked the idea of you residing in Dragonstone as much as Alicent, based on displeasure etched onto their delicate and finely features, green as envy—as Hightower’s colored banner that summons war, strong gazes projected towards Rhaenyra like a serpent in the shadows. Alicent needed you for the pursuits of ruling the throne by her heirs, if needed more allies.

Gritting and grinding your teeth, your tongue clicked. “No, I’m not staying in Dragonstone, either. I don’t want to overstay my welcome, consider how I “arrived”.”

Aemond’s breath unwinded. Flush smothered your cheekbones. Stared long enough until Aegon elbowed him in a single tap, as a reminder to stay focused.

“I’m afraid it’s far from possibility, since you came along way from the other vast side of your world. In the meantime, you must reside here in Westeros, in King’s Landing. We may never know your intentions, but it’s best to keep it simple and quick. Do tells us what you want.”

Refusing, your face turned away, sheepish.

“You want gold? Reputation?” Rhaenyra insisted, to which you answered “no”.

“Do you wish to possess a dragon?” she tested. “If it’s a dragon you want, I’m afraid I can’t—”

“First of all, dragons are hard to take care of. Two, I’m not a Targaryen! That’s your thing, not mine. I can’t even take care of my dog. And third, I don’t believe in dragons.”

Everyone baffled at your statement.

Rhaenyra’s eyes widened, trying to maintain her composure. “You don’t believe in dragons?”

“Where I come from, they only exist in books, a figment of an imagination in a child’s mind—in tv shows. Or in books like Lord of the Rings.”

Everyone exchanged uncomfortable looks, still befuddled at your straight explanation.

“Then I assume you want the Iron Throne,” Daemon insisted, but the Blacks and Greens shot a piercing glare at him in unison, warning him not to give anymore ideas, but he awaited for (y/n)’s reaction.

You knew what the Iron Throne is, but kept your excitement within with annoyance under disguise. “That chair sounds uncomfortable! I’d rather sit on a cold ground rather than having an iron swords jabbed up and bleeding in my precious ass.”

Aegon snorted, covering his mouth when Otto noticed his grandsons, scowling.

“What can we do to convince you,” Alicent resumed, hands rest on the armchair.

“I don’t think you can help me on this one,” (y/n) said, begging them to let you go.

Rhaenyra maintained her posture. “Then what is it that you truly desire at this moment, Lady (y/n)?”

“You’re not going to let this go, are you?”

“Never.”

“What about now?”

“I still decline.”

Shaking, deep in pensive notion after hearing their relentless offer disguised as blatant curiosity.

Silence prevailed, at first. Fireplace flickered, soft howls bypassed the constellation room. Everything stood still, as does their anticipation, weighing and resting on their fate of the house.

Rising onto her feet, and she got close and flatly pressed down to a cold stone pillar with her hand. “I want to see the ocean, the sky—the smell of salt and cloudy air. I want to feel the wind as I walk by, or draw and paint surrounded by flowers as I looked out onto the ocean as the ships sails by.”

“A very simple, mundane request,” Daemon commented, folded his arms. “Anyone could percept the instability of waves and ships passing through and the fragrant smell of blooming flowers.”

“Sometimes taking the simplest pleasures in life must cherish with joy and savor with love,” you told him, remaining your eye locked onto the waves, wobbling and crashing. “You’re a dragonlord, Prince Daemon, I think you should be grateful. As for me, I rarely get to see the ocean, because I lived somewhere far where it has no ocean, no flowers—the weather is humid and sometimes shows a little rain. On most days, hot air suffocates you to a point you want to drown in cold water. If having an AC would’ve been nice and pile of ice cream to eat.”

Aemond’s brows furrowed, not knowing what you meant of AC and ice cream.

“There’s a chance people might conclude you’re from Dorne or Yiti. Or perhaps as Ser Criston’s sister.”

Aemond watched you shooting Daemon with a deadpan expression on your dulled hues. Criston, on the other hand, didn’t appreciate Daemon’s unnecessary commentary, but made no urging trifle.

“I’m not, and if I do, you would recognize the Dornish accent at this moment. Clearly you can’t. Sorry to disappoint you, dude,” you replied, nonchalant.

“Dude?” Daemon’s eyes twinkled.

“It’s umm…never mind, I’ll tell you about my world later.”

“Anything else,” Rhaenyra asked, anticipating.

Silence occurred.

“What of other things you acquire to be more convincing,” Alicent chimed in, coaxing, sensing an alarming and animated expression hidden from you.

“Nothing,” you squeaked, though her cheeks flushed says so otherwise.

Aegon snorted as Aemond lifted the corners of his mouth into a piffling smirk—as he found your sudden expression unexpectedly chaste with shyness and charm.

“The matters settled, then,” Rhaenyra got up. “I look forward to see you and more. I expect great and admirable accomplishments from you, Lady (y/n). I think it’s that for now you must stay in the capital. If you do intend to serve the realm, I’ll reward you, anything to your heart’s desire. As long as you make contributions, we’ll make your dream as certain. In the meantime, that is.”

“But I—”

“In the meantime,” Rhaenyra proclaimed.

Your brow quirked, then sighed as the princess wasn’t the type to give in.

(Y/n) ventured in a languid motion near towards the members in the council. In the end, the favor on her side—Rhaenyra and Alicent’s request—might go smoothly if done right. But Aemond’s heart grew heavy at a thought of you leaving King’s Landing, leaving Westeros, feared you might not recall your ventures and people you encountered alongside of the journey—feared your mind and sight of seeing Westeros and its people are nothing but a figment dream.

Alicent pushed herself up from her reclining. “I shall do my part as well. You’ll do great things, I’m certain,” she assured (y/n), enfolded atop (y/n)’s cold hand.

Happiness faded from (y/n)’s lips when a cold end of the blade—Dark Sister—tipped and traced a thin line on her centered neck. Daemon’s violet eyes gleamed at hers; her hands raised an indication of surrender.

Aemond’s eye snapped in fury. The guards Rhaenyra accompanied clutched their blades, viewing like vultures standby.

“I’ll never trust a cunt like you,” Daemon proclaimed. “You may wield a blade, you may save anyone who you wish, but you’ll never be part of the court. The look in your eye—arrogant and maliciously stricken with pretense. Common whores like you—pretending to be humble and virtuous when you really are neither.”

Yet you fuck whores in the Streets of Silk on your pastime, Aemond thought.

Sighing, (y/n) said, “Then kill me. If you really think I’m dangerous to the Red Keep and to the monarchy like Ser Marrow claimed, then end me.” Then she gripped Dark Sister and pointed it at her chest daringly. “Go ahead. I dare you.”

He scoffed, despite Rhaenyra’s attempt on pushing Daemon back.

“Don’t speak to me as if you’re my equal. We are nothing alike.”

“Thank god I don’t have a cock, then,” you shot back, rolling your eyes. “I don’t have to worry whether I’m going to get gelded or not.”

Like a child, Aegon stifled his giggling.

“Fucking simpleton,” Daemon hissed, pressured the Dark Sister. “You know nothing of Westeros and its people. Might as well have your tongue remove. What say you, warrior?” he mocked.

“Seven Hells, Daemon, you’ve said enough,” Rhaenyra warned. “(Y/n), i insist that should you cease your quarrel.”

Aemond strode onward, never minding Alicent, who was rushing to his side, begging to not worsen an escalating quarrel. But Aemond paid no mind; his mother’s words drowned and emptied in his fueled rage.

“I saved both lives—a boy and a girl,” (y/n) protested. “I saved two young people who are separately belong from two mothers—who were at their near deaths. I saved you too, by the way. Guess it doesn’t matter, right?”

Daemon tsked. “And that’ll be the last thing you’ll ever save, considering your reputation has been nothing but meddlesome. I’m afraid your reasons on saving your neck has come to expire.”

Aemond trudged in front of (y/n), holding his long dagger and situated his honed silver on Daemon’s neck. He felt her cold hand pressed against his chest and gave a little push, but no to avail; she’s still weak under the Milk of the Poppy.

“Hold down your blade, Uncle,” Aemond warned. “You gave her quite a fright. I thought the deal has been final.”

“I never thought I’d take you as a fool, Aemond—that’s twice you’ve committed a sudden act.” Daemon’s lips curled in disgust. “Being blinded by her, I see.”

“She saved my sister’s life,” Aemond justified. “And I’m eternally grateful.”

Without shifting his eye, he saw you wandered your glance up to him before facing back to Daemon.

Aemond shifted closer, Targaryen against Targaryen.

“Take one more move, and you’ll lose another pair of your eyesight,” Daemon sneered. “What happens then, if I do cut your other eye out? So, shall we test it?”

(Y/n) managed to block herself in between Aemond and Daemon.

“Then I’ll be his other eye,” (y/n) declared, defended, one arm spread, shielding Aemond, the other hand held high against Daemon, bandage slipped from her visage.

All noise ceased.

Aemond’s heart quickened at a roaring declaration in a vibration on your tone—soft yet firm and fiery—like a dragon reborn.

“I’ll be his other eye,” she repeated, shielding Aemond. “Stay back,” she hissed at Aemond, insisting on shoving him back to lessen the tension between two factions. Aemond glimpsed at her shaken hand, yearning to hold her.

Even (y/n) knew a large cost of encountering Targaryens through fate, aside learning the history. Dragons never cower in their palace of red and gold of Red Keep, in a palace of black stoned walls of Dragonstone, their banners—sigils of red or green. Dragons come and reign in a price of fire and blood and fearsome, colossal beasts taming Westeros.

Knowing the consequences of her shared words, who knows what might occur depending on her unfickle judgement.

“You heard the maiden,” Aemond said with a smug on his face. “Release your blade, Uncle,” he commanded.

Grimaced, Daemon drew his sword back in his sheath, parting the gap, and endowed (y/n) and Aemond with imprisoned through his hues. “She’s no maiden. Perhaps I shall call her “Green’s bitch”.”

“I’m no one’s bitch,” you said, nose flaring.

“A bitch would always claim they’re no cunt,” Daemon remarked.

Aemond’s eye narrowed. Little by little, he stood inches near (y/n), like a proud and mighty dragon stood by its owner. Blood shared by dragon and Valyria.

Watching close by, Rhaenyra and Alicent shared knowing glances.

Overhearing the sound behind them, the king produced an agonizing sound of his breath, (y/n)’s able to catch him from falling in brisk reflex.

“Get the maester, quick!” Alicent cried, as you are clinging onto the ailing king, who was moaning and groaning due to his severe ail.

Everyone made haste as Alicent and Rhaenyra assisted (y/n) on putting back Viserys onto his chair.

Adjusting the king’s posture, Alicent dimissed (y/n) by saying, “We shall talk later. I must tend to my husband. You go on ahead.”

And with that, the council adjourned—(y/n) ushered out, giving Aemond one last look with a slight bent on her neck.

With a final word, Aegon said to Aemond, as they trudged back to the halls. “Daemon took great pleasure in stirring commotion, especially a certain lady, who you’re so keen on.”

Aemond hasn’t utter a single word.

“Obviously, he has missed his youth involved with treachery and rebelliousness. I supposed these days have kept peace quite busy despite our father’s poor lapse of judgment.”

Aemond sauntered farther, but Aegon caught on in a same pace.

“I never knew you had it on you, dear brother. But was it really an act of good will for Helaena’s life or was it a pure instinct to an act of affection?”

“It was all for Helaena’s sake,” Aemond said.

Aegon leered. “Is it?”

From there, Aegon fled.

For once, Aegon never said something stupid or drunk.

Aemond stalked his mother on meeting (y/n) in the chambers he trudged in upon darkest shadows, carefully listening in.

Alicent came over, agitated even concealed in unsuccessful, mortified demeanor. “The Council has been reached to a verdict,” Alicent told (y/n), as if it’s a death sentence—probably the men discussed and finalized to an upcoming conclusion.

He watched as (y/n) was plopping onto the bedside, the last cigarette held between finger has thawed into ashes.

“I see,” (y/n) soften tone echoed the room, rippling against his skin.

Alicent touched (y/n)’s upper arm. “I apologize on behalf of the circumstances. I know it can’t be easy,” she said, sincere.

(Y/n)’s eyes twinkled.

“Despite Rhaenyra vouching for you for saving her son, you have declared of being Aemond’s other eye, and thus, your declaration brought an uprising of questions to the Blacks.”

(Y/n) acknowledged.

“A word of advice; should you wish to keep your wits and tongue, play your part, and keep your head down for the Blacks not to detect or test your patience,” Alicent said. “Common folk, even nobles tend to have ill intentions far from a plain gossip. Kingdoms tend to hatch a birth of vipers and stabbers every corner of the castle walls.”

“I’ll do it,” (y/n) said, without looking back at her, picking on her fingertips.

Alicent clasped her hands over (y/n)’s, and heaved. “Rhaenyra and I are in a current matters of discussion regarding of your future duties in King’s Landing. She proposed the idea of you being as the cupbearer while I proposed the idea of you being as Helaena’s handmaiden. Nothing has set in stone. We did so to ensure of your livelihood be at safest, to cease the gossip that has been spread far and wide regarding to your arrival. But first, the king must anoint you at the throne room for a private ceremony—no audience shall be present.”

You stayed silent; your right hand stroke your left wrist; the feeling the absence without your possession.

“Is something the matter?”

(Y/n) shook your head, light-headed.

“In time of fear and change, that is where you must be brave,” Alicent advised, eyes glistened.

Aemond has never heard of Alicent—his mother—spoken ever so motherly to anyone, not even Aegon.

A sudden shift glided in you when you have decided what to do as (y/n)’s role in King’s Landing. “I’ll bend the knee.”

Alicent’s dulled eyes brightened at your answer. “Then I shall inform my husband regarding to your call.” She laid her hand on (y/n)’s shoulder blade.

Once she stood up, (y/n) bid Alicent goodnight.

And Aemond stayed in the dark, and the only words replaying in his mind are the words she declared opposing the Rogue Prince.

I’ll be his other eye.

The way you shielded his body and ordered him to shift back, Aemond knew that no noble woman or commoner in any Houses would defend him and his honor as a Targaryen and Hightower. Or more than his status as a one-eyed prince. As a swordsman, he can hold off his battles, even in close quarters, but something about you, a strong-headed girl, who knew of little consequences, protected him that he find as devilishly unique.

His mind stirred in a matter of battling between whether he want to fight your battles or claim you.

Perhaps both.

Aemond had certainly come to a closure, a predetermined arrangement of taking you, but obstacles must come forth before a dragon claims the maiden as his crown, glory and a hymn that he won’t mind spend the rest of his life hearing.

Upon a daylight hour, the decision came to a close when both Greens and Blacks debated to assigning on (y/n)’s fate for the realm, despite a given answer. In the end, King Viserys has a final say, which both factions surrendered for an hesitant agreement. In the Red Keep, guest of nobles and common folk alike flocked inside to a point where it’s nearly and impossible to fit, all awaiting, all mind shared one reason.

Hours before the occurrence in the throne room, in Aemond’s quarters, two servants awoke him to bathe, and one maid provided him information regarding to (y/n)—the Maester inspected and mended on her wounds once more before withdrawing. Her eye, however, is healed, just as it was yesterday when she ripped the bandage off.

In the throne, there she was, blocked by tall members of the Kingsguard.

He imagined that a maidservant tugged the strings harder for a cinched waist, despite this, (y/n) cooperated without a fight. Knowing resistance will bring disaster. Until a thought of disaster is long gone. From there, the guards veiled for (y/n) to cross passage towards the steps of the Iron Throne, seeing upon a pristined condition—clad to an outfit befitting for a youthful and appeased maiden to soften at the hardened image of a brute fighter. Her straight long (h/c) locks with thick stands braided as headband atop of her head; strands of baby hair left untouched, and soft paint dabbed it on your chapped lips and cheekbones, tainted in reddish shade to liven your surly visage.

King Viserys proclaimed and summoned (y/n); she knelt with a hand over her chest, head inclining down that her long (h/c) locks framed on sides, reciting her vows. King Viserys crowned her with a green brooch with a four-pointed star sigil pinned on her centered chest once she stood.

“As a last hope for a darkened age within House Targaryen, in hopes to reunite both factions,” King Viserys announced, hoarse. “Salvation rests in your hands. I wish you nothing but the very best to soothe the realm with your grace, Lady Greenstar.”

Two factions appalled at his last claim underneath their vacant neutrality in their hues. Spectators gathered and exchanged in gossip, all frantic and perplexed from their King’s announcement.

A girl from a modern century has been remade through rain of fire and light, befall and rose from sky. Arise onto her feet, who peered upon audience, before the eyes of the two factions, who solely darting her eyes to Aemond, as if she wanted him to sense her heart is surged with heaviness, rebirth as Lady Greenstar.

Aemond did—but couldn’t offer the arms of comfort. His fierce and benevolent maiden. But in the eyes of Gods, Westeros won’t lay rest, as he keeps his ardor hidden.

And chaos entered.

Taglist: @galactict3a @daonenonlysandman @toodlesxcuddles @hufflepuff1700 @me753 @fredskum @omgsuperstarg @xcharlottemikaelsonx @paninisstuff @danika1994 @angeljcca @taintedlovesworld @kukulyarva @darylandbethfanforever9 @blackswxnn @namelesslosers @heavenly1927 @snh96 @herathedreamer @g-cf2020 @fandom-maniac-anime @httpsmenace @velunis @aleemendoza2425-blog @tm-starr @kukulyarva @buccini555 @colored-tr-panels @valeskafics

@ aemondswifffeeeyyy - all rights reserved.

[rosesfox]

(shadow and bone season two spoilers!!!!!!!!!!)

i, as a stan of zoya and zoyalai, couldn't have hated this ridiculous ending more. i don't know how they're going to separate nikolina, make zoya stand out as a general and nikolai's main and truest love interest. the way it looks, even if they were to adapt kos and row, it would look like zoya is a replacement for alina. they took the crumbs they could have from zoyalai and still didn't add, even knowing that the endgame is zoyalai and that zoya is the one who will become queen. it's just awful, and i really hated it.

nikolai never loved alina, alina never wanted to be with nikolai and always saw him as a friend, mal would never leave alina lol and most important of all zoya was the first person nikolai loved and chose for himself beyond of his duty as monarch.

they changed crucial things for the continuity of the story, there is no opening for even more of the crows (since crooked kingdom was poorly adapted) and kos and row are beyond my imagination. that was so bad. i think overall they managed to spoil all the characters, but i as stan da zoya am particularly enraged.

and also, my god, the changes with nikolai! they really didn't understand the importance of the sturmhond to him.

[heretherebedork]

Y'all, we stan a true himbo. The truest most loveable dumbass of all time who fled the hospital upon waking up to go see and sleep with his most beloved boyfriend forgetting literally everyone else in his wake. I love him so much

[treetrunk93]

im actually the realest and TRUEST @ohposhers STAN. !!!!!!

[leighbaye]

HII!! it's me again with another request for the losers! >:D I didn't wanna bother you with too many requests but since you don't know what to write... I have an idea! What if a feminine Reader with the losers club who's into 'over the top' fashion like lolita or kawaii kei/cutecore wasn't ready to share that with the losers just yet, but they ended up finding out on accident one way or another. Feel free to change up the request however you like or however suits your style better! Thank you for your time!! (❁´◡`❁)

Also! Not sure if you have specific anons on your blog, but if you do could I be 🦢 anon? No pressure if you don't!!

— CUTE FOR THE SUMMER

written by mina leigh ୨ৎ , losers club 𝔁 f! reader | wc 1100

summary. you had invited the losers over to your place without thinking about how your room was scattered with your, from what you thought, embarrassing interests. completely distracted, you hadn’t noticed your mom let your friends in and headed straight to your room where you were practicing your lolita style makeup. looking and appearing completely different from the person you are out in derry. you got flustered by compliments and questions ..

labels. hyper feminine reader, she/her pronouns, lolita style reader, happy go - lucky reader. reader is closest to richie toizer and eddie kaspbrak.

warnings. mild language, fluff, flustered reader, playful teasing

‧₊˚ ୨୧ mina speaks. hey 🦢 anon, hope you’re doing well. sorry if i made too many drastic changes to your request. it helped me make it a tad bit easier to write. check out my rules to get a better understanding. hope you enjoy ml ♡

you adjusted the pastel pink bow on your head, tilting your face slightly in the mirror as you perfected your makeup. the lolita style had always been your little escape from the dreary life of derry. out there, you were just y/n — casual, approachable, nothing that would make anyone look twice. but here, in your room, surrounded by frills, lace, and soft pastel hues, you felt like your truest self.

you dabbed a bit more blush onto your cheeks, focusing so hard on getting it perfect that you barely noticed the distant sound of your mom’s voice downstairs.

❝y/n, your friends are here!❞

your heart stopped.

the losers. here. now.

you spun around, eyes wide as the sudden panic hit you. your room was a full display of your hyper-feminine interests: lace curtains, stuffed animals, intricate dresses hanging in the open closet, and makeup scattered across your vanity. you didn’t even have time to hide anything before footsteps pounded up the stairs.

the door burst open.

❝yoo - hoo, y/n!❞ richie’s voice rang out, loud and obnoxious as ever. he stopped mid-step, his mouth hanging open when he saw you.

behind him, eddie, beverly, bill, ben, mike, and stan filed in, each of their faces shifting from confusion to surprise.

❝holy shit,❞ richie muttered, adjusting his glasses. ❝what is this?❞

you froze, your face heating up faster than a kettle on a stove. ❝i — it’s nothing! i didn’t know you were coming up!❞ you stammered, frantically trying to pull off the bow.

eddie, ever observant, stepped closer, his eyes scanning your makeup. ❝wait, you did this?❞

you nodded, chewing on your lip nervously.

❝it’s … really good,❞ eddie said softly, a small smile forming.

❝yeah,❞ beverly added, tilting her head to examine you. ❝you look amazing.❞

you blinked, taken aback. ❝you don’t think it’s weird?❞

❝nah,❞ mike said with a shrug. ❝it’s cool. different, but cool.❞

richie grinned, recovering from his initial shock. ❝dude, you look like a doll. in a good way.❞

you felt your cheeks burn. ❝stop.❞

❝no, seriously!❞ richie teased, winking. ❝you’ve been holding out on us.❞

eddie elbowed him. ❝don’t be an ass. y/n, this is really impressive.❞

beverly nodded in agreement. ❝it’s not just the makeup. the whole style is beautiful.❞

stan, standing by the door, gave a small nod. ❝it’s not what we’re used to, but it suits you.❞

you swallowed hard, the overwhelming mix of embarrassment and gratitude bubbling up. ❝thanks, guys. i just… didn’t think anyone would understand.❞

ben smiled gently. ❝we’re your friends, y/n. you don’t have to hide anything from us.❞

bill stepped forward, his stutter barely noticeable. ❝y-you look h-h-happy like this. th-that’s all th-that matters.❞

richie clapped his hands together dramatically. ❝okay, okay, group vote — who thinks y/n should dress like this all the time?❞

you groaned. ❝richie, i swear —❞

everyone laughed, and the tension broke.

eddie nudged your shoulder. ❝but seriously, you don’t have to be embarrassed. we like seeing this side of you.❞

you glanced around at their smiling faces, feeling a warmth spread through you. ❝okay, but if anyone tells anyone outside this room …❞

richie threw his hands up. ❝scout’s honor!❞

beverly smirked. ❝your secret’s safe with us.❞

mike grinned. ❝besides, you look too good to keep it hidden forever.❞

you laughed softly, finally relaxing. ❝thanks, guys. really.❞

and as they settled into your room, cracking jokes and asking questions about your style, you realized that maybe, just maybe, being yourself around them wasn’t so scary after all.

