#yes he was tenured

[renslice]

Actual quotes from my undergrad quantum mechanics professor (2019):

"Any one of you, if pressed hard enough, could use a rock to kill a gazelle"

"I haven't killed anyone since I was in my 20's!"

"Two wrongs don't make a right, but three wrongs do. So, if someone wrongs you, get back at them double."

(After a student asked a really good question) "I'm doing this because it's his fucking fault."

"Wouldn't it be great if Bohr, Schrödinger, etc… were struck by lightning before arriving at this conclusion?"

"The key to being a successful physicist is to be an arrogant shit."

(When asked why he assigned so many homework problems) "One reason is to keep people awake at night. The other reason is that I'm insane."

"No no. Cross that out. Write dumbass next to it."

"Vigor, not rigor, as my PhD advisor used to say."

"I can either be A. depressed or B. infinitely amused."

"The Finite Square Well: The chances of an algebra mistake are greater than 1. -Dirac"

"I tend to not get excited about important things like the end of the world, but this pisses me off."

(After grading our first exam) "I don't care if you don't go into fucking physics, but REALLY PEOPLE? … Even people who don't give a rat's ass can be productive in society … but REALLY??"

"In classical mechanics, you can ignore the product rule. Write that down."

"It's always darkest before the dawn, unless it gets darker."

"I'll give you ten dollars if you don't ask me that question again."

"If you mean it then you're a nerd nerd. If you're being ironic, then there's still hope for you."

"60% of books use E to be + and 60% of books use E to be -, and you can never tell which it is."

"I think I knew a guy named Jack Shit in New Jersey."

"Life is more complicated than physics, that's for sure. That's what makes it fun."

[transient-stars]

When I was in undergrad I had an astrophysics professor who did not believe in the existence of black holes.

He did believe, however, that there were trees on mars.

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[aingeal98]

We all know why people have designated Damian the bitey and stabby Robin and Jason the violent one. (To my knowledge Damian has never bitten anyone it's literally just the racism) but what amuses me is that Steph, despite her short tenure as Robin, actually threw her hat in the ring for most ferocious. Like miss sunshine and waffles in fanon is the only Robin I can think of that quite literally just started biting her enemies as a last resort.

And unlike Jason who's Robin run was mostly him being pretty similar temper wise to his predecessor with the one exception of the rapist he may or may not have let fall to his death, Steph started day one of working with the bats literally attempting to murder her father.

And as Robin? Yeah fuck that "if we kill we're no better than them bullshit." If she's up against a serial killer she's going to use EVERY advantage to not die, including potentially lethal moves.

And honestly I think it rules. I know they were trying to show her as a less good Robin than perfect Tim but honestly they just made her more interesting because she's not actually wrong for fighting to save herself even if it means her attacker could die lmao. Let Steph have her anger and violence, she deserves it.

[trentcrimminallybeautiful]

i have this really stupid idea in my head that im frankly a little obsessed with and the idea is this: trent crimm doing a drunk history episode on ted lasso's first tenure at richmond. is that how drunk history works? i don't think so. do i care? absolutely not. it's a special episode who cares because this image is not only hysterical to me but treasured. i treasure this image. i hold it close in my heart and also laugh and laugh and laugh.

[compacflt]

If you want, and only if you want to, could you explain about making Logistics a big part of Ice's career path? Not only did fit so well with your Ice's characterization, it was just so neat I've made it my HC for Ice's career path.

yes!

I got REALLy deep into the defense policy weeds in this post so I’m putting a cut to save people’s dashboards

1. when i was rewriting chapters 8 &9 last winter i did literally the bare minimum of research about the current set of high-level officers. the commander of the pacific fleet at the time had previously been the director of pacific fleet logistics ordnance & supply. So that was easy to yoink. a proven chain of succession.

2. but also: it fit ice’s (or his alter ego admiral Kazansky’s) neat, orderly, effective, collected, strategic characterization. And as professional tactics go, there would be no better promotion for a high-level officer looking to take over the fleet than DFLOS. understand the fleet by the numbers, you comprehensively understand the fleet.

3. In terms of secret-keeping logistics, ice is supposed to be kind of the best. like, because of his logistical thinking, he & maverick get away with it. Or that’s how I would’ve written it if I were a little smarter. Obviously in practice a bunch of people find out so it’s not great. but the navy AS A WHOLE doesn’t find out.

4. The field of military logistics is rigorously bureaucratic, boring, soulsucking, selfdefeating, notoriously corrupt, and yet entirely necessary for the military to succeed at any level (in the very first draft of WWGATTAI i included a famous US marine corps maxim that most people have heard at some point: “amateurs talk tactics. professionals talk logistics.” but that was literally the only good thing about the original chapter 6 which got entirely rewritten a month after i published it). So logistics as a field of specialization fit in perfectly with my secondary character thesis that rising through the boring bureaucratic ranks of the Navy sucked all the humanity & will to live out of ice one day at a time.

a couple related interesting things that I’ve never talked about on this blog & might never get the chance to again:

a) ice canonically joins the navy as a fighter pilot & ends his career as a glorified bureaucrat. that sucks. obviously the struggle to rise in the ranks is a notoriously cutthroat, political, sleazy business (you do not get to the top of the United States Navy by being nice to people), but i would also not be the first person to say that—for exemplary officers—leadership is an EXPECTATION that can counterbalance someone’s natural drive to excel, if that makes sense. You get promoted because you’re good at something (flying), but you get promoted away from the thing you were good at. There is an extent to which you have to fight for a promotion—but there is also an extent to which commanders above you pick you for the job, suck you up along the pipeline. Loss of agency—a major major component of joining the military—does still apply to upper-level officers.

B) to that end, i am reminded of one quote from Todd Schmidt’s 2023 book “Silent Coup of the Guardians: US Military Elite Influence on National Security.” This is an Army training & doctrine commander speaking: “the military has a lot of two- and three-star senior leaders that were confident, charismatic commanders at the O-6 level. But that’s the end of the story. One in fifty, maybe one in a hundred, truly have what it takes to operate successfully at the strategic level and make a real difference for their service. The problem is that they all tend to think that, since they have stars on their shoulders, they’re the one.” —I’ve been writing ice as “The Chosen One,” the officer unicorn, for two reasons: one, it provides him cover for his illegal relationship (and also asks an interesting chicken-egg question: does he get away with his rlnship because he’s so good, or is he so good JUST to get away with his relationship?); and two, he’s “the chosen one” in canon, i.e. he already has four stars in canon: canonically he is not a mediocre officer. But most officers (cough cough maverick) are not cut out for high-level leadership.

C.) in Thomas E. Ricks’ book “The Generals,” Ricks argues that (at least in the Army) mediocrity in the general/flag officer ranks is unfortunately by design. In WWII, if you were a mediocre officer, you got relieved! You got fired! It’s part of why we won: merciless culling of the general officer ranks! But between WWII and Korea, officer relief began to be associated with shame & wasted resources. Mediocre officers got promoted anyways. The military elite pipeline sucks mediocrity up the chain of command. Ricks blames this issue for (at least the Army’s) shit leadership in every post-WWII war, including but most especially Iraq and Afghanistan. There’s no penalty for mediocrity. That in turn reflects on military strategy (mediocre strategists at the helm) & the outcome of every military foray (mediocre outcomes).

D) additionally. There’s a whole neverending debate in the field of civil-military relations (an extremely interesting field of study btw) about the corporatization of the military—lots of high-level talk over the years of “running the military like a business.” If you get kinda into defense policy like me (am i still antimilitary? Idk! but i CAN easily tell you i am against the navy’s littoral combat ship program! It sucks!) then you will know that the navy is struggling right now on a lot of different fronts (procurement [shipbuilding esp. is a disaster—ford-class carriers are under budget though 👍🏽], recruitment, theatre prioritization, general preparedness, readiness against major adversaries [China in particular]). Simply, the navy is pretty mediocre at the minute. I talk a big game about ice being COMPACFLT & SECNAV, but if those are true, & if he “exists” in our current timeline, or even canon timeline (COMPACFLT in 2020), then he’s complicit in a lot of why the navy is sucking ass right now. He didn’t do his job very well. LOL. So, because I love (especially my version of) ice too much to see his legacy suffer, I am stating for the record that my timeline is a different timeline where ice saves the navy from itself and fixes all its issues & solves all its problems & makes it the pride of the armed forces & the tip of the spear of American defense :) because I said so

E.) unrelated but important. It sounds obvious but it must be said. Ice dies on the job in TGM canon. To the extent that in earlier drafts of the script, not-his-sister-Sarah even points out to maverick that ice is still active duty, in the same breath as she tells him ice is sick again. (A wise move to remove that line.) ice does not resign his commission. Ice does not retire to spend time with his family at the end of his life. Ice dies as commander of the pacific fleet. He dies on the job; he dies FOR the job, bureaucratic as it is. If you were wondering why I wrote ice so dormantly suicidal, it’s because canon (i argue) has made it clear that—since the second ice signed up to be a fighter pilot during the Cold War to the second he died active duty—ice has ALWAYS been ready and willing to die for his honorable Navy career.

[kaerinio]

sitting here thinking about the released chapters of t.wow . . . and how, from all the things in westeros coming out about dany, it's this ferocity that seems to persist! ari thinks about how brutal she must be if she allowed her brother and only kin to be killed and how perhaps that was her plan all along, especially if she thought he was going to leave her behind with the dothraki when his time to conquer came. she also mentioned that the first daenerys brought peace to dorne and it seems like the present daenerys wishes to stir war. why am i bringing this up?? not only is it setting up the dany - young griff/alleged aegon faceoff. but it's pointing toward rhaenyra! parallels! every single thing rhaenyra did, whether it was during her time or in historical accounts, has been villainized. the historical accounts, in particular, have been crafted to portray her in a negative light. and it seems like the things coming out about dany have also been crafted to sow distrust and suggest that she's a disruptive and brutal figure, who doesn't seem too far from kinslaying.

[vonlipvig]

megan, this is a horse.

what a great day to remember that jeremy interviewing the most attractive horse is technically canon (unless he was joking, but considering how sick and tired he was during the heatwave then yeah, this totally happened multiple times).

