#if only i could bring myself to write more than a few hundred words at a time

[bowserssupermariopartylaugh]

no but in regards to that other post, i really am in love with the hc of the two ways bowser and mario express their attachment to luigi, regarding his safety

Where while mario is overprotective, something born of like a lifelong anxiety over his little brother—

Bowser goes through a couple stages. Where at first he believes luigi is weak and defenseless, a belief born from always seeing mario on the frontlines.

But ofc as he gets to know luigi, he eventually sees that luigi is the opposite. That he isn't inherently weak for allowing himself to be vulnerable. That he is fiercest when it comes to standing up for the things and people he believes in (a ferocity he's exhibited on bowser's behalf, most notably)

And so bowser eventually becomes self assured when it comes to luigi, and luigi's ability to handle himself. (One of his few (but major) motivations for keeping an eye out for luigi is his own desire to not make luigi constantly fend for himself, even if bowser knows he can.)

But another reason bowser's so self assured, is because he has /unwavering/ faith in the /fact/—the FACT—that /no one/ will mess with what's his. And bowser ensures this by making it /very known/ that luigi is, /unsparingly/, his.

And i just think thats hot 💀😭😭😭😭

#my brainrot #bowuigi #hcs #hc #ship dynamics #fic ideas #for me at least #if only i could bring myself to write more than a few hundred words at a time #but man any variation of that last hc gets me 💀 #that he KNOWS fucking NOBODY would daaare touch luigi #one of my fav tropes #has me stomping my foot lmao #like YES #THIS #at myself lmao #excuse my cringe #oh an this isnt some kind of mario hate lmao #im not saying either of these dynamics are inherently better or worse than the other

[exitpursuedbyavulcan]

Studious IV (Aemond Targaryen x Reader) 18+

You continue reading Aemond's diary. As his true feelings for you become ever more clear, can you decipher your own feelings for him?

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x fem!reader (second person, no use of Y/N)

Warnings: Aemond in his smut writer era (semi-public sex, p in v sex, tiddy suckin', riding, fingering, oral sex f receiving, bad sex)

Author's Note: So sorry for the delay! But this baby is 11K words, so hopefully that makes up for it! Also, I tried for a long time to format this like the others, but tumblr wouldn't let me post it if I did, so the formatting is a little different here.

Read Part I Here - Read Part II Here - Read Part III Here

My Masterlist

Taglist will be done via reblogs (there are simply too many of you to fit here)

Studious IV

You were never setting foot in the library again.

Not after what you just read. Not when you were sure that the mere memory of it would have you bursting into flames the moment you crossed the threshold.

Good gods, only a few entries ago, Aemond could hardly bring himself to write the word ‘cunt,’ and now this? What in the Seven Hells were his advisors – Grand Maester Orwyle, Lord Jasper Wylde, and Prince Aegon – teaching him?

You weren’t sure whether the odd feeling in your stomach was due to how much you ate – an entire meat pie and five tea cakes, all washed down with a pot and a half of raspberry tea – or what you had just read.

Either way, it was not enough to stop you from glancing about your bedchamber to ensure no one was watching you and then rereading the entry from the beginning.

The 16th day in the 5th moon of the year.

I have just returned from the library. Grand Maester Orwyle suggested that I consult a book on anatomy. Since there was no business of court I was required to attend today, I asked one of the librarians to help me retrieve the title after I finished my training.

I also found a few books Aegon recommended, only after I dismissed the librarian – I did not want him to know that I took those. Or that I even knew what they were. Gossip abounds in the capital, and I do not wish to be the subject of more than I already am.

By the titles alone, I am surprised Mother allows them to remain in the Keep. I likely will not read most of them. Aegon has already traumatised me quite thoroughly. I see no reason to allow him to ruin reading for me, as well. Although one title, ‘A Caution for Young Girls,’ seems innocent enough.

But the books are not why I am writing now, when my usual routine is to write immediately before I retire to bed. I just… I need to commit this to paper before it leaves me entirely.

On my way out of the library, I saw her. My wife – if I die tomorrow or in a hundred years, I shall never tire of calling her that.

She has quickly found the more private areas of the library, it seems. I would never have seen her if I had not been considering going there to read myself.

It must mean something that she did not choose just any of the countless hidden places within the maze of the library, but my favourite – a secluded alcove along the western wall. An indicator of our compatibility, perhaps. Or even a sign from the gods?

Had the books I’d been carrying not been so… unsuitable, I would have asked to join her.

No, I wouldn’t have. That would require far more courage than I can summon when I see her.

I just stared at her, watching her face as she read. From where I stood, I could not see what she was reading. But I could see her, and that was enough.

She is so expressive! I saw her both smile and frown in quick succession, and once, her entire face scrunched in displeasure as if she had just taken a bite of lemon! Gods, how can even such an unpleasant expression be so beautiful?

Perhaps I should not have watched her at all, for the longer I stood there, the further my mind drifted. And then, I heard Aegon’s voice, as clearly as if he were standing beside me.

‘Don’t limit yourself to the bedchamber brother, or even the bed! A wall or a table serves just as well. And there is a certain thrill to knowing you could be discovered…’

Damn him. Why did I ever ask for his assistance? I would have been better off enlisting the help of an actual whore! At least then, the vulgarity would not come from the future King. Damn him to the deepest of the Seven Hells.

But that stupid advice echoed in my mind over and over. And against my will and better judgement, an image began to form. A dream – a waking dream.

Though my feet remained planted on the floor, I imagined setting aside my books and joining her in that alcove. She would look up and smile upon hearing my approach, perhaps even giggle at my attempt at stealth.

I would sit beside her and ask what she was reading. I might even ask her to read to me. But I would not let her read for long.

I would kiss her while she read. Not on her lips but all over her perfect face. Her cheeks, her forehead, on the tip of her nose. All just to distract her, to make her laugh. Only when she made so much noise that I feared discovery would I kiss her lips to quiet her and finally claim my prize.

The kiss would not be like in the Sept, or in her chambers that night. Instead, she would kiss me back and open herself to me. I would kiss her, and kiss her, and kiss her. Until we were both out of breath but still wanting more.

Seeing her like that, with her lips swollen and cheeks flushed… I would not be able to wait until we returned to our chambers. I would lift her onto that very table, books be damned.

Like our wedding night, we would not undress. We would be in too much of a hurry.

But even hurried, I would be gentle. I would take the time to prepare her, as Lord Wylde said I must do every time. Doing so makes the experience more pleasurable for the woman, he says. And Orwyle added that her enjoyment makes it more likely that the coupling will be fruitful.

Gods, I hardly care about that anymore. Of course, I want an heir, or several. But I want her more. I want her to feel as much pleasure as I do. To ‘peak,’ as Wylde and Orwyle put it. Aegon uses other words, but I find them too vulgar.

And in the library, making an heir would be the last thing on my mind. Even finding my own pleasure would be secondary. I would use my fingers to prepare her – perhaps get her to peak once before I even enter her?

Aegon says women can find release much more than men can. According to him, he once made a woman peak ten times in one night. I would be more amenable to believing him if he didn’t also claim he did so five times. But maybe he is right about ‘practising’ increasing stamina. Though he has had years of practice, and I have had only two days…

But in the dream world where I have the courage to approach her at all, and the gall to bed her in the library of all places (can you call it ‘bedding’ if it is not done in an actual bed?), I also have that stamina. And the skill to indeed make her peak with just my fingers.

I do not know what sounds she would make, as she was entirely silent on our wedding night, but I would want her to make them. I would want her to make such noise that I would have no choice but to kiss her to quiet her and keep her from drawing the attention of the rest of the library.

Even when I was buried within her, I would kiss her. With one arm wrapped around her hips to hold her steady as I fucked her so hard the table would shake, and the other hand tangled in her hair so I could kiss her just as hard.

I want to kiss her so badly. When I finally go to her again, that is what I will do first.

Once we had both finished – for I would ensure she peaked again with me inside her – I would kiss her more, softly, until our breathing steadied. Then, we would simply take our seats again, and this time, I would read to her.

By all the Seven, what has become of me? To not only have such thoughts but to revel in them as I do?

You didn’t bother reading the rest of the entry again before clutching the diary to your chest and staring at the bed canopy above you as a thousand questions burned through your mind and set your heart racing.

Had he been thinking about that the day he came to you in the library?

Was it what he intended to do, had you not reacted so poorly to his words?

Were you really wishing that he had?

You turned on your side, cradling his diary as you once did a small stuffed pony, and noticed for the first time that night had fallen – you had spent nearly the entire day reading. For a moment, you considered running to Aemond’s chambers. But when you looked back at the journal, there were still more than a dozen ribbons shut in its pages.

And if you went to him just after reading what you did…

Whatever was becoming of Aemond, no doubt thanks to the men he had asked for help in better bedding you, by reading his diary and the most private thoughts and fantasies contained within, it was becoming of you too. For when your eyes drifted closed, Aemond’s dream of the library became your dream as well.

-

The next several days of entries were almost identical.

Aemond woke at dawn after a night of dreams filled with you. They were not always of a carnal nature. Sometimes he dreamed simply of holding or kissing you. Once, he dreamed about flying with you atop his dragon. You didn’t know whether the prospect was thrilling or terrifying. Perhaps both.

Each day, he broke his fast, trained, then ate a small meal before joining court.

Before joining you.

When he wrote in the diary after dinner and several hours of studying and ‘practising’ (you still could not determine what that meant), he still remembered every little thing you did. You had never spoken at court – it was not your place to. But he had catalogued your every movement and reaction to the business of the realm. Every raise of your brows, every repressed smile, and every curious tilt of your head.

You thought you were quite proficient at maintaining a regal mask of indifference. Your mother had you practice it on the journey to King’s Landing while she commanded your brothers to shout at you the most outrageous things they could think of (much of which she promptly scolded them for when they were done).

But Aemond saw through the mask. Not only that, but he correctly interpreted every movement you made.

He knew that the twitch of your lip when Lord Bolton made a petition was a sign of your marked distaste for the man. He knew the scrunch of your brow upon the reading of a missive from a Pentosi diplomat was you noticing a contradiction from the previous message and realising the diplomat was lying. And he knew that you stiffened every time he looked at you because you were nervous about what he would say or do.

Aemond knew you. Even then.

And yet you had so dreadfully misunderstood him.

The shame of it was enough to make you set down the diary and call for a bath – a private bath, without any of your maids present even in the adjourning rooms. You gave an excuse that you were exhausted and simply wished to remain alone.

But really?

As part of his study of the anatomy book Orwyle recommended, Aemond had drawn a diagram of what lay between a woman’s legs. And annotated it based on the advice of Lord Wylde and Prince Aegon.

You were curious to see – with the aid of a hand mirror – just how accurate the diagram and annotations were.

-

You awoke the following morning feeling more refreshed than you had since you came to the palace, from both the welcome break in your courtly duties and the exploration you had conducted in the privacy of your bath. Though you were fairly sure you did not reach a ‘peak,’ as Aemond described it, you felt close to the height of something several times. But each time, you panicked at the intensity of the racing feelings within you and withdrew your hand. Still, those few minutes of pleasure were incredibly relaxing.

And as it was Aemond’s notes that allowed you to discover the feeling that your own clumsy attempts had failed to bring, the prospect that you would – eventually – once more join him in his bed became thrilling beyond reason.

In truth, the only thing that stopped you from rushing across the castle the very moment you emerged from the bath was the unfortunate fact that you were still bleeding, though it was light.

More than that, while your body was more than ready to forgive Aemond, your heart and mind were still hesitant. He had hurt you. He made you cry. Reading his diary helped you understand that it had never been intentional. However, you still needed to understand everything before making a final decision on whether to forgive him and if you could, as Aemond hoped in his note, ‘learn to like’ or even to love him.

So, after breaking your fast, you again settled into the couch and turned to the next green ribbon.

The 23rd day in the 5th moon of the year

Were Aegon not my brother and the heir, I would throw him from the top of the Rookery.

‘A Caution for Young Girls’ is no such thing. It is little more than a manual in promiscuity and sin!

But… damn him. It is quite educational.

Unlike the book Grand Maester Orwyle suggested, it is not focused on the science of anatomy or conception. Rather, it is entirely concerned with the pleasure of women. After all, it is the supposedly true story of a woman’s quest for pleasure.

A Wylde woman, if it is to be believed. I may have to ask Lord Jasper about it. Is this why he’s had such success with his own wives?

But that, and indeed the sinful nature of the book itself, is unimportant. What is important is that it may actually be the key to my learning how to pleasure my wife.

It spoke at length of various methods of using one’s fingers. Crooking the fingers while within seems to be crucial, as is locating a ‘sweet spot’ where her walls feel slightly different. That spot, as well as the ‘pearl’ which lays at the top of her sex, is the epicentre of her pleasure.

And, like the others said, preparation is required. This is where the use of the fingers comes into it – as well as various other methods. For example, the book mentions kissing quite often, and not only on the lips. Or the cheeks. Or even anywhere on the face.

I admit the idea, though it is new to me, is quite appealing. The book mentioned several places where women most like to be kissed. The jaw, the throat, behind the ear, the nape of the neck, the collarbone…

There was a spot of ink, as though Aemond’s pen had been resting on the page without moving for a long moment.

…the breasts, and lower.

I do not understand why. Perhaps it is because of Aegon’s incessant comments about the breasts of every woman in the Keep, save our mother and his wife – would that he would also exclude my wife! – but I find myself thinking about her breasts with startling frequency. I did not get to see them on our wedding night after I foolishly forgot to undress her.

There is a story in the book which… well, I find myself wanting to replicate. One which would provide me ample access to her breasts. But more than that, it carries an intimacy which I crave most of all.

When Lady Coryanne was serving as a handmaid to a warlock in Qarth, she often found herself called to help him ‘relax’ after a long day. On such occasions, she would mount him while he sat at his desk and ‘ride’ him while he buried his face in her breasts.

I… it was easy to imagine my wife and me in a similar, though more loving, position. Likely not at my desk, as I don’t actually use it often. But perhaps, here. On my chair by the hearth, where I read my books and write in this diary before bed.

She would come back – for she would be living here, with me, not across the Holdfast and so far away – after a long day. Maybe she would have been in the gardens, or with Mother, Helaena and the children, or in the library for hours. I would have been stuck away from her all day in meetings, court, or training.

Even apart from her for only a day, I would miss her terribly. As I do every hour I do not see her. And she would miss me too.

When she came in, she would press herself against the door as she locked it, then turn to me with a mischievous grin. I would know what she wanted, but I would not play along. Instead, I’d mutter a greeting and turn back to my book, pretending that my blood was not racing at just the sight of her. For I want her blood to be as heated as mine.

You read the last paragraph again, the realisation finally set in that Aemond was about to narrate another of his fantasies. Fortunately, after his previous entry about the library, you decided to be more cautious and had already dismissed your servants until your afternoon meal. You had suspected that there may be more in the diary that was thoroughly unsuitable for prying eyes.

And, thanks to his diligent notetaking, you knew precisely what to do when the feelings such unsuitable words provoked began to burn through you.

You undoubtedly did not want an audience for that…

I would let her tease me, pretending none of it fazed me. When she brushed her fingers lightly across my shoulders, I would not flinch. When she leaned over me further than she would really need to see what I was reading, but wanting me to see that peek of her breasts nearly spilling out from her dress, I would barely look. And when she pressed a kiss, long and slow, to my neck – gods, would I like that too? – I might even pretend it was an inconvenience.

It would vex her that I did not give her the attention she desperately wanted. Not enough to truly anger her, but only enough to make her pout. So that when she took the book from my hands and dropped it to the floor, then sat atop me in the chair with her thighs straddling mine… I would simply have no choice but to grab her little lip as she stuck it out and push it back into place before kissing her.

I would kiss her in every place the book instructs, taking my time to worship every bit of her. I want to drive her as mad as she does me just by her mere existence.

But I know she would not simply let me tease her. She would return each kiss I gave her and more. Atop me, she would roll her hips slowly, purposefully, as if we were engaged in a dance. I would be able to feel her, hot and wet and as eager as me, but each time I rose to meet her, she would pull away.

Gods, am I really wishing for her to deny me? Perhaps practising as Aegon instructed has conditioned me to crave such delays to my satisfaction.

Either way, I think I would break before she did. She is strong-willed, and with as many brothers as she has, I believe she can be quite patient. So, I would beg. I would apologise for trying to tease her and plead for her forgiveness. And for her to…

She would, I hope, without hesitation. She would rise only long enough for her to remove her smallclothes and for me to do away with my trousers. Then, we would both sit again, together, with me gently guiding her down to mount me – Seven Hells, that makes it sound like I’m a horse.

I’ll be whatever she wants.

Again, and as always, I would give her a moment to adjust and make sure she is comfortable. Orwyle’s book said that with well-endowed partners – which, according to the measurements in the book, I am – women may always need that moment.

But I would be glad to give it to her. For it would allow me to unlace her bodice, and like the warlock from the book, I could bury my face in my beloved’s breasts.

I find it hard to imagine what it would be like, how they would feel. Soft, I think. Warm, as she is. And perhaps, if I pressed close enough, I could hear her heart beating.

When I was fully settled within her, would I hear it beat faster? Or would it slow with contentment, knowing she was safe and loved – oh so dearly loved – within my arms. Perhaps it would be like the stories, and I would hear it skip a beat.

Either way, I would be more than content to just sit there, breathe her in, and let her move at her own pace. We would not need to be fast, as we would in the library. In my own rooms – our rooms – there would be no need for hurry. We could just stay there, entwined, or we could move together.

I think I would prefer it slowly. Not even seeking our releases, really. Just… enjoying each other. Enjoying the connection of our bodies, our minds, and our souls. Knowing that we are one, that the gods have made us one, and that nothing can tear us apart.

Although… I do think her legs would get tired after a while. That is something I should perhaps be worried about. Especially if she did want to move, and fast. To seek release.

If she did, I would help her. The book did not detail how, as Lady Coryanne was a servant at the time, but… I could figure it out. I could move my hips up to meet hers, or even lift her on my own? I think doing so with my hands on her hips would give me the most leverage. Or perhaps her rear?

I am very drawn to the idea of holding her close as we reach our peaks. Of feeling her breath on my skin, being close enough to hear each little noise she makes, and the sensation of her gripping me as tight as she can as she comes. Even the thought of her nails digging into me brings a certain thrill. And if I don’t reach my peak with her – which, I think, is very unlikely – we can always continue. Or move somewhere more comfortable if her legs do get tired.

At this point, I think I am more than ready to practice. Of course, this wasn’t my intention when I started writing, but… yes, I am most definitely ready. And anything else I wanted to write about seems inconsequential now.

You dropped the diary onto your heaving chest, the image Aemond’s words had painted still burning in your mind. Seven Hells, you could practically feel his strong arms wrapped around you, holding you to his chest as you moved together, his breath hot against your neck as he whispered words of praise between desperate kisses.

With a hazy smile, you snuggled further into the couch and beneath your blanket. As exhilarating as the descriptions of his desires were, what truly warmed your heart was the way he wrote about you, the two of you together.

The connection of your souls as one? It was exactly what you’d dreamed of when first told of your betrothal. Aemond was what you dreamed of.

Why did he have to stop writing? What in the name of the Seven was he practising that was more important than that?

Frustrated and with your pleasure now truly over, you closed the diary and turned on your side, resigned to simply stewing in your own thoughts for the few hours left until your maids returned.

-

After a light, solitary afternoon meal, you again dismissed your maids. By this point, they were more than a little suspicious about the titleless book you were reading. But, you insisted that you simply wanted to be alone, for your moon’s blood still plagued you. It wasn’t entirely a lie. You did still have some cramping and a slight headache.

In truth, it was because you knew what would happen in just a few entries – your second night together.

It surely wouldn’t be as thrilling as some of his other fantasies. You knew that firsthand. But after learning what Aemond felt for you, you were desperate to know his side of that night.

So desperate, in fact, that you barely skimmed the following two entries in your haste to reach it. Both primarily had to do with whatever smut he had read in A Caution for Young Girls. The first was a rather exhaustive list of all the ways he wanted to kiss you – and there were far more ways than you were previously aware of.

The second caused your most intense blushing yet, for it was near treasonous! After reading another story of Coryanne Wylde ‘riding’ a man, he fantasised about you riding him while he sat on the Iron Throne. It was an intriguing idea, but it seemed a little too hazardous to tempt you.

Finally, you reached what you had been waiting for.

The 26th day in the 5th moon of the year.

I had hoped not to make an entry today – for I had every intention of spending tonight in my wife’s chambers. But she is there, and tragically, I am here.

Tonight was almost worse than our wedding night.

When I saw her watching me in the training yard today, I thought… she was almost smiling – at me! She had no obligation to be there, and yet she was! She sought me out! She wanted to see me!

I had to bite back a cry of joy and relief. I immediately abandoned the rest of my training, nearly impaling the poor squire with my sword for how hard I threw it at him, so I could rush to the ramparts and greet her.

But when I got there, she was gone. I asked a few of the other lords and ladies that were there, but no one knew where she went. Even after speaking to her, however briefly, I still do not understand why she left.

You felt your cheeks flush with shame. Aemond hadn’t grimaced at you that day – quite the opposite. He had been so excited to see you there, and as usual, you had misinterpreted his reaction.

Or, based on how frequently these misunderstandings occurred, perhaps his expressions were merely indecipherable to normal people. Or, more likely, maybe just to you.

You set his diary down, careful to use one of your discarded ribbons to mark your place, and picked up your own. By this point, you had filled several pages with your reactions to Aemond’s writing – some of it sincere, some bordering on humour.

Yet you had no words to express how sorry you were that you had so thoroughly misjudged him. So you wrote nothing and just kept reading.

When I went to her chambers to check on her, I encountered one of her maids, who told me she had retired early with a headache and would not be joining the family for dinner.

Perhaps I should have gone into her chambers then and asked what was wrong. I knew – or at least suspected – that the headache was a lie. An excuse to allow her privacy. I often do the same, citing my scar. Which, as I told her, is not always a lie.

But if I had gone to her, as I wished. I would not have known what to say. Ask her why she ran from the training yard without speaking to me? Or why she wanted to avoid me and the family? Tell her I’m sorry for the disappointment of our wedding night? Ask Beg for a second chance?

I could not do it. I was tired from training and admittedly still somewhat discombobulated from realising she had been watching me. Though I did make it to her door, I merely touched the handle for a moment before retiring to my own chambers.

Now, after yet another disastrous visit… I should have gone to her earlier. I should have trusted my instincts (as Aegon often encourages me to do) instead of allowing my mind to think itself into an inescapable hole.

As I bathed and redressed, and even while attending court and dinner, I could not stop thinking about her. Agonising over what I may have done to make her flee from me?

I never even considered that she may actually have a headache until I was again at her door after dinner. The fear that I was disturbing her, perhaps making her pain worse, was nearly enough to make me turn and flee.

But then, her voice came, soft and light and so enticing. Of course, I somehow managed to answer idiotically when she asked who it was. Though she lessened the sting of embarrassment with a small joke. She is so achingly clever!

I asked her how she was, and her answer made it evident that the headache was a ruse. I am trying not to be too proud that my deduction was correct. She is not used to lying, nor is she good at it. And it is yet another thing I admire about her.

For hours, I planned what I would say to her. It was eloquent and thoughtful – practically poetry.   

The tail of the last ‘y’ extended nearly an inch, and you imagined Aemond just staring at the page, consumed by his thoughts for a moment.

But her room looked different tonight. She finally unpacked.

There is a large tapestry above her hearth depicting her home keep, the field below filled with vibrant pink flowers with bright yellow centres. The same flowers appear nearly everywhere. On framed examples of embroidery, on her curtains, pillows, and even the blanket strewn over the back of her couch.

I must find out what they are, for they are clearly very important to her.

You looked up from the diary, glancing about your room. Indeed, you had not realised how many dog roses decorated your possessions. It was no wonder he guessed they were your favourite.

‘I was quite impressed when you brought me my favourite flower,’ you wrote in your diary. ‘I thought you had somehow read my thoughts. I suppose I made it easy for you.’

She also has a large bookcase in her sitting room, which was specifically requested when her father sent word accepting the betrothal. Since the last time I was in her chambers, she has begun to fill the shelves with books and trinkets. I spotted a small silver bell, a wooden box carved with various birds, and a little glass flower. It was not the same flower that is so prevalent elsewhere in her chambers (this one was a pale purple rather than pink), but still quite pretty.

While pondering that flower, I returned to the couch to compare it to the pink flower on her blanket and saw what she had been reading – “The Last Dragonlords,” my first, and still favourite, history of my house. It is not a particularly rigorous academic work, but I prefer it for the sense of wonder it has for the story of my ancestors.

If, at that point, I remembered any of what I wanted to say to her, the sight of that book, and the knowledge that she was somehow reading my favourite… I lost all words. I fear I fell silent for an uncomfortably long time, for she spoke next.

She wanted to know the reason for my visit. I asked her directly about the ruse of her headache. She seemed nervous, so I told her I do the same and that I often experience lingering pain. I was tempted to remove my patch and show her, but… she was already quite nervous. I did not want to make her more so, or frighten her so thoroughly that she will never warm to me.

What lay beneath his eyepatch that would frighten you so? You had heard many rumours. That his lost eye was nothing more than a pit of darkness. That he had replaced it with a jewel. That an ever-burning fire, fueled by his hatred and rage, burned within.

Despite the stories, you felt a twinge of shame and hurt that, despite his love for you, he did not trust you with seeing him truly bare. He thought you could be frightened away.

Somehow, that shame far overshadowed any curiosity or fear about what lay beneath the brown leather of his eyepatch.

I could already tell it wasn’t going to go how I wanted – she would not meet my eye. So, I offered to leave. I would not impose myself on her when she did not want me to. That is not how I want to start this. Or, start it again.

But she did want me to go! At least, that is what I thought she meant. I am not so sure anymore. She said something about my right to be there as her husband. At the time, I thought it was her shy way of asking me to stay. Now… I think she may have just been repeating something her mother or a Septa taught her.

There was another small patch of angry scribbles.

I’m so stupid! And hardly better than Aegon. No – she may not have been particularly enthusiastic, but I am sure if she genuinely did not want me there, she would have said so. And I would have obeyed. After all, she was quick to ask me to stop some of the other things I tried to do.

She did not like the kissing.

When I first mentioned that I would like to lie with her – which I foolishly reasoned was out of my desire for an heir instead of my desire for her – she simply laid on the bed like on our wedding night. But that is not what I want. I do not want this to simply be a union of duty! At least, not anymore. And I so wanted to kiss her.

So, I beckoned her to me, and she obeyed. My hopes that this would be different were still relatively high. I got closer, touched her face, and asked if I could kiss her.

And she asked, ‘Why?’

I swear that one little word hurt more than any pain I’ve felt in the training yard. Almost more than… well, not quite more than that. But close.

I could not think of any reason other than that she is my wife, and I love her and want more than anything to kiss her. I only told her the former and the latter, for I think if I told her I loved her, she would have been more afraid than if she had seen me without my patch. And the gods must be good, for she said yes.

Then I kissed her. I held her close, and I kissed her.

It was the most wonderful thing! She was soft and warm. And when I laced my hand through her hair, she made the most delightful sound! I could have just kissed her forever.

But then it was over. She shouted and pushed me away. It was… it was just after I tried to use my tongue. I don’t think she liked it.

She asked me why I ‘needed’ to kiss her. She must have disliked it very much.

I had no other explanation than what I had already offered. At least, none that I could tell her without sending her running from me forever. So I stopped and told her I did not need it – the first lie I’ve ever told her.

When she moved back to the bed, I could not help myself. I could not let us be in a marriage where we lie together out of nothing more than duty, fully clothed and anxious to get it over with. It was foolish, and I probably scared her with the request, but I asked her to remove her nightgown. She had already taken off her robe – a massive thing in her house colours that practically drowns her.

You allowed a brief kernel of anger to spark within you, enough for you to pick up your pen and write him another little message in your diary.

‘That robe is dear to me, thank you very much. What is it that makes you hate it so?’

There is nothing more beautiful in the world than her. She puts even the Maiden to shame. I would have been happy to stare at her, to take in that beauty until I had my fill – if I would ever get my fill.

She got on the bed and positioned herself exactly how she was on our wedding night. Not quite how I pictured it, but considering her hesitancy, I did not want to push her.

It took all my control to stop myself from kissing her again when I undressed and joined her. But I did. I also resisted doing anything more than just looking at her breasts.

I sat between her legs and stared at her. While I was more than ready to begin, she was not. At all. Of course, I knew I would have to prepare her, but I hoped she would have had at least some desire for me already.

I started with gentle touches, drawing circles on her thighs. She shivered a bit when I began, but she didn’t ask me to stop. From where I was sitting, I could tell she enjoyed it, even if she didn’t understand it. She did ask me to explain, and my answer was probably lacking – how does one explain why he was so inadequate? – but she gave a small nod when I promised that tonight would be better.

Then I finally touched her where I really wanted to and was delighted to find her… well, not as wet as I’d hoped, but it was an improvement upon our wedding night! I ran my fingers over her entrance, hoping to coax more wetness from her before I truly began. And when I looked at her again to ensure I wasn’t hurting her, she smiled at me!

Encouraged, I kept my fingers at her entrance, not venturing inside yet, but continuing my preparations there while I began to seek her pearl. As the books said, I only had to draw a straight line upward from her entrance to find it.

And, oh, when I found it! Her eyes snapped shut, her back arched off the bed, and the most glorious whine escaped her! It was everything I had imagined and more. Gods, I think I could have peaked just from watching her as I circled her pearl again and again, faster and faster.

But then, she asked me to stop – begged me to.

I thought I must have done something wrong, but she shook her head when I asked if it hurt. And when I asked if it felt good, she would not answer. She merely requested that I get on with what I needed to do and leave, for she was tired. This wound cut even deeper than before with the kissing.

I wanted to prepare her more – I was going to use my mouth on her. To show her how dearly I wish to please her, how much I want to worship and love her, if only she’d let me.

In anticipation of that act, I have been consulting Coryanne Wylde’s various accounts and expert critiques of the act in order to form the perfect strategy.

To begin, I would undress her, as I planned to do on our wedding night, laying gentle, nearly chaste kisses on each new bit of skin I revealed. Once she was bare, I would kiss her. Deeply. To give her a taste of what is to come. Then, I would kiss my way down. Her jaw, her throat, her collarbone, her breasts, and the plane of her stomach.

Once I made it past her navel, I would take her leg in my hand and begin a new trail of kisses upwards. The book says to start at the ankle, but I am too impatient for that – I will begin at the knee instead.

Just when she thought I was finally about to give her what she craved more than anything, I would once again change course to kiss her lips one final time. Then, I would descend.

I would start slowly, experimenting with different tactics to determine what drives her deliciously mad. Once I knew, I would feast. I would devour her like her pleasure was the air I needed to breathe. Like her cries of pleasure were beautiful music, and I would die if it ever stopped.

I would bring her to peak once with my mouth on her entrance. Again on her pearl. Then again and again in whichever way made her scream the loudest.

Only when she was so drunk with pleasure that she could no longer rise to meet my mouth or grasp at my hair would I relent. I would make my way back up to her mouth and soothe her with gentle kisses until she had regained herself and was begging for me to finally fuck her.

But I didn’t get to do any of that.

She asked me to stop, so I did. I pumped myself a little to ensure the disappointment hadn’t rendered me incapable of performing my duty and entered her.

The preparation did help. Entering her was easier, and she did not wince as much as the first time. And she felt even more heavenly somehow. The feeling was so intense that I had to take a moment to remind myself that she only wanted me to finish quickly so she would not have to endure me any longer.

So, I fucked her. I did not make love to her, as is my true desire. I just fucked her, like she was just any woman and not the love of my life.

And then, a miracle! I thrust into her, something about the angle allowing me in quite deep, and she reacted. She gasped, breathless, and her hips snapped up to meet mine. I froze in surprise and elation. I found her ‘sweet spot!’

But when I smiled at her, she turned away and refused to look at me again.

I just kept going. I did not try to hit that spot again, so as to not upset her further. I finished as quickly as I could and left the bed.

It was stupid of me, but I turned back to her after dressing. Everything had gone so horribly, but I still love her. I still need her. So I could not just leave her like that.

I asked if I could kiss her again. She let me. I was quick, as promised.

Then I came back here, once again alone and no closer to earning her love than I was before.

I must meet with my advisors again tomorrow. Perhaps they can help me understand why I keep fucking this up so badly when all I want is for her to let me love her the way I want to and for her to love me in return.

Your heart ached so severely that you thought there might be bruises when you looked down at your chest. But there was just skin – skin that Aemond would have happily kissed, had you let him.

As horrible and confusing as that night had been for you, it had been so tenfold for Aemond. He had wanted a grand, romantic evening, and you had greeted him with only coldness and suspicion.

He called you ‘the love of his life.’ You ran your finger over those words so many times that they became smudged, then went to write something in your diary but halted with your pen hovering over the paper.

What could you write to match what he’d said about you? Even if you could, would it really be true? How many times could you say, ‘I’m sorry?’

Well, at least one more time. ‘I’m so sorry, Aemond,’ you wrote, ‘I didn’t know, and I was still scared. Not of you, but of what I thought my life was to be. If you had only told me… I do not blame you, I swear. I just wish the both of us had been more honest with each other.’

You were far too exhausted to continue. It was not yet midafternoon, and you had already been from the near-heights of carnal pleasure to the depths of your despair that the unfortunate state of your marriage was, in actuality, mostly your fault.

So, after setting Aemond’s diary aside, you picked up your embroidery basket and began to work while your mind wandered.

It was only when your maids arrived to bring you dinner that you realised that, somehow, the dog roses you intended to make had become a sprawling wisteria vine.

-

You dreamed of the castle garden in late spring when all the flowers were in bloom. As you walked down the garden path, you saw every colour imaginable amongst the vibrant greens. But there was only one flower you really wanted to see – and the man you knew would be waiting for you beneath them.

Just as the first purple tendrils came into view, the dream faded, and you woke to see the first hints of dawn still beneath the horizon.

Drawing your blankets over your head, you squeezed your eyes shut and stubbornly tried to fall back asleep and return to your dream – to no avail. You were well and truly awake. And it would be some time before your maids came to dress you for the day.

So, dragging the blanket from your bed with you, you trudged back into your solar and settled into the couch before picking up Aemond’s diary again.

The 27th day in the 5th moon of the year

I met with Lord Wylde, Grand Maester Orwyle, and Aegon this morning. They had advice, but it was not as… straightforward as I had hoped. There is no simple trick to get her to love me. Nothing I can study from a book and then implement with assured success.

I have to woo her. I have to be witty and pleasant and charming and… romantic.

I do not think this is going to work.

Especially not after my first attempt was so disastrous.

Lord Wylde asked that I tell him about her, so I did. When he learned she enjoys reading as much as I do, he suggested I try to find common ground there. So, I went to try and find her in the library.

She was exactly where she was the last time I saw her there, still reading “The Last Dragonlords.” I watched her for a moment, savouring the look of contentment on her face as she read, as well as a few quick reactions to the book. How I love it when her nose scrunches in displeasure!

‘That is quite the odd thing to fixate on,’ you wrote in your diary. It seemed a decent night’s sleep had helped recover some of your humour. ‘What is it, in particular, that you like about my scrunched nose?’

She did smile at me when I approached, but I think she thought I was a Maester, for her smile faltered when I greeted her. And she was so shy. Usually, when I struggle to find the right words, she breaks the silence. Today, she did not.

At least it gave me time to remember why I came to the library. She was still reading “The Last Dragonlords,” so I told her it was my favourite and asked if I could join her. I think she was somewhat embarrassed about reading a children’s book, but I assured her it was no matter and that I would nonetheless enjoy reading it with her, and she allowed me to sit with her.

My plan was to sit with her, discuss the histories, and perhaps, in time, hold her hand as a first step toward genuine affection. But the plan quickly went awry.

It all happened so fast that I don’t even remember exactly what I said. But somehow, I insinuated that she was not intelligent enough to understand the book. The book meant for children – young children.

She was very upset with me. Rightfully so! Still upset enough that she stormed out of the library after making several cutting remarks that proved that she is, in fact, quite intelligent.

After several minutes and a brief reprimand from one of the Maesters, I finally gathered myself enough to realise that she had left the book there. As well as several pages of notes.

Of course, the noble thing would have been to not look and ask a servant to return them to her. But in that moment, I was desperate, not noble. So, I looked.

Her notes were beautifully organised and remarkably thorough – the work of a true scholar! She even crafted a beautiful family tree all the way through Aegon the Conqueror and his sisters. Had I not fumbled our initial interaction so entirely, we would have had a wonderful discussion.

You had feared him finding the notes, but you had never considered that he would be impressed rather than arrogantly amused. It made sense now that you knew his true nature. Perhaps, once whatever was between you was resolved, you could have that discussion.

In all honesty, there were a few questions you had that you hoped he would be able to answer. Not least of which being why in more than a thousand years, Targaryens had only come up with a dozen names that they repeated over and over again. You wrote as much in your diary.

It was useless for me to sulk in the library, agonising over what I should have said, so I gathered the book and her notes and left the library.

An apology was more than necessary, so I went to Aegon’s rooms. After all, there is perhaps no one with more experience apologising to women. Even if his apologies are self-serving.

When I arrived, I found Mother had already found Aegon first, and was well into another tirade about his behaviour. Normally, I would be happy to watch Mother yelling at him, but I did not feel I had time to. And Aegon was glad that I granted him a reprieve.

Admittedly, I had not wanted to admit to Mother that my wife and I were… not as close as I wanted. But, as she always is, she was eminently understanding, and far more helpful than Aegon was. His only suggestion was to bring her something nice – jewels, silks, or the like.

On the other hand, Mother gave me sage advice on what to say when I go to her. As my words have been my primary point of failure, I was very grateful for this. She did also say that a gift would not be amiss. An ‘offering of peace,’ she called it. But she advised something personal, not luxurious. If the gift is too valuable, she says, it will seem as if I am trying to buy her forgiveness rather than earn it.

I knew immediately what I should get her. I thanked Mother (and Aegon) and left at once for the gardens.

I found them – the flowers she loves so dearly. Dog roses, they are called. Unfortunately, they do not grow well in our climate, but the Maester’s managed to coax a few to bloom with their various potions and other horticultural creations.

They are almost as beautiful as her.

The Maester I spoke to said that it would be best if I had them cut just before I brought them to her, to preserve their beauty. So that is what I will do.

I will not practice tonight. At least… not that kind of practice. Instead, I will rehearse my apology. I cannot fail tomorrow.

You winced slightly, knowing that the next day would not go as Aemond planned and feeling as though it was your fault. But there was no changing that now. And you had already apologised – often and profusely.

So, you wrote only a simple note: ‘I don’t recall seeing dog roses on our tour of the gardens. Did you pluck them all?’

Looking back at his diary, you took a deep, steadying breath. Only two ribbons left.

The 28th day in the 5th moon of the year

I am the stupidest, most idiotic man in all the seven fucking kingdoms.

All I was trying to do was apologise to her for my unkind – though unintentionally so! – words in the library, but somehow it ended with her crying and me fleeing from her chambers yet again.

You cringed at the memory, almost not wanting to read on.

Aegon gladly offered his explanation, even after I told him I did not want it. He insists that I have so thoroughly repulsed her that she cannot help but burst into tears at the sight of me.

Mother thinks that she is just missing her family and her home, as she said. That she is overwhelmed by being alone in a strange place, and the familiar sight of the flowers – dog roses, as I have learned – brought those feelings to bursting.

Perhaps Mother is right. But her parents left a fortnight ago, and she has shown no other signs of homesickness. And she is not alone! She has the other ladies of the court to talk to, and Helaena and Mother adore her. And me.

If she came to me, I would do anything to cheer her. Not that she would seek comfort from me, no matter how dearly I wish she would. She certainly won’t after today.

After the disaster in the library yesterday and the scolding I received from Grand Maester Orwyle after my training this morning, I knew beyond a doubt that I needed to apologise. I… the shame I feel for having played any part in the state Orwyle described her in is unbearable.

So, I went to the gardens and had a Maester cut the flowers for me and arrange them in a simple bouquet.

She was on her couch when I arrived in her rooms – still in her nightgown and that robe. And again, she did not look at me. She had eyes only for the flowers. I thought then that they had been the right choice.

I apologised, but she did not react. She still just stared at the bouquet. So, I went ahead with the rest of my apology.

Then she touched my hand. It startled me, and I pulled away from her on instinct, dropping the bouquet in her lap. She looked at them like I had dropped a helpless kitten rather than flowers!

And she started crying. Softly, the tears welling in her eyes for a long moment before spilling over. I do not understand what I did to upset her. I said only what I had planned last night. It was so hard to resist brushing the tears away, but she seemed nearly volatile, and I did not want to make things worse.

‘I miss home,’ she said, finally.

It did sting that she does not consider King’s Landing and her life with me her home – it still does. But she is hundreds of miles away from the family of her birth, from the people who have undoubtedly treated her better than I have. I cannot blame her.

I apologised again for upsetting her and left.

At dinner, I had planned to ask Mother and Grandsire if we could find a way to send her home, at least for a little while. So she could be happy. Perhaps I could even go with her. I might have an easier time talking to her without the pressures of my family and the capital upon me.

You smiled at the thought of Aemond at your home keep. Of him in all his black leather among the fields of dog roses. Talking with your father in the library. Him training with your brothers – you were confident he could defeat any one of them alone, but knowing your brothers, they would absolutely gang up on him.

‘One day,’ you wrote, ‘I would love to show you my home.’

I was waiting for the opportunity to ask when she arrived! After this afternoon, I did not think she would come to dinner, but she did! I could have wept for my relief.

And when I offered my hand to her, she took it. Not only that, but she squeezed it – hard. I think believe it was her way of accepting my apology.

She did not speak during dinner, nor did anyone ask her too many questions. Aegon was his typically infuriating self, silently encouraging me to do something with her. What he expects me to do when in front of the entire family, I do not know.

After the meal, I offered to escort her back to her chambers, which she accepted. And once we were alone, she thanked me for the flowers!

It was going unusually well. That is, until I decided to open my mouth. I only meant to compliment her, as she did look quite beautiful, but… I just kept talking. And then I had suddenly insulted her gown from yesterday and her robe.

She closed herself off from me then, shoving away my arm. Why could I not just shut up? I know my words are the source of so many of our misunderstandings, yet I keep talking! At this point, I am strongly considering a vow of silence.

‘Please don’t take a vow of silence!’ you wrote, scrambling for your diary as if it mattered how quickly you got the words down. ‘Your voice is far too lovely for me to never hear it again.’

Tomorrow, I am going to try a suggestion from Lord Wylde. Show her that I am not a failure in everything I do. I pray it works.

You turned the page, expecting to find the entry for the next day, but there was none. There had been a page between the entries for the 28th and the 30th, but it had been sloppily torn out. All that remained was the beginnings of the date in the upper corner.

It was entirely against what you knew of Aemond. The man who had dutifully started his journal on the first day of the year and began each entry on a new page would not do something like this.

What had upset him so? Had you said something to him?

No, of course not. The only time you had seen him that day was in the training yard, and you hadn’t spoken to each other, not after… not after he stormed off. Had he actually been hurt in his fight with the Kingsguard? Or was he just embarrassed that you had witnessed him fall?

Gods, how you wished you had gone to him that night. But perhaps you could make up for it now.

‘After you were absent for dinner,’ you wrote to him in your diary, ‘I almost came to your rooms. I was worried for you. Though I confess, that was the only reason I found myself walking toward you… I missed you, at dinner. I missed you helping me into my chair. I missed your smile. I missed the way you’d hold the plates for me. Most of all, I missed your voice, and your presence next to me.’

You sniffled slightly, staring at a lamp on your wall to dry the tears that were forming before finishing the entry, ‘I’ve missed you these past days, as well. But I’m almost done. I’ll see you soon.’

The 30th day in the 5th moon of the year

I have made my gravest sin yet. And my most foolish.

We had the perfect morning together in the gardens. Silent, mostly, but perfect. She smiled at me! She allowed me to lead her through the gardens on my arm. It was… precisely what I had hoped for.

Until I once again acted like an absolute fucking fool.

Before I had to leave for court, I asked if I could come to her rooms that night. And for one perfect moment, I really believed she was going to say yes.

But then she mentioned her moon’s blood, and I just… panicked. I am not entirely an idiot (though I become less sure of that declaration with each passing moment), I know what that means.

It means that I’ve failed her. In even more ways than I knew.

I have made her miserable. I have made her cry. I have failed in every duty of a good husband, including the most basic of tasks – I have not given her a child.

I cannot go on like this – trapped in an endless cycle of misery where I can do nothing but hurt the both of us. I must do something to free us from this.

It doesn’t matter if she doesn’t love or even like me. I just want her to be happy. If that means that I never get to see her or love her again, I will make myself accept that.

First, she needs to know why I’ve acted this way. To know my true feelings so she can decide what she wants me to do. Gods, if she wanted me to go to Essos and never return, I would.

A blot of ink covered half the page, as though he had simply set his pen down while he thought.

I know what to do. I just pray she understands.

“I understand,” you said aloud, as though Aemond were before you. But, of course, he wasn’t. He was halfway across the castle, a distance that suddenly felt like the Narrow Sea itself. Throwing down your blanket, you shouted for your maids to dress you at once, your morning meal be damned. The moment finished tying off the last lace of your gown, you ran.

You had only been shown where Aemond’s chambers were once – on your first tour of the Holdfast. Then, you did not know whether to be disappointed or thankful that they were far from yours. Now, as your nervousness flooded through every part of your body, you hated the distance more than anything.

Each step was an effort, as with every one, your legs felt heavier and heavier, as if they were made of iron. Your blood felt as though it was rushing dangerously fast, carrying with it a marked chill. Despite feeling frozen within, sweat still somehow beaded at your brow. Yet you could not wipe it away, for your hands were all but stitched to the two diaries you carried.

Was this a terrible idea? Would Aemond laugh at you for all your silly little notes? Would he be angry with you for taking days to fulfil his request? You came to a halt in the middle of the corridor, tears prickling in your eyes as you considered so many horrible possibilities.

No, you thought, the word echoed by the impact of your foot on stone as you took a heavy, sure step forward.

The Aemond you thought you knew would do those things. But that Aemond wasn’t real – and never was. He had only ever lived in your terrified imagination.

The real Aemond was the one who had been so awestruck upon first seeing you that he could not say anything other than your name. Who had fallen for you so quickly and with such intensity that he forgot how to act like a proper person and instead stumbled over his words and actions like a drunk man through a crowded alley. Who had been so desperate for you to return his affections that he swallowed his pride to seek help. And who had finally given you his diary when he could think of no other way to show you how he really felt and who he truly was.

It was the thought of finally meeting that Aemond that made you put one foot in front of the other, faster and faster, until you were sprinting down the halls, only stopping when you came to the door you had seen only once before – his door.

You did not understand how you had found it again after only seeing it only once before. Nor did you remember knocking on the smooth, dark wood.

But then you heard footsteps approaching.

Hastily, you transferred the diaries to one hand and wiped the sweat from your brow with the sleeve of the other. You wanted to straighten your hair, for it had surely come loose from its braid after running so fast. But there was no time for that.

There was the dull, metallic sound of the door being unlatched, and then there he was.

Aemond stood before you, breathing heavily himself as though he, too, had been running. His silver hair was mussed, and there were smudges of purple beneath his widened eyes – his eyes.

He was not wearing his eyepatch.

Your mouth fell open at the sight. At least one of the rumours had been true. Beneath the raised, rough skin of his scar, in place of his lost eye, was a brilliant blue sapphire. It suited him perfectly and was perhaps the most beautiful thing you had ever seen.

He looked at you for a moment, the corners of his mouth lifting in a hesitant smile before realising what had caught your attention so thoroughly.

“Oh gods,” he whispered, covering the sapphire with his hands and turning away. He took a few steps into the room before speaking again. “I did not mean for you to see this. I’m so sorry. Please forgive me. Please…”

You said nothing. Silently, you moved into the room and shut the door. Aemond stared at you, his good eye watering as you approached him.

“I’m so sorry,” he said again. “You should not have had to – ” He startled when you brought your free hand up to his wrist and started trying to tug his hand away from his face. “What are you…?”

When your only response was to continue tugging, he relented, allowing you to lower his hand. He swallowed thickly, fixing his good eye on the wall behind you instead of at you. Seeing his shyness, and now knowing it for what it was, almost made you smile.

But your own shyness took hold of you as you guided his hand down and wrapped it around the spines of the twin journals you held. When you looked back up at Aemond, he was staring at them and the green ribbon that now marked a page within your diary.

“I don’t understand,” he breathed, tightening his hold on the books.

With a slight smirk, you gazed up at him and dropped your hand from the diaries. “It’s your turn.”

#studious #aemond #aemond targaryen #aemond targaryen fanfic #aemond fanfic #aemond targaryen imagine #aemond fanart #aemond fluff #aemond imagine #aemond one eye #aemond smut #aemond the kinslayer #aemond x reader #aemond x you #hotd aemond #house of the dragon aemond #prince aemond #prince aemond targaryen #house of the dragon imagine #house of the dragon fanfic #house of the dragon #hotd x reader #hotd smut #hotd fanfic #hotd #ewan mitchell #repost bc i fucked up the first time

[ixiot-ghostrebel]

Hello I like the concept of reader in impostor sagau au, but what if the impostor who wants to kill the reader has power to dominate the will of the pepoles but he manily did to archons like venti and nahida becoese impostor knows that those two wodul help the reader. And those are prisoners in thier own body and trys to take back control of thier body even for few secends just to help reader escape, and that true impostor on the public acts on the public like good god but on the private. Where there is no acolaytes only thier dominated puppets they will shows true colors of cruler person that wodul like to punish all of acolaytes for leting reader run away but they can punish only those characters who are under thier control.

(Sorry for my bad english that not my first language)

This. Pure Gold.

Anon, true words cannot express how much I want to hug you right now. I legit could not have come up with this idea myself LOL. Honestly, ik my writing is terrible, but I might make a angst oneshot out of this idea! Tysm for the idea, Anon!

But I really do love this idea! The Imposter being smart this time, bois. Poor Venti and Nahida, they're being held against their will—quite literally. But still, this is a super cool concept! Imposter being able to take control over people's wills, mainly the archons, along with every other character that seems to hold a deep loyalty to them.

So! Allow me to introduce...Imposter Headcanons!

When Imposter takes control, it is done by mind entirely. → Now, you might be asking "isn't that obvious?" Let me explain why I point this out. Think of this as a light switch. When Imposter wants to, they can simply slip into their own consciousness once this "switch" is turned on, and they can decide who's minds they can possess/take control/spectate.

Often times, characters would not be able to notice the Imposter's presence within their mind, but people who are keen or have been dealing with spirits in some way (Examples: Shenhe, Chongyun, Yae Miko, Cyno, etc.) would be able to feel that presence. This causes the feeling of the "Creator's presence" being placed everywhere, causing everyone to believe that the Reader is, in fact, the "imposter," when it should be the other way around.

To the Imposter, choosing who to have a constant control over is basically like choosing which characters you want to have on the party, except with one catch: it goes up to at least several hundreds of people. Imposter can literally have like- a fourth of the world possessed if they wanted to at this rate—

Imposter's actions don't always influence their puppet's actions, as there is a certain command these puppets would follow. For example, the Imposter could be feeling hungry and want something to eat, thus they cannot spectate their puppet's actions. They leave this final command in their heads: "Search for the traitor. Don't stop until you bring them to me. ALIVE." and then leave to have their lunch or something.

The Imposter's Actions May Sometimes influence the character's they possess and their actions. → The best way to explain this is an example: Let's say the Imposter feels sleepy, and they decide to go to sleep after giving the final command to their current puppets to continuing searching for the traitor (for context, this "traitor" is someone who didn't believe in their "creator" aka imposter). They would do it, it's just...sometimes, the puppets may also feel fatigue. This causes their actions to be more sluggish, some of the puppets are less keen than they usually are.

Just think of Al-Haitham except his mind is being clouded by 2 weeks worth of no sleep to the point he has to have taken one cup too many of coffee to function.

The Imposter can speak through their puppets. → This is very helpful. From physical appearance, it just seems like they're the same, but their voice? Oh no, that's a entirely new story yet to be discovered.

The Imposter's voice is overlaid on the character's voice. Think of it like playing two songs at once at the same time. Except, Imposter's voice would come out stronger than the character's voice.

For example, imagine Reader bumping into Nahida, right? They're basically having a Goose Chase, since Reader is trying to get away from Nahida, thinking (correctly) that she'll kill them. And then she taunts, "Come out, imposter. You can't hide forever!" Nahida's voice is entirely overpowered by the Imposter's voice.

This is also beneficial for the Imposter's hunting army. Why? Because, if several hundreds of people begin storming a place, and people are panicking, the Imposter can have all of their puppets speak at once, saying something like "Don't fret, my people. It is I, your Creator." Which immediately calms down the citizens, before the Imposter commands to their army "Search for the Imposter!"

Yes, that means the commands the Imposter gives could be both a verbal order or a mental one.

Imposter Cannot search in people's memories. → While in control, the Imposter cannot look through their puppet's memories. This is probably the easiest loophole the Imposter gets, seeing that they seem to have a close eye on the Archons, having their presence on them sub-consciously at this point. They can simply order Nahida to read someone's mind, or just straight up take over her body to do it if she refuses.

The Imposter doesn't have to worry about their puppet's consciousness, because they're usually in a daze or in a sleepy state whenever the Imposter is in control. It gives them easy access to do whatever they want to their physical bodies.

However, once Nahida and/or Venti decide to break through it once to let the Reader escape? Oh no, Imposter will, first of all, punish those two severely, and, second of all, be worried if that were to happen ever again.

Imposter will legit throw them in a cage, probably both mentally and physically. They're taking absolute precautions to make sure it doesn't happen ever to those who seem more interested in escaping their grasp.

You can basically say goodbye to Nahida and Venti—Imposter will not let go of their control over them. They'll be in their heads day in and day out. No excuses, and no escapes.

Legit Imposter is a straight up tyrant. And tbh, Idk if Reader will be making out alive on this sagau au concept, lads.

And that's all I got! Sorry if it's confusing lol—feel free to ask any questions. I'll try to answer them if I can. See you around!

Ghost Rebel Side Notes: Thanks so much for sending this into my inbox, anon! Feel free to drop by again when my mailbox is open! And I wasn't kidding—I might actually make a small oneshot or two based off of this idea. It won't be beta read though sobbing. But I'll try writing again lol-

Check the Ghost Rebel's Blog Description to See if Their Inbox is Open!

#sagau genshin #sagau #genshin impact sagau #yandere sagau #genshin sagau #sagau brainrot #sagau idea #self aware genshin #genshin cult au #sagau cult au #sagau angst #sagau au #sagau impostor au #imposter sagau

[theoldaeroplane]

I inbox you the following: I must know what compels you about Link. I trust that he is Good and Excellent, but I simply yearn for an essay on what little niche trait makes you wanna fandom the fuck out of this little guy. 5-10 paragraphs of hyper fixated ramblings preferred, but not required.

ohhh starkid you've given me A GIFT. a GIFT.

So some background first, I think. I've always liked the Zelda games, in the way you play a mainstream game and are like "yeah that was good!" I played Ocarina of Time and Windwaker as a kid. I played Breath of the Wild when it first came out and had a fun time with it. Yeah. Good games! Fun mechanics. Characters seem a little flat, but they aren't why I'm here. What was the story again? Oh, right---yeah, they gave Zelda an actual personality that doesn't start and end with "princess" in the new one! She's a scientist! How neat.

Then Tears of the Kingdom comes out. I've just gotten a Steam Deck for my birthday and wow, turns out you can emulate TOTK already?? I try it out immediately. It's janky, but I love messing with emulators, so I keep going. I certainly don't have the cash to buy TOTK properly.

And in TOTK, for me, it starts with Zelda. It starts with this young woman barely out of her teens being flung into a horrible, frightening situation, and being forced to make an absolutely terrifying choice. And it turns out if you start looking at her more closely, that choice only becomes more and more viscerally upsetting as you incorporate things about her from the previous game.

It got me invested, and I still adore Zelda. I could probably write just as long a deliberation about her. But we're talking about Link.

I read a little bit of BOTW fanfic back when it first came out. It was almost all Sidon/Link stuff, because I liked the ship for a number of reasons, and one evening after another night of mainlining TOTK I decide to go look and see if I can find some that I remembered being good. I did, and they were still mostly good! But there was one in particular, with one line in particular. "You're Always Almost There," by Polyhexian. (On mobile so no link, sorry!)

'One hundred years ago,’ Link signed, 'A Guardian shot me through the chest,’ he grimaced as if in pain from even mentioning it, 'I died with everyone else, and then someone else decided to bring me, and only me, back to life to fix everything, to save everyone. I have to stop the Calamity. I have to save Hyrule. I have to fix the world. I am not a real person. I am everyone’s unfinished business.’

I had read it before. When I read it this time I closed my browser, opened Typora, and started writing. It wasn't more than a random narrative sifting through half collected ideas, and I neither finished nor posted it, but it got me started. A few weeks later I started writing To Be Well, which among other things directly addresses the idea that Link does not think of himself as a "real person"---and that he isn't sure if he wants to.

As I've written him, I've found more and more about him and his setting that fascinates me. Part of this is certainly that Link is intentionally designed as a "placeholder" character (word of God is he was deliberately designed to be androgynous to make it easier for more people to project on him). At first I was really fascinated by his relationship with Zelda, and wanted to look at that through a queerplatonic lens. In doing that I found myself trying to work through some problems of my own, which it turns out is just how I write fanfiction I guess: projecting! Huzzah! I decided to lean into it, and wrote "You do not have to be good," which is a story that takes some liberties with the canon to explore the subject of toxic purity and the toll it takes. Also, the logistics of kissing someone with a beak.

What makes Link compelling to me is ... what do you do, when you aren't allowed to be a person? What do you do when you've been told all your life things are like this and this and this, and that you must behave thusly?  What if you learn it was never true? How do you go from "perfect" to "real"? What does it even mean, being a person? How do you start? Is it even worth it?

I feel like I'm only scratching the surface, haha. I also love Link for whatever the hell he's doing with gender, and I've been having an absolute blast writing him as predominantly communicating via sign language. I'm playing fast and loose with a lot of things that only get half-mentioned in canon, and having a good old time playing in the sandbox of Hyrule. They're huge games and there's a lot of space for me to set up shop!

#loz link #tbw link #love that little freak #let him rest

[yv17]

002 'why are you avoiding me?' with choi yeonjun (최 연준)

a/n: i wanted to write and post it earlier but i was so drained out the past few weeks that i just couldn't bring myself to write anything at all :(( sorry everyone

summary: yeonjun is confused to say the least with y/n's sudden change of behavior, and decides it's finally time to find out why's that.

genre: kinda angst? with a fluffy ending or smh idk what it is honestly

warnings: swearing?? yeonjun and y/n being incredibly dumb and blind, nothing else i think

to say yeonjun was confused was an understatement.

the situation was something he never would've expected. you were his best friend for years; the two of you were almost inseperable most of your lives, refusing to go somewhere without the other. it even annoyed both of your parents at some point - though they still looked at you with fondness in their eyes every time one of you asked if the other was coming.

so why, out of nowhere, it was like you never even knew him?

you walked around the campus like he wasn't there; ignored every time he called out your name in the hallways, didn't even bother to open his messages. whenever he would try to sit next to you, you would either put your headphones on or just get up and change your seat. you even chose to sit at a different place in the library; and he knew how much you liked your previous one, so the fact that you changed it just so you wouldn't have to see him meant that he definitely did something wrong.

or that you simply just wanted him gone.

he had no idea which one it was, but he for sure knew one thing. and that was, he wasn't going to stop nagging you until he finally finds out the reason. he couldn't possibly bear the thought of losing a friend in such a stupid way. especially a friend who's been with him since the day he said his first words.

and that's exactly how he ended up in front of the library's doors, the sun setting behind the tall buildings as he went inside, rapidly looking around to try and find you. it wasn't too hard for him, as after a few seconds, a familiar figure appeared in his sight. yeonjun took a deep breath, before walking up to the table, taking a seat across from you.

and you didn't even have to look up at him to know that he was there. you knew him so well at this point, you could recognize him by smell alone; which sounded weird, but the fact that he used one specific cologne made it just all that easy.

it was obvious for you the day you started ignoring him that yeonjun won't stop until he finds out why you're doing this, so you started being more wary about your every step. you had no interest in talking to him. or at least that's what you were telling yourself. because, god, you would be a liar if you said that last few weeks weren't absolutely terrible and lonely for you.

you had a reason, though. one which might felt stupid when you thought about it too much, but at the same time, one that made you feel that what you were doing was hundred percent justified. and more than anything, you didn't want yeonjun to find out what that reason was.

you were almost ready to stand up and leave the library, when you heard his voice, interrupting the perfect silence of the place.

'why are you avoiding me?'

as much as you expected that question to fall from his lips, it still made you shiver. ignoring his words, you turned around, taking your book from the table and headed to the exit. and to no surprise, yeonjun was following right after you.

right when you stepped out of the library, you felt yeonjun's hand on your arm, turning you around so you'll be facing him. the hallway was empty, and to no surprise; it was friday and at this hour people were either partying or resting at their dorms.

you couldn't let yourself look at his face, trying your best to avoid eye contact as much as possible. yet at the same time, yeonjun's eyes wouldn't leave your face even for a second.

'y/n.' he said, and only then you gained enough courage to take a glimpse of his face. and knowing him for so many years, you knew the look on his face a tad bit too much.

it was the exact same look on his face as when he lost his favorite plushie when he was 5 and found out he's not getting it back. the same as when his first girlfriend broke up with him, admitting she found someone better and cheated on him. the same look as when he didn't get into his dream school.

yeonjun was clearly miserable, and it was all because of you.

'y/n.' he repeated, taking in a deep breath. 'please, just answer my question. i'll leave you alone then if that's what you really want.'

you felt your hands shaking, and at that moment, the only thing you wanted to do was dissapear into thin air. your breath became shaky as well with each passing second, and you were almost sure that yeonjun was losing hope in ever getting an answer out of you.

'i'm afraid you might hate me if i tell you.' you murmured under your breath, just enough for him to hear.

'i could never hate you.'

you knew what he was saying was true, yet a part of you was still afraid. afraid it won't be the same if you tell him, or that he'll actually be the one to leave if he hears it.

'i like you.' you blurted out, seeing as yeonjun's face expression changed, his eyes widening. exactly what you were afraid of. 'and i made a promise to myself, you know? that no matter what, no matter how much i liked you, i would never tell you. because it was obvious i'd ruin our relationship this way, and that was the last thing i wanted.'

yeonjun stood there in silence, giving you a chance to let all your thoughts out.

'you know how annoying it is? all girls on campus have a crush on you, and just by looking at them i know that they all have a bigger chance with you than i ever will.' you reached with your hand to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear before continuing 'and i guess i'm just jealous. it's so fucking stupid, but i am. so i decided to ignore you. i thought that it'll help this feeling get away, but it didn't work. it never does.'

'y/n-' yeonjun tried to say, but you quickly shut him up.

'and now that i said all of that it'll probably be awkward between us, and- shit- that's exactly what i was afraid of all this time.' you said, looking down to the floor. 'i'm sorry for ruining our friendship like that, yeonjun. i really should've kept it to myself or just ignored all tha-'

'and how could you be so sure i don't like you back?' you heard yeonjun say, the words making you look up at him.

he looked dead serious as he took a step closer to you, faces now mere millimeters from each other. you looked confused, still trying to process what he said.

'what?'

'oh god, I cannot believe how stupid both of us are.' he let out a soft laugh, shaking his head. 'all the girls i would bring around were my attempts to ignore my feelings for you, y/n.' he said, a shocked look painting on your face with every word of his 'i always thought you could never like me this way, and when you started to ignore me? it only intensified.'

'so that's why i've seen you with a different girl like, every week lately.' you mumbled to yourself, yeonjun nodding at your words. 'you're right. both of us are really fucking stupid.'

yeonjun laughed again, a smile forming on his lips as he did so.

'i hope this means that the ignoring is over? i don't think i could handle one day more away from you.' he said his eyes meeting with yours.

'i don't know' you said, pretending to be deep in your thoughts 'i did enjoy the silence and calmness it brought me.' seeing yeonjun's concerned face you quickly dropped the act, laughing softly at your own words. 'i'm joking, obviously. i missed the chaos you bring into my life.'

'well, you're gonna have even more of it now, if you answer my one question.'

you tilted your head in confusion, waiting for what he was going to say.

'will you let me take you out for a date?' he asked, reaching out for your hand, a nonchalant smile on his face.

'with great pleasure.'

taglist: @ox1-lovesick @triuusi @moonarix <3

>> main masterlist

>> txt masterlist

>> 100 special masterlist

#txt x you #txt x y/n #txt x reader #txt scenarios #txt fluff #txt imagines #yeonjun fluff #choi yeonjun x reader #yeonjun x reader #yeonjun x you #choi yeonjun x you

[just-my-latest-hyperfixation]

20 Questions for Fic Writers

Tagged by the amazing, sexy, incredible @wormdebut - thanks, love! ❤️

1. How many works do you have on AO3?

Eighteen and and a whole batch of new ones incoming for the @steddieholidaydrabbles - so excited, weeeeeee!!!

2. What’s your total AO3 word count?

308,387

3. What fandoms do you write for?

Stranger Things

4. What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

Hic sunt dracones 

Someone who cares

Possession

See you in a crown

Just add water         

5. Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?

Yes, always! (Well, except for the rude ones but I can count those on my fingers, thank God!) Every single comment is so fucking precious to me. You didn’t only take the time to read my story, but you liked it enough to go to that little box and tell me your thoughts? Kissing you, kissing you, KISSING YOU!!! 😘

6. What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

I’m a happy endings gal all the way! If I’m gonna put them through the horrors for hundreds of thousands of words, I damn well wanna give them their happily ever after! That being said, I have this little microfic where tentacle lake monster Steeb enthralls Eddie to lure people to him so that he can eat them. Sorry, Eddie! 

(He’ll absolutely bring him O’Donnell and Principal Higgins, so it’s fine.) 

7. What’s the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

Hic sunt dracones! I mean hello? They are mates and Steve is King and everyone is happy and my boy gets flower crowns and apple pie and hot, hot dragon sex forever after! 

8. Do you get hate on fics?

Someone once felt the need to leave me a very passive aggressive comment on how my Brit slips were “completely ruining the vibe” of my fics (and then I wrote a microfic about British!Steve, I’m still laughing). 

Oh, and then there was that one time I was accused of racism. 

But apart from that, everyone has been lovely and fantastic and supportive and I really love it here. I’ve met so many more lovely people than assholes. 

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

Ummm … I’m the person with the 100k dragon porn fic. Hell yes, I write smut! I love writing smut, all kinds of smut!

10. Do you write crossovers? What’s the craziest one you’ve written?

No, sorry, my brain doesn’t do crossovers. XD 

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Nope. 

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

No, but I’d be thrilled to see it happen. Any and all transformative works are always welcome, just be sure to tag me because I’d love to see them and you will have my sword and my axe for eternity and I will scream about it forever!

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

I once co-wrote an original work with a friend when we were like 15? We had no idea what the fuck we were doing and it never got finished, but it was a blast!

14. What’s your all time favorite ship?

Steddie. I love them, I’m obsessed with them, I think I’ll be writing fic for them for the rest of my life!

15. What’s a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

I’m committed to finishing all of my WIPs, that’s why I’m a good girl and only ever work on one large fic at a time with smaller projects on the side, but there’s SO MANY I WANNA WRITE STILL!!!!

16. What are your writing strengths?

Several people have told me that I’m really good at scene setting and evoking imagery, at painting very vivid pictures in their minds …  so I guess there’s that. 

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

I wish I could write stunning, creative metaphors like @wynnyfryd . The river Styx one from the trailer park AU? Blew me away! I could never come up with that!

I also admire @wingedquill for being able to be concise and still so fucking intense in their fics! I'm a wordy bitch myself and always in awe of that skill.

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fic?

I’ve never been in a situation where I was faced with the decision, but I think I’d rather describe it instead of typing out the actual words? Such as “they exchanged a few sentences in Spanish”. I’m only fluent in one language besides English, so I feel like I’d either need to get help or include a horrifically mangled Google translation and end up being unintentionally hilarious.

19. First fandom you wrote for?

The first fandom I published for was Stranger Things. 

The first fandom I wrote for was Harry Potter, back before it went to shit (Wolfstar shipper of the very first hour here)

20. Favorite fic you’ve written?

Hic sunt dracones, my beloved! This fic is everything I ever wanted, both in terms of writing and the echo it received. I still daydream about these two (and have another bonus drabble coming in December). 

Zero-pressure tags: @cranberrymoons, @gorgeousgreymatter-x, @lexirosewrites

#steddie #steve harrington x eddie munson #steve x eddie #steddie fanfic #fanfiction writer #fanfiction #fanfic #my writing #ask games

[koocycle]

as you were | jungkook one shot

↳ synopsis. He was only two months into knowing you, yet he already loved and cherished you like no one had done before. But now you’re gone, and you brutally left him nothing behind besides a story with missing puzzle pieces and a set of questions.

pairing. architect! jungkook x fem reader

word count. 4.6k

au + genre. summer! au, semi-exes! au, angst, fluff.

warnings. none

author’s note. being on a writing hiatus for more than a year now, you’d think this was planned to make a come back. (jokes on you and me both), but i actually wrote this rough draft half a year ago and never pushed myself to finish it. struggled with it, could cry over it, same old same old when it comes to me and writing. i’ve decided to get my ass out there and post one of my hundred, rotten and forgotten drafts!!

also why i want to thank @latetaektalk for being SO patient with me as she keeps pushing me (in the most unfriendliest ways) to keep it going!! linh who’s been reading every draft (and each version of every draft, if yk what i mean), from hundreds of different aus. MUCH much thanks!!

while i’m working on bigger things that bring me more joy while writing, i want to show my face out here before i hide in my docs again, and until i dare to peek out again with something new and better, i’d love to read what you think!

this is based off the netflix series ‘lovestruck in the city’.

Jungkook was eager to unravel your every secret.

Without much doubt, both parties knew that you’ve gotten him hooked around your finger from the moment he laid his eyes on you. And you knew there was not much that could go wrong; it never mattered to him how mischievous or how harmless your secrets could possibly be, to what limit his imagination dared to sketch the images you never showed him. Never has he cared about the weight they could hold on to, about the depth that only seemed to increase the longer he thought about all the things you could be hiding from him. You drove him insane like nobody had ever done before. There were no restrictions when it came to you and him, never did he even dare himself to think about setting boundaries. Like a love-sick campus boy, Jungkook was only longing to learn more about you. Over his dead body that he was ever losing you like a damned fool would.

‘‘I think what I’m trying to say is that… it’s probably better for us to pretend last summer never happened.’’

Jungkook’s phone screen falls black in his hand when the voicemail goes quiet once more, coming to an abrupt ending that has his office go mute. His fingers travel through his dark locks ever so gently, like they aren’t filled with rage. His body grows tense in his office chair, no tears hanging on for dear’s life in the corners of his eyes this time around. Maybe they were there the first few times he listened to the 30-second audio eight months ago, maybe the tears were shamelessly streaming down his cheeks back then. Yet today, his sadness is replaced with fury, and it’s everything he can’t handle.

Jungkook doesn’t want to go home just yet. The sky above his workplace paints a hideous, jet black shade and the inside of the building is gloomy and tragic at this hour of the day. The place looks a bit unfortunate without the presence of his colleagues around here, but it’s not enough reason to bring himself home. He’d tell you the cheap prosecco he just poured in his coffee cup is what keeps him at the office this late, just like how he’d tell you he’s used to heavier liquids other than the bubbled wine he buys at local night shops. Yet his eyes are starting to get heavy, and there’s no point in lying when you were the person who knew him best.

Your voice doesn’t even sound the same in the message. The merry tone that always colored your words was not there when you told him to forget about you—again, over a voice message. An action so impersonal, so distant and so foolish, like it was easy for you to forget about him, expecting him to do the same thing with a snap of his fingers. And maybe it was him who was the foolish one for not expecting you to be capable of such cruelty.

‘‘You remember my phone number, right?’’ Is what he asked the final time he was able to hold you, beams of sweat dripping down his forehead with the way the sun fell down his skin.

Worried, massive eyes met yours for the nth time that day.

‘‘Yes, Jungkook.’’ You grinned at him, eyes twinkling the longer you watched him in his troubled state. ‘‘You only made me repeat it a hundred times. I’ll probably forget it the second you’re gone.’’

His smile was unbeatable. ‘‘You’re cheeky.’’ His fingers nipped at your cheeks, ‘‘what if you forget?’’

‘‘I won’t.’’

He sent you a knowing glare. ‘‘What will you do if you do?’’

Merely to satisfy him, your hands scurried inside your shoulder bag to find what he was wishing to see. In a rather clumsy manner, you pulled out a crumpled piece of paper, fingers hurrying to open it. ‘‘Then I got this.’’

His teeth showed. ‘‘That’s my girl.’’ It only took another look into your eyes before he felt secured again, arms falling atop your shoulders to pull you closer to him. His chest was firm as your head rested against him, the assuring hand on the back of your head not dismissed. ‘‘I told you to get yourself a phone. Would’ve made this so much easier.’’

‘‘I told you I’ll be getting one as soon as I get back home.’’ You had told him. ‘‘You’ll miss your flight if we’re getting into this now.’’

‘‘You say that as if that’s a bad thing.’’

‘’You’re lame.’’ Your eyes shot up to meet his, the arms you had wrapped around his waist tightening when they did. ‘‘You should go before you actually miss it, though.’’

He took another moment to take your features in, eyes scanning over every possible detail he could find so he could safely hide them in a memory box up his head. That, for what he thought would be for the time being.

‘‘Kiss me first?’’

Jungkook was a dork, you should’ve seen it coming, yet the taken aback looking smile that made your lips curve was there all the same. You reached up as you stood on your tippy toes, a chuckle leaving both you and him before you were able to press your lips against his. ‘‘I’ll miss this.’’

‘‘No need to.’’ He grinned down at you. ‘‘Do you remember our meeting spot?’’

Your eyes flickered back to his lips. ‘‘Of course I do.’’

‘‘When, baby?’’

You studied him. ‘‘The final Saturday of the month.’’ You cooed, meeting his gaze again and a hand reaching up to rest on his chest so you could gently push him away. ‘‘Now go. I’m not joking.’’

‘‘Whatever you want’’

With a silly, boyish grin on his face, he gripped on to the suitcases on his side. A firm grip on them in the hopes they’d increase his will to leave you. And barely later, when he was only a few steps ahead of you, Jeon Jungkook turned back around to shower you with a dozen of pecks, not without muttering a quick but ensured ‘‘I’ll see you soon.’’ after, of course.

The cup of prosecco in his grip feels heavier than ever before now. He should’ve known you were not one to keep a promise.

Jungkook is in a mourning state the day after. Ever since the clock hit 9 AM as he’s cleared his office; throwing unnecessary papers, floor plans and blueprints out of the way, his mind still doesn’t stay on track. The ongoing design that’s displayed on his computer screen stares back at him in a mocking manner and if it wasn’t for the way Jung Hoseok is keeping an eye out on him just outside his office, he’d be losing himself in another bottle of wine by now. He could always close his blinds, a little voice in the back of his head has been challenging him, but Jungkook knows that it’s only a matter of time before the office’s little mouse barges in to give him a lecture about whatever ‘consequences’ he could be going through if he continues now.

And as if proving his exact point not too long after that, it’s exactly Jung Hoseok that titters into the room like it’s him who owns the place.

‘‘Can’t you knock?’’ Jungkook groans when the older man is only a couple steps in, fingertips reaching up to massage his throbbing temples, elbows supporting his position.

‘‘I could if I wanted to,’’ Hoseok sing-songs in response, a disturbing layer of satisfaction coating his voice as he does so. ‘‘But I like the concept of caution. Makes things a little more exciting in here.’’

The younger can only so much roll his eyes at him, swallowing the words that are seated at the tip of his tongue. ‘‘You don’t have to check up on me every hour. I can take care of myself.’’

‘‘Oh, but I know you can. You’re just not doing it.’’ The elder marvels, his voice a tad bit too loud for an already hectic morning like this. He makes himself comfortable in place, diving down Jungkook’s leather sofa with his hands behind his head like it isn’t his first time. ‘‘How is the design going?’’

‘‘Fine, I guess.’’ Jungkook whimpers, palms rubbing his eyes like he just strolled out of bed. His hair looks like something has gone through them a couple times already, and once more, a hand goes up to do exactly that. ‘‘I’m changing it up.’’

‘‘Again?’’ Hoseok asks from his snug position on the couch. ‘‘How long do you want to keep those people waiting for?”

‘‘I wanna give them what they’re paying me for. God damn.’’ He falls back in his chair with a loud huff, fingers crossing over his chest. ‘‘Not some shitty design that’s making me run in circles.’’