© MINA LEIGH 2023 - 2024

[quietwingsinthesky]

hey bug,

what do you think of

Gayest Supernatural Character, Quarter-Finals

drama and who do you believe is the truest queerest character in supernatural?

i think all spn polls drama is nonsense. it's fun until people start being actual assholes about stuff, and a poll like 'gayest spn characters' does make the worst elements of the fandom get overly aggressive trying to prove their claim to the queerest blorbo. a lot of people here have attached an unhealthy amount of their own identity to their favorite characters (and specifically, to a very narrow perception of said favorite characters) that leads to them lashing out when they feel that character disrespected, as it feels like a slight against them, personally. deeply strange and uncomfortable behavior when we should all just be talking about how crowley kisses men on screen for fun.

anyway, 'truest queerest character of supernatural' is a bit of a mixed bag because there's two options here. which character is the queerest textually, as in, was allowed to be openly queer and express queer love the longest and most often. and which character's subtextual narrative was most reflective of queerness, which is what a lot of people are arguing about the most. because you can't really argue about the first one. like. the only queer character who got to be queer, openly and constantly and for multiple seasons, make out with multiple women on screen, and not be treated like her sexuality is a joke is charlie bradbury. and we can talk about how well or poorly she's written as a character, but in supernatural, she is like a fucking lesbian beacon. and she's still bare fucking minimum in a cast whose other notable queers consist of 1) joke characters we are meant to mock for the fact that they are queer, 2) one-off characters who either die or in the case of later seasons where killing off gay people instantly because slightly less okay, do not get to express a lot of their queerness on screen before being shunted off to never scare the largely cishet audience again, or 3) villains. just like. villains. i know we love this about them, i know we're all gay little freaks here on the lucifer stan blog who enjoy that he's Like That about sam. but the fact that a lot of the villains on supernatural are queer-coded if not just openly queer is. :/ not great, folks.

and now we get to what my answer is for number 2) most subtextually queer. because like. it isn't charlie. charlie's queerness is not a part of her journey in any way. which is, kind of refreshing? but also very evidently the result of the writers not actually knowing how to integrate a lesbian into their story other than like. let her kiss women. charlie is written about as deep as a puddle 90% of the time, and that's the real crime we should talk about with her at the end of the day. getting distracted. anyway. for subtextual queerness. i mean, for me, it's sam. quite obviously, it's sam. sam the othered, sam the defiled, sam the broken and never pure. sam in his struggles trying to connect to a religion and a god who rejects him. sam who is and always will be the devil himself even when he proves that he can overcome him. sam who cannot win, no matter how quiet he makes himself and how much he acquiesces to the demands of the patriarchal family structure he's been slotted into.

hm. sam who knows he's dying, and sam who refuses to take a chance at life if it means burying everything about himself he's tried to construct and rising again as someone new.

i don't think you can honestly argue that sam's story doesn't resonate queerly. and i know this because most of the arguments i've seen against it have been "well, but sam (or sometimes "jared") feels too straight to be queer in any way". to which the only response can be THEY'RE ALL STRAIGHT. ALL OF THEM. THERE ARE NO QUEER MAIN CHARACTERS ON SUPERNATURAL. and yes, i am intentionally including castiel in there, for the people who argue his status as a main character. no. i don't think a love confession -> death pipeline is particularly compelling as a queer narrative, least of all because his potential queerness has always been treated like a joke or a reason to emasculate him, and to actually explore what it means that castiel loves dean winchester would take a much better show than supernatural could ever be. and it still wouldn't be a show that makes people happy, if it was honest, because it'd be a show about the slow and steady decline of one broken man constantly proven right about his paranoia and his abuse and his control issues, and one broken angel who has set him up as a god because he never really learned what free will was, just learned that following dean winchester means he has it.

[jackoshadows]

The way Jonsa shippers keep insisting all over the Jon tag that Jon Snow is only interesting if he gets together with Sansa. We know!! Jonsa has always been a Sansa ship - by and for Sansa stans. 

Every Jonsa post I have read makes it clear how much they dislike book Jon Snow, his canon relationships and story arc. Which is why they rewrite the character with the Jonsa version being this unrecognizable, mangled and mutilated OC blob who has even less in common with the book version than even the show version.

That’s why they don’t read his chapters and headcanon his personality, narrative themes and story arcs as some kind of fairy tale prince whose story will have meaning only, only if he loves and marries Sansa.

That’s why they erase Arya from Jon’s story and write ‘metas’ on how GRRM will repeat Jon’s entire ADwD story with Sansa in TWoW, why they turn Dany into a villainous monster and keep telling everyone that Jon is boring because his story so far has apparently only been about prophecies and dragons....

Oh and also their Sansa is the most interesting character in the whole series  - her chapters are all about Sansa being an adept politician and making treaties with other leaders, negotiating, trying to save people, understanding her privilege, learning about other cultures, conflicted between duty and love, butting heads with her deputies, trying to grow food and she will teach Jon Snow how to be a wise politician leading to Jon murdering the evil Daenerys for his truest and fairest love in all of Westeros, Sansa Stark.

We get it - the bastard navigating the Westerosi class system and bigoted prejudices as he earns his way to the top will only be interesting as a prop side character to pro status quo Sansa Stark. And if GRRM does not write Jonsa, then the whole series is boring and useless and has no point to it....

The story is apparently not about the outcasts and the underdogs, the dregs of society, the characters who are trying to make something of themselves in an unjust world, who are ambitious and want better things for themselves, who are kind and want better things for others. Nah, all that is boring for these shippers.

 Again, this is what happens when one skips entire chapters of the characters and instead read Jonsa ‘metas’ and farcical theories on how GRRM is writing the entire book in secret code and all the characters in Jon’s story like Sam and Satin are actually code for Sansa and stand ins for Sansa, that whenever Jon thinks of Arya he is actually thinking deep in the recesses of his brain about Sansa, that Jon had a crush on Sansa because he couldn’t resist 11 year old Sansa’s beauty, that growing up he settled for ‘ugly’ Arya because as a bastard he just could not hope to ever get beautiful Sansa. That Jon’s story from AGoT to ADwD has no point or purpose and his actual story only starts when Sansa gets there....

If one really thinks that Jon Snow’s 42 POV chapters is him being a ‘cut and dried fantasy hero’ and that the character will be boring if he plays a main role in defeating the existential apocalyptic threat from beyond the Wall - a story that he has been part of from book one - in a grimdark high fantasy novel and instead his character will only be interesting if he transports to Disneyland, settles down with the most beautiful, wise and fair queen Sansa and they had ten children and lived happily ever after, then perhaps the Jonsa section of AO3 would be more suited to one’s reading than A Song of Ice and Fire by GRRM. Just saying. 

[booking-and-blogging]

I feel like I'm the only one that feels like Samarie Funger is way more tragic and sad than actively villainous and creepy. Poor thing can't separate conversations from thoughts she reads, or peoples thinnest thoughts from their truest desires. Imagine hearing the thoughts of people during termina. Fucking horrid I cant even imagine. Shes not a Caligura style villian, shes just a pathetic little teen wierdo.

Basically I stan a terminal little freak. -puts down script- also Marinas dad was a prick and actively hitting her, so its kinda self defense. Now excuse me while I dodge the tomatoes.

[gravity-falls-daily]

The first and truest Minors DNI

stan would do numbers on twitter. bad numbers. but still numbers!