#if you read this far. WOW. twenty parts. TWENTY.

[exitpursuedbyavulcan]

Studious II (Aemond Targaryen x Reader) 18+

After your last coupling, Prince Aemond has been acting quite strangely toward you. It doesn't make sorting out your own feeling for him any easier...

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

Warnings: smut (kinda?) , male masturbation, female masturbation (attempted), more Aegon commentary, more Aemond awkwardness

Author's Note: WOW, I was not expecting anyone to like my awkward Aemond brain dump, but boy howdy did y'all... I hope this lives up to the hype!

Read Part I Here - Read Part III Here - Read Part IV Here

My Masterlist

Taglist below the cut

Studious II

The day after his marriage, utterly distraught by the look of confusion and dissatisfaction on his wife’s face after the bedding, Prince Aemond Targaryen came to terms with the fact that he desperately needed help. And though it went against every instinct he had to ask for it, he would much rather admit this weakness – this shortcoming – than suffer seeing that disappointment on her sweet face each time he came to her.

He went to Grand Maester Orwyle first. For while he had taken a vow of chastity, his knowledge of anatomy would be more than useful. Besides, he had always been kind and patient with Aemond during their lessons in his youth – he would not judge the Prince for this failing.

For more practical knowledge, he asked Lord Jasper Wylde, his father’s Master of Laws. His long-held position on the Small Council proved he could be trusted. More than that, the man had seeded twenty-seven surviving legitimate children thus far, and another was soon expected. ‘Ironrod’ clearly knew what he was doing.

Lastly, Aemond reluctantly enlisted the help of his older brother. He had his doubts about whether Aegon actually knew anything useful. Still, no one could deny that he had more relevant experience than anyone in King’s Landing who was not a whore.

Aemond listened to their advice diligently, as if it were no different from anything else he had studied. And, like always, he had been a good student.

The glorious sounds his wife had made when he started putting his lessons to use still echoed in his mind. The gentle whine when he had kissed her. The sharp inhale when he had started caressing her. The shiver that ran through her when he found her ‘pearl,’ as Aegon had called it. And her delicious gasp when he found that sweet spot inside her.

But there were other sounds – worse sounds. The alarm in her voice after he had brushed his tongue against her lips. Her confusion as to why he was touching her at all. How her eyes had gone wide with panic when he began to pleasure her, and how she had begged him to stop.

And every time he closed his eyes, he saw her hiding her face in her pillows after he smiled at seeing her find her own pleasure as he thrust into her – as though the very idea of enjoying being with him was something incomprehensible. Like it scared her.

She hadn’t wanted to look at him, kiss him, or be pleased by him. And she hadn’t come.

So, he assembled his advisors the next day, seeking some explanation of what he had done wrong. Or new instructions on how to please her in a way she wouldn’t eschew.

They had quickly decided the solution wasn’t some new technique, but for Aemond to ‘woo’ her.

The prospect at once delighted and terrified him.

At least he had advisors to help him figure out how.

Indeed, Lord Wylde had taken on the demeanour of a man plotting a war. He asked Aemond to list every detail he knew about his new bride and wrote everything he said word-for-word on a piece of parchment, along with his own commentary and musings on strategies.

Aegon’s comments and observations, mostly concerning her breasts, were not written down.

But the elder Prince did not mind, as he was quickly distracted by his own interrogation of Grand Maester Orwyle. He wanted to know precisely when, why, and how the Maester had pleasured Helaena.

Once Orwyle finished giving him the details, it was clear the Prince was far more impressed than offended. When Aegon finally turned back to the matter at hand, the Maester said a silent prayer of thanks that he was not going to lose his head.

After more than an hour of strategising, they had devised several courses of action for Aemond to try.

“She will be so enamoured by you that you won’t even have to touch her to get her to come,” Aegon declared proudly.

Orwyle and Wylde winced at the Prince’s crass words, but could not deny they also felt confident in the plan.

Aemond growled at his brother, eye blazing with rage. “This isn’t just about sex, Aegon. I want... I want her to like me.”

He sighed and slumped in his chair, running a hand over his flushed face. While he would never admit it aloud, he wanted so much more than to just be liked by his wife.

He wanted her to feel the same thing he felt exploding in his chest every time he looked at her. The intensity of the feeling was more frightening than losing his eye had been. And more thrilling than his first flight on Vhagar.

More than anything, he wanted her to love him – as he loved her.

But as his fingers grazed the leather strap of his eyepatch, he knew it was an impossible dream.

She was so beautiful. So gentle and kind. So pure and full of light.

He was monstrous. In the years since losing his eye, he had become as hideous in his soul as he was in the flesh. He had delved so deep into the darkness of his anger, resentment, and hatred that he knew there was no escape.

Until she had come into his life.

From the first moment he saw her step out of her father’s carriage, he knew that if she looked on him affectionately and allowed her holy light to shine upon him just once… perhaps he could be saved from damnation.

“I need her to like me,” he sighed, feeling not like the fearsome Prince and warrior he was, but like a whimpering, desperate child.

A dozen snide, and admittedly quite witty, comments died on Aegon’s lips. Once, he would not have hesitated to say them, to laugh at the hurt in his brother’s eyes.

But that was before Driftmark.

Before he had failed to protect Aemond from their bastard nephews – spurred on by the very teasing Aegon had once led them in. Though he wasn’t there when the eye was actually cut, he knew that if he hadn’t been such a twat before then, his brother would be whole.

He would still be an awkward, pathetic mess with no clue how to fuck a woman properly, but… he wouldn’t think himself so unworthy of his wife.

“Well,” Aegon drawled, slipping back into the mask of the blithe, carefree Prince everyone knew him to be. “I think we can at least manage ‘like.’ Now, get off your brooding ass, woo the girl, and make her come!”

-

You sat comfortably in a secluded corner of the Red Keep’s library, reading the book you had been forced to set down after your husband’s arrival in your chambers the night before.

Libraries were all the same, no matter where they were. The peaceful quiet interrupted only by the turning of heavy pages every so often. The soft shafts of yellow sunlight streaming through the small windows – stained glass, if you were lucky. The smell of old paper and well-worn leather.

It was far too easy to imagine you were back in your father’s library at home. Even better, this little corner you found felt as private as your own rooms.

More private, perhaps. Here, Prince Aemond could not barge in requesting you perform your marital duties.

Or so you thought.

A shadow stopped in front of you, blocking out the mottled sunlight you were using to read. Thinking that perhaps it was later than you’d thought, and one of the Maesters had come to tell you that you’d once again stayed past the library curfew, you looked up with a polite smile.

And met the single violet eye of your husband.

“Good afternoon, wife,” he greeted, dipping his head slightly and giving a decidedly awkward smile.

With his dimples, he was very nearly handsome when he smiled. But it did not quite reach his eye, and his brow was set too hard for you to truly see him as such.

Blinking rapidly as you tried to quickly hide your disappointment that your private reading spot was discovered, you returned the smile as best you could. “Husband.”

Aemond stared at you as though he expected more, as was apparently his habit, but you only stared back.

Why should it fall to you to put more effort into the marriage than he did?

Finally, he cleared his throat slightly. “I was wondering if I may join you in your reading? I noticed last night that you were reading Valyrian history. It is a favourite subject of mine.”

Indeed, you had begun studying the history of House Targaryen more in-depth the moment your betrothal was announced. You wanted to familiarise yourself with the family you were to join.

Though your ideas about becoming a true member of the family faded quickly, you continued your research. As much as the disappointment of your marriage had made you loathe to admit it, it was a fascinating history.

But now it meant Aemond wanted to read with you…

“I am sure you’ve read this particular history before,” you said, shyly showing him the title. It was little more than a beginner’s primer, almost more a storybook than a proper history, but you had to start somewhere. “Would you not rather read something more… novel?”

He laughed slightly, and you realised you had just unintentionally made a play on words. And not even a particularly clever one.

“Seeing my family’s history through your eyes would be quite ‘novel,’ as you so cleverly put it,” he replied, obviously quite determined, if he was willing to compliment you.

Was that… the first compliment he ever gave you?

When he smiled at you like that, it brought you back to the way he smiled when he had done… whatever it was he had done while he was inside you that made your vision burst into stars.

You blushed as heat pooled in your stomach at the memory, and the feelings that came with it. Your feelings about him, which you hadn’t yet allowed yourself to sort through – if you even wanted to.

He had made you feel so small and unwanted in the training yard when he grimaced and ran away from you. But then he had touched you so gently and gazed at you reverently at your slight gasp of pleasure like it was as beautiful a sound as he’d ever heard.

And then he left. Again.

But that was what you wanted – wasn’t it?

You had no idea what you wanted. And right now, figuring it out wasn’t your primary concern.

What he wanted from you was.

You prayed it was honestly just to discuss history.

So, you smiled as genuinely as you could and gestured to the seat across from you. “Then I would be… happy to have you join me.”

His eye lingered slightly on the seat next to you, but he nodded and took the seat you indicated.

You looked at him. He looked at you.

“Should I…” you began, at the exact moment he opened his mouth to speak.

You looked down, clamping your lips shut to let him speak first – as a good wife does.

He let out a sound halfway between a laugh and a sigh before setting his hand on the table. You watched as he flexed his fingers, wondering for a moment if he wanted you to reach out as well – if he wanted to hold your hand.

It was a ridiculous thought. One you silently scolded yourself for as you gripped the book harder, keeping your hands firmly where they were.

Silence fell as he mulled over his words, the left corner of his mouth twitching every so often as though he had almost decided what to say. Not wanting to interrupt, you simply sat there, pondering how uncomfortable you had become in this once-soothing place.

When it was just you, you savoured the silence. When he was here, you abhorred it.

“Do you have any questions?” Aemond asked, finally breaking the silence.

His words confused you. Was he referring to the book or to him? You had so many questions about what he had done last night, though you were more than a little afraid to ask them.

“What kind of questions should I have?” you replied, ashamed by how small your voice came out. Hopefully, he interpreted it as respect for the library.

He quirked his head, his lips again spreading in that not-quite smile, not-quite frown he often made after you had said something to him. Then, on the table, his hand curled into a fist.

“Just…” he gestured to the book. “Questions about what you don’t understand. I would be more than happy to help you.”

If your mind had been clearer, perhaps you would have seen the offer for what it was: a genuine desire to help and, perhaps, a way to get to know you better.

But something about Aemond clouded all your good sense as thoroughly as a stormy sea.

Your brow instantly furrowed in anger. Did he really think you were so stupid you could not understand a simple book meant for children?

“I have no questions,” you said coldly, your voice louder and harder than before.

Aemond blinked, his eye widening as he reached further across the table toward you. “I… I have studied the histories extensively, and I know they are complicated and difficult to understand. If there is anything that you are struggling with, or – ”

“Of course,” you cut him off. All your mother’s advice about how to be a good, dutiful wife was long forgotten as your anger rose higher and higher. “It is quite a difficult book. The words, I’m afraid, are well past my simple understanding. I’ve actually only been looking at the illustrations.”

His face was frozen, his eye wide, and his mouth hanging slightly open. He looked remarkably like a freshly caught fish. You laughed at the thought, slammed the book shut, and stood.

“Although,” you hissed. “Even the pictures have started to become too ‘complicated’ for me. I’m afraid my headache is returning.”

He finally blinked and leaned across the table, truly reaching for your hand now. “No… I didn’t…”

You stepped away, harshly pulling your hand away from his. “If you will excuse me, husband. I must rest before the evening meal, or else I fear I will be too exhausted to participate in any intelligent conversation.”

That look of hurt again came over Aemond’s face, but you were far too angry to care. As you stomped out of the library, you did look back at him once.

If you had, you would have seen him slump over in his chair with his head in his hands before he pounded his clenched fist against the wood table, earning quite the scolding from a nearby Maester.

-

You once again did not attend the evening meal with Aemond and his family.

It had been a hard decision to come to. You had even dressed before finally deciding to remain in your rooms. But in the end, you supposed that the consequences of missing a second night would be easier to endure than an evening sitting next to your husband.

Your husband, who so obviously disliked you and thought you were an idiot.

That was what he had insinuated, wasn’t it? Why else would he have offered you help in understanding a children’s history book?

It was stupid of you to even want to read about Targaryen history, you scolded yourself. It was little more than a repetitive tale of countless generations of dragonriders who all shared the same handful of names. A stupid story about a stupid civilisation.

But as you sat at your desk eating your solitary meal, you couldn’t help but wish you hadn’t left the book in the library.

You contemplated sending one of your maids to fetch it, but you had no doubt Aemond would hear about it. That is, if he hadn’t just taken it himself.

Oh gods, what if he had?

He would find the notes you had made and tucked into the cover – including the family tree you sketched to keep all the names straight. It would only confirm his suspicions about your intellect.

You could picture his smug smile when he found the notes. The way the corners of his mouth would lift just enough to expose his dimples. There would be an arrogant twinkle in that violet eye. Perhaps he would be so amused by his simple-minded wife that he would have to bite his lip to hold back a laugh. Those lovely pink lips that had felt so soft on yours…

Shaking your head violently to banish the foolish, lustful thoughts, you took a long drink of your wine. Hopefully, it would soothe your nerves enough for you to think about anything but Aemond. Or at least enough to calm your breathing and banish the heat that bloomed beneath your thighs.

Once again, you lost your appetite and sent your meal away only half-eaten.

You needed to pray.

That was the only answer. The only way you could rid your mind of these horrible, sinful thoughts.

You had only just grabbed your copy of The Seven-Pointed Star when there was a knock at the door.

Not again.

“Who is it?” you asked, heart pounding with both nervousness and anticipation.

“It is Grand Maester Orwyle, Princess,” came an unfamiliar voice. “The Queen sent word you were unwell.”

A great wave of relief and disappointment washed over you, your book falling to the floor as your hands went slack. “Yes, come in,” you called.

Then, to yourself, you whispered, “I am quite unwell, indeed.”

-

The next afternoon, you sat comfortably on your couch, still in your nightgown and robe. It was improper, yes. But after assessing you in your somewhat panicked state the night before, Orwyle commanded you be relieved of your duties for the next few days.

‘Duties’ was a strong word, as your responsibilities only required you to stand silently next to your husband at court and gossip with the Ladies in the afternoon.

Still, you were glad to be rid of them, even if only for a few days. You had plans to go to Sept and pray and to sort out your feelings for your husband – the frightening, complicated feelings that had you so rattled that the Grand Maester himself thought you to be genuinely ill.

But not today.

Today, you would simply rest, drink your chamomile tea, and read the books your maid had fetched from the library.

None of them were history books. That had been the one requirement you had. Well, that and no romance.

So, as you sipped your tea, you allowed yourself to fall into the world of your book – a world of grand adventure, mythical beasts, and a pirate lord with a dashing smile and eyepatch…

Damn.

You threw the book aside, dangerously near the lit hearth, and crossed your arms. But before you could get too far into your wallowing, there was a knock at your door. Again.

“Who is it?” you called, eyes blazing as though you could see through the wood and smite whoever stood behind the door.

There was silence.

“It is Aemond,” came his soft, melodic voice. “May I please come in?”

You clenched your jaw, willing yourself to say ‘no. No, I don’t want to see you.’

“Yes, you may,” your voice said instead. You baulked, unsure how the words came out so wrong.

The moment he stepped through the door, you turned your eyes down. You didn’t want to look at him, for you knew if you did, your logic would abandon you as whatever it was you felt for him overcame you.

But then you caught a flash of bright pink, and your head snapped up.

Aemond was carrying a small bouquet of dog roses, your favourite flower.

The large blooms were the most vibrant pink you had ever seen, perhaps even more so than in the fields where they grew back at home. Even the dot of yellow in their centres seemed as bright as the sun.

They seemed so out of place against the wall of black leather that was Aemond.

Slowly, you looked up from the flowers to face your husband. He had crossed the room to stand before you – awkwardly, as always. His lips were pursed, and his brow set in a deep furrow.

“I’m sorry,” he said quickly and quietly, stiffly holding the flowers out to you. “For what I said yesterday.”

You did not move to take them. Did not blink. Did not breathe.

“I did not mean to offend you,” he continued, arm still extended. With the flowers only inches from your face, you could see how tightly he held the stems – his knuckles were bone white. “I spoke without thinking, and my words did not accurately reflect my intentions. I only meant – ”

His voice faltered as you reached up for the flowers. You did not want him to snap the stems. They would die more quickly if he did.

As your fingers brushed his, he flinched, dropping the flowers unceremoniously onto your lap. You immediately grabbed them, carefully examining each bloom to ensure it was not damaged. Thankfully, they were intact.

You stared and stared at them, memories flooding your mind. Every year, your entire family would journey to the fields where the dog roses bloomed. First, you would picnic together in the grass, the happiest meal of the year. Then, when you were finished, you and your siblings would race to examine each flower, competing to see who could find the loveliest bloom.

They would do so without you this year.

Distantly, you heard Aemond saying your name, drawing your attention back to him. He was frowning, his brow crumpled. “I thought…” he whispered, “I thought you would like them.”

You blinked, confused by his words. But the motion sent the tears welling in your eyes spilling down your cheeks. You were so caught up in your memories you did not notice you were crying.

As you looked back down at the flowers, you missed the subtle movement of Aemond’s hand, reaching out to wipe the tears away. Instead, when you moved away, he clenched his fist so tightly that his nails began to bite into his palm.

“I miss home,” was all you could say before the tears began to fall in earnest.

Aemond stepped back, bumping into the low table before the couch. “I’m so sorry,” he murmured. “I did not mean to upset you.”

Then he turned, stumbling into the table once more, and left.

As the sound of the shutting door echoed in your mind, you did not know whether you were still crying from your homesickness, or because he had left you again.

-

After Aemond left, and you had finally stopped crying, you had one of your maids set the bouquet in a vase. But not before you had carefully inspected each stem to be sure they were intact.

Somehow, they were.

You put the vase on your vanity where the flowers could catch the sunlight before crawling into your bed, intending to take a nap after what was an unintentionally exhausting morning.

But you did not find sleep.

Instead, you stared at the ceiling, thinking over what Aemond said.

He had apologised for making you feel stupid, and then you immediately cried over flowers.

You had never felt more stupid.

And now you felt like you needed to apologise.

So, despite having Orwyle’s official permission to skip all your obligations, you finally rose from your bed as the sun set and asked your maids to dress you for dinner.

Because you made your decision to attend the evening meal at the last minute, the rest of the family had already begun eating when you arrived.

Aemond, who sat facing the door, was the first to see you. His eye immediately went wide, and he stood so quickly that a servant had to catch his chair before it toppled to the ground.

Aegon began laughing hysterically.

Queen Alicent shushed him once before she stood, giving you a mildly concerned but otherwise pleasant smile. “I’m so glad you could join us, my dear,” she said pleasantly as she gestured for you to sit. “We were beginning to worry about you.”

“I have simply been tired,” you assured her as you slowly walked around the table to your place. Curious, they had still set a place for you, despite your missing the last two meals. “Adjusting to life at court has been more difficult than I thought.”

As you came to stand before your chair, Aemond held a hand out to help you sit. Then, just as you had only hours before, you looked from his hand to his face. His brow was still set in a furrow, but he was almost smiling.

You took his hand, squeezing it tighter than you usually would. The only forgiveness you could give while being watched by his mother, grandsire, and siblings.

He seemed to understand, giving you a real smile – a breathtakingly beautiful smile – as you sat. You wanted to return it, but all your lips would do was tremble pathetically. You were sure that if you opened your mouth, you would burst into tears. So, you fixed your eyes on your plate and listened to the idle conversation around you.

Aemond himself began serving your plate, somehow knowing exactly what you liked and what you didn’t. When he finished, you looked over to him briefly and nodded your thanks, earning another of those beautiful smiles.

Your stomach flipped, and you told yourself it was only because you were hungry.

Neither you nor Aemond said anything to each other for the rest of the meal. Instead, you were more than content to simply listen. Or try to.

You were all too aware of every movement Aemond made. The way his long, elegant fingers gripped his goblet. The severe line of his jaw moving when he responded to his grandsire’s questions. The way he sat, legs bowed slightly outward to allow him comfortably at the table.

If you weren’t careful, your leg would brush against his.

You made sure to be very careful.

What you were not aware of was Prince Aegon’s eyes on you, noticing each time your eyes slid to his brother. Every so often, he would dip his chin and raise his brows when he made eye contact with Aemond, nodding toward you in encouragement.

Aemond noticed, but did nothing to act on it.

Not until the meal was ended and everyone rose from the table. He stepped to your side and extended his arm, accidentally bumping you, rather firmly, with his sharp elbow and causing you to jump away from him.

“I’m sorry,” Aemond said hastily. “I just… I hoped I could escort you back to your chambers?”

You looked at him for a moment, at the near-pleading in his eye, and nodded, slipping your arm into his for the first time since your wedding ceremony, and began to lead you through the castle halls.

As your private chambers were separate from the rest of the family’s, you were alone as you walked. You were not sure whether you were grateful for it or not.

The silence was palpable and nearly painful.

“Thank you,” you whispered, and Aemond stumbled at the unexpected sound. “For the flowers, I mean. They are a favourite from home.”

You looked up at him, and he gave another half-smile, but said nothing.

Silence fell once more.

“You look very beautiful tonight,” Aemond said, nearly shouting the sudden words. The corner of his lips twitched when you looked at him in shock. “This dress suits you much better than the one you wore yesterday, and is far more flattering than your nightclothes.”

Any warmth you felt at the initial compliment was thoroughly snuffed out at the remainder of the comment. Though you once more felt like crying, you schooled your features into indifference as you turned away from him, only looking straight ahead.

“I did not know you disliked them so,” you muttered, removing your arm from his and clasping your hands in front of you. You fixed your gaze straight ahead and did not waver. “I will not wear them again.”

Aemond stilled, but you did not break your stride. You only knew he followed after a moment when you heard the soft sounds of his boots against stone.

You walked in silence until you reached your door, then turned back to him. “Is there anything you require of me tonight, husband?”

He wore that expression of hurt that caused your chest to tighten, but you did not allow yourself to react. Finally, after a long moment, he licked his lips and shook his head once.

That was all the dismissal you needed. You opened your door just enough to slip through and shut it firmly behind you.

You did not speak to your maids as they prepared you for bed until they presented you with one of your favourite cotton nightgowns and your robe.

“Not those,” you whispered, though you longed for their comfort and warmth. “Something else. Anything else.”

They dressed you in one of the thin silk nightdresses, one which matched the colour of the dress you just removed. Though it was soft and luxurious against your skin, as you settled beneath your covers, you felt cold.

In the hall, Aemond took a stumbling step forward to rest his forehead against your door, his hand resting on the handle but not moving. He stayed like that for many long moments, silently cursing himself, before he stepped away and retreated to his own chambers.

-

The following day, you woke still feeling tired. It had been hard to find sleep when you felt so cold. When curling into yourself still did not warm you, you rose from the bed and stalked to your dressing room, determined to find your more comfortable nightclothes.

But the moment you ran your hand over the well-worn brocade of your robe, Aemond’s words again echoed in your mind.

He was right. It was not flattering. Your father had it made when you were younger, and he had obviously expected you to grow as large and tall as your brothers. But you had not, and the robe still overwhelmed your frame.

Your maids had offered to take it in to make it fit better, but you had denied them. You liked the way you could disappear into it, how it could double as a blanket, the way it streamed behind you as you ran through the halls of your father’s keep.

It was familiar – it was home.

Now Aemond had ruined it, as he had your dreams of a happy marriage.

Reluctantly, you rang the bell for your maids, apologising for the late hour, and asked for another blanket.

But worse than the aching in your bones and the heaviness of your head was the sinking feeling in your stomach when your maids told you that Aemond had sent word asking you to come watch him fight in the training yard.

No reason was given. Why would there be? A man did not need a reason to summon his wife.

You wanted to ignore the request. With Orwyle’s orders that you should rest, you easily could. Yet you could not deny the sinful part of you that remembered how you felt watching him train only days ago.

With his sword in hand, Aemond was a different man. He was graceful and confident – the Prince you imagined when you first heard of your betrothal. The sight of him had lit the smouldering fire of desire within you, shameful as it was.

Despite your prayers, the memory of his seeming indifference, and his more recent insults, you could not deny you wanted to see that man again.

So, you once again donned your warmest cloak – only after confirming with your maids countless times that it was flattering – and headed to the training yard.

Aemond was not in the ring when you arrived but sulking by a table full of weapons. His arms were crossed tightly in front of him, and though he faced the ring, he was not truly focused on the fight. He looked as distant as he did on your wedding night, just before he asked you to get in the bed.

That is until one of the Kingsguard – the Dornish one – pointed to you on the ramparts, and he looked to you.

You braced for another grimace, but it did not come. Were it not for the slight, almost hopeful raise of his brows, you would think him completely indifferent.

He turned back to the weapons table, quickly selecting a longsword and walking to the ring, barking an order that immediately disbanded the current melee. You watched him jump up and down, stretching and shaking his limbs to prepare for his own fight.

The Kingsguard stepped into the ring with him, wielding a large morningstar. The sight of the fearsome weapon sent a shiver of fear through your veins, but you quickly brushed it aside in favour of a small surge of pride.

You had seen Aemond fight. Surely success would come easily.

Though perhaps not.

At the first strike of the Morningstar, Aemond fell to one knee as his shield shattered. You startled, prompting the old Lord to your side to set a hand on your back and whisper his assurances.

“The Prince is a fine warrior,” he said, “a single strike will not fell him.”

But it was not only the one strike.

Over and over, the Kingsguard’s weapon struck, Aemond only barely avoiding it each time.

Once, after Aemond was forced to concede several steps back, the Kingsguard let his offensive stance fall and whispered something. Your husband only growled back at him, loud enough for you to hear from where you watched. Though even in the ferocity of his new advance, he fumbled through his strikes.

This was not the man you watched in the training yard before. However, there were hints of him, sometimes – a graceful swing of the sword, the agile avoidance of an incoming strike, or a strong blocking with his shield (which was replaced several times).

Though those glimpses were few, they were enough to light that fire once more as each one sent that tingling down your spine.

You even considered going down into the yard when the fight was over and asking him to take you back to your chambers.

The idea when quickly squashed when the fight ended badly.

A powerful blow from the morningstar sent Aemond backwards into the dirt. He only barely hung onto his sword. The Kingsguard dropped his weapon and approached the Prince with his hand outstretched.

Aemond did not accept it. Instead, he swatted the knight aside as he stood, driving his sword point-first into the dirt. Then, after whispering something you could not hear but could tell by the fury in his eyes was harsh and likely cruel, he turned and left the training yard.

Without a single glance your way.

-

Aemond did not attend the family meal that evening. He could not bear to face his wife after such a mortifying display.

Seeing her disappointment would break him, he was sure. Though worse was the possibility that she may laugh at him – mock him, as he had unintentionally mocked her.

Gods, he had not fought so poorly since he was a mere boy and had not yet been allowed to wield real steel. Perhaps the next day, Cole would give him his wooden practice sword back. He would deserve it, for both his abysmal performance and his arrogance.

When Lord Wylde suggested he invite her to ‘witness his martial prowess,’ he had let himself fall victim to Aegon’s flattery and his own vanity. And the gods had seen fit to punish him for it.

He would beg their forgiveness later. After he committed another sin. One he had been indulging in far too often of late.

Though his body – already sore from the fight – protested every movement, Aemond removed all his clothes. All the while, he tried not to think about the wrongness of what he was about to do or how much he had embarrassed himself, but about his wife.

How beautiful she had looked on the ramparts. How her hair floated so gracefully in the wind. How the colour of her cloak brought out a delightful sparkle in her eyes. How she had jumped each time Cole landed a blow.

That she cared whether he lived or died should not make his heart flutter as it did, but he would take whatever she would give him, even if it was the barest of affection.

When he was naked and laid himself across his bed, his cock was suitably hard and leaking. Still, he reached for the small phial of oil Aegon gave him when he suggested he ‘practice building his stamina.’

“It is a sin,” Aemond had hissed, horrified by the mere suggestion.

Aegon only shrugged. “So is killing. But we do so in war without fearing the wrath of the gods. Why? Because it is in pursuit of a noble goal. I would say making your wife c… happy and satisfied is a noble goal, wouldn’t you?”

It was an impressive logic – for Aegon. Still, Aemond went to the Sept each morning to ask the gods for forgiveness.

And each night, like now, he practised.

After depositing a droplet of oil into his palm, he took hold of his cock and began to slowly stroke himself.

It was nothing like being in his wife. No matter what he did, he could not replicate that wonderful feeling. So he quickly stopped trying.

Instead, he pumped himself hard and fast, trying to get to the edge of his peak as quickly as he could – and then stopped. He curled his hand into a fist at his side as he squeezed his eyes shut, waiting a few agonising moments before resuming at a slower pace.

The only thing that made that waiting bearable was assuring himself what it would lead to – or what he hoped it would lead to.

He pictured his wife as she had been when he was touching her. How she had come so close to giving herself over to pleasure.

He hoped she would not ask him to stop the next time. Instead, she would let him touch her until she came. She would let him taste her, something he had never considered before Aegon told him of it, but which he now craved like a man lost in the desert craved water. She would beg him to fuck her, to once again brush his cock against that spot inside her, over and over until they both came apart.

And he would gladly obey. He would do anything she asked – if she only would.

Aemond brought himself almost to coming over and over until his stones ached from being denied so long. Only then did he allow himself release, spilling across his stomach with his wife’s name on his lips.

-

The dinner felt unbearably strange without Aemond beside you. No excuses for his absence were given; it was apparently not a subject anyone else was curious about.

So, you ate your food, spoke when you were spoken to, and excused yourself the moment you were done eating.

Though he had never much talked to you at meals, his presence was still somehow missed. You missed the touch of his hand as he helped you into your seat, the low timbre of his voice when he answered a question from his mother or grandsire, and the warmth of his gaze whenever you caught him looking at you.

You missed all those little joys, which you only then realised were indeed joys, so much that you would gladly endure his insults and criticism if it only meant he was there. Besides, you liked how he had gawked in the library when you mocked him in return. That could become a fun little game…

As you left the dining hall, thinking about how he had smiled at you the night before, you found yourself turning not for your own chambers, but for his.

Perhaps he was hurt from his fall, and that was why he was not there. Surely, it was only concern for his health that had you turning this way, nothing more.

But then you took another step forward, and you knew.

You desired him.

The shock and shame of it had you immediately retreating to your own rooms.

You quickly had your maids prepare you for bed, dressing in another silk slip of a nightdress before sending them away and curling beneath your blankets.

Soon, your own heavy breathing was the only sound in the room. The godsdamned crickets had gone silent again, wishing for you to hear every shameful thought you had clearly.

You thought of the strength he had shown in holding off the Kingsguard’s attacks. The strength you had seen in the tautness of his muscles as he hovered over you. As he used those hands that so skillfully wielded a sword to bring you pleasure.

Your legs squeezed together of their own accord at the thought, and you became all too aware of a wetness between your thighs – the wetness he had once coaxed out of you with his gentle touch.

Spreading your legs and trying not to think about the sin of what you were doing, you slowly raised the hem of your nightdress and slid your hand over your folds.

Where Aemond’s fingers were warm, yours were cold. You rubbed your hand over your thigh momentarily, remembering him doing the same thing, before touching yourself again.

This part of you was unfamiliar, and you fumbled around more than Aemond had that first night.

You found your entrance first but shied away from slipping a finger inside. Somehow, that felt too wrong, too much of a sin.

But that was not the only place Aemond had touched that brought you pleasure.

Following the same line his thumb had taken, you searched from that little spot that had sent lightning through you.

It took some time, but you found it.

Though, no matter how fast you moved your finger or how hard you pressed, your own touch did not bring you nearly as much pleasure as Aemond’s had. Finally, after many long minutes, your attempts were causing far more frustration than anything else, and you ripped your hand away from your sex.

You nearly cried when you saw your fingers glistening – with bright red blood.

Your moon’s blood was here.

You were not pregnant.

-

The next morning, you immediately sent for raspberry tea to soothe the aching that had already taken hold in your abdomen and did not get out of bed until it had arrived and you had drunk two cups full.

Then, you wished you had not gotten out of bed at all. There was another note from your husband – he wanted to meet you for a walk in the gardens.

At least it meant he was not hurt. But to face him after what you had done, or tried to do…

A good wife did not do what you did. A good wife would have gone to his chambers and made sure he was well, would have let him take comfort in you.

Gods, you should have done so. You wished so badly that you had done so.

You could not change what you did, but you could be a good wife from this point on – you would be.

So, despite your pains, you dressed and headed for the gardens, where his note said he would be waiting for you all morning.

You spent the entire walk through the castle praying. To the Father for forgiveness for your sin. To the Mother for forgiveness for failing your husband and to beg that his seed quickened the next time. To the Crone for the wisdom to be a good wife – again, as the same prayer had obviously not worked the first time. To the Warrior, for the courage you would need to face Aemond. To the Smith, to repair what had been broken between you. And to the Stranger for whatever you had forgotten to include in your prayers to the others.

Truly, you needed the blessing of each of the Seven.

It was only by clutching the Seven-Pointed Star pendant until your fingers hurt that you did not collapse at the sight of Aemond.

He looked ethereally beautiful in the morning light. The soft sunlight streaming through the few leaves that still remained on the trees set his hair aglow, like he was touched by the gods themselves. Indeed, they must have been tempting your devotion to your promise. Why else would they make him appear so tempting?

You swallowed thickly, grateful you had approached him from the left, so he would not see you gawking. Then, once you had regained your composure, thanks in no small part to a new wave of pain in your belly overwhelming any desire, you stepped forward and curtsied.

“Husband,” you greeted with as much sweetness in your voice as you could muster, “thank you for the invitation to join you today.”

Aemond stood from the bench and bowed back to you, even though protocol did not require it. “Thank you for coming,” he said with a shy smile. “I was worried that… you might not.”

“It would be improper for a wife to deny her husband’s wishes,” you replied.

Dutiful. Polite. A good wife.

But Aemond’s smile fell. “I hope you do not feel you had to come here just because I asked,” he murmured, not meeting your gaze. “I hope that you wanted to come.”

You found yourself almost smiling at him, at the sentiment he offered. Then, nodding, you stepped forward and awkwardly held your hand out for a moment before returning it to your side. “I have not yet had the chance to see the gardens. Will you show me?”

He looked as though you had just offered him a kingdom and held out his arm for you to take.

Despite the heat radiating off him, you shivered as you looped your arm through his, and he began to lead you down the flagstone path.

You walked in silence for a while, but it was not as heavy or uncomfortable as before. There was only the faintest hint of tension between you, the rest replaced by a kind of contentment – unfamiliar but pleasant.

Aemond only spoke to name some of the plants you saw. How he knew exactly which ones you could not identify yourself, you did not know. He just… knew.

You stopped in front of the gnarled trunk of a wisteria vine. It was not in bloom, and most of its leaves had fallen, but it was still beautiful in its bareness.

“It is wisteria,” Aemond said after a moment, pointing with a finger to trace its path from its roots to the very ends of the vine some twenty feet away on a trellis. “At the end of spring, it will produce hanging blooms that are a lovely shade of purple.”

You looked up at him, at his one eye and its lovely shade of purple – the colour of wisteria, you realised.

Before you knew it, you were smiling so wide it hurt your cheeks. “I know,” you replied, your voice almost a laugh. “It is one of my favourites.”

Feeling yourself begin to blush furiously, you turned back toward the plant. “There was one even larger than this right outside my window at my father’s keep.”

Aemond did not – could not – respond. You had just smiled at him, and it was more beautiful than he had ever imagined.

-

You walked through the gardens on Aemond’s arm until you had seen every plant, every flower, every leaf. It was the happiest you had been since arriving in King’s Landing, and indeed in many years before.

But it could not last forever. While you were merely a wife, Aemond was a Prince. He had duties far more important than walking with his wife. So, when he mentioned the hour was growing late, you did not ask him to stay.

You merely removed your arm from his, bowed your head, and whispered your farewell. As a good wife does.

Yet Aemond remained in front of you, the look in his eye so intense you had to turn away.

“May I come to your chambers tonight?” he asked, his voice small but firm.

Your chest tightened.

You wanted to say yes – to kiss him and feel his touch once more. But…

“My moon’s blood arrived today,” you told him quickly before the fear in your gut could still your tongue.

Until he made that request, you had been enjoying the time spent with your husband so dearly that you had nearly forgotten the pain in your belly, the undeniable proof of your failure to produce an heir.

Your failure to be a good wife.

As tears sprang to your eyes, you watched his face twist with confusion, then crumple with despair, and finally, freeze into an expression you could not name.

Once more, he felt like a mystery to you – a stranger. Had you really come to know him so well, to care for him enough that even a single unknown expression could cause you this much pain?

You must have, for the pain in your empty womb was nothing compared to that which now took hold of your heart.

He looked to the flagstones below you, his mouth starting and failing to find words. “I…” he began, then stopped.

“Aemond?” you asked, desperate now for him to say anything, even if it was to call you stupid again.

Your mind was so clouded by fear at what he may say next that you did not realise it was the first time you had called him by his name since the wedding ceremony.

His eye met yours again, and he raised his brows. “Thank you for the walk.”

And then he left. Again.

To your credit, you did not cry until you were back in your rooms.

-

You did not go to dinner that night or even eat the meal that was brought to your rooms.

You only prayed and cried and prayed some more. Until you fell asleep on the couch in your sitting room.

After waking in the dark at some point in the night, with a blanket over your shoulders. You knew you should move to the bed, or you would be sore in the morning. But whatever you did, you would be sore for at least a few more days. So, you stayed on the couch.

For a while, you watched the door, hoping that Aemond would walk through and throw himself at your feet as he begged your forgiveness. And despite your better judgment, you would give it to him without hesitation.

But he did not come.

Eventually, you fell asleep again.

When you woke once more, you were indeed sore. But it was quickly forgotten when you saw something unfamiliar on the table before you – a leather-bound journal and a folded note with your name written on it in beautiful script.

Curious but cautious, you only grabbed the note before settling back into your seat to read it:

My dearest wife,

Forgive me for not coming to you myself to apologise, but given the way I acted the last time I did so, I believe you will prefer this.

I am so very sorry that my behaviour towards you has been utterly abhorrent. Please know that my stumbling words and foolish actions come not from a place of malice or even indifference. Rather, they are an attempt by a stupid and incompetent man to try and impress his wife.

There is nothing in the world that I desire so much as to see you happy. Nothing I wish for more than to see your smile and, if the gods bless me, to be the reason for it.

For my love, when you smiled at me yesterday – I have never felt anything so wonderful.

But as the past weeks have shown, I fear I am incapable of presenting myself with dignity when I am in your presence. Your beauty, kindness, and pure goodness overwhelm me the moment I see you, and all my good sense abandons me. No matter my intentions, nor the poetry I compose in my mind prior to coming to you, the very moment I am with you, I become little more than a bumbling idiot, unable to even say ‘hello’ without somehow offending or upsetting you.

So, I will no longer try. I know I have caused you much more discomfort than anything, and it pains me beyond measure. Already, I have begged the Seven for their forgiveness, and now I beg yours.

If you do not wish to give it, I will understand. I will accept whatever you decide and act accordingly. If you wish to not see me again, I will disappear. But I would be doing you a disservice as your husband if I did not at least share with you the depth of my feelings before we are parted – if that is indeed what you desire, though I hope it is not.

I am all too aware that if I tried to do this myself, I would say some ridiculous thing to make you hate me forever. That is, I admit, my greatest fear. So, I have asked the servants to deliver you this note, along with my diary. I know you keep your own, for I have seen it in your chambers. Therefore, you know that what you will read is not merely words, but the truths of my very soul.

Please know that I am not afraid to share it with you. As my wife, you are entitled to know everything about me. But more than that, I want you to. I want you to see all that I am, to know me as well as the gods themselves. I pray that what you will learn will not frighten or upset you but show you the man I so wish to be. The man I would be, if you allow me.

I pray you will like him, perhaps even learn to love him. For he loves you so very, very much.

I have marked the passages I most want you to read, but you have my permission to read everything. I will not hide anything from you, not anymore.

With all my love, more than you know,

Your husband, Prince Aemond Targaryen

As you lowered the note, now stained with several of your tears, you looked at the journal – the diary – on the table. It contained the truth of your husband, the man who had confused and angered you, delighted and amazed you.

It was a truth that, once you knew it, would change you forever.

But you had already been changed, hadn’t you? Irrevocably. The only thing the diary would change was whether it was for the better or for the worse.

So, after one last prayer, you set Aemond’s note back on the table, picked up the diary, and began to read.

-

Taglist (bold means I couldn't tag you) If I forgot you, I'm sorry! I've never had a taglist this big before!

@hb8301 @that-girl-named-alex @bat-revival @dahlias-and-marigolds @dc-marvel-girl96 @nina2697 @padfooteyes @missusnora @bluebirdonafencepost @bellaisasleep @yentroucnagol @sarahkimtae @imjustboredso @howdoichangemynameto @hopebaker @yelenabeleovapocket @let-love-bleeds-red @maximizedrhythms @xideshiz @siriusdumblittlepuppy @skikikikiikhhjuuh @lemonivall @anisa269 @flavorofsalt @queenofshinigamis @elles-mind-palace @dragonfireandpixiedust @glitterandgoldfinds @daydreamerblues @tswiftsthings @kitkat-writes-stuff @miraclealignertlsp369 @cryztalline @im-obsessed-with-marvel @fluffiy @kotonei-molyneux @natie335 @killjoynotes @mariahossain @bellstwd

#studious #aemond #aemond targaryen #aemond targaryen fanfic #aemond targaryen imagine #aemond fanfic #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 #hotd #hotd smut #hotd x reader #hotd fanfic #house of the dragon imagine #house of the dragon fanfic #house of the dragon

[http-tokki]

Happy birthday, pretty girl

~ bakugou katsuki x fem!reader ~ tags/cw: aged up bakugou, time skip to when everyone is pro heroes, fluff, friends to lovers, deadbeat boyfriend, explicit language, katsuki outdoing ur stupid boyfriend, toxic relationships, y/n is written as honey (that's ur name cause I hate reading y/n) ~ wc: 2.8k

A bouquet.

A $350 bouquet had been the catalyst to the end of your relationship.

The break-up had not come out of the blue. Resentment had been building for months now with endless bickering and sniping, fights over Instagram likes and hidden accounts, your ex’s inability to hold down a stable job for longer than a month and when he was let go from his last job a few months ago, the lack of effort at finding a new job, which in turn left you to pick up the slack with the rent and bills. It hadn’t been like that in the beginning; no failed relationship ever is, but as the months rolled into years, what was once cute ineptitude at basic life skills morphed into weaponised incompetence that had you acting as mother and girlfriend for the twenty-something-year-old man child. If only you could go back in time and warn your former self of the absolute hell waiting for you at the end of the road. 

A different form of bitterness seeped into your relationship this past month. A monstrous animosity had taken up residence in the chests of both you and him, causing a fight like no other and all because you were inviting your childhood best friend to your upcoming birthday dinner. Your ex had spotted the name Bakugou Katsuki on the list of guests and scoffed, muttering displeasure under his breath. A few back-and-forth quips rolled into a screaming match that had ended when you laughed out your final killing blow. 

“You can either suck it up and come to my, your girlfriend’s, birthday dinner or sit at home and mope around. It’s your choice, but make up your mind before I book so I know if I’m paying for you or not.”

It had been a tad cruel of you to add the last part, but you were growing tired of having to cover his half of the bill at dinner and skip out on outings with friends because he didn’t want to look cheap and have you pay, so your insult was justified its own brutal way. 

You sent out the invitation texts the next day to your close friends and their partners. RSVPs flooded your inbox within half an hour. All, except for two who had work engagements overseas, eagerly agreed to the dinner with feverish excitement. All but one. The loser that was your boyfriend sent a thumbs-up reaction to your message in the group chat, which he the. promptly left. 

Katsuki, however, had called you the second he saw the short message. 

“I’ll be there; I just might be a bit late ’cause I’ve got that TV gig that afternoon.” He sighed into the phone, and you could practically see the scowl forming at the idea of being late to an event. “Actually, let me see if I can move it around.”

“‘Suki, no. Just come afterwards, please. Don’t move anything,” you pleaded, dropping the stack of papers you had organised a few minutes prior. “If you need to miss it, it’s okay.” you added lightly, disappointment evident in your voice despite your best efforts.

“Hey, I said I’d be there, didn’t it? I just might be late,” Bakugou assured you, tone stern to avoid further protests from you. “What’s the name of the booking under anyway?”

“Mine, why?” your brows furrowed in suspicion.

“Just wondering.” He replied with a tone far too casual for him.

Gasping at the sudden realisation, you shouted down the receiver. “Katsuki, if you even think about putting your card down as payment, you’re-“

“Ohh wow, would you look at that, call waiting! I’ll call you later; text me when you’re at work.”

--

Your boyfriend is the ninth person to arrive at dinner. After kicking him out for the evening before your reservation time, wanting to have time with the girls to relax and debrief the situation of your current partner. The girls were never fans, Mina going as far as to add him to her own personal hit list should he ever commit a minor law infraction, and his continued behaviour just added to their growing disdain. It didn’t help that you were growing to loathe him too. The loser arrived well beyond the appropriate amount of time to be late without an excuse or text and just strolled in without acknowledging the hostess, who smiled and offered to guide him to the table.

Ick. 

“Is he wearing-?” Mina whispers, sliding up next to you to stare at your underdressed boyfriend.

“Yep. He’s wearing track pants.” You confirm as you spot the familiar print across the left leg and the slouched cut of the sweat. 

“Is he for real?” Jiro’s voice comes for your left, looping her arm through yours. 

You frown at the lack of effort and complete disregard for the dress code, but that small part of you screams in vindication at his disinterest. He strolls to you with the confidence garnered only from the current lack of Bakugou and presses his cheek to yours in a polite kiss. He would have gone in for a side hug, but your two friends were unmoving from their positions. 

“You’re late.” You mutter, tone entirely indifferent. 

“Yeah, well, traffic” is the excuse given, and a poorly made bouquet is shoved at you before he walks away. Jiro reaches out and grabs the flowers with one hand, tossing them at the present table. 

The frown you have deepens. Blue chrysanthemums and white roses wrapped in what appears to be yesterday’s newspaper. No card or note, just flowers in colours you despise. He had to be doing this purposefully, giving you another reason to fight with him and pull the plug on this trainwreck. The three of you watch as he makes the rounds, and your frown grows into something that can only be labelled as repulsion. God, you need to end this. Everything about him is giving you the ick. Your mind wonders about the breakdown of your relationship and how to do it, how to get out of tonight a single woman and – Kirishima’s voice disrupts your daydreams.

Eijiro greets Bakugou first. Spotting the blonde as he steps into the restaurant, he calls out to his best friend with a loud Hey! You look up and see your best friend standing in the entryway to the restaurant, strong arms full of the most beautiful bouquet you have ever seen. Pink and purple hydrangeas spill over the lilac wrapping paper, adorned with baby’s breath and pastel tulips, stalks of greenery, and there was even a hint of jasmine bordering the main bulk of the blooms. Your heart squeezes. He had gotten all your favourites despite most of them being out of season and insanely hard to acquire. You hear shuffling from the far end of the table, but pay it no mind as Katsuki saunters towards you. He had followed the theme, dressed in a suit and tie with his hair combed down in a slicked-back style that accentuates the sharp lines that make up his face. The suit was snug but not small, fitting his muscles and broad shoulders just right in a way that made your stomach twist. Heat blooms across your face, and you squeeze the hand that is now in yours.

“Can you fuck him already, please?” Mina teases, squeezing your hand back.

“I’m working on it.” You whisper back as a joke despite the obvious heat filling your body.

The girls laugh beside you. “oh, she’s working on it,” Jiro echoes your confession, snickering as Mina makes a lewd gesture.

“She’s working on what?” Katsuki asks as he reaches the three of you. “Hi.” His greeting is solely to you.

“Hi.” You parrot, feeling the girls leave your side in exchange for Bakugou’s arms.

He wraps his arms around your waist, pulling you right up against his toned body and squeezes. You’re lifted from the floor, hauled into the air and spun as soft laughs leave you, and for a moment, it is only the two of you.

You’re lowered back to the ground, arms still wrapped around each other as he whispers his congratulations. “Happy birthday, pretty girl.” A kiss is pressed to your cheek, and you feel lightheaded.

Cold air fills the space once occupied by him as he pulls back, reaching down to grab the bouquet he had placed on the table and shows you the arrangement.

“Pink and purple hydrangeas,” he announces just loud enough to be heard by your boyfriend sitting a few seats down. “And tickets to the flower festival next month. You can take him, but I’m also free that weekend, and I have a car…” his words trail off at the obvious jab at your car-less partner. “I also put my card down as payment, so go wild, okay?”

“‘Suki.” you reprimand in a breathy giggle, having already been through this with him via text, but you can’t help but swoon at his chivalry.

“It’s your birthday, angel. I can’t have you paying for it.” You blush again at the pet name but frown up at him nonetheless.

Bakugou smiles back and presses another kiss to the top of your head before pulling away to greet everyone else.

“I seriously thought you were about to kiss him just then.” Jiro snickers, reappearing at your side the second you’re alone.

“I seriously did, too.”

--

It is a small dinner. Only a handful of your close friends and their partners but all the people you know and care for, and they you, so when your cake is brought out, and the songs are sung, you feel loved, and that love is continued through dessert as the game Whispers from Heaven begins. 

Jiro and Mina gush about your undivided love and loyalty; Denki smiles and recalls your generosity and patience during the afternoon you had helped him through math homework (and he swore his eternal oath to you from that day on); Kiri tears up at the mention of his emo days and how you had been his friend even when he looked like a My Chemical Romance extra; Momo praising your loving and unjudgmental heart, Sero gifting you the title of World’s Best Mom despite having no actual children but the care and devotion you had shown to your friend group earned you many a mother’s day present and Bakugou toasting your entire being for you had been his friend since middle school and stuck by him through all the happened during UA and the subsequent years, how you had been a rock in his life and every year had been a blessing and he wished for many more to come. Zuku and Ochaco had written their whispers in via text (a mission had taken them away from your dinner ), and their words had been just as sweet.

You were tearing up as everyone gushed about you, wiping at your eyes before they could even fall, but as your boyfriend’s turn came, the air shifted.

“Uhh, she is….” He stammers, nervously looking around the table at your friends, all waiting for his answer.

In theory, he should have the best point. He is your boyfriend, after all, two years shared together, but as he sits there, floundering like a fish with his mouth opening and closing, you feel your patience start to snap. Maybe you were going to break it off tonight. The guilt of leaving him potentially homeless and broke had been keeping you around for months, and you think he knows that, and that’s why he hadn’t gotten a job or made any move to progress his life.

Are you about to be free and single again? Is he about to seal his fate of living out of his parent’s garage? Part of you hopes yes; is desperate to say goodbye to the soul and money-sucking leech that had been attached to you for months now, but part of you feels bad for him.

“Ohh! I’ve got it!” he announces, holding his glass of wine in the air in a toast.

You hold your breath, unaware of what his answer is going to be.

“She has a really good ass. So hot,” he laughs and tips his glass to the sky, “the back shots are fucking amazing.”

Your jaw slackens at this confession.

There is a chorus of gasps and snorts of astonishment as your group comes to terms with what has just been said. Jiro slaps her hand over her mouth as both Momo and Mina’s head whip towards her, eyes wide and brows raised. Denki blushes red but hides it behind his hands; Sero and Kiri are staring at Bakugou, who is glaring at your boyfriend.

“What?” Katsuki asks, tilting his head in confusion. 

Your boyfriend bristles. “I was put on the spot.”

There is a beat of silence as everyone comes to terms with what has just been said.

Bakugou shakes his head and gently returns the wine glass to the table, quiet rage simmering in his eyes. His gaze flicks to you in awaiting permission, and when you tilt your head approving of whatever it is he is about to do, he smiles and turns his fangs towards your boyfriend. 

“Get up.” the order is soft, as not to make a scene, but there is a promise of violence in his tone. 

Your boyfriend makes no move to stand, so Katsuki repeats his order. When there is still no movement from the slug sitting across from him, Bakugou stands with a grace only acquired after years of training to win fights and reclasps the buttons of his jacket, ever the gentleman. Each step towards your boyfriend is fuelled by hate and indignation, and when he finally reaches him, Katsuki grips him by the scruff of the neck, much like a father does to their young son.

“You need to get up and leave before I take you outside.” Katsuki seethes, bending down to your boyfriend’s level.

“You-no-I..” your boyfriend scrambles, face blanching at the pro-hero before him.

“Nuh uh, I don’t want to hear anything from you.” The hand on your boyfriend’s neck tightens. “Get up and go home, pack your shit and leave. I don’t care where you go, but by the time Honey and I get home, you will be gone because I can make people like you disappear in a second, yeah?” 

Your boyfriend looks around at the table, hoping to find sympathy from the other heroes, but none comes. “I’m going to tell everyone you’re threatening me; you can’t do this!” 

“I’m not doing anything, and everyone here has seen me ask you to leave nicely; I’m even offering to get you an Uber since I know you don’t drive.” 

A chorus of acknowledgement of Bakugou’s charity rises from the table. You bite down on your cheeks to stop the smile tugging at your lips as you watch your now ex-boyfriend scramble for his coat, dread dragging down each movement. He turns to you, brows furrowed in fear and confusion, hoping to find comfort in someone he had disrespected time and time again, but instead, you just beam and bid him goodbye.

“Are you really gonna call him an Uber?” Denki pipes up. 

Katsuki scoffs. “No, he can walk home.” 

--

“What are ya’ working on?” Katsuki asks from beside you as you sit on the curb outside your apartment building. 

You had pulled up ten minutes ago but opted to stay out and talk, enjoying the warm spring breeze.

“Huh?” you turn to face your best friend.

“When I turned up, you and the girls were talking about you workin’ on something. Is there something at work or?” 

You blush at the question. 

“Ahh, well, I’m-“you grin. “Well, I’m working on you.” Your confession falls from your mouth before your brain can process it. 

“Me?” Bakugou’s brows stitch together. 

“yeah, I’m working on not killing you for paying for dinner and shit like that.” You rush to lie in order to cover your confession. “You always do that after I-“ 

Katsuki’s hands grabbing your cheeks stop your rambling, and then his lips are on yours. He cups your face with a gentleness unknown to you, finger hooking under your jaw to tilt your chin up as he kisses you. You melt into his mouth, opening as his tongue swipes across your bottom lip. Breathing becomes difficult as your hands grab at his waist, desperate to close the distance between your bodies, but he pulls back and leans his forehead against yours. 

“You’re such a bad liar, you know that?” his breathing is ragged. 

“I was hoping you didn’t catch on to that, but I’m so glad you did.” 

~ a/n: NOT PROOFREAD! goes a long with this. x ( just another lil drabble about how my ex was a piece of shit and for my birthday got me the flowers I hate. but then on valentine’s day my friend got me a bouquet of my favourite flowers so it couldn’t have been that hard, right)  updated version 2.0

#💐http tokki #katsuki bakugo x reader #katsuki bakugou x you #bnha bakugo katsuki #katsuki imagine #katsuki x reader #katsuki fluff #katsuki x you #bakugo katuski #katsuki bakugou #bakugou imagine #bakugou x reader #bnha bakugou #bakugou imagines #bakugou fluff #bakugou fanfiction #aged up bakugou #bnha masterlist #bnha imagines #bnha drabble #mha drabble #mha fluff #mha bakugou #mha katsuki #one shot

[esamastation]

Part twenty-nine of Shizuroth, aka, the SOLDIER General's Self Saving Shizun.

Ao3 link.

Previous parts: one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven, twelve, thirteen, fourteen, fifteen, sixteen, seventeen, eighteen, nineteen, twenty, twenty-one, twenty-two, twenty-three, twenty-four, twenty-five, twenty-six, twenty-seven, twenty-eight

-

Rude releases a breath when he sees the door leading to the helipad opening and Hewley and Sephiroth finally exiting. He's not terribly thrilled about having to chauffeur a man so fresh out of metal breakdown - especially with the way Reno is cackling in his earpiece - but at least the man is officially out the building.

Now he just has to get him off it, and they'd be good, the building would be secure.

"Oh man, I am so glad that got caught on video," Reno giggles in his ear. "Nothing against the Professor personally, but hoolyy shit, it was downright poetic."

Rude sighs, watching as Hewley and Sephiroth stop to talk by the door - too far to be heard over the helicopter rotors and too obscured by their positions for accurate lip reading. "Perhaps we should be more concerned with Sephiroth's health."

"The man's walking and talking and brushed off Hewley's offer for a Curaga," Reno says. "If he wants to be bleeding internally, that's his problem - all we need to do is get him out of Midgar."

"And then keep a watch over him in Wutai."

"Yes, and that, but nowhere does it say we need to nurse him into health too," Reno says. "Just get him and Hewley in the air and out of here before Hojo realises he's leaving."

"Hn," Rude answers, not looking away from Hewley and Sephiroth and not relaxing until they finally approach the helicopter and Hewley stoves away their blades.

Rude has seen Sephiroth personally a number of times - they often serve together as bodyguards for the President, Rude sent in by the Turks and Sephiroth called upon by the President, because the SOLDIER looks good in papers. So most of the times Rude has seen him had been him being annoyed, resigned, and bored.

The Sephiroth that awkwardly enters the helicopter looks a little queasy and embarrassed - but also excited.

Hewley hands Sephiroth a headset and pulls another one on himself. "Are you sure you're feeling alright?" He says over the headset.

"I'm fine, Angeal - I promise I don't have internal bleeding," Sephiroth answers, indulgent and looks around. "... There isn't a seatbelt in here, is there?"

"What's a seatbelt? No, never mind," Hewley sighs, sounding a little exasperated. "Sephiroth, you threw up blood! That's not normal."

"Maybe I just bit my tongue and swallowed some blood before, it's fine -"

"Some blood - it was a lot of blood!"

"Barely even a litre -"

"A litre! Of blood! You would've had to have bitten your tongue clean off to swallow that much!"

Sephiroth sighs. "Angeal, I swear I didn't bite my tongue off -"

Well, he sounds fine, Rude decides, and after making sure the helicopter is secure and there's no one else on the pad, he takes off. "Phase two complete," he reports to Reno. "The big guy is off the building."

"Sweet," Reno says. "I'm off then - meet you at the airport."

"Roger that," Rude agrees, bringing the helicopter above the Shinra Building and then turning it towards the airport. Below them the city whirls around, its lights leaving streaks in Rude's vision.

The bickering in the backseat takes a pause as Sephiroth peers outside in apparent amazement. Then Hewley continues to poke and prod at the man, and Rude pretends to tune them out - all the while listening to every word. Mostly it's Sephiroth trying to convince Hewley that he isn't in some kind of acute organ failure or about to hack out a lung. Hewley isn't very convinced.

"You're very nonchalant about this," Hewley says dubiously. 

"Trust me, it was bad blood, it's better out than in," Sephiroth answers, craning his neck to look down through the window. "Oh wow…"

"Bad blood. That's what you said to Hojo," Hewley points out. "Like it actually means something. What do you mean by bad blood?"

Sephiroth doesn't answer, pretending to be utterly preoccupied by the view.

Hewley sighs. "Sephiroth, please. I'm really concerned - if there's something wrong, you should tell us -"

That makes the other SOLDIER react. "Oh, please, spare me the power of friendship speech -"

"I absolutely will not," Hewley snorts. "If it's the only thing that gets you to talk about this, I'll even throw in sincere emotions."

Though jokingly said, it seems to be an effective threat, judging by Sephiroth's disgusted expression. "You're an evil man, Angeal."

"Yes, how dare I be worried about my friend, how utterly unforgivable. Now please tell me why you throwing up blood isn't a health concern."

Sephiroth sighs. "I… it's hard to explain."

"Because you don't know."

"No. Because the terminology doesn't exist," Sephiroth mutters and then sighs, looking outside again. "Before I was interrupted, I was attempting to, uh, align my internal energies properly, and repair some of the damage done to my system previously. It's a delicate process and can go horribly wrong if interrupted, which is exactly what happened. As a result of the interruption, my internal system went wildly out of alignment, which caused some issues. I fixed those after, as much as I could, and what I threw up was essentially… waste produced by the progress."

Rude wishes, not for the first time, that there was a way to record stuff said on board a helicopter. Thankfully, judging by Hewley's expression in the mirror, the man doesn't understand what Sephiroth is saying any better than he does.

"Internal energies - you mean your MP?"

"MP," Sephiroth repeats and hums thoughtfully. "That's part of it, I guess."

Hewley shakes his head. "So your… MP is out of alignment?"

He sounds confused, and Rude can't blame the man. He didn't know MP could even have an alignment.

Sephiroth is quiet for a moment, looking away. "Tell me, Angeal. What is MP? Where does it come from, where in your body does it reside  - how is it produced?"

"Uh. It's just an intrinsic quality people have? Which increases the more you use it - and with Mako exposure? I don't know, I guess I never thought about it," Angeal admits. "You'd have better luck asking Genesis."

"Hmm. Is he coming to Wutai?"

Hewley shakes his head. "I don't know, but there's no shortage of missions to be completed there. Still, Sephiroth. That was a lot of blood."

"I'm not throwing up blood now, am I?" Sephiroth says. "I'm fine, Angeal, I promise. Hopefully that was the worst of it."

Hewley doesn't look particularly reassured. "Hopefully?! Wait, you don't mean to say you're going to continue with this… alignment stuff?"

Sephiroth hums noncommittally and looks outside the window again. They're getting to the airport now.

Rude blows out a breath. "It's time to land," he informs his passengers and hopes Reno wouldn't take too long to catch up with them. Maybe he would have some idea what the hell Sephiroth is on about. If not, then he'd at least pretend he did.

Rude is with Hewley on this one, though. Sephiroth intending to continue with his alignment practice with the risk for further… misalignments… It didn't sound good.

Interesting though that Professor Hojo clearly had no idea what his son was doing either. Whatever it is, it isn't anything Shinra Science had figured out. Hmm.

Something to add to Sephiroth's file, Rude muses, and brings them to the ground.

#Fanfiction #ffvii #Ff7 #svsss #rude of the turks #reno of the turks #sephiroth #shen qingqiu #shen yuan #angeal hewley

[cinnamoodles]

the language of flowers — part two, irises

warnings: more angst than part one which is great, also reader throwing stuff bc she’s a badass, and in character Anthony which is honestly more of a red flag than ooc Anthony but you love him anyway you nasty :)

word count: 1.4k (wow I impress myself sometimes)

author’s note: we love this part bc reader stands up for herself and Anthony is one major daddy issues boy.

read the other parts! — part one, daises | part three, peonies

i don’t consent for my work to be reposted or copied, translated, or transferred to any other platform, or this one, in part or whole.

--------- . . . ---------

ii. 1804, iridaceae versicolor. irises, trust

Anthony paced the length of this study—which wasn’t all too large, but stress relieving nonetheless. His mind was a whirlwind of emotions, a tempestuous mix of newfound worry and lingering doubts. Today marked one year, one year without his father, one year his mother was cast into a depressive state, one year since he had taken on the mantle of viscount, and become the father figure that his youngest siblings did not have.

It had been far too long since he had last spoken to you—days? Weeks? He had never gone so long without even seeing your face, and that was a stretch. He’d spent his last few months mourning, brooding, and perhaps being a tad overbearing on himself, but he had to, for the sake of his family’s honour, it’s prestige. 

There’s a sharp knock on his door, it’s most likely Colin or Daphne, who are frequent in irritating him. He makes no effort to open the door, and with a practiced gesture, he dips his quill into the inkwell, resuming his task of poring over the estate's financial matters. How often had his father sat here, absorbed in these very same calculations? A pang of longing pierces through him at the thought, his heart echoing the emptiness his father's absence had left behind.

Another knock.

It must be Colin, his eyes sparkling, attempting to irritate him once again. “I’ve got a job,” he snaps, “and I suggest you get one as well, one that does not involve vexing me at every given minute.”

The door creaks open, candlelight flickering over the stacks of leather bound tomes and haphazardly organized scrolls, casting lanky shadows over his face, playing upon the strong angles, highlighting the lines of exhaustion that marred his usually composed countenance. His normally impeccable attire was slightly disheveled, as if he had been running his hands through his hair in frustration, and his ink-stained fingers spoke of long hours spent in diligent work. He wasn’t in a position to meet anyone, much less usher yet another one of his young siblings out of his room.

“Oh, I vex you? Is that why you've been evading me like the plague?” Your presence was like a sudden burst of sunlight piercing through the storm clouds—startling, yet warmly welcomed. The quill slipped from his fingers as his eyes widened in surprise, locking onto your face, a vision that brought back a flood of memories and feelings he had attempted to suppress.

Your stormy eyes burned through his deep brown ones, and you crossed your hands across your chest. Your soft hair was tucked behind your ear, and your eyes were wide, as if staring directly into Anthony’s soul, and for just a moment, he allowed himself to become lost, to dream, and to gaze into them as if he was merely a boy again, holding you in his arms.

“Say something, Anthony! I’ve not seen you in weeks, properly, and you’ve barely held a conversation with anyone other than your butler, and frankly, I—” 

Anthony quickly wrapped you in a hug, burying his face in your shoulder, your cotton dress soft to the touch. He mumbles. “I missed you.” He can feel you stiffen, but soon gently relax into his arms.

“That is why I came,” you smile, and pull away, holding him at an arm’s distance. “Oh, and my brother is getting married. I wanted to invite you personally to the wedding.” Your oldest brother, twenty eight years of age, was getting married, Anthony recalled. He was, of course, to be the next Duke when your father inevitably passed.

Anthony rubbed his eyes. “My sisters will come, of course, but I may not be able to.” Your invitation was tempting, and the prospect of seeing you again filled Anthony with a mix of excitement and trepidation. He hadn't realized just how much he had missed you until this moment, when you walked in the door. But his responsibilities as the viscount weighed heavily on his shoulders, and he feared that leaving the estate at this crucial time might jeopardize his mother’s already precarious emotional situation.

"I wish I could attend, truly," Anthony replied with a hint of regret in his voice. "But with the estate's financial matters in such disarray, I can't afford to be away for long. I must attend to my duties here."

You frowned slightly, concern glazed across your soft, delicate features. "Anthony, you can't carry the burden of the entire estate on your own. There must be someone who can assist you, even for a short time."

"I've considered that," Anthony admitted, his mind aching from the internal struggle. "But finding someone trustworthy, capable, and knowledgeable enough to handle the estate's affairs is not an easy task. I fear leaving things in someone else's hands might cause more harm than good.”

You crossed your arms, frustration evident in your expression. "Anthony, you can't keep shutting yourself off from the world. Your family's honor and prestige won't matter if you run yourself into the ground!"

He takes a step back, feeling defensive under your stern gaze. "I am taking care of things. I'm doing what I need to do to ensure the estate's survival, which is all that matters to me, at this point in time."

"Are you?" you snap, your voice tinged with disappointment that Anthony could see etched in your face. "You've barely spoken to anyone, including me, for weeks. You're burying yourself in work, and for what? To prove some sort of point? That you’re fit to be the man of the house?"

"I don't have a choice," Anthony replied tersely. "As the viscount, it's my duty to oversee everything. And after losing my father, I can't afford to let anything else slip through my fingers."

"You can't live in the past, Anthony," you urged, taking a step closer to him. "Your father's gone, and while it's natural to mourn, you can't let grief consume you. Of course, you have responsibility—"

His jaw clenched, and he shot back, "Responsibility? What would you know of responsibility? You don't understand the weight of responsibility on my shoulders. I can't just leave everything behind and go gallivanting off to weddings, like an immature child."

Pain flashed across your face, but Anthony was much too in his head to take a look at his surroundings. He continued, as if possessed by some spirit. “You’ve never had to work a day in your life. You’re spoiled, and the only thing your family has ever thought of doing for you is getting you married.” He spit. “So why don’t you worry about your responsibilities, and I’ll worry about mine.”

A single tear fell from your eye, and in that moment, Anthony wished he could take it all back, swallow the poison he had thrown at you so mercilessly. “I…” you bite your lip, and he wanted to take you in his arms, comfort you, and hold you.

“I’m sorry,” you choke out. “I’m sorry for whatever sin I’ve done to have you treat me like this.” You quickly wipe your tears and rush to the door. Anthony wanted to stop you, to scream about how he didn’t mean any of the words he said.

You quickly turn around, revealing a bouquet of irises, the specific ones Anthony had commented on the last time he visited your estate. He could barely remember when. “By the way, I bought you flowers. I thought they’d cheer you up,” you retort, before throwing the delicately tied bunch of flowers straight to his head, hitting his nose.

The door slammed, and Anthony was once again left alone, only this time, he’d have done anything to bring you back. Slowly, the petals of the irises cascaded down onto the ground, fracturing the flowers, and Anthony noticed a small piece of paper.

The Guide for Flora for Debutantes: In the quaint world of botany, the charming iris blooms have long been regarded as symbolic emissaries of trust and faithfulness. Like an ancient scroll unraveling before our very eyes, the iris, with its alluring hues and delicate petals, unravels the story of steadfast devotion and allegiance. Just as an honest man's handshake vouches for his sincerity, the iris bestows its trust upon those who approach with an open heart and gentle touch, and a receiving of this gentle bloom from either gender discloses that the gifter trusts you with their whole heart. Its regal demeanor, reminiscent of a gallant knight in armor, instills in us the assurance that this flower is a beacon of loyalty and constancy.

Trust. You had trusted him, and what had he done with that? He’d tossed it away, and your gift had broken. Anthony wasn’t usually one for symbolism, but these broken irises were pretty damn apparent.

#anthony bridgerton x reader #Anthony Bridgerton #bridgerton #bridgerton netflix #Bridgerton x reader #bridgerton x female reader #Bridgerton x you #Anthony Bridgerton x you #anthony Bridgerton x y/n #anthony Bridgerton x female!reader

[moonlit-imagines]

Headcanons for being Scott and Hope’s child (Hank Jr. Edition)

Scott Lang/Hope van Dyne x child!reader

warnings:

a/n:

prompt: anonymous: “Scott and Hope have a baby girl (reader). And everything seems to be fine, but somewhere from the age of five, it becomes clear that the reader is a complete copy of her grandfather Hank Pym, that is: she is incredibly smart, she loves ants (she can talk about them for hours), she also has problems controlling anger (she hit a guy in the face at school for saying that ant-man sucks), thinks that there is no one smarter than her and her grandfather, and she also transferred his sarcastic communication style and views on things and people around, for example, when she first met Tony, she said: "You can never trust Stark."”

somewhere in the distant future a special kid was born

and that special kid had special parents and special grandparents

and those parents and grandparents were two generations of superheroes who saved countless lives (and, well, the world)

so it was no surprise to them that this next generation would be just as intelligent and caring as the ones before them

*cue a toddler with crayons in class*

“and then my grandpa asked the ants nicely to fly him to a bunch of different places and do all these cool things like move stuff around and like do other stuff” -you rambling on

“do you like anything besides ants?” -your teacher

“no” -you, continuing to draw ants on your paper

hank and janet were quite proud grandparents

and scott and hope, your wonderful amazing parents…couldn’t get enough of it

“honey, what about wasps? wasps are cool, right?” -hope

“no” -you

“she’s spending too much time with my dad” -hope

“well, he’s the only babysitter we’ve got since cassie got that new job” -scott

“oh, you mean our old job? yeah, miss those days where we could go flying around getting into trouble and beating people up” -hope

“well, you promised we’d retire so y/n wouldn’t end up with a childhood like yours” -scott

“y/n’s gonna want to be a superhero when they get older, arent they?” -hope

“let’s not think too far ahead. it might kill me” -scott

scott reads you his biography every night before bed

and you always giggle at the parts where your mom and grandpa bully him

“hey, not funny!” -scott

“so funny” -you

“dont get any ideas” -scott

“daddy, are you gonna get arrested again?” -you

“if i do it’ll be grandpa hank’s fault” -scott

you continued spending time with grandpa hank and grandma janet

and they spoiled the crap out of you

hank…got you an ant farm

“now you’re just being ridiculous, hank” -janet

“what? i’m just having some bonding time with my grandchild! hope never wanted anything to do with me growing up” -hank

once you started getting older, you wanted to hang out in grandpa’s lab allll the time. day and night

your parents hated it

“hey, think this one will suck us all into the quantum realm?” -scott

“it was one time!” -cassie

cassie was at hank and janet’s a lot, too, actually. they always wanted to help her with her suits and gadgets and all that

and make sure she had plenty of pym particles

“you have enough, right? here, take some more, i have plenty” -hank

“grandpa, please, i have more than enough, thank you” -cassie

“can i have some pym particles?” -you

“we can play with them in the backyard next time youre over” -hank

you draw new suit designs for cassie all the time

some of them she actually incorporates into her suits

and as you get older, you try to start designing more tech for her

“y/n is really scaring me” -hope

“why?” -scott

“just watch her and my parents together…they’re the same” -hope

“dear god, what have we done” -scott

“dad, look at this new pym particle powered weapon, i just finished the prototype!” -you

“okay, now i’m mad because where was this when i needed it!” -scott

“fifteen to twenty years too late” -hope

“we should have gotten together sooner” -scott

“i disagree” -hope

“wow, not even a pity agreement” -scott

asking your parents if they’ll get back into crime fighting

they said no

asking if you can get into crime fighting

they said no again

so you just kinda stockpiled all your ideas

and did everything you could to further your grandpa’s work

and help your sister

and keep your parents’ minds at ease (doesn’t really work)

and maybe one day you’ll be able to ride those ants and kick some ass like you always dreamed

taglist: @alwaysananglophile // @locke-writes // @sweetheartlizzie07 // @queen-destenie // @johnmurphyisqueer // @captainshazamerica // @ravenmoore14 // @canarypoint // @procrastinatingsapphictrash // @swanimagines // @randomfandomimagine // @petersgroupie // @summersimmerus // @scarthefangirl // @bad4amficideas // @sheridans-dynamos // @simsrecs // @prettysbliss // @skdkdkckfk // @simp-legend // @zoeyserpentluck // @wild-rose-35 // @nekoannie-chan // @evilcr0ne // @v0idl1nq // @ruvaakke // @thedarkqueenofavalon // @amirahiddleston // @beth-gallagher22 // @brutal-out-here // @rqmanoff // @elenavampire21 // @mymelodymia // @pheonixfire777 //

#scott lang #scott lang imagine #scott lang x reader #ant man #ant man x reader #ant man imagine #scott lang x child!reader #hope van dyne #hope van dyne imagine #hope van dyne x reader #hope van dyne x child!reader #wasp #wasp x reader #wasp imagine #ant man and the wasp #marvel #marvel x reader #marvel imagine #avengers #avengers x reader #avengers imagine

[lizzyk137]

Baby's Secret- An Agent Gibbs Fic (Gibbs X Reader)

Description: After keeping your relationship a secret, what will it take for Gibbs to admit your his. Warnings: Mentions of bombings, swearing, hospital, fluff

(Part One) Want to read more, visit my Masterlist!

Dinner at Gibbs place was great, and it certainly wasn't food you both were devouring.

The next few months kept you busy with new cases, therapy sessions and at-home date with Gibbs. Gibbs wasn't one to leave his house much when he was home from work. He was stubborn, stating he goes out enough at work that he doesn't need to on his days off, and he stays with that statement no matter how much you try to change his mind.

Now you didn't mind staying home with Gibbs. It was relaxing and brought a calm over you that you needed after a stressful job, plus, some of the activities were very entertaining. But you wanted more.

As time went on, and your relationship stayed a secret from the team, due to Gibbs breaking one of his own rules, you were starting to get irritated that it didn't seem like he wanted people to know about you. On cases he always stayed a far enough distance away from you so no one could assume and reserved to checking on you when you were out of work when you got hurt. He also never expressed how he felt about you. He was a man of few words and you could feel that he cared about you when you were alone but you also know that things could be very much different as they were presented to you. And as good as he made you feel, he also equally was hurting you.

"Where are you going?" He asked six months into your relationship. It was a quiet Sunday morning, and it was gorgeous out, so you thought of going out and enjoying it.

"I'm going to the farmers market with Tim." You had answered back as you grabbed your purse and a reusable bag.

"McGee?" You could hear him getting up from his chair.

You turned around to meet his eyes, "Yes McGee, we always go to the farmers market on our days off."

"Really?"

"Yes, really. We've been doing it for the last year." You laughed.

"Oh." You walked up to him and gave him a peck on the lips, hoping his scowl would wipe away from his face, but it stayed.

"I'll be back in a few hours. See you!"

You didn't realize that day would leave to you two having to expose the very secret Gibbs had hidden for months.

"Y/N, look at this!" McGee was holding up a poster for an old video game.

"Wow, twenty dollars? I don't know if it's a steal or a rip-off." You laughed as he handed you the framed poster and reached into his wallet for cash. He paid the merchant and grabbed the poster back.

"Defiently a steal for me, the starting price online for this is $100. So where to next, Y/N?"

"There is a cute little stall selling plushies that I was eyeing, if that's okay?" He nodded, and let you lead.

You headed over to the stall when you felt a pair of eyes on you in the crowd. You scanned the area but didn't seem to find anyone out of the ordinary. You reached your stall, and you and Tim were checking out the plushies when you felt the same feeling as before on you.

"Tim, I think someone is watching us." You whispered as you held up a small plush bat.

"Really?"

You showed him the plush bat, "Yeah, while we were walking over here and now. No one seems out of the ordinary. I might just be paranoid. What do you think for Abbie?"

He nodded, and you held the bat in your arms. "I'll keep an eye out." You nodded back to him and grabbed a cute orange kitten plush.

"I think I want this!" You smiled up at him, trying to make the air a bit lighter.

His lips morphed into a smile, "Well then, I guess we better get it. It's on me since you bought me coffee."

"Aw, Tim! That's sweet of you, thanks!" You showed the merchant your items and they tallied them up and you both paid. "Alright, I think it's lunch time!"

Tim stood next to you, looking around. "I feel it too. Lets head to another stall, I don't like this feeling of being watched.

"Sure." You took a step forward when you felt and heard a sudden blast behind you. Warm air hit you, shoving your body forwards as you flew through the air, body tumbling as soon as it touched back down to the ground. Wood flew everywhere around you, as you tried to get up to look at the damage, when you felt another blast from another stall besides you as the world grew black.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Gibbs was frightened. He hadn't been this frightened in a long time. Two of his teammates were lying unconscious in the hospital from some lunatic setting of a bomb and your condition wasn't the greatest as he watched your heart monitor bounce around irregularly.

"Hey, boss." Tony's voice interrupted his thoughts. "McGee just woke up. The doctor is checking him over and once he's done, we can talk to him."

The doctor came out an hour later and let the team know they could go in to see their friend.

"Take your time but what happened, McGee?" Ziva asked.

"Everything was normal until we got to our last stall. Y/N said she felt like someone was watching us but she didn't see anyone, and neither did I. I felt it as we were leaving but it was too late." McGee looked worried as he explained what happened to Gibbs. "I didn't see anyone but if I had just suggested we leave right off then she wouldn't here."

"Hey, nothing could have stopped those bombs from going off." Tony said gently, seeing McGee getting worked up as his heart monitor started beeping louder.

"Bombs? There was more than one? I only remember one of them."

Ziva nodded, "There was two. One at the stall you went too and one that was behind it."

They eventually left McGee after calming him down, and headed back into the waiting room.

"Tony, see what Abby has on the bomb. Ziva, figure out what stalls McGee and Y/L/N visit every week this past year."

"Past year? McGee didn't say anything about the past-"

"Just do it, Ziva!" Gibbs barked out.

"On it."

Gibbs circled around back to your room and watched you lying there. "We'll get them for you. I won't stop until I catch those bastards. Wait for me just a little longer."

Gibbs didn't visit the hospital for the next few days as he stayed up going over every little detail they had and trying to discover new leads. You still had yet to wake up, which fueled him even more to find whoever did this to you.

"Gibbs, I found something." Abby said over the phone.

"I'll be down." He said and ended the call. "Abby has a something, let's go."

The elevators chimed and as he and the team stepped off and into Abby's lab. "Whatcha got, Abs?"

"I found something in the security cameras. The shop that Y/N went to every week was this one here," Abby pulled up the shop's logo on the screen, "it's a small business that sells stuffed animals. She had been eyeing this cat for weeks. With my findings on the surveillance and evidence from the bomb, it looked like whoever made the cat used it as a trigger. Once out of the safe zone, it set off both bombs. The second one was delayed due to the stall being moved slightly during set up." She showed a few slides of the stuffed cat, one that looked similar to her cat that had just past away, and then to a video display of how the bombs worked. "I did some more digging, and found that the maker for these stuffed animals come from a company located just out of D.C."

"We spoke with the shop keepers and they said they draw up the designs and then send them out to a group that then goes around to manufacturers." Tony said.

"Tony, Ziva, go to the factory and interview the workers."

"Wait! I can do you one better." Abby said. "I managed to hack into their surveillance cameras, courtesy of McGee, and found exactly who worked on the stuffed cats for our small business. He goes by the name, James Harrington." Abby hit a key on the keyboard pulling up his James' social media. "It looks like Y/N and him had gone out a few times but about six months ago they haven't communicated or gone out."

"Let's bring him in." Gibbs said through a clenched jaw.

Gibbs was pumped for the interrogation and with a bit of yelling and one slam of the desk, James was putty in his hands. Spilling everything from how you rejected him after a few dates, and that you were always around McGee and he was furious that you could be with anyone but him.

"She always was with him. It was disgusting to watch them together every Sunday. I had to teach her boyfriend a lesson." James spat.

Gibbs eyes narrowed at the word boyfriend. "Well lucky for you, her boyfriend gets to ruin your life. Have fun in prison, while I get to continue dating her." He got up and slammed the interrogation room door closed and headed straight to the hospital, ignoring the shocked looks from Ziva and Tony.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Gibbs pulled your hand closer to him and rested his cheek on it as he clasped it in his. Ever since he got the confession out of James, he had been by your side waiting for you to wake up.

Ziva, Tony and McGee watched from the door way, Gibbs oblivious to the three of them watching which was very much unlike him.

"I can't believe they're dating. How did we miss this?" Ziva whispered.

"What I wanna know is how." McGee answered back.

Tony chuckled, "I bet it was after they went 50 Shades of Grey during that undercover mission."

"Do you think they've been together that long?" Ziva questioned. "That was like half a year ago."

"It explains why Gibbs avoids her during cases."

"But why keep it a secret?" McGee asked.

"Maybe it's because they're happy with just each other." Tony replied, watching Gibbs gently kiss your forehead.

Gibbs watched as you slept peacefully. You looked like an angel, to him you always did, but especially now because you looked so peaceful. You were always peaceful when you slept. He could watch you for hours, running his fingers through your hair as you cuddled into him, your head on his chest.

He closed his eyes, feeling days worth of no sleep catching up to him.

"Jethro?" He thought it was your voice, but how could it be? You've been unconscious for the past week.

"Jethro?" The voice was clearing up and it definitely sounded like you. But it had to be a dream, he thought.

"Jethro!" Your voice was much louder this time, enough that Gibbs' head sprang up off the mattress and his eyes opened to meet yours.

"Y/N?" Gibbs said shakily.

You were sitting up, your hand still in his, with a big smile on your face. "You've been asleep for a few hours, you're quite cute when you're sleeping." You giggled.

Gibbs looked at you in disbelief for a second before he crushed you to his chest, holding you tightly. "Don't you ever leave me like that again." He whispered. "From now on, anywhere you want to go I'll follow. I can't lose you."

You pulled him away and cupped his cheek. "Are you okay with that?"

"This whole thing has made me realized how much I care for you. I'm not letting you walk out that door again, especially when you want me there."

He watched you smile, cupped the back of your head and placed a sweet kiss on your lips.

"No more hiding?"

"No more hiding."

Taglist:

@crimeshowjunkie

@slxmw

So sorry this took forever! So many things in my life popped up half way through writing this! The second half of this doesn't do the story line justice. Let me know what you think down below!!

#yjethro gibbs x reader #ncis gibbs #jethro gibbs #gibbs #ncis x reader #ncis imagine #ncis fandom #ncis #gibbs x reader

[unexpectedstormy]

Avalanche Rescue Part 6 - Final

Whumptober day 25 completed--Finally finished this! Yaaay! Will put this on AO3 shortly.

Other parts if you haven't read them yet:

[Pt 1] [Pt 2] [Pt 3] [Pt 4] [Pt 5]

****** (874 words)

While Wolfie groomed Smallest Pup's fur, other pups change clothes, wrap in blankets, be cozy cuddle pups. Sky pup give out hot stinky plant drink. Battle pup, Bunny pup, and Old Father bury hole in snow.

Lick lick lick lick lick lick lick lick lick--

“Urgh,” Smallest pup groaned. Pup move! Pup open eyes! Pup waking up! Yay! Tail wag wag wag wag wag wag wag wag wag wag--

“Uhhh... Wolfie. Hi.” Four said and scratched Wolfie head.

“Hi! Hi! Happy you wake up!” Wolfie whined. “Long sleep worry Wolfie!”

“He's awake!” Sky exclaimed. Time jumped up and hurried to Four's side.

“How are you feeing?” Time asked Four.

“I've been better,” Four said.

“Would a potion would help?”

“Ugh. Probably.” Four put a hand to his forehead and closed his eyes again.

Smallest pup in pain. Wolfie worry whined.

“I have one here for you. Wolfie, back up. Give us some space.” Time nudged Wolfie away.

Wolfie get up, go to Special cub and Bunny Pup. Ow ow ow sore legs. Squeeze between pups, lay down.

“Wolfie!” Legend laughed and scooted away from Wild to make room for Wolfie.

“Is he limping?” Wild asked.

“Did anyone bother to check Wolfie for injuries?” Warriors asked.

“I didn't,” Hyrule said. “He seemed fine earlier.”

“Why don’t you change back into a human?” Wind asked.

“I think he wants to be Dog today,” Wild answered. “Some days are dog days.”

“I'll check him,” Hyrule said. “Move over, Wild.”

Wolfie let Wander pup check him for injuries. Silly pup, Wolfie was fine. Only tired sore. Lick, mouth Wander pup's arms.

“Nothings broken or bruised as far as I can tell,” Hyrule said.

“Could just be sore joints,” Legend said.

“He has been doing a lot of running today,” Wind agreed.

“I think I have something for that,” Wild said and started digging through his bag.

Hmm? What's that? Wolfie sniff Special Cub's bag. Food? Food? Is that... meat? Special cub have meat for Wolfie? Wolfie suddenly very hungry. Wolfie dinner time? Meat for Wolfie?

“Here you go Wolfie. You deserve it.” Special cub give Wolfie roasted meat. Wolfie take it, carry it away from other pups. Wolfie's meat. Not pup's meat.

OM NOM NOM NOM Mmmmm. Meat. Mmmmm. Om nom nom nom. So tasty. So meaty. Tasty deer meat. Om nom nom nom.

“Looks like he was hungry,” Hyrule laughed.

“I would imagine so with how much digging and running around he did,” Time said helping Four to settle sitting up against an old log.

“Hi Four!” Wind chirped. “How are you doing?”

“Uh. Hi everyone,” Four said awkwardly, his hair stiff with Wolfie spit and sticking out every which way. “I'm alright. Is everyone else okay?”

“Yeah, we're all fine, thanks to Wolfie,” Wild said.

“Wolfie certainly is the hero of today,“ Warriors said. “He saved my life.”

“Mine too,” Four replied.

“So what exactly happened?” Legend asked. “Wild and I were down here this whole time and we didn't see what happened to any of you.”

The Chain spent the next twenty minutes each telling the story of what happened from their perspective and sorting out how it all fit together.

“Wow. So it sounds like Wolfie himself is responsible for finding and rescuing pretty much everyone,” Four said.

“I think he deserves a treat,” Sky said. “Wolfie, do you want a treat?”

Treat? Treat? Wolfie stopped listening to boring talk long ago. Ate meat, started to doze, but Wolfie heard the word 'treat!' Wolfie always hears word 'treat!'

“That's right! Here! Have a fish! Thanks for helping dig me up, and, uh, you know. Laying on me while Hyrule fxed my arm.”

Sky pup toss whole fish. Wolfie catch it in the air! Yum!

“Ew. Did you just have a raw fish in your bag?” Warriors asked.

“I keep whatever I want in my bag,” Sky answered.

“I have a treat for you too, Wolfie,” Warriors said.

Treat? More treats for Wolfie? Yaaayyy! Wolfie very happy, tail wag and beg in front of Battle pup.

Battle pup give Wolfie a cheese sandwich. An old cheese sandwhich. Old and stinky. Need to roll in it before eating.

“Wolfie, I have something for you too,” Smallest pup said. ”It's not much, but you should have it.”

Smallest pup toss food at Wolfie. Wolfie catch it. Mmmm! Sausage roll! Wolfie eat it very fast.

“I think that's enough people food for Wolfie,” Time said. “Don't want to make him sick.”

“It's 'give Wolfie food' time. What will you give me?” Wolfie begged Old Father. Other pups laugh.

“...Alright. You got me.” Old father give Wolfie head scratch. “Here's some roasted pumpkin.”

Wolfie sniff. Not meat, but okay. Wolfie always take offered food.

Wander pup give Wolfie mutton leg. Baby pup give Wolfie oatmeal cookies. Bunny pup give Wolfie mushrooms on pokey stick.

Wolfie eat lots, bury extra for breakfast. Pups cook and eat and talk. Sun set. Moon rise. Wolfie greet, sing to moon. Wolfie and pups cuddle together, pups go to sleep. Wolfie sleepy.

Wolfie good wolf. Wolfie found all pups. Wolfie save buried pups. Wolfie bring pack together. Wolfie help heal, groom hurt pups. All pups okay. Wolfie tired, fed, sleepy, safe.

Wolfie very happy.

#this concludes my whumptober fics for this year #I've written 12k words total for whumptober -- not bad #whumptober 2023 #linked universe #lu wolfie #lu time #lu twilight #lu wild #lu four #lu legend #lu wind #lu sky #lu hyrule #wolfie is a good boy

[quill-of-thoth]

Letters From Watson, The Noble Bachelor

Part 3: The Fun Bits

- Holmes did NOT have to make this a dinner theater, but he did. Because Watson is trapped at home by the weather? Because Lord St. Simon is footing the bill? So Hattie and Francis would get a much-belated wedding dinner?

- He also appears very ready to argue St. Simon down from his anger. And the feeling is valid but anything St. Simon would do stemming from it would do nothing but make the lives of innocent people more difficult.  - Missing, presumed dead is a trope, but it’s a lot easier to achieve believably in these days with travel and sending messages far more difficult. It’s made more believable by Victorian attitudes about the USA.  - Holmes’ visit to Hattie and Francis is also interesting to imagine. He’s a detective, but he knows you didn’t do anything wrong, you just... planned hastily. Everybody will feel a lot better if you all meet in secret at his place to talk it over - he’ll even provide a nice meal to celebrate your wedding! You mustn’t mind his roommate.  - Hattie must care enough about St. Simon to want this to go as least-terribly as possible for him. And this route does save her father a lot of grief too. St. Simon is... not so quick to cooperate.  - Holmes’ ideas regarding a US/UK global empire are, uh. You know the kind of retrofuturism that is so hopeful but also so fucking cringe? Yep. My dude. I have some READING for you to do. (How long do you think it would take to radicalize a victorian?) - After all this we skip the wedding dinner, which Holmes appears to have attempted to make enjoyable... if all went as he planned, would St. Simon and the Moultons be friends by the end? Does he think he can show off a little, feed everyone a nice dinner, and happily, instead of bittersweetly, resolve what is ultimately a case where nobody is to blame, or at least, nobody acted with malice? He doesn’t get a lot of those. - Love the actual evidence-finding in this case - the recipt. The prices alone narrow it down quite a bit, but were doubly lost on me when I first read this, being a modern american. I’m triply at sea because  the prices here are also so low that they’re really impossible to ballpark using only inflation calculators. The prices of food and lodging do not correspond to inflation anyway, as basically all of us are aware. Maybe I’ll add some historical comparison of wages vs. expenses to my projects along with the ongoing amended timeline. - Holmes gives the Moultons some “paternal” advice. Of note he’s like, barely thirty: Hattie is in her very early twenties and Francis presumably similarly aged. On the one hand, sir you are a hypocrite, on the other hand, I’m thirty and twenty-two year olds are kids. Especially if the solution to the problem is “you need to get over yourselves and talk this out.” - Holmes’ closing comments regarding that he and Watson are unlikely to ever be out both a spouse and an income in the same day are very, very hilarious if you, like me, presume that Holmes is aroace. I have legitimately told friends and acquaintances relating tales of romantic trouble (not theirs! I have some sense of when to shut up!) “Wow, glad I’ll never have that problem.” Also, when one remembers that Watson is weeks away from his own marriage, this could also be a clumsy attempt by Holmes to reassure him. This won’t happen to you, old chap. You’re the first and only person in Mary’s heart. 

#Letters from Watson #The Noble Bachelor #look the insistent straightwashing of holmes is not my ONLY fight with baring gould #but it's on the list #Look making everyone sit down and talk it out because you somehow got roped into providing romance advice #is a very aroace mood #as is happy wedding here's some food #So about that watson wedding we absolutely HAVE to assume that Holmes is his best man #a thing that I am way more emotional about as a grown person who has been part of a wedding party

[persephonescottage]

PONY| 03.

Pairing: Billy RussoxFem!Reader

Summary: Billy pays you a visit at lunchtime… from a far obviously.

Warning: References to sexual situations, swearing, obsessive thoughts. Although this chapter might not include it, this fic will include stalking, somnophilia, CNC (between two consenting adults), knife play, age gap, Stockholm syndrome, gaslighting and other triggers I will include as we go along, please only read if you’re 18+. If any of this warnings trigger you please don’t read.

A/N: Thank you for everyone’s nice comments and tags, they were so cute I smiled all day at work yesterday! So glad you like intense, delusional, stalkery Billy as much as I do <3

PS. I will start a tag list if you guys want me to, let me know if you want to be added :)

♥

Billy read the pages in his hands for the hundredth time that morning. Getting background checks was something he would do usually for new hires or people of interest. But never a regular civilian, specially one he had no business knowing about.

So why had he arrived at ANVIL an hour early to run your story?

Because he had spent last night touching himself thinking of how lovely it would’ve been to follow you into your apartment, lick the cupcake frosting off your cheek and fuck you against the window he saw you through.

That was why.

There were a few interesting points in your story and he took a quick sip of his coffee mug before putting it down next to the folders of work he should be doing instead of meddling in your past.

You were an orphan too.

Maybe not the same way that he was but it still felt like it could bring you together and he sighed. Your loving parents passed in a car accident a month before you turned eighteen. A neighboring couple looked after you for a while after, until you went to college.

Surprisingly after living through such a traumatic situation you stayed home for college, and you were engaged by the time you graduated, at twenty two. Billy cleared his throat.

Engaged?

To who?

He needed a name and social security number stat.

He skimmed through the information on your excellent english grades and valedictorian status and your not so great math and science ones looking for him.

Did you break off the engagement?

Did he?

Billy took a red pen from his desk and underlined the name twice. The red ink bleeding slightly to the next page from the pressure he put onto the paper.

Barret Kegan.

Well he sounded like a tool, he rolled his eyes, but he was dead. Killed himself five months after getting engaged to you. 

Ouch. 

His imagination took him to the day you’ll finally confide this to him, in the dark intimacy of his bedroom, your eyes watery after sharing story of your life, that he’ll already know but pretend to be oblivious about, and then he’ll hold you to sleep, letting you know you’ll never be alone again.

Soon, he said.

Not now.

But soon.

A couple weeks after your fiancé passed you moved to the city, only two years ago. With a masters degree in library science and a full time job at the New York public library you still worked two more jobs. A full time barista job at a coffee shop in Brooklyn and a part time one at a grocery store in your neighborhood, only on saturdays.

Talk about the American dream, Billy sighed. 

He was confused though, you had no student loans and no debt, apart from a bank credit card in which you owed twenty dollars from a gallon of oat milk and a couple bagels. No late fee’s on it, you were always punctual.

Was he turned on by your financial responsibility? Wow, the bare minimum from you would do at that point apparently, he thought.

You lived by yourself in that death trap of a building in Vinegar Hill. No roommates, no partner, no children. At least he wouldn’t have to kill anyone. A distasteful thought after knowing your fiancé’s story and the way he had plotted your possible significant other’s murder the night before.

But why did you need three jobs then?

You had no family in the city, or anywhere for that matter, and apparently your only friend was Gianna Esposito, your co worker at the library. He wasn't sure if he felt sad about your loneliness or glad you had no one that would miss you.

Why? What was he planning to do? Kidnap you? It could be relatively easy, judging by your area code and the way you apparently walk home by yourself at ridiculous hours in the evening.

The ringing of his office phone interrupted his inner debate and he pulsed on the blinking red button that connected him to Angela’s extension.

“Mr. Russo, you asked for a noon call. And your lunch delivery is on my desk, would you like me to bring it in?”

“Thank you Angela, no need, I’ll be taking lunch out today.”

The wide eyed look his assistant gave him when he walked out of his office reminded Billy he had to be more discrete. When did he ever not have lunch in his office, drowning in paper work and business calls?

“I’ll be back at two.” He simply said before disappearing from he building.

♥

Billy rolled his eyes frustrated. eating stake with a plastic fork and knife was not ideal. But seeing you have lunch on the library steps was worth it. You wore a light blue dress today and a cream colored cardigan with embroidered pink flowers on it. Your hair was down with a delicate pink headband on it.

He missed the ponytail, but this was nice too.

Your legs reflected the sunlight as you sat down followed by your friend, who he now knew was Gianna, and you took a red container from a tote bag. All he could see was how your dress rose up your thighs as you mixed what looked like a salad in the plastic bowl.

He exhaled slowly. Getting arrested for masturbating in his car would sure get him attention from you, but not the kind he wanted.

You looked just as energetic as you had yesterday when talking to him, and even if he was across the street from you he still smiled when you laughed out loud at something your friend said. 

He wanted to make you laugh too. His mind went to a scenario where you two were desperately making out after a date, you wore a cute dress just like the one you wore now and you giggled and laughed every time he bumped into something on your way to the bedroom.

Jesus. Would someone really notice if he masturbated in the car? His windows were tinted.

Before he could put his plate aside and his zipper down someone got his attention. Billy froze.

There was a man saying hello to you, you and Gianna waved back. He was getting near you and you stood up to hug him with a smile. Billy heard the crack of the plastic knife snapping in his hand.

The man was much taller than you and he looked all broad shoulders and arms. Billy rolled his eyes, he could take him, he was sure. 

Actually, would it be absolutely ridiculous if he got off the car, walked to you and carried you away from him? Yes it would, he might as well bark at the man’s face.

He could however get off the car and walk by, just to check up on you, make sure he wasn’t harassing you (like he himself kind of was but what you didn't know couldn’t hurt you) and maybe eavesdrop a little. 

You know, for your safety.

The bell in his car as he opened the door warned him he was taking it too far, but he was too involved. He couldn't help it. And while he crossed the street dodging angry drivers he noticed the man said goodbye to both of you and walk inside the building.

But Billy couldn't turn back, it would be too obvious, and causing an accident would definitely catch your attention, so he kept walking, past the sidewalk and slowed his pace starting to climb the stairs. 

It was like time stood still as he walked right past you, the freshly squeezed orange scent irradiated off your skin and you nodded and chewed while Gianna freaked out. 

About what?

He wanted to know.

There were a lot of people sitting on the stairs, surely it wouldn’t be weird if a man sat behind you a couple of steps, while pretending to be on his phone.

“I can’t believe he’s here, are you kidding me?”

Gianna’s voice was exited, she was whisper screaming and you looked at her with an amused frown on your face, the fork in your hand moving around your salad.

From up close, you looked so much younger today, or maybe it was because he knew your actual age now, but the pale blue of your dress made your skin look soft and glowy and Billy wanted to bite the inside of your thighs.

“He’s here every year Gigi, he’s a known patron of the library.” You said slightly covering your mouth, speaking with your mouth full.

“Yes, but they said he would be in Thailand this year in time for the fundraiser and now he’s back and delivering his check in person? Coincidence?”

“Yes?” you swallowed.

“Absolutely not!” Gianna accused you. “He’s obviously here to see you.”

Billy choked on his own saliva and fought with himself to not cough and draw attention to himself. That man was here to see you? There was a fundraiser? A check? If that asshole was trying to buy your love two could play that game.

“I thought he had a girlfriend.”

“Allegra Hastings?” Gianna shook her head and Billy took note of the name. “They broke up ages ago! And I’m not saying they broke up because of you but they did break up a couple weeks after you met him.”

“How sad. I thought they looked great together.”

You say uninterested before putting the lid of your container back on and changing the subject to something in the news that morning. Billy coudn’t help but smile.

Attagirl. He thinks.

Before the hour is over he stands and starts walking, now aware of at least ninety percent of what happened last night in some random reality show you and Gianna are fans of. But he is now convinced he could listen to you read a grocery list and get a hard on.

He’d be back in time for the library closing to follow you that afternoon. But in the walk back to his car all he could think about was your arms around that man, the way you smiled when you said hello and how soon he would be the only one that could get a smile that bright from you.

#Will you finally know billy is watching you in the next chapter? #I think so… #billy russo #billy russo x reader #my writting #stalker!billy

[ohtobealady]

helloooo!!! i think you are one of my favorite writers for Downton Abbey. Like I’m actually star struck writing this heheheh. Ok anyway…*focus*…. Would you be interested in writing a fic about Rosamund realizing that Cora is losing interest in Robert (AU) during there first year of marriage and Robert hasn’t told Cora he loves her. Basically Robert is being a Donk and Cora is losing interest but we as an audience knows Robert loves her but Rosamund sees Cora losing interest and there’s a big dinner and Cora is talking/flirting with this guy and Ros goes to Robert and is like “dude, your loosing her” and we see Robert be like “wait Cora I love you” lol if that makes sense. Its been like a story playing in my head but I stink at writing. lol love ya

Anonny! First of all, wow! Thank you!!! That’s so so so nice of you! Too nice haha. Second, your prompt is so cute, but I’m afraid I didn’t do it justice. I would love to read your version, but I couldn’t turn it out exactly as you hoped. It’s my headcanon that poor baby Cora was just head over heels for young Donk, bless her heart. So I took your prompt as inspiration, for sure, but forgive me for not following it to a T. Anyway, obviously I love you too! Haha! Hope you do find something in this mess below you enjoy:

——————————————————————-

He kept hearing her words in his head, again and again, echoing around. He heard Cora’s words even above the genteel scrape of silverware on porcelain. Even above his sister’s pitchy niceties beside him. Even above his mother and father and cousins and friends and everyone else who peopled the London table he dined at. He heard his wife’s sharp, “I thought you at least liked me!” again and again.

Oh, they’d been arguing for days now. Weeks, even. Two months. Ever since their return to Downton had proven their honeymoon had been fruitless, a disappointment to both their fathers, and that duties beyond the conception of an heir now also lay at their feet.

And the weight of these duties—committees to sit, charities to head, luncheons to host, tenants to mind—made the one enormous, all-important duty more and more difficult to achieve. More difficult, for Robert, to perform.

He’d want to. He’d go into her room and he’d touch her. He’d kiss her. He’d want to, and then he’d feel the phantom breath of his father on his neck, and he could not.

And he had not—they had not—in three weeks time, even as they descended upon London for the Season. Even as they tried their best to keep up the facade of happy newlyweds, every eye in every ballroom narrowing their rather critical gaze upon her hand in the loop of his arm. Oh, his mother had warned him to prepare himself. Rosamund, still nattering on beside him, had done so too, reminding him that his and Cora’s engagement had happened really after the Season had ended. They had, very purposefully, not invited the whole of London to their wedding and every single person was curious about them! Their marriage was peculiar, he knew. Their union had been rushed and unexpected, of course. And more than that, everyone had known Robert since he was small, had thrown their daughters at him since he turned twenty-one to no avail…and so they knew precisely why that pretty American girl—that Levinson millionairess—had seemingly won him.

But Cora played her part well: the happy new bride. And Robert, too, touching at her gloved elbow as they moved to their seats at a concert or helping her down from the hansom as they went into a museum. No. As far as Robert could tell, no one was aware of the truth of their current state outside of he and Cora. Even Rosamund, who now chewed rather noisily beside him, was unaware that Robert and Cora brought with them to their parents’ London house a tension between them that would snap the moment someone mentioned it. And certainly not the suave Lord Hutton who chatted lowly beside Cora on the other side of the table. He, too, was unaware that Robert had not lain with his wife for twenty-two days. His wife who, as Robert watched her, grew more charming by the moment.

But how could he? How could he let himself when everyone around him, every event, every dance and dinner, reminded him he’d wooed her for the thing that was so plainly obvious: Money.

She smiled at the man beside her, coquettishly, and glanced down into her plate.

Robert noticed that.

He noticed, too, how from a certain distance his wife seemed so unlike the woman she was up in her room. With him. At a certain distance, a distance of just across the dining table, Cora was startlingly beautiful.

When had that happened?

It wasn’t the approachable warmth he’d grown to know in these four months they’d been man and wife. Nor was it the modest—even chaste—prettiness he’d found in her in their courtship. But beautiful. She was beautiful. Oddly so, not really like any of the other women around him (least of all Rosamund) but—by God—so alluringly, beautiful.

Now, though. At the way Cora sipped at her wine, the deep red staining at her bottom lip; at the way Cora lifted her chin and somehow exposed the length of her smooth neck, the soft shadows that slept at her collar bones; at the way she lifted her searching eyes to that man, eyes that Robert had learned could communicate so much more than her mouth could possibly articulate, Cora had changed. Robert realized that somewhere, at some uncertain point in time between their wedding night and this night, Cora had learned to flirt. She’d learned attraction.

And she played the game well enough for his tummy to turn over.

He picked up his wineglass as Rosamund leaned to her left. “What’s happened?”

Robert grimaced and cut eyes at his mother who was engaged with the old Baron she sat besides. Why she placed he and Rosamund beside one another made no sense whatsoever to him and he frowned at her, though of course she wouldn’t see. Rosamund, however, did.

“Robert. You’re pouting.”

He rolled his eyes. “I’m not pouting—“

“—No, no. My mistake,” her tone was too like their mama’s. “You’ve only got a bit of dyspepsia? From all the dinner you haven’t touched?”

Robert felt himself huff, instinctively, and dropped his knife onto his plate. “And why are my eating habits of a particular interest to you? Hmm? Or are you wanting to have my dinner in addition to your own?”

But to his surprise, his sister did not retort the way he had expected. Instead, he watched as she pursed her lips, and raising her glass of wine, moved her gaze to where Robert’s had been all evening: Cora.

And his heart felt thicker behind his ribs.

“I’m still rather unsure about her.” Her voice was lower, and Robert had to slow his breathing to hear her better. “Though of course, I’m allowed to be. You, however—“

Robert watched her take a sip of her wine. And then he waited. “I what?” He said after another moment.

Rosamund put down her glass, and, shaking her head, picked up her fork and knife. “Well, what do you think happens, hmm? A young wife uncared for by her husband?”

“Don’t be ridiculous.” He stabbed the beef on his plate and lifted it. “Of course I care for her.”

His sister lifted her chin. “Of course,” she echoed. “And she knows this?”

“Certainly,” he slid the beef from the fork between his teeth and began to chew. “After all, I respect her privacy. She’s allowed to do as she pleases,” he swallowed. “I ensure she has what she needs, what she wants, and try not to interfere.”

“Indeed,” Rosamund, too, pierced a potato with the prongs of her fork. “A woman knows a man truly cares when he leaves her well enough alone.”

Robert felt his mouth fall slacker, “No, I —“ he collected himself. “That isn’t what I meant. I don’t wish to bother her or force myself on her.”

“No?”

“Of course not.” He moved his mouth, but discovered he couldn’t find the words to go on. “It isn’t—“ he tried. “That is—“

“I used to think that you only pretended to be much nicer than the rest of us. Nobler. Très moral.” Rosamund sighed. “And now that I see that you really are, I pity you.”

“Pity me?” Robert tried to laugh. “I don’t need your pity. There’s nothing for you to pity me over.”

“No?”

“No.”

At this his sister laughed, too, but only once, and looked into her lap. “She married you willingly, Robert.” She caught his eye. “She married you in spite of all those others we both saw dance with her.” She dabbed her serviette at the corner of her mouth. “For some reason she chose you. But instead of enjoying your sheer luck, you’d prefer to feel guilty that you’d been in the game at all.”

And then, in his periphery, Robert saw as his mother turned, knowing he’d too have to turn to Lady Shackleton on his left. “You don’t know that — That isn’t —,” he managed to whisper at Rosamund’s smug smirk before he felt himself shift, bringing his gaze across the table again and catching, for a moment, his wife’s eye.

She broke away as soon as their eyes met, her eyes shifting quickly to her lap, and then to the old Baron beside her. He could hear her talk louder, and he knew she’d been told that the Baron was deaf in one ear.

“—Italy?”

Robert collected himself. He swallowed. Lady Shackleton’s kind smile warmed her dark eyes.

“I have always wanted to go to Venice, but have never been quite so far East. Did you enjoy it?”

He nodded. “Yes,” he answered, for it was the truth. They had enjoyed it. He had enjoyed it there with her. “Yes, very much.”

“And what did you do? Besides of course what all honeymooners do!” Robert felt his face grow crimson as she chuckled, though he wasn’t sure she meant quite what she had said. “The gondolas? Museums?”

“Both,” he managed. He nodded. “We …” he trailed off and thought of her there, Cora laughing at a street performer; Cora pointing up at the arches of St Mark’s Square; Cora looking up at him and smiling when he read from their guide book. “We saw most everything there was, I believe.

“Oh, to be young,” Lady Shackleton was laughing as she sighed, and he noticed her gaze was across from them. “I must try my best to catch your lovely wife as we go through. I do hope to know her better. After all, I’ve known you since you were quite small. Seems only right that I give her a proper interview.”

“Yes,” he echoed, for no other words would come.

“Is there a topic you suggest I begin with?” He blinked at her, but she had asked in earnest. “Something of interest to her?”

His mind rapidly ran through conversations, interactions, various small exchanges where she��d spoken and he searched them to spot anything she’d ever mentioned she enjoyed. What was it that she liked? Art. She’d liked it when he’d shown her Papa’s della Francesca. And books. She’d asked him at least a dozen times since they’d returned what he was reading, if he liked it. Riding? No. She only came out with him because he’d liked it. And it was obvious she simply hated it and — suddenly, as if he’d taken a deep breath of cold air, his chest ached.

It was him. Cora was interested in … him.

“Ah.” Robert shook his head. He closed his mouth. He focused again on Lady Shackleton as she spoke. “Never mind.” Her smile softened into a knowing grin. “As I said, I have known you since you were very young.” Her fingertips touched his elbow. “I believe I can think of something.”

#cobert #cobert drabbles #look I’m sorry it’s the way it is #I haven’t written in many a moon #but I offer this humbly

[tina-aumont]

Maria Montez in the Spanish "El Inocente" stage play

Hi!

So thanks to this article you shared some time ago https://www.abc.es/archivo/periodicos/abc-madrid-19690126-135.html I created María Montez’ page on Theatricalia https://theatricalia.com/person/3s2c/maria-montez I hope we can all be finding more information so I can add it there.

Anyway, both the book and the play were published/premiered on 1968 and I found the cover of a 1969 edition of the book online and I wonder if Maria is one of the young women featured: https://www.todocoleccion.net/libros-segunda-mano-teatro/el-inocente-una-noche-lluvia-joaquin-calvo-sotelo-ano-1969~x403295609 or better https://pictures.abebooks.com/inventory/30614081670.jpg

Thank you! :)

🌟Thank you so much for this great information about María Montez II🌟

Wow, this is really cool. You know I was looking for the post about this link you sent me and I just can’t find it? and in my mind I was thinking that maybe that was a picture from a theatre play she did, well, thank you so much for sending me again the link, and thank you very very much for sending me the information and the photos from “El Inocente”. She’s one of the girls in the cover, the one at the far right, I will add the photos here, and I’m going to translate the part of the news that speaks about her cause it’s really interesting and beautiful what’s written in it :)

The four actresses of the chorus of “El Inocente” talk about their work, their illusions and their hopes

MARÍA MONTEZ

Seventeen springs born in Santo Domingo and the mother-of-pearl smile. Maria Montez has a cascade of shiny black hair down her back. As pretty as her aunt.

- I didn’t get to meet her. I was born twenty-three days after her death. That’s why they named me Maria, after her.

No doubt. This girl has climbed on the boards because art is in her blood.

- Making theater is very important, because it is where you learn, but my goal is cinema. I want to be a great actress.

And in the cinema she has already done, for the moment, ten small roles.

- First thing you did?- Die!- But, how?- In the first scene that I shot for the movie “15 gallows for a murderer” I played the role of a dead girl. The same thing happened to my aunt and cousin Tina Aumont. It looks like it runs in the family.- How long have you been in Spain?- Five years. I’m an only child.

During this time she has done children’s theater at the Beatriz, together with Charo Tijero. Then she went to the small screen, where she took part for two years in that musical program called “Escala en Hi-Fi”.- What do you think of the current theater?- That there are very good authors who write excellent works and that I would like to interpret.Apart from cinema and theater, María Montez has two great hobbies:- I love rhythm and astrology.And one thinks that in the immensity of the firmament a new star must have lit up in which tomorrow this name will be read for the second time: María Montez.

- ABC Madrid, 26th January 1969.

#submission #María Montez II #Maria Montez II #María Montez Gracia Fiallo #Maria Montez Gracia Fiallo #actress #stage actress #El Inocente #1968 El Inocente #collaboration #1968 María M #ABC #1969 ABC

[sidewinder30k]

Dunestrider's Vacation Diary

pt. 1

"My first travel destination was the beautiful city of Kaineng. Some traders in Amnoon were talking about it's endlessly high buildings and the modern technology. After what felt like an eternity we finally arrived in Cantha. I've never been more happy to touch solid ground with my paws again. But I didn't had time to get some rest or buy some snacks (which was a shame because they were selling pretty tasty looking fish in town).

"If you think, traveling in a nutshell across the ocean for days was bad, you've never been in the ministry of Transit. I had to wait for three hours to get my documents back!"

"After that was done, I've finally been free. So I bought some traditional clothes and headed to the big city!"

"I expected much but the city overwhelmed me. Building as tall as mountains, blinking lights everywhere, uncountable numbers of people in the streets. This city is breathtaking!*

"I spent the afternoon checking some local shops, talked with some people and managed to eat the best noodle dish i ever had! In the early hours of the evening a rented a boat and headed down to the harbor. One of the locals offered to teach me how to become a master in fishing. So I blasted through the canals of the city. On my way I... accidentally hit some of the patrolling guards on the sidewalks with some splash water. They weren't happy, but I had a lot of fun."

"And there I was, ready to soak up every little bit of knowledge to become a master in Fish-fu. One Charr against the elements, many tried it but only a few were successful."

*Metal legion music starts playing in the background*

>>"What's that? Do you hear that? I think it's time for some epic FISHING ACTION!!!"<<

(twenty minutes later)

>>"*Hums quietly elevator music* Wow this is less action packed than I expected!"<<

"After one hour i finally managed to catch my first fish. I proudly presented my fish, but my mentor wasn't as hyped as I was. She managed to fill two whole buckets with fish."

"And that was my first part of a series of entries in my travel diary. Let's ignore that the guards, i splashed earlier, caught me and threw me in jail for one night. But it was definitely worth it. Let's see where my journey will take me next. Till next time, your local chaos sheriff."

Hey there, if you came this far and managed to read all, thank you. Hope you like this silly little post. I had a huge lack of inspiration and motivation to play the game, so I started this silly little project.

If you have any ideas for new vacation locations for Marshal Dunestrider, tag-reply or send me an ask reply.

Big thanks to @whomerlockwood for the first reply in this mini series! Hope the Marshal will meet you for an epic Fishing contest in Kaineng someday. :)

#charr #gw2 #guildwars2 #gw2 charr #guild wars 2 #gw2 screenshots #Dunestrider's Vacation Diary

[koexchange]

I don’t know what I’d request exactly but I would die just to have one (1) date with Elaine but I fear my ADHD cursed ass would have far to much energy for her. (Also as a transmasc creature I’m so happy you write for any gender, I hope your charger never breaks)

a/n: AWWW YOURE SO SWEET i also have adhd and I HOPE YOUR CHARGER NEVER BREAKS EITHERR!! uhh im assuming u wanted adhd and transmasc reader x elaine SO here it is :333 its their first date and they met onnnnntinder

cw: slight mention of binding

word count: 769

(Transmasc!Adhd!)Reader x Elaine!

Wow, this cafe is insanely boring.

Seated across from you, Elaine, your Tinder date, stirs and stares into her black coffee, wondering what convinced her to swipe right on you.

Perhaps it was the corgi in sunglasses you were hugging. Is it your pet?

Or your strange bio? What is 'adhd'?

Or the meticulous placement of your photos? Why was your abnormally large figurine collection before the well-lit selfie?

Or maybe it was just you. All of you.

"Hellooooo?" You wave your hand in front of her face, startling her.

Bless her broken heart, her automatic response is to grab your hand, firmly, and jump back. For protection. So she does.

Your face scares her more than the orphanage. You look like you've just seen a ghost.

Quickly, "Oh- sorry", she apologizes and lets go.

"Don't worry!" You smile warmly at her.

You rather miss the feeling of her gloves on your hands. It is with reluctance that you return your hands to your lap.

Your binder is making you itchy.

"So. How is- I read your..." Your mind is running a marathon a minute as you try to focus on her voice.

"The thing about 'add-huh-duh'?" Wow. She thinks the condition is just one odd word.

"How long have you been learning that language?"

Oh even better. She thinks you're bilingual.

Elaine seems like the type to get offended by laughter, so you try to stifle yours.

"It isn't- Adhd is a disorder I have. Don't worry it isn't contagious." Is your favorite show on tonight?

"Oh. Okay." Elaine is a bit disappointed in herself, she has OCD but knows nothing of other disabilities.

At this point, you believe that any spark between you two has fizzed out for good.

You wonder if faking a family emergency would be too rude.

You could really go for seafood.

In an attempt to speed this up salvage the date, you ask if Elaine has ever heard of your hyperfixation.

When she says that she hasn't, you just can't help the words that fall from your mouth.

You ramble on and on about the media, for what seems like years.

You really can't find the compassion to care about how uninterested she looks.

Maybe because you're too concentrated on how beautiful she looks.

Or, maybe it's because her face hasn't changed since she sat down. Talk about are-bee-eff.

As you finish droning on, Elaine finishes her coffee. Her mouth is moving, but you can't quite pick up her words. A small part of you, in the back of your mind, wonders what she would taste li-

"Like or hate it, the Shadow Decree knows what it wants." Her lithe hand moves her hair out of her eyes.

Oh. When did this conversation start?

She's staring right at you. Straight-faced. Expecting a response.

You've never felt so lost.

Other than twenty minutes ago. The time you were literally lost. Who puts a cