LANI / ANY PRNS / 19
- current hyper-fixation: fast cars 🏎️, old man doctors, white haired men
callum turner and oscar piastri lover
part time yearner, full time delusionist

blake kathryn

Product Placement
RMH

roma★
let's talk about Bridgerton tea, my ask is open
noise dept.

shark vs the universe
wallacepolsom

TVSTRANGERTHINGS

PR's Tumblrdome
AnasAbdin
Monterey Bay Aquarium
we're not kids anymore.

JVL
2025 on Tumblr: Trends That Defined the Year
NASA

Discoholic 🪩

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@forzabrorrari
LANI / ANY PRNS / 19
- current hyper-fixation: fast cars 🏎️, old man doctors, white haired men
callum turner and oscar piastri lover
part time yearner, full time delusionist

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in honor of méxico winning another game take this 🩵
Satoru is tired.
He's been awake since 6am with your family getting ready for the game today, went to the store and helped your mami with everything she got at the mercado, helped your apa get the grill ready, hell he even helped your abuelita get ready in her jersey and face paint.
And of course you wouldn't let him leave the house in his japan jersey, especially not in your home
"Sato si no te lo pones ahora mismo, yo te lo voy a poner y eso no te va a gustar."
Safe to say he was representing your country very well right now dressed in the iconic green with the flag drawn across his face, that still hasn't worn off even after all the hours of celebrating he has endured.
Right now you're both at al angel where it seems every mexican in mexico city has gathered to celebrate the win of their country. There's so much dancing, singing, drinking, partying going on that Satoru genuinely thinks that mexicans were made for exactly this.
"C'mon sato, dance with me!" you say clearly having the time of your life surrounded by the energy of the ever growing crowd. you look so happy in this moment that Satoru himself can't help but feel energized once again.
It's 1 in the morning when you both make it back to your parents house in CDMX. surprisingly the party continues at home until soon enough everyone ends up passed out all around the living room.
"Thank you for coming Sato, it means a lot having you here." you sleepily murmured nuzzling into his jersey clad chest more before finally falling asleep. In this moment Satoru decides that he can get used to mexican celebrations if he spends the rest of them with you by his side.
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A/n- YEAH WE DID THAT VIVA MÉXICO 🗣️🗣️
this past week extrañe a gojo mucho entonces hice esto to calm the ache and heal my big ol mexican heart. if u're mexican and like gojo be my oomf
MÉXICO IS UNDEFEATED IN THE WORLD CUP
SO I GOTTA RUN THIS BACK
in honor of méxico winning another game take this 🩵
Satoru is tired.
He's been awake since 6am with your family getting ready for the game today, went to the store and helped your mami with everything she got at the mercado, helped your apa get the grill ready, hell he even helped your abuelita get ready in her jersey and face paint.
And of course you wouldn't let him leave the house in his japan jersey, especially not in your home
"Sato si no te lo pones ahora mismo, yo te lo voy a poner y eso no te va a gustar."
Safe to say he was representing your country very well right now dressed in the iconic green with the flag drawn across his face, that still hasn't worn off even after all the hours of celebrating he has endured.
Right now you're both at al angel where it seems every mexican in mexico city has gathered to celebrate the win of their country. There's so much dancing, singing, drinking, partying going on that Satoru genuinely thinks that mexicans were made for exactly this.
"C'mon sato, dance with me!" you say clearly having the time of your life surrounded by the energy of the ever growing crowd. you look so happy in this moment that Satoru himself can't help but feel energized once again.
It's 1 in the morning when you both make it back to your parents house in CDMX. surprisingly the party continues at home until soon enough everyone ends up passed out all around the living room.
"Thank you for coming Sato, it means a lot having you here." you sleepily murmured nuzzling into his jersey clad chest more before finally falling asleep. In this moment Satoru decides that he can get used to mexican celebrations if he spends the rest of them with you by his side.
--------------------------------------------------------
A/n- YEAH WE DID THAT VIVA MÉXICO 🗣️🗣️
this past week extrañe a gojo mucho entonces hice esto to calm the ache and heal my big ol mexican heart. if u're mexican and like gojo be my oomf
Jack can't remember the last time he spent an early morning with you. been able to wake up to the sun beams filtering into the room beaming down on you as your hair lays sprawled out onto the pillow under your hair creating a halo around ur head.
He misses those moments the most when he goes to the hospital roof after finishing a shift watching as the sun rises over the city wondering if you’re still asleep or have gotten up to start getting ready for the day.
Jack doesn't get a lot of time to miss the serenity of the morning when he hears the door to the roof open
“Thought i’d find you up here jaime.”
You say the name given to him by your mother with so much affection from years of use. Jack doesn't even flinch and just smiles at you softly when you come to stand besides him on the railing.
Jack turns his head to press a kiss to your lips. simple. sweet. and full of yearning. for what you're not sure entirely but you’ll figure it out once you get him home.
“Can i take you home Jackie?”
“Thought you'd never ask sweetheart”
No one in the pitt is surprised to find Jack holding your hand tightly as you guys make your way through the pitt, your appearance is so common in these halls that no one is surprised to see you wondering anymore.
Jack misses waking up next to you in the mornings but he thinks he can cope if he gets you picking him up in the mornings in exchange.
---------------------------------------------------------
A/N : The old man rot has been insane, can't go a single lecture without thinking about jack abbot
"JAIME-!"
there's a beat of silence before Jack turns to you and asks
"Your mother does know my name is Jack right?"
"Yes mi alma, but she's an old hispanic lady, she was bound to give you a spanish name at some point."
Jack grumbles slightly in content, glad to see his efforts to integrate into your family have been fruitful
"You're right sweetheart, let's just get inside before your brothers finish the food yeah?"
Who knew the most American guy you've dated would put such effort into getting to understand your family and customs?
You wouldn't trade watching Jack talk to your parents in (admittedly terrible american accented) spanish for anything.

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Dr. Jack Abbot dating a latina, Dr. Jack Abbot who speaks spanish with a permanent american accent but still sounds unreasonably attractive, Dr. Jack Abbot who is absolutely whipped so much in fact that he oversells his spice tolerance to impress his gf but ends up with nasty heartburn and chorro from the levels of spice that he isn't used too.
Dr. Jack Abbot
AFTER ALL THIS TIME (4.7k)
— prohero!bakugou katsuki x publicist!reader
synopsis: every time the pro hero sees you, he asks you the same question. or you’ve got a boyfriend and bakugou just wants one chance. or “you single yet?”
warnings: nothing! fluffy, a little tiny bit of violence but it’s valid, swearing, bkg tipsy scene. (i wrote half of this back in 2022 and i have edited it to sound like 2026 me. you might be able to tell.)
the first time you meet bakugou katsuki, you’ve got a boyfriend. a boyfriend of a few months that you met at university and you’ve just kinda been together ever since. but just like everybody in the country who was up to date with the news and social media, this explosive pro hero caught your eye. you knew him before you met him. not only that, but he was often a topic of conversation when you were just starting out on the publicist scene for heroes. he was a young, brash yet insanely strong rookie that ditched the golden boy persona all these all-might fanboys had and instead took on something completely new.
you spent your first year as a publicist analysing how he interacted with the media and the media with him. he was an interesting subject because for starters, pro hero dynamight was mean, looks like he bites and kicks children for fun. if it wasn’t for his literal career as a professional hero, you could imagine him being the complete opposite. argumentative with pretty much everybody and always another article about how his quirk was simply too strong for the city whenever he’s on patrol because he creates more damage than necessary.
StopNCII.org is operated by the Revenge Porn Helpline which is part of SWGfL, a charity that believes that everyone should benefit from technology, free from harm. Founded in 2000, SWGfL works with a number of partners and stakeholders around the world to protect everyone online
Sounds legit
StopNCII.org is operated by the Revenge Porn Helpline which is part of SWGfL, a charity that believes that all should benefit from technolog
everyone reblog this!!
[Image ID: screenshot from TikTok(?) containing the following text:
Cousins, if someone ever edits your photo with Al or Photoshop to create a nude photo, then you go to www.stopncii.org/and submit the original photo and the edited photo, then they will remove the edited photo from all the places on the Internet. You don't need to talk directly to anyone for this and your identity will remain confidential
/end ID]
Per StopNCII.org, only their partner sites will remove the images, not “all the places on the Internet”—but that’s better than nothing.
pancakes (pt. 9)
AKA - the story of how the naive australian rookie befriended the gym junkie F1 hospitality worker with the shoe collection - and inadvertently broke the grid's most treasured and unspoken rule: you don't go for y/n.
series masterlist here :)
the pancakes recipe here :)
A/N: all your beautiful messages meant a lot of me and helped quite a bit getting back into it so thank you all <3
P9 - training plans
from: piazzas 👼
Hey, missed you after the race, hope you're ok. Also, Carlos Sainz asked for your number? I hope you don't mind but I passed it along. Seemed urgent?
from: Unknown number
¡Hola! Here are the tickets for the game and flight. There's a nice hotel not too far from me with a booking under my name in case you didn't have somewhere to stay. Let me know if there's any trouble. See you soon - Hala Madrid!
You tapped open the attachments and found that Carlos had literally booked - and paid for - your own set of flights from Melbourne Tullamarine to Adolfo Suárez Madrid–Barajas.
It took you a while. You stared at the flight details, trying to process the fact that you were flying to Madrid later tonight to attend the Sevilla game tomorrow. On a date with Carlos Sainz.
pancakes (pt. 8)
AKA - the story of how the naive australian rookie befriended the gym junkie F1 hospitality worker with the shoe collection - and inadvertently broke the grid's most treasured and unspoken rule: you don't go for y/n.
series masterlist here :)
the pancakes recipe here :)
A/N: hello! apologies for such a hiatus. here we go, finally kicking things into gear! enjoy (it's 6.7k lol) (also i rewrote some of the earlier chapters so check them out!)
P8 - active rest
“Look for quiet moments, times where you can be still and present.”
That was the advice of one Louise, the infamous therapist who had helped you survive the tumult of the past few years. Considering everything, you could at least take the silver lining of all the shitty years bringing you to therapy helping you learn how to make the most of a Grand Prix weekend.
Because man they are busy.
Even when you weren't working in Hospitality, it was hard to be present. To be still. Everything was always in flux, a chaotic busy schedule of this and that and rushing to and fro and doing this and sorting this out and it seemed to never end.
When you tried to explain that to Louise, the endless media, fans, noise, debriefs, trainings, updates - the Formula 1 bit of it all, she merely shrugged and seemed unfazed.
"Force it. Find time to be quiet and still. Make it happen." You remember the smirk that came onto her face with her next words. "Engineer it."
And so you would engineer it.
oh we are so back

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Tormented Spirit | 27
Part 1 [...] 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28
"Is it such a sin to stand up for yourself?" you mutter as tears blur your vision. The way he reacted was visceral, instinctive even. "You never have to stand up for yourself ever again," says Daemon, reaching a hand to you, "come."
Daemon Targaryen x Hightower!Reader | 4k+ | cw: fem!reader, reader has brown hair, wife!reader, twin!Gwayne, arranged/forced marriage, canon divergence, alternate universe, slow burn, DD:DNE, emotional constipation, domestic violence, rape, pregnancy, miscarriage, postpartum, depression, panic/anxiety attacks, suicidal ideation, attempted suicide, daddy issues/child abuse/family problems, mentions/depictions of mental/physical/psychosomatic illness, ye old misogyny, angst, typos, etc.
A/N: okay so Laena and daemon obviously never happened here so just pretend she married some lord. listen to stay for something by CMAT because its so yn coded. ok lets trust the one AFTER this is the last fr T_T. Not super proofread | cross posted on ao3
@arabellasleopardcoat @prettybiching
It was Aelina's nameday. You had everything planned down to the night before to ensure everything would go smoothly the day of. You planned to have her likeness painted and to have her visit the orphanage, who had prepared song and dance for her, at appropriate times so she would not be cranky. You planned her naps and feeding times, even Caraxes', because nothing made her quite as happy as the blood wyrm, and you wanted them to have time together.
Everything was in place, and you had the women of the house to thank for it. The only thing that was off was Daemon. He was off, literally, as in, he was nowhere to be found.
Versus
Nabbed the screenshot from twitter but tale as old as time I'm not saying it's rooted in certain something, I'm saying it's rooted IN certain something.
Go on YouTube and see any Kimi Räikkönen radio compilation where he's verbally abusing his engineer the constant "shut the fuck up" you'll see people slobbering all over him saying how he's the true racer lol.
all I'm saying is in everything in this world if you have any skin colour other than white you can't even breathe wrong without people labelling you anything but child of god.
Other drivers fans complain teamlh only talk about racism but when stuff like this happens what are we supposed to do. The agenda media and other personalities have against lh what is it because it awfully looks like racism to me.
P.S. That brother was saying please after every sentence too explosive radio my ass 😭😭
SABRINA CARPENTER & PEDRO PASCAL SNL50: The Anniversary Special (Feb 16, 2025)
i don't think i'll ever shut up about this
Little Viper
Prologue | Chapter 1
(Daemon Targaryen x Dornish!Reader)
Summary: The sun could not reach you here, not in this city of rain and stink. (Un)fortunately, you found yourself at the mercy of a dragon's fire.
You've missed the heat, you supposed.
6k, CW: arranged marriage, canon divergent, canon-typical violence, canon-typical misogyny, reader is homesick, smut, will update as I post.
a/n: This was def a bitch to write lol, I really need to get back into it. I haven't decided whether i'm going to turn this into a proper multi-part series or not so I encourage you to leave comments if this is something you'd be interested in :)
To My Lord-Father,
It has been well over a week's time since you’ve sent me- your dearest child- away. A few days time since I last felt the weight of the sun's warmth upon my skin. The overcast weather befitting of my current disposition and this city, nay, kingdom’s shortcomings compared to our beloved Dorne.
I arrived a few hours ago, though I swiftly left the company of King Jaehaerys and the rest of his court's brazen stares upon arrival… you’d think they had never seen a Dornishmen before. However, the reason being for my early retreat was not the scrutiny, rather that I don’t feel particularly well. You know I've never enjoyed sea travel, for it makes me sickly. Or this may just be my body’s desperate act of resistance against this poorly-conceived match you’ve sold me to. Be that as it may, it does not do to dwell as you would say.
I am willing to do this wretched duty as Princess of Dorne, to bring upon us a lasting peace. At the very least for Qoren’s sake, I suppose.
Though I am cross with you, I cannot say it isn’t regrettable to hear that your ailment has rendered you unable to make the journey to King’s Landing… your absence will be strongly felt, father. Just as it has been.
On a less glum note, I feel my dreadful spirits being lifted. It’s as if I can sense my brother's approach to the Blackwater Bay where I will eagerly await him on the morrow, perfectly on time for the ceremony.
I miss you and shall count the days until I am able to return home? Sunspear home to see you. Do not strain yourself while Qoren and I are away.
Best Regards, Your Daughter.
100 A.C
Had you been in your previous state of fury and pettiness, you might have crossed out “daughter” in favor of “forsaken issue”. Mayhaps if you had the energy at present, you would have.
While on the sea, you had been given much time before your grand entrance to reconcile yourself with your forlorn state of affairs. The reconciliation being overindulgence of barrels worth of Dornish Red on board. The “wedding” gift Qoren so thoughtlessly japed.
Your pitiful drunken outbursts in the privacy of your quarters, lest you cause any rumors before even arriving at the port. You would curse the day you were born, the day your father was born, the day his father before him.
Prince Daemon and his drunkard bride, a blessed match.
However, after the unremitting bouts of nausea ultimately won over your desire to numb your senses. Leagues away from the Dornish border and fast approaching your fate, your anger could not sustain you so wholly in the middle of the Narrow Sea.
Taking a moment from your trivial displeasure, you hunched over, placing your forehead to the wooden desk in your guest chambers with a thud. Holding yourself tightly as if that would dull the unpleasant rumble in your belly, rocking your body as the ship had mere hours ago.
A warm welcome to this shitpile of a city. You chuckled to yourself, to the empty room. You could only assume the things Qoren would say about this horrid place. How dull the walls were, the lack of open air. No bright colours and suns embellishing every piece of fabric.
He would make a wisecrack remark, “Oh how drab the Targaryen splendor is!”
Though he would say it in a far more humorous way. His asinine character a natural talent to a prick such as himself you believed.
Pushing yourself up with your ink covered hands, you groaned and ambled over to the opened window where the steady whistle of the wind entered. The moon was shrouded in the looming storm clouds, doing little to nothing in regards of illuminating the Red Keep’s disappointingly plain architecture (you may be biased) and the city below. If you gave too much focus, you might begin to smell the… aromas King’s Landing had to offer from all the way up here. None pleasant.
Your belly ached and gurgled as you thought back to the putrid smell that overwhelmed you as you were transported from the Blackwater Bay to the Red Keep.
Before you could dwell any longer, you sighed and shut the window tightly, nothing deemed interesting enough to watch anyways. Instead, your newfound anxieties find their way back to entertain you, the only thing keeping your company as of late.
You had a duty to keep, reminding yourself like a mantra.
Marriage alliances have been custom through the centuries in Westeros. Your own flesh born of political maneuvering and courtly expectations. Why was it now as you stood before your responsibility, your chest tightened at the very thought? At the briefest mention?
You did not like this, but it was your burden to bear. You had no wish to feel this way.
You could only conjure a faint image of the moment your brother unwillingly delivered your fathers verdict on your future. It had been a beautiful day, the gardens' serene quality creating a profusely deceptive sense of security.
Mayhaps it was the way your head was sent spinning immediately after the words left Qoren’s mouth? The rush of anger which possessed you? The way it caused you to barge into the council room, any trace of warmth or softness you commonly afforded to your father absent.
Nonetheless, it was all a blur of shouting, salty tears, pleas and comforts falling deaf to your ears. Whatever it was no longer clear to you.
Sighing, you begin to slip out of the dress you had travelled with, the hem of the sleeves stained from your letter writing.
You briefly considered stripping down to your undergarments and sleeping as such. Though, upon further deliberation you thought it best to wear a simple nightgown in accordance with the cold draft of the castle.
Slipping under the fur lined covers you couldn’t help the feeling that crept into the cavity of your chest. It burned within you, leaving a rancid taste in your mouth. This was it. Come this time tomorrow, you would not even belong to the house of your kin.
Wrapping the covers more firmly around your quaking form, it’s indiscernible whether the chill or your fear was the source.
“Daemon” You dared to whisper, willing yourself to speak the Targaryen Prince’s miserable name into the empty bedchamber. You did not like how it sounded on your tongue.
Do you feel this dread as I do?
“Does my Prince find himself in need of comfort?” The whore spoke out, reaching to graze the silver-haired Prince’s hand which held his third- fourth cup of wine.
Dornish Red Daemon had complained. He always favored Arbor Gold.
He had been in this place since the previous night, an angered promenade with a few of the guards he trained with on occasion. They laughed, feasted, fucked through the streets of King’s Landing without shame nor respect for the Prince’s wedding ceremony taking place on this very day.
Daemon did not deem it worthy of his attention. Let the King’s guard or whatever the fuck else other soldier his grandsire and father will send drag him from this place. He would stay put in the meantime, enjoying his time sunken in his whore and cup much more than he would with the Dornish wench they’ve bound him to.
Daemon smirked as his gaze ran down to the woman’s breasts shamelessly, watching the way her nipples hardened under the flimsy gown she wore. The cold winds from the opened window biting at her form in a delectable way.
When his eyes arrived back to her face his own violet eyes were met by her blue ones. Her unmistakable silver hair shining in the candlelight. This was what he was deserving of.
His previous visits to this particular establishment were met with loyalty by the owner. She spoke of a girl to his tastes. He was pleasantly surprised with the dragonseed waiting for him in the deeper parts of the building.
The sound of moans echoing from within the brothel, the lecherous men seeking reprieve from their lives by giving up their coin to service the women who milled about.
All the distractions which blared loudly in his ears could not distract his active mind as he drunkenly and loudly complained of his circumstances.
How could they expect him to sit idly by as they took his future into their hands. To marry him to a hot-blooded Dornishmen. The blood of the dragon does not dwell with sand people he had told his brother Viserys.
Slamming his now empty goblet to a random table, he allows the silver-haired woman to lead him to an empty couch amongst other patrons and working girls alike.
She pushes him to the couch and flicks her hair to the side. He leers at the beauty born of his house’s ardor. Her sharp features, tresses which reached her waist. Grabbing on to her with a firm hand, he pulled her down to his lap as a familiar need spread through his body. Deserving.
Daemon was not one to hold back his desires, and why should he? A dragon's blood is made of fire, and nothing burns hotter than a dragon's lust.
As she lightly grinded her hips against him, a familiar rising began
This is what he is deserving of. He had no need to see his intended, for he already knew what the Dornish were. Most certaining nothing he was interested in binding himself to.
“My Prince is most eager,” she breathily stated, her breath clipped as Daemon wasted no time fastening his mouth to hers, roughly coaxing his tongue into her mouth. “Your Prince needs a good fuck.” His tone husky, words slurring slightly. His lips breaking apart from hers, hands exploring her dress-clad form. A thin bit of fabric which he could make quick work of.
“Spend your night with me and it may be your best fuck yet, my prince…” Gods had he not been so displeased by his circumstances he would have taken to banter with this seductress. Would have let her worship him, and he would worship her in turn. However, the sound of the stitches on her flimsy gown ripping from his grip on her waist was a tell-tale sign this was no such night for that sort of intimacy. This was a night for animalistic intentions.
His hand greedily roamed the expanse of her soft skin, marks from previous patrons visible- he did not care. Her perfume almost nauseatingly strong. It did not matter.
The two were lip locked. Groans and heavy breaths as they practically merged into one another. The fervor of which Prince Daemon kissed at her skin, beautiful and unsightly.
If the Targaryen’s were believed to be closer to the gods then men, why was it that they crumbled all too similar to even those of the lowest birth who frequented these houses of ill-repute. For any who caught a glimpse of the young Prince and his company of the night, that very notion could be challenged as he desperately clutched on to any purchase of skin he could find, the need for anything pleasurable in this wretched day. Seeking solace in the arms of a beautiful woman with an underlying need to reclaim the power he deemed stolen from him.
Pulling back from the kiss, the woman latched her skillful lips to his pale skin. With a sharp inhale, Daemons went muscles taut at the way she nipped and licked at his skin.
“That’s it..”
A short groan escaped him as his hand went to cradle the back of her head, taking a handful of her hair. As he pushed her closer to his skin he could have sworn this woman was a witch.
When she began to palm him through his breeches he was sure. At the tender touch, his cock chubbed up. In the daze his eyes slowly peered at the sight before him, but before he could admire the feast laid before him another irritating sight caught his attention.
Another girl, distinctly sun-kissed skin that was certainly not from the gloomy skies of the Crownlands during the winter, and dark locks of hair forming waves down her back as she vigorously worked her mouth on another patron.
Before he is able to grit his teeth in annoyance, the silver-haired woman's dexterous hands continue to gently touch him through the fabric of his breeches, he momentarily has to toss his head back to let go of a deep breath, his drunken state causing a small whine to escape.
After a hearing a small giggle, he focuses back on his own pleasure and groping of the much more interesting beauty-
His eyes quickly peered back over to the other whore.
Damned Dornish. Worming their way into all facets of his life now? The thought made him want to scoff.
Dishonourable Dornish. Known throughout Westeros for their cowardly fight tactics, uses of poison.
More crudely also known for their lust, their thirst.
Daemon could not help that his wine-addled mind brought him back to his fucking betrothed. He wondered if the rumors held true. Daemon had fucked wenches prettier than a fair few of the noblewomen in court. He had no issue avoiding the bedding entirely if she happened to be one of the more plain featured.
Though, his fathers fury would know no bounds were he to not consummate the union, the key piece to such an "important" alliance... were it up to Daemon to provide council (which it very much wasn't) they would come to the walls of Sunspear atop Vhagar and Caraxes to subdue this folly entirely.
Would the Princess descend to her knees like the woman in his view? Gaze up at him in pleading to fulfill her bottomless appetite. His cock, his fingers, his tongue. After all how could such an insatiable creature react well to her own husband refusing to fuck her.
Gods he hoped she wasn't ugly.
If she was lucky enough, perceptive enough to beg, the Prince would jeeringly stroke her hair and whisper his taunts before pulling her on to him.
Were you the sort of woman able to take a man to his base? Or would you ask him to slow his pace?
Continuing to watch the Dornish woman, he allowed a groan to slip past his lips at both the ministrations of his paid companion and the sight before him.
The whore deftly performed. Perhaps you would try to please him with such fervor. Leave eager licks at his sack of stones as you indulged in such carnal desires. Delightedly hum as you suckled at his tip.
“You distract yourself, mighty dragon” His companion interrupted while grabbing his face on either side. Had his body not already been ready to boil over, it certainly was now at her words. A mighty dragon he was.
Shaking his head, he centers his thoughts back on to the woman whose legs were dangled across his thighs. Unbearably hard, he ached to see her bare. And with that desire came the end of her cheap gown. He ripped the fabric down the middle, her chest now on full display for him to enjoy.
Unfortunately for his poor intoxicated attention span, the loud sound of squelching hit his ears and he could not resist the temptation to look back.
He watched as the man hungrily began to leverage his position over the other woman, choosing to forgo her teasing in favor of fucking her mouth.
Daemon wouldn't do that- not like that. His mind wandered off again. A place where a Dornish Princess sat between his legs determined to inch-by-inch feed his cock into her hole. No, he would let her tease. He would let her and then when he no longer wished to, she wouldn't need to try so hard anymore. For he would begin to snap his hips forward to make up for what she couldn’t. Breaking that infamous Dornish resistance by forcing her poor throat to adapt to the too-large intrusion.
He would relish in wounding the Martell pride after all, justifiable revenge for his own. The only thing he may be granted in this ridiculous union.
He would be gentle and rough all the same, mocking through it all.
The whore clearly knew what she was doing, patiently and prettily sitting there while suctioning her cheeks, bobbing along with the rhythm. He would have let her work a little longer before devolving so fast as the man had. To each their own.
He didn’t know if it was the view or the feeling of his pants being unlaced which had him beginning to sweat.
Would his bride sit as pleasantly he wondered or would fat tears slip down her cheeks at the bombardment? Too overwhelming for the likes of a noblewoman. Or perhaps she would prove to be the opposite and enjoy such treatment, utterly unbefitting to her station.