[lezbianz]

i don’t know how to feel about all these anxious posts talking about how trump’s shooting is going to be a rallying point for the right & how they’re going to use it to win the election. because while yes, i’ve already seen people making a martyr of a living man because of this, it’s been obvious for months — if not well over a year — that biden is not winning this fucking election. it was obvious before tonight; it was obvious before the debate: biden’s ass is losinggg!!!!

and even if it hadn’t been obvious, even if biden actually had a fighting chance in this upcoming election, please be honest for a second: would it matter either way? 200 palestinians were killed just today in an ongoing genocide funded and supplied directly by joe biden, which has killed — in the course of only nine months — well over 180,000 people. and if you seriously believe trump would be worse for gaza than biden, just look at where gaza is now: hospital bombings are routine and un-newsworthy, just as is children as young as a day old being shot at, bombed, or buried under rubble. how much meaningfully worse can it be?

and if you are somebody who only cares about domestic issues, — a cowardly and remarkably selfish political standpoint to have in the united states, the most powerful country on the planet whose fingers are in the affairs of every other country on earth — be clearheaded. biden has done nothing but further push the democratic party right. more police killings have happened under his tenure than trump’s; roe v. wade was overturned during his administration; and he has done absolutely nothing to stem the tide of reactionary transphobic bills being passed in state after state.

it’s joever. it’s been joever. if you don’t see that now and you’re still seriously campaigning for this man, i think you are naïve, stupid, selfish, or all three.

[thatsmzbitchtoyou]

My Alpha

This is kind of a long one shot (5619 words!), but I thought I'd try my hand at the ABO!/Omegaverse. Hope you like it!

Being an omega wasn’t always a bad thing.  At least that’s what she told herself repeatedly as she religiously took hormone blocking birth control pills and wore scent blockers on the daily.  Y/N hadn’t had a heat in years and wasn’t planning on letting up any time soon.  She had started working as a personal assistant for the Avengers under Tony Stark years before, going through the Sokovia Accords debacle, surviving the Blip, losing Natasha, Tony, Steve, T'Challa, and all the other strange and traumatic things that happened during her tenure.  She had denied her biology to get this job, not wanting it to affect her performance or be a target while being surrounded by literal super Alphas in this field.  And as hard as the job was, she loved it.

One of the greatest highlights was gaining Bucky Barnes as a friend.  While other Alphas she had come across were domineering, he was compassionate and kind.  He very rarely lost his composure like others did during high pressure situations in missions, and never fought over who was in charge.  He was incredibly careful to make sure everyone around him felt comfortable in his presence.  After finally shaking the Winter Soldier programming he didn’t want to ever lose control of himself again, and with the super soldier serum messing with his hormones to the extent that he was nearly feral during ruts, he would isolate himself away to keep her and others safe.  

Y/N felt like she could talk to him about anything, and he felt the same.  She was his sanctuary after rough missions, one of the few people that could break him out of a deep depressive state or the nightmares that still plagued him.  He knew she was an Omega but could barely smell her because of her blockers, which he both loved and hated.  Loved because it made it so they could be friends without the weird biological dynamics getting in the way, and hated because he was super curious about what her scent was.  They had fallen for each other long ago, but were both too afraid to do anything about it.

As they both relaxed during a rare weekend off they got on the topic of Omega versus Alpha traits.  “I get it, Alphas can be rough, but don’t you want to mate someday?  Find someone special to settle down with?  Maybe have a family?”

She sighed.  “Of course I do, Buck.”

“Then what are you afraid of?” he asked gently.

“Not having a clear choice,” she answered simply, giving him a sharp look.  “I don’t want my biology to decide my fate.  So many Omegas get stuck being mated with bad Alphas because their heats were uncontrollable and the Alpha wouldn’t take no for an answer.  I know that I’m predestined to be a nurturer.  Hell, that’s what my job is now, taking care of all of you guys!  But I should get to choose who I end up with based on love, not by body’s reactions.” Bucky nodded in understanding, looking down at his intertwined hands.  “Do you want to settle down someday?”

“Yeah,” he said quietly.  “I just don’t know how it would work out.  This job…my past.  It all points towards disaster at any given time.”

She slid over to him, wrapping her arms around his shoulders awkwardly as she sat next to him.  “You deserve a happy ever after, Bucky.”

“You do, too, you know,” he reminded her, resting his head on top of hers.

“Mmh, maybe someday,” she said wistfully as she undid her embrace and leaned back against the couch.

“So, anyways,” he cleared his throat.  “Is it true that Omegas have a better sense of smell than Alphas or Betas?  Like you can pick up on others’ scents and identify them really well?”

She laughed.  “Yes, it’s true.”

“Really?  Okay, what does…” he scanned the room as other Avengers milled in and out.  “Peter.  What does Spidey smell like?” He tested her, watching her expectantly.

She took a look at Peter across the room, her nose slightly flaring as she took in a whiff from his direction.  “He always smells like fresh bagels to me.  You know the smell of just-baked bread?  Kinda like that.  Mixed with a little bit of hazelnut.”

Bucky looked at her in awe.  “Yeah I kinda get that off of him.  Alphas can smell and track scents but not to that level.”

“Hm, that’s interesting,” she said as her eyebrows furrowed.  

“Now how about Sam?” he asked excitedly, hoping it would be something not so pleasant he could tease him about.

“Ha, Sam is Cajun seasoning with a sweet lemony undertone.  Like really well done seafood,” she answered quickly with a smile on her face, knowing Bucky would be disappointed in that answer.

Bucky frowned as he thought about who to ask of next.  “Okay, how about…Steve?” He knew it was a long shot.  Steve had been gone for a few years now, so she probably wouldn’t remember.  But she gave him a soft smile.

“Steve was smoky, like fireworks.  A summer night that ends with warm apple crisp and melting vanilla ice cream on top,” she said as she stared out the window, a dazed look in her eyes as she remembered him.

“Wow…” Bucky whispered.  “I always got the fireworks, and something like a picnic.  But now that you say it, yeah, apple with vanilla.”

“Yep, he was truly all American,” she winked at him.

He laughed as he turned towards her on the couch.  “How about, um…me?”

She gazed at him, her expression softening as her nose flared again and she huffed out the breath she’d taken.  “Smoky, like Steve, but different.”

“Like gunpowder?” he asked suddenly, his eyes searching hers.  He had been told that before and was hoping they were wrong.

“No, not gunpowder.  More like…” she sniffed again but frowned.  “Do you mind if I…?” she gestured her finger from herself to him.

“Yeah, go ahead,” he said, opening himself up for her to scoot closer to him.  She leaned in towards his neck, the best place to scent someone, and breathed in a slow sniff of him.  She closed her eyes.

“Campfire.  A campfire on the beach.  And the smell of the ocean after it rains,” she said resolutely, opening her eyes to look at him.  Their faces were close as he stared at her.  “But no, not gunpowder,” she reassured him.

“That’s good,” he breathed, his eyes shifting from her eyes down to her lips and back.

Her eyes suddenly widened, her brow furrowing and she pulled herself away quickly.  “I, um…I need to go…excuse me,” she said hurriedly before she jumped off the couch and power-walked down the hall towards her room.

“Wait, Y/N, are you okay?” Bucky stood from the couch as he watched her leave.

“Yeah!  I’ll talk to you later!” she yelled back without looking, her voice sounded strained.

“What the hell?” he asked himself quietly, looking around him like something had jumped out and spooked her.

Once she was out of sight she ran to her room and had Friday bolt the door.  She doubled over in pain and clutched her stomach.  “No way,” she moaned as she reached for her phone and called for help.

“Hey you, how are ya?” Bruce asked when he answered the call.

“Bruce,” her voice was pained as she held in another moan.  “I need help, something’s wrong.”

“What?  What’s going on?” he sounded worried, the rustling of papers and beeping from a screen by him going off.

“It feels…like a heat?  But that’s not possible, right?  We made sure of it,” she grunted as another cramp shot through her abdomen, and just as suddenly as it all started, it suddenly stopped, leaving her gasping.  “Wait, now it stopped?  What the hell is happening?”

“Come down to the lab, right now.  We’ll get you tested.”

She didn’t need to be told twice as she hung up and crept out of her room towards the elevator.  She was able to get in and down to the lab a few floors away without being caught by Bucky or anybody else.  She ran into the lab in a panic.  Bruce was already setting up the medical bay in the back with everything needed to do a check-up, some vials next to the other instruments.

“Hey, let’s take some blood and see what’s going on,” he called out to her when he heard the doors slide open.  She jogged to the bed and hopped up on it, taking off her cardigan so he could access the veins in her arm better.  After a quick routine check up he took a few vials of her blood then stepped out towards all the equipment he had for medical and scientific tests.  

He worked silently as she sat there deep in thought.  It can’t be, she tried to reassure herself.  I’ve been so careful.  Not missed a single pill ever.  This can’t be happening.  After about an hour Bruce came back with a screen in his hand, his eyebrows hung low over his eyes and a frown on his face.

“Y/N, it’s…it’s not working anymore,” he said softly, his eyes sad and confused as he looked at her.

“What do you mean?” she asked hesitantly, her eyes widening.

“The hormone blockers, the pills…your body isn’t responding to them anymore.  Your hormones are syncing back to normal Omega levels.  Your heats are going to come back.”

“No, no no no no no…NO Bruce!  I can’t.  Please, there’s gotta be another pill to try, a shot, an implant, something?  Anything, please?” she began to cry.  

“I’m sorry Y/N.  We already got you the best blockers that are available out there.  If your body is weaning off of them it means your biology is taking over, probably because you’re getting older and it’s fighting back to have a chance at mating.  I’m so sorry,” he showed her the hormone levels on a chart on the screen, pointing out the differences and then setting it down.  “There’s nothing I can do.  Nothing you can do but prepare yourself for it to start again.  And your first one is probably going to be brutal after avoiding them for so long.  You’ll need help–”

“NO!  No, I can’t do this.  I can’t ask some random Alpha for help.  This isn’t fair!” she cried harder, hiding her face in her hands.  Bruce patted her on the back, trying to help ease her pain by giving off a calming scent.  He was also an Omega and knew how much this meant to her.  

“It will be alright, Y/N.  You have friends here who will help you without making it awkward between you and them, or won’t immediately try mating with you during your heat.  They’re good Alphas.  They won’t hurt you or take advantage of you,” he promised.

She tried to calm the loud beating of her heart that was wringing in her ears, a panic attack trying to settle deep in her bones that she was fighting back.  “How long do I have until it comes?” she sighed as she sniffled.

“I don’t know, I’m sorry.  With it being so long since you last had one it could be next week or it could be in a couple of months,” he answered gravely.

“Ugh, great,” she laughed as she wiped her tears away.  “No choice, whatsoever.  My body ultimately got to decide for me after all.  Wonderful,” she spat as she jumped down off the bed.  “Thank you, Bruce, for testing.  I just…I need to go sleep this off, I don’t know,” she said, giving him a quick hug and then leaving the lab.  

She took the elevator back up to her floor, her eyes stinging from the hot tears still slowly falling down.  Her heat was coming back, and with a vengeance.  She would need help.  Who would she ask?  Any of the unmated superhero Alphas would probably say yes, though she knew she only wanted one.  But how could she ask this of him?  And if he did help, how could she go on with their friendship as if nothing had happened between them afterwards?

The elevator opened and she trudged into the common room.  The floor was already dark as twilight set in and everyone had split off to their rooms.  She slipped into the kitchen since she missed dinner while down in the lab to grab something to eat, although she wasn’t particularly hungry.  As she made herself a sandwich she turned to grab a knife then saw a figure in the corner at the dining table.

“Jesus!  Fuck, Bucky you scared me,” she gasped, holding a hand over her heart.

“Sorry, honey,” he grunted as he sat watching her.  “Why are you crying?”

She stiffened as she looked at him, trying to act nonchalant as she grabbed the knife and turned back to her sandwich.  “I’m not, I’m just tired,” she waved him off, quickly cutting the sandwich and putting the ingredients and dishes away to escape.

“Don’t lie to me Y/N.  What’s wrong?” he stood, walking towards her.  She reached for the refrigerator door to get a drink, which he quickly shut and stared her down.  She wouldn’t look him in the eye.

“Come on Buck, I just need a drink,” she complained as she tried to open the door again, reaching for the handle.  Bucky grabbed her wrist firmly and leaned in towards her.

“What’s wrong Y/N?  You ran away earlier and now you smell…off,” he said, searching her eyes as his nose flared at the scent she was radiating.  His frown deepened and his eyes looked worried.  “Why are you afraid?  Was it me?  Did I do something wrong?”

“No!  Oh no, Bucky, it’s not you,” she said, her eyes widening.  “It’s me, it’s just…” her eyes welled up with tears again, spilling onto her cheeks as she sucked in a sharp breath.  “It’s me,” she sobbed, leaning forward til her forehead rested against his chest.

“Oh honey,” Bucky sighed.  He put his hands under her armpits and lifted her onto the counter so she was eye level with him.  She wrapped her arms around his neck and hid her face in his shoulder, crying harder as he enveloped her, his hands rubbing up and down her back as he whispered reassuring words to her.  They sat holding each other for a while, Bucky letting her cry it out and Y/N relishing the comfort.  As her cries died down and her grip loosened around his neck he pulled back.

“Tell me what’s wrong, please?  You’re breaking an old man’s heart,” he pleaded, hating to see her hurting so much.

Y/N chuckled at him calling himself an old man as she wiped her nose with her sleeve.  Bucky held her face in his hands and wiped her tears away with his thumbs.  She let herself enjoy his touch before she sniffled and finally looked up at him.

“When I was talking to you earlier, I felt this weird pain,” she explained quietly.  Bucky nodded, listening intently as he held her face still.  “That’s why I ran out.  I went to Bruce’s lab to test me because it felt like…like a heat,” she sniffled again, looking down at her lap.  Bucky nodded again, his hands releasing her face and reaching for her hands to hold.  “I haven’t had one in years.”  This surprised him.  He knew there were new ways of birth control for Omegas now, giving them a lot more options than to just mate and reproduce and take care of their Alphas and pups like the old days, which he thought was great.  He just didn’t realize it could be for so long.  “And now, apparently, the hormone blockers aren’t working anymore,” she gripped his fingers tightly.  “My body is rejecting them, weaning off of them and reverting back to normal hormone levels.  My heat is coming,” she sucked in another sharp breath.  “I don’t know when, but he said it’s going to be brutal since I’ve been avoiding them for so long.  He said I’ll need help and…and I don’t know what to do.”  Her voice shook as she looked up at him again.  “I’m scared,” she whispered.

Bucky could feel her panic and gave off what he hoped was a calming scent.  It seemed to help as her eyes fluttered shut and her shoulders visibly relaxed.  The Alpha in him hummed in satisfaction as he swept his thumbs over her knuckles.  “You don’t need to be scared, Y/N.  It’s going to be okay,” he tried to placate her.  “Listen, I know earlier you said you wanted a choice, and now your body’s not giving you one.”  She nodded, a few more tears slipping out the sides of her eyes.  “I…I can help you,” he said, gulping back the lump in his throat.  Her eyes snapped up to him, a look of shock on her face.  “I know that I’m offering something kinda crazy.  But I promise you I won’t hurt you, I won’t make you court me if you don’t want to, and I won’t forcibly mate with you.”  He looked her deep in her eyes to try to get her to understand.  “But I’d be honored to help you.”

Y/N couldn’t quite believe what she was hearing.  She had wanted to ask him and now he was offering himself for her to get through this first heat.  She licked her lips and contemplated it.  “I just don’t want it to ruin our friendship,” she sniffed again, her eyes searching his face for hesitation.

“It won’t,” he said earnestly.  

“...Okay,” she agreed.  

Bucky smiled as he squeezed her fingers.  “Okay.”

“Thank you, Bucky.  You’re a good Alpha,” she thanked him, lifting his hands up and kissing his knuckles.

His eyes fluttered shut and he cleared his throat.  “You should probably not call me that, at least not right now.”

Her eyes widened.  “Oh!  God, I’m sorry.  I didn’t mean–”

“It’s okay, honey, it’s fine,” he chuckled.  “Whenever it hits you, just call me, and I’ll be there.”

She gave him a warm smile in appreciation.  They were playing with fire, and they both knew it deep down, but were denying it heavily.

***

Y/N could feel her hormones changing her body and mind.  Bruce had advised against wearing scent blockers as well to help her body fully adjust and hopefully not cause as much pain during her upcoming heat, and that was the first thing she noticed.  The Alphas around her, who would normally just give her a friendly greeting or a smile, now watched her hungrily through narrow eyes, giving tight smiles as their noses flared as she passed by.  It made her self-conscious enough to ask Bucky one day, “Do I smell bad?”

Bucky looked away from the book he was reading as she plopped next to him on the couch in the common room again, lifting her feet up to rest on his lap.  She was touching him a lot more lately.  “What do you mean?”

“Do I smell bad?  Omegas can’t really smell themselves very well, and since I took off the scent blockers I’ve been…watched,” she looked around the room warily.  Bucky’s eyes swept across the other Alphas in the room, noting how they were all giving off territorial scents as they tracked her.  He sat up straight, facing each one until they caught his eye and gave off a warning rumble deep in his chest, his eyes flashing dangerously.  They each quickly retreated, shamefully turning back towards their previous tasks.  The air around Y/N seemed to lift and she felt like she could breathe again.  “Thank you, Bucky.”

He sat back on the couch, grabbing his book with one hand and mindlessly rubbing her feet with the other.  “No need to thank me, honey.  And no, you don’t smell bad.  You smell like chai.”

“Chai?” Y/N scoffed.

“Yeah, chai with…” he reached a hand out and grabbed her wrist, bringing it up to his nose and inhaling deeply.  Her eyes widened comically at his brashness in scenting her so publicly.  “Pumpkin.  Chai and pumpkin.  Like Autumn,” he concluded, setting her wrist down and then rubbing her feet again.  He said it so casually that she just stared at him dumbfounded.  

It got worse as the weeks went on.  Her emotions were haywire, one minute she was calm and cool and the next she was agitated and easily crying at anything.  She was nesting anxiously, rearranging her room and her desk in her office, constantly carrying around a large fuzzy cardigan or blanket with her.  Her joints were sore, especially in her hips.  She found herself eating all the time.  Bruce had her come down to the lab each week to check her levels, each time warning her it could happen any day now.  

A month and a half later on a Friday night the team got together for a movie night.  They decided on watching the first Avatar, a movie Bucky hadn’t yet seen.  As it played Y/N kept fidgeting next to him, adjusting her sitting position, wringing her hands in her lap, taking deep breaths periodically.  A scene began of two of the characters connecting in a tree garden and Sam yelled out, “Alien tree sex!”  Everyone laughed but Y/N bolted out of the room.  Bucky watched her run down to her room and shut her door.

He quietly got up and followed her.  He could tell just by her scent changing these last few weeks and how it was getting stronger, the chai smell getting spicier, that her heat was fast approaching.  She had been very touchy with him, following him around and staying close whenever they were in the same room.  He had no claim to her, but it was evident to everyone to stay away from her, otherwise they’d get a growl from him.  He was growing more excited by the day, trying to remind himself that he was just helping out a friend, not staking any claim or bond.  

When he reached her door he pressed his ear against it, listening for her.  He heard her heart rate picking up and her breathing became labored.  He could also smell her, more potent, spicy, the scent of unmated Omega making his hormones sing and call out for her.  A deep rumble emitted from his chest as he felt his cock hardening.  He knocked on her door.

“Y/N,” he called out, just loud enough for her to hear.  A soft moan came from the other side.  His eyelids shut tight at the sound.  It was time.  “I’m coming in,” he warned before opening the door.  He stepped inside and was hit with the scent full force, making his eyes and mouth water simultaneously.  Y/N was laying in the nest she built on her bed in the fetal position, one hand on her stomach and the other in between her legs, not yet touching herself but keeping pressure against her core.  “Honey…” he groaned as he locked the door behind himself and walked towards the bed.

