#people who hate people for being themselves make me fucking sick.
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How fucking clueless do you have to be to try and talk about politics that aren’t going on in your country that don’t affect you while you’re a fucking minor? I’m sorry that you’re anti-abortion and anti-lgbtq, but please fuck off. You can have an opinion, but don’t expect everyone to baby your sorry ass about it. You’re not from the U.S., you don’t get what it’s like right now with this bullshit.
#sunflower murmurs#I am so fucking pissed off#tw swearing#swearing tw#swearing#swearing in tags#tw abortion#abortion tw#tw abortion mention#abortion mention tw#abortion mention#people who hate people for being themselves make me fucking sick.
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I absolutely despise having a cold to a much greater degree than most people seem to (it's not "just a cold", it's a week of misery when I can't breathe or even sleep!) and one offshoot of that is I get absolutely crazy anxiety if I have to be around someone who seems like they have a cold (sniffling, sneezing, etc.). It literally drives me insane, and I've completely snapped a couple times when forced to be around a sick person for a long time. I have no trouble with flying/buses and so on normally but if I start hearing coughing I start to lose it. People are not understanding about this - they either laugh or are offended if I plead to change seats.
It overlaps with misophonia but it's not just that. Sometimes being around someone clearing their throat or chewing loudly will drive me insane even though I'm not worried they have a cold. But if they're sniffling but then I hear them say their allergies are really acting up - I actually stop feeling anxious!
#misophonia#anxiety#fwiw i barely sniffle when i have a cold so hearing someone do it makes me incredibly angry even though i *know* it's not a big deal#also while i'm at it people who don't cover their mouths or cover with their freaking hands can go fuck themselves#i am calm about most things but god do i hate being sick
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𓏲˳˚⊹ 🧸 become obsessed with yourself.
you are stupid. i said it. there. you are stupid.
let me get this straight. you are out here listening to these people who make you insecure. you are listening and actually giving a shit about people who put you down, make you feel unworthy, inferior, less of the absolute goddess that you are. you people please, you go above and beyond to help people & change yourself for people who would never do the same and for what. for people to like you? honey nobodys gonna like you. you dont even like yourself.
listen ml you need to get your priorities straight. sit down for a sec. like. just sit and genuinely ask yourself "what do i get out of this? how does this serve me?". go on, ask yourself. all these people who constantly think theyre better than you, that they can walk all over you, the ones that dont care a bit for you with their actions even if their words say otherwise, all these habits that only make you feel more low, more insecure, and dont align with where you wanna go in any way, shape or form. honey how in the hell does any of this serve you ???😭😭
i am sick to death of seeing the word selfish everywhere the moment somebody steps up and is brave enough to try and better themselves. the amount of times ive gotten "youre so selfish" or "youve changed" or "you werent like this before" jst because i got out of the most severe depression of my life where i came close to being unalive so many times is riDICULOUS and just shows how normalised insecurity and people pleasing is nowadays.
you see, people are always trying to follow the trend, follow the leader, follow everyone else nowadays. nobody actually honours what they want & that is a reflection of their own insecurity and traumas and emotions they are too scared to face. do you really want that for yourself? youve got such big dreams, such big potential, but what on earth do you do to fulfill them?
i dont think you realise just how limitless you actually are. you can do anything. we are all born the same. its only those with the courage to get up and try who will reach what they want and achieve greater things.
GET OBSESSED WITH YOURSELF. i am so DRAINED and TIRED of caring about what people think. i like something? im gonna do it. i dont care. fuck people pleasing. what are they gonna do when youre rich and famous and successful and thriving? YOU ARE THE ONLY VALIDATION YOU NEED. life is so much easier when you genuinely could not care less, like you just dont give a single shit. you are the only person who knows you inside out and will be there with you 24/7 365. it infuriates me how self hatred is so normalised nowadays. like what the actual fuck, why would you wanna spend your entire life hating the only person whos gonna be with you every second without fail, when you are perfectly capable of reversing that???? its ridiculous.
get up. get obsessed with yourself. the only validation you should be chasing is your own. pull yourself together girl. this is ridiculous. you are so much more than this. start acting like it. be ur own biggest fan. be ur own bestest friend. everything you need is already within you. u got this. 💕
#girlblogging#wonyoungism#it girl#pink pilates princess#self love#self concept#law of assumption#manifestation#that girl#loassumption#loa blog#dream girl
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ASTROLOGY FUCKING NOTES
WHY do people say that if someone's planets falls into your 7th house, then YOU'RE THEIR IDEAL LOVER??? Bitch bye. If someone's planets falls into YOUR 7th house, then U DIG THEM OR HATE EM, AS IT'S YOUR 7TH HOUSE! Let's say that your crush planets falls into your 1st and 7th house, then obviously u like their looks (1st house) and the way they show themselves off 2 other people, (how they treat other people/people u know (7th house! Don't project.
Pluto conjunct Ascendant in synastry, is a stalker aspect🤷♀️🤷♀️. It kinda reminds me of Hailey running around after Justin at his interviews, when they were young and he had no idea🤨🫣😭🤣 . SO FUCKING CREEPY. Pluto is obsessed, and way 2 "fixated" on the asc person. It can get dangerous, cuz ASC person has no idea about how deeply the obsession runs with Pluto, fr💀. The worst part is that they usually know that the Pluto person can be kinda "creepy", but not about how deep it actually runs. U won't ever really know with Pluto, cuz they won't even give out 20% of their secrets - they can't help it. Unless they literally have no aspects from Pluto 2inner planets in their own natal chart.
Your Bella asteroid - 695 conjunct/trine/quintile someone’s ASC means that the ASC person finds u really beautiful, (physical attraction) 🍒🫦. With the opposition it's on & off, like sometimes yeah and other times no - It switches. With the square/quincunx - takes time, but grows into a really strong attraction, the longer you're 2gether/know each other.
Why the fuck do people think that 8th house energy is only about sex and intense connections? If a person has planets in your 8th house = that person does not like u 9/10 times. They'll talk shit about u when u ain't present/gaslight u/do things behind your back. They're usually jealous of u. Trying 2 cross your personal boundaries all the fucking time. WHO GOT TIME4THAT?? NOT ME LOVE⚠⚠.
Why do Cap inner placements/points always get a "boring", or a "cold" rep? We just don't like u? Trust me. We'll show u a good time, if we think you're worth it.
Jupiter is not only good. It enlarges EVERYTHING. So if someone has Sado asteroid (118230) conjunct Jupiter in their natal chart = a very smart/knowledgeable Sadist. They want to know everything! Hours&hours of research. They can't get enough with Jupiter! They're into some sick shit, and can use some really AGGRESSIVE ways 2 create that "pain and suffering". "shhh, I'm here baby, it's okay"🤨. 9/10 times = addiction 2 being that Sado "teacher" with Jupiter here🔞🔞. They can even brag about it!
Nessus asteroid - 7066 in synastry can definitely cause sexual attraction. But the Nessus person will always take advantage of the other person, no matter what. It may not be as "in your face"/prominent, like it is with the conjunction/square/opposition, but it will take place. Some can like Nessus contacts in synastry, if they have Nessus aspecting their own planets - especially inner planets, or points. And they can also handle Nessus energy way more, than someone who doesn't really have any Nessus contact, as they're already used to it. It doesn't make it good tho.
WOMEN with Black Moon Lilith conjunct/square/opposite Mars can hate being touched by men. Can also have trouble regarding intimacy with men in general/bc of their experiences with them🪚🪚. I have this, and if a man touches me out of nowhere = I'll punch him back 2 the year he should have stayed in a fucking condom 🦄.
Lilith asteroid - 1181) in 3rd house synastry can mean that the house persons siblings doesn't like Lilith if it's "poorly" aspected😮💨😮💨. Or that house persons siblings doesn't even want 2 try 2 create a relationship, because they already heard so much "shit" about Lilith🫠🫠.
💜 Pluto conjunct asteroid Valentine - 447) in a natal chart loves so fucking hard. They'll literally take a bullet 4 the person they love. They don't “create” a connection with anyone easy either. They're so intense when it comes 2 love, and with how they connect 2 another being. They transform/find themselves - Pluto, through those few people they do end up loving. Most people can't handle their intense ways of showing love🖤🔫.
Inner planets in Gemini degrees 3/15/27° in a natal chart are the real champions, when it comes to overthinking - but knowing everything beforehand. They already thought about ALL the different outcomes, 2 every fucking situation!🫰🫠😍🤭. They already know what time it is, before u tryna tell em.
Look at your Vertex persona chart 2 c what kind of fated things you're supposed2 go through in this life ✍👀. Make a synastry chart and c if your Vertex chart makes any significant aspects 2 your natal! It can show important life events/secret fated "events" that won't be seen in just natal or Vertex pc alone👽.
Lol, I'VE SEEN A LOT OF PEOPLE SAY THAT ARIES RISING WILL HAVE RED HAIR, OR COLOR THEIR HAIR RED AT SOME POINT? I'm an Aries rising, and I would rather get shot in the face. I'm naturally blonde, and honestly? I haven't met a single Aries rising who has red hair, or would color their hair red.
Anti - Vertex persona chart shows what YOU choose2 let into your life, and what u choose 2 do without fate intervening. It also shows u how u choose 2 act, in moments where u find no "meaning", and that's where your Vertex pc comes in right after - Fate intervening 🔮🔮.
Pluto opposite ASC/conjunct DSC in synastry can show the Pluto person deciding/or trying to at least, who the house person talks 2/surrounds themselves with. They can think a person is "bad company" 4 the house person. They can be in DSC persons business, a lot! House person is alarmed/or not, depending on how Pluto is aspected in their own chart. If Pluto is afflicted = they kinda like it.
ANYONE who has benefitted/benefits from me = a planet/point/NN/Vertex/asteroid conjunct my POF. Your POF is all the things (material/or spiritual wealth/growth), u have "picked up" on/will pick up on throughout your life. U "help" others with that planet/point or asteroid in synastry💰🦉💳.
Star asteroids - Starr - 4150), Kallisto - 204), Fama - 408), Europe - 52), actor - 12238), Lumiere - 775 - acting, Apollo - 1862), Talent - 33154), Klio - 84), Fan - 151590), Records - 30718), Varuna - 20000) Webb - 3041).
✨✨✨✨🎭🎬🎨
Music, writing&poetry asteroids - Polyhymnia - 33), Euterpe - 27), Apollo - 1862), Terpsichore - 81 - song and dance) Luscinia - 713 - Singing), Melpomene - 18, Harmonia - 40), Erato - 62), Kalliope - 22), Singer - 10698), Cantor - 16246 - singing), Poesia - 946), Parthenope - 11 - singing), Tone - 1266), Echo - 60), Mnemosyne - 57).
🎤🎧🎼
"Lucky asteroids" - Fortuna (19), Opportunities - 39382), Paradise - 2791), Winner - 15606), Abundantia - 151), Angel - 11911), Bless - 92891), Bonus - 10028), Tyche - 258), Midas - 1981), Magion - 2696), Spirit - 37452), Nike - 307).
🍀🍀🍀
Please look at these asteroids in synastry. Prey - 6157), Sado - 118230), Devience - 21419), Nessus - 7066), Pain - 5188), Lie - 26955), Blink - 4425), Nemesis - 128), Swindle - 8690), Lilith - 1181), Hades - h41), wild - 1941), Fanatica - 1589), Medea - 212), Savage - 29837), Not - 2857), Pervert - 18624), Hard - 28077).
🔞
THANKS4READING BABE!!
Appreciate u, always❤️
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I understand how important it is to be able to criticize the President, and am not at all of the belief he should be beyond critique, but the critiquing of Biden makes me so nervous. (That's not to say I agree with every decision he's made - I absolutely do not). But I feel like people see things he's done wrong and decide they won't vote for him because of it. I'm not sure if enough people have the ability to see that he's done things wrong but also is our only hope of staving off literal fascism.
So many people talk about how sick they are of it constantly being a lesser of two evils situation, constantly having to vote for a candidate they hate because the other side is worse (I heard it in 2020, 2022, etc), and I guess I just- I don't really get it? We're here because they didn't do that in 2016. All of this could've been avoided had the result been different then. I just feel like people don't comprehend how different of a place we'd be in if Hillary won and engage in all this cognitive dissonance to make themselves feel better about being part of the reason she didn't.
Like.... this has been a long-running topic of discussion on my blog, not least because it is so inexplicable and maddening. It also shows how terribly shallow most people's understanding of the American political process is, and how toxic the "I can only vote for a candidate if every single personal belief/position of theirs matches mine" belief is, as well as how much damage it has done to American democracy even (and indeed, especially) by people who technically don't identify as right-wing. Yell at Republicans all you like (God knows I do, because they're the worst people on earth) but they vote. Every time. Every election. Every candidate. Whereas the Democratic electorate still holds out for Mister Perfect, and it very definitely is Mister Perfect. The amount of "evil HRC!!!" Republican-poisoned Kool-Aid that so-called progressives drank in 2016, and then afterward when they insisted they could have voted for someone like Elizabeth Warren and then didn't do that in 2020, is... baffing.
Frankly, I don't care if Hillary Clinton's personal positions on XYZ issue were the most Neoliberal Corporate Centrist Shill to Ever Shill (and Online Leftists' intellectual skills being what they are, I seriously doubt that they were using any of those words correctly and/or accurately). American policy is not made by "personal dictate of the ruler," or at least it shouldn't be, because we are not an absolute monarchy. We rely on the operation of a system with input from many people. As such, if Hillary had been elected, we would have 2-3 new liberal justices on SCOTUS and have secured civil and environmental rights for the next generation. Roe would be intact, and all the other terrible rulings that SCOTUS has recently handed down wouldn't have happened. We wouldn't have had January 6th, the attempt to stage a coup, all the tawdry scandals, our national security being at risk because of Trump stealing classified documents and probably selling them to Russia and/or Saudi Arabia, etc etc. If you think that's in any way an equivalent amount of evil to what would have happened if Hillary was elected, or if she was "still evil!!!," then I honestly don't know what to tell you. She could fucking murder puppies in her spare time if she had preserved SCOTUS for us, WHICH SHE WOULD HAVE, BECAUSE SHE WARNED US EXACTLY WHAT WAS GOING TO HAPPEN.
(Hoo. Sorry. Still steamed. 2016 war flashbacks, again.)
In short, Hillary would have been a solid continuity Democrat and she would have signed whatever legislation a Democratic House and Senate passed, not to mention been hugely inspiring as the first female president. But because it's so important to the Online Leftists' moral sense of themselves that BOTH PARTIES ARE THE SAME!!!, they can't possibly acknowledge that ever being a factor, and/or admit that they have any culpability in not voting for her in 2016. It's like when you read the British press about any of the UK's equally numerous problems, and they BEND OVER BACKWARD to avoid mentioning that Brexit might be a factor. They just can't mention it, because then that means they might have made the wrong choice in pulling for it as hard as they did, and blah blah Sovereignty.
Basically, if HRC had been elected president, everything would be so much less terrible and terrifying all the time, we would be talking about her successor in 2024 as someone else who could be the "first," we could explore handing the reins over to Kamala as a Black/Asian woman, we could promote Buttigieg as the first gay president, etc etc. But because 2016 was so catastrophically fucked up, we are in damage control mode for the immediate future and every election is just as pivotal. And yet, because people think that the only thing that matters is a presidential candidate's personal views, we're stuck having the same old arguments and desperately begging people over and over to please vote against fascism, since that somehow isn't self-evident enough on its own. Yikes on Bikes.
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Whenever I get a particularly nasty message, I always check to see if they're following me first. Nine times out of ten, they're not. But they're also, unfortunately, the same people who feel entitled to send me multiple messages in a row, most of them heavily steeped in the language of moralization and purity.
Like whenever I talk about painkillers or pain management, I always get a handful of well-meaning people who are maybe new to my blog or are just young, asking me if I've tried diet/exercise/meditation, etc.
Sometimes I'll respond to them. Other times I'll just ignore them because I get those kinds of messages so often it's like white noise, and maybe part of me hopes if they stick around on my blog, they'll learn it through exposure via my incessant bitching.
When you see me responding to someone offering that kind of advice, it's either because I'm at my fucking limit or because I'm hoping it's a teachable moment and an otherwise seemingly nice person might unlearn some harmful biases.
The people who don't follow me are not interested in any kind of conversation on the subject. They do, however, feel the most qualified to tell me, someone they didn't know existed until one of my posts crossed their dash, how to manage my life, everything I'm doing wrong, and why I'm a bad person.
And for them, my disability is proof that I am a bad person because they view health as a moral issue.
If you're sick, it's because you don't exercise enough, don't eat the right foods, don't pray enough, don't do enough. They genuinely believe that if they say and do all the right things, like a Good Person, they'll never get sick.
It's their security blanket against the harsh reality that anyone is one bad day away from disability. One faulty gene, one bad infection, one bad accident away from a life-long diagnosis. And if they do get sick, it's a test. A challenge to be overcome with Willpower as they learn the True Meaning of Life.
It can never just be a simple fact of life that sickness happens. That disability exists without a moral reason.
And it's suffocating.
Day in, day out. Folks who don't know me from fucking Eve telling me I'm being punished. Not always as outright as that. They don't always use that word. But sometimes I appreciate it when they do because at least then they're being honest. They're not couching it in the softer language of leftist circles. Not hiding it behind concern.
Because the truth is, there are just as many folks who think they're liberal and enlightened who'd be happy if disabled people just stopped existing. They don't like thinking about us because it makes them think about themselves. About their own fragility and mortality, and they hate that. They hate that there's something they can't control with their thoughts and actions. That they can't moralize their way out of.