Would her own cunt glisten as the whore's does in pleasure, calling to him as if it was of the utmost fascination? Would her spittle drip down from her face to her thighs? Would they be rubbing together in need as he buried himself deeper. Her body ready to entrap him should he lose his wits to a viper of all things. A little thing trying to fool a dragon.
In a matter of seconds, the man's tempo slowed significantly as his legs began to weakly quake. Taking this opportunity, she sped up, and as if sensing this she pulled off. Jerking his manhood over her face while looking at him with a sultry stare, he turned away bashfully, his peak quick.
Daemon would have pulled the Princess the whore close, nuzzling her nose to the very base of him where his silver hairs grow. Shaft as far as it could be. He would watch as her eyes grew hazy from the closeness, from the seed which slithered down her throat.
If you are pretty enough, he would find no shame in returning the favour. A lusty Princess, certainly a rarity left unseen by him (lest he recounts the stories of his denounced aunt Saera Targaryen).
If the rumors of the Dornish are anything to go by, a pretty girl with loose legs was the best he could expect out of these circumstances. At worst, another person which he would dutifully ignore and loath as best he could.
Without taking notice, the woman on his lap gestured the Dornish whore over, slipping her hands away from Daemon’s.
Before the husband-to-be could object to the separation, the two women dragged him bare and ready to a more private chamber in the back grabbing a pitcher of wine on the way.
Dornish Red.
You had been quick to rouse from your rest, your body protesting the sounds of the morn outside of your door. A clear indication it was time for you to rise. You struggled, it was not as if sleep came easily to you the night before, nor effectively when it befell you for that matter.
But as the sharp knock of your maid came to the locked wooden door of your chambers there was no escape. Your paranoia comes back to bite you as you were forced to trudge over, utterly unready to face the homely, friendly woman you had taken with you from Dorne.
After opening the door and curt pleasantries are exchanged, your hair is made to a neat style and you are helped into a fine dress suiting the chilly weather.
Had you been at home you would have opted for expensive lace and airy fabrics. You’d be bejewelled and by the prudish standards of King’s Landing, “scantily” dressed. Though, you’d bid the Lord’s and Lady’s of this court to attempt a summer in Sunspear wearing their usual constricting and heavy fabrics.
Running your hands over the tightly corseted waist, the maid speaks up while collecting loose items marring the tidy space.
“The discomfort is a small price to pay. Should you be beholden to Prince Daemon this morning, he will think you stunning in such a piece.”
Raising a brow to her comment on the Prince’s… likes, you speak semi-irate. “Does the Prince enjoy his women light-headed and immobile then?”
You knew little of Daemon beyond the rumors which circulated about him, let alone enough to presume his tastes.
A second-born child just as you were, he was a knight described as tall and hardened where his brother Viserys was more plump.
You oft fantasized of what it would be to truly be with a fighter. Now faced with the possibility of being bound to a glory-hungry Targaryen, you could not find in yourself the same excitement you felt when studying the soldiers of Dorne. In fact, it would not be a stretch to say there was faint distress.
You studied the woman's reflection in the mirror and she looked at you once and then twice over.
“Ah!” The maid scampers over to where your jewelry is laid and brings a gold albeit simple necklace. Strapping it around your neck she claps her hands together softly.
Deeming her work satisfactory, she meets your eye once more with a commiserating stare.
“If that will be all Princess?”
“That will be all.”
She bowed and left without another word. Your unpleasant behavior was something anyone employed by your father to serve you in King’s Landing had begun to become accustomed to. Their good Princess grows bitter in the absence of the sun.
With a sigh, you turn when you hear a knock at the door. It is then you see your ever stoic knight Ser Edmyn.
With tan skin and hair that was but a wisp, he was an experienced fellow. Even with old age the knight was able to keep up with any man half his years. An imposing size and frightening demeanor alone enough to ward any undesirables away. One of the best in Dorne deemed the best protection for his Princess.
“Good morning Ser Edmyn.” You smiled small while approaching him at the door, (un)ready to leave the safety and solitude of your bedchambers.
“Good morning, Princess.” He smiled small back. A pleasantry which was reserved for you.
As the both of you fall into step you continue to speak while observing the bustle of the corridors, decorations coming to and from even in this wing of the castle. “It is busy today. I suppose all this chaos is to be expected...”
“There is to be a royal wedding after all. Though I deduce you would not like to be reminded.”
With a chuckle you shake your head “No, ser, I do not. However, I would like to pick your brain for what you know of my brother's arrival. I would like to be there as soon as his boat is, I am most excited to see him again.”
“It is to my knowledge that your brother will not arrive until noon.”
With an aimless hum you keep your eyes trained ahead, lest you embarrass yourself with the anxious expression on your face. A few more unbearable hours until they are made just a slight bit better. Mayhaps Qoren will be able to bring a spot of light to this dreary city.
After a few minutes of allowing Ser Edmyn to lead you, you recognize the faint smell of food. Gods it has been a time since you last ate. On cue, you begin to salivate over the thought of a freshly cooked meal.
An unfamiliar voice interferes with your fantasies, coming to a stop in front of you with a polite smile. “Princess,” The servant bowed respectfully, clearly in a hurry. “her royal highness Princess Aemma requests you join her to break fast.”
Looking at Edmyn with annoyance displayed, he only responds with an inappreciable shrug. Mayhaps the woman would further rub your nose in all of this bother. This family has ruined your happiness, they may as well ruin your meal.
Offering the servant a reluctant nod, he stiffly leads you and your protector to a dining room.
Bowing, the servant leaves after delivering you in front of your destination and Ser Edmyn takes his place on the wall outside of the opened door. Pushing all the thoughts from your head you assume a neutral expression as you walked into the room.
Without so much as looking at Aemma’s face, you nod your head with respect due to someone of her status. “Princess Aemma.”
It was when you heard a soft babble, your mind went soft. You tilt your head back up to see Aemma giving you a bright smile and you spot a girl no more than three in her arms.
“Or… Princess’s, apologies.”
“Princess,” your name slipping from her lips as she wrangled her wriggling daughter. “No need for such apologies. I hope I did not interrupt your busy morning!” She spoke with jollity, as if this was a day which deserved such joys.
“Not at all. I’ve yet to eat anything. Nothing to tend to until my brother Qoren’s arrival.” You mustered a friendly looking smile, trying (and failing) to reciprocate the amiable spirit of the Arryn.
“Come. sit, sit!” grabbing hold of her daughter's wrist, she gently waved it in your direction, “Say hello Rhaenyra.” she told her daughter, the two letting out a little giggle at the contact.
“Helloooo” The girl playfully obliged.
As you sat down, you could not fail to take note of the way her silver hair and violet eyes stood out amongst all of it. A true little Targaryen.
You presumed they all started this lovely. One could almost forget they grew to be wicked dragonlords.
Unknowing of your distasteful thoughts, Aemma continued putting the young Princess in her chair as the help served her up a plate.
“I figured it would be pleasant for the both of us to meet in a more intimate setting. You left so briskly the past night, I could not introduce myself. I do hope you were able to remedy the travel sickness you mentioned?” She turned her head upwards to you.
“Yes… pleasant.” You continued, “sleep always proves to be the best cure to my ill-state.”
Bang!
You jumped at the sound. How pleasant to dine to the sounds of the young Princess whacking silverware to the wood.
“Feed mummy! Food!” she whined.
Without casting a glance to Rhaenyra, Aemma places a light hand to her little fists to placate the girl. “Patience Rhaenyra… Apologies, my girl is quite insistent.” As the beginnings of cries begin to persist, Aemma turns to Rhaenyra with a soft smile.
Motherly.
“What do we say Rhaenyra?”
“No Mummy! Feed!”
Aemma giggles a bit before continuing. “Kostilus. Say it my girl, say what your father taught you. Kos-til-us.”
With a final resistant pout, red-faced and desperate to be fed, the girl parrots her mother. “Kostiles!” Rather she tries to.
At her daughter yielding and speaking this mystery word, Aemma begins to spoon feed her, attention returning back to you.
“It means please in High Valyrian. Viserys, Prince Baelon… Daemon, they are all fluent. ‘Tis quite important that a Targaryen is fluent in the mother tongue.”
You hum in agreement as you take a sip of your drink. The ancestral tongue of cruel war instigators. Fitting.
“I must say how wonderful it is that Prince Qoren will come! I’m sure you are very happy to see him on such a special occasion.”
You thank the server who set out a plate with something of palatable substance compared to the meals you were served on the sea.
Taking a few bites of the food, you will yourself slow down, responding after you’ve swallowed. “Yes, such a… special day.” You gulped and barely held back your grimace.
In need of a different topic, you continue. “But to say I am very happy would be phrasing it far too mildly. I am quite fond of my brother. We are inseparable and it has been strange to be without him for so long.”
“It must be hard to be away from him, especially… in a place so different.” You see a flicker of sympathy in her gaze as she turns to gently wipe at Rhaenyra’s mouth with a cloth.
You watch as she mothers her daughter with the same soft gaze. You did not need someone years your younger looking at you as if you were a lost lamb, it only caused your annoyance to be inflamed.
“Yes, well, as is my duty.” You responded in a way which sounded more clipped than you intended.
In spite of sensing your blunt tone, Aemma continues cooly. “I myself am not close to my half-siblings. They are all quite a bit older than me. I was never lucky enough to have a relationship like the one you describe.” She smiled wistfully. “I do hope in the near future Rhaenyra will be able to have such a bond.”
You couldn’t help the way your eyes flickered down to your empty finger. The tan line a reminder of your gold signet ring. Yet another thing you reluctantly miss.
Your annoyance softens at Aemma’s kind words and the reminder of your “lucky bond” with your brother as you decide to initiate a question. “Did you like Vale? I have never visited.” You asked, unsure of how to proceed.
“Oh yes! It would snow in the winter, sometimes so hard one could mistake for Winterfell! And in the spring the prettiest flowers would bloom! Little blue ones all around. It all becomes a little blurry as time passes on-”
You felt your heart skip once as she carried on. Would it be you one day dining with someone, talking of Dorne as a memory?
“But of course I've been in King’s Landing since I was a girl of eleven. I’ve built a fondness for this home as well.”
That caused you to pause.
What a horrible thing to be ripped from your home at such a young age.
Taking another bite of your food, you watch as she continues to prattle on about how “pleasant” King’s Landing could be if you looked closely. Gulping down your food, it is your turn to look at her with sympathy.
As you both goalessely chat with occasional interruptions from Rhaenyra, the topic of your intended is breached even with your skillful avoidance.
“He is not as bad as people say, you know. Just… passionate. He is kind to Rhaenyra and I. He loves his brother very much. Perhaps he could make…” Aemma’s voice wanes off as she thinks on her next words.
A part of her wanted to reassure you by saying “a fine match.” However, she did not wish to sour this new amity by feeding you lies. You were going to be her sister and you did not seem like the type to take kindly to blatantly dishonest consolation. It was not right.
Not when she had heard the cruel way Daemon had spoken about you to Viserys only nights ago.
“A tolerable match.”
You were a nice girl… angry perhaps. She found herself hoping vainly Daemon would not ruin you.
“How reassuring Princess.” you chuckled, allowing yourself to go lax a bit.
And how this delighted Aemma. “Having said that, I do not think you will have to… concern yourself with him before the ceremony.” she grinned quietly.
“That disappoints me so.”
Amidst the comfortable silence which ensued, you’re interrupted by Ser Edmyn.
“Princess, I’m sorry for the intrusion. Your brother's ship approaches the Bay. I thought it important to inform you, we will need to leave soon if you wish to welcome him.”
Aemma could see your harsh air lighten evidently. The announcement of your true brother's arrival bewitching you with a smile of what looked to be perfect glee.
You shot up from your seat immediately, pivoting towards the Princesses. “I do hope you forgive my abrupt departure, but I-”
“Go! It is fine. I look forward to meeting Prince Qoren!” She simpered.
Without another word, you were in the buzzing hallways of the Red keep. “Make haste Ser Edmyn!” You laughed as you picked up your skirts, bursting with joy that even the constraints of this damned corset could not stop you.
Had this been a few hours ago, spotting the orange Martell banners carried alongside Targaryen, flowers, and chairs you might have been sent into a dizzy spell. You just might the moment you arrive back at the castle. Not now though. For now, your brother was here!
After a brief carriage ride you are offered a hand by your knight as he gently leads you down. Uncaring of the light rain which splattered over your new dress, you stumbled upon the stones which littered the shore as you raced to catch a glimpse of the vessel.
Your heart threatened to burst and for the first time since you arrived, you graced King’s Landing with the brightest of smiles. A smile meant for the ship which flew the familiar sun, spear striking it through.
You had been angry and bitter, but that did not change the simple fact that you longed to be in the presence of your brother. Desperately. You wished to put all of this nasty business behind you and embrace him as family again.
As the ship grew closer, you began to register the faces of the crew. How vain he was. Hiding from a bit of rain, no doubt to avoid soiling his clothes.
Today would be a miserable loss, but perhaps a bearable one now.
The ship docked and you were growing restless. As two familiar Lord’s, advisors to your father, disembarked you wasted no time in approaching them.
You looked a mess. Tightly bound hair damp, your dress dragging in the wet sand but it simply was no matter to you.
As the advisors took you in, you assumed it was your disarrayed appearance which caused the apprehensive air.
“My Lords, I do hope the journey was all well!” You chirped.
They bowed in greeting, the uneasy look they exchanged going unnoticed. “Quite well, my Princess.”
“I do hope my brother is not fussing over the rain in there. ‘Tis somber all the time here, he must grow used to it. As will both of you I'm sure.”
…
“I am…” Taking a breath in, one of the men paused observing your blissfully ignorant expression. “Prince Qoren sends his sincerest regrets, but he will be absent-”
Your smile dropped as quick as it had appeared. He continued speaking and you stopped listening. Absent.
Absent.
He spoke of duty, he spoke of loyalty. And where was he on this most “auspicious” day. Was each and every reassurance a callous means of pacifying your temper? The fucking traitor. The whole lot of them. Your brother, your father, his council, your home for gods sake! By their will, cast into the fire while they reap the spoils of peace.
What of your peace? Was he so cruel as to not see you off in gratitude for your sacrifice? He was no “exalted” viper, he was a snake.
“... Princess?” One of the advisors questioned, most like realizing your inattention to his excuses on Qoren’s behalf.
Your vacant stare focuses back to the man as you furiously willed your tears to stay put. He sighs and looks at you with pity, aware of your blaring disappointment.
Pulling something from under his cloak, the Lord outstretched his hand with a brown piece of parchment, little water droplets staining the paper as the rain began to intensify. “He tasked us with delivering this to you… it seemed-”
“That is all.”
“Princess…”
Snatching the letter up, you fixed them with a hard glare, a weak manifestation of the anger which seethed within you. A letter. His consolation was even pathetic.
As the two men hurried off, you opened the letter, uncaring of the way the rain lashes at your frame now, the overcast beach full of people hurrying off of the boat.
Dear Sister,
I take no joy in writing this note, for it is with remorse that I must tell you I am unable to attend your wedding ceremony, nor visit you in King’s Landing hereafter. I know you will be angry and I am sorry. I am so very sorry and I beg of you to not lose heart, to not be frightened. I beseech you to accept my lamentable apologies and understand this is not how I wished this day to go.
-Qoren
You cared not for the rest, only the reaffirmation of your brother's non-attendance. As the rain slid down, your tears mingled with the droplets. Crumpling the letter, you allowed it to drop down in the sand, watching it slowly turn soft from harsh rainfall.
Abandoned by your own family, the gods and men would bear witness to your entrapment.

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dead poets society season!!
I GOT A FUCKING RAISE THE POTATO WORKED WTF
This potato works. Every. Fucking. Time.
Then bring me luck
the day after I posted this last time I was notified that I was selected for a really cool mentorship gig and got an unrelated glowing review at work
Hey Potato, cure my -ing cold so I can have a good time while away.
Here's the potato. Make what use of it you will. :)