“Alpha,” she breathed, her brow furrowed and eyes shut tight.  A cramp wracked through her whole body and she yelped in pain.  “It’s starting.  It hurts…hurts so bad,” she cried as she could feel a small gush of slick pour from her pussy as her body recognized the Alpha in the room.

“It’s gonna be okay, honey, I’m here,” he cooed at her, reaching his hand out and running his fingers along her leg from her ankle to her thigh.  “Let’s get you out of these, huh?” he said while lifting the hem of her shorts up slightly.  She nodded and blindly started pulling at her clothes.  Bucky helped her strip out of her layers then undressed himself, giving her naked body an appreciative glance.  He lay behind her on the bed, cocooning her in his arms and leaning his head into the crook of her neck and scenting her.  He could feel himself getting drunk off of her heat.  She was sending him into an early rut as his hips rocked against her ass slowly.  Y/N keened at that, her back arching and pushing her ass into his crotch further.  He moaned at the sensation, his arms tightening around her.  “Shh, Omega.  I got you,” he said as his voice dropped further, the Alpha coming through more prominently now.

“Bucky…” she sighed, her hands gripping his arms around her.  “Please…Alpha please,” she begged, her legs shaking as another cramp hit her.

Bucky moaned at the sound of his name said that way coming from her lips.  He started to lick and suck and kiss at the scent gland on her throat, making her gasp loudly.  His scent mixed with hers, and they quickly got lost in each other.  His hands found her breasts and massaged them firmly, his fingers tweaking her nipples and making her hips buck back into him again.  He twisted her body around to face him.  She quickly molded herself back to him, hiking her leg up and over his hip, her hands scratching down his chest.  He tried to remind himself one last time that this was just a friend helping a friend.  Then she kissed him.

The kiss broke the dam of hesitancy he was holding to desperately.  He quickly responded, his mouth opening and their tongues tangling as they tasted each other.  Bucky climbed on top of her, his knees forcing hers apart.  His fingers probed her lower lips, finding her clit and giving it all his attention.  Y/N’s hips writhed as he riled her up.  She watched his fingers dip into her, making her breath stutter.  She was already dripping for him so he plunged two fingers into her, thrusting them in and out while his thumb rubbed and flicked her clit.  

“Fuck Alpha,” she groaned.  “Just like that, shit!”

Bucky smiled as she cursed, her legs shaking against his.  She reached down and took his cock in her hand, giving him lazy pumps as he got her closer to her release.  He huffed a sharp breath.  “Damn, honey, oooh that’s good,” he said lowly.  “Give it to me, love, come on, you can do it.  Be such a good Omega for me,” he encouraged her as he curled his fingers as deep as he could reach.  

The tension in her core finally snapped, her first orgasm ripping through her at lightning speed, squirting slick all over his hand and his hips.  She let out a guttural moan, the sound reverberating through the air, making the Alpha inside of him scream to claim her.  He had to physically restrain himself as he pulled his fingers out of her.  She smiled as she watched him with hooded eyes.  He put his wet fingers in his mouth and licked them clean of her slick, his eyes rolling back at the taste.

“Alpha please, I need you.  Bucky, I want your big cock inside me…please!” Y/N begged again.  Normally it would embarrass her to be acting like this, she would have never dreamed of speaking to Bucky this way.  But they were beyond the point of no return.

“Condom first, Omega,” he reminded her in his authoritative voice.  “As much as I’d love to fill you up, I don’t think that’s what you want just yet.”

Y/N pouted, but the first orgasm had helped clear her brain a little bit, and pointed to the nightstand next to the bed.  Bucky quickly reached over and pulled open the top drawer, finding the box and pulling a few of them out.  He unwrapped one and slipped it on himself before settling back between her legs, backing up a little bit.  “Present, please, Omega.”

Y/N twisted herself onto her stomach, lifting her hips high and pressing the side of her face into the bed.  Bucky almost whimpered at the sight of her sweet pussy, seeing the way he had made her drip with slick, the skin softly puckering in anticipation.  “Prettiest pussy I’ve ever seen Y/N, goddamn,” he whispered huskily.  She preened at his praise, her ass raising a little higher.  He gave her ass a quick slap, making her yelp and shiver.  “You ready?” he asked, making sure she was still wanting this.

“Yes, please Alpha, Bucky…please!”

“You’re so sexy when you beg,” he slapped her ass again, then grabbed her hips and aimed himself at her entrance.  He slowly pushed in the tip of his cock, the fat head catching just past her lower lips, making them both groan.  He kept pushing until he was fully seated inside her, letting her adjust to his size.  Y/N was keening again, a high pitched tone ringing through the air.  After a moment she wriggled her hips, silently asking him to thrust.  A deep growl emanated from Bucky’s throat and he pulled back until it was just the tip inside, then snapped his hips back into her hard. 

Y/N was making the sweetest noises he’d ever heard as he pummeled his cock into her.  She whimpered and moaned, making him hook an arm around her hips and lay his stomach across her back, quick huffs of his breath warming her shoulder.  He could feel her walls fluttering around him, making the rhythm of his hips stutter.  “Fuck, honey, you gonna cum?”  She nodded as her moans got louder.  He flipped her back over onto her back so he could watch her release, leaving barely any room between them as he hovered over her.  Her hands wound around the back of his neck, scratching his scalp with her nails.  “Goddammit, do that again,” he heard himself whimpering this time.  She scratched from the top of his head down to his neck and pulled him in for another kiss.

He reached between their bodies and started flicking her clit as he chased his own high.  “Bucky, oh my God,” she squealed against his lips as her back arched and her legs clung to his hips.  “Yes, yes, yes, shit…mark me.”

Bucky didn’t stop thrusting but tensed at her words.  “No, Y/N, you don’t want that.”

“Yes, I do, with you, Bucky,” she gasped.

“Omega,” he warned her, his eyes flashing.  “We can talk about that when I’m not balls deep inside you.”

Y/N tensed at his Alpha command, her legs loosening around him.  “I want you to be my Alpha, my mate.”

“God fucking dammit,” Bucky stopped thrusting and leaned on his elbows above her.  “Y/N, listen to me, you don’t want that.  You said you wanted a clear choice, remember?”  Y/N was silent and wide eyed as she watched him, slightly nodding her head.  “This isn’t a clear choice.  Your first heat in how many years?  It’s your hormones talking, honey.  And believe me, I’d love to mark you, claim you, bond and mate with you.  Stuff you full of me,” he thrust again, making her eyes roll back, “and breed you with my pups.  But we can talk about all that later.  Right now, I’m here to help you through this, because you’re my best friend, and…I’m ridiculously in love with you.”  He finally said it.  “I want to be yours, and I want you to be mine.  But when it’s both of us with clear heads and a clear choice.  Okay?”

Y/N’s eyes were watery as she listened to him.  “You’re in love with me?”

Bucky huffed a laugh, “Is that all you got out of that?”

She shook her head, “No, but it’s the most important thing.  I’m in love with you.”

He smiled wide and leaned down to give a quick kiss to her nose.  “Can I continue now?”

She nodded again, and he gave her another thrust to get her going again.  Her slick started to make squelching noises as he picked up the pace again, his knot starting to catch at her entrance, his hand reaching to her clit again and trailing kisses down her throat to her scent gland, licking and sucking at it again.

“One day, if you’ll have me, I’ll bite this pretty neck,” he moaned in her ear as her fingers dug into his back.  “Make you mine.”

“Yours, all yours, Bucky…Alpha,” Y/N groaned, leaning her head up and scenting him back.  Her soft lips and her tongue against his gland had his eyes rolling in his head again and his fingers gripping her hips harshly.  “That’s right.  Mine.  Mine…mine,” he thrusted harder and faster, angling her hips up to hit deeper.

Y/N screamed his name as she finally came, her hands digging into the flesh between his neck and shoulder, scratching his scent gland and making him see stars as he came with a yell, his knot fully inflating and latching him to her as she nearly squeezed the dear life out of him.  He fell on top of her, and she held him as he calmed down, both of them panting and sweaty.  

A heady scent filled the air, a smell that screamed satisfied mates.  Bucky pulled himself to his side, holding her close so it wouldn’t hurt her to move with him, and covered them with the blankets from her nest.  Y/N was delirious after this first round of her heat, her head lolling with exhaustion.  “Rest, Omega.  We’ve still got a few days, and forever after that.”

She smiled sleepily, “Hmmm, my Alpha.”

[endless-ineffabilities]

Say Yes To Heaven

chapter 1 of the National Anthem series

President Aemond Targaryen x f!reporter reader

synopsis: a reporter finds herself entangled in an affair with Aemond Targaryen, the President of Westeros.

in this chapter: the President has a proposition for the reader, one which she finds almost impossible to refuse. Will she say yes to entering the enticing world that he so offers? Will she yes to him?

word count: 5.2k

themes/warnings: mild smut (18+), tension that can cut like a damn knife, language, mutual pining, use of power for the purposes of pursuing the reader (obviously, he IS the President)

series masterlist ▪︎ main masterlist

best to read the intro chapter before this one!

President Aemond Targaryen is in the second half of his tenure, and his presidency has already left an indelible mark on the political and historical landscape of Westeros.

From the start, Aemond's detractors were convinced he couldn’t do it. At just 28, they saw him as too young and too much a product of the Targaryen political dynasty. His election, they claimed, was less about his abilities and more about his family’s influence. Who’s to say he wasn’t just a puppet, with the real power lying in the hands of his powerful relatives? 

Now, two and a half years later, the country has seen what Aemond Targaryen can do. King’s Landing, once a cesspool of crime and poverty, has undergone a staggering transformation under his leadership. The capital’s streets now gleam with prosperity, lined with new businesses, cultural centres, and bustling markets. Even his detractors begrudgingly admit that his efficiency is something to marvel at. 

You’re aware of all this, of course. It’s part of the reason you were chosen to report on his presidency, giving the public a closer look at the enigmatic leader steering the nation. But lately, you can’t help but feel that your perspective on him has shifted, especially after that night in his private suite. 

