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humanpurposes · 10 months

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My Heart Belongs to Daddy, part v, modern!Aemond

Series Masterlist // Main Masterlist // She's the first one that I see

modern!Aemond x step-daughter

Warnings: 18+, smut, language, questionable relationships, you know the drill, also mentions of terminal illness.

Words: 9300

A/n: Aemond's pov here we gooo. This part gets its own header coz vibes. Also available to read on AO3.

Another summer brought another two months at Dragonstone.

The relief Aemond felt clambering out of his mother’s Volvo and into the coastal breeze was immeasurable. Helaena got the front seat, as always, which left the three boys to be packed into the backseat for two hours, in the middle of a June heatwave.

He somewhat resented Daemon and Laena’s absence this year. Generally they alternated summers between Dragonstone and Pentos with the Velaryons. It was a shame, his uncle often brought some much needed tension to family holidays, the entertaining kind as opposed to the depressing kind, and Baela and Rhaena were by far the most tolerable of the younger family members.

Viserys hadn’t arrived yet. He had some work things to catch up on and would drive down later, which just left the Strongs. Alicent had received a call from Rhaenyra while they were in the car to say they’d be a few hours behind them. Thank the Gods. At least it gave them a few hours of peace.

Dragonstone had originally been built as a castle, preserved over the centuries as a place for pleasure rather than a defensive keep. It had a gatehouse, turrets, arrowslits, parapets and ivy sprawling over the outer walls that turned red in the autumn. It looked idyllic, like a castle out of a fairytale.

After bringing his bag up to his room there was only one place Aemond wanted to be.

His favourite part of coming back to Dragonstone were the gardens, sprawling walks of greenery, sweet-smelling rose bushes and sandstone archways. If the weather was right, he could convince himself he was in some remote corner of an Italian manor house.

One of the gravel paths led down to the pool, overlooked by a patio from the back of the main house. It was a blissful little oasis, when he could have it to himself, of crystal clear water, tall hedges and blue and orange tiles laid out in intricate patterns.

He had his trunks on already and left his t-shirt and shorts on a sun lounger before he slipped into the water. The cold was a welcome reprieve, especially when he dunked his head under and pushed off from the side, cutting through the water with powerful strokes.

It had been a while since he’d had time for swimming and he felt slightly irritated at the ache in his arms from the unfamiliar movements. To be fair to himself, he hadn’t made time for any hobbies over the last few weeks on account of his exams, and it had paid off at least. He still had a few weeks until he would get his results but he knew he would do well.

As far as he was concerned, his future was set. He would get four A*s, then in September he’d be off to Oldtown to start university. In three years, he would graduate with a first and come back to King’s Landing to start at Targ Corp, despite his grandfather’s attempts to convince him to consider a career at Beacon, the Hightower family business. Otto had a vision that one day, his grandsons would run two of the largest companies in Westeros, Aegon at Targ Corp and Aemond at Beacon.

Although the offer of a generous salary and an internship during his studies had sounded tempting, it was a question of pride more than anything. The silver hair should have been evidence enough; Aemond was a Targaryen before he was a Hightower.

Despite his determination to live up to the family name, he had come to resent these summers at their ancestral home. The house and the gardens were beautiful, and he loved being so close to the isolated beach below the hill the house was set on, but he could think of no worse fate than having to spend ten weeks with his insufferable sister, their father’s pride and joy, her idiotic husband and their three sons.

He ran his hands over his face as he emerged on the other side of the pool, his left palm skimming over the scar on the side of his face. It was easy to forget it was there sometimes, until he’d catch someone frowning at it.

Rhaenyra was lucky his mother hadn’t pressed charges and publically issued a statement that the whole thing had been a “tragic accident”. Later he learnt Alicent had been holding it over Rhaenyra’s head ever since, waiting for a time when she’d need the leverage.

Ten weeks with the Strongs was all that stood between him and the rest of his life, some sick test of patience.

He wasn’t alone for long before he spotted Aegon and Daeron at the outlook up at the house. They sprinted out of view and soon came hurtling down the steps to the pool in their trunks. They leapt in, disturbing Aemond’s laps but he reluctantly let himself be happy that the three of them were in the same place for once.

Aegon had just finished a degree in criminal psychology. Alicent and Otto had had to practically buy him a place at KLU. How he had managed to pass was a mystery to everyone, Aemond wondered if he had pulled it together at the last minute purely out of spite. He had already been living in a flat in central with a few of his friends for the last two years. Helaena said he rarely visited the house.

Aemond and Daeron had barely been back from Duskendale before they were all in the car to Dragonstone. He hadn’t minded boarding school, in some ways it made him appreciate the times he got to be at home, and it meant he didn’t have to see his father on a daily basis or watch his mother drive herself insane with her self-imposed workload. Again, Helaena gave him updates on that. He supposed it would make the move to Oldtown less jarring.

For now he laughed as Aegon challenged them to swimming races and tackled Daeron when he lost. The oldest Targaryen brother was surprisingly strong for his shorter stature. Daeron towered over him but he was wiry, easy for Aegon to sling him over his shoulder.

They were making such a scene in the water that Aemond didn’t notice his mother until she shouted Aegon’s name from the bottom of the steps. “Put your brother down and get changed, seven hells!”

Aegon tossed Daeron’s legs over his head, sending him flopping unceremoniously into the pool. “What’s the rush?”

“Rhaenyra and Harwin are only half an hour away!” Alicent shrieked, as if this was something they should have cared about. “And they’re bringing a guest, so I want you all presentable and ready for dinner before they arrive.”

Daeron was starting to climb up the ladder, so Aemond pressed his palms to the edge of the pool and pushed himself out.

“What guest?” he asked, reaching for his towel from one of the sun loungers.

Harwin’s niece.

She’d been a flower girl at Harwin and Rhaenyra’s wedding, but he only knew that from the photographs. He didn’t remember the last time he must have seen her, probably some family gathering with the Strongs, before Luke slashed a knife in his face and they stopped seeing them as often.

Aegon seemed eager for “fresh meat” as they marched back up to the house.

Daeron was more sceptical and shot Aemond a concerned frown. “Just what we need, another Strong kid.”

After a quick shower, Aemond changed into a white t-shirt and a pair of dark green cargo trousers, and made his way through the maze of hallways and ornate staircases. He found his parents in the reception hall, a spacious room located at the front of the house, leading off from the entrance hall, going through to the dining room on one side and the drawing room from the other. It was where they usually lingered when the arrival of a guest was imminent.

Most of the visitors to Dragonstone considered this to be the most impressive room in the house, with its tall stained glass windows, silver chandelier, walnut panelling and carved columns supporting a gallery on the first floor.

The smell of smoke and charred wood drifted from the fireplace, mingling with the musk of antique velvet sofas. Alicent was torn between typing something on her phone and discussing some arrangement with their head of security, a deceptively young looking man with black hair named Criston Cole.

Evidently Viserys had arrived. He was sitting in a red armchair, taking small sips of a glass of whisky. He looked up when he heard footsteps against the floor, and offered his son a vague nod.

Helaena and Daeron weren’t far behind Aemond, and Aegon was of course the last to make it down. He insisted it was “perfect timing,” because the moment he walked into the room, Cole received a call from the front gate.

Daeron perched on the windowsill and jittering like a puppy as a black escalade pulled up before the gatehouse.

Within minutes Viserys was throwing his arms around his favourite child. Aemond cast a cold glare over Harwin, Jace, Luke and little Joffrey, clinging to his father’s hand with his thumb in his mouth. The sixth guest followed behind them.

Her hair was pulled away from her face, wide eyes sweeping curiously over the people, the paintings on the walls and the antiques in glass cabinets. The beginning of a smile spread across her lips, but her face fell when her eyes met his.

Aemond sucked his teeth into his lips. He was used to people looking at him like that, or averting their gaze altogether. He could only imagine what Jace and Luke might have told her about their cruel uncle and his horrible scar.

At dinner she sat on the other end of the table from him, between Harwin and Jace. She was a few years older than her cousins but they all seemed to get on well, joking and smiling at each other. It made Aemond’s blood boil.

Daeron made a point of introducing himself to her but he suspected this show of hospitality was mostly because she was pretty.

She really was pretty though, and quiet, but not necessarily in a nervous way. She seemed content to listen, smiling vaguely at the things people said, feeling no need to fill the silences. When she did smile– properly smile– it was wide, bright and unashamed.

He overheard her mention an interest in history as dessert was brought out, asking Rhaenyra and Viserys all sorts of questions about Dragonstone’s origins and architecture. He thought of a few books in the library he could recommend but dismissed the idea. When Aegon suggested giving her a tour of the house he felt his grip on his fork tighten.

Dragonstone was large enough that even with most of the family there it was easy to feel alone, and Aemond spent the first few days of their stay doing exactly that. In the mornings he’d go for a run, then head down to either the pool or the beach for a quick swim. He had his reading list for uni already and was making his way through a textbook on political philosophy, which he read either in the library or a quiet corner of the garden.

Daeron and Aegon were far better at being civil with Jace and Luke than he was, and she seemed happy to tag along with their antics. Aemond avoided them where he could.

One afternoon he decided to take his textbook to the patio at the back of the house, and winced at the shrieks of laughter coming from the pool. He was going to head back inside but found himself stepping towards the balustrade, looking over the greenery to the unnaturally blue water.

She was sitting on the edge of the pool in a red swimsuit, with her legs in the water. Even from so far away he could make out the details of her smile, her teeth, the roundness of her cheeks and the way she squinted her eyes.

He didn’t know how long he stood there, until a gentle voice pulled him from his trance.

“Aemond?”

His heart almost stopped and he spun around immediately. An awful feeling sank into his chest, like he’d done something wrong.

Helaena was standing in the doorway, in a pale blue sundress and purple sandals. “Me and mum were going to drive into the village, if you’d like to come?”

Maybe some time away from the house would do him good. He nodded and uttered a quiet “yes.”

She came onto her tiptoes, trying to peer past his shoulder, but from where she was standing she wouldn’t have been able to see what he was looking at. Maybe she didn’t need to see. Another few howls of laughter drifted up to the patio, and a cry of “Aegon, you bastard!”

Helaena sighed and smiled. He left his book on a table in the entrance hall and followed his sister out to the gatehouse where Alicent was already waiting in the Volvo.

The village was just over a ten minute drive away from the house. Aemond leaned his head against the window in the backseat, feeling content in the blur of vibrant greens and blues. He could have fallen asleep to the hum of the air con and the voices of his mother and sister.

Until he heard her name.

“What?” he mumbled, absentmindedly, shifting himself in the seat and catching Helaena’s eye through her overhead mirror.

“She’s starting her A Levels in September,” Alicent said. “Politics, philosophy and history, same as you.”

He had also taken an extra class in High Valyrian, but he wasn’t going to hold it against her.

“You’d get on I think,” Helaena added, pushing her John Lennon-esque sunglasses on top of her head. He could see she was smirking.

Aemond huffed and went back to staring out the window at the fields, the sky, the sea and the wildflowers growing at the side of the road. He could say he didn’t care about their guest but it would have been a lie. He couldn’t get that red swimsuit out of his head.

Eventually he started agreeing to the occasional beach trip or tennis match. Turns out he quite enjoyed spending time with his nephews when he could beat them at something. And it meant he could see her more often.

There were these odd moments, when he’d catch her staring at him over breakfast or by the pool, that got his hopes up a little, only for her to quickly look away and find someone to fawn over, usually Aegon or one of her cousins. But then she’d find him in the garden and ask about the book he was reading, or sit next to him when they lit a campfire on the beach, just brushing her leg against his.

They could be confusing but he liked those moments. Every day he woke up ectatic that he would get to see her, and that they might talk about politics or philosophy or a shared love for Daphne du Maurier or the Great Gatsby.

He needed her alone, just once.

He got the chance on the last weekend of July. Alicent, Rhaenyra and Helaena had gone to Rosby for the day, while Harwin had been talking about a trip to Dragonstone harbour to go fishing, something Daeron sounded rather enthusiastic about. Leaving him, Aegon and Viserys at the house.

After a late breakfast, Aemond went up to the library with the next book on his reading list, An Introduction to Essosi Regionalism. He was rather taken aback to see her sitting at the writing desk by the window. He had assumed she had gone to the harbour with the others.

In a sudden and awkward motion she stood and turned to face him, with wide eyes and a small smile.

“Sorry,” she said, pointing at the desk, “did you want to–”

“No.” He instantly regretted how short and final he sounded.

Her eyes dipped and he realised he was clutching his book far too tightly.

“I was only looking really,” she said, reaching back for her book, a biography of Queen Alysanne.

“You like history,” he said, intending it to be a question but it sounded more like a statement.

She smiled again, at his mistake, he guessed. “Yeah, it’s incredible getting to spend so much time here, it’s a beautiful house.”

He stepped forward to place his book on the desk behind her, noticing the sweet citrusy scent of her perfume and the way she tensed up when he came too close.

“I could show you around, if you’d like? I mean, you’ve already been here long enough and you’ve probably seen most of it by now–”

It was only when she put a hand on his shoulder did he realise his head had dropped down to the floor.

“I’d love to,” she said.

Suddenly his chest felt a little lighter.

He showed her his favourite parts of the house, except the library which she had already seen, obviously. She had so many questions, noticed every detail and traced her fingertips along the ancient stone walls with a look of wonder that made his heart flutter.

Then they came to the long gallery overlooking the reception hall. He pointed out the fan vaulted ceiling detailed with gold and the line of portraits of hundreds of years of Targaryen history, monarchs and more recent family members. She was especially fascinated with a portrait of King Jaehaerys and Queen Alysanne with children. She could put a name and a story to every face.

She turned her head towards him and her breath hitched when she realised he was looking at her. His first instinct was to back away and apologise, but she didn’t move or say anything, just looked up at him with those pretty eyes.

He wondered if he should kiss her. He’d never tried to kiss someone before. It should have been simple enough but it felt so daunting. What if he did it wrong? What if she didn’t want him to?

He saw her eyes flicker to his scar, and felt like he understood.

“Do you want to look at the old solar?” he asked, already walking towards the north door at the end of the gallery.

Behind him he heard her mutter a quiet “yeah.”

He rushed through the last few rooms. He could hardly catch his breath or think beyond the choking feeling in his throat or how hot the house seemed all of a sudden.

“Do you want to go outside?” she asked when he suggested going to the Maegor suite.

He nodded, and followed her down to the entrance hall, where they ran into Aegon. He was in trunks and an unbuttoned shirt to show off the tan on his abs.

He glanced between them with a strange look in his eye. “Beach?”

“Sounds good!” she said with a bright smile. “I just need to get some stuff from my room.”

Aegon grinned at her, then at his brother.

“I’m good, thanks,” Aemond grumbled, and went to spend the rest of the day sulking in his room.

Something was different about her after that. She stopped asking so many questions and rather than smile at him when they passed each other in the hallways she sighed and put her head down.

He really didn’t have much experience with these kinds of things, and he sure in seven hells wasn’t going to ask Aegon for advice.

He wished there was something he could do, but every time he thought about trying to talk to her he pictured her eyes on his scar and decided he’d rather spare her the trouble.

August went by far too quickly and then she was gone.

His time at the University of Oldtown brought some interesting experiences.

People seemed to respect him in a way he wasn’t used to. His lecturers complimented his work and his commitment to his studies. His classmates listened to him when he spoke in seminars, asked for his opinions on current affairs and invited him to lunches and parties.

He felt like a novelty in Oldtown, people wanted to befriend him, be seen with him, earn his approval. He felt shallow for admitting it, but the newfound attention felt good.

When he went back to King’s Landing that first summer, everyone said he was different. He’d always been interested in sports but he’d committed to a gym routine, shed some of the baby fat and toned out nicely. He traded the trackies and sports trainers for black shirts and leather jackets, got his ears pierced, drank whisky and smoked cigarettes on nights out.

And it turned out he wasn’t as hideous as he thought he was, in fact more often than not, the scar worked in his favour when it came to flirting.

After graduating he spent the summer in Oldtown, on an internship at Beacon, until Alicent told him she needed him in King’s Landing. She needed a contender of her own to pose as Viserys’ successor against Rhaenyra, and it was obvious neither Aegon or Helaena were going to live up to her expectations. So he did as he was told and moved back home, just in time for everything to start going wrong.

Viserys made his will. Rhaenyra was set to inherit Targ Corp and just about everything else he owned, including Dragonstone. Fucking typical. She had always been his golden child, all that was left of his beloved first wife. His mother always said he never got over Aemma. Singling out Rhaenyra was his way of making it up to her.

But Alicent had been the one helping Viserys run Targ Corp for twenty years, while Rhaenyra’s only real talent was her ability to get whatever she wanted out of their father.

If Rhaenyra were to succeed Viserys, everything his mother had worked for would be for nothing, but Aemond could be the one to change that. He could bring Targ Corp to new heights and live up to the legacy of the Targaryen name. All he needed was for Viserys to give him that chance.

Alicent had been in talks with Borros Baratheon of Storm’s End, an energy company based in the Stormlands. A deal with them would open Targ Corp to a whole new industry, and maybe then Viserys would recognise the lapse in judgement.

The Storm’s End contract was everything and Alicent had trusted Aemond to see it through. Only it fell apart in his hands. One seemingly minor mistake and Baratheon was out.

Alicent was devastated and it killed him. The late nights and weekends working in the office when she should have been with her children, the constant spite and security from the corporate world, the tabloid news stories that called her a “gold digger,” and the years she spent chasing her husband’s approval had all been for nothing.

She never said it, but Aemond knew she blamed him.

It had been a shitty three months and by December he was exhausted. Daeron was back from Duskendale, Aegon was staying for a few weeks, and Helaena was adamant that they were going to have an enjoyable Christmas. She covered the house in fairy lights and put up a tree in the living room, decorated with colourful baubles that really had nothing to do with Christmas; rainbows, butterflies and bees.

The other three agreed to indulge her. Aegon suddenly became an expert at Christmas cocktails, Daeron was in a baking frenzy and Aemond put his old piano lessons to good use. He sat at the baby grand in the hallway for the first time in forever and played some old hymns mum used to make them sing. Until Aegon put the chords for Fairytale of New York in front of him, which he agreed was a much better song.

Alicent came in from the office on the 24th, rain soaked through her coat and her eyes red. She’d had a call from Lyonel Strong.

Harwin was in the hospital. Pancreatic cancer. He’d been ignoring the symptoms for years apparently, and by the time Rhaneyra made him get a diagnosis it was too late.

Nothing was an isolated issue. Mum, dad, Rhaenyra, work… everything fed off each other in a single spiral of chaos and grief.

He needed the space, he decided at a fundraiser on New Years Eve. He and Viserys had arrived together but they didn’t so much as make eye contact the entire night. Rhaenyra was understandably inconsolable, mum had refused to go, Helaena wasn’t cut out for these kinds of events and Daeron was studying for mock exams. He at least found solace in the knowledge that he was preferable to Aegon.

A woman with black hair caught his attention. She moved effortlessly throughout the room, martini in hand, which she sipped through dark red lips as she struck up conversations with the other attendees. Did she realise she was targeting the richest people in the room? Probably. She blended in well, in a black slip dress and a pearl necklace, but there was something else, glaring him right in the face.

She was familiar, but he couldn’t place where he might have seen her before.

She smirked when she realised he was staring at her. After ordering herself another drink she waltzed over to him and introduced herself as “Alys Rivers.”

He must have let a little of his shock show on his face, because she smirked again.

Alys Rivers. Harwin’s cousin. The woman with the pretty daughter who’d spent a summer at Dragonstone.

They chatted for hours, she was very curious to hear about the company politics at Targ Corp, the few months he’d been working there and the whole debacle with the Storm’s End contract. She told him about herself too. She worked for Harrenhal PR, alongside her brothers, but was looking to start her own company.

He asked about Harwin.

That was the only time her perfect persona faltered, just for a moment, but then she took a sip of her drink and she was back to business. She said she was doing alright. It was a shock, he was like a brother to her, and she was trying to make the most of the moments she had left with him.

“It makes you appreciate what you have,” she said. They had found a table in a corner of the bar, ordering too many cocktails. She sighed heavily and put her hand on her chest, over her heart, “I’m so lucky I’ve got my darling girl.”

He didn’t even need to ask before she started telling him more. She was in her second year of studying history at KLU, a bright student, a sweet and serious girl.

She said Harwin adored her, always had, even once things got serious with Rhaenyra and he started having kids of his own.

“Poor thing,” he said, “this must all be so hard on her.”

“She’s like me,” Alys insisted, finishing off another martini. Her words were starting to slur, but even when she was drunk she did it gracefully. “Nothing phases her.”

He could still remember the smell of her perfume, sweet and citrusy.

Alys’s perfume was dark, bitter and boozy. When he kissed her the taste of her martinis burned on his tongue. Vodka. He was more of a gin man.

Generally he tried to avoid one night stands, but it didn’t take much convincing before he found himself in her hotel room.

He spent the entire night on his back while she edged him relentlessly, with her hands and her mouth, before she finally rode him, whispering praises in his ear as she did it.

He decided it would be bad manners not to text her, so the following Friday night, they went to a steakhouse on Conquest street. It felt more like a business meeting than a date, they talked more about Targ Corp and her plans for her own PR firm. She had the ambition and industry knowledge, but needed the strategy and the connections to make it work.

“You and I could be a match made in heaven,” he said.

She paused midway through a sip of red wine, and raised her eyebrow ever so slightly. “I don’t usually go for younger men,” she said, “but you’re smart and uncomplicated. I think we could work something out.”

The line between business and pleasure was non-existent. They looked over contracts and business plans over coffee, accompanied each other to conferences and fucked in hotel rooms. She was straightforward, blunt at times but he found it impressive and refreshing. He never had to guess what she was thinking because she didn’t see the point in trying to hide behind niceties. Every time he complimented her confidence she said it was “a consequence of age.”

Things moved faster than he realised. Suddenly winter was turning into spring and Alys asked him to work for Rivers PR full time.

He found the wherewithal to tell Alicent and Viserys on a rare occasion that his father actually bothered to eat with them. He tried to be as casual as he could about his sabbatical from Targ Corp. It ended with an explosive row over the dinner table, leaving both Helaena and his mother in tears. Viserys was still shouting from the hallway as he packed an overnight bag and stormed out to his car.

He had to call three times before Aegon finally picked up. “Good for you!” his brother cheered down the end of the phone. “Who would have thought you’d end up like this though? Six months ago you were mum’s favourite son.”

“She just kept telling me I was selfish,” Aemond said, first the Storm’s End contract and now this. “And apparently Rhaenyra’s been up in arms about Alys branching off from Harrenhal, especially with everything that’s going on with Harwin.”

“Will you go to hers then?”

He was already heading towards central. “That’s why I called, I need somewhere to stay, I thought you could put me up for a bit.”

Aegon drew out an exaggerated “uhh,” and Aemond hung up, not in the mood to listen to some long winded excuse.

He gripped the steering wheel as he came to a junction and a sign for Queen’s Park. So much for being “uncomplicated.”

Alys was in a silk robe when she opened the door. “Mummy and daddy kicked you out?” she asked with a pouty frown.

He insisted he had left of his own accord.

It was a beautiful terraced house, plaster fronted, overlooking the park. The interior was understated and elegant, dark wood floors, white walls and bursts of muted greens.

It was quiet too, and the only light came from the kitchen.

“Where’s–”

“She’s out with a few friends,” Alys said.

He followed her through to the kitchen, where she poured out two glasses of wine and he told her everything.

By the time he was done she had finished her glass. She looked into it, like she was surprised to see that it was empty. He hadn’t touched his.

“Are you planning on staying for long?” she asked.

For a moment he felt stupid for coming to her at all. He couldn’t quite figure out what they were to each other, and suddenly he was showing up on her doorstep and using her like a therapist.

“I called Aegon first but I think he’s busy. I can be gone in the morning if you want.”

She took hold of his shoulder, stroking her thumb over the fabric of his shirt. “You can stay as long as you need to.”

He looked at her. He was used to her expression being so smug and severe, but she looked gentle now, her eyes wide and full of pity. When he took a shallow breath he realised she was wearing the same, dark perfume from New Years.

He kissed her slowly, nudging his nose against hers and slipping a hand around her waist to pull her in closer.

She chuckled softly as she pulled away. “I’ll be off early in the morning. Take some time if you need to, sort something out with Aegon or…”

“Right,” he said, swallowing down the lingering taste of red wine from her lips.

They slept in her bed, with their backs to each other.

When he woke in the morning Alys was gone. He checked the time on his phone, 8am, and he had a text from her: Help yourself to coffee. Let me know what your plan is.

He threw on a t-shirt and a pair of sweatpants before he headed downstairs. He quickly figured out his way around the expensive coffee machine and settled on a stool at the island with a cup of black coffee.

His hands were restless, tapping against the coffee cup and the counter top.

She was in the same house as him, probably sound asleep upstairs, though he hadn’t heard anyone come in during the night. Did she know he was here? She must have seen the car outside, but she wouldn’t know it was his.

He’d hardly even considered the possibility of seeing her again until now, but he hadn’t expected things with to Alys to go this far.

He looked down at his phone. Maybe staying with Alys wasn’t such a good idea. He started typing out a text to Aegon when he heard the door to the kitchen open.

“Hello again.”

She stood in the doorway, squinting her eyes at him, hair loose and tousled, in nothing but an overused Black Sabbath t-shirt that covered the tops of her thighs. She looked a little dishevelled and utterly perfect.

“Hi,” Aemond said, putting his phone down and reaching for his cup. “Sorry, did I wake you?”

“No, I got a text from mum. She said she had a guest and I was free to ignore him or kick him out.”

“Have you decided which?”

She huffed a laugh and there was that smile again, though not as wide as it had been that summer. “I felt like being nosy,” she said.

She moved towards the sink and filled a glass of water, which she finished in one go, with a sound of satisfaction. She drew the tip of her tongue between her lips and set the glass on the counter before she turned to look at him again. “So you’re mum’s new boytoy?”

“Is that what she calls me?” he said, trying to play off the tight feeling in his chest with a small smirk.

“She doesn’t call you anything, actually. She’s been going on these little dates, calling them ‘work calls’ and hoping I won’t notice.”

“How do you know they’re not work calls?”

“I wouldn’t have until she brought you home with her.”

“That was my fault…” he looked down at his coffee. He was convinced he could already feel the caffeine buzzing in his fingertips.

“You look different,” she said.

His eyes shot back to her. “How so?”

“Your hair’s longer. It makes you look older.”

He raised an eyebrow and smiled at the way she recoiled into herself.

“I meant it as a compliment, honest.”

She looked different too. Her face hadn’t changed much from what he could remember, but mostly he noticed that she seemed more subdued. Her eyes were set in dark circles and they weren’t as wide, and when she wasn’t speaking her lips fell slightly. She looked older, but then how long had it been since Dragonstone? More than three years, less than four.

She told him where everything was in the kitchen, which he could have figured out himself but he didn’t want to interrupt her. She asked how long he was going to stay and he said until he heard back from Aegon.

That turned out to be a week later, and by then Alys insisted she liked having him around.

Initially he looked at a few rentals, which Alys discouraged and insisted he should buy his own place. Between work and the daily mass of texts he was getting from his siblings about Targ Corp and their parents, he couldn’t find the time to truly consider it.

It was easy to fall into a routine with Alys. She left for work earlier than him so he took his own car every morning. Everyone at the office guessed they were ‘together’ but they kept things professional. If he so much as put a hand on her shoulder she scared him off with a warning look. She always stayed later than him so he’d go back to the house, sort out dinner and have it waiting for when the girls got home.

The girls. He was going domestic.

She only had lectures a few times a week and when she was at home she stayed in her bedroom, only occasionally bringing a book down to the garden or the lounge while he worked in the kitchen. He wondered if she was avoiding him. Considering the awful impression he made at Dragonstone, he didn’t blame her.

But eventually she started to warm up to him. They found some common interests and small talk turned into in-depth discussions of history and politics and their favourite films and albums. She loved Mazzy Star especially. Sometimes, when he had the house to himself, he’d listen through their albums and imagine her listening to the same songs.

He soon learned just how elusive Alys could be. She always had something going on, a work event, a conference or even trips to Pentos with her old uni friends. When she was at home she was usually in the study on the top floor of the house, on a call, looking over contracts or managing some kind of crisis that only she could solve. If he joined her on work trips it was by her invitation.

So he often found himself alone with her. Movie nights became a weekly ritual, usually late in the week, and every week they seemed to sit a little closer to each other than before.

One night she fell asleep against him. His arm was around the back of the sofa and her head gently fell against his chest.

He wasn’t sure what to do, if he should wake her, but she looked so peaceful with her eyes closed, lips parted and breath fluttering down the collar of his t-shirt. Her body was warm and she was wearing that same citrusy perfume.

He wanted to keep her there. He could lie down, hold her in his arms and fall asleep pressed into her back.

Guilt told him otherwise. So he moved away from her, as carefully as he could, and guided her to lie fully on the sofa with a pillow under her head and a blanket draped over her body.

Alys came in from a dinner sometime after 1am and slipped wordlessly into her side of the bed. Within minutes he could hear her gentle snores.

He closed his eyes but he didn’t sleep. All he could think about was her breath on his chest, the way her shorts had ridden up her thighs, and that fucking perfume.

He was probably just tired, getting excited by some old crush which he was way past by now. He was sure he would forget about it by the morning.

If only it had ended there.

By the time spring came around she had warmed up to him. They spent Sunday mornings drinking coffee together in the garden and went for drives out to Blackwater Bay. They had inside jokes and talked about their families. Some nights she’d come crying to him over uni, arguments with her mother and a stupid boy who broke her heart. She was so pretty when she cried.

When she asked him to help her with a particular exam he couldn’t help himself. He noticed everything about their study sessions together, the way she shuddered when he put a hand on her shoulder, the way her breath hitched when he praised her.

His heart swelled when she came home from that exam with a wide smile, throwing herself into his arms and telling him all the details she could remember. Her eyes were so bright and gazing up at him almost adoringly.

He was so happy for her, and so proud.

She didn’t pull away when he kissed her. She met him with soft touches to his neck and a hummed whimper that threatened to spark something primal in him.

They smiled at each other when it was over, until the haze started to wear off. He cleared his throat, and muttered that he still had work to do. She nodded but they kept staring at each other, his hands on her waist and hers drifting down from his neck to his chest.

She was the first to step away. He watched her disappear through the door and wondered how he had managed to make such a mess of his life.

For the entirety of the next week he couldn’t get that muffled whimper out of his head.

Every time he saw her he wanted to drag her into him and kiss her again, harsher, hungrier, with his hands tracing over every inch of her body.

He told himself he was being stupid and he just needed an outlet. For the most part, he and Alys doing well together, but on the few occasions they actually fucked he found the novelty of being beneath her was starting to wear off.

Frustratingly, everything else seemed to be working well for him. He was good at his job; working for Rivers PR was certainly helping to distract him from his family and the company was thriving. He didn’t have to put up with his parents and the Rivers girls seemed happy enough to have him around. The only problem left was him.

In June Alys was accompanying a client on a trip to Dorne, a few days in Salt Shore, Lemonwood and then a week in Sunspear. Aemond wasn’t sure if he was elated or dreading her absence. Every time he’d been around her lately he held his breath, waiting for her to realise something was wrong.

She remained perfectly normal though. Her exams were finished and she had an internship at Lion Publishing lined up for the month of August. In the meantime she was living life as she pleased, lunch dates and picnics in the park with her friends, but she spent a lot of time at home too, mostly reading or writing in a leatherbound notebook.

The kiss was a mistake. A stupid mistake. He kept looking for a chance to talk to her, but decided it might be best until Alys was away.

Alys’ flight was due on a Friday evening and he dropped her off in the afternoon. They sat in silence for most of the journey but silence wasn’t a rarity for them.

When they reached the airport they both went to take the bags out the boot.

“I’m a big girl, I can manage,” she said dryly, but that was just her sense of humour.

“I don’t doubt it,” he said.

She set her suitcase by her side and slipped her arm through her Prada tote bag. “The two of you can look after yourselves well enough,” she said, fussing with the collar of her blouse. “I don’t need to tell you not to answer the door to strangers or anything?”

He smiled unenthusiastically. “No.”

With her eyes one the pavement, she brought her fingers to the styled waves of her hair, bringing a few tresses over her shoulder.

“She’s fond of you,” she said. “I know I can’t always be there for her when she needs me, but I know you helped her with that exam and I appreciate it.” There was no sign of shortness or irritation like there usually was when she spoke about anything remotely personal. She was being sincere and it just made him feel worse.

“Don’t mention it,” he said.

She shrugged her shoulders and the businesswoman was back. “Right then. I’d give you a kiss goodbye but I have lipstick on.”

How devastatingly practical, as always. She threw an arm around his shoulder and he pecked her cheek before she headed for the terminal, quickly and gracefully, heels clicking against the ground.

He had plans to meet Helaena for dinner at a restaurant in central. With her mother out the way, she had invited a few friends to celebrate the end of exams and he figured she’d appreciate the space.

He didn’t realise how much he missed not living with his sister until he saw her. That was the downside of the new circumstances, he never got to see his siblings as much as he wanted to.

Helaena asked him about Alys and her, how they were dealing with Harwin still in the hospital. He told her the truth, they didn’t really talk about it much, but by that point it was a matter of waiting for the inevitable.

Apparently Rhaenyra was a mess. She would be. Her husband was dying, she had three kids to look after and Harrenhal PR was falling to pieces now that Larys was in charge and Alys had poached half of their best clients.

Helaena was exhausted. She was getting ready to start a PhD in Highgarden and she should have been excited, but she hardly had the wherewithal to think about it with Alicent and Viserys’ constant rowing. At least Daeron would be back in a few more days so she wouldn’t be the only child at the house.

“Are you coming to Dragonstone this year?” she asked.

He took a telling breath through his nose and finished off his glass of wine.

“Aemond, please, it won’t be the same without you.”

He scoffed. “No one wants me there.”

She frowned at him with those sad blue eyes of hers. “Don’t say that.”

“Did you know mum hasn’t called me once since I left? It’s been five months. Do you really think I can just show up and we’ll play happy families then go back to hating each other when we get home?”

Her face twisted like she might start crying.

“Sorry I just–” he held his forehead in his hands and dragged them back over his hair. He didn’t want to think about Dragonstone, it just made him think of her.

He felt her hand gently take his wrist and guide it down to the table so she could see his face.

“What’s up with you?” she asked.

“Nothing. I’m just tired.”

She raised her eyebrows and hummed like she didn’t believe him.

It wasn’t long after 10pm when he got back to the house. He heard voices and giggles in the front lounge. He walked softly through the hallway and slowed when he came to the door.

“... that’s always been a fantasy of mine.”

“Jo, you’re sick.”

“Oh step-daddy!”

Laughter followed, with a few disbelieving sighs. He recognised her laugh, and made out two other distinct voices. He guessed they hadn’t heard him come in.

“Is he hot though?”

He listened for a reply but she stayed quiet.

“Oh come on! I bet you’ve thought about it.”

“No.” She said it so simply he almost believed her.

He moved through to the kitchen intending to get some water. There were two empty pizza boxes and an assortment of empty wine bottles on the kitchen island. He went to clean them up when the door opened.

“Hi,” she said softly. Her face was dewy and a little flushed. “I didn’t hear the door.”

“I only just got in,” he said, “don’t worry I didn’t hear anything incriminating.”

She tilted her head at him with a slightly dazed smile. She looked gorgeous and the pair of jeans she wore fit her perfectly.

She refilled the glasses from a new bottle and nodded to an empty glass on the counter. “Do you want to join us?”

“Only if you want me to.”

“I wouldn’t have asked otherwise,” she said.

He followed her through to the lounge, bringing the glass and the bottle with him.

Before he opened the door she leaned into him and whispered, “don’t worry, Margarey has work tomorrow and Jo’s waiting for her boyfriend so they won’t stay long.”

Margaery and Joanna were effortlessly charming but he distrusted them for being law students. They both grinned when he sat on the sofa by the window and were eager to ask him about his time in Oldtown and his job.

Joanna kept glancing over to her, but she remained unphased until Margarey mentioned Targ Corp. Her face slowly fell in irritation. He found it quite endearing.

“So why did you leave?” Joanna asked, “it was something to do with Viserys’ will, right?”

“It’s none of your business, is it?” she said shortly.

Aemond gave her a quick smile to let her know it was alright and she settled back to contentment.

Just as she said, they were both gone before midnight. She saw them to the door and when she came back to the lounge she fell beside him with her legs against his and her head on his shoulder.

“Did you have a nice evening?” he asked. If he turned his head just a little further his lips would brush against her temple.

“Really lovely,” she sighed.

He considered asking about the kiss, but she was definitely tipsy and just sitting with her was too peaceful. He couldn’t bring himself to disturb the moment and the sound of her breathing.

Her fingers began to trace up over the fabric of his shirt, up and down over his stomach and the lines of his abs underneath.

He put his hand over hers to stop her, but somehow it only seemed to spur his own want. He closed his hand around her, tracing his thumb over her knuckles.

She shifted her head so she was looking at him and her breath echoed over his neck.

She leaned in first. Their lips met with gentle grazes, just feeling each other and breathing the same air.

Gradually they deepened their movements. Her tongue slipped into his mouth and he melted at her softness and her warmth. He cupped her jaw to pull her into him despite the gnawing feeling in his chest, like he was getting too close, like he could never get close enough.

She started to move and he tried to keep hold of her, expecting her to slip from his grasp, until he felt her weight on his lap. She straddled him, wrapping her hands around the sides of his neck and threading her fingers through his hair. She gave him another dazed little smile before she continued to kiss him fiercely, desperately.

It was a bad idea. It was such a bad idea, but for now he would take the guilt if he got to feel her like this, her lips trailing along his jaw and down his neck, her heavy breaths and whimpers as she started to rock her hips against him.

He reached to take hold of her hips, moving with her at first before he set a new, steadier pace, dragging her against the tightening bulge in his jeans. “You alright there, pet?” he hummed.

She nudged her forehead against his. “Please can you just…” her eyes followed her hands as she propped herself against his chest.

“What do you want, baby?” he whispered.

She let out a whine that went straight to his cock.

“Come on,” he hissed, “talk to me.”

She clenched her fists to tug at his shirt. “I want you,” she breathed.

He strained an exhale as he tried to stop his hips from bucking into her. “I’m not sure that’s a good idea,” he said with a groan, but he was already trying to rationalise it.

She could be the outlet, just once, just to get it out of his system.

“No it’s not, but I still want you,” she said.

Or maybe it didn’t have to be about him. He could just give her what she needed.

“Please,” she whined trying to fight against his hold on her hips, “I want you so bad, it fucking hurts.”

“Oh you poor thing,” he cooed, moving his face down to tease the skin of her throat with his lips and tongue.

He knew they were on the cusp of something dangerous and damning, but it was her, the girl from that summer, the girl with the pretty smile and the curious look in her eyes, Alys’ daughter.

When he looked up to her face her eyes were wide and pleading.

Maybe he felt he owed it to a younger version of himself, or maybe it was the wine he’d had at the restaurant but he couldn’t bring himself to care about the consequences.

He pressed his palm against her stomach, feeling her body tremble and her quick, shallow breaths. He trailed lower to undo the buttons on her jeans. “Take these off for me,” he muttered.

She didn’t hesitate to follow his instruction. She drew the jeans down her legs, leaving her in her top and a black thong. He told her to straddle him again, which she did.

With firm but gentle hands he felt along the bare flesh of her thighs and her ass, positioning her over his thigh. He pulled the thong against her until she was squirming and trying to rut against his jeans.

He chuckled softly to himself and held her waist tightly to keep her still, and she followed the silent instruction so well. She was panting, leaning in closer to him, but waiting for his lead. He was slightly scared of how much he loved it.

He brought his hand to her cheek, stroking and toying with her bottom lip. “Do you want to be good for me?” he whispered.

She hummed her agreement.

“Fuck yourself against my thigh, pretty girl, show me how desperate you are.”

With a small nod she started to move, letting out little moans when her clothed clit rolled against his leg.

He kept her movements slow, even when she tried to fight against him and go faster.

“No,” he said, “be a good girl for me, do as you’re told.”

The pace was agonising for her, eyes screwed shut and jaw hung open as her hands got restless, running over his jaw, his neck and into his hair.

He kept her steady and pressed her down against his jeans with each drag of her hips, playing with the change in pressure and smiling at the way it made her whine and her eyes water.

“Aemond… I need more…”

He still kept the movements nice and slow. “Just let it happen– there you go, good fucking girl.”

She didn’t hold back her moans as her climax hit her, tensing hard and falling into him. He kept her moving through it, until her thighs were shaking and she begged him to stop.

He was sure he’d never been so hard in his life, but he held her there, breathing in the smell of her hair and her perfume.

Then he brought her away from him so he could see her face, beautifully blissed out. There was that light, hopeful feeling in his chest, but it was starting to crumble under the realisation of what they’d done.

“Is that actually a thing, the step-daddy thing?” he asked.

She huffed a breathy laugh. “According to Jo it is. Why, do you want me to call you daddy?”

He wouldn’t admit it then, but he liked the way it sounded coming from her.

General Taglist: @randomdragonfires @jamespotterismydaddy

Series Taglist: @marthawrites @urmomsgirlfriend1 @aaaaaamond @boundlessfantasy @sahvlran @tinykryptonitewerewolf @arcielee @tssf-imagines @aemondsfavouritebastard @skikikikiikhhjuuh @queenofshinigamis @lost-and-founds @izzydlb @dc-marvel-girl96 @xcinnamonmalfoyx @padfooteyes @castellomargot @pet1t3 @okfashionista @khaothick

#my fics #aemond targaryen #aemond x original female character #aemond smut #aemond fanfiction #aemond x y/n #aemond x reader #aemond targaryen fanfic #hotd fanfic #hotd fan fiction #hotd fanfiction #modern!aemond #modern au #house of the dragon fanfiction #stepdad!aemond #my heart belongs to daddy

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little-diable · 9 months

Text

Shattered Glass - Charlie Swan (smut)

This is somewhat similar to my Jasper story "Waves cover up what I've done" but with a focus on Charlie this time. Paired with the lyrics of the song "50 Ways to Leave Your Lover". Please like and reblog if you enjoyed reading this, your comments keep us writers motivated. Enjoy my loves. xxx

Summary: She finally had enough. She snapped, she killed her abusive husband before her mind could pick up on what her body had done. Or: When Charlie Swan helps dispose of a body

Warnings: 18+, smut, piv, murder, blood, abusive husband, very loving relationship with Charlie (2.7k words)

Pairing: Charlie Swan x fem!reader

header by @deathofpeaceofmind

"The problem is all inside your head," she said to me. "The answer is easy if you take it logically. I'd like to help you in your struggle to be free. There must be fifty ways to leave your lover"

“Fuck.” The word rolled off (y/n)’s tongue, hands wiping away the drops of sweat pearling on her forehead. She was heavily breathing, forcing her body to stand still for a moment, trying to calm her racing heart. Her eyes didn’t dare leave his frame, staring down on the lifeless body of her husband. “I should cut you up and dump you in the ocean, you fucking asshole.”

The curses left (y/n) as if her dead husband could still hear her, forcing tears to well up in her eyes as her mind slowly caught up with what she had done with her bare hands. The broken bottle was lying to her feet, covered in blood, just like his neck. She could still hear his screams, how he had called out for help, followed by slurs (y/n) could no longer remember.

It had felt as if the coil had snapped, as if the timer had run out, finally setting off the bomb. Her body had moved without thinking twice, reaching for the sharp neck of the glass bottle he had thrown at her. She still wondered where her strength had come from, allowing her to push him down the stairs before she followed him down, taking one step at a time. Deep down she had felt a sick sense of satisfaction, listening to his whines, to his begging, asking her to spare his life. He had touched her one too many times without her consent, had struck her across her face too many times to count, allowing her to finally set herself free.

The sharp edge of the broken bottle had cut through his skin almost too easily, forcing his red blood to gush from his neck, pouring out of the wound like an avalanche rolling down a hill, burying their life together six feet under. She was free, finally, almost – at least not fully just yet, needing to get rid of his body before anybody could stumble upon her bloody carpet, her bloody clothes, and his blood covered body.

Her eyes flickered to the window of their entrance hall, it was dark outside, completely dark. She’ll have to move quickly, pushing his heavy body into the trunk of her pick-up, hidden beneath whatever she could find to cover his corpse. “Fuck, I hope you rot in hell.”

(Y/n) opened the entrance door of their home, checking her surroundings one more time before she grasped his shoulders, pulling him out of the house. She didn’t focus on the bloody trail she was leaving on the dark stones outside, didn’t worry about the “what if’s”, all (y/n) could focus on was the burning of her arms, not used to carrying something this heavy. The body was placed on the ground as she opened her trunk, praying to whoever was listening that she’d manage to heave him into her car.

With a deep breath inhaled into her aching lungs, (y/n) tugged on his shoulders, managing to roll him into the car, upper body followed by his heavy legs. Sweat was covering her body, and yet she didn’t pay the running drops any mind, wiping them away with her bloody hands before she started to cover his body. The car was locked moments later, legs carrying her back inside, straight to her bathroom. She couldn’t risk being seen like this, couldn’t risk driving past people with blood sticking to her face and arms, with blood seeping through her clothes, fabrics she’d have to burn later that night.

The warm water cascaded down her back, and finally it began to dawn on her what had happened in the past hour. A sob clawed through her, hand darting out to cover her mouth, trying to keep the sounds from leaving her as if she was scared somebody would pick up on the mess she was stuck in. Fuck, what had she done? She could have disappeared, could have packed her bags and left Forks behind, but the terror he had unleashed upon her had been too much, it’d haunt her till the end of her life.

She said, "It grieves me so to see you in such pain. I wish there was something I could do to make you smile again." I said "I appreciate that, and would you please explain about the 50 ways?"

Exhaustion clung to her body as (y/n) drove through the forest, trying to find a good spot she could use to get rid of the body, wondering if she could stage an accident. Her husband had been a passionate hunter, perhaps he had been attacked by an animal? Perhaps he had been distracted, not noticing the creature moving closer? One scenario after another began to fill her thoughts, hoping that she could pull off the role of a grieving wife, crying about her husband’s death.

Before (y/n) could try to come up with another somewhat believable scenario, her eyes found a car in the distance, blue lights flickering in the darkness. She tried to slow down, though before (y/n) could turn around, driving back towards the city, her eyes met Charlie Swan’s dark ones. Curses left her as she stopped the car, watching the handsome chief move closer, hands placed on his hips.

“Everything alright, Charlie?” A smile tugged on her lips as she spoke to him, instantly picking up on the curious gaze he shot her. The two had been friends for years, sharing stories and memories whenever their paths crossed, relishing in one another’s company. Deep down both knew that they’d give into the pull inside their chests if she wasn’t married, searching one another’s body at any given chance.

“We’re checking all cars leaving Forks, we aren’t sure what’s happening at the moment, another body turned up. Would you mind stepping out of the car for a moment, sweetheart?” Heat flushed through her at the nickname he always used on her, enjoying the way she tensed in her seat, eyes momentarily avoiding his. (Y/n) needed a few seconds to snap into motion, heart pounding in her chest at the mere thought of Charlie opening her trunk. He opened the car door for her, smiling at the trembling woman before he directed his fleshlight onto her car.

Charlie started moving, with (y/n) frozen to her spot, not daring to move. “So, what are you looking for?” Perhaps she could distract him. Perhaps she could force the man to focus on her, instead of on her car. But Charlie didn’t reply, eyes focusing on the back of her pick-up, no longer moving away from the spot he was now standing on. No words left his thin lips as he opened her trunk, eyes momentarily flickering towards her frame, meeting her dilated pupils.

“Tell me, (y/n), what will I find beneath those blankets?” His voice was emotionless, not giving away what he was feeling. She stumbled over her reply, unable to think straight, trying to find something she could use to explain the mess that now threatened to drown her, pulled under without any air lingering inside her lungs. “Why is there blood on your car?”

A sob clawed through her, unable to keep her cries bottled in, giving into the tears wanting to roll down her cheeks. “Oh, (y/n). What have you done?”

I realized she probably was right, there must be fifty ways to leave your lover, fifty ways to leave your lover

“Alright, it’s done. I’ll follow you back home.” Charlie walked past her, without looking back once. No longer was the light of his fleshlight illuminating their surroundings, no longer was he looking at her with that unreadable gaze of his. She murmured his name, forcing the chief to halt in his step, slowly turning back towards her. (Y/n) moved closer, taking cautious steps, till she came to a halt in front of the man. Without speaking another word, (y/n) wrapped her arms around his middle, nuzzling her face into the crook of his neck.

“Thank you.” The words were swallowed by the sigh leaving the man, arms slowly wrapping themselves around her, keeping (y/n) close. He covered the back of her head with one hand, cradling the crying woman, not daring to let her go just yet. Charlie pressed a kiss to her scalp before he pulled her away, cupping her warm cheeks with his cold hands.

“Your husband was awful, we all knew. I was trying to find something to use against him, anything to free you from him. What you did wasn’t right, what I did just now wasn’t right. But nobody will hear of what we just did. Tomorrow morning you will come visit me at the station, with tears in your eyes you’ll tell me about his disappearance, and we will start the search. Eventually we’ll give up, because there are no traces left, nothing that can tell us about his whereabouts. Do you hear me?” She nodded her head, unable to speak another word as her gaze found its way to his lips. For the first time since crossing paths with Charlie, (y/n) felt as if she was allowed to give into her longing, the pull she felt inside.

A chuckle rumbled through Charlie, he pressed a kiss to the corner of her mouth and murmured a soft “We’ll have to take care of your house first”. He left her standing, walking to his car with a smile tugging on his lips, a smile that now matched hers, allowing (y/n) to let go of the tension buzzing through her system, thoughts starting to wander on the drive back to her home.

The moon was hidden behind the thick clouds hanging over Forks like a veil covering a crying bride, allowing Charlie and (y/n) to take care of the traces she had left outside her door, grateful that no neighbours were living close by, giving the two enough time to wash away the blood, to burn her clothes, and the carpet.

“I am forever grateful for you, Charlie.” Her whispers filled her now quiet home. (Y/n) couldn’t remember a day where her house had been that silent, not filled with the sounds of the running TV, of her drunk husband. Her heart clenched in her chest, though not because of pain, of regret, or because of guilt, no, but because she could now finally start a new life.