Honestly, it's a relief when people are just cunts about it because I can hit the block button, safe in the knowledge that they were never the kind of person who would see me as a person. But when it's some 20yo kid with their pronouns, orientation, and "ACAB" in their profile spouting the same kind of moralization, sometimes even with the language of eugenics, it feels like such a betrayal. Like a loss.
And perhaps if I wasn't multiply disabled, I'd have the energy to pull them back. To tell them why they're wrong and hope like hell they realize what they're doing is harmful. But then, if I wasn't disabled, they wouldn't be messaging me, so I wouldn't be dealing with it.
I wouldn't be expected to use my existence as a teachable moment to spoon-feed them compassion. But I am, and I do. When I can. Not always with the grace that's warranted. Not always with the thought and compassion I ought to. (And I don't; I acknowledge that. I'm prone to anger and off-the-cuff remarks that are hurtful too. Though I try to keep most of it to myself or save it for therapy.)
Basically, if you've made it this far through the TED talk, don't be fucking cunts to disabled people. Don't tell chronically ill people to try yoga. Don't moralize pain relief. Suffering is not noble.
You need to kill the cop and the priest in your head telling you otherwise.
And also if you're the nice people sending me nice messages. Thank you. It helps cushion all of *gestures* this.
#chronic health tag#long post#ableism#thanks for coming to this huge rant I'll probably delete later#also sincerely#thank you to everyone who does send nice messages#you are the majority#it's just that the assholes are louder
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“𝐍𝐎 𝐏𝐎𝐋𝐄!” | S. GETO
✫ | synopsis: going to a halloween party with your friend, only to get high and fucked in a car after eating canes with a hot ass guy dressed as a priest.
notes: need priest geto so bad omfg like i would literally drop to my knees for five minutes w him! this is also heavy based off of seat taker by @/ coconutdays <3
warnings: dub-con? (they’re just a little high but i’m putting the tag just in case), praise :3 (sweet girl, sweetheart, baby, etc), handjob, riding, p in v without protection, geto eats coleslaw, gojo cause he needs his own warning.
partying was never your thing. you hated the smell of booze, the sight of two people grinding against each other while intoxicated made you wanna vomit, and every guy would stare at you like a piece of meat for sale, even the ones in relationships.
not even the infamous satoru gojo’s parties would lull you into going. just the idea of it was so..eugh. gojo was one of the many guys in a frat. him and his other friends were in it, and were mostly known for always filming themselves trying to drink an entire beer keg in one standing.
so it was safe to say you’d never go out to one. at least until now.
you stand outside a house that blared muffled music out to the streets. the purple cheerleading outfit (the one from jennifer’s body) you wore started to feel tight against your skin. any self confidence you once had started to fade when you took a single glance at the house.
the sound of your friends voice pulled you from your trance, the high pitched sound coming from behind you.
“girl, you’re gonna be fine!” she reassures, though the gleam of mischief in her eye wasn’t that reassuring. “i even got you a bodyguard in case i end up leaving with my man.”
you raise a brow, trying to think of who this bodyguard was. it had to be someone who wouldn’t be drinking. then it clicked. “oh, god. you’re forcing ‘nami to babysit me?” you frown.
she giggles, the feathers on her fembot costume swaying as she did. “he said he’s cool with it! he only comes cause haibara forces him to anyways.” she grins.
an internal groan filled your head as you squeezed your eyes shut. maybe you could pretend to be sick. that could work. nanami would probably fall for it and take you home.
before you could even begin to start pretending to feel ill, your friend grabs your hand. she drags you toward the house with a frightening pace. you wanted to protest, but figure there was no point in it anymore.
when you enter the house, all you see are crowds of people standing. some danced along to the music, which you appreciated that it was actually good.
as your friend drags you through the house, you end up in the kitchen. it’s filled with people either taking shots, smoking, or talking. your friend pours two cups of pink whitney before adding a bit of sprite into it. she hands it to you with a smile. “lighten up!” she says.
drinking your nerves wouldn’t be so bad, but someone would have to take the two of you home. nanami would already be handling haibara since they were roommates, so there was really no one else.
you take light sips out of your cup. the sprite wasn’t mixed well with the vodka, making you cringe on the inside. the sound of the music transitioning makes your friends eyes light up.
“I love this song!” she shouts before she quickly grabs your hand and starts to pull you to where everyone was dancing.
in the process of being dragged by her tiny figure on light speed mode, you accidentally bump into someone. your drink spills out of your cup onto them. with widening eyes, your gaze switches to an infamous white haired male.
of course you would be the one to spill your drink on satoru gojo.
you quickly apologize as your friend rushes back to the kitchen to grab a hand towel. when she comes back, she pats it at his bare skin that held suspenders along his shoulders. “i’m so sorry! it was my fault.” she apologizes once more.
a firefighter costume..honestly, what did you expect?
gojo takes in your friends appearance, smirking slightly to himself. “it’s alright, sweetheart. don’t sweat it.” he reassures.
you roll your eyes at his words. before you can make a snarky comment about his bad flirting, the sound of a low voice comes from behind gojo.
“having fun, satoru?” he asks with a raised brow.
the person wore a priest outfit, hair half up into a bun while the rest hung around his shoulders. you almost choke on your almost-empty drink at the sight.
gojo grins at his friend, “yeah. you?”
the man sighs, glancing at your friend. “if i had known all you needed was someone to spill a drink on you so you’d stop pouting, i would’ve done it twenty minutes ago.”
the white haired male laughs before bending down to your friends ear. he whispers something that causes her to giggle and nod her head in reply. she discards the small towel onto the kitchen island before attempting to turn to you.
“go get nanami! i’ll find you guys when i’m done!” she shouts as she gets dragged away toward the crowd of people dancing.
you watch them with disdain held in your gaze. it only took five minutes before she was whisked away. you’re not surprised though, any girl would’ve fell for that spell. even you.
“so, you’re friends with kento?”
swallowing the last drop of vodka, you glance at the priest-dressed man in front of you. “yeah. well, i have english with him. we became close friends when we got assigned a project together.” you answer.
he hums, nodding in amusement. “oh. you like him?” he asks out of curiosity.
you furrow your brows, shaking your head. “no, no. i mean, ‘nami’s handsome, but i’m not actively trying to pursue him or anything.” you reassure, feeling nervous underneath this guys gaze.
a laugh falls from his lips in reply to you. the song transitions, and he glances at you.
“wanna dance?”
your eyes widen a bit, brows furrowing in confusion. “me? now?”
he approaches slowly, taking one of the shots left unattended on the counter. “yes, you. the one dressed as a cheerleader. very cliche, by the way.” he teases.
scoffing, you place your cup onto the counter. “coming from the guy dressed as a priest. i’m dressed as jennifer check, by the way.” you retort before walking towards the crowd.
he follows you like a lost puppy, squeezing through the same gaps as you did. when you eventually find a spot in the crowd, you turn to see him there too.
feeling the amount of alcohol start to kick in, you let the music take over your senses. you sing along to the lyrics, some of it barely audible to hear since other people were doing the same.
“SHE DONT WANNA STRIP NO MORE, DONT WANNA HIT THAT POLE!” you shout, giggling a little when your words fumble.
the man in front of you grins, watching you bounce like you’re at a rave. more people begin to join the crowd causing you to stumble into some people behind you.
a hand latches onto you when someone takes a step back and almost makes you fall forward. your eyes meet the priest-dressed man, giving him an embarrassed look.
“you alright?” he asks, helping you stand fully.
you nod in reply, “yeah, thanks.”
when the songs over, there’s a pause within the music as it transitions. you glance at the dark-haired man.
“what’d you say your name was?”
he meets your gaze, “i didn’t. it’s suguru geto.” he answers.
you let out a small ‘oh’ when his name lingers in your head. it sounded familiar. “i’m-”
“i already know.” he interjects with a grin.
a worried look paints your face as you stare at him. geto almost laughs, but bites it back. “i only know because i have english with you, too.”
english? when was he..oh. he was in your english class.
“i’m sorry— i didn’t realize that was you.” you apologize, feeling guilty despite only ever seeing the back of his head. and it was usually in a bun.
he waves it off, “it’s fine.”
when a new song starts to play, your feet ache as you try to move. scrunching your nose up in pain, you glance at geto. “wanna get out of..this?” you ask, gesturing to the people around you.
he smiles and nods before taking your hand. geto leads you out of the crowd, dragging you to a less packed area. as you walked, slowly, you realize how big the frat house was.
geto leads you outside to the pool area where some people sat around. they all were either smoking, or just hanging out and enjoying the cool autumn air.
the dark-haired man sits you down onto the pool chairs. he sits across from you on the one beside it, grabbing your ankles. he takes off the uncomfortable boots (that you purchased for costume accuracy) slowly. setting them on the ground beside you, he lets your feet sit on his knees.
“better?” he asks.
you nod at him, “yeah. thanks.”
he gives you a smile in response. “we can switch if you want. i’ll let you wear mine for the rest of the night.” he offers.
one of your brows raise as you glance at his feet sitting on the ground. “i dunno if your feet will fit in my boots.”
geto laughs, “satoru and i are the same size, so i’ll take one of his.”
a small ‘oh’ falls from your lips, not thinking of that. glancing back at geto, your head tilts onto your shoulder.
“how’d you even become friends with him anyway?” you ask out of curiosity. “you don’t seem like the type to hang around him.”
“i don’t seem like the type?” geto questions with an amused expression. “well, if that’s the case, you haven’t really met me then, sweetheart.”
you let out an exaggerated sound of disgust, making geto laugh. “me and satoru have been friends since primary school. been stuck together ever since.”
“ohh..so you’re like besties?” you ask, giving him a grin. “how cute.”
geto rolls his eyes, matching your grin. “more like a brother. his family is kinda..rough, so i hope to bring some comfort for him.”
you nod in understanding. having someone like geto seemed nice. he seemed like the type you could be free around, which is what gojo probably needed from his silver spoon family. you’d hoped to do the same for your friends as geto did his.
the silence between the two of you feels calm. it’s not awkward, like you’d expected.
that was until a certain blue eyed male comes outside and interrupts.
“suguru!” he coos, coming over to the pool chairs with a blunt in one hand, lighter in the other.
your eyes widen a bit when you realize he was alone. where the hell was your friend who he just walked away with thirty minutes ago?
“where the hell is she, gojo?” you ask with a worried look.
the white haired man glances at you as he thinks. the nonchalance on his face then turns to a grin when he realizes, a small ‘oh’ falling from him.
“she’s with shoko.” he replies carelessly.
you sigh in relief, your body relaxing against the chair. your eyes dart over to gojo once more as his lighter flicks against his thumb.
when the flame ignites, he pulls the small torch to the blunt between his lips. he inhales it slowly before exhaling, watching the smoke fall from his mouth.
he passes it to geto, who glances at you as he brings it close to his lips. “you smoke?”
you’d smoked before, but it wasn’t something you did all the time. you always preferred edibles over inhaling the smoke since you’d embarrass yourself with a fit of coughs.
shaking your head, you politely decline. “i do, just don’t really like it. thanks though.”
you watch gojo pout a little at your refusal. “aw, come on, babe. just one hit.”
geto hits him softly, “she said no, satoru. don’t force her.”
a sudden feeling of anxiety began to pick at your nerves. you extend your hand to geto, gesturing to the blunt. he looks at you with confusion.
“i’ll do it just once.” you assure him.
he hesitantly passes it to you, watching as you bring it your lips. you inhale it slowly, that familiar burn scratching at your throat. pulling it away from your lips, you slowly exhale and manage to not choke yourself to death.
“atta girl.” gojo grins, coming over to take the blunt from your hand.
as he does so, you swallow harshly to hopefully relieve the pressure in your throat. geto spares you a glance. he nudges your foot to get you to look at him. “you good?”
you nod in reply, “mhm. s’just been awhile.”
geto nods, looking over at gojo who was smoking it like a pro. the white haired male passes it to him once more, the blunt moving into his long fingers. geto leans over to you before inhaling it. he pulls it back from his lips after a long hit, blowing the smoke into your face.
“that better?”
you nod slowly, eyes taking a glance at his lips. “still prefer edibles..but yeah, that isn’t bad.” you reply.
he grins, pulling away. geto turns his head to gojo, raising his brows as he takes another, smaller hit. “you still got them gummies from the other night?”
gojo nods, “yeah, they’re in my room.”
“go get ‘em for her.”
the other male raises a brow before getting up and doing as asked, walking off back toward the house. you watch him move quickly, as if ready to get back to the two of you.
turning your attention back to geto, you give him a small smile. “didn’t take you for a smoker either.”
“oh? how so?”
you shrug, looking over at the pool as the lights lit up underneath the surface. the blue hue it held was bright. “just a hunch i was having. too bad i was wrong though.”
he matches your small smile, looking down at his lap. “well, you’re not that far off. i don’t smoke like satoru. any time he gets pissed off, he’s gotta have a smoke. he swears it’s not an issue though..”
a small giggle falls from you as the sliding door to the pool area opens again. gojo appears and approaches the two of you with a small strawberry flavored gummy bag in hand. he waves it before passing it to you.
“anything else, my liege?” he asks geto, making the darker haired man chuckle.
gojo plops down beside you as you open the bag. the small gummies have a strong scent that immediately hits your nose. gojo beats you, putting his hand into the bag as it sits in your lap.
he pulls one out, popping it into his mouth. you mirror his actions, placing your own on your tongue. the sweetness takes over the ache in your throat, causing your tastebuds to go crazy. you go to grab another before gojo stops you, giving you a look.
“not too much, sweetheart. i can tell you’re a lightweight.” he says, sounding more harsh than he probably intended.
geto glances at him, “she’s fine, satoru. she can’t get high off one.”
you raise a brow at the white haired male, keeping eye contact with him as you dig back through the bag and pull another out. you open your mouth, bringing the sweet treat to your tongue. gojo watches it sit between your teeth before you close your mouth and begin to chew it.
as the two start to talk, you tune their voices out and look around in a daydream. the edibles start to kick in and you feel a little dizzy, which was normal for you when you got high.
a loud crash from inside the house interrupts them, and gojo gets up with a huff. “if these assholes broke my shit, i swear to god—” he mutters as he walks away.
geto glances back at him with a chuckle, the blunt between his lips (though it’s now smaller). he turns to you, watching your dilated pupils stare into his.
“you feelin’ it?”
you manage to nod in reply, making him flash his cat-like grin. “figured. satoru always gets the strong stuff.” he laughs.
an ache begins to run though you as he speaks. your back feels uncomfortable in the slouched position you’re in, and your legs are going numb from the odd position on top of getos thighs. you take your phone out of the pocket in your skirt, looking at the time.
“shit. it’s late.” you mutter, mostly to yourself.
geto glances at you, taking one last hit before pushing the bud into the metal of the pool chair to extinguish the fire. “you need a ride home?” he offers.
shaking your head, you shrug. “probably. i dunno where my friend is or when she plans on leaving.” you sigh.
he gently moves your feet from his lap, standing up with a small stretch. “i’ll take ya’ home. let me go grab a pair of satoru’s shoes and we can go, yeah?” he says, meeting your gaze.
you nod in reply, watching him enter the house. it only takes a few minutes before he returns, his black shoes held in his hands while he wore a white pair on his feet. when he approaches, he bends back down to your level, slipping his shoes onto your smaller feet.
he ties them as tight as he can so they won’t slip off as you walk. once he’s done, he stands, grabbing your boots in the process.
geto extends a hand to you, “let’s go.”
you take it, lifting yourself up from the chair. he leads you back into the house, pushing past some people to get to the front door.
the front yard doesn’t have as many cars in front of it as it did when you first got here. geto walks with you along the grass as he heads toward a black car with tinted windows.
he opens the passenger door for you, extending it so you have room to enter. you laugh as he slightly bows when you climb into the car. a moment passes before he reaches the drivers side, getting in himself.
when the car starts, you take in the inside of it. he kept it clean. there wasn’t any trash (except for a gum wrapper in the cup holder), and it smelt nice. you hum as his heated seats begin to warm your skin.
a soft tap at your thigh breaks you from your daze. you glance at geto with a half-lidded gaze as he holds his phone.
“what’s your address, babe?” he says quietly, not threatening to go an octave above what his voice was at.
you take his phone, slowly typing in the address before handing it back to him. he nods to himself, setting the phone onto the phone mount at his dashboard.
the car begins to move, and your eyes watch as the houses leaves your line of vision. getos music plays in the car at a low volume. you hum along to it, watching the street lights as you pass them.
“it’s only one. wanna go get something to eat?”
you turn your head to glance at geto. eating sounded good. really good actually. but you didn’t bring your wallet.
“i don’t have any money on me.” you reply.
geto chuckles, “i didn’t ask if you had money, i asked if you wanted food.” he says.
a feeling of warmth spread within you at his words. was food the way to your heart? ..possibly. you smile at him, eyes scanning his figure.
“fine, but don’t go to taco bell. they gave me food poisoning last week.”
he turns his head, giving you an amused expression. “noted. i was thinking more of canes anyway. that good with you?”
you nod in reply, leaning forward to turn the music up. childish gambinos voice plays out the speakers, your head moving to the beat.
turning to geto, you lip-sync to the song. he smiles at you, watching the way you lean closer to him from across the console.
“you always act like this when you’re high?”
giving him a small pout, you roll your eyes. “i’m barely high.”
“so you just act like this?” he shoots back.
“no.”
you enter town, the car driving by multiple buildings and restaurants. geto takes a left into the canes parking lot, driving toward the ordering speakers. a few buzzes from your phone catch your attention. you look at your notifications to see your friend spamming you with texts.
favorite slut<3 : WHERE ARE YOU?????
favorite slut<3: oh nvm satoru said you went with geto
favorite slut<3: OKK I SEE U🫣
you roll your eyes at her texts. fingers typing back quickly, you reply to ease her previous worries.
you: i’m good
you: also ‘satoru’??? u guys fuck lmfao?
she starts to text back after you hit send. she was probably going to go on a whole rant about gojo. a hand brushes your thigh again, causing you to glance up once more.
“what you want, hun?” geto asks, one hand on the steering wheel as he glances at you.
your brain goes quiet for a moment before you realize what he was asking. “uh- the three finger combo is good. get me some water with it.”
“you sure? i’ll get anything you want.”
if you had no self respect, you’d be dripping right now.
“mhm.” you hum. “that’s all i want.”
he moves back toward the window, saying the order to the worker. your phone buzzes again, but you don’t feel like answering at the moment.
geto pulls the car toward the window, sliding his card to the worker. they were surprisingly quick with your food, giving geto the bag as soon as he pulled up.
he hands it to you, thanking the worker before driving off. his eyes search for an empty parking space before slotting the car into one. he parks the car, turning to you as you sort through the bag.
you open one of the boxes, seeing a serving of coleslaw in the corner. with a disgusted expression, you turn to geto. “oh, you’re a freak. coleslaw? absolutely not.”
geto rolls his eyes, taking the box from you. “you gotta dip the bread into it. that’s what makes it taste good.” he defends.
“nuh uh.”
“fuck you mean ‘nuh uh’? i’m right.” he replies, matching your look of disdain.
you try to hold up a front, but fail as you giggle. “whatever.”
“no, seriously. just try it.”
he hands you a piece of his bread, coleslaw topping it. your face scrunches up in disgust as you take it from him. taking it into your mouth, you chew it quickly before swallowing it.
geto looks at you with anticipation. you glance at him with a defeated gaze.
“fine..it’s okay.” you admit, making him smile. “i’m still not eating that shit though.”
he laughs, “i won’t force you to.”
after sharing another giggle, the two of you eat in silence momentarily. you chew a piece of chicken, glancing at geto. the cross necklace he wore lowly hung from his neck. it shined in the streetlight next to the parking lot.
“what made you wanna go as a priest?” you ask.
he takes a sip of his drink as he thinks. “satoru and i dared each other to wear embarrassing costumes.”
you hum, stifling a laugh. “so the firefighter was your idea?”
“mhm. it was the cringiest in the store. well, besides the sexy pirate one.”
laughing, you take your own sip from your drink. “oh? that would’ve been a sight to see.”
he nods in agreement, watching you smile. you hold his gaze for a moment before looking back at the plate of food in your lap.
“i think the priest is a good look on you. definitely not something you would ever actually be though.” you say, a ghost of a smile on your lips.
geto raises a brow at you, “you think it’s a good look?” he asks.
you roll your eyes playfully. “do i need to repeat myself?”
he discards his plate into the plastic bag, shrugging a little. “the cheerleader is a good look on you, too.” he replies.
a wave of embarrassment rises to your chest. you glance at him, fidgeting with your cup. “you think?”
leaning back against his seat, he turns his head to you. his eyes look you up and down. “yeah. it’s cute.”
you slowly move closer to him, elbows resting on the console. your eyes drop to his lips, a small smirk on your own. “is that why you asked me to dance? thought i was cute?”
he copies your actions, leaning down toward you. your noses almost brushed as he looked down with his hazy, red eyes. “what’d you think, sweetheart?” he answers.
with a face as hot as the sun, you lean forward to connect your lips to his. they feel smooth against yours, the taste of his soda coming onto your taste buds.
one of his hands moves to your jaw, pressing you closer to him. he threads the other through your hair, feeling the texture between his fingertips. you let out a soft whimper when his tongue prods into you mouth for an opening.
you pull away for some air, inhaling quickly before moving to his neck. his flesh was burning on your warm lips. geto lets out a groan in response to you tugging onto the black dress shirt he wore to get better access to his neck.
“baby— hold on, yeah?” he says breathlessly.
geto moves away, hands falling to your hips. he pulls you into his lap, your legs dragging across the car as you sat above him. one of his hands move to push the seat back a bit to give you more room.
you waste no time to attach your lips to his neck again. he lets out another noise when you nip the skin between his shoulder and neck. you drop your hands from his waist, moving toward his belt.
pulling away, you look up at him. “can i?” you whisper.
he nods quickly, huffing like he’d just ran a mile. you undo his belt, listening to it jingle as you push it to the side. your hands dip into the waistband of his underwear, feeling the hardness of his cock underneath it.
geto squeezes your hips when you run your fingers over it, grazing over the tip. you warm him up a bit before pulling it out from the boxers he wore. he was big, bigger than you would’ve expected.
as you start to pump it gradually, geto hisses quietly. his precum oozes from the tip, soaking your palm. soft moans from geto fill the car, making the uneasy feeling in your stomach transfer to the cotton panties you wore.
he shook in your grasp, his fist bundling up the cloth of your costume. geto let’s out shuddered breaths and shaky moans when you speed up. his hips move upward into your palm, his eyes squeezing shut as the pleasure took over.
you can feel him get close as he twitches in your hand. he looks up at you when you release him, his eyes blown out with lust. you move closer to him, pressing a kiss to his jaw.
his fingers move underneath the skirt of your costume. he palms the front of your underwear, feeling the slick you held. “oh, sweet girl. i haven’t even done anything to you.” he coos.
the cool air hits your cunt when he steadily pulls them off after getting permission. he kneads the flesh of your thighs, looking up at you in admiration.
“you sure you wanna do this? we don’t have to, y’know?” he mutters.
a smile forms at your lips, feeling your heart swell a little. you give him a nod before leaning down and pressing your lips with his.
geto moves your hips closer to his, running two of his fingers across your slit. a shuddered moan falls from you and into his lips. he uses the slick to prep himself, rubbing it along his length.
he pulls away from you, moving his lips to your ear. “i’m goin’ in, ‘kay?”
you give him another nod as he aligns his tip with your entrance. when he pushes in a little, you let out a small sigh. inch by inch, he fully slides into your pussy as his hands caged around your hips.
the dark-haired man lets you adjust to his size for a moment, brushing the hair out of your face while you looked down at him with furrowed brows.
“it’s okay, baby. take your time.” he whispers, caressing your cheek.
god, does he even realize what he’s doing?
once you give him the ‘ok’ to keep going, you lift your hips slowly before easing back onto him. you watch him firsthand as his mouth drops open and his eyes rolling back as a broken moan pushed past his lips.
it was filthy and euphoric, and it made you lift your hips again and slam back down just to hear him moan. geto’s body trembled, his grip on your hips tightening as he surrendered to the pleasure taking over his body.
“suguru..” you whisper, mouth dropping as he manages to brush the sweet spot inside you without even trying.
one of his hands come back to your face, gripping your jaw to pull you down to him. he shoves your lips into his, a groan falling from him.
"so fucking perfect." geto manages to say between kisses, and you reward him with a squeeze of your pussy, making him lose the rhythm of his thrusts.
the intensity of the moment heightened as his grip tightened on your skin, his kiss silencing you completely. with each desperate thrust of his hips, he struggled to maintain the little bit of control he had.
he moves his thumb to rub at your clit, and the tip of his cock repeatedly nudges against that one spot that has you falling apart on top of him with a loud cry. your orgasm hits you hard and geto can’t hold it in any longer. he fucks into you for another minute, eyes squeezed shut as he groans out your name.
your pussy milks him dry, and he fills you up to the brim—to the point where you could feel him leak out of you. the both of you pause, your hands resting on his chest as you catch your breath.
geto rubs smooth circles into your hips, huffing out as you did too. “you alright, baby?” he asks, looking up at you.
you nod, catching your breath before leaning down to press a kiss to his forehead. “v’never came that quick before.” you murmur.
he smiles a little, running a hand into your hair. “wanna see if i can do it again?”
#xozombiee#i love men#this is a cry for help#jjk suguru#jjk x reader#jujutsu kaisen#getou suguru smut#geto suguru#geto x reader#getou suguru x reader#i love geto#men need to dress as priests more often#jujustsu kaisen x reader#i’m so normal#guys believe me i’m okay in the head#mental illness
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Guys, I hate to do this.
Any of you who know me in any circle know that I'm a very professional, very private lady who hates any sort of disc horse breeds that might give me a headache. But this one is important, and my goal here is the integrity and reputation of artists.
For my credentials: I have been a part of five zines in the past. Two I moderated, and one I ran, created, laid out, printed, and shipped in its entirety.
So anyway:
HELLCHEER ZINE BULLSHIT
I joined Hellcheer and the Kindred Freaks Zine very late. Well, after sign ups, check-ins, etc. I saw it was happening in april-ish and shot a DM to the twitter to join. I did both a full art page and a cosplay page.
At the time, the server was quiet but kind. We got updates on the number of orders and books being made.
@Lawless is the runner of the Zine. They created and organized it. They are in charge of the main emails, the selling website, the orders, the shipping, and the funds. (To be clear, this level of sole responsibility is not ABNORMAL in a zine. And is not always an issue.)
@Valerie is the 'social media' mod. They are in charge of managing announcements and answering questions on Twitter and Tumblr.
Please keep in mind: No one wants anything but a fast and easy recovery for both Lawless and their mother. Medical emergencies, heck—LIFE happens. It's always okay to put a hiatus on anything, even product with money, in order to take care of yourself and family. Every single contributor only wants them to be clear in what they need and how we can help.
So lets break down what's happening.
Back in May, Lawless went radio silent on the status of books and merch coming in. Another contributor and I, @Toguchin, start dming Lawless to make sure everything is on track. They come back after a week and apologize for being MIA, explaining that their mom got sick. We thank them for all their hard work and wish them and their mom well.
On July 15th, after contributors and customers inquire on delays to meeting the announced shipping deadline, Lawless makes a twitter post saying shipping has started and contributor copies will be happening. They proceeded to go MIA from the server discord and have been since.
The following week, contributors and customers discover that shipping HAS NOT started. Labels have been created and printed, but nothing appears to be in transit at all.
Toguchin and I started getting reached out to by customers worrying their packages are lost. We report this to the zine server to NO RESPONSE. Except @Ashlee, the discord mod who also has heard nothing.
July 20th to 22nd with customers complaining and theorizing a scam in mind; Toguchin and I propose that PDFs be given out to assure and apologize for delays.
We as a server discover a few things:
1. We cannot access the list of buyers at all in order to email apology zines because Lawless did not share the account information with anyone.
2. We cannot access the main email for the same reason.
3. Valerie, the social media mod, deleted discord and distanced themselves from the Hellcheer fandom and has not been checking the Twitter or tumblr, or discord notifications since May.
Ashlee and Ichikun contact Valerie to sign on.
I made a new email and said fuck it, we need to do something to assuage fears, let them send receipts to honor their zines. Valerie didn't know what to post or say or how to answer everyone, so I gave them a copy paste.
Still no words from Lawless but hoping for the best knowing the have a medical emergency, Ashlee and I begin answering the new email for PDFs, but cant help people change addresses or give them any update!!!
Throughout the weeks mods and contributors ping Lawless constantly asking if they need any help! Any help at all, answering emails, changing order addresses, heck a few of us ask if we can pick up the books and packages and ship stuff for them so they can hands off the project and take care of their mom. No response.
We send message after message saying if Lawless can share picture proof, that would be great cause scam theories and chargebacks are starting. BUT ALSO, we let Lawless know we and customers will ABSOLUTELY UNDERSTAND delays if they just communicate it. That if they post in server and on Twitter that shipping needs to wait a month or two, no one will mind. No responses.
July 31, Lawless makes a Twitter update with comments disabled that they are shipping ALL packages that monday with a picture of packages. They also call Valerie privately and tell the issue that USPS refuses to pick up shipments from Lawless has, and they can't leave their mothers side from the post office. They also claim they can only deliver ten packages at a time at the post when they go. *USPS has no such rules. Me and other mutuals who run shops have never had such a problem.
A week later, we realize that customers and our packages are still not in transit. Labels printed only. Most of us assume all packages are just label printed and sitting at Lawless' house.
We beg for updates from Valerie or Lawless. Valerie doubles down on Lawless old reasonings and also officially goes MIA until present day.
Throughout August, USA packages get delivered. A few more updates are made straight to Twitter and Tumblr with comments off. Radio silence in server.
As packages arrive, we all become aware from people's posts and pictures that random Stranger Things Art Stickers are included. No credit to any artist is given? No contributor is responsible for this art. These are suspected to be BOUGHT from Amazon. STOLEN arts amazon sellers resell in packs. NO contributor is okay with this!!! Valerie responds with no response at all.
As of now:
No response to missing digital copies. Ashlee and I cannot give out any without receipts because we have no access to buyers list. Nor can we answer missing packages inquiries cause we have no info.
International packages unaccounted for.
SCRUNCHIES FREE OR OTHERWISE UNACCOUNTED FOR.
Zero word on contributor copies.
Zero word on donation status.
Zero word on generated profit or book and shipping cost. No way to verify funds at all.
No word from Lawless to contributors since July 15. From Valerie since the 31st.
Some notes:
Turning off twitter comments was NEVER what any one of us wanted.
A ZINE LAYOUT was never shared. So until people had them in hand or in PDF none of us realized that the credits DO NOT POINT TO ANY SOCIAL MEDIA. All of our usernames are handle-less? This was extremely disappointing.
This one matters to me: Our FanEdit artist was not aware their work was not getting a full page. Again no pre-layout was shared. So their work is tiny and in the margins of the front and back. That's not okay.
All of us wanted to help in any way we could. NONE of us doubt Lawless intentions or emergencies. But lying, misleading, non-communicating and turning off comments are all things we did not consent to.
All of us only wanted a cordial, honest response. None of us actually cared about delays as much as we did communications.
There has been many noticeable times Lawless has been online, posting privately or otherwise, even active on Discord and has not reached out.
Why make a post:
Customers should know contributors fought for them. That we did everything we could and our reputation as artists in the fandom shouldn't be tarnished cause two creators decided to disappear.
Contributors should get their copies. Many of us BOUGHT bundles. I've been in five zines and every single one gave out free contributor copies WITH merch!!
I'm also attaching all server screenshots for integrity.
I'm in half a mind to release the zine PDF publicly, for free, for everyone at this point. I personally think it's only fair since many are still missing just that. But I do not want to insult anyone who paid for just the PDF regardless of the potential contribution to charity. But it's really up to customers, not me.
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Y'all I can't explain to you the pit I have in my stomach when I think about rising fascism, illness, inflation, and social unrest going into the 2024 elections. Especially when mixed with the widespread nihilism, burnout, and purity culture we're seeing
I am stressed
And I'm so fucking sick and tired of screaming in my corner of the internet for ANYONE to listen that fascism is here. That we NEED to keep fighting and yeah it's exhausting and it sucks but it wouldn't so suck much IF ENOUGH PEOPLE would just fucking listen and help spread the word. I could give my voice a break.
Like there no way EVERYONE is just not seeing/hearing. We're being intentionally and systematically ignored.
And the fact that I'm not the only one screaming and still people just choose to scroll or buy another "silly little treat" to help them cope instead of thinking for two seconds that they wouldn't HAVE to cope in Hell Timeline if they just supported the people demanding rights that would benefit EVERYONE
Like respectfully, you are so valid for hating it here and wanting to escape into your oat milk frappuccinos with extra whip, trust me so do I, but if things get worse people will die en fucking masse, do you understand?
Because we chose a Starbucks drink instead. Do you get it?
We HAVE to do something.
We can't just do nothing cuz that's easier.
And I know so, so many of us do what we can to make the changes we can. This post isn't about us.
It's about how we're going to fall into fascism because of people who think passively letting fascism happen and watching their neighbors be dragged away is a more emotionally acceptable consequence than actively making themselves uncomfortable in the name of human rights.
Hence the passport.
We've been screaming about this for decades trying to warn y'all and now fascism is undeniably here again and STILL most people won't give us the time of day. W h y?
My whole family are queer/neurodivergent natives of color.
I shouldnt feel like I have to run from where my people came from. Where my ancestors and living family still fight to protect.
But I'm very, very scared that if I don't our lives will be on the line. And with one genocide already in our history our survival is crucial to me.
How long am I supposed to wait for allies to help when I can see the mob marching towards me with pitchforks?
How close do I let them get until I'm allowed to admit no allies are showing up?
The awful answer to what most of you would do if fascism returned and you were forced to accept it or aid your fellow humans....
You'd accept it.
#....yall ever watch mr robot or v for vendetta... or read a history book?#vent#rant#whiteness#white supremacy#facism#desantis#queer rights#roe v wade#brackeen v haaland#womens rights#feminism#human rights#current events#lgbt#queer#leftist#indigenous#capitalism#biden#ndn
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Young justice and the titans not getting along makes no sense to me. You’re telling me the titans did dumb shit and hated being micromanaged by the league but then a couple years later they’re doing the same thing?? that’s so dumb?? the titans are like “god you remember what we were doing when we were their age?? Were we that small?? Fuck, do you know what we’re supposed to do besides feed small people?? This would be so much easier if any of us went to therapy”
The titans help yj get away with shit all the time
“Young Justice just blew up one of Luthor’s vacation homes, did you know about this?? Where are they!?” “Who’s young justice? It’s not my fault…I plead the fifth…?”
Kori has claimed Kon and now has beef with Luthor and Clark
Besides Wally, Bart is closest with Kori and they trade stories about their homes bc it’s nice to talk to someone who’s gets it
Greta and Garth are like sitting at the bottom of a pool and gossiping about their teams
YJ and the titans have city wide manhunt games once a month and the jl hates it bc they wake up to their children trending bc they’re jumping off buildings or breaking into civilians’ houses to get away from each other
They race spaceships if they’re not on planet
Greta and Garth are the worst gossips so they just tell each other absurd things about their teammates completely aware that everyone will know within the next 4 hours
Everyone else makes jokes about how Kons what would happen if Kori and Nightwing had a son (he has anger issues, curly hair, he’s alternative, isn’t white, & he’s the mom friend)
Roy and Cissie only compete amongst themselves bc everyone was so sick of them winning that they started cheating or in Kori’s case incinerating the targets
One time he was talking to Kori about mental health stuff and she’s comforting him and mentions that “yeah you get that from nightwing” and nightwing cuts in “Kori, you do that too?? Don’t lie to him”
Whenever Kon loses his temper he’s not afraid of people thinking less of him for it bc it always sparks up the never ending debate about whether Nightwing or Starfire are responsible for Kons temper
“NO FUCK THIS, FUCK YOU, AND FUCK HIM, YOU FUCKING-” “he gets that from you” “he’s floating rn wdym” “yeah his fucking eyes are glowing that’s definitely Kori’s temper” “look at him doesn’t his face remind you of when kori was pissed after I broke my collarbone?” “no listen dick has that same crease between his eyebrows when he’s mad”
“I’m your leader, assholes” “rn all you are is the leading cause of that baby’s short temper”
Kori helped Kon with controlling his powers bc Clark wasn’t gonna do it
Wally and Bart get along!! From the beginning
Besides Nightwing Tim is closest with Vic not even bc they’re fucking nerds but bc they’re both so unbelievably petty
Anita and Rachel should not be left alone together bc they’re always doing nonsense with magic
They mentioned air boarding so Tim and Vic are trying to find the schematics for a hoverboard…💀 Anita and Rachel figured out how to make people feel like they’re suffocating without killing them or doing permanent damage (all the scarring is psychological)
Cissie and Donna get along really well and Cassie pretends they’re jealous
Also, Cassie gets along really well with Roy and Cissie will loudly complain about her older brother hating her
the jl is so tired bc they thought the titans would be helping them with yj and they were wrong
#young justice#young just us#bart allen#cassie sandsmark#kon el#anita fite#greta hayes#tim drake#cissie king jones#dc impulse#wonder girl#superboy#dc empress#dc secret#red robin#arrowette#dc titans#dick grayson#koriand'r#victor stone#rachel roth#garth of shayeris#roy harper#donna troy#wally west#nightwing#starfire#dc cyborg#dc raven#dc tempest
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darilaros (princess) │ Chapter 6: Kindred
terms of endearment ‘verse: see my Masterlist for the correct series order!
Chapter 1 │Chapter 2 │Chapter 3 │Chapter 4 │Chapter 5 │Chapter 6 │Chapter 7 │Chapter 8 (COMPLETE!)
Synopsis: As the second daughter of King Viserys, you experience firsthand what it means to belong to the House of the Dragon. Your uncle returns from his war in the Stepstones.
Hello! Another apology for the lateness of this one; in my defense, this is over 8,000 words, hahaha. Lots of stuffs/feelings to be had! A note - Daemon did not return and get exiled on the same day here. He's gonna take a couple weeks before fucking up, lol. Just - be aware of that as you read on. Thank you to @randomdragonfires for workshopping this crapbag for me, ahahaha! And thank you to my boobear @ewanmitchellcrumbs, who is sick as a dog but gave this her addled, slightly fever-induced thumbs up.
TRIGGERS: child injury, mild blood mention.
“Shoulders back,” Septa hisses from above you.
Although there are so many people around you, you are the only one that hears her. Everyone else is too busy whispering among themselves, wondering why Papa has called the lords and ladies staying in the Keep to attend him—and why they are being made to stand outside the Great Hall.
You can feel Septa looking at you, so you do as you are told and straighten your back, pushing your shoulders into place the way she wants. She hates it when you slouch. Usually, you’re better at keeping to her rules, at being a good lady, but you find yourself distracted today.
Is that ’Nyra? you wonder, trying to look past the rather wide nobleman’s form beside you to further back in the crowd, to where you are sure you’d seen a head of silver hair far too tall to be Aegon or Helaena.
It shouldn’t be her. ’Nyra has been on a tour for moons now, sailing around the kingdom in search of a husband. According to Papa, she has rejected every single one. That doesn’t surprise you—she has always said that she would never want to marry and have many babies like some ladies are made to do. Still, an order is an order, and Papa is King. That means that ’Nyra has to do as he says, and so she must find a man to marry and have babies with whether she likes it or not.
She cannot be back, then. She still has two more moons left.
Suddenly, the doors swing open. The Kingsguard at the front of the crowd march into the Great Hall, clearing the way for you and Septa to follow. She takes a firm hold of your arm as you walk to the steps leading to the Iron Throne, to where Papa stands holding onto Blackfyre. Because Lord Hightower has taken his station to the right of the Throne, you go to the left, where Ser Harrold has made a space for you. Septa releases you and makes herself invisible in the crowd, leaving you alone. You clasp your hands together tightly, trying your best not to bury your fingers into your skirts and twist like you do when you are always nervous. You do not like crowds very much, even though you are a Princess and all Princesses ought to enjoy the attention.
You watch the lords and ladies fill each side of the Hall, and you see it again. The silver-haired head. Her. It is ’Nyra, you realise.
A part of you wants to shout her name, to smile so wide your face hurts and run to her and give her a hug so strong it nearly cracks her bones into pieces—but you won’t. Septa Marlow would be terribly angry if you behaved so poorly. And, from the way she won’t look at Papa, and the way he is frowning at her, she is in plenty of trouble. You do not think he knew she was coming back, so she must have done so without him allowing her to.
A great clang comes from beyond the entry, getting yours and everyone else’s attention. All eyes turn to the doors as footsteps echo out, fast at first, and the room falls quiet. Then, a new set of steps can be heard, slower and quieter.
He appears. Uncle.
The first thing you notice is his hair. It used to be long, you think. It isn’t anymore. You are sure you very much liked to play with his long hair when you were smaller. Most of his hair—short now, shorter than even Ser Criston’s—is covered by a strange crown that looks like it’s been tied together rather than forged like gold ones are. His armour is plain, with only a dragon scale pattern showing that he is a Targaryen. The grandest and most familiar thing about him is his sword, Dark Sister, shining bright at his hip and in his hold around the grip. A heavy-looking hammer swings from his other hand.
When he sees you, he smiles. You wish you could do the same.
You were so little before, when he knew you and you knew him. You don’t remember it well. One thing you do remember is how your sadness at him leaving turned to anger. He never said goodbye. He never even wrote to you. He could have written. He could have, and he didn’t.
Ser Harrold draws his blade when Uncle comes near, pointing the tip into his breastplate. The other Kingsguard draw theirs, too. Uncle Daemon stops, staring down at where the steel meets his own body. He gazes up to Papa behind you.
Holding out the hammer, he says, “Add it to the chair.”
It makes a loud clattering sound when it falls heavy upon the stone floor. You want to hold your hands to your ears, but it’d do naught but earn you a scolding from Septa later. As he steps back, you notice that ’Nyra has moved further up in the crowd. She is fighting not to smile as she stares at him.
Ser Harrold sheathes his sword and picks up the hammer, moving back to where he was previously.
“You wear a crown.” Papa looks very grand in his robes, his own crown making Uncle Daemon’s look silly indeed. “Do you also call yourself ‘King’?”
“Once we smashed the Triarchy, they named me ‘King of the Narrow Sea’.” Uncle’s smile is what Septa would call arrogant as his words set off gasps in the crowd. You do not think she likes him very much. “But I know there is only one true king, Your Grace.”
He kneels. The other Kingsguards’ blades follow him down. “My crown and the Stepstones,” he says, taking off his crown, “are yours.”
Papa looks to the door. “Where is Lord Corlys?”
“He sailed home to Driftmark.”
“Who holds the Stepstones?”
“The tides… the crabs, and two thousand dead Triarchy corsairs, staked to the sand to warn those who might follow.”
You shiver. How awful. What a frightfully monstrous thing to do to another person, and he did it to two whole thousand of them. Septa says that noble knights treat their enemies with respect—you are not sure if Uncle Daemon would count as a noble knight, then.
Papa walks down the stairs to the Iron Throne, using Blackfyre as a sort of cane. It clacks against the ground as it hits each step. He stills right before Uncle, accepting the crown and passing it to a nearby Kingsguard. “Rise,” he says.
For a moment, you are not sure what he means to do. He’d looked unhappy. Perhaps he is going to hit Uncle. Maybe he’ll have him thrown in the cells.
But, after Uncle stands, Papa’s hand comes to rest on his arm, and then up further to his shoulder. Uncle moves forward, his head falling onto Papa’s shoulder in a hug. The lords and ladies in the room applaud.
You follow along, though you are sure the sound of your own claps are very quiet compared to all the others. Truthfully, you don’t know if you are as happy as everyone else seems to be.
Septa Marlow does not let you stay back to speak to ’Nyra. Instead, you are made to go back to your chambers and find an appropriate dress for the feast Papa has announced is to happen in an hour’s time in the Godswood. All the while you are being dressed by your maids, you can hear her muttering about how unseemly it is that a party is to be held in such a godsless place. You tell her in your mind that the Godswood is not godsless, but rather is for gods that she doesn’t believe in. Saying such a thing aloud will only earn you a strike to the palm with her willow switch, though. You’ve only ever been struck once for asking Alicent why she named your youngest brother Aemond when it is almost the same as Daemon, and so she ought to have named him that instead. It is not a lesson you want to repeat.
By the time Septa allows you to go down to the Godswood—thankfully, you get to go without her, because she refuses to ‘step foot in that blasphemous space’—the nobles are wandering around, laughing and drinking as they celebrate the return of the King’s brother. You spy platters of lemon cakes, pastries, cheeses and breads undercover and to the right. Papa, Alicent and Uncle Daemon stand closer to the heart tree, appearing merry in their conversation.
Before you can decide where to go, you are set upon by ’Nyra. “Little sister,” she says, stepping in front of you with a smile on her face. She looks very well in her rose-coloured gown, her hair pulled back like always.
Your own mouth curves to match hers as you fling your arms around her, breathing in the smell of her, of seawater and flowers and something that you cannot describe, but is just part of who she is. Her hands press warm against your back and you don’t think you’ve ever missed anything, anyone this much before. She is home.
She laughs as she pulls back. “I missed you, too.”
If you speak all the words on the tip of your tongue—I am so glad you are back, I love you, please please don’t ever leave me alone here again—you think you might cry. If you cry, you will be sent back to your rooms, back to Septa Marlow. You do not wish for that to happen.
“Are you done already?” is what you decide to ask, squeezing her hand so as to tell her the things you cannot say. She squeezes back, so she understands, though at the same time she is tilting her head a bit like she does when she’s confused. You realise that your question probably does not make much sense to her. Septa says you must learn to be clearer when asking things. “With the tour?” you add, to help her see what you mean.
’Nyra shrugs. “I found little to be desired in the men of the Stormlands. Or the North. Or the Westerlands. The entire Realm seems to be made up of insipid little beasts masquerading as suitors.” She sniffs, scowling. Her hand tightens on yours, but it does not hurt. You think she can tell that you don’t really know what she means, because she smiles down at you and gives you another, different answer. “I am done with the tour. But I have not found a husband, no.”
Your sister pulls you along to the table away from the lords and ladies gathered, grabbing a lemon cake and handing it to you. You frown—there is no candied lemon slice on top, like there is usually. In fact, none of the lemon cakes have candied lemon slices on them. They are your favourite part. You hope the cooks are not trying something new. It does not stop you from eating it, though.
“Will Papa be very angry with you?” you ask her in between bites, taking care not to speak with your mouth full.
“Most likely,” ’Nyra says. She does not sound concerned by it. You must look bothered, because she laughs and adds, “Do not worry yourself about it—I’ll be fine, as I always am.”
You wish you were as brave as her. If Papa is ever as upset at you as he sometimes is at ’Nyra, you would cry.
As you watch her, you realise she is staring over your head at something. You glance behind you. It is very easy to see Uncle and Papa and Alicent from here. No wonder she is so focused on them.
’Nyra pats your head without looking at you. “Wait here a moment.”
She walks away, leaving you by yourself at the table to go and speak to Alicent and Papa and Uncle. From here, it looks like Uncle is the only one who appreciates her walking over. You wish she’d brought you along. Being by yourself makes you feel afraid sometimes.
A nobleman strolls over, his laughter booming and making your heart race quick. You slowly edge your way towards one of the pillars, hoping to use it to hide behind. When you were smaller, it worked. But you are too old now, you think, because the nobleman pauses in reaching for some of the food and stares at you even though the pillar shields most of you from his view. He smiles. You smile back because it is polite, but you don’t know him. Still, it makes him chuckle, take his food and leave, so there must be something useful about being polite all the time anyway.
Gazing out at all the people is making your head feel funny again, like panic, so you turn around and face the climbing plant that is scaling the wall. You wonder if the heat from the brazier will make it less green, if the fire can burn all those leaves even from here. Does fire have to be touching something to burn it? you wonder.
It is an interesting thought, and one you might try to find an answer from Septa for later. She can be stern and even mean, but she does like your curiosity. That means wanting to know things, she says.
“As far as hiding places go, this one is terrible.”
You jump, startled by the closeness of the voice. You have to look up to see who has disturbed you.
“Uncle Daemon,” you whisper.
He grins, a piece of his hair flopping over his face in a way that you think the ladies might like. You try not to think about that, though, because it only leads you to remembering what Papa had made Septa Marlow tell you only a moon’s turn ago about how men’s parts and women’s parts go together to make a baby. It is enough to make you want to avoid all men forever.
“That’s right,” Uncle says, getting your attention once more. He makes no move to come closer, just stands there and looks at you. It gives you a chance to watch him back.
His face is very stern, you think. You don’t know if it was always that way, or if his war made him more frightening. When you try to bring those memories back, there is nothing but feelings of happy-fun-love. You don’t think you and he look very much alike, even though you are both Targaryens, but there are parts of him that match you. The hair, silver like yours. The purple eyes. It makes him a little less strange to you.
“Did you miss me?” he asks. That hollow-feeling soreness in your chest seems suddenly wide open, throbbing and aching.
I did. Sometimes I used to think I dreamed you up in my head. Like you were the person I had to pretend was real so that there was someone in the world I could talk to. Someone who would listen to what I was saying, like I really meant something.
I don’t even know if I remember you, or if I’ve just spent so long waiting for you.
These are all the things you keep locked inside you, wishes like sand in an hourglass that swirl around in their glass prison. And, like the sand, they will never get to escape from where they are trapped.
“Your hair is different,” is what you say instead, quiet and sad-sounding. You try not to pout as the words come out. “I don’t like it.”
It is how you try to say what must stay hidden, words that secretly mean other words. You think he understands, though, what is stuck in your chest and in your heart, because his smile fades. He sighs, something soft making its way onto his face.
“It’ll grow back,” he murmurs. “Time heals all wounds.”
He twitches after saying that. For a moment, you swear you can see something red and angry peek out from under the collar of his coat, like a scar or a burn. It is there and gone in an instant. You wonder if you ever really saw it at all.
Then, he stands up a little straighter. “Come out from there,” he says, brow furrowing even as one side of his mouth turns up. “Let me look at you.”
This is what all the adults who Papa says used to know you ask of you when they meet you again. For some reason, they like to make a kind of list in their minds of all the ways you have changed, as though it is a good thing that you’re so different from when you were very small. To you, it just means that they never really cared to keep knowing you the whole time.
You inch your way out from behind the pillar so that you are facing him, so that you are close enough now for him to reach out and touch. He takes hold of your chin, pulling your face up so that he can inspect it. You are tilted side to side, all angles being carefully examined in a way that makes you nervous, almost like you want to run away.
“Ūbrilta iksā, riñītsos.” You’ve grown, little girl.
It sounds like praise. His palm is soft on your cheek as he strokes away one of the strands of your hair that won’t stay put, calling up a wisp of a memory of gentle hands and deep laughter and love love love, a spark just out of reach.
You tremble. The sand threatens to explode out of its glass trappings.
“I learned my letters,” you whisper, eyes stinging furiously. A group of ladies walks by. You do not want them to know what you are saying, what should be kept secret, just between you and Uncle. “Ynot bardutos daor.” You did not write to me.
Now, he frowns.
“Gimin,” he says, crouching down. I know. Balanced on one knee before you, his eyes and yours can meet so much easier—but he doesn’t let them. Instead, his stare slides past yours. You feel his fingers playing with the loose tendrils that escape your braids. “Ñuhe vīlībāzme vīlīptan… harrī aō bē olvī iotāptan. Nēdenka sagon yne beldā.” I thought of you often, while I was fighting my war. You helped me to be brave.
You cannot even imagine it—how someone silly and small like you could ever help someone so strong like him. Warmth floods through you, so quick that you wonder if your skin has flushed for him to see. “Really?”
He taps you on the nose. “Would I lie?” he asks.
You think about it. From all you can remember, he has never been anything but truthful, even with the hard questions. One of the things you can recall is when you asked where Mother had gone after Papa told you she was dead. Back then, you didn’t understand what dying was. Now, though, you know it as one of all the different ways that people can be taken away from other people, from those they love and who love them.
Uncle told you that Mother was never coming back, and he was right. He never lied to you then. He cannot be lying to you now.
“Ūndegon avy arlī, rōvēgrie biarves issa,” he tells you, cupping either side of your face with his hands. To see you again… it is a great happiness.
Your eyes are burning again, blurring your sight. You can still see how kind he looks, though, all the hard lines of his face made soft and glad by simply speaking with you, like you are the only thing that matters to him. Maybe your dreams and play-pretence were more real than you ever thought.
“Are—” You swallow hard. “Are you staying?”
It is suddenly all you wish. Please, please, please, please please please…
Uncle Daemon nods. “For as long as you want.”
You don’t know if he pulls you to him or if you push forward. All you know is that he smells the same as he did, even though you cannot possibly still remember that, like smoke and leather, and his arms feel solid and safe around you, like love. Like home.
Uncle makes good on his promise to you. He stays in the Red Keep, in his old rooms, and soon your days are filled up with more than just Septa and ’Nyra and the evening meal with Alicent and Papa.
You become very good at sneaking away from Septa. It is not difficult. Since Uncle has come back, Alicent has been asking for you in the nursery more often. You don’t think she likes that he has returned, but it is still nice to have her asking about your lessons, about your needlework or your prayers or your sums. Baby Aemond often gets upset when he hears voices talking—he likes silence most of all—so your visits never last long. Alicent always tells you to go back to your rooms when he starts, which gives you the chance to give Helaena a kiss on her cheek and slip off to find Uncle. Septa Marlow never need learn that you did not spend the entire time with your lady stepmother.
Uncle Daemon is usually with ’Nyra, sometimes out in the gardens or walking in the halls. It isn’t strange, exactly, but the way that your sister jumps away from him when you arrive makes you wonder what they are talking about at times. The only thing that stops you from thinking too much about it is that Uncle never seems very bothered. He just smiles like nothing at all has happened and asks how you are.
He watches ’Nyra with a heavy stare as she leaves for Council or to see Syrax or simply to give you time with Uncle, too. Sometimes, she looks back, and her stare is just as heavy on him. But then, he always says, “Yne aōlo bē tolī ivestrās”—tell me more about yourself—and you forget why it bothered you so much.
You realise there’s not a lot of ‘yourself’ that would be interesting. You talk about your lessons with Septa and how you are already very good at adding and subtracting numbers, so she is showing you how to multiply them and divide them. You talk about how you can embroider the Targaryen sigil on handkerchiefs, though sometimes the stitches aren’t as neat and even as they could be. You talk about how you’ve learned all the names and House words of the Lords Paramount, and what they supply Papa’s kingdom with—how the Reach has lots of grain and the Westerlands has lots of gold mines and the North has lots of lumber and timber for building things. You talk about how you can sing all the hymns and you pray in the Sept every sennight like a good lady, though this only makes him scoff and shake his head. You talk about how good you are at showing the courtesies of a lady like curtseying and only speaking when you are spoken to and keeping your back straight and chin up so everyone knows you are of good breeding.
When you hear these things aloud, you are sure it is very boring. It makes you think that the only thing that has him listening so closely is that you tell him all of this in High Valyrian.
“Gīmije suene ābrāzma. Drējī sȳz,” he says on one day, sitting side by side with you on a bench looking out into the Godswood. An accomplished young lady. Very good. With lips tipped up at one corner, he does not look exactly pleased by all you have been taught. But when he adds, “Muño ēngos aōhi sȳrktys ȳdrā,” you know that there is at least something he is happy with. Your mother tongue has improved.
Pride flushes you from head to toe, warm and exciting. “Rhaenyrosa gūrēñan.” I am learning from Rhaenyra.
You don’t find it as hard to say her full name anymore, but she always looks at you funny when you call her ‘Rhaenyra’. It is important that you use the proper words in front of Uncle, though. You hope he doesn’t notice when you stumble over some of the rolling ‘r’ sounds.
“Skorion Alysanno bē?” is his next question. What of Alysanne?
It takes you a moment to understand what he is talking about. At first, you wonder if he’s asking you about your great-grandmother, and you have no idea why he would. Then, an image of a doll with violet eyes and silver hair flashes through your mind, ‘perhaps—Marya and Hana, was it?—could do with another friend’, and you think to the three little ladies you used to carry around everywhere until you were made to leave them sitting on the chest at the foot of your bed, then inside the chest, stuck in the dark and left to be forgotten.
There is something about that which makes you terribly, terribly sad.
“I am not allowed to play with dolls.” It is like Septa is speaking through you, though you are soft where she would be stern and hard. “I am too old.”
This makes him freeze, but not like ice. Like something burning hot and angry, only it is shown in the fire of his eyes and the clenching of his fists and nothing else. When he nods, it is as though he is a puppet and someone else is pulling his strings jerkily. “Se zaldrīzesse? Kipagon vasīr gūrēntō daor?” And dragons? Have you learned to ride yet?
You shake your head. “I am too young.”
Too young, too old… No matter what, I am never exactly right as I am.
Normally, you can ignore the twisting of your tummy when you think about how ’Nyra had claimed Syrax already when she was your age. But now, with your thoughts turning over and over about all the things that Uncle wants to ask that you cannot give a good answer to, it only makes you feel worse.
At that, he stands and holds out his hand. You make no move to grab onto it—you just look up at him, confused.
“Well?” he asks, brow lifting. “Do you want to learn?”
“To ride?” You frown. “How?”
He rolls his eyes. “By riding a dragon, silly girl. As it happens, I’ve claimed one of my own. Perhaps you’ve heard of him.”
“You’ll… you’ll let me ride Caraxes?” Your breath comes out funny, in rhythm with the skipping beat of your heart.
“Not alone. But you ought to know what it feels like to take flight before you claim your own mighty beast.” He mutters something under his breath, too low for you to hear. It sounds frustrated, and quite possibly rude. Then, he lifts his eyes back to you and shakes the arm he has held out. “Are you coming, then? Or will I be going to the Dragonpit alone?”
You take his hand.
“Are you sure he will like me?” you ask Uncle, biting your lip as he pulls you closer and closer to the entrance of the Dragonpit.
As always, it is a big, frightening hulk of stone, with columns that look like they’ve been standing tall since the beginning of time. A hundred of you wouldn’t be enough to match its height. When ’Nyra takes you to see Syrax, sometimes you try to count how many of you would be needed to reach the top, but you always lose track after ten. You know from far away that the dome of it arcs high, high above, though from where you are, you cannot see it. A dark black hole looms between the two main pillars, seeming larger the longer you stare into it. From within, you can hear the growls and shrieks of a dragon, maybe two, maybe three—Syrax and Caraxes, and perhaps others, for it seems too much noise to only be the pair inside.
“He does as I command,” he says. “You will not be harmed.”
Uncle Daemon tugs you forward, into the blackness. Dark turns to dim light.
There, not far from the entry, stands Caraxes. That he is out and not hiding away in one of the dens already makes this a much different visit than usual, for Syrax is not often found in the open like this. It has been a long time since you saw him properly, though you know from stories that Uncle used to take you to visit him when you were a baby, then when you were little. Papa never let him take you riding, though. You wonder how he got permission now.
The dragon has a long, long neck, almost the same amount of long as his body. It makes him look amusing, though you will never laugh at him, for he is also fearsome. Jagged spikes jut out along ridges that go all the way from his shoulders to his head, turning into large horns above each eye. His teeth are sharp, and there is more than one row of them, which you can see when he opens his mouth to make a hooting noise in your direction. He is deep red in colour, scales glittering black and orange in the torch flame that shines across his form, darker around his mouth. You don’t know if it is how he usually looks, or if it is blood. You hope he has already eaten.
“Come along.” Uncle seems annoyed by your slowness. He lets go of your hand and pushes his palm between your shoulder blades, forcing you forward. “We’ve not got all day.”
One of the robed men, the Dragonkeepers, moves in step with you, gaze switching nervously from you to your uncle. “Dārilaros ñuhys! Avy māzīlē gīmīloty daor—se aōha tala—” My Prince! We did not know to expect you—and your niece—
Uncle waves him off impatiently, glaring. “Īlon henujās! Avy baelagon ajorrāeloty daor.” Leave us! We do not require your assistance.
The Keeper bows, edging backward. You try to turn your head to see where he came from, where he has gone, but the strength of Uncle’s hand pushing you on and the way his body blocks your view prevents you from glimpsing anything properly.
Caraxes makes an odd sort of whistle-hoot noise when his head bends before you, his giant nostrils flaring as he scents his visitor. You try to keep your heart beating slow and steady. If he smells fear, he might attack.
“Calm, calm,” Uncle is murmuring, though you don’t know if he’s saying it in the Common Tongue or in High Valyrian. “That’s it…”
The dragon nudges you softly, snout pressing against you in a way that you find familiar. Syrax does the same when you go to see her. It brings a smile to your face, and you are laying your hands on his scaled flesh to stroke him before you can remember why you were ever afraid in the first place. He allows you to pat him for a few moments. Then, he seems to grow bored, turning away at the sound of distant echoing roars. His claws skitter on the stone.
Uncle Daemon takes hold of your shoulders and steers you to the side, along Caraxes’s body. “Iōrās,” he calls out. Stand.
Caraxes shifts his weight with a grumble, unfolding the wing closest to you all the way out. You look on, fascinated. Uncle prods you with his foot.
“Well?” he asks. You glance up. He appears to be waiting for something. When you offer no response, he jerks his head toward the dragon and says, “I cannot mount him for you. Climb up.”
“By myself?”
His expression makes you think he finds you dim-witted. “I will follow. There are some things you must do yourself, little girl.”
There is something about it—‘little girl’—that makes you feel better, somehow, as though he is reminding you that he knows you are only small, that he knows he is not asking too much of you. It helps you to feel brave. When you step onto Caraxes’s wing, you know he is right behind you. For how thin wings look, they are surprisingly strong, because it is easier than you thought to make your way up and up to where the saddle is buckled. There is enough room for you to slip onto the very front, behind the horn, as you wait for Uncle to settle behind you. Because you don’t have a riding habit yet, you must gather your skirts to either side to make sure your knees are covered.
Uncle’s body is warm, his arms folding around you to hold onto the grips either side of the horn. There are no reins like ’Nyra used to have when she was younger for Syrax, but that makes sense. Not only is Uncle old, but Caraxes’s neck is so, so long that you don’t think reins would really work anyway.
His chin comes to rest beside your head. “Ready?”
I have been ready for my whole life, you want to say.
You grab onto his hands and close your eyes, feeling the way his legs bracket you in and his chest presses firm against your back, like a shield. “Yeah.”
“Sōvēs!” Fly!
Your brain rattles and your limbs shake as Caraxes lunges forward, faster, faster, through the entry of the Dragonpit and out into the open air, faster, toward the edge, and then—
He—
Drops—
And you are flying.
Your belly swoops low, but your heart is in your throat and there are tears in your eyes because this, this is all you ever wanted and never even knew you could have, not really. Wind rushes in your ears, drowning out all other noise, and your legs feel impossibly cold, stockings doing little to protect you from the speed and height, but the sky is bright and blue and the sun shines golden and it bathes you in light, white, freedom. Beneath your heels, you can feel the heat of the dragon, the flex of his muscles as he takes you on and on and on.
Laughter bubbles up, up, up and out of your throat, given to the air, heard by none but felt so deep in your bones, no, past your bones, to the very very centre of you where you are something truer and greater than just a Princess, just a girl. Like magic. Like fire. You fling your arms out wide, forearms resting on your uncle’s, and you cannot hear his own laughter, but you can feel it in the way his skin thrums against yours, and oh, no one has ever understood you as much as he does now, in this moment. He knows. He knows.
There is no direction, no goal, no end point. You fly across the city you have lived in all your life, and even the Keep looks like a dollhouse, like Papa’s miniature that he tends to in his rooms. The streets look like string winding together and apart and around houses the size of sand grains, fading in and out among the clouds. You fly across open fields where there is so, so much space, more than you ever thought could be real, and more green than has ever been in one place at one time. You fly across trees packed so tightly together that you cannot see the ground below their tops, forests of leaves so dark that even the sun cannot make them glow in the daylight. The air tastes like salt and then earth and then something sweeter, purer, more real than books or hymns or dances.
It may be minutes. It may be hours. It may be days afterward, but one of the things you have learned is that everything good must come to an end.
The Dragonpit draws closer, closer, closer. With each drag onward, bits of who you are, who you must be, return to you. The Princess. The girl. The lonely soul crying out for someone, anyone. They burrow their way inside your blood where they have been made to belong.
Caraxes slows, and the world seeps back in. You can hear Uncle’s voice again. “Ninkiot!” Land!
The shock of the thud as the dragon hits ground jolts you forward, but Uncle Daemon’s arms are firm around you. Sand and dust fling up all around you from the damage Caraxes has done to the stone ground below. ’Nyra says it is because they are very heavy creatures, and stone isn’t as hard to something so strong, but like paper. Your teeth clack together painfully and your eyes feel suddenly too tight for your skull for a moment, and then it is over.
Uncle ignores the Keepers yelling from below. “Paerī, paerī…” Slow, slow…
Caraxes growls as he follows the command, snapping his teeth at the Keepers who come forth to grab at the buckles wrapping under his wings to restrain him.
“Kelītīs.” Halt. The dragon lumbers to a stop, hooting and shaking his head like a hound might. Your whole body wobbles with the movement, making you giggle. Uncle chuckles, slapping the exposed side of his mount with a smile. “Sȳres taobus.” Good boy.
“Thank you, Uncle!” It comes out in a breathless rush. You twist yourself to the side as best you can so that you are able to show him just how grateful you are. You are sure your eyes shine bright and wild. He smiles as he takes in your expression. “Thank you, thank you!” you say.
“You had fun?” His palm strokes along your back in a comforting rhythm.
“Yeah!”
Words escape you. There is no way to describe what it means to you. All you can do is lean into him, wind your arms around his waist and hug him as tight as you can, which is not very much at all. Still, it makes him grip you back, his breath puffing hot through your hair all the way to your scalp, the firm imprint of lips falling there like ’Nyra’s do when she kisses you goodnight.
He releases you with a grunt, patting just above your rear. “Go on, then,” he tells you, nodding toward Caraxes’s flattened wing. “Get down there. I’ll be a moment longer.”
“Yes, Uncle.”
Dismounting is not the same as climbing up; you try to plant your feet and walk your way down, but you feel yourself tipping forward when you try. Eventually—and not without Uncle laughing at you as you figure it out—you learn to sit on your bottom and almost slide your way down, using your legs to slow your speed. It is terribly fun. You nearly try walking back up so that you can do it all over again, but then you think about how you are putting all your weight on Caraxes’s arm, and what it would feel like if someone was stepping all over your arm like that. It wouldn’t be fair to the dragon to do something so unkind when he had taken you on such a lovely trip in the sky.
You stand up, jumping just before you reach the joint of his hand. In your excitement, you do not see how close Caraxes’s tail is, how easy it would be to tangle one’s skirts on the ridged tip.
What happens after comes in flashes. A sharp, scorching pain up your arm. A feeling of wet bursting across your skin. Deep, deep red, spilling across the stone. A throbbing that goes straight to your bone, beating in time with the sound of the sobs that burst from your chest, no, lower, somewhere where pain lives. Panicked whistling noises. A vision of wide-eyed, fearful Uncle Daemon, a bumpy wheelhouse ride and a soothing melody vibrating from the person holding you so, so tight.
The next thing you know, there is more pain, there is a needle, and a maester, and Papa and Alicent and Lord Otto, and you are bundled up on Uncle’s lap while the tug-tug of thread goes in and out of your skin.
“… she tripped, brother,” Uncle is saying, keeping his words low even though you can tell he is angry. “It’s not like she was maimed dragonriding, for fuck’s sake—”
Lord Otto sounds far away from his place near the door. “It was wildly irresponsible of you, Prince Daemon. She is but a child—”
“How dare you disobey me!” Papa stands above Uncle, growling, teeth gritting with fury. “I told you she was too young, and you took her anyway!”
Alicent places her hand on his arm, trying to pull him away. “Husband, perhaps—”
“Can you all shut up,” Uncle snaps, hand cupped over your head and turning your face into his neck so that you cannot see, you cannot see. “Do you really think now is the time to—”
“Kepus,” you cry, and you feel the pressure of a hand that is not Uncle’s on your back, a yes, my girl, but you did not ask for Papa, you asked for kepus, Uncle, you want the soft melody back and the quiet, so you shrug it away and press your nose closer to the man in front of you, the sting-pull hurt of something cold and wet splashing over your arm bringing even more tears.
“Sh, precious, you’re alright,” Uncle murmurs, and you can feel his voice as well as hear it, tingling through your skin. “The maester is nearly finished.”
“Hurts.” The tug-sting is over, but it is followed by a press-sting as the bandage is wrapped around and around.
“I know.” His hand keeps your face turned into him, solid against the back of your skull. “Drējī usōven, dōnītsos.” I am sorry, sweetling.
“Not your fault,” you tell him, or maybe you only think it, or maybe you say it over and over again on repeat as he carries you to your rooms, puts you to bed, hums you to sleep.
Septa is terribly angry when she learns that you have been sneaking off.
“No more of that, young madam.” Her stare feels like a leaden weight on your chest, disapproval washing over you like the waves of Blackwater Bay. “I shall be accompanying you to all your extracurriculars for the foreseeable future.” As she turns back to her knitting, she shakes her head, muttering, “Wilful, disobedient girl!” You think if Papa were not there, she would have struck you.
“Your uncle is a wretched influence,” he tells you. His eyes search yours like he is trying to find some sort of agreement from you, but you cannot obey him, not in this. It is the first time you have ever gone against something he has said, and it makes you feel terribly naughty. “He injured you—”
“No!” you protest. “I fell over, I promise! I was not watching where I was going, and I tripped—”
“That matters not.” His tone is forbidding. “He never should have taken you without permission—”
“I just wanted to fly.” You cannot explain it to him; the need that you feel now that you know what it is like to leave who you are behind and join the skies, to feel the strength and the heat of a dragon below you and know you are just as powerful as he. He wouldn’t understand. He’d ridden Balerion for less than a year, and never again did he seek out dragon-flight. “Uncle showed me,” you say. “I wanted to, Papa. Please.”
He sighs, goes silent for a time. When he lifts his head to watch you again, something sad and yet amused plays upon his expression. “You look so like your mother when you make that face.”
It is not the first time he has said so, and you know it won’t be the last. Still, you smile, because little girls who have lost their mothers are supposed to smile when people tell them how alike she is to the woman who has died. Sometimes, you feel like a ghost of her, like you aren’t really meant to exist as yourself.
“When you are bigger, you can claim a dragon. I swear it.” Papa takes your hand, the one that is not attached to your injured arm. “But you will need to give your old Papa some time, for his heart cannot take all this stress.”
He winks, and you giggle. Still, you cannot help asking. “Why?”
Why was ’Nyra allowed at my age and not me? Am I not good enough? Not Targaryen enough?
All that stops you from speaking these things aloud is that, deep down, you know it is not that you are not Targaryen enough. It might be that, for the first time, Papa has seen that you are too Targaryen.
“You are my little girl,” Papa says, and you think you can almost see a tremble to his lips. He must have been very worried, more than you realised. “My little Aemma. The thought of losing you… I cannot bear it.”
So, you hug him and tell him that you will not try it again, not yet, and you feel the anger and the worry and the fear flee him as he relaxes bit by bit. In your head, though, you are thinking about a time—somewhere far in the future, or perhaps nearer than you know—when you can be a dragonrider too.
Septa is true to her word. Most of the time, you are made to stay in your chambers, even though the wound on your arm isn’t all that large and the maesters say that it will not scar over too terribly. “The Prince conveyed you here swiftly, Princess,” they tell you as they clean and redress the ragged cut. In all, it is only the size of two gold coins put side-by-side. “You are very fortunate, indeed!”
You do not feel fortunate. Septa’s eyes remain fixed on you, so sharp that the hairs on the back of your neck stay upright. She watches you as you sound out your letters, as you embroider more dragon sigils, as you practice the hymns she has made you learn. She watches ’Nyra with a stern face as she sits in to visit with you in the afternoons—not even your sister is allowed to bend the rules of your punishment. Still, it is better than spending each day entirely with Septa and Septa alone.
Uncle comes in the evenings. That first night after you cut open your arm, he voiced the notes to an old song you think you can remember from when you were really little. Every night since, though, he comes to read you a story in High Valyrian and kiss you on the cheek and say goodnight. You think he might feel guilty about you hurting yourself, so you make sure to give him a very tight hug every time he arrives to your rooms. Sometimes, you see him in the day when he drops ’Nyra to your door, their conversation low and their heads bent close together. If he wasn’t Uncle and she wasn’t ’Nyra, it would look like they were courting, which is when a lord and lady spend time together to see if they are a good fit to be married. You know better.
But, one day, ’Nyra does not visit in the afternoon. Uncle does not come to read you a story or kiss you goodnight. It feels like you have faded from the world, like you only exist in these chambers and nowhere else. But you wait. You wait. You go to bed wide-eyed, trying to stay awake in case she wishes to see you off before you sleep, in case he is just running very late. You are not successful.
A muffled crackling noise and the feeling of something rough against your cheek is what wakes you in the morning, the sun casting weak rays through your balcony. You lift your head from the pillow; blink the crust from your eyes. Looking down, you take in what has disturbed you. A note.
It does not say who it is from, but you know. You know.
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#terms of endearment │ daemon targaryen x reader#daemon targaryen#daemon targaryen fanfiction#daemon targaryen x reader#daemon targaryen x oc#daemon targaryen x you#house of the dragon#house of the dragon fanfiction#hotd#hotd fanfiction#asoiaf#asoiaf fanfiction#a song of ice and fire#a song of ice and fire fanfiction#game of thrones#game of thrones fanfiction#matt smith#dance of dragons#house targaryen#fire and blood
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Ultraviolence
summary: In which you're in your head to much about this relationship with Ethan but he brings you back to reality and makes you realize your nothing but perfect for him and only him.
(as requested)
warnings: fluff fluff fluff so much fluff, Angst, you're really hard yourself, but you guys are so gushy and so in love, Ethan makes you feel better, use of marijuana, use of alcohol, that's it.
You were never the first choice in anything or for anyone. You never liked being an extrovert, if no one ever spoke to you well then you never spoke at all. You loath that about yourself, it was one of your many flaws and you hated it.
Growing up yes you did have many friends, but entering middle school and high school well those "friends" just faded away. Apart from having zero friends, no one ever asked you out on a date. You'd say "well that's stupid who cares if they even liked you romantically" well yea but you know it hurts, it kinda makes you think you aren't worthy for that sorts of stuff. No one ever gave you the option so why pursue it you know.
So when you finally made it to your first year of NYU dating was the last thing you wanted to do. No way were you gonna waste time on some guy or girl who would probably just end up leaving you for someone ten times better. Yea fuck that... but, but you met Tara and through Tara you also met her sister Sam, Chad and Mindy, the core four. That's what they called themselves, it's kinda cute you know, their friendship seemed so pure and warm it made you envious to what they had. But they welcomed you, they introduced you into the friendship and it brought some joy back into your life. You finally felt welcome into a group of people who did not judge or pressure you, you felt safe and sound with them.
Having met them well you met two others. Anika, she was the most charismatic and cutest girl you had ever met. She always made you feel at peace, you appreciated that, you appreciated her. She knows you do, you guys have a connection, not as strong as her and her girlfriend Mindy but something like it.
Ethan was the other person. He's Chads roommate it only made sense why he was in this friend group. Ethan was sweet, he's sweetest boy you've ever met. He is tall, muscular, has the prettiest soft curls and the biggest doe eyes. His voice is soft and soothing always speaking in a soft tone for everyone. Mainly for you but you never noticed, everyone around you did though.
He made you feel the things you know, the butterflies, you HATED it but you also secretly loved it. Every time he spoke to you looking down at you asking if you needed help carrying your books, your bag, your drink EVEN YOUR PHONE, it made you turn a shade of red always telling him "I'm fine, thanks Ethan" smiling up at him almost giggling. I mean no one had given you this kind of attention growing up, no one looked at you the way Ethan did. So you never worked towards that type of relationship with him, but he did.
When he finally got the courage to ask you in front of your guys friend group, you kinda hesitated which made him worry. Did you not feel that way? Did he take your signs wrong? Did he just ruin this connection you both had? A bunch of questions spiraled in his head and the same thing was happening in yours.
What if this is some kind of sick joke. No ones ever felt this way about you. Why would he? He's the perfect, kind and sweet boy who can get with anyone in this city. Why you. Why would he want to get with someone like me. You kept degrading yourself, you felt yourself shake your head lightly, not even looking at him anymore. You were looking at the concrete below you, looking at the little pebbles of tiny rocks that manage to sink into it. You wished you could sink into it. Then you heard your name being called by him, his hands lifting up from his sides, he was holding your face. He was making you come back to reality, he was making you forget these dreadful thoughts.
"You okay? I'm sorry I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable" he spoke softly. Searching your eyes for any sign of rejection and denial and he did see something but he could see that your eyes had softened once you made contact with his brown ones. "Yes" you said smiling and it made him smile. "Yes Ethan i'll be your girlfriend" and he couldn't help himself, he picked you up by the waist, strong arms enveloping around you lifting you off the ground. You squeaked at his actions not really expecting this but still enjoying it. He was one of the best things to happen in your life, but you still had insecurities he doesn't have to know that and you didn't want to worry about it. So you went on with your life with him.
It had been a two months since that happened, you felt at peace with him. Life had never felt so good, you are happy very very happy and so was Ethan. He loved being with you, he loving touching you, he loved being close to you, he loved everything about you. Of course you haven't said it, mainly because it's too early in the relationship you know the L word but he knew he felt it with you.
Now you guys are heading to that halloween frat party with your friend group. You guys were hand in hand giggling and smiling at each other like the lovesick couple you are admiring the costumes you had chosen. You both decided to dress up for this party since everyone else around you was. You and Ethan were going as Padmé Amidala and Anakin Skywalker, I know so corny but come on there love was so beautiful and innocent and strong! It reminded you both of the love you two have, aside for the dying at childbirth and Anakin becoming a Sith Lord, killing younglings and planing to take over the whole galaxy. THEY DESERVED A BETTER ENDING. Aside from that your costumes fit so well with you both and you had gotten so many complements so its a win.
"you guys are so cute its making me gag" Anika spoke jokingly from in front making very loud gagging noises. "true! but not as cute as us babe" Mindy spoke kissing Anika on her cheek, both turning there attention back to Tara and Chad.
"okay but who would have thought going as padmé and ani would gonna get us this much attention" you spoke to your boyfriend excitedly, "come on baby we look good, look at us no LOOK AT YOU! if that blaster was real I'd let you shoot me" he spoke in a serious but joking tone at the end "Ethan?!! I would never shoot you" you spoke in a mad but also joking tone "but cheat on me and see what happens" you spoke "bunny? I would never do that to you. I'd rather feel your wrath then cause such pain to you" he spoke serious now. "m' sorry didn't mean it" now feeling bad at what you had just said to him, you never wanted to hurt him, ever.
After a couple seconds of silence the conversation went back to its happy and sweet tone. Just you two gushing and babbling the cheesiest things ever. And finally you guys were at the party, not your type of scene but since you boyfriend was there it really didn't matter.
You both had slithered you way to the drinks, beer for you and coke for Ethan of course. You made your way to the couches Ethan sitting first and you placing yourself on his lap, back against his but moving yourself to face him a little. "Want some of my beer? promise it won't taste bad" you tell him shaking the red cup in front of him. "No thanks babe coke is pretty yummy for me" he spoke taking a sip of his coke humming happily. "Don't drink too much princess, don't want that pretty little head of yours hurting tomorrow" Ethan said placing his coke on your lap and using that hand to rub the side of your thigh soothingly "No promises" you giggled loudly scrunching your nose at him
"hello my favorite love birds, how are we doing" Mindy exclaimed now sitting to the left of you and Ethan, Anika following behind plopping beside Mindy smiling at both of you. "We're okay" you said dragging the 'y' "wait you have week right?!" you questioned Mindy excitedly "Yes I do" she said pulling the rolled joint from her pocket and asking Anika to light it for her as she placed it in between her lips, inhaling the smoke and finally letting it leave her throat. "fuck that's good" Mindy sighs happily "My turn my turn" you said repeating her actions but inhaling a little longer than her.
"Hey bunny be careful don't choke" your boyfriend said, you turn to look at him motioning him to slightly open his mouth for you, blowing the smoke into his mouth while keeping eye contact with him. "You know I don't" you whisper seductively at him making him almost choke on the smoke that was now in his mouth. You both laugh at that comment making sure to not drop the joint that was in between your index and middle finger.
You take more hits making sure to pass it to Mindy and Anika making sure you don't finish it all by yourself. See as much as you loved being in this state of euphoria you also hated it. You felt everything ten times more. You were now sitting beside Mindy, Ethan had gone to get another coke while you and your two friends finished the smoke sesh. Your eyes had been scanning the living room trying to look for your boyfriend, you just couldn't find him and it had been while since he had left. So you got up, making sure to tell Mindy but she wasn't really paying attention, she was too busy making out with Anika.
"ETHAN" you called out through the loud music blasting in your ears. Head turning left and right, eyes scanning every room you stumble yourself through. You finally find him, he was at the kitchen laughing, god he looked so cute laughing. His eyes were slightly closed, his nose was scrunched up, his shoulder shook lightly and his hair curls bounced lightly. You stood there admiring him but then you noticed, he was laughing with a girl. A very pretty girl in a robe, a gryffindor robe, she had the Harry Potter glasses and the lighting bolt was placed on the right side of her forehead. She was effortlessly pretty.
She looked pretty beside your boyfriend, they looked like an actual couple, they looked like they made sense, this hurt you. You just stood there, watching as she made your boyfriend laugh. She reached her hand out to point out how he was dressed as Anakin, caressing the material of the robe that laid on his biceps complementing him, she was flirting. Ethan just laughed thanking her and also complementing her Harry Potter costume. It made your mind spiral to those thoughts you had when he had first asked you to be his girlfriend.
Here you were, standing by the door of the room he was in, tears filling your eyes as your tried to blink them away. Breath hitching as more and more of these negative thoughts started to get to you. Walking out the room passing Mindy and Anika who were shocked and confused on why you walked out the house with tears in your eyes.
"Hey, hey, what happened? what's wrong?'' you could hear the worry in Anika's voice as she asked you. "Where's Ethan?" Mindy asked looking around trying to find him then looked back at you, you now sat on the cold concrete admiring it just like you had done before. "It's okay. Im just over exaggerating. I'm okay I swear, please go back inside and enjoy the party" you said to them wiping the tears the had flown down your soft cheeks, trying to smile for them to encourage them inside the house. You just wanted to be alone.
They insisted on staying but they could tell you wanted to be alone, they respected that but still worried for you, so they went looking for Ethan. When they finally found him he had such a panic look on his face. He couldn't find you anywhere and he didn't like that, he needed to see you, he needed to be with you. "Hey guys where's is she?" He said your name looking behind Mindy and Anika thinking he'd find you trailing behind them. "She's outside at the front, please go talk to her, somethings wrong, we worry for her" your friends obligated him.
And he did just that. He ran out the house, he never wanted to see you the way he did. You sat on the ground head pointed towards the ground, tears now leaving your eyes in water falls. Eyes red and so was your cheeks but not because of the weed but because on how much you had been crying, he hated seeing you like this.
"Hey angel face what's wrong" he cooed at you reaching out to hold your face but you flinched from his touch and that struck pain into his chest. "Speak to me baby" he encouraged you trying to coax anything from you to know why you are feeling this way. "why do you want to be with me?" you questioned him looking into his eyes trying to search for a answer.
"Because I only want to be with you, I need you in order to feel as if I finally have something good in my life. You are the most beautiful being to exist in this whole entire galaxy. I would be nothing with out you" he spoke in the warmest and sincerest voice, he was crouched down in front of you forehead almost touching yours. You looked at his big brown eyes thinking you'd only see how he was speaking lies but you only saw comfort in them. "You saw me with that girl didn't you?" now realizing why you felt this way. You nod your head looking back down to the ground.
"Oh baby" now leaving small kisses on your lips tasting the salty tears that ran down your lips "Yea I didn't notice how she was flirting with me baby I'm sorry, I thought she was being nice but once I noticed her intentions I told her I already had my beautiful amazing girlfriend" smiling at you still leaving soft wet kisses on your cheeks. "really?" you spoke softly looking at him again tilting your head really enjoying the kisses he was leaving on your face. "Yes angel face, its always you"
"its just" you spoke but you didn't finish the sentence "I know baby, we all feel insecure, but never can ever replace you. I love you" Ethan said not realizing his last words "You. You love me?" you said surprised at his words but also felt the heat in your face rise "I do angel face, I Love You" he exclaimed loudly picking you up once again just like that very first time. "I love you too Ethan, more than anyone in this galaxy" you giggled, tears no longer dripping from your eyes.
You kissed him as if it was the last kiss you both were gonna share. It was soft and slow, you took in each others taste and you loved every second go it. You let go of his lips finally trying to catch your breath from all the kissing. Feet now planted to the ground. "you know we both really took in that role of ani and padme" you said giggling making Ethan laugh with you. "I mean I would destroy the whole galaxy in order to save you"your boyfriend said proudly making you giggle louder.
"you're so pretty" you told Ethan running your fingers through his soft brown curls, it made him blush at your words "you're really pretty too bunny, the prettiest" kissing you once again.
"lets go back to my dorm angel" Ethan spoke wiggling his eye brows implying what he wanted to do "ETHAN! don't say that out loud" you yelled his name hitting his chest playfully. "Okay lets go" you said running away from him and towards his dorms, he chased you not so far behind.
You guys are so in love and nothing could ever change that.
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tbh i just dont want the dsmp to be remembered in infamy for being just a server who had criminals on there. it was so much more than just a minecraft server to me, and if it means that im the only dsmp fan lying around, so be it. i like the lore. i LOVE the characters.
i dont care if some of the cc's are assholes/just vile people, im fully separating the characters from em, because, y'know what? the characters aren't the cc's, they're fictional.
i think im gonna plan a lil project, yknow, just to send a "farewell", well, not for me, im still gonna be here lmao, but to the people who're leaving/left the fandom permanently.
to make the memory of the server not tainted by whoever was exposed for doing something vile, to make the memory of the server alive.
it's to make it less bittersweet, and more happy. im happy you were here, im happy you had those memories here. don't be sad or frustrated because it's over or some shitty cc's, be happy because it happened at all. be happy for all the experiences you had in this community.
that server was purely driven by fanworks, you made that server happen, you were apart of its success, you made that little song a whole symphony. and i wish you well on your future :)
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also, kindly fuck off if you'd like to hate on dsmp or mcyt in general because of creeps, this server wasn't only here because of them, it was the fanbase, the songs, the animations, the art, the fanfiction.
there was a story here, tons of lore throughout hundreds of hours of livestreams on twitch. a story about war, about broken friendships, about nations falling them rising back up and then falling again, about a man wanting control, about a child soldier, about an anarchist, about so, so many things.
so many former fans that have a superiority complex where they deem themselves "better" than people who left later or are still here just because they left. you arent better than any of them, you need to learn that. you just left earlier, you cant just call yourself better than any of them.
im so sick of hearing those fucking jokes with minecraft or dsmp youtubers as the punchline, this is why so many dsmp cc's distance themselves from it. not every minecraft youtuber is a terrible person, what about grian? what about tommy? what about joel? what about scar? what about lizzie? what about tubbo? are they all just bad people apparently because they're minecraft youtubers and/or associated with the dsmp or other servers? no, they arent.
have a more open mind.
WS supporters and dream team stans also kindly go fuck off (support victims btw). i support shelby, alice, niki, lexie, caiti, andi, and freddie, get out of my page, this isnt a safe space for you. get off, go on.
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just be happy you were here in this beautiful community to begin with :D
anyway, on a lighter note
here's a lil info about my lil project: everyones gonna have new designs / outfits for it !! :D / its an animatic thing lol
(im a lil excited abt it buttt im keeping it under wraps lol)
have a wonderful day :)
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The anon who sent the long puppy boy Leon blurb is back and brain rotting.
Imagine bringing Leon back to the shelter for a visit. You make sure to stress to him that you aren’t returning him, that he’s still your good boy, that you’re only bringing him to visit the other hybrids that he misses. You make sure to have his collar on him, maybe a little tighter than usual so he can feel the weight of it on him, grounding him through it all that he’s still yours.
Once leon knows that he’s not going back permanently, just to visit, he’s excited! He wants to help the other puppies train so they can be good boys, wants to brag that his owner is so sweet and nice and lets him scent her by hugging her! But more importantly, he wants to talk to the dog men about how to help his puppy cock. See, Leon has had boners before you, but now, it feels like every time you make his tail wag, he’s leaking cum into his pants. You’re gonna notice the amount of laundry soon, and Leon is worried you’ll actually return him if you find out just what his puppy cock is doing. So he goes to the older dog men, and asks how to make him stop leaking cum every where. The older dog tease him for his over excited puppy cock, but they see how anxious he is about this and tell him there is something he can wear that’ll stop his puppy cock from getting hard, which should stop him from cumming every where every time you so much as look at him. He gets one from the shelter (after begging the volunteer to not say anything to you, and he’s making himself sick at the thought of you finding out so the volunteer has to agree).
He puts it on, and though it feels wrong to not have his puppy cock out and ready to hump things the second you so much as look his way, he’s hopeful that this will stop his leaking. And it does! Kinda… he’s not getting hard (though he wants to, he can feel his dick wanting to swell, the knot begging to form for you) but he’s still cumming whenever he gets too excited or close to you. Actually, it might even be making him worse because he’s more sensitive now, and he’s found himself trying to hump even when in his device. His puppy cock is so sensitive and filled with even more cum because of the sensitivity. But he doesn’t want to risk not wearing it when you’re home because then you’ll find out and you’ll hate him!!
Finally, one day you come home to see puppy boy Leon humping your pillow with the cage still on. Every other hump has cum leaking from his puppy cock, yet he still keeps going. You coo and call for your puppy to tell you what’s happening, and he does, even as he keeps cumming because your near him with his puppy cock exposed. So you tell him he doesn’t have to be caged up, he can use his puppy cock and fill you will all the cum he’s been wasting and the words make him cum for like 8 minutes straight, the largest load you’ve ever seen, and he’s still in the cage. Getting him out of the cage and inside you, it’s like you bought a fucking machine because even when he’s cumming, he just keeps fucking into you nonstop, and your tummy is swelling a bit from being so filled with cum and he’s not stopping, mind completely broken and all he knows is to hump and cum as he whimpers and whines.
(I tried to not add any piss stuff this time around, even though I love the idea of subby little puppy boys not being able to control what leaks out of their dicks because they’re too dumb and horny to control themselves, just in case some people dislike that stuff)
Anon!!! 🫣
I love your blurbs!! And send whatever you want into my inbox (within reason, I don’t legally need to know if you’ve killed a man 🤭). So if you like piss, then add it to your thoughts no sense in censoring yourself hehe
But anon, holy moly! 🥵😵💫🫠🫠
A cock cage for little puppy Leon cause he just can’t help himself???? 💀 🤤 and he keeps going and going? 😮💨 damn anon got me thinking silly thoughts now 🥴
I’m serious about you writing your own fics 👀 I think you’d do great 😌 but I’m more than happy for you to keep swinging by instead 🤭
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Kurt Cobain Quotes
1. I'd rather be hated for who I am, than loved for who I am not.
2. Practice makes perfect, but nobody's perfect, so why practice?
3. Friends are nothing but a known enemy.
4. Wanting to be someone else is a waste of who you are.
5. If my eyes could show my soul, everyone would cry when they saw me smile.
6. I am definitely a feminist. I'm f--king disgusted by the way women are still treated. It's 1993 and some people still think we're in 1950s. We need to make more progress. There needs to be more female musicians, more female artists, more female writers. Everything is dominated by f--king males and I'm sick of it!
7. Thank you for the tragedy. I need it for my art.
8. Drugs are a waste of time. They destroy your memory and your self-respect and everything that goes along with with your self-esteem. They're no good at all.
9. We're so trendy we can't even escape ourselves.
10. I definitely feel closer to the feminine side of the human being than I do the male - or the American idea of what a male is supposed to be. Just watch a beer commercial and you'll see what I mean.
11. I mean, I’m definitely gay in spirit, and I probably could be bisexual. But I’m married, and I’m more attracted to Courtney [Love] than I ever have been toward a person, so there’s no point in trying to sow my oats at this point. [Laughs] If I wouldn't have found Courtney, I probably would have carried on with a bisexual lifestyle.
12. Ever since the beginning of rock and roll, there's been an Axl Rose. And it's just boring. It's totally boring to me.
13. I thought I would try to be gay for a while, but I'm just more sexually attracted to women. But I'm really glad that I found a few gay friends, because it totally saved me from becoming a monk or something.
14. If any of you, in any way, hate homosexuals, people of a different color or women, please do this one favor for us—leave us the fuck alone. Don’t come to our shows and don’t buy our records.
15. The problem with groups who deal with rape is that they try to educate women about how to defend themselves. What really needs to be done is teaching men not to rape. Go to the source and start there.
16. The duty of youth is to challenge corruption.
17. We’re not as popular as everyone thinks, and we’re not as rich as everyone thinks.
18. There are a lot of things I wish I would have done, instead of just sitting around and complaining about having a boring life.
19. Punk is musical freedom. It’s saying, doing, and playing what you want.
20. Words suck. I mean, everything has been said. Words aren’t as important as the energy derived from music, especially live.
21. I'm a spokesman for myself. It just so happens that there's a bunch of people that are concerned with what I have to say. I find that frightening at times because I'm just as confused as most people. I don't have the answers for anything.
22. Holding my baby is the best drug in the world.
23. No one is afraid of heights, they’re afraid of falling down. No one is afraid of saying I love you, they’re afraid of the answer.
24. I use bits and pieces of others’ personalities to form my own.
25. If you die you're completely happy and your soul somewhere lives on. I'm not afraid of dying. Total peace after death, becoming someone else is the best hope I've got.
26. I just can’t believe anyone would start a band just to make the scene and be cool and have chicks. I just can’t believe it.
27. To be positive at all times is to ignore all that is important, sacred and valuable. To be negative at all times is to be threatened by ridiculousness and instant discredibility.
28. You can’t buy happiness.
30. Nobody dies a virgin. Life f***s us all.
31. Music is energy. A mood, atmosphere. Feeling.
33. If you’re really a mean person you’re going to come back as a fly and eat poop.
34. There’s good in all of us and I think I simply love people too much, so much that it makes me feel too f****** sad.
35. I have to admit I’ve found myself doing the same things that a lot of other rock stars do or are forced to do. Which is not being able to respond to mail, not being able to keep up on current music, and I’m pretty much locked away a lot. The outside world is pretty foreign to me.
36. I really miss being able to blend in with people.
37. It’s better to burn out than fade away.
38. God is gay
#kurt donald cobain#kurt cobain#kurdt kobain#frances bean cobain#courtney love#grunge#life quote#beautiful quote#quotes#90s grunge#rock#grunge tumblr#feminism#feminist quotes#queer#punk music#god is gay#kurt#smells like nirvana#nirvana#punk community#holeband#bisexual#inspirational quotes#aberdeen#grunge music#riot grrrl#activism#anti homophobia#anti sexism
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In The Room Where You Sleep
Summary: Dalton was just being curious and stumbles upon something he probably shouldn’t have. He then does something he shouldn’t have.
Warnings: Mentions of the Further, mentions of entities, Dalton being a creep, stalking, voyeurism, masturbation (f & m), sexual fantasies
All credit to @glodessa who wrote the imagine that inspired this, so much talent there and you’re feeding my Dalton addiction
Dalton was your friend. His primary art class was in the studio next to the orchestra rooms where you practiced in. He’d wandered in on you playing a section piece on the violin after he’d forgotten that his class was cancelled.
Since you two had obviously seen each other on multiple occasions when going to and leaving from class, he’d felt comfortable striking up a conversation. He usually wasn’t into initiating introductions, but Chris had started forcing him to interact with more people and make friends. You were the first person he had introduced himself to without her assistance.
In a way, he felt a sick sense of possession when it came to you because of that. It made him feel funny, like he was gross and he tried to stomp it down, but it would crawl it’s way up his throat whenever you talked to him. He’d met you all on his on, without a buffer or cleverly charming segue. You knew him for him from the get go, and still liked him. You liked him enough to start waiting for him before classes for a chat. You liked him enough to exchange contacts and let him take pictures of you to save for his own personal enjoyment put into his saved contacts.
You liked him enough to let him walk you back to your dorms every time he had the chance to. Which he did, considering he started walking a different path to insure that he would run into you more often.
He didn’t think he was odd, not really. Lots of friends took secret pictures of each other. For fun, it was funny, like a secret joke. And lots of friends walked together in between classes, it was normal. Even if they didn’t share certain classes. Or if one of the friends wasn’t completely aware that the other friend was nearby.
Dalton didn’t consider it strange that he didn’t like when you talked to Chris, or any of his other friends. Or anyone that might find you attractive. In his eyes, that should’ve meant everyone. You were gorgeous and people should be falling over themselves trying to be with you, in his opinion. But you were his. His friend, at least. And he hated not having your full attention.
Nighttime was the worst, in some ways. You two had met up on occasion to help each other study or wind down from an intense test. But most nights, you turned in early to spend time with your roommate. Dalton hated your roommate, she was so clingy and always convinced you to go back to the dorms, cutting off his time with you. He thought she was off, or at least very selfish, and that she used every opportunity to guilt you and take advantage of your kindness and naivety.
Dalton would never do that, he was lucky to get to be your friend. You were beautiful, talented, kind and accepting. You even accepted his ability of astral projection without hesitation. You were beyond perfect to him, and if he wasn’t with you, he was thinking about you. Constantly, and usually aloud, much to Chris’ annoyance.
“Dolphin! Please, for the love of fuck, ask that girl out already. You’re driving me nuts!” She threw herself back onto the spare bed in Dalton’s dorm in dramatic agony, groaning loudly in complaint.
“No, Chris. She’ll just think that I became friends with her because I wanted to get in her pants,” he dismissed, tossing a dirty t-shirt into his hamper a little too forcefully.
“Isn’t that what all guys do? What’s the big deal?” Chris sat up again to try to convince him. It wasn’t the first time either, but she was almost positive that you liked Dalton back and would rather you keep his mouth too occupied for him to verbally obsess over you. Like he was doing right now.
“I’m not going to do that, Chris. Just drop it.” His voice was unnervingly firm and Chris snapped her mouth shut before another incentive could fall out. Dalton was usually mild-mannered, at least when it came to anyone but his dad, not really the aggressive type. Anti-social and surly, but not aggressive. Unless it had something to do with you.
Chris thought there was something not quite right about Dalton’s crush on you but she figured his abnormal childhood and resulting trauma made it hard for him properly process his feelings. And she was reluctant to ask in case it set him off.
“I heard her roommate is going home to her parents’ for her dad’s birthday, maybe y’all can hang out more this weekend,” Chris suggested instead, unfettered by Dalton’s tone. “She left earlier this afternoon.”
Something seized in Dalton’s chest. You hadn’t mentioned that to him. You didn’t have a reason not to. Was there someone else? Were you going to spend the whole weekend with another guy? Did you have a boyfriend? Anger and hatred for this secret man clouded his mind and he felt like throwing something against the wall until it broke.
“I hadn’t heard about that,” he replied to Chris coolly. “I’ve got some homework to finish, do you mind?”
Chris nodded slowly, grabbing her bag and quickly making her way to the door, watching Dalton worriedly. She gave a half-hearted wave goodbye and left without a word.
As soon as the door shut, he quickly locked it, tearing his ball cap from his head and flinging thoughtlessly towards his desk, knocking over a small stack of his sketchbooks and a tin of water. Cursing under his breath, Dalton begrudgingly trudged to clean up the mess before the water could stain or damage any of his work.
After mopping up the water, he flipped through his drawings to check if any of it ruined the paper. One of the sketchbooks was relatively new, but nearly full of pencil and ink sketches. Of you.
Most of them took up an entire page of their own. They were innocent, somewhat, just candids that he’d done while or after hanging out with you. You smiling, laughing, playing the violin, biting your lip awkwardly. Gorgeous and sweet.
There were some other ones, smaller in comparison to the rest and done with a light hand. You changing through the window of your room. You bending over at work. You crying to your mom on the phone after you tore your favorite dress right before a date you ended up not going on. Done in a hurry by someone who was sketching without a still reference.
It was not stalking. No, he wasn’t like that. He didn’t threaten you or send you lewd messages. He didn’t get off on scaring you or making you feel unsafe. He wanted you to feel safe around him, did everything in his power to make sure you were always comfortable with him. Plus, he never invaded your privacy, he just looked. Watched. It was friendly, protective even.
Plus, those sketches were nothing compared to the rest. Small enough for three separate drawings to fit on a page, and darkly filled in with a heavy and rough hand.
It wasn’t intentional, not at first. He was a guy. You were his crush. He couldn’t control his own thoughts, let alone his dreams. It happened, and it was completely normal and natural. Not at all creepy or perverted.
He dreamt of you often. He couldn’t keep his mind off you even in his sleep. Of course, his unconscious mind was different than his conscious mind. Mostly, anyway. A lot more eager for you, hungry for you.
The pencil drawings were of you as you appeared to him in his dreams. Bent over his desk, wearing a string of pearls and a sultry smile. You, on his bed with your legs spread out invitingly, your fingers scissoring your slick folds. There was even one featuring him, his lower face dripping with drool and your arousal as his tongue delved into your wet heat from under you. That one was his favorite, even if the drawing itself wasn’t exactly his best work skill-wise. He had a hard time balancing the pad with only one hand, which he was also using to draw.
Dalton sighed and picked up all of the sketch pads, putting them back where they were and collapsing on his back on his bed. He stared up at the ceiling, wondering if he should bring up your roommate leaving and confront you about not telling him. You must have had a good reason, right? It’s not like you were getting tired of him or anything. Right?
As he drifted further and further into his thoughts, the room became darker around him. Standing up to fix his lamp, he caught the sight of himself sleeping in his peripheral. He’d fallen asleep and accidentally projected.
He didn’t do so often anymore, the Further was a scary and dangerous place and he was cautious of bringing something back with him. But it had its advantages, for pranks or finding out things that others couldn’t. Surprisingly, he’d never used his ability to watch you. You were too pure and beautiful to see through the lenses of the Further, he liked seeing you surrounded by light and color, with no potential of evil spirits ruining the experience for him.
But just this once…
No! He couldn’t. He shouldn’t.
You trusted him, it would be so easy. And it’s not like he was trying to be a weirdo, he just wanted to see if you had plans that weekend without having to actually ask you. It would only be once, for a few minutes. He wouldn’t mess with you or your things. He would just listen in and leave.
He grabbed the lantern and walked out of his room. He could’ve found your dorm with his eyes closed, but since it was in a different building and he was traveling through the Further, it took him longer than he would’ve liked. But at least he didn’t encounter anyone. You lived on the second floor of your dorm house and yours was nicer and more expensive than his. You had your own bedroom and personal bathroom, not having to share with your roommate and the rest of your floor like Dalton did.
Your door was unlocked and after he entered your dorm, he locked it himself, knowing he’d have to unlock again it in order to leave. Your bedroom door was open and he could see you through it, sitting at your desk and typing on your phone. Silently and curiously, he peered over your shoulder to watch you text your roommate.
He rolled his eyes at seeing her contact but ignored it in favor of the messages being sent. Mostly average, just you being your considerate self and asking about her trip home. She, obviously, sent paragraph after paragraph detailing every insignificant second of her weekend away, not once asking anything about you. The entire conversation revolves around her and Dalton had to bite his tongue to avoid scoffing in your ear, which was inches from his mouth.
Finally she asked about you, specifically your plans for while she was gone. Luckily, she could serve a purpose for once, Dalton thought.
You mentioned work, homework and just relaxing and Dalton was tempted to leave and rid himself of his craving to kiss you. Then, he saw you type his name. You wanted to surprise him by inviting him over for a sleepover. Your roommate responded by teasing you about you and Dalton finally progressing to the next stage in your friendship; a relationship.
Huh, maybe your roommate wasn’t as bad as Dalton thought she was.
Dalton’s heart was racing as he continued to read all of your roommate’s suggestions for extremely sexual twists on common sleepover activities, all in order to seduce him. You didn’t have to try to seduce him, but trying any one of these wouldn’t hurt. He felt his cock hardening in his pants and knew that he probably should’ve left. Like, now.
But then you sighed loudly into the empty air. Your head dropped back, your lips parted and you shifted awkwardly in your seat, your thighs pressing together tightly. Dalton felt his mouth water just watching you and suddenly stopped in his tracks. He decided that he would wait until you either went to the bathroom or fell asleep. If he tried leaving before then, you might catch him.
So he stood off to the side and simply observed you from up close. You seemed more deflated when you weren’t around him, less animated and poise. Less…cheery. You continued to stay at your desk texting your roommate for a while before getting up for a glass of water. It seems like she was going to bed. You paced around the kitchen as you sipped your drink, looking slightly anxious about how the conversation ended. Dalton regretted not reading it along with you and now he couldn’t because your phone was off and locked.
Huffing out a tense laugh to yourself, you marched back into your room, passing Dalton to get to your phone. You continued pacing as you opened up your messages and scrolled until you found a particular contact, hesitating for a moment and then opening the chat thread. Dalton stood in front of you this time and read his own name from upside down. Why were you pausing when it came to texting him? Did this happen often? We’re you inviting him over?
He watched you type out a greeting and began pacing in your room. When the message delivered, Dalton panicked before remembering that his phone was next to his actual body. You wouldn’t catch him over his phone notifications sounding off in your otherwise silent room.
You turned off your phone and sat on your bed, your back straight and your eyes staring out into nothingness. Your leg bounced erratically and you started checking your phone every thirty seconds in case you missed his message. You were waiting for a response from him, Dalton realized. And he couldn’t do that while he was standing here with you.
Now was definitely the time to go and you gave him the perfect opportunity when you started collecting your things to take a shower, muttering to yourself about how desperate you were. It was clear that you were agitated from waiting on his message, and he supposed it was because he hardly ever took more than 20 seconds to start typing back. He only took long if he was busy, and he would always tell you beforehand if he was.
As much as he wanted to watch you undress yourself and shower, becoming aroused slightly once more at the idea, he wouldn’t cross that boundary when you were so vulnerable and unaware. It was completely different from the times he watched you change your shirt or remove your bra from outside your window. He was in your home and you were going to be completely naked. Dalton wanted go reserve that honor for when you would strip in front of him eagerly, at least for the first time he ever saw you naked.
*~*~*
Gasping, Dalton sat up in his own bed, his erection pressing against his sweats and his body feeling sweaty. He immediately opened his messages and read your message asking him what he was doing. Getting his own clothing, he walked to the common bathroom in his dorm house and stripped, sending you a picture of his shower stall with the reflection of his bare torso halfway in the frame.
He’d never been so forward with you before. You’d seen him shirtless on occasion, he wasn’t shy about his body, but never on purpose and he hardly ever sent you pictures instead of just telling you what he was doing. But now that he knew you felt the same way he did, he felt confident enough to give actual signals to tell you that.
He turned on the shower and waited for the ancient water settings to actually heat up the water. As he was about to step in, you messaged him back with a photo of your own.
You were wearing nothing but a robe, tied at the waist, but doing a very poor job at concealing your cleavage, and your hair was soaked. The mirror that you had taken the picture in was fogged and he could see streams of steam swirling in the air around your head. So you liked really hot showers, fuck, that was attractive to him. You smiled shyly into the camera with one of your hands clutching a towel in your hands.
You: “I just got out of the shower, how funny is that?”
God, you were adorable without even trying. He wondered if the placement of your robe was intentional or if you were just that sexy without trying to be. It could go either way, you were as effortlessly cunning as you were absurdly oblivious to your affect on others.
He quickly went through his shower routine quickly, not taking his time to enjoy the water and relax like he usually did. He didn’t want to keep you waiting again. He decided to toe the line of flirtation and idle conversation once more by sending you another photo. This time following your lead with a mirror pic. He was still shirtless and brushing his teeth with an overly wide and sud-filled smile. His shorts hung low on his hips and his entire frame was centered in the photo this time.
D: “What’s up?”
It was a lame line, but he wanted to keep the conversation going and see if you were going to invite him over. He spit out his toothpaste and gargled mouthwash, accidentally swallowing some as you replied back. Coughing at the strong taste burning his throat, his eyes widened as he memorized every pixel of the photo you sent, catching on to his little provocation.
The mirror in your bathroom was still slightly fogged but he could clearly see that all you were wearing was a t-shirt. It was big enough to cover your thighs, so Dalton didn’t know what you were wearing under it and he could see your nipples poking through the material ever so slightly. He dragged his lip into his mouth and bit down hard, hand clenching on the edge of the counter. He gathered his shower stuff and walked back to his room, keeping his towel gathered in a ball in front of his crotch in case he ran into anyone this late.
It didn’t occur to him to read the message you sent until he was about to send one himself. He was so distracted by your selfie that he completely forgot that he was in the middle of a conversation with you. He wondered if it was weird to be more turned on by you in your pajamas than you soaking wet and in a towel.
You: “Nothing much? What are you doing right now?”
He sat down on his art stool, and angled the camera at the mirror that sat in the corner between his spare bed and the wall. He hadn’t gotten the motivation to actually put it up so it laid on its side and only showed from his waist down at this angle. The picture showed his bare stomach, shorts and legs, with one of his feet braced up on the leg of his seat.
D: “Chilling in my room now, you?”
You responded a minute later in much the same fashion. This photo didn’t show your face either, but he could see your hair and the junction between your neck and shoulder at the top of the photo. You were stretched out on your bed, your legs propped up in front of you and you holding the weight of your upper body on your other arm as you snapped a photo of yourself. From the way your shirt rode up on your thighs, you weren’t wearing any shorts, but he couldn’t see your underwear.
You: “Same. My roommate left to her parents’ house so I have the place to myself.”
Was this your way of implying that you wanted him to come over? How does he respond to that information without sounding weird or letting on that he’d already known? Should he tell you that he already knew? He decided that now was the perfect time to reorganize his desk and actually put up the mirror in his room. It took fifteen minutes for him to respond and the guilt ate at him now that he knew how you reacted when he didn’t message back quickly.
D: “Oh, really? Yeah, I kinda always have my place to myself, haha :)Look what I finally did.”
The added “haha” looked so stupid that he wanted to jump out his window. He hoped the selfie he sent to you would make up for it. He was standing in front of his mirror, acting as if he was only trying to show you the mirror you’d been bugging him about putting up. He was still shirtless and a light sheen of sweat made his body glow slightly from the exertion of his impromptu redecorating. He angled his phone to show a grin, but the rest of his face was covered.
You took a few minutes to respond yourself and Dalton thought he understood your anxiety about having to wait for messages. He felt the anxiety was all the more potent now that you were sending each other photos of yourselves. But he couldn’t deny that he liked the tension, the anticipation ate him up and he was beyond keyed up.
You: “I got bored being here by myself so I’m doing my makeup :p”
You: “Oml, finally!”
You were kneeling in front of the camera with your legs slightly spread. The lighting in your room made it hard for him to see what your underwear looked like and he felt like a pervert for being disappointed. Probably not as bad as he would’ve felt before he knew that you reciprocated his feelings. Your hair was put up into an updo so it was out of your face and it reminded him of that Pamela Anderson hairdo that you complained about not being able to do. You looked beautiful, your makeup was darker than you normally had it, more like dark seduction than pretty fairy. Dalton wondered if that was on purpose.
He sent you a closeup selfie of half of his face, his eyes mostly angled down at the phone screen instead of the actual camera and a slight smirk on his lips. His neck, collarbones and one of his shoulders were on display for you as well
D: “Guess I got bored too. Your hair looks like Pamela Anderson’s, btw”
D: “I like your makeup, it looks good!”
You responded quickly and without a photo.
You: “Are you joking me?! The one time I’m not bending over backwards trying to do it right…”
Dalton had to take a minute to recover from the mental image of you bending over backwards, particularly the image of how your breasts would look at that angle when your next message came in with another photo.
You: “Come over?”
This time, your phone was placed close to the floor and angled up for Dalton to see your knees pulled up to your chest and you dramatically and exaggeratedly pouted at the camera, your dark red lips shining in the camera flash. The flash also, probably unintentionally, highlighted the junction between your legs and he could actually see your panties this time. White lace. Son of a bitch!
Instead of responding, he jumped around his room and tried to gather all of his shit to take to your place and was pulling up his jacket when he noticed some papers on his bed. His homework that he had told Chris about earlier and completely forgot about. It was due at midnight and his teacher was a hardass about homework.
“Fuck!” His curse echoed loudly in his empty and otherwise silent room and he slammed his things down on the bed in anger.
As desperate as he was to go to your room and potentially spend the night inside you, he was stuck inside his dorm unless he wanted his grade to tank. With a heavy heart and tense motions, he sat in his chair, a different one from his stool, and faced his mirror. He spread his legs so that he was man-spreading and propped a leg up on the edge of his bed. He held up his homework in one hand above his head and made a faux-angry face at the camera, his expression not even making at dent when it came to showing just how angry he actually was. He gave himself a minute of fantasizing about your lips kissing marks all over his body before snapping the picture and sending it to you.
D: “I was on my way when I remembered I had homework. Fucking sucks! Raincheck? I’ll bring you breakfast in the morning?”
He ordinarily didn’t curse over text, or in general. He wasn’t a prude about swearing, but he just didn’t feel the need to do it. However, he also needed you to understand that he wasn’t blowing you off, and then he genuinely was upset about not being able to spend the night with you. He felt it was probably too risky sending you a picture where he was very obviously at half-mast and worried that he was being too forward and would make you uncomfortable.
Two minutes of complete agony imagining all of the ways that you would dismiss him and tell him to forget about it, or get angry and misinterpret what he was telling you. Now that the conversation couldn’t go anywhere, the anticipation wasn’t alluring and fun, it felt like acid burning his skin.
You: “Oh, please do your homework! Grades are important. Breakfast sounds good! Goodnight x”
A kiss, you messaged him a kiss. And you were completely fine with it. For the first time in his life, Dalton felt the urge to do a chest bump with a bro. He was on top of the world right now. He was tempted to rush his homework and run over to you as soon as possible, but as soon as he sat down to do it, he knew that the assignment required all of his time and attention. Fortunately, the assignment itself was relatively simple, but it was incredibly time consuming, which is why he’d been putting it off.
Two hours later, he took some pictures of his completed homework and sent them to his professor’s email. It was fifteen minutes til midnight and he wondered if he should risk going over to you now. You weren’t expecting him, though, and for all he knew, you were asleep or something. He debated texting you that he was done and seeing if you’d extend the invitation to come over again, but you hadn’t even brought up his last picture and that made him a bit insecure. What if you were trying to just ignore it as a way to say you weren’t interested? Even back in your room, when your roommate was encouraging you to take advantage of having your dorm to yourself, you had only denied all of her sexual innuendos. He knew you liked him back, but maybe sending you a picture of like the one he sent was too much too fast?
Oh yeah, astral projector. He could always just pop in and check without actually having to check. It was fine the first time, right? No big deal anymore. He wasn’t hurting anyone.
He relaxed on his bed and before long, he was picking up that lantern once more and leaving his body behind, making sure that all of his lights were on to protect his body before he left the room.
You had been in your room with your door mostly closed when he came in again. You really should make sure your front door was locked, he thought. He heard little whimpers coming from your room and was immediately concerned, automatically assuming that you were crying. Your bedroom door was swaying on account of the industrial fan that you insisted was the only thing strong enough to keep you cool at night. He had no problem opening your door and putting it back in place, making it look completely natural in case you noticed.
From what he could see, you were looking at your phone and were mostly covered by your blanket. Only one of your hands was holding your phone, which Dalton found odd because you normally preferred using both hands. Finally seeing your face, Dalton noticed that you had no tears on your cheeks or in your eyes. You weren’t crying. What the hell were you looking at on your phone?
Him. You were looking at a picture of Dalton that he’d sent to you. More accurately, you were looking at the second photo he had sent you, the one where he was brushing his teeth. It took Dalton several moments to begin thinking again to put the dots together.
Oh. Oh.
Just as Dalton registered what you were actually doing, you threw your blanket aside in frustration and essentially showed him that he was correct. He watched in rapt fascination as you rubbed your clothed center over your panties with two fingers. You kept focused on your phone, swiping over to the photo of him after he hung up his mirror, as your index fingers slipped beneath your lacy white underwear and into your slick heat. Your breathing was loud and shallow, the occasional moan slipping through as you touched yourself.
Dalton should not be here. He knew that. He knew what was and what wasn’t appropriate, his mom made sure he knew how to respect women, so he knew what he was doing was the furthest thing from okay. He also knew that he would have to be dragged by his teeth to get him out of your room. His cock swelled and twitched from under his shorts as he stood over, watching you masturbate to a picture of him. In the low lighting of your mostly dark room, he could see the shine of your wetness on your fingers and over your folds. He wanted to drag his tongue over your labia and savor every drop you gave him. It was all for him, after all, he was entitled to it.
You groaned in annoyance through your teeth and yanked your panties down your legs. Dalton’s severely dilated gaze zeroed in on them and he made a mental note to grab them before he left when your shirt joined it in the floor. You were completely nude and sitting up on your bed, in a very similar position to the photo where you had shown him your makeup. He’d never look at it again without thinking of this. He wished he had a picture of this.
You looked like a goddess or some kind of celestial siren as you arched your back and groped at one of your breasts and toyed with your clit. The chill of your room and the sudden banishment of your blanket had your flesh covered in goosebumps and your nipples hard. Dalton wanted nothing more than to cover your body with his and discover new forms of pleasure using his tongue, hands and cock. You were everything, you surrounded him and took up so much everything. And yet, he wasn’t actually with you, no matter how much he wished he could be. He didn’t know why he couldn’t try, you were his now. You admitted to it. Maybe not to him directly, and maybe you didn’t know he was there, but it didn’t make it any less true.
Dalton approached your bed and was about to rest his weight on it when you grabbed a decorative throw pillow from the mountain of pillows you had on your bed. You shoved it between your legs and adjusted it so that the woven seams pressed between your folds. You rested your weight on it and rolled your hips experimentally to find a rhythm and angle that felt best. Soon, you were panting and gasping, and Dalton could barely hear you over the stupid fan.
As you rode the pillow, Dalton lost his restraint. He either had to take care of himself now and fully condemn himself as an actual peeping tom and a pervert, or take care of you and risk you freaking out and losing you before he could actually have you. He’d rather hate himself for a little while than you hate him forever. He reached into his shorts, cupping his erection and squeezing lightly. He bit his lips and tried to keep quiet. He didn’t think he would last long, and he didn’t really care to either. He’d worry about that once he was actually inside you.
Dalton started off with slow and trading strokes before working up to the rhythm you set for yourself. You were grinding down on the pillow with slow and long thrusts, lowering your body slightly so that the seam of the pillow rubbed your clit. Dalton imagined his face replacing the pillow and started speeding up the movements of his hand, spitting on himself to help his hand move more fluidly along his shaft. Coincidentally, you started to quicken as well, humping the pillow desperately instead of steadily rolling your hips.
“Dalton! Oh…fuck! Daltonnn…” you cried out softly into the seemingly empty room. As the waves of your orgasm crashed over you, you lost strength in your arms and fell to the mattress, your hips still moving rhythmically as you came. Your limbs felt electrocuted and twitchy, and you could do nothing but gasp and whimper as you came down from your high. Rolling over, you reached down and caressed your soaked folds, moaning softly as your fingers became coated in the stringy remnants of your wetness.
Dalton nearly fell to his knees in his desire to suck your fingers into his mouth and devour your cunt. Luckily, he managed to stay upright and went rigid as he came in his hands, making sure the pearly white spurts of semen didn’t make a mess anywhere in your room, if they could. He wasn’t actually entirely sure how it all worked when he was in this state, but he wasn’t going to risk it.
He waited until you fell asleep to grab your panties and leave your dorm, falling back into his own body and finding it a mess. His shorts were soaked at the crotch with his cum because his actual hands couldn’t stop his real orgasm from staining his clothes. He tore off his shorts and decided to sleep naked, hiding your panties in his pillow case.
*~*~*
You woke up refreshed and well-rested the next morning, still not used to the stillness and quiet in the absence of your roommate, Carla. Usually, she was up by now blaring metal music while she got ready for the day and you would make the two of you breakfast. You went to do just that when you heard a knock at your door and remembered that Dalton was supposed to come over with breakfast.
You told him to wait through a text message and grabbed a pair of athletic shorts, yanking them on as you made your way to let him in. Much to your surprise, the door was unlocked, though you don’t remember leaving it that way. In all fairness, you also don’t remember the last time you had locked it, so it was fair game.
Dalton greeted you with a large smile, showing off his extended canines, and a bag from your favorite pastry shop. It was hard not to blush after what you did when you saw the pictures he sent you, but the food was also distracting. You excitedly took the bag from him and started rifling through it as he guided the both of you to your room. Had he ever been inside your dorm before? How did he know which room was yours?
Before you could ask him, he plopped himself onto your bed and settled onto his stomach. He then used a pillow to prop up his chin. The same pillow you had used last night.
There was something about the way he was smiling at you. The way he was watching you.
“So, did you sleep well last night?”
********
Lemme know if you want a part two or maybe a “What if Dalton hadn’t had any homework?” situation.
This was super fun and sorry if it’s too long
#Spotify#romance#dalton lambert#insidious films#insidious: the red door#dalton lambert x reader#dalton lambert imagine#dalton lambert fic#dalton lambert smut#smut#stalking#pervert!dalton
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