‘‘You know you’re not, right?’’ The brunet sits up, tugging his glasses higher up his nose before leaning down to rest his arms atop his thighs. ‘‘Come on, what did she do to you, Jeon?’’

She.

It’s not Jung Hoseok’s fault that Jungkook became so fucking delicate. And the younger usually enjoys putting a flat hand on his chest as he swears it’s merely a phase he has to go through: a phase of heartbreak, a phase of discomfort that takes some more time to heal. It’s easy for people like Jung Hoseok to walk in here and pretend like everything is fine. People like Jung Hoseok who got their lives figured out with the people they love. It’s an easy job for them to talk out loud, and it’s peak arrogance if Jungkook were one to speak.

‘‘Don’t talk about her.’’

‘‘Obviously, it seems like I’ve got to when you’re not doing what those people pay you for. All fingers point her way, Jungkook.’’ Hoseok hisses, pinched brows pulling together. ‘‘You went on a vacation and met that woman just as fast as she disappeared. You used to finish project after project with ease, people quite literally lined up to see you work in action. Suddenly you come back and lose your drive? As if.’’

‘‘Can you stop? I don’t need you to give me a lecture.’’ Jungkook jeers. ‘‘You don’t know her. The way I get to work these days is on me, I don’t appreciate you sticking your nose where it doesn’t belong.’’

Hoseok nods with a tightness to it, like he’s holding himself back from spilling words he’ll regret. ‘‘Okay.’’ he mutters quietly, fingers grazing over his denim jeans. ‘‘I just want the best for you, you’re my friend and that woman was no good. It’s for the better if you forget about her.’’

For the better, he said.

Jungkook huffs, fixing his position so half his face hides behind his computer screen. ‘‘You can get out if you came to argue.’’ He doesn’t like the way his voice sounds, but he’s having a hard time toning it down. ‘‘I’ve got work to do.’’

Hoseok doesn’t say anything after that, sensing that silence is the best way to deal with his younger friend for now. Thus he gets up and exits the room without another word, leaving Jungkook and his thoughts to suffer by himself for the time being. It’s not something he enjoys doing, but Jungkook has always been a little stubborn, an individual that needs time for himself to sort his thoughts out. He’ll figure it out by himself sooner or later.

On the other side of the door, Jungkook is unsure what to do with himself as soon as the soft thud is heard from behind Hoseok’s back. The office runs quiet again and Jungkook’s thoughts are the one thing keeping him trapped in his chair, still and timid like the incomplete design isn’t staring back at him in a pleading, discomforting manner. He would love to care, take charge and put a little more effort into it, yet his mind is elsewhere, making it hard for him to keep his head into the game.

That woman was no good, he had said. His chest filled with confidence as he spoke, making sure Jungkook understood every word even though the younger boy would much rather cover his ears. It was a work in progress, Jungkook had been telling himself the past couple of months, but people like Jung Hoseok only seemed to be eager to speed things up.

You can’t be a bad person—Jungkook knows you are not a bad person. Jungkook saw things that others didn’t see, felt things that he knew you felt as well. And even though he had known you for no longer than a brisk two months, he was sure he was ready to examine your every persona that was hidden beneath the flowery, dazzling girl he met at that beach last year. You promised him that much.

‘‘I think we should just dive in!’’ You had exclaimed back then, wet sand creeping between your toes the more you jumped around the place. ‘‘I’m like, so ready to catch some of those waves you’ve been gushing about.’’

‘‘Absolutely not.’’ Jungkook scoffed on your side, the slight curves that tugged on to the edges of his lips betraying his cool character nonetheless. ‘‘We’ve got to go through the basics before we actually get into the water, you know that right?’’

He watched as you threw your head back at him, a loud and exaggerated groan leaving your throat before you locked gazes again, an obvious pout on your lips this time. ‘‘What’s even fun about that,’’ you whined. ‘‘You’re so boring.’’

‘‘Patience, baby.’’ He beamed, two hands curled around each hip from behind with a slight push forward, ever so gentle, of course. ‘‘Now, get on that board for me. I’ll teach you some positions.’’

He knew what was coming when he saw the way your brows shot up. ‘‘Positions…’’ You sang, a teasing edge to it as a silly grin spread on your face.

‘‘Keep on dreaming, doll.’’ He quipped, fingers nipping at your chin and the way he fought his smile back not missed by you. ‘‘Now do as I say before I make you figure it out yourself.’’

You complied with ease after deciding you shouldn’t be the one to give him such a hard time that early into the crisped morning. He noted how you were having a difficult time keeping your lips sealed shut as he kept stepping around the surfboard beneath your feet, knowing he got the upper hand even if it was you who slipped inside his trailer that morning. Ever the sly little fox you were, your feather-light footsteps did nothing to wake him up as you sneaked into his cramped bed—it was nothing compared to the queen-sized bed you hid from him inside your hotel room just a little away from the beach’s area, but you were not planning on telling him as long as you could slip beneath his thinned covers instead.

It wasn’t like Jungkook was giving you a run for your money, either. Even that same night, when you eventually snuggled deeper at his side and let your arms fall all over his body, outside’s chilly air still lingering on your skin as you did so, he didn’t complain one bit. Jungkook slept with his door unlocked for a reason, and he thought it was more than worth it. Not even when you dragged him out of his bus barely an hour later, clumsily tugging his surfboard beneath your free arm on your way to the shore as you begged him to teach you how to surf. His eyes were still puffy and his hair was a hot mess in the middle of the empty beach, pushed out of his face by the many times you had run your fingers through it.

Yet still, he taught you how to surf. Because Jungkook could never say no to you.

‘‘Basically,’’ you had started, feet planted on the wooden material. ‘‘We live together at this point.’’

‘‘Is that so,’’ Jungkook chirped, his question not really a question. ‘‘Spread your arms. Like this,’’ his hands moved from your behind to grip on both of your wrists, spreading them to match the board beneath you.

‘‘Hmm, yeah,’’ your head fell down his shoulder as soon as you felt his chest pressed against your back, hot breath fanning in his neck. ‘‘Don’t you think so? I’ve been sleeping in your trailer for a week now and you haven’t kicked me out once.’’

‘‘I should’ve.’’ He piped, his smile evident in his voice. ‘‘Spread your feet as well.’’

You did as he told you, curving your upper body when you felt his hands guide you. ‘‘You would never,’’ you snapped back at him, a smile fighting its way on your face. ‘‘Could never.’’

‘‘Curve your back and go down your knees a bit. Your posture looks off.’’ Ignoring your previous comment, he knew he couldn’t beat you to it.

‘‘I think I got it now.’’ You started, waving his hands off you before you turned around. ‘‘We should totally get into the water now that we’ve got the place to ourselves.’’

Jungkook was nearly melting in your hands when you brought them up to cup the plush of his cheeks, ushering him a tad bit closer to place a quick kiss on the tip of his nose, another one followed against the corner of his mouth when he didn’t provide you an answer.

Hooded eyes looked down at you instead. ‘‘You’re underestimating how complex of a sport this is, doll.’’ His features fell serious even as his thumb rubbed circles on your hip bone, a small gesture of kindness Jungkook always seemed to carry with him.

‘‘I don’t doubt that at all.’’ You preened, hands playing with the hairs at the back of his neck, ‘‘but I got myself such a great tutor, not much can go wrong.’’

With a pause and another look into your eyes, he couldn’t pass. ‘‘You’re so used to having everything your way, I don’t know how you do it.’’

Correction: Jeon Jungkook knew quite exactly how you did it—it was like you had put a spell on him that’s got him looking like a lovesick fool chasing rainbows. Hence it didn’t surprise him when your fingers intertwined with his own the moment a smile flashed up on his face. With your hand that had looked so much smaller, so much more delicate than his rough ones, he underestimated the power they held when you dragged him forward, heading straight towards the water with his surfboard clutched beneath your arm.

‘‘I told you it seems easier than it actually is.’’

The damp piece of cloth felt hot against your skin the more pressure Jungkook put against it, the shed’s familiar scent of old paint and planed wood reaching your senses as soon as he told you to sit down. ‘‘And I believed you,’’ you chirped, ‘‘but we had fun, right?’’

Jungkook huffed. ‘‘There is no fun in you getting hurt.’’

‘‘Good thing I’m not hurt anywhere.’’ Jungkook crouched down to match your eye level, not offering you a response as he pinched his brows together and gently continued tapping the cloth against the blossoming bruise on your forehead. ‘‘Can you stop worrying that big head of yours? You’re making me nervous.’’

‘‘I make you nervous?’’ He snorted. ‘‘You fell pretty fucking hard, ___.’’

A hint of annoyance coated his voice like you haven’t heard before. The lips that curled inwards gave it away. ‘‘So? I feel fine now.’’

He didn’t say anything at that and continued to focus on the bruised spot above your brow. You took the opportunity to inspect his features as he did so, allowing your head to fall back against the wall on your side as your eyes attempted to pry into his. Silence took over when you waited for him to say something to tame the tension down, but yet again, without much luck on your side.

‘‘Now what, you’ll just ignore me because you don’t believe me?’’

It didn’t take much for him to drop his hand then, thighs supporting his elbows as a hand ran over his face with a huff. ‘‘It’s not that, ___.’’ He refuted, cheeks blown out. ‘‘You’re just so fucking careless, I wish you wouldn’t push your safety aside just because you,’’ he air quoted, ‘‘‘had fun’.’’

The look that swam in your eyes after that was something he had rather not seen; they were a little conflicted, unable to think of words to say next and the silence that ran through was a bit strange for the type of relationship you shared.

‘‘Ah,’’ he groaned, standing up on stretched legs once again. ‘‘Forget about it.’’

You gave yourself a little longer to keep quiet then, watching as Jungkook awkwardly dusted his pants off and casually started to pace around the shed like you wouldn’t notice the way his cheeks colored a pretty pink. His tattooed fingers played with a couple figurines by the window and it took everything in you to keep yourself composed, (for the sake of his own ego).

‘‘It’s okay,’’ you stood up from your seat, the rusted creak obvious to Jungkook’s ears. ‘‘I like listening to what you’ve got to say.’’

His stomach grew warmer the closer you got, and unlike the floor in his camper, where you tried your best to hide every footstep from him, the shed’s unoiled floor gave them all away.

‘‘It wasn’t important.’’ He had said, body visibly relaxing at the feel of your arms that wrapped around his waist, cheek squished against his back like you knew what it did to him.

‘‘Sounded important to me,’’ you replied, voice small as you hugged him tighter. ‘‘Besides, I like it when you get concerned like that—at what? Week three into knowing me?’’ You teased him, knowing he felt the way you looked up at him from behind. ‘‘When will you be proposing, Jeon? You can’t keep me on my toes forever.’’

‘‘Please,’’ He prattled, no way you couldn’t sense his smile. ‘‘Like you’d say yes.’’

You hummed, the vibrations running through his skin. ‘‘You don’t know unless you try.’’

It didn’t surprise you when he turned back around with a toothy grin on his face. ‘‘Alright, you little tease,’’ he cooed. ‘‘Show me that huge bulge on your forehead.’’

You slapped his chest. ‘‘It’s not huge!’’

‘‘Hm, sure.’’ He mumbled, thumb softly stroking against your forehead. ‘‘It’s massive. Can’t keep my eyes off it.’’

You crossed your arms, muttering a quiet ‘‘jerk,’’ underneath your breath but swallowed the rest of your complaints when his hands cupped the sides of your face, fingertips tugging strands of hair behind your ears as his eyes flickered down your lips. He didn’t ask for permission this time, feeling like it was the right thing to do when your mouths molded together, his fingers resting at the back of your neck as his thumb caressed your cheeks, lips guiding you for better access. Jungkook’s hands slipped lower down your back and rested in place before he pushed you closer to stand chest to chest.

A look of uncertainty painted his face when you broke the kiss, ‘‘You haven’t brought me here before.’’ your arms still embraced him but your curious cat eyes scanned your surroundings. ‘‘Is this where you hide from me?’’

He snickered. ‘‘Can’t hide from you, doll.’’

Jungkook leaned down to press another longing kiss on your lips again but you moved away, resulting in him kissing your jaw instead. ‘‘Are those yours?’’

‘‘Mhm.’’ He hummed, nose pressing against your skin as he inhaled your sweet fragrance.

‘‘You’re not even looking!’’

The heavy man in your arms didn’t bother to lift his head from the comfortable spot on your shoulder this time, the small, wet pecks he left in the crook of your neck not coming to a nearing end, either. ‘‘I don’t have to look. Everything in here is mine.’’

‘‘You’ve got to be kidding.’’ You struggled yourself out of his arms when your eyes fell on something in the distance, moving past him to reach out for it. Jungkook followed after you with a long huff, arms limply falling next to his frame. ‘‘These are yours?’’

He ran a frustrated hand through his hair, but your excited voice made up for it. ‘‘Yeah,’’ he grinned. ‘‘You like them?’’

‘‘Do I like them?’’ Your eyes bulged out of your head, a camera in each hand that you came to admire. ‘‘I love them Kook, what…’’

‘‘Careful with them, baby.’’ He quickly reached out for them just in case anything went wrong, one hand on your hip as the other went to the heavier device. ‘‘They’re fragile.’’

Heartening eyes met his, yours filled with curiosity. ‘‘Can you teach me how to work with them?’’

And there you went doing that again; eyes growing until they couldn’t increase any more, corners of your lips that were unable to stay into a straight line due to the excitement that became visible feature by feature. And yes, Jungkook fell for it, once again.

‘‘Again,’’ he began, wanting to tease you a bit further. ‘‘It’s not the easiest hobby out there.’’

He watched as you rolled your eyes to the back of your head. ‘‘We get it, you’re a genius. But I’ve got to start somewhere, no?’’ You gauged, fingers playing with the buttons before you looked through the viewfinder. ‘‘How hard can it be to shoot a couple pictures?’’

Jungkook studied the way you pinched one eye to a close, how your nose scrunched and lips pursed. ‘‘There’s a lot you need to keep in mind while doing so,’’ he dared to wrap his arms around your waist again, nice and warm as he placed his chin on your shoulder. ‘‘Where is all this curiosity coming from anyway? First the surfing, now the cameras…’’

‘‘Hm, can’t I be curious?’’ You smiled, loving the way his breath fanned your throat. ‘‘You’re an architect that surfs and photographs? Something is not clicking.’’

He listened to your mumbles, the teasing tone not dismissed. ‘‘Are you doubting my skills now?’’ He jabbered, ‘‘Come on baby, can’t deny that I was pretty impressive out there. Don’t think I didn’t see you drooling all over me.’’

‘‘Of course, Kook.’’ You hummed, a pretty smile on your face. ‘‘My boyfriend is pretty impressive.’’

The larger man grew still against you for a moment, progressing your words first. ‘‘Boyfriend…’’ he muttered, arms growing tighter around you as his fingers intertwined. ‘‘I like the way you say that.’’

‘‘Do you?’’

‘‘Hm, yes.’’ He pretended to think, trying to hide his beam in the dark spot of your neck. ‘‘Say it again?’’

You put the camera away. ‘‘Say what again?’’ You quipped, turning around to face him and wrap your arms around his neck. ‘‘Boyfriend?’’

‘‘Yeah,’’ he groaned, squinting his eyes. ‘‘Feels good.’’

It did feel good.

© koocycle 2022

#jungkook #jungkook au #jungkook angst #jungkook fluff #bts #bts au #jungkook imagine #jungkook drabble #jungkook x reader #jeon jungkook #jungkook x you #bts x you #bangtan

[kitthepurplepotato]

DEAR DEAR LOVE.

OKAY.

I HAD to send this comment as a massage and not in the comments section because I have so much to fucking say.

I think I want to marry you?

First of all the new chapter got me into the six dimension and I can't believe I actually got the courage to read this in the car with my dad so I had to pause and actually get home so I could react to this in peace, and OMG the d-rule.

Perfection.

You have no fucking idea how I fucking love the idea of the mha series happening in this universe and Deku meeting horikoshi and there are no words that can describe my feelings rn but I'll try anyway

You, you bring me happiness and this has become much more than just a fanfic, and I might be exaggerating but who can blame me when I read perfection.

But love, dear, darling, sweetie, I adore you, okay? But please please PLEASE take a break if you need to, your health means much more than us and stupid adorable deku alright? I'm begging you, do not overwork yourself, please

Alright. So have an absolutely amazing wonderful and happy birthday ever, I wish you all the goods and hugs, and everything you could ever wish for, and as always, don't forget to drink, eat, and rest my love! ❤️❤️❤️

I love you so fucking much, I swear your comments are my favorite things on Tumblr! ;D

Not going to lie I kinda thought you’re gonna send me hundreds of questions when I saw your name pop up and I was kinda excited 😂 it’s still exciting though, you made my heart go all TOKIDOKI!!! 💜💜💜

Funnily enough the D-rule thing and the KiriBaku story wasn’t even planned that just happened while I was writing 😂 it was supposed to be a basic confession scene, no My hero academia story or anything but then… Deku decided to overcomplicate the whole chapter but I really like how it turned out and the confession wasn’t as harsh thanks to it so I’m glad!

About your marriage proposal, well, it’s not impossible to be fair, might need to talk to me boyfriend of 10 years about it but he doesn’t look like he wants to marry anyway so you can totally marry me? 😂😂😂😂😂💜

Thank you for all your worries, I swear I’m completely fine! (well, kinda, but it has nothing to do with me overworking myself I’m afraid 😂)

Writing these silly fanfictions make me happy and reading your comments is my favorite thing in life, honestly! I also play the two MHA games on my phone all the time so I swear I’m not just writing and editing every single moment of my free time. The only reason I get overwhelmed is because sometimes i enjoy the chapter I’m writing so much I over-concentrate on it and I give myself anxiety because I have so much to say but everything wants to come out quicker than my fingers can move and then I burn out for a few days. I’m silly like that. (yes, I have undiagnosed ADHD 😂)

(this bit a tiny bit more personal, mostly for Ronimacaroni, but feel free to read it if you are nosy like me haha)

I don’t really know how to do anything without stressing to be honest, even those two games makes me feel like I NEED TO play a certain amount of time with it daily even if I’m not in the mood, otherwise I feel like I’m “neglecting it”. So silly.

I do the same at work by the way, I used to be in management so I always had all the responsibility on my shoulders and I changed my job due to my mental health and went down to operations (so basically just putting stock on the shelves) yet I still manage to freak the shit out and try to sort stuff out that’s not my responsibility. It’s just who I am, trying to everything all at once then making myself sick with it. I’ll try to think about your words the next time I start being an idiot though!

But I swear I don’t only post because I need to and I do take a break when I have to it’s just that I had a random spur of inspiration after my birthday and I managed to write both the Izuku and the Bakugou chapter, all in one go so I was like “why wait if I can post them sooner and read the cute comments that will make me happy” so after I came home from work because I got a flu and had a Power Nap I posted the Izuku one quickly, knowing it will cheer me up 😂

Omg why can’t I shut up I’m so sorry I love you much btw be my friend thank you 😂💜

Tell your dad I said hi! 😂💜 (that sounds so weird omg just shut me up please omg this is as long as half of a shenanigan chapter send help)

Kit

This is me now and Inko is you, listening to my rambling thank you.

[fluffytriceratops]

I've been wanting to come online for a while now and start going through stuff and post things. But shit keeps happening in my life to prevent that.

My senior cat, who I've had almost my entire life, I got him when I was 2, making him 18. He'll be 19 this April. Has been going downhill lately.

He's lost most of his sight. And his hearing isn't great either. The biggest problem is one of his eyes which has suddenly turned bright blood red over the span of a few days.

I'll be needing to take him to the vet as soon as I can. Hopefully tomorrow. (It's the 24th of Feb as I'm writing this)

Vet bills are so expensive, and after looking into it with my sister, they'll need to do a lot of tests. My family and I don't really have the money for this. I myself only have a couple hundred in the bank. And I'll most likely be spending it all on vet bills.

I'm not currently working, but I'll be putting out my resume right away and try to save up as much as I can.

If I lose him, I don't know what I'll do.

He means the world to me and I know death is inevitable, but even thinking of it brings me to tears.

I'm writing this as sort of an explanation as to why I'm not active and might not be for a while.

I know my family and I will figure it out. But if it's as bad as it's looking, I might need to take more time off than I wanted and expected.

This really is the worst timing, too, because it's my little brothers birthday today, and we're throwing him a party this weekend.

Having a sick animal during what is supposed to be a fun time is always shitty. And I don't want this to ruin his birthday but that's sort of out of my hands.

I just wish things could be different. Idk..

I'll post an update on my cat when needed to keep everyone in the loop.

Any prayers and well wishes are more than welcome!

And sharing and spreading the word would be a great help too! ^^

Thank you all so much for being amazing and kind and patient with me. I love and miss you all so so much. ❤️💕

His name is Trooper. And he's my baby. I know some people will think he's just a pet. But to me he is so much more than that. He's my world.

Sending all my love and hugs. xox

— LF / Fluffy. <3

#cat #update #fluffy spam #fluffytriceratops #life update #sick cat #life is shit

[absurdthirst]

Is romance actually real? I always get the vibe that I'm asking for so much as a straight woman when I say I want a man who is actually romantic. Not like subservient or anything but just makes me and our relationship feel special.

It depends on what your love language is. The problem is that different peoples, not just men versus women, perceive love differently.

5 love languages: words of affirmation, acts of service, receiving gifts, quality time, and physical touch. 

My husband is more of an acts of service and physical touch kind of man. He shows me that he loves me by maybe lighting my candle in the bathroom and putting my Yeti full of water in there before I get off work so I can soak in the tub and rehydrate. Or he will make sure he cleans the house so I can focus on my writing on my days off. Curl up against me and hold me tight for a few moment. 

He’s not going to buy me flowers often or shower me with jewelry or dates. It’s just not really his type of thing. He does it more after I told him how much I appreciated that. But I had to speak up and specifically say “I would like it if you got me flowers ever so often.” 

Now, my own love language is gifts and acts of service. I will cook his favorite foods or if I see something that I think he will like (mostly candy) I am bringing it home for him. He had to tell me that he needs words sometimes because I’m not too great at that kind of thing. 

I’m not going to immediately cuddle up to him and give him the physical affection or touch that he wants because it’s not my immediate go to in order to show my love. So I have to remind myself that my husband needs to be cuddled and petted sometimes in order to make sure he gets what he craves from me as well. 

If we don’t talk about those kinds of things, it could certainly be a case of “well he/she isn’t romantic and doesn’t love me” when in reality, our perception of romance is different. For me, romantic is letting me do my thing and making sure I’m not stressed. For him it’s cuddled up to him and showering him with touch. 

The bad thing about media is that a lot of the times, the only things that seem romantic are those grand gestures that people spend hours planning and hundreds of dollars on. When the small things get overlooked. “Hey hun, I thought you would like this drink, so I got it for you.” “Hey baby, I made lumpia tonight” Finding a bath has been run, or the fucking floors have been mopped so I don’t have to (He gets no more brownie points for that now that we have a robot do it though ) Or EVEN SEXIER - he did the laundry. Sometimes the grand gestures are nice, but they aren’t sustainable for every day. 

My point is that if you feel you need something in particular, you need to talk about it. No one is a mind reader and they can’t give you things that they don’t know you want. So rather than saying “I want romance” give them examples. “Bringing me flowers every now and again really makes me feel special and appreciated.” and clarify that you aren’t meaning a dozen roses, but the little $10 bouquet from the grocery store will put a silly smile on your face. 

Do you try to make the relationship romantic? Or is it only up to the man? Do you ask them what makes them feel special as well? This can be a conversation that could benefit both partners and make your relationship even better than it was before. 

#real talk #relationships

[cljordan-imperium]

👀 ✨ 🎧 for the ask game?

I'm going to go ahead and answer one tonight and the other two soon. I apologize for the delay, life and work have been killer the past few weeks. I'm going to answer the 👀 because @writingmaidenwarrior asked the same one.

👀 What first inspired you to make this story? Does it still influence the wip?

If I go all the way back to the beginning in 2001ish, Abriella's first iteration was inspired by the roleplay group I was in. They needed an elemental and a healer, and so she was born. When that group disbanded, I wrote her solo story for a while till some friends of mine who I used to play D&D with and I were talking about Cassandra Claire's Mortal Instruments books and what we liked/didn't like about them.

As we talked more we said we could write it better, and since fantasy RP can very closely resemble and online D&D game, the origins of the current story were born. The original cast was Abriella, Cruz, Dez, Talon, Talia, Char, Raguel, and Arioch. The latter two were written by the writers of Talon and Dez. At this time, they were all just Nephilim. We took the parts of Claire's Nephilim theory and world that we liked and kept them, then we through out the rest (which was the bulk of it).

We wrote for a few years and then life got in the way. When my friends stopped roleplaying online, I decided to continue to write Abriella's story (she has been known as Gabrielle, and Briella previously). Because they're all my friends, they had no problem letting me keep all of the other characters in the stories if I wanted to, and even helped me get a feel for the voices of them. I've made little changes, other than Cruz doesn't literally sound like reading the King James Bible every time he speaks. I just never could get the hang of that, but he is otherwise true to that. So for the last approximately 6 years I have written them all myself.

While watching a show on Apocalypse prophecies, I got the idea for the Four Horsemen storyline. I killed off Dez, sent Talon and Talia off, and brought in Olly and Deacon. Arch has always been a solid side character, and he's grown some since this started. While writing all of that I did extensive research into prophecies, different religious theologies, pantheistic religious beliefs, and I now know more about angels, demons, and the beliefs of most of the major world religions past and present than I ever could have considered previously.

My Horsemen are not your standard Horsemen, and there are 5. Death, War, Famine, Conquest, and Destruction. Conquest and Pestilence are often interchanged for the same Horseman due to translation differences and theological differences that would take days to explain. For what I wanted to do Conquest worked better. I took Abaddon from the Bible and made him the 5th Horseman. And, if you look at the list, they all fit.

So, starting in 2018, I wrote the preface and the origination of the Horsemen, and hundreds of chapters of 1-3k words have been written since then. The inspirations for the Nephilim and the Horsemen remains mostly unchanged. The world that they live and interact with is the same as it was. It was only now that I have added Uffern to bring in Kellan and his family, which you will learn why in the future, and Pustota for Leviathan, Abbadon, and the others to be written in since I needed something to call it here, but their stories are still true to the original inspirations for them. There are times I still have to go back and research beings from different belief systems, gods and goddesses, and religious practices. I cannot claim to be perfect, but I do try to handle every religion with the same amount of respect.

I will get to the other answers as soon as I can, but it is getting to be bedtime now, so off I go. <3

THE IMPERIUM CHRONICLES TAG LIST - @ceph-the-ghost-writer @kjscottwrites @writingpotato07 @saltysupercomputer @careful-pyromancer @late-to-the-fandom @autumnalwalker @perasperaadastrawriting @fearofahumanplanet @jessica-writes22 @dogmomwrites @mjjune @verba-writing @blind-the-winds @shipping-through-eternity @outpost51 @inkspellangel @blind-the-winds

Please ask to be +/-

#ask answered #wip ask game #writeblr #the imperium chronicles

[brainwreck]

God, I love you.

We've still yet to meet face to face, and I love you. So much. It hurts, honestly. Not because I fear I will miss my chance or mess up or never find you, but because I have no outlet. No outlet for this affection that's been building. Nowhere to place the emotions I've been bottling up; the emotions and affection and feelings I've been hiding from those around me.

Only a few know how I feel towards you. They are kind, but cannot magically make you appear. I wish it was that simple; that I could ask for you to contact me and it would happen. I do wish that. I do wish you would contact me right here, right now.

You've brought me so much joy, yet so much sorrow, and you've yet to say a word to me. Yet to allow your gaze to meet mine, yet to study me as I wish to study and learn from you. I do not blame you. No, never that. I blame myself for fighting the thing that allowed me to discover who you are for so long. I blame myself for attempting to be different, to never fall in line with the herd of sheep that drifts across the land we walk. I am stubborn, and that is my flaw. One of them, anyways.

I write to you every night. It helps, to get my thoughts out, to sort through the jumbled mess of things I feel. But you cannot see these words, nor do I wish for you to see all of it. There are things I write to you that are purely meant for my eyes, and my eyes alone, just as there are things I write to you for your eyes alone.

There are words I will speak to you at night, the nights we are alone, meant for only you. I will not say them to another, I could not say them to another. They will reside in your spirit for as long as you shall live, reminding you of how much I love you. I will make promises I know I can keep, and I will assure you I will never bring you harm. I will tell you stories and thoughts I've kept hidden from the world, of places we have yet to see, of places meant for only you and me.

You are my home, ?̶̧̛͚̗͔̬̖̯̺̰̌͐̑͌̎͂̃͘<̶̨̮̦̞͉̪̟̙̰́̎̍̅͗͘!̸̲͓͉͎̙̯̮͍̗̽͑̄́#̸̲̺͕̤̣̪͂̍̇. You are the place I belong, the one calling me. You are half my soul, half my life. You are the one thing that I never could hate, the thing that makes me smile even if the world is burning down around me. Your voice brings me a peace I've never felt before, that glimmer in your eyes causing my heart to ache. I've become a better person, for myself, thanks to you. I've done things I never imagined to have the confidence for before I found you. I've gone further than I've ever gone before, I've leapt over the boulders blocking my path. I've turned the bad into something good, I've lifted burdens from my shoulders.

No matter what stands in my way, no matter who tries to drag me down, I will not falter. I will walk a hundred thousand miles, and then a hundred thousand more, just to be by your side. You are worth the world times ten to me, ?̶̧̛͚̗͔̬̖̯̺̰̌͐̑͌̎͂̃͘<̶̨̮̦̞͉̪̟̙̰́̎̍̅͗͘!̸̲͓͉͎̙̯̮͍̗̽͑̄́#̸̲̺͕̤̣̪͂̍̇. You are my everything. The light of my life, the thing that keeps me going. You pull me from the pits of tar I entangle myself in. You keep away the cold, you shelter me from the storms. But I embrace it all, as it is part of the journey.

Soon, my love, I will tell you this. I can feel it, I know it within the deepest part of my soul.

And I will always love you.

#love #lovely #loving #cute #romantic #soft #romance #lovers #couple #goals #you and me #thought #thoughts #thinking #think #words #writer #writing #i have no words #crush #in love #unrequited love #long distance #distance #long distance romance #longing #promise #promises #plan #plans

[manisca-rye]

Winter's Heartache

Rating: General

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x OC (James Buchanan Barnes x OC)

Trope: Wartime Love (Semi-Historical)

Word Count: 2K

Synopsis: While away at war during winter, Cassia misses her husband dearly and hopes for his safe return. This semi-historical wartime fic was inspired by Song For A Winter’s Night, both the version by Sarah McLachlan and the original version by Gordon Lightfoot. Both versions are wonderful to listen to but aren’t necessary to read this story.

My Dearest Cassia,

As I write this letter to you, memories of your lovely smile, your radiant face, and your fiercely enduring gentle spirit lend me strength, even while my body grows weary with each day I spend away from you. I received and read your last letter, and was glad to hear that all is well with you.

The war continues on this front and each day brings with it battles to be fought and obstacles to overcome. The spirits of our men grow weary of death and bloodshed, and frustration plagues us all. But we persevere and continue fighting this war for our country and in His Majesty King Steven’s name. We have won battles and will continue to do so, and so shall we triumphantly defeat the treasonous pretender and his army.

I hope to be able to return to you promptly when this war comes to an end and victory is ours. But for now, I remain utterly and completely devoted to you and all that you are.

Ever yours,

James.

I gently caressed the letter I had read a hundred times now, carefully folding along the folded creases before pressing the letter to my lips as I recited the comforting words written by my husband’s hands.

I stood up and made my way to the end of our bed, opening the trunk to retrieve a keepsake box where I kept a few particular precious knick-knacks that I had accumulated over the years. And where I planned to return the letter I had been reading this evening, as I had tried to comfort myself with thoughts of James in order to keep melancholic thoughts from clouding my heart and mind.

I received the letter over a month ago and had not heard anything else from James since then. As the winter snows grew deeper and the season brought with it more snowstorms than one could handle, I continually took solace in the memories and letters that gave me hope that a time would come when I would once again be held in the arms of my husband.

The war that had taken James away from me and our family, had broken out earlier this year after someone who claimed to be a long-lost son of our recently deceased King had come up to challenge the authority of the rightful heir to the throne and brought war and chaos with him. It was said the Pretender’s army of bandits had been raiding the eastern countryside and wreaking havoc on the lives of the people there, and in turn, our newly crowned young King Steven had answered the call to protect his people and had gone to battle. As the war had continued to rage on and the bandits of the imposter Alexander Pierce continued to reign terror, King Steven had called upon his loyal vassals to serve and defend the Kingdom, and James as the oldest son of the Marquess and Marchioness of Brooklyn-upon-York, along with his younger brother Samuel, had heeded the call to battle and had been gone for the better part of this year.

I knew what James had done was noble and held with the character of bravery, courage and fierceness that I had come to admire in him. He had demonstrated all these wonderful traits and more countless times in the face of opposition to our union, from when he began courting me as the daughter of a Baron and someone considered below his station, to our marriage and thereafter.

Nonetheless, I still missed him terribly and the only comfort and assurance came from the letters his family and I had received in subsequent months since he had gone to war, and the reports we had been receiving saying the war had turned largely in our favour and the pretender King and his army of bandits were going to be defeated.

I missed James’ gentle smile and quiet laughter. I missed his shining cerulean eyes and his wonderfully strong and gentle hands that had held and caressed me time and time again. I missed his presence and his sense of responsibility in everything he did. But most of all, I desperately missed and longed for him, in his entirety.

I sighed as I made my way back to the wide window ledge where I had left the burning lamp, once again checking that the window was securely locked in place against the heavy snow falling outside. After making sure all was securely locked and the fire had been stocked, I made my way to the empty bed to attempt the chore that sleeping certainly felt like at this moment in time.

Outside, the snow raged and whistled, and I imagined I could hear James’ voice whispering through it, words of comfort and reassurance. I certainly hoped and prayed that he was well, though I hadn't heard anything more from him after his last letter and the reply I had sent back. I hoped in time he would return to me unharmed and whole.

***************

The next morning, I was in the Great Hall breaking my fast with a hearty meal of wheat grain and barley porridge, as I chatted with Margaret, James’ young sister, who was seated next to me at the table occupied by the members of the Barnes family. The Great Hall was filled with chatter as the castle occupants broke their fasts in preparation for the duties that lay ahead.

I nodded along to Peggy’s recounting of her recent lessons with her tutors among other things, casually looking around and noticing a member of the castle guard talking quietly to Lord Barnes where he was situated a little ways away from me. I could not properly hear what they were discussing due to the surrounding chatter and Peggy’s voice next to me, but I hoped it was nothing too worrying as Lord Barnes’ expression was unreadable to me.

Lord Barnes, though still capable and strong, had been unable to lead the armies of the North in the ongoing war due to his declining health in recent years. And so his eldest son and heir had led the armies, as James was an experienced warrior, strategist and tactician in his own right.

I realised when Peggy went silent that she had stopped talking and turned to her as she questioned, “You’re not even listening, are you?”

I shook my head as I gave her a rueful smile in apology and replied, “I’m sorry, my attention drifted for a moment. What did you say last?”

“I was saying...” Peggy then explained her thoughts about how the winter monsters of folktales probably roamed around during winter storms such as the one we had last night, and she wondered if they did indeed capture solitary people who accidentally found themselves outside during such a storm.

“Let’s hope not. It would be dreadful if monsters captured people during winter storms because then everyone would be afraid to ever go out during winter for fear of getting caught.” I replied, pulling my heavy shawl closer around me to hold off the chill despite the lit fireplace a little ways away from where I was seated.

As we continued chatting, a silence fell over the Great Hall making me halt my words as I turned to look around and faced where Lord Barnes was now stood with the guardsman standing off to the side.

Lord Barnes began in his quiet yet commanding voice, “I have received news that is most welcome.” We all waited for him to continue. “A messenger arrived this morning with news that the Northern host that matched with James and Samuel are on their way. The war has been worn and the armies of the North return victorious.”

An uproarious cheer went up amongst those gathered in the Great Hall, and I joined in the happy cheering and exclamations as I realized James was finally returning home at last.

***************

The snow in the main courtyard had been partially cleared away, and it was now nearing mid-afternoon as the household of Barnes Fortress had gathered in the courtyard to await the arrival of the Northern armies that had been spotted and were expected to arrive soon.

I was anxious and beyond excited, and my mood was shared by many who also awaited their own loved ones who had gone off to war. I stood in line next to Lady Barnes where she stood next to her husband, and Margaret stood after me as we awaited the return of James and all those who had gone to war.

The sound of the horn announced the fact that the army procession was entering the gates of the castle, and though I didn’t have long to wait, those few moments felt like forever before the procession led by soldiers on horseback, wearing the colors and sigils of House Barnes and other houses of Brooklyn-upon-York bled into the courtyard.

When James, Samuel, and other soldiers that had led the procession dismounted and began making their way to where we stood, I caught James’ eye as he came towards us and I forgot all Lady-like etiquette as I took off and run into his now open arms, embracing him as quiet sobs of happiness spilled out of me. The feeling of having him right in my arms with his own arms wrapped around me was indescribable elation and happiness that made me feel as though we were the only two people in a world of our own.

The fierceness of my embrace was only matched by his own returning embrace as I silently whispered, “I can’t believe you’re finally here.” While we continued embracing each other.

We were brought back to the world around us as Lady Barnes came up to us and gently but forcefully called, “James, Cassia.” When we reluctantly untangled ourselves though we still held on to each other’s hands, we turned to where she stood next to us and noticed that some of the people in the courtyard were starting to make their way into the castle.

James squeezed my hand before letting go as he hugged his Mother, who advised, “Let us make our way inside.  You will have time to yourselves later, but for now, we must go in.”

After a short speech given by Lord Barnes in the Great Hall thanking the Northern armies and announcing that a feast would be held in honour of their return, James was called away for a brief council to report on the war as he promised to return to me as soon as he was able.

When James returned to our chambers about an hour later, I instructed a serving maid to oversee the preparation of a hot bath and to have light refreshments brought up, before James and I moved further into our chambers and finally had a moment to ourselves.

I assisted James in taking off his leather armor and laid it all aside until he was left only in an under tunic and breeches before he sat on the bed and I joined him, sitting on his lap with my arms around his neck and my head resting in his neck, ignoring the scent and sweat of days worth of travel as he held me around my waist and we sat in silence, basking in this unhurried moment.

Conversation and duties would come later, and we had a feast we would be attending tonight in celebration of a war that was won in our favor, but for now, simply having this quiet moment to ourselves meant the world and so we enjoyed it for the rarity it was.

#bucky barnes x oc #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes x black reader #bucky barnes x black oc #bucky barnes x poc reader #husband!bucky barnes #wife!reader #black!reader #poc!reader #bucky barnes imagine #winter soldier x reader #interracial #marvel #mcu #captain america #fanfiction for black girls #black in fanfiction #the falcon and the winter soldier #winter #snow

[violettabalkoff]

the first girl I ever loved:

Spoke softly. She never knew how to make herself big in a small room. But she’d send me letters covered in hearts and stickers and glitter glue, and to me, she was brighter than the sun. She wore mismatched socks and kept her curly hair short. I wrote her a million poems, but only showed her a few. Her hands were small and fit so nicely in mine, and I loved how her clothes smelled like her room, like burnt incense and yellow roses. We liked all the same music, but really I just liked her, and that made me love everything she touched. 

I knew I loved her before I let myself feel it. Everything reminded me of her. She was my shooting star at 2:22am. Coincidences were penned in her name, as I swore the Universe had brought us together. She brought me and a tin of watercolors to her favorite beach down in Malibu. I let her paint my face and arms up and down. I closed my eyes and imagined that every blue brush stroke was her fingertip, coloring me with her affection. 

Knowing her made me want to read every book and paint my nails pink and write hundreds of love stories—all for her. It was not enough to hold her. I wanted, more than anything, to hear her every unspoken word and see the colors of her soul. I only hugged her to bring her heart closer to mine. I loved how she felt like my secret: nobody, but us, could see the way we looked at each other. And nobody else could feel the artifacts she carved in the corner of my mind. 

Sometimes she would lay her head on my shoulder in bed. Sometimes she would ask me to skinny dip at midnight. And sometimes she’d be driving me down a winding hill and the wind made the music sound like it was a beating heart and I could barely see the road through my rose colored glasses and she would tell me how she was in love with another girl. I cried in the bathroom in the name of she’ll never love me the way I love her. But love is not a light-switch. I couldn’t let her go, just as she couldn’t let Mary go. I was there in front of her, naked and cold and beaming pink with love, and she couldn’t let Mary go. And I couldn’t let her go, either. 

We drank a whole bottle of wine on my bedroom carpet. I cleaned for hours before she arrived, setting each candle and match-box in their perfect places. She told me I was beautiful, and we kissed on my shower floor. And we kissed again on my bed. And in the morning, it was all over and friendly again, and I closed my eyes when she took off her top in front of me. I was so in love with her that it hurt to breathe. She had to leave early in the morning. Mary was taking her to San Francisco. She couldn’t hide her excitement, even though they were just friends in love, too. 

That summer I decided that she was one of the great loves of my life. It was not our time, but I swore to keep her close until it was. I believed with my whole heart that we would get married. These days I’m not so sure. I gave her a kiss on the cheek before she left for autumn in New York, and cried in my car to the thought of her goodbye. We met up a few times when the leaves rotted, and we’d talk about our own little journeys in our own big worlds and hug hello or goodbye at the train station. One of those nights, we kissed for so long that my red lipstick disappeared. I showed her a song the next morning, telling her that it reminded me of her. She smiled and said that that song always reminded her of Mary. It would always be their song. And Mary would always be her girl. She said that her and Mary knew they were in love, they just didn’t know what to do with it. 

Somehow it all feels so long ago now. I’m not sure which one of us stopped responding to the other’s letters, but to be honest, it was probably me. It didn’t matter that she had my whole heart—I only had half of her’s. I wasn’t strong enough to wait for her the way she needed me to. I last saw her in summer. Time had led me to somebody else’s lips, and I was gray with guilt from loving another—the way I promised to love only her. Eventually I fell too deep to reach her, and our chapter weeped her final sentences. I told her “I love you” when we hugged goodbye. Like I always did. 

A part of me holds her hand in my mind. Her sweet, quiet laugh. Her freckled nose. Her green eyes. Her rose lips. Even if I wanted to, I could never let her go. We could kiss and I could pretend like there was never anything else. If only, if only, if only her heart was only mine.

#writing

[lintlesunflowerwritings]

A desk full of letters.

There's tens, certainly more than a hundred now that i think of it. I have a beaten up old desk full of the letters I’ve never sent. I couldn't bring myself to throw away the ones I wrote just for you. I can't sacrifice the raw emotions that spill from me with every late night word. I've waited days, weeks, months, years… I've waited 23 long years to hear your voice again. It’ll be soon, if my theories are right. A few years more at most.

“Why do I have to wait this long?”  I ask myself every day and I can never find an answer that makes it make sense to me. But I wait regardless. One mercy I find is that I can still hear your voice in my ear, young still and sounding just as lonely as I feel, but it's yours. 

I've been keeping an eye out for you, just as I do the others, but you especially so. I've been watching you live your life from afar, watching you find yourself and your passions and grow into a man I'm proud to call my childhood friend. I'm still here, right where you left me waiting for the day I get to call you and hear your voice as it is now.

It's getting harder to wait here though, I'm sure you could have guessed. It's getting harder and harder everyday to rip my hand from the phone with your name already sitting heavy on my lips and a mournful thump in my heart.

So I write these letters, letters I could never dare to send yet can't throw away either. They lay in stacks banded together in my desk, growing more and more with every late night. I'm surprised by my own passion within the ink that bleeds together with the frantic scratch on my pen. And I find with every one my heart lightens, if only for a moment. My heart feels just a touch less than bursting.

So I'll keep writing these letters to you in my desk that I'll never send.

[steveskafte]

A LIVING POET It might not seem immediately apparent, but I'm really only in this for one main reason – I wanted to be a poet. From the very beginning, putting emotional imagery into some rhythmic, rhyming pattern was the only reason I ever wrote. Poet is now an artistic occupation so intensely obsolete that even calling yourself one just stinks of pretension. It's been that way since at least the 1960s, perhaps the last era that any average citizen knew the name of a living poet. That's also when poetry moved more into the influence of singer-songwriters – a profession I greatly admire, but one naturally closed to non-singers like me. For the first seven years that I called myself a writer, from 2005 till 2012, I wrote nothing but poetry. Those six hundred poems from my late teens and early twenties contain so much writing I'm still proud of now, written when I had no other use for words. From the very beginning, I was drawn to how immediate it all was. I started writing with a pen or keyboard, like you'd expect, but eventually moved into writing all my poems out loud. Harnessing talking to myself made it feel all the more personal, making something expressive out of what I already tend to do when I'm alone. I've never taken more than thirty minutes to write a poem, and never edit once I'm done. I figure if it's not perfect, then maybe the next one will be. I always found something romantic in the notion of writing straight from the heart, not mulling over and rearranging your work for weeks on end. I love how a poem asks very little of a reader. If they waste a couple minutes, no worries. But if they're moved, it could bring them back a hundred times again. I love how something so short can give someone a reason to live. It know it sure has given me mine. But poetry is not the most monetizable of arts. Aside from my polaroid-poems that I write live and by request for $20, and seven self-published poetry books that I sell for $18 each, there are few available avenues of income. That's where photography and all my other writing comes in. Most (relatively) famous folks in the poetry scene make their name through either preaching to the choir with intensely political subject matter or slam poetry (basically shouting at the audience). Neither are suited to me. I love folk poetry in the most genuine and personal sense, and use every exposure I get to draw my audience back to it. A few days ago, I posted a video for my recent poem: "Fales River Bridge". That piece means more to me than weeks of everything else I do put together. Things like that are why I do this, why my voice is one you even know exists. Don't get me wrong, I have an affinity for exploring and photography, and prose can be a pleasure to write. But there's a lot of my heart out there – and it's mostly in my poems. Hold fast. August 18, 2022 Beaconsfield, Nova Scotia Year 15, Day 5394 of my daily journal. ~ ~ ~ Order a polaroid-poem, or get a poetry book here: www.etsy.com/shop/SteveSkafte