Something lingers. You’ve started researching him more intensely, not because you have to, but because you want to. You pore over old interviews, articles, any scrap of information you can find. You’re supposed to be impartial, and you try to be. But you can’t deny that he fascinates you. 

Whatever it is, you’re determined to ignore it. You enjoy your work as a journalist, and you know you were extremely lucky to have landed a position at Highgarden News. Sure, you are still assigned to the team that reports on governmental affairs, but who’s to say that you can’t do your job from a distance? There is no need to get in deep into the thick of it all. The next time you see him, it can be as if that night in his suite at the Highgarden Hotel never happened. 

You are a professional. 

You know you are also a fool for thinking you can ever resist the attraction, but that does not matter.

Aemond, he asked you to call him, but that must only be reserved for his friends. Those close to him. As far as you’re concerned, you’re just a field reporter doing her job while he is the most powerful man in the country. He must remain President Aemond Targaryen to you. Mister President. 

Never mind that he calls you angel, and that it might be the most beautiful name anyone has ever given you. 

Angel – it had sounded like prayer on his lips. 

What must his wife call him behind closed doors? My dear? My love?

Sitting in the fluorescent-lit office of Highgarden News, the weight of your attraction feels overwhelming. Your eyes linger too long on articles about Aemond, replaying clips of his speeches, watching the way his mouth moves when he talks. It’s pathetic. You close all the tabs, scolding yourself for letting it get this far.

“Still obsessing over him, huh?”

Theon’s voice snaps you back to reality. He’s leaning over your cubicle wall, grinning ear to ear. 

Heat rises to your cheeks. “I’m not obsessing,” you mutter, though you can tell from the smirk on Theon’s face that he isn’t buying it.

“Sure,” he teases, nodding mockingly. “You’ve had tabs on Mister President open all morning. Don't think I haven't noticed.”

“I’m doing research. It’s my job, you know. Presidential affairs, national policy, all that fun stuff.”

“Uh-huh.” Theon crosses his arms, his grin widening. “Because staring at his pictures is totally related to national policy.”

You throw a pen at him, laughing despite yourself. “I’m not staring at him! He’s the President of Westeros, and I’m just doing my job.”

Theon raises a brow and leans in, lowering his voice. “Come on, just admit it. You’ve got this crush on him. I won’t tell anyone. Well… not a lot of anyones, at least.”

“He’s married, Theon,” you groan. "That means I can’t be interested.”

“Yeah, and I bet that’s half the appeal,” Theon says, unfazed. “Forbidden fruit, baby. Besides, have you seen the guy? If he looked at me the way he looks at you, I won’t even think twice.”

You bury your face in your hands. The worst part is that he’s not entirely wrong. “Theon, please. I’m trying to work here.”

“You’re trying not to think about how good he probably looks out of that suit.” He winks at you, not missing a beat.

You laugh, shaking your head. “Why are you like this?”

“Because I’m your best friend, and it’s my job to remind you that you need to get laid.” He taps your desk, his grin softening into something more genuine. “Seriously, though. Be careful. I’ve seen the way he looks at you in those press conferences. That man is starved.”

You roll your eyes, but your heart is pounding in your chest. If only he knew the truth of what happened that night. “I’m sure it’s nothing,” you lie, trying to sound casual.

Theon raises an eyebrow, giving you a knowing look. “Whatever you say. By the way, Loras is looking for you.”

You freeze, the mention of your supervisor snapping you back into focus. “Loras? What for?”

Theon shrugs. “No idea. But he’s in his office, waiting for you. Sounds urgent.”

Your stomach flips. Anxiety builds up in your chest as you make your way down the hall to Loras’s office.

Please don’t let this be about Aemond.

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Loras is seated behind his desk when you walk in, flipping through a stack of papers. His sharp eyes flick up to meet yours as he gestures for you to sit.

“Thanks for coming,” he says, getting straight to the point. “I’ve got a pretty major opportunity for you.”

You nod, trying to keep your nerves in check. “What’s the assignment?”

“As you know, President Targaryen’s re-election campaign is kicking off soon,” Loras begins, his tone brisk and no-nonsense. “It’s one of the biggest political stories of the year. We need someone embedded with his team – full access to the President, travelling with him, covering every move.”

Your heart drops into your stomach. Oh no.

“And I want you to be that reporter,” Loras says, folding his hands as he looks at you expectantly. “You’re one of the few reporters we’ve got that are already pre-approved, and the best one for the task.”

You stare at him, your mind racing. “Me?”

“Yes, you.” Loras leans back in his chair, his gaze sharp. “You’ve been covering his administration ever since he got elected. You know him better than anyone else here.”

You swallow hard, trying to process what he’s saying. “That’s… a lot of responsibility.”

“It is,” Loras agrees. “But it’s also the kind of assignment that can make a career. Think of the exposure, the access. This is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.”

Your thoughts are spiralling. Travelling with Aemond? Watching him up close, day in and day out? You can barely keep it together after one night in his suite – how are you supposed to maintain professionalism while being that close to him for months?

“I don’t know if I’m the right person for this,” you say quietly, your voice barely above a whisper.

Loras raises an eyebrow, clearly surprised by your hesitation. "Why not? You’ve handled plenty of high-pressure situations before."

“It’s just… surely someone else is better qualified. What about Theon? He did a great job at covering the Lannister scandal last year,” you say, searching for the right words. How do you explain that the mere sight of Aemond makes your pulse race?

“That was gossip fodder. The President’s affairs are a completely different territory than what you’re going to cover here. This is serious news. A definitive political profile if you do it well, and I know you will.” Loras watches you for a moment, then leans forward, his voice lowering. “And I’ll be honest with you. The President specifically asked for you to cover the campaign.”

Your heart stops. “What?”

“He requested you by name,” Loras says, a small, knowing smile playing on his lips. “I don’t know what’s going on between you two, and frankly, I don’t care. But if the President wants you on this assignment, I suggest you take it. For your sake – and for the sake of the agency.”

He asked for me? The words send a thrill through you, even as you try to tamp it down. 

“I’ll think about it,” you say, trying to keep your voice steady.

“Don’t take too long,” Loras says. “The campaign starts next week. I need your answer as soon as possible.”

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Hours later, you sit alone at your kitchen table, the contract in front of you. The paper feels heavy, like it’s mocking you. The more you think about it, the more your resolve weakens. This is an opportunity like no other. The benefits are staggering – the access, the prestige, the career-defining stories you could write. But then there’s him.

You know you should sign it and get it over with, but something inside you hesitates. A voice, small but insistent, telling you this is a bad idea. That if you do this, you’ll fall deeper into the pull of him, into something you can’t control.

But then your phone buzzes, and you glance down to see a message that sends your heart into overdrive.

Dinner tomorrow. 8 PM. I’ll have someone pick you up. - Aemond

You swallow hard, a mix of surprise and dread washing over you. How does he even have my number? But then again, he’s the President – of course he has access to everything. This isn’t a question; it’s a command, and he knows exactly how to get you. He must sense your wavering resolve.

Your fingers tremble as you type out a reply.

- Why? What for?

His response is immediate. I just want to discuss something with you, angel.

- The assignment. Did you really ask for me?

Yes. I did.

You hesitate, your mind racing through the implications.

- I’m considering it.

Allow me to convince you. Come see me tomorrow.

- Nothing can happen between us.

Understood. 

But I can’t pretend that I’m not curious about what could.

- You know what they say about curiosity.

So, what do you say? You take a moment, biting your lip, the playful banter igniting something inside you.

- Fine, I can agree to dinner. But we’ll keep it completely professional.

Deal. Looking forward to it, angel.

Good night.

- Good night to you too, Mister President.

Don’t test me, angel.

A shiver runs down your spine the moment you read those words. His response feels like both a promise and a threat – the kind that ignites something deep inside you. The kind that sends images flashing through your mind, unbidden, making your legs clench together despite your hesitation.

The three little dots disappear as you lock your phone and drop it onto the cushion beside you, as if cutting off the connection to Aemond will somehow help you regain control over your own thoughts.

Tomorrow, you swear to use every ounce of willpower you have to keep things professional. You just hope it’s enough.

A fool, indeed.

･ ⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･

The next night, you're standing in front of the mirror, smoothing down the fabric of your blouse for what feels like the hundredth time. It’s appropriate – a crisp white blouse tucked into a knee-length skirt, modest enough for any work setting, but there’s something about the way you’ve put it together tonight. The way the blouse hugs your figure just right, the slight sheen of the fabric catching the light, the way the skirt fits snugly at your waist.

It’s nothing special, you tell yourself. Perfect for the occasion, suited for the upscale location you’ll likely be heading to. But deep down, you know better. You want to look good for him. And that very thought makes your stomach twist.

You adjust your hair one more time, glancing at the clock. It's almost time. You can handle this, you remind yourself. It’s just dinner. Just a business conversation. You’ve done this a hundred times before.

But you’ve never done this with him. And no matter how hard you try to ignore it, the anticipation buzzing through your veins is impossible to shake.

Suddenly, there’s a knock at the door. You smooth your skirt one more time and walk over, taking a deep breath before opening it.

You’re greeted by the sight of two familiar faces: the same two members of Aemond’s security detail who escorted you to his penthouse that night.

They’re as imposing as you remember – tall, sharp in their tailored suits, one blonde and one brunette, with eyes that give nothing away. The only difference tonight is the extravagant bouquet of flowers in the hands of one of them.

The flowers are breathtaking, an arrangement of deep red roses intertwined with white lilies that feel far too intimate for something as innocent as dinner. But then again, they could very well be a reflection of Aemond’s intentions.

“Good evening, ma’am,” the blonde says, his voice low and composed. “These are for you. From the President.”

Your heart skips a beat. Of course they are. You swallow, glancing at the flowers as if they could explain everything.

The fragrance wafts up to you, rich and intoxicating. You can’t help but wonder if this is just the beginning of the night’s games. Your fingers tremble slightly as you take the bouquet, its weight heavy in your arms, both literally and metaphorically.

“For me?” you murmur, as if the answer isn’t obvious. 

“Yes, ma’am,” the man confirms. “The car is ready when you are.”

You leave the flowers on the kitchen counter, stealing one last glance at them before closing the door to your apartment. They feel like a message – a reminder of who you’re dealing with tonight. Aemond Targaryen does not do things subtly.

Soon enough, you’re sitting in the back of a sleek black car, your hands nervously twisting in your lap. The city lights blur past the window, but all you can think about is the man waiting for you inside the restaurant.

After a few moments of silence, curiosity nudges at you. “I suppose you both already know who I am,” you say lightly, your voice cutting through the quiet hum of the car. “Probably more than I’d wish for you to know. So, would you care to tell me your names?”

The man in the passenger seat – the blonde – turns slightly, a smile playing on his lips. “I’m Steve, ma’am,” he says, his tone friendly and warm, a stark contrast to the serious atmosphere.

“James,” the other one says from behind the wheel, his voice low and gruff, eyes fixed on the road ahead. There’s a certain sternness about him, like he’s perpetually on duty.

“Steve and James,” you repeat, letting the names settle into your mind, humanising them. You glance at Steve. “So, James doesn't talk much?”

Steve chuckles, casting a quick glance at his partner. “That's just how he is,” he says. “You’ll get used to him. We all have.”

James doesn’t react, his focus still entirely on driving. You smirk softly to yourself, feeling some of the tension in the car ease with Steve’s casual demeanour. 

But the thought of their boss – the boss of the entire damn country, one could say – lingers heavy in the back of your mind.

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The car pulls up to the restaurant, a lavish affair located on the grounds of an exclusive country club just outside the city. As you step out, you recognize the place instantly – The Old Valyria, a restaurant housed in a grand, ornate building that looks more like a palace than a dining establishment. The stone facade is intricately carved, its old-world charm unmistakable.

You’d covered an event here earlier in the year, reporting on one of the prestigious galas held by the Highgarden elite. But tonight, even as a familiar face in the city, you feel like an outsider in this world. The guests you spot entering and leaving are dressed in the finest attire, their movements confident, as if they were born into this luxury.

But then you see him.

Aemond stands just outside the grand entrance, his tall frame unmistakable even from a distance. He’s dressed in a sleek black suit, but what catches you off guard is how casual it seems on him, especially with the black shirt underneath, its top buttons undone. It’s a departure from the rigid, formal image you’re used to seeing in the media. His silver hair is tousled, looser tonight, giving him a youthful, almost rebellious edge.

Your breath catches in your throat as he spots you and strides forward with purpose. His presence, as always, commands attention, but tonight you notice something softer in his expression. 

He reaches for you the moment you’re close enough, his fingers brushing over yours before lifting your hand to his lips. The kiss on the back of your hand is slow, deliberate. His eyes stay locked on yours the entire time, and you can’t control the heat that flushes through your body. 

“That gesture doesn’t seem very professional,” you manage, your voice a bit shakier than you intended.

Aemond smirks, a spark of amusement flickering in his eyes. He straightens but doesn’t let go of your hand right away. “Sometimes certain gestures are worth bending the rules for, angel.”

You bite the inside of your cheek to keep from smiling. He’s already playing with boundaries, the charming bastard, making it harder for you to maintain your resolve. And you haven’t even made it to the table yet.

“Shall we?” he says smoothly, gesturing toward the entrance.

･ ⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･

The restaurant is even more breathtaking from within. Crystal chandeliers hang from a vaulted ceiling adorned with intricate frescoes, and the soft glow of candlelight reflects off the polished marble floors. 

You’re guided to a secluded table near the back, tucked away from prying eyes. Aemond holds your seat out for you, and you thank him, smoothing your skirt as you settle in and try to compose yourself. 

He sits across from you, his gaze never leaving yours. He appears at ease, but there’s a sharpness in his eyes, a sense that he’s in control of every detail – of the night, of the atmosphere. Of you. 

“Thank you for coming,” he says, his lips curving into a small, satisfied smile. “I wasn’t sure if you would.”

“It was kind of hard to refuse the President,” you reply, trying to sound casual.

He chuckles softly. “Be that as it may, you could have, and yet here you are.”

The waiter appears, setting down wine glasses and pouring a deep, red vintage. You take a sip, hoping it’ll steady your nerves. Aemond watches you over the rim of his glass, his gaze glinting with something that you desperately wish to ignore. 

“I know you’ve been thinking about that night,” Aemond says, his voice low and smooth, cutting through the quiet like a blade.

You almost choke on your wine. Leave it to him to cut to the chase. “I… I don’t –” you stammer, but he doesn’t let you finish.

“I’ve been thinking about it too,” he continues, leaning forward slightly, his gaze piercing. “It’s not something I think I can ever forget, angel.”

Your throat feels dry, and you struggle to keep your composure. “It was a mistake.”

Aemond’s lips twitch, amusement flickering in his eyes. “A mistake?” He leans back, swirling the wine in his glass. “If that’s what you want to call it.”

“I came here because you said you have something you want to discuss, sir,” you say, more firmly this time. “My supervisor informed me that – ”

“Sir.” Aemond clicks his tongue, the word dripping with distaste as his expression shifts into something darker. His brow furrows briefly, and you think you’ve hit a nerve, but then his lips twitch into a smirk, his amusement unmistakable.

His posture is relaxed yet deliberate, his eyes gleaming with mischief. “I have to admit, I was about to protest. To tell you I never want you to call me something so impersonal as that.” His smirk widens, and there’s a spark of playful danger in his gaze. “But then… a scenario came to mind.”

“What scenario?” you ask, the words slipping out before you can stop them. 

His smile turns devilish as he leans forward slightly, elbows resting on the table, his fingers lacing together. “One where you do call me sir,” he says, his voice dropping lower, more intimate now. “But not in the way you just did. Not with that sharp, cold professionalism. No…” He lets the sentence hang in the air for a moment, drawing it out, savouring it. “In a different setting. One where it’s… earned.”

Your heart stutters, your breath catching as the meaning behind his words sinks in. Heat blooms in your cheeks, and you quickly break eye contact, staring down at the table as you try to collect yourself. 

“That’s… not what I meant,” you say, your voice unsteady, trying to bring the conversation back to safer ground. But it’s too late.

Aemond doesn’t seem fazed by your attempt to regain control. If anything, the flicker of a grin on his lips tells you he’s pleased with how easily you’ve been disarmed.

“Of course,” he says smoothly. “You’re here for a discussion.”

“I’m here for the assignment,” you manage to say. “To discuss my role. Professionally.”

His smirk fades into something more thoughtful, though the tension between you continues to coil tighter with every second that passes. “Is that how you really want to play this?”

“It’s the only way to play this,” you reply.

“Oh, is it?” Aemond’s voice is low, almost a whisper. “You always have a choice. You could walk out of here right now, tell your supervisor you’ve changed your mind, that you’re not up for the assignment.” He pauses, his eyes narrowing slightly as he studies you. “But you won’t.”

You swallow hard, his words hitting you squarely. He’s right, isn’t he?

“You need this job,” Aemond continues, his voice smooth as silk. “But I think it’s more than that. I think you want to be here. In my orbit.”

Of course he’s right, but admitting that would be walking into a trap. One that you might not be able to escape. 

“You’re wrong,” you say quietly, though the words sound weak, even to your own ears.

“Angel… I don’t think I am.”

For a moment, everything hangs in the balance, the tension thrumming in the air. It would be so easy to let go. To give in to whatever this is. But you can’t. Not yet.

You sit up straighter, forcing yourself to meet his eyes again. “As I mentioned, I came here for the assignment,” you say, more firmly this time, regaining some of your composure. “So, if there’s something you need to discuss, let’s talk about that.”

Aemond watches you for a moment, his gaze lingering on your face, searching for something. Then, finally, he sits back, exhaling softly as if deciding to play along – for now.

“Very well,” he says, his tone shifting back to something more neutral, though you can tell he’s not finished with you yet. “We’ll have dinner, and then discuss.”

･ ⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･

The dinner goes better than you expected. Aemond is calm, composed, and – surprisingly – reigning himself in. He makes casual conversation, steering the discussion toward neutral topics. Politics, the upcoming campaign, even light-hearted comments about the restaurant. Every word is measured, delivered with that cool confidence you know so well.

But no matter how carefully he plays it, the tension simmers just beneath the surface, a constant pulse between you. Every glance he steals in your direction, every time his hand brushes yours as he reaches for his glass, it sends a jolt through your body. You feel it, deep in your core, the magnetic energy that makes it impossible to stay unaffected. Like the way his eyes linger on your lips when you smile… it’s all so subtle, but dripping with intention.

By the time dessert arrives, your heart is racing, and you’re almost grateful when the dinner ends. Because while Aemond has kept it together, you’re not sure how much longer you can.

･ ⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･

The ride back is a different story.

You sit on one side of the sleek, leather seat, your body tense, trying to create as much distance between you and Aemond as possible. He’s stoic, seemingly focused on something else entirely, his eyes fixed on the window as the city lights flash by. But the air inside the car is practically electric.

It’s only when you glance forward that you notice the screen divider has been put up. Steve, or maybe James – you’re not sure who did it – must have done it without you noticing. The realisation sinks in, laden with meaning. What did they think would happen? What did they expect?

Your pulse quickens. You cross your legs, a nervous habit, but when you do, your skirt rides up just a little too high, exposing more of your thigh than you intended.

That’s when you notice Aemond’s gaze shift. His eyes, dark and intense, flick down to your leg. The moment hangs in the air, thick and heavy. His face, calm and controlled just a second ago, hardens with something primal. And that look – it’s all it takes to flick a switch inside you.

In a flash, he’s on you.

The restraint he held so carefully through dinner shatters. His hands are on you, gripping your thighs, pulling you toward him, and his mouth crashes against yours, hungry, desperate, ravaging. You let out a gasp, but it’s swallowed by the intensity of his kiss, his tongue sliding against yours with a raw urgency that leaves you breathless.

You meet him in the middle of the seat, your bodies colliding with a heat you’ve tried so hard to ignore. His hands are everywhere, sliding under your now untucked blouse, searching, gripping, pulling you closer. The feel of him against you, the strength in his hands, the way he kisses you like he’s starving – it sends a rush of warmth straight through your core.

Your head spins, your breath coming in shallow gasps between kisses as you manage to push back, if only for a second. “We can’t,” you whisper, your voice shaky, weak. But you’re not pulling away. Your hands are still tangled in his hair, your body still pressed against his.

“Fuck, I know, angel,” Aemond growls, his mouth moving to your neck, his breath hot against your skin. “But I want you…” His words trail off, full of frustration.

You should stop this. Every logical part of your mind screams at you to pull away, to remember who he is, who you are. This can’t happen. Not with him. Not like this. But the other part of you – the part that’s burning, aching for him – doesn’t care. That part wants him more than anything.

His lips find yours again, and this time, it’s slower. His hand pushes your skirt higher, his fingers grazing your bare skin. You kiss him back, your hands sliding down his chest, gripping his shirt as if it’s the only thing keeping you grounded.

Between kisses, you manage to pull back, your lips barely an inch from his. “We can't do this... sir,” you whisper, your voice trembling, the word sir meant to ground you, to remind yourself that he’s your superior, that this is wrong. But even as you say it, the way your body reacts to him betrays the word’s other meaning.

It shifts something inside him. You see it. His eyes darken, his breathing quickens, and for a moment, it’s like a switch has been flipped.

Aemond growls low in his throat, the sound vibrating between your bodies as his hand grips your thigh even harder, pulling you flush against him. “Say that again,” he murmurs, his voice rough, his lips brushing against your jaw as he speaks. “Call me that again.”

Your breath hitches, a dizzying mixture of fear and desire coursing through you. “Sir,” you whisper, and the way his body responds – the way his fingers dig in the soft flesh of your thighs – it’s overwhelming.

He kisses you, sucking on your bottom lip. He moves his hand higher, fingers grazing the inside of your thigh, teasing the heat pooling between your legs, and you let out a gasp, your body trembling against him.

“This is wrong,” you whisper, but your legs clench around his hand, trapping it within, pressed against the material of your panties.

“We can’t… sir,” you repeat, but the word sir falls from your lips like a plea, and it’s the final straw.

“Fuck,” he growls, his mouth hot against your neck, his words slurred with need. “You keep saying that we can’t, but I don’t think you mean it.”

He’s right. You don’t.

But just as his fingers nudge the material of your panties to the side, his thumb teasing your clit, the car slows, the outside lights shifting. Reality crashes back in – suddenly, you’re aware of the sound of the tires on gravel, of the car pulling up to the curb. You blink, the haze of heat between you shattering as the car stops.

“We’re here,” you whisper, breathless, your body still pressed against his.

For a moment, Aemond’s hand freezes on your thigh, his breath hot against your neck as he pulls away just slightly. He looks at you, his gaze still dark, filled with that same intensity, but there’s a flicker of something else now. Frustration.

You take a deep, shaky breath and pull yourself back, your lips swollen, your body still burning. “This can’t happen again,” you say, your voice unsteady, though you don’t even believe your own words.

Aemond doesn’t respond at first. His eyes stay locked on yours, and for a second, you wonder if he’s going to drag you back into him, consequences be damned. But then, slowly, torturously, his hand slides higher again, fingers curling under the waistband of your panties.

Your breath catches in your throat, the world narrowing to the sensation of his touch. Then, with steady precision, he pulls the delicate fabric down, his fingertips grazing over the slick, sensitive lips of your cunt. The touch sends a shockwave through your body, a shiver of need that leaves you breathless.

Aemond slips your panties off in one smooth motion, and with a smirk that’s maddening, tucks them into the pocket of his trousers, his eyes never leaving yours. The gesture is possessive, unhinged, filled with a promise that you know you can’t outrun.

“See you soon,” he murmurs, his voice low. His lips curl into that same wicked smirk, but this time it’s softer, almost reverent as he adds, "Angel."

The word hangs in the air as you step out of the car.

You’re his angel, and there is no turning back now. 

Series only taglist (comment to be added) - @aemond-lover98 @pinkpeachbloom @whencokewascasual @salinaiacono6 @mycheersricochet @bloodstained-porcelain-doll @chattylurker

General HotD taglists (refer here)

Vhagar taglist 1 - @kravitzwhore @litchifaerie @g-cf2020 @noxytopy @fan-goddess @m00n5t0n3 @diannnnsss @nsr-15 @the-awkward-barbie @rockstwrsz @yellowstonebaby @urdeftonesgrrrl @eddieslut69 @callsigncrushx @starwarsdinosaur @qweq-6802 @tulips2715 @hotdismylife @joyismm @itseunaimonia @just-mj-or-not @crystal-siren @zaldrizzes @all-for-aemond @ajantanijhum @darylandbethfanforever9 @vhwyrm @purpleskiesandroses @technicallystrangereview @jjkysnk @anukulee (continued...)

Some notes in the margins...

Well... that sure escalated quickly. How could you have ever resisted? Good luck keeping it professional on the campaign trail, angel. 😇

Some new characters are introduced: Loras and Theon. Steve and James (*wink*). Soon we'll meet the Vice President, the campaign manager. etc. etc.... the wife (!!!)

Let me know how you're faring! It's only just begun 🤍

[phyrexian-lesbian]

*sigh*

people being all 'regeneration doesn't work that way!' always amuse me because like

it's made up fake sci-fi nonsense to justify changing actors

other time lords have abilities we never see the doctor use, like choosing their body and changing it immediately after regenerating

the doctor canonically failed time lord school and is just Bad At This

[gnomewithalaptop]

Y'know, it's so funny to me when people make out like Tim Drake would keep files on how to take down his friends when Tim has explicitly said he disagrees with Batman on this:

[Young Justice (1998) #36]

Like, yes, during his Red Robin tenure he does make a Hit List full of contingency plans for known heroes. But if you go and read that, you'll notice that, while the Justice League and Damian may be on there, Tim's own friends are decidedly absent:

[Red Robin (2009) #14]

In fact, a lot of these heroes are people that have either (a) attacked Tim specifically, (b) have a track record that includes turning evil/getting mind controlled, or (c) are on the JLA (meaning Batman probably already had those files compiled and Tim just stole them).

So yeah: Tim's not down with contingency-planning for his friends. You know which one of the YJ crew DID agree with Batman though? My favorite blorbina Anita Fite, aka Empress:

[Young Justice (1998) #36]

But yeah, this contrast is honestly fascinating to me. Because while both Anita and Tim have been shown to be incredibly loyal individuals, this exchange really highlights the fact that, between the two of them, Anita is far more likely to engage in this kind of pragmatism when she thinks it's necessary to get the job done

The whole Our Worlds at War arc actually does a really good job of illustrating how both of them react to betrayal from within. It's not just the Batman Files conflict either -- I'm thinking specifically about the hallucination-based torture Granny Goodness put them through, which showed them their worst fears. Most of the team ended up having to watch their loved ones die, but what's super interesting to me is that we really only see Anita and Tim hallucinate that their loved ones blame them for their deaths:

[Young Justice (1998) #37]

Like. It's not the same as a teammate turning evil at all. But it does give us a good idea of how they'd both react when faced with a friend or teammate doing harmful things, albeit on a smaller scale. Because where Tim kind of just accepts Superboy yelling at him and moves straight into bargaining for Kon's life, Anita actually flips the script, gets angry, and defends herself against her father:

[Young Justice (1998) #37]

(she actually gets so righteously pissed off that she manages to break out of the VR simulation Granny Goodness had her trapped in, but that's another point)

But yeah, it's super interesting, because by this point, both Anita and Tim have been set up to be very similar characters. They both can be a little bit obsessive, they both have some issues with boundaries and stalking (Tim with Nightwing and Batman, Anita with Cissie), and of the team, they're both portrayed as the "normal" members (Anita does technically have mind control powers but she barely ever uses them, and in a fight, she's basically just a very good, human-level fighter)

But at the end of the day, though Batman forces Robin to put on a cool front of objectivity, Tim (at least in his pre-grief-spiral era) ultimately wants to see the best in his team. When the people he cares about screw up, he wants to give them second chances. And when that trust gets broken, his first instinct is to try to use diplomacy, or, failing that, simply remove himself from the situation (as we see at the end of the Our Worlds at War arc when he quits the team)

Anita, on the other hand, while still incredibly loyal, does not hand out that loyalty unconditionally. We see this when she tries to keep her identity secret from the YJ squad, we see it when she gets pissed in Granny Goodness's hallucination when her father blames her for her mother's death, and we see it when she later blames Secret for her perceived role in Anita's father's death

Anita also happens to sit right smack dab in the middle of the YJ morality scale; while she's generally pretty chill and willing to abide by typical superhero codes of ethics (unlike Slobo and Secret), she's also been shown to bend those rules when she believes it's necessary (as seen here when she tortures and threatens to kill a man for trying to hurt Cissie). Ultimately, what this means is, between Tim and Anita, it's honestly Anita who'd probably be the most willing to put her personal qualms aside, buckle down, and go against her loved ones if it was the only reasonable option

Anyway. This is a really long-winded way of saying I think Gun Batman's biggest nemesis should be Empress

[narraboths]

“You got anything to tell me about yesterday’s interview, Ponytail?”

Being cornered by one’s editor is rarely a good sign. Being cornered by a harried Snapper Carr one month into her tenure as a rookie reporter would be enough to give others nightmares for a month. Maybe ulcers. Kara, though, she’s been having a great week, and she’s not about to let anyone ruin it.

“Nope.” She pops the p a little. Something about Snapper’s moroseness always pushes her to be spitefully chipper.

“Nothing out of the ordinary?”

“Not at all.”

“Hm.” Snapper nurses the thought with that dour, toothachey look that Kara’s come to learn is directed at her just as much as it is a sign of his general displeasure with the world. He pulls out his phone, jabbing at the screen. “So do you mind explaining to me why my cub reporter is on the front page of every gossip rag from here to Metropolis as the Mystery Blonde Caught in Luthor’s Web?”

That can’t be right is immediately the tip of Kara’s tongue but it freezes there, along with the incredulous laugh threatening to burst out of her, because Snapper is shoving his phone in her face and–

“It’s not what it looks like,” she blurts out, instinctively, then winces at her own choice of words. Great save. “I was just being considerate.”

It’s true, really. She was only holding the door open for Lena as they left L-Corp (Lena was on the move the whole day, they did half of the interview in the back of her Range Rover, flitting between offices), and it only happened that Lena’s hand fell to her forearm, a completely innocent gesture, as innocent as Lena’s smile, as the way she swayed a little closer, saying thank you as she strode by. And sure, Kara may have felt mesmerized for a single, fleeting moment, suddenly so deeply flustered by the gentle weight of Lena’s hand that she almost cracked the door handle in two, but who wouldn’t? Lena Luthor just has a remarkable presence. Why are they letting paparazzi camp out at the L-Corp doorstep, anyways?

“I’ve never seen Luthor that affectionate with anyone.” Snapper eyes Kara suspiciously, his face screaming why you of all people, bumbling rookie who can barely even spell?. “I’ve never seen any of the Luthors affectionate with anyone at all.”

“Guess it’s just my natural charm, sir.” Kara flashes the most annoyingly innocent smile she can, then squares her shoulders. “Did you actually read my article?”

There’s a beat of silence, Snapper staring daggers at her. Then finally, finally, he lets out an annoyed huff.

“Of course I read it. It’s going out first thing tomorrow.” He pockets his phone, then rubs his face with a tired motion. “Make sure this doesn’t happen again.”

“You got it, boss.”

-

It happens again.

It happens again a bunch, really. (Kara at the L-Corp gala, at Lena’s table, the two of them in lively conversation, shoulders pressed together – she was telling me about L-Corp’s new green energy initiative, sir –, the fond smile and almost-teasing tone when Lena calls “yes, Miss Danvers?” at her press conference – she’s just nice! It’s not a crime! –, the candid of them on the CatCo balcony when Lena’s in house for her cover shoot, Kara gesturing excitedly and Lena leaning against the railing, hanging onto every word, a jacket two sizes too big wrapped around her shoulders – you know it gets cold out there. At least there’s no photos of her wrapping the jacket around Lena, their hands brushing together, the faint blush along the lines of Lena’s throat. That’d probably look pretty suspicious.) Snapper’s face takes on increasingly vivid shades of purplish red.

“Do we need to go over the meaning of journalistic integrity again, Danvers?”

Kara decides to take graduating from “Ponytail” as a win.

“We’re not– it’s not anything untoward,” she shoots back, arms crossed, only slightly blushing. In anger, certainly. “I’m doing my job. I grilled her on L-Corp still holding a contract with the government for anti-alien defense systems that Lex negotiated, just last week. There’s footage.”

“Yeah,” Snapper grinds his teeth so vehemently that Kara’s afraid he might crack a crown. “Footage of her hugging you in the hallway afterwards, too. What the hell were you doing?”

“She just thanked me, sir.” The vein on Snapper’s neck looks ready to burst. Kara makes a mental note to recommend meditation at a less belligerent time. “She said my question made it possible for her to make a public stance and really send a message.”

Snapper looks like he’s nearing an aneurysm.

“Hell, Danvers, that sounds even worse!”

It sounded pretty great, actually, Kara thinks, after the borderline unprofessional row they had in Lena’s office when Kara first broached the subject. It felt pretty great, too, not just Lena’s declaration, her renewed commitment to reject everything Lex and Lillian stand for, but the warmth of Lena’s pressed against her, her lips brushing against Kara’s cheek, the low murmur of “you’re such a wonderful friend” in her ear that gave her such a strange shiver. At least that much thankfully escaped the prying eyes and cameras.

“Either I don’t go near her, or CatCo continues to have the leading stories on one of National City’s most high-profile citizens.” She gives Snapper the steeliest look she can muster without letting her heat vision flare up. “And my covers are currently bringing in our biggest numbers. Sir.”

Snapper grinds his teeth again, but his shoulders sag just a touch, and Kara knows she’s won this round.

“You’re on thin ice, Danvers. Back to your desk.”

Kara complies with a grin and a thumbs up, and decides to take a break half an hour later, when Alex forwards her an article titled Bosom Buddies: Lena Luthor Out And About With CatCo Gal Pal with a subtle mix of skull, knife, and eyeroll emojis. She does save one of the photos, though, the one where Lena’s head’s thrown back in adorable, delightful laughter.

-

“Can you explain this one, Danvers?”

Snapper doesn’t look angry this time. No, he’s strangely calm, somewhat elated, even, slamming a whole bundle of newspapers down on her desk, jolting Kara out of her reverie. Half of them are National City publications, Kara vaguely notes, but there’s Metropolis and Gotham and Central City in the mix, too, as if it was the story of the century. Must be a slow news day.

“Of course, sir. I think the proper term is ‘first date’?”

To her greatest surprise, Snapper barks out a laugh, loud and gruff.

“You’re now barred from any future reporting on the Luthors or L-Corp,” he tells her, not without a touch of satisfaction. If Kara hadn’t been walking on sunshine for the past thirteen hours, twenty-eight minutes and forty-one seconds, since the first tentative press of Lena’s lips against her own, she might’ve felt a bit miffed. “Cat Grant’s setting aside a little time later in the afternoon to chew you out personally.”

Kara nods happily along. Withering tones and grim disapproval, the usual spiel, as if anything could dull that buzzing, electrifying feeling coursing through her body since last night, the weightless, feverish joy that grips her every time she thinks of Lena’s last text and everything can’t wait to see you again tonight could possibly entail.

“Yessir.”

“Congratulations, Danvers.” Snapper raps his knuckles against her desk. “Let’s spare each other the heartburn from now on.”

- 

(Kara shows up with a hickey on her neck and the headlines of Lena Luthor Packs PDA With New Girlfriend the next day. Snapper refuses to look her in the eyes for the rest of the week.) 

[xanaxspritz]

my professor!nanami headcanons 🩵cw: teacher x student relationship, power imbalance, afab! reader, slightly aged up nanami, slight dub/non-con. minors pls DNI

professor!nanami was a man held in high regard among faculty and students at your university. with many research grants under his belt awards, and a fast-track to become tenured barely into his 30s, he was practically a campus celebrity.

when professor!nanami asked you to be his TA for the year, a highly coveted position, you nearly had a heart attack. elated, you accepted.

you spent a lot of time at professor!nanami's office. while you graded papers he was getting work done well past office hours. he showers you with compliments of your brilliance, your attentiveness, and your work ethic. "good girl" he praises you when you successfully complete a practice exam for the students with flying colors.

when professor!nanami gets up every half hour from his desk and "accidentally" brushes against your behind when using the printer. you swear you felt something stiff in his pants when he does

professor!nanami asks you what you're up to for the weekend one friday evening. "just studying, nothing planned so far" you shrug. "no plans?" he repeats. "its hard to believe such a beautiful young girl has nothing going to do on a Friday night," he smiles at you.

subsequently, professor!nanami invites you to dine at his place. a bonding activity he calls it. you learn he's also a hard drinker, drinking through 3 beers and nearly all of the champagne bottle he bought for you, while you're getting tipsy off a wine glass.

professor!nanami's gaze is studious and analytical while listening to you, almost as if you're delicious prey he's about to catch.

your face is growing hotter, and you're giggling nonstop at the funny cat-shaped clock he has in the kitchen."you're one of the best TAs ive ever had you know? always so obedient for me," he smirks sliding a hand on your thigh. your breath hitches as his hand wanders even further up, toying with the elastic band of your panties. it's no secret that professor nanami is a very attractive man. there's probably not a student that would hesitate to sleep with him. all this attention he's giving you, the intimate dinner, the thoughtful conversation, makes you feel even more special.

you allow him to get even closer. he slips a digit inside your already slick pussy. your lips touch his in a passionate kiss, his tongue masterfully entertwining yours with his. "are you still my good girl?he asks, breaking the kiss. his breath smells like sapporo beer, and he looks even hotter with button up shirt half undone. nod your head yes as he carries you to his couch, eager to have his way with you.

[augment-techs]

*screams loud enough that astronauts can probably hear me*

okay, let's see about that bloody Skull prompt:

Facial expression + Blood splatter outline~

So I know it’s not very exact. But I just went fuck all with this because it felt ✨hot✨

You’re welcome :)

[puppetwoman17]

Headcanon that all champions, at any point during their tenure, go through a wedding/mating/union officiant course to become a wedding officiant. It is usually only viable to being done for magic-user couples because it’s in no way legally binding outside of the Rock. However, if the champion is close with the couple, some binds can be loosened.

Now, the JL has been marooned somewhere during an invasion that of course had to happen before Dinah and Ollie’s wedding. The couple is crushed. Their friends are crushed. Everyone is crushed.

Fate is giving Billy a “you know what to do” look. Billy is looking away because fuck that, he’s not going to ruin his friends’ day. He’s done unions many times before, but he’s never done it with non-magic users and for some reason, it just feels weird to be the officiant for his friends. What if he does something wrong? What if he’s overestimating that he’s close with them in the first place?

Of course, Nabu has never learned how to be subtle or take notice of any kind of social cue, so he just outright says that Billy can do it.

Fate: Fret not, the Champion can take the officiant’s place—

Billy: Noooo he can’t.

Fate: Yes, he—

Billy: Nooo, he can’t.

Dinah: Billy, is this true?

Billy: Well—I mean—

Fate: I checked the backlogs, you completed the course when you were nine.

Billy: Nabu, you are SO not helping right now.

Ollie: Well that’s great news!

Billy: …Huh?

Ollie: Come on, Cap! You could totally help us with this!

Billy: I—You—Guys, if the couple isn’t consisted of at least one magic user, I can’t really…

Fate: There is a loophole. If the Champion is close with the couple, it can be done.

Dinah: Then there’s nothing to worry about! We’re plenty close!

Billy: *short circuiting because he genuinely thought Dinah and Ollie didn’t see him as a friend* Um…okay.

After the makeshift wedding…

Billy:*Taps Fate’s shoulder* Hey

Fate: Hm?

Billy: You’re banned from the Rock for the next two months.

Fate: 🙄