“I am glad you’re okay, that’s all I kept worrying about.” His murmurs left her smiling, searching his closeness once again. This time Charlie didn’t pull away, allowing (y/n) to slowly close the gap between them, lips meeting his soft ones. The two gave themselves enough time to get used to the unfamiliar touch, to the new sensation, hands finding the right spots to hold onto one another.

“Are you sure about this? You had a rough night, I don’t want to pre-”, Charlie was interrupted by the kiss (y/n) pressed against his lips, feeling his moustache burn her skin, leaving her aching for more. His rough chuckles vibrated on her skin, hands tugging on the shirt she was wearing, exposing her bra-clad chest to his dark eyes. “So beautiful, I promise to take good care of you, I’ll never hurt you.”

“I know, Charlie.” She could tell that he was pained by the mere thought of seeing her hurt again, not wanting (y/n) to live through another trauma ever again. (Y/n) interlaced her fingers with his, pulling Charlie through her home to her bedroom, silently thanking the spirits above that her husband hadn’t shared the bed with her in months. It was time for new memories, new moments to forget about old ones. Their eyes kept meeting as she helped him out of his uniform, hands wandering up and down his upper body, enjoying the feeling of his warm skin pressing against her palms and fingertips. “I need to feel you, that’s all I want for now.”

Charlie gave himself a few moments before he nodded his head, making a silent promise that he’d find shelter with his head buried between her thighs tomorrow morning. All it took was a gentle push for (y/n) to land on the mattress, shuffling out of her underwear as Charlie stepped out of his boxers. His cock was twitching in anticipation, begging to be touched, wanting to feel her wrapped around him, needs she’d fulfil in the upcoming hours.

(Y/n) reached for her bedside table, ripping the silvery foil packet open with her teeth, crawling closer to Charlie to roll the condom down his cock. His breath hitched in his chest as she touched him, wordlessly promising him that this was real, that this was really just about to happen. Their lips met for another kiss before (y/n) found rest on her bed with her back pressed against the mattress, arms slung around Charlie’s neck, keeping him close.

Warm fingers found her heat, exploring her aching cunt for a few moments, rubbing her pulsing bundle, brushing through her slit. Once again he asked her if she truly wanted this, without any words, just silent gestures and glances that managed to communicate their every thought. She wrapped her legs around his waist, set on keeping him close as Charlie slowly entered her, spreading her walls with his twitching cock.

Both needed to hold their breaths for a few seconds, adjusting to the new sensation, growing used to feeling one another this close. The moment had something awfully loving to it, a moment both hadn’t experienced in years, once again reminded that they should have found one another far earlier.

“Move, please.” Her whimpers were swallowed by his kisses, distracting (y/n) for a moment as he started snapping his hips, burying his cock deep inside her tightness with every thrust. (Y/n) choked on her gasps, walls clenching his cock, needing to feel him as close as humanly possible. Her arousal soaked his cock, producing sounds Charlie would think of for weeks to come.

“That’s it baby, you’re doing so good, so good.” Charlie kept praising her, staring down on her with so much love swimming in his pupils, an emotion (y/n) was no longer used to. Her heart swelled in her chest as she began to realise that she finally got her chance to be loved like she desperately wanted to be loved, held close by a man that would cherish her.

His calloused thumb found her clit, pushing her even closer to the edge with a smirk tugging on his lips, feeling her walls flutter around his cock. Both were close, ready to let go to start their new life together, heralding a new beginning without any sorrows, without any fear.

“Cum for me, let go with me.” His raspy words left her moaning, eyes squeezed shut to let go, curling her toes as her legs tightened their grip on his waist. Charlie kept thrusting into her, fucking them through their highs before the feeling let go of them, allowing the two to breathe through the adrenaline pumping through their veins like whisky, a substance so fiery and yet so smooth.

Their bodies found rest next to one another, cherishing the silence they were engulfed by, allowing them to sort through their thoughts. Without speaking up, (y/n) reached for his hand, holding him close as a smile tugged on her lips. Everything will end well, if she could keep him close, and if he’d let her in.

She said, "Why don't we both just sleep on it tonight, and I believe in the morning, you'll begin to see the light" and then she kissed me, and I realized she probably was right, there must be fifty ways to leave your lover, fifty ways to leave your lover

#Charlie Swan smut #Charlie Swan imagine #twilight #Charlie Swan x reader

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pseudowho · 1 month

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hellooo Haitch, how are you ? Wanted to drop by and tell you that I enjoyed rereading some Nanami pieces from you now that you've been reblogging them with new headers Also wanted to ask you 2 things : 1. Tips for becoming a better writer ? As in how to improve flow, narration, description (without becoming overbearing), how to make characters more human and less unidimensional 2. Favourite books you've recently read and that you'd recommend ? i've been rereading old favourites like Lolita and the Catcher in the Rye and I desperately need something new :( Thanks a looot

Hiii! I'm having a hard week. It's my grandmother's funeral tomorrow, and I'm horribly afraid. I'm getting by, though. Thanks for asking 💕

TIPS FOR BECOMING A BETTER WRITER:

Read more, and read-- I cannot stress this enough-- challenging and variable material. Difficult books. Classics. Crappy chick-flicks. News articles. Thrillers, romances, murder mysteries, philosophy books, fantasy books. Research pieces. All of them add to the reference library in your mind than you can use to compare to. These all help with flow, narration, description, because they all give you styles of writing to imitate.

Onomatopoeia is your friend. Not just, in individual words (crash, plop, honk!) but in sentence structure. Someone who is angry but calm may sound staccato, crisp-- their words, their sentences, should snip accordingly. You're describing a slow-flowing river? Languid, lazy, loose and fluid rolling sounds bring it to mind.

Trust your reader. Show them, don't tell them. If your setting is a coffee shop, with bright yellow walls, sunflowers outside, and wonderful coffee that always wakes them up, at their favourite table by the window? Don't TELL them the coffee shop is that way. Show them through the way your character interacts with their environment. For example: "Kento's hands grazed those sunny petals, always reminding him, curiously, of a Van Gogh piece his grandmother displayed in his childhood. Stepping into the shop, blinded by the sunshine splashed on the walls and the earth-roast aroma, he spotted his regular table overlooking the street, still free; his barista seemed to have anticipated his arrival, sliding his drink to the front of the queue with a smile." See? The story is moved along AND the reader can picture the environment. Trust them to see the things you infer, without having to DIRECTLY SAY "the walls are yellow, there were sunflowers outside, and this was Kento's regular coffee shop". Capiche?

Some idiot once said to keep everything to the point. Whilst this is true, to some extent, your words choices should be luxurious, in that there is ALWAYS the perfect word for a mood, a smell, a taste, a touch, a feeling. Each word you choose being just so makes a story feel rich and flavoursome. The fact is, if you are struggling to describe something and you find yourself piling sentence after sentence of almost correct words...leave it. Come back when the correct word is there.

If you Selfship, SELFSHIP HARDER-- talk to these people in your head. Build scenarios with them. Savour their reactions and their responses, don't see them through rose-tinted lens either. Cross-reference them with people you know, people you HAVE KNOWN, find the perfect words to describe them to other people.

Empathise harder. Empathy is the core of understanding someone's character. Walk a mile in their shoes. It helps, trust me.

FAVOURITE STUFF I'VE READ LATELY:

I adore Natasha Pulley's "The Watchmaker of Filigree Street" and its sequel "The Lost Future of Pepperharrow". The Ben Aaronovitch "Rivers of London" series is also excellent. If you want a great atmospheric, beautifully perfect scene-setting ghost story, go for "The Haunting of Hill House" by Susan Hill. "Pachinko" (I can't recall the author and I'm away from my bookshelf) is another favourite of mine. "The Poppy War" is the first in a trilogy by R.F.Kuang, and although it was her debut novel and there are traces of immaturity there, she is blossoming and I genuinely threw the second book across the room at one point because the angst and plot-twists hit me so hard.

Phew.

I'm no professional writer, so these are just my thoughts.

Mr Haitch lectures in English Literature and Creative Writing, so the "trust your reader" is one that he offered.

Good luck, thanks for thinking I'm good enough to advise you on this.

-- Haitch xxx

#pseudowho #pseudowho answers you #writing tips #jjk #kento nanami

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itsgrimeytime · 9 months

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Magnolia in May (Part Seven) || Rick Grimes (TWD) x Greene!f!reader Regency AU

Part 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6...

Taglist: @loliakeoghan23 @belaballs

AVAILABLE ON AO3

Inspiration (in honor of Speak Now Taylor's Version): Enchanted by Taylor Swift.

Summary: Your town was small, not the smallest you knew, but anyone of high fortune was the gossip of the week. Predictably, Richard Grimes was a thing of whispers -rumors of a search for marriage among the grassy hills. You weren't one to buy into town gossip, but something about him... just seemed a little too intriguing.

TWS: kinda anti-Lori, misunderstandings, a marriage of convenience, and mentions of loneliness.

[[A/N: girllllll, not another Magnolia in May chapter!!! Whoops. And actually tagging bestie @imaginemyfavoritefics properly this time, bc I did use the idea of Daryl as the courier. Unrelated but this gif of him clenching his jaw... girl. Thanks for reading !! ]]

You'd taken to writing letters -the gentle swish of your quill was calming the storm of your mind. Originally, you had garnered a sort of cold from the walk in the rain and had to heal -now, you'd stayed holed up of your own accord.

'Nonsense, darling,' Headmistress had said, fluffing up your pillows, '-you must heal from a broken heart like any other wound.'

It was fewer letters and more of a sort of journal -only for your eyes to see but sometimes addressed to someone other than yourself. It started simply with one occasionally to Maggie to make her smile, or Beth to tell her things you'd learned so she wouldn't have to, or to remind Father to eat a meal when he'd been so focused on a patient that he'd neglect himself. But then, Mr. Grimes started appearing at the header.

You couldn't remember the first time it had happened, days rather blurred after that day -especially since you were treated shortly after. And rest was all you'd really gotten then, it made the passage of time blurry.

But it became something you were rather dependent on.

'Mr. Grimes,' you wrote in the first of its kind, quill rather fluid at this stage.

'I met your wife, Lori. She's a wonderful woman, kind and perfectly poised. I would, in a different life, maybe be friends with her -seems the type to be good company. Was it always her?

You've got something special, a family with beautiful children. It's every man's dream, is it not? You were my dream. I find it a bit hard to believe she would leave that dream behind. For what is more powerful than one's love for their child? I suppose there were other circumstances that I shall never be aware of. I would've liked to have known why. I understand it's a rather personal thing, but I should be urged to hear something of the full story. I might deserve it.

But I suppose you deserve a full family more. Carl and Judith do. I wouldn't fit in. I would love the best for them, despite not having known Carl, he seems a bright boy. Deserves much of the best in life, I'd garner all children do.

I often wonder if I am to have children. I suppose I could ask you for advice one day, if so. But there's something in me that speaks differently. Like that path with you is gone. Maybe I should run off to the city and write away, become focused on my education. Pay for my father's living, and house my sister's 'til they're wed.

I don't think I could, with good conscience, leave Alexandria. I'm far too fond of the people the town, its where I grew up. And I suppose, to keep my father's clinic running under the family name I may marry. I'm not too sure that I'd marry for love, per say. Can you begin the fall in love more than once? Is it possible? And furthermore, although it is something I wish for, I'm not sure that I would like to bring children into a loveless marriage.

This is getting far too detailed of my own troubles, and for that I apologize.

I truly wish your family well. Even if there's no room for me.

Yours Sincerely,

Y/N Greene'

It was a positive experience, mostly. The smearing on that letter particularly wasn't of cathartic tears. Not quite a release of the emotions dying so tightly within your soul, it was rather grief. Loss of a life that you'd never have. Despite it being the one you desperately wanted.

You sighed, stashing away the paper with the other ones -the second desk drawer to the right, under the math textbook that had been gathering dust even before you were born.

Sure, it messed your hands, but you found it was a small price to be paid for secrecy.

"Y/N, dearest," your Headmistress hummed -voice pounding up the stairs, "-get dressed and meet me at the door in 10, will you?"

"Yes, Headmistress," you echoed, off to your feet and only touching up ever-so-slightly by the mirror. And in your rush, maybe you had forgotten to shut the drawer -you couldn't know now. It stayed open, and the telling corner of dustless papers under a dusty book was certainly one to ponder over.

At least for someone, it was.

You wouldn't know what had occurred until a few weeks later, as you sorted out your joint closet with Maggie. Gathering bows and ribbons, and straightening dresses, was a wonderful way to pass time -since your newest book was seeming to be tucked away in the carriage. You truly could not find it anywhere-

And then, there was a knock at the door.

Now, normally, this was of no notice -either for Maggie (who had gone on frequent outings with Mr. Rhee since the ball) or Father (ranging anywhere from an old friend to an urgent patient). But this was one to put a pause in your mind.

Maggie was, in fact, out -you remembered the shimmer of the carriage as it pulled away, and Father was rushed off for an emergency. And even further, Headmistress and Beth had gone out to a sort of gathering -some sort of tea party, you'd assumed. (They'd invited you, but you'd truly not wished to hear the gossip. Especially not now.)

You stilled, you were alone here then.

Well, you considered -making your way down the steps, -could be a sort of delivery. Ms. Elisa did frequently speak with friends out of town -often through letters. And Father always had an extra copy of cases delivered to his home -so he could think properly on an issue.

Satisfied with that, you approached the door with newfound confidence -fear that had stubbornly stuck there was unfounded. You twisted a bit of fabric in your dress, just to do something with your hands before swinging open the door.

And, it was a familiar face. Not one you had a name to, but one you knew -the courier.

"Ms. Greene," he spoke, his voice gruff and tired, much less peppy than you'd seen him before, "-I assume?"

"Yes," you answered cautiously, "-I'm the eldest Ms. Greene, why? If you're looking for Maggie-"

"No," he answered, simply, long hair moving with the motion of his head, "-Mr. Grimes requested this be given to you, the eldest."

"I can't acce-" you started but fell shut as a letter was extended to you -two letters. One a familiar sort of coffee-tinged brown -paper old and weary, you could hardly believe the quill hadn't punctured right through really. And the other, neatly folded, a pristine sort of ivory, and dark ink that somehow didn't seem to smudge at all. On the side that was exposed to you was written: Ms. Y/N Greene, in handwriting you recognized.

The one that had scribbled across the invitation so long ago-

"Who are you?" you questioned -eagerly bringing the letters close to your chest, "-And how did you get my letter? Have you been in my home-"

"Ms. Greene," he spoke -composed and calm, unmoved by your pressing questions, "-they were presented to me to mail weeks ago."

You froze, something heavy dropping in your stomach, "They? How... How many letters were you given to post?"

"A stack, no more than 10," he responded, "-the youngest Ms. Greene, opened the door for me once to deliver an invitation. The same one I 'ave been for weeks- It ain't relevant, really. She knew where I came from, and requested I bring 'em to Mr. Grimes immediately."

You paused, "An invitation?"

"More like a summonin'," he clarified, rather poised but still somewhat a bit casual, "-it's always the same request for you, the eldest, to attend to the Grimes estate."

"What?"

He paused, "It's supposed to be brought to ya, upon retrieval but... I'd guess it hasn't."

"You've-" you exhaled -a deep uncertain exhale, "-Just how long have you been delivering these?"

"Lost count."

"And-" you stuttered, a bit overwhelmed, "-and the letters, my letters they-"

"I put 'em in his hand, myself," he spoke -an ordered sort of discipline heavy in his tone with a dose of familiar twang.

"Right," you swallowed -pushing down the nerves biting up your throat at such rampant pace, he was never to see those, "-and who are you exactly?"

"Grimes estate courier," he grumbled out, a some of bitterness gathered there.

"No, no," you quirked a brow at him, "-your name? I figured as much otherwise."

He answered, rather improperly -as if he was trained in some ways and ignorant in others just slightly, "-Daryl Dixon."

"Mr. Dixon," you echoed, a sort of curiosity in your tone, "-you said he received the full stack, did he not?"

He merely nodded.

"Well, why do I only have one, then?"

The man pondered it for a second, loosely eyeing the way you held the letters like he knew what they contained (maybe he did), "I suppose he ain't done replyin' to the others."

The rest of the interaction was fairly polite, mere questions about his work -to which he complained quite vividly about the extent of it, but never shred a wrong light on Mr. Grimes. You'd gathered they were well-acquainted, even perhaps friends from youth, but you couldn't exactly pinpoint it. He didn't say anything directly, and was rather quiet around details. Well, details pertaining to Mr. Grimes, you supposed.

You'd initially wanted to search for the invitations he spoke of, but something bigger was biting you.

Your hands were quick to rush to the drawer, pulling it open -to suddenly believe it was not real. To prove that all of this was a farce, that the letters were still safely kept. But, when you opened it, you could tell.

Even still, you pushed forward holding up the book, peering underneath. It was empty, extraordinarily empty.

"No, no, no-" you urged, heart sinking to the bottom of your stomach -heavy, "-it can't be..."

Private pieces of you, of your sadness, your longing- Sent to the married man of the header.

And just back as you pushed back in your chair, the brush of tears only a breath away -your eyes caught on the letter.

It was not yours.

Yours sat just beside it, you recognized it to be the first one -all sort of crumpled and agonizingly smudged. All conflicted feelings and harsh realities buzzing under your skin. You'd written it partially under the delirium of your illness, so it was rather brash but you'd never thought you'd need to worry about it. The only thing different was how it was presented.

You remember hastily shoving it away, between book covers, under table legs, hidden in the dirt of the garden, as you tried to find a good place to stash them. You'd always been so quick to put them away, to get out the feelings and move on-

Looking at it now, though, the worn paper was smoothed out (to the best it could be) and perfectly folded. Each corner matched to another and creases were indented lightly so as to not damage the written word. It was treated as precious. Something... Something he'd rather cared for.

Something told you then to get rid of it, to throw it onto the fire when no one was looking, to stash it away, to never read it no matter the cost because you were doing the right thing and should not be swayed-

But another part of you was dreadfully curious. And dreadfully grieving the loss of a man who still lived.

It was your mail, a letter addressed to you. Wouldn't it be rather rude to not read it? If you hadn't wished the first one to be mailed, you retorted, then no.

And yet, you found yourself picking up the note with the gentlest of graces. Carefully unfolding the thick paper, slowly, timidly, like the words would jump off the page. Like they could hurt you.

You supposed they could.

Once fully opened, you didn't directly focus on the words -instead, detailing the printed bits around the top edges. It looked as though this was an official sort of paper -the same kind an invitation may be extended to. As well as a family seal printed into the bottom right corner, it seemed a little formal for the occasion but you found it didn't bother you. Not really.

Taking a deep breath, you blinked your eyes -wishing to calm your heart, even just for a moment, and started reading.

'Ms. Greene,' it started, letters crisply written in a thin but precise sort of writing. Your finger naturally went to trace over them, dotting the i's and swirling the g's.

'I must first say that it's to my understanding that these letters are rather personal to you. You weren't the one who intended to mail them, I've come to know. I know that this then, by proxy, is a large invasion of your privacy.

And I can only hope you forgive me for such a thing. Because this is my sort of last resort to reach you. I'm sure you're familiar with the invitations that have flooded your door, and although, I understand the no response for what you know, I've become quite desperate.

To be completely clear, I was nearly on my horse to your home the morning these letters arrived. To explain everything as you deserve it to be explained.

I instead am here, writing letters. I cannot tell if that's any sort of better than my original plan was but it is the decision I chose.

In terms of Lori, the situation is rather complicated. Surely, at the young age we married, she was the plan. I'd honestly not given thought to the fact that she'd ever come back. I knew her reasons, and I fully doubted I'd ever see her again. And out of respect for you, I wish for the full story to be in person.

Despite all that, I truly wished she would. I know I did. If not only to see our children, to grace me with some sort of company.

I lived a rather lonely life before you Ms. Greene. Which may seem a bit arbitrary coming from a man with a staff, but it doesn't make it any less the truth. When she left, it was quite the scandal. I never spoke a word on it, too devastated to even imagine what to say. It meant much more reclusion, even from friends I knew from youth. And then, as I'm sure you're familiar, I decided to move back to Alexandria. Atlanta only harbored negative things, and I wished for someplace more pleasant. And it was, but still despite it all, the loneliness persisted.

So this family, this full family, you speak of, it's not what Lori and I would be. It wasn't what we were when we were married. I love my children, beyond belief, but I was still lonely. And I can't imagine a full family has a lonely father.

Frankly, Ms. Greene, I was lonely until that day in the marketplace.

And on the off chance you don't understand what I mean, I ask, from the depths of my heart, don't leave Alexandria.

Yours,

Richard Grimes'

#rick grimes #rick grimes x reader #its griming time #stuff n' thangs #rick grimes x you #rick grimes x y/n #ricky dicky doo dah grimes #twd #twd rick #rick grimes x y/n fanfiction #rick grimes oneshot #magnolia in may #narrative letters ??? drama

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creepswrites · 11 months

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❝ CREEPS ‣ HE/IT ‣ REQUESTS OPEN ❞ ‣ ALL WRITING ‣ MASTERLIST ‣ VIEW RULES AND REGULATIONS BELOW TO REQUEST!

I. ❝ RESTRICTIONS ❞

‣ The following themes are PROHIBITED: racism, homophobia, transphobia, inc*st, ped*philia, illegal age gaps, extreme/harmful fetishes and kinks, r*pe, self-h*rm, suic*de, & extremely graphic abuse/depictions of abuse.

‣ Topics such as mental illness, violent scenes, and mention/depiction of abuse may pop up on occasion and will be properly tagged. While violent scenes may occur, I try to avoid topics I know to be upsetting to read as well as topics I myself find upsetting.

‣ I will NOT write smut with underage muses of mine, even if the reader is the same age.

‣ I will write for AMAB, AFAB, TRANS, and GN READERS! If you have specific pronouns for your reader request, make sure to state those! I always default to gender neutral reader unless otherwise specified :)

‣ Please do NOT repost my writing anywhere! Ask to translate, do not unless I have given explicit permission for you to do so.

II. ❝ THEMES ❞

‣ Common themes I write for include but are not limited to:

fluff / slice of life

angst / darker themes

nsfw / smut

violence

multi-chapter stories

‣ I do write reader x canon OR canon x canon, so long as it does not violate any of my restrictions! I can be picky about what canon x canon pairing I write for though, it has to speak to me.

III. ❝ REQUESTING ❞

‣ I reserve the right to deny any request for any reason.

‣ Do not spam/pressure me to write! I write for what inspires me in the moment. Requests will be completed when I have the time.

‣ Requests sent when they're closed will be discarded!

HEADCANONS | 1-3K ONESHOT | 4K+ ONESHOT

‣ Headcanons : Five character max, one character min. If the headcanon prompt is specific enough, it can be combined with a small drabble! These vary in length/detail. Unless characters for headcanons are specified, I'll likely write as many/as few as I feel inspired for! Usually within the same fandom/theme, so long as they fit the prompt given!

‣ 1-3k Oneshot : These vary in length & detail depending on the material provided. If requesting, please specify, otherwise I default to headcanons. These can take me longer than headcanons so I take requests for them more sparingly.

‣ 4k+ Oneshot : Meant for more specific scenarios with lots of ideas & content involved! I rarely do these unless I'm particularly inspired by the prompt given. Usually, 4k+ is reserved for long-term story chapters.

IV. ❝ MUSES ❞

‣ Michael Myers : Halloween (1987, RZ, & 2018/Kills)

‣ Jason Voorhees : Friday the 13th

‣ Bubba Sawyer & Thomas Hewitt : The Texas Chainsaw Massacre

‣ Brahms Heelshire : The Boy (2016)

‣ Billy Lenz : Black Christmas (1974)

‣ Vincent Sinclar, Bo Sinclair, & Lester Sinclair : House of Wax (2005)

‣ Stu Macher & Billy Loomis : Scream

‣ Leslie Vernon : Behind the Mask: The Rise of Leslie Vernon

‣ Pyramid Head : Silent Hill

‣ Carrie White : Carrie

‣ Danny Johnson, Anna, & Amanda Young : Dead by Daylight ‣ You may ask me to try any DBD character though!

‣ Corey Cunningham : Halloween Ends (sparingly)

‣ Steve Harrington, Eddie Munson, Mike Wheeler, Will Byers : Stranger Things (sparingly)

‣ Bill Denbrough, Eddie Kaspbrak, Richie Tozier, Mike Hanlon, Beverly Marsh, Ben Hanscom : IT (1990, 2017 & 2019) (sparingly)

‣ ICON + HEADER ‣ COVER IMAGE ‣ LAYOUT INSPO

#🔪 creeps writes #slasher fanfiction #slasher x reader #slasher x s/o #horror writing #halloween 1978 #house of wax #black christmas #behind the mask #the texas chainsaw massacre #friday the 13th #the boy 2016 #carrie 1976 #dead by daylight #silent hill #scream #halloween ends #stranger things #it 2017

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nancywheeeler · 4 months

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PLEASE share some of your favourite books!!! of all time And ones that you discovered this year!! (also only just noticed your header… i love those two <3)

omg anon i would love nothing more!

books of all-time: the secret history & the goldfinch by donna tartt, the haunting of hill house & we've always lived in the castle by shirley jackson, the night circus by erin morgenstern, the immortalists by chloe benjamin, lincoln highway by amor towles, say nothing by patrick radden keefe, the collector by john fowles, never let me go by kazuo ishiguro, tell the wolves i'm home by carol rifka brunt, the night tiger by yangsze choo, the shadow of the wind by carlos ruiz zafon, in the woods & the likeness by tana french, and the bell by iris murdoch.

i'm sure there are some i'm forgetting; i'm sorry to those books!

i try to read a broad range of genres & sub-genres, but my soft spots are magical realism, the promise of an ambiguous and bittersweet resolution, family sagas (or a codependent pair of siblings who are all the other has in the world), novels strongly influenced by classic literature, and unconventional murder mysteries.

and this year, i have favorites for all of the above!

magical realism: the house of the spirits by isabelle allende; ashamed i had not read this classic before, but i arrived at the party and i never wanted to leave.

also recommend: the light pirate by lily brooks-dalton

bittersweet: the memory police by yoko ogawa; more like bittersweet from beginning to end, and haunting. so very haunting.

also recommend: we all want impossible things by catherine newman (if you read the blurb, you'll understand why this is bittersweet, but it is also the funniest book i read all year)

family saga: tom lake by ann patchett; my book of the year, a beautiful exploration of mothers and daughters, our town by thornton wilder, first loves, and the summer stock theater scene.

classic influence: the historian by elizabeth kostova; brilliant take on dracula and vampiric folklore.

also recommend: state of wonder by ann patchett (a heart of darkness, but with women in the amazon!); demon copperhead by barbara kingsolver (tbh i felt it follows david copperfield a bit too closely, but her writing! oh her writing!)

unconventional murder mystery: i have some questions for you by rebecca makkai; not too unconventional, but it has some great takes on the true crime industry.

and since those are all fiction, i'll also add, for non-fiction, that i really loved the wager by david grann, the extraordinary life of an ordinary man by paul newman, and the premonition by michael lewis (great for anyone interested in what america's pandemic response was supposed to be, how it was developed, and why it went so wrong in 2020)

alright wow, this got so long—i'm so sorry! i'd love to hear what everyone else's favorite books they read this year are!

#ask #thank you so much for letting me ramble anon!#and god yeah do i love and miss maeve and amiee <3 #book recs

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fioreofthemarch · 6 months

Text

Finding Her - Chapter Photos

Finding Her has a header photo for each chapter, taken using the in-game camera. These photos were inspired by the chapter contents or recreating one that Link takes in that chapter (if I could manage it!). Here they all are in one place!

Chapter 1

Log is accompanied by a picture of a Zonai Steward Construct. Its large, see-saw head is angled slightly to the side, as if perplexed.

Chapter 2

A photograph of a soft brown mare, saddled and ready for travel. Link is sitting in the saddle, smiling at the camera. The immediate next photo is a self-portrait taken by a Hylian Guard, Scorpis, the camera too-close to his face as he tries to snap a picture of himself and Link, who is waving to the camera from his horse.

Chapter 3

A photograph taken from Impa’s hot air balloon of the geoglyph of Hyrule Ridge, depicting a large figure with long ears and an outstretched hand.

Chapter 4

A photograph of the huge dark cloud that stretches high into the atmosphere. It is encircled by two dozen or so floating wooden structures.

Chapter 5

A photograph taken from the underside of a Lightroot, its sturdy vines wrapping around the central orange tuba and rising up towards the surface above.

Chapter 6

A photo of the Gorondia, the Fire Temple, emerging from the Depths. It is flanked by lava falls and seems carved from the bedrock itself. Unseen to the photographer is a small, ghostly figure of a young woman, with blonde hair and green eyes, standing on an upper level of the enormous structure. She looks at the camera with a blank expression.

Chapter 7

[Kakariko Village - this photograph is not depicted in the chapter]

Chapter 8

A photograph of a lone house in Hateno, in the old pre-Calamity style. It has a single chimney and a rendered brick exterior. Beside the house is a small garden with a large oak tree and a pond that glints in the moonlight. There are frogs in the water, strategically located beneath a concert of fireflies that have gathered at the pond.

Chapter 9

[Penn at Wetlands Stables - this photograph is not depicted in the chapter]

Chapter 10

[Mipha's Court - this photograph is not depicted in the chapter]

Chapter 11

A photograph of a Zonai contraption: a cart with a steering stick and two small wheels attached. There is a Zonai rocket attached to each wheel. The vehicle looks as fast as it is flimsy.

Chapter 12

A photograph of the Great Plateau with its evergreen trees and rolling landscape. The Temple of Time is in the foreground, ahead of a gentle hill that rises towards the overlook leading into the Shrine of Resurrection. A campfire is burning, just off the pathway up the hill.

Chapter 13

A photograph of the painted mural in the Gerudo underground shelter, a determined Riju standing before it. She is deep in thought, a hand to her chin. There is no hint of fatigue on her features.

Chapter 14

[Purah at Lookout Landing - this photograph is not depicted in the chapter]

Chapter 15

A photograph of Lurelin Village and the Pirate Ship on its shores. The huge, horned skull on the bow leers with blank menace. On the ship, a group of bokoblins and their boss bokoblin dance and jeer.

Chapter 16

A photograph taken from the Thunderhead Isles of the Popla Foothills to the north. The Light Dragon is seen flying just below the clouds. There's a sense that, no matter where someone is in the world, the dragon’s light would shine upon them. It's a familiar feeling, like the light that shone from Hyrule Castle when its Princess called out to— wait. No, stop that. That’s— what are you talking about? The feelings aren't familiar at all. It’s just a dragon. Nothing more. This isn't even a good photo. It’s blurry, and dark, and should just be deleted.

Chapter 17

A photograph of a ring of Silent Princesses. They grow tall, strong and radiant, and are clustered around a small shallow in the ground. At the centre, a dragon tear awaits.

Chapter 18

[Josha at her research station - this photograph is not depicted in the chapter]

Chapter 19

[Penn at Washa's Bluff with the Light Dragon overhead - this photograph is not depicted in the chapter]

Chapter 20

[Rist Peninsula as the sun rises - this photograph is not depicted in the chapter]

#long post #totk #my writing #finding her #tears of the kingdom

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saulwexler · 4 months

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if 30 rock and bcs/brba characters had to meet each other what would they say/do

someone studied my header;) obsessed with this

Kenneth & Chuck

Kenneth is really the perfect match for Chuck. He does every errand, he's comfortable with high-strung perfectionists, and he would take experimental EHS drugs to test their side effects. Like Jimmy probably wouldn't need to be paid. Unlike Jimmy, Kenneth cannot tell a lie. As the Hill People say, "Parcell gaw say del go up de saw say."

Jack & Kim

Kim would be the perfect mentee for Jack - she has the perfect combination of drive, intelligence, humility and chaos (D.I.H.C.).

Best Jack advice? "what tragedy happened in your life that you insist upon punishing yourself with all this mediocrity". Kim would be immediately shamed out of Florida (which is basically a prison population. It's America's Australia) and climb the corporate ladder.

Liz & Kim

They would absolutely meet at a hotdog stand (or the dog house?) and bond over yelling at line-cutters. What, he thinks there's two lines and we're all in this line? He's the only genius who got in the other line? Can you believe this guy?

They agree on most things, like how valentine's day is a sham created by greeting card companies to reinforce gender stereotypes. Sadly their friendship would be short lived (both of them need a chaotic bestie).

Jenna & Jimmy

Oh my. It looks like we’ve got a slut off on our hands.

These two would be so chaotic together I think they'd be inseparable. The carvel cake scam? the kleptomania relapses? constantly hatching revenge schemes? screaming in bathrooms?? People are constantly underestimating their intelligence, maybe because they got their degrees from oceanic colleges with dubious accreditation statuses. Plus Jenna needs a shady lawyer.

Jimmy has a soft spot for blond con-women, “They’re calling us ‘James,’ which is a combination of ‘Jenna’ and ‘James.'” but I think they would be strictly platonic.

Tracy & Jimmy

Tracy is a wife guy and when he heard about the breakup would bestow marriage advice: "Tell her you want her to donate her body to science and you’re science. Tell her, Jimmy!" Kim would never have divorced him.

#theres so many others fdsafdsa I want to add to this #30 rock #bcs

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chwstain · 2 years

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𝘃𝗶𝗰𝘁𝗼𝗿𝗶𝗮 𝗽𝗲𝗱𝗿𝗲𝘁𝘁𝗶 𝗵𝗲𝗮𝗱𝗲𝗿𝘀

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istumpysk · 1 year

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Operation Stumpy Re-Read

ADWD: Tyrion XII (Chapter 66)

For most men, there was no cost to joining a company, but he was not most men. He dipped the quill into the inkpot, leaned over the first parchment, paused, looked up. "Would you prefer me to sign Yollo or Hugor Hill?"

Tyrion's such a loser he has to pay to join a sellsword company.

I have a prediction! Cersei, Jaime, and Tyrion will always have their proper names as the chapter header.

+.+.+

The dwarf laughed and signed the parchment, Tyrion of House Lannister. As he passed it left to Inkpots, he riffled through the pile underneath. "There are … what, fifty? Sixty? I'd thought there were five hundred Second Sons."

"Five hundred thirteen at present," Inkpots said. "When you sign our book, we will be five hundred fourteen."

"So only one in ten receives a note? That hardly seems fair. I thought you were all share-and-share-alike in the free companies." He signed another sheet.

Brown Ben chuckled. "Oh, all share. But not alike. The Second Sons are not unlike a family …"

"… and every family has its drooling cousins." Tyrion signed another note. The parchment crinkled crisply as he slid it toward the paymaster. "There are cells down in the bowels of Casterly Rock where my lord father kept the worst of ours." He dipped his quill in the inkpot. Tyrion of House Lannister, he scratched out, promising to pay the bearer of the note one hundred golden dragons. Every stroke of the quill leaves me a little poorer … or would, if I were not a beggar to begin with. One day he might rue these signatures. But not this day.

Bowels! I was going to make an Orson Lannister beetle joke, but that's show-only.

I'm going to keep track of this. He's signing 25-30 contracts worth 100 golden dragons each. (💰2500-3000)

+.+.+

"Debts written on the wind tend to be … forgotten, shall we say?"

"Not by us." Tyrion signed another sheet. And another. He had found a rhythm now. "A Lannister always pays his debts."

Seven books of wasted buildup if you don't make them broke by the end.

+.+.+

He wanted to laugh, but that would have ruined the game. Plumm was enjoying this, and Tyrion had no intention of spoiling his fun. Let him go on thinking that he's bent me over and fucked me up the arse, and I'll go on buying steel swords with parchment dragons. If ever he went back to Westeros to claim his birthright, he would have all the gold of Casterly Rock to make good on his promises. If not, well, he'd be dead, and his new brothers could wipe their arses with these parchments. Perhaps some might turn up in King's Landing with their scraps in hand, hoping to convince his sweet sister to make good on them. And would that I could be a roach in the rushes to witness that.

More than enough evidence Team Daenerys will take Casterly Rock.

We'll have to wait and see if Tyrion screwed himself, and those mines are as empty as the show indicated. (I think they are.)

+.+.+

The writing on the parchments changed about halfway down the pile. The hundred-dragon notes were all for serjeants. Below them the amounts suddenly grew larger. Now Tyrion was promising to pay the bearer one thousand golden dragons. He shook his head, laughed, signed.

25-30 contracts are worth 1000 golden dragons each. (💰2500-3000 + 💰25,000-30,000)

+.+.+

"You will work for Inkpots," said Inkpots. "Keeping books, counting coin, writing contracts and letters."

"Gladly," said Tyrion. "I love books."

Tyrion Lannister keeps landing the same job.

+.+.+

"I once had charge of all the drains in Casterly Rock," Tyrion said mildly. "Some of them had been stopped up for years, but I soon had them draining merrily away."

Speaking of evidence they'll take Casterly Rock, that would be the second time the drains have been referenced.

So to mark his manhood, Tyrion was given charge of all the drains and cisterns within Casterly Rock. Perhaps he hoped I'd fall into one. But Tywin had been disappointed in that. The drains never drained half so well as when he had charge of them. - Tyrion III, ADWD

Twice is never a coincidence, the show got it right.

If Team Daenerys takes the Rock with a stealth mission (as opposed to dragons) and holds the castle, that makes it far more likely it's the Red Keep falling on Jaime and Cersei.

+.+.+

I won't have you parading about where you might be seen. Stay inside as much as you can, and shit into your bucket. Too many eyes at the latrines. And never go beyond our camp without my leave. We can dress you up in squire's steel, pretend you're Jorah's butt boy, but there's some will see right through that. Once Meereen is taken and we're away to Westeros, you can prance about all you like in gold and crimson.

What is Ben Plumm's plan here?

The Second Sons defeat Daenerys in Meereen, then go to Westeros and do what exactly? Conquer the land with 514 men? It's not like he knows about Aegon.

+.+.+

Till then, though …"

"… I shall live beneath a rock and never make a sound. You have my word on that."

Like your brother and sister! ❤️

+.+.+

Three notes remained, different from the rest. Two were written on fine vellum and made out by name. For Kasporio the Cunning, ten thousand dragons. The same for Inkpots, whose true name appeared to be Tybero Istarion. "Tybero?" said Tyrion. "That sounds almost Lannister. Are you some long-lost cousin?"

"Perhaps. I always pay my debts as well. It is expected of a paymaster. Sign."

2 contracts are worth 10,000 golden dragons each. (💰2500-3000 + 💰25,000-30,000 + 💰20,000)

Not sure what to make of the Tybero stuff.

+.+.+

Brown Ben's note was the last. That one had been inscribed upon a sheepskin scroll. One hundred thousand golden dragons, fifty hides of fertile land, a castle, and a lordship. Well and well. This Plumm does not come cheaply.

The final contract is 100,000 golden dragons, fifty hides of fertile land, a castle, and a lordship. Final tally:

💰147,500-153,000 golden dragons, fifty hides of land, a castle, and a lordship.

Pray those mines haven't run dry, Tyrion Lannister.

+.+.+

"The Second Sons are amongst the oldest of the free companies," Inkpots said as he was turning pages. "This is the fourth book. The names of every man to serve with us are written here. When they joined, where they fought, how long they served, the manner of their deaths—all in the book. You will find famous names in here, some from your Seven Kingdoms. Aegor Rivers served a year with us, before he left to found the Golden Company. Bittersteel, you call him. The Bright Prince, Aerion Targaryen, he was a Second Son. And Rodrik Stark, the Wandering Wolf, him as well. No, not that ink. Here, use this." He unstoppered a new pot and set it down.

That's the dumb shit Targ who drank wildfire. Also, the Wandering Wolf! Arya's husband. ❤️ Other notable members include Oberyn Martell, and the Tattered Prince.

I glanced over their wiki, only noteworthy history I can see is the Second Sons fleeing when a Dothraki khalasar attacked Qohor.

+.+.+

"For most of us, the signature suffices, but I would hate to disappoint a new brother-in-arms. Welcome to the Second Sons, Lord Tyrion."

Lord Tyrion. The dwarf liked the sound of that. The Second Sons might not enjoy the shining reputation of the Golden Company, but they had won some famous victories over the centuries. "Have other lords served with the company?"

"Landless lords," said Brown Ben. "Like you, Imp."

Tyrion hopped down from the stool. "My previous brother was entirely unsatisfactory. I hope for more from my new ones. Now how do I go about securing arms and armor?"

Sister. Sansa had once dreamt of having a sister like Margaery; beautiful and gentle, with all the world's graces at her command. Arya had been entirely unsatisfactory as sisters went. - Sansa II, ASOS

And they both don't mean it.

+.+.+

Stumpy note:

I need everyone to know we're one-third of the way through this chapter when Tyrion goes to the armory.

I point this out because absolutely nothing happens the back two-thirds of this chapter. The chapter is fourteen pages long and two-thirds of it is nothing.

+.+.+

"Talking again, are we?" It was better than her usual sullen silence. All over an abandoned dog and pig. I saved the two of us from slavery, you would think some gratitude might be in order. "If you sleep any longer, you're like to miss the war."

"I'm sad." She yawned again. "And tired. So tired."

Tired or sick? Tyrion knelt beside her pallet. "You look pale." He felt her brow. Is it hot in here, or does she have a touch of fever? He dared not ask that question aloud. Even hard men like the Second Sons were terrified of mounting the pale mare. If they thought Penny was sick, they would drive her off without a moment's hesitation.

I don't know if Penny continues to show symptoms of the pale mare in Tyrion's first few TWOW chapters, and I'm not about to read ahead to find out.

If I had to guess, I'd say we're being reminded of these early signs and symptoms because of another character (who is currently wandering the Dothraki Sea).

#JusticeForPenny'sDog&Pig

+.+.+

"We," she said. "If you're one of them, you should say we, not they. Has anyone seen Pretty Pig? Inkpots said he'd ask after her. Or Crunch, has there been word of Crunch?"

Only if you trust Kasporio. Plumm's not-so-cunning second-in-command claimed that three Yunkish slave-catchers were prowling through the camps, asking after a pair of escaped dwarfs. One of them was carrying a tall spear with a dog's head impaled upon its point, the way that Kaspo told it.

The peacock calls himself Kasporio the Cunning, though Kasporio the Cunt would be more apt. - Tyrion XI, ADWD

Kasporio the Cunning touched his sword hilt. - tyrion XII, ADWD

I have a prediction!

Kasporio will do something stupid.

+.+.+

Snatch was waiting by the cook tent chewing sourleaf when the two dwarfs turned up, cloaked and hooded.

[...]

Snatch snorted and spat out a mouthful of red slime.

[...]

The serjeant's fingers were stained a mottled red from the juice of the sourleaf he chewed.

Snatch, the Bronn clone, is still deader than dead.

A serjeant, Tyrion knew, from the way the other two deferred to him. He had a hook where his right hand should have been. Bronn's meaner bastard shadow, or I'm Baelor the Beloved. - Tyrion XI, ADWD

Snatch chewed his sourleaf, making japes and scratching at his balls with his hook hand. Something about his manner reminded Tyrion of Bronn. - Tyrion I, TWOW

+.+.+

"My father was wont to say it. Did you know Lord Tywin, Kem?"

"The Hand. Once I saw him riding up the hill. His men had red cloaks and little lions on their helms. I liked those helms." His mouth tightened. "I never liked the Hand, though. He sacked the city. And then he smashed us on the Blackwater."

"You were there?"

"With Stannis. Lord Tywin come up with Renly's ghost and took us in the flank. I dropped my spear and ran, but at the ships this bloody knight said, 'Where's your spear, boy? We got no room for cravens,' and they buggered off and left me, and thousands more besides. Later I heard how your father was sending them as fought with Stannis to the Wall, so I made my way across the narrow sea and joined up with the Second Sons."

"Do you miss King's Landing?"

"Some. I miss this boy, he … he was a friend of mine. And my brother, Kennet, but he died on the bridge of ships."

The more character development we get from the Seconds Sons the longer they'll stick around.

Snatch is the Bronn one, and Kem is ... the gay one. Can you tell I have nothing to talk about?

+.+.+

"Rats wouldn't eat my mother's cooking. There was this pot shop, though. No one ever made a bowl o' brown like them. So thick you could stand your spoon up in the bowl, with chunks of this and that. You ever have yourself a bowl o' brown, Halfman?"

"A time or two. Singer's stew, I call it."

Daily reminder Tyrion Lannister does not deserve to survive this story.

+.+.+

Kem liked that. "Singer's stew. I'll ask for that next time I get back to Flea Bottom. What do you miss, Halfman?"

Jaime, thought Tyrion. Shae. Tysha. My wife, I miss my wife, the wife I hardly knew.

Second time Tyrion is referencing Tysha, but the author leaves a little room for doubt.

"If m'lord would prefer a boy, I can have one waiting in his bed."

M'lord would prefer his wife. M'lord would prefer a girl named Tysha. - Tyrion I, ADWD

+.+.+

His greathelm sported a ram's horns, one of which was broken.

When he took it off, he revealed the battered face of Jorah Mormont.

Ram's horns and a demon's mask tattoo.

Jorah's looking like Satan.

+.+.+

The demon's mask the slavers had burned into his right cheek to mark him for a dangerous and disobedient slave would never leave him. Ser Jorah had never been what one might call a comely man. The brand had transformed his face into something frightening.

Tyrion grinned. "As long as I look prettier than you, I will be happy."

Sometimes she would close her eyes and dream of him, but it was never Jorah Mormont she dreamed of; her lover was always younger and more comely, though his face remained a shifting shadow. - Daenerys II, ASOS

↓

"The girl finally poked her nose abovedecks," Tyrion told him. "One look at me and she scurried right back down below."

"You're not a pretty sight."

"Not all of us can be as comely as you. - Tyrion VIII, ADWD

↓

A few more beatings and you'll be uglier than I am, Mormont. - Tyrion XI, ADWD

↓

Ser Jorah had never been what one might call a comely man. The brand had transformed his face into something frightening.

Tyrion grinned. "As long as I look prettier than you, I will be happy." - Tyrion XII, ADWD

Yay!!

+.+.+

Her eyes got big. "You like my nose?"

Oh, Seven save me. Tyrion turned away and began rooting amongst some piles of old armor toward the back of the wagon.

"Are there any other parts of me you like?" Penny asked.

Perhaps she meant that to sound playful. It sounded sad instead.

Now he knows how Sansa felt.

+.+.+

He passed over a warhammer (too long), a studded mace (also too heavy), and half a dozen longswords before he found a dirk he liked, a nasty piece of steel with a triangular blade. "This might serve," he said.

Dagger!

+.+.+

"I don't want to hack off heads."

"Nor should you. Keep your cuts below the knee. Calf, hamstring, ankle … even giants fall if you slice their feet off. Once they're down, they're no bigger than you."

So many giants to consider here. Robert Strong? Littlefinger? An actual giant? Tyrion?

+.+.+

Penny looked as though she was about to cry. "Last night I dreamed my brother was alive again. We were jousting before some great lord, riding Crunch and Pretty Pig, and men were throwing roses at us. We were so happy …"

Tyrion slapped her.

How do we get Penny away from Tyrion without her dying? I need that.

+.+.+

Penny touched the cheek he'd slapped. "We should never have run. We're not sellswords. We're not any kind of swords. It wasn't so bad with Yezzan. It wasn't. Nurse was cruel sometimes but Yezzan never was. We were his favorites, his … his …"

"Slaves. The word you want is slaves."

"Slaves," she said, flushing. "We were his special slaves, though. Just like Sweets. His treasures."

Every master has their favourites, Penny.

No older than ten, she had the round flat face, dusky skin, and golden eyes of Naath. The Peaceful People, her folk were called. All agreed that they made the best slaves. - Daenerys II, ASOS

Dany stroked the girl's hair. "Say the word, my sweet, and I will send you from this awful place. I will find a ship somehow and send you home. To Naath." - Daenerys II, ADWD

Two of Dany's favorite hostages served the food and kept the cups filled—a doe-eyed little girl called Qezza and a skinny boy named Grazhar. - Daenerys IV, ADWD

Jhiqui and Irri would be waiting atop her pyramid back in Meereen, she told herself. Her sweet scribe Missandei as well, and all her little pages. They would bring her food, and she could bathe in the pool beneath the persimmon tree. - Daenerys X, ADWD

+.+.+

She was not all wrong. Yezzan's slaves ate better than many peasants back in the Seven Kingdoms and were less like to starve to death come winter. Slaves were chattels, aye. They could be bought and sold, whipped and branded, used for the carnal pleasure of their owners, bred to make more slaves. In that sense they were no more than dogs or horses. But most lords treated their dogs and horses well enough. Proud men might shout that they would sooner die free than live as slaves, but pride was cheap. When the steel struck the flint, such men were rare as dragon's teeth; elsewise the world would not have been so full of slaves. There has never been a slave who did not choose to be a slave, the dwarf reflected. Their choice may be between bondage and death, but the choice is always there.

Tyrion Lannister did not except himself. His tongue had earned him some stripes on the back in the beginning, but soon enough he had learned the tricks of pleasing Nurse and the noble Yezzan. Jorah Mormont had fought longer and harder, but he would have come to the same place in the end.

And Penny, well …

Penny had been searching for a new master since the day her brother Groat had lost his head. She wants someone to take care of her, someone to tell her what to do.

Settle down, Kanye.

This is not subtle. The author is practically begging the reader to recall her freedmen, Unsullied, Dothraki slaves, and Missandei.

"[...] Man has the right master, that's better."

Tyrion did not dispute him. The most insidious thing about bondage was how easy it was to grow accustomed to it. - Tyrion XI, ADWD

If Tyrion doesn't call out her mhysa nonsense (to himself) after they meet, I call bullshit.

+.+.+

"Or dead dwarfs," said Jorah Mormont. "We are all like to be feeding worms by the time this battle is done. The Yunkai'i have lost this war, though it may take them some time to know it. Meereen has an army of Unsullied infantry, the finest in the world. And Meereen has dragons. Three of them, once the queen returns. She will. She must. Our side consists of two score Yunkish lordlings, each with his own half-trained monkey men. Slaves on stilts, slaves in chains … they may have troops of blind men and palsied children too, I would not put it past them."

"Oh, I know," said Tyrion. "The Second Sons are on the losing side. They need to turn their cloaks again and do it now." He grinned. "Leave that to me."

George gave up, and decided to tell us how this is going to play out.

Monkey!

Final thoughts:

That was the most anticlimactic end to his chapters possible.

47 down, 2 to go. :(

I realize only one Tyrion chapter has been released, but we can't move ahead to Tyrion II TWOW without covering the short summary of Tyrion I TWOW.

-> return to menu <-

#operation stumpy re-read #adwd #tyrion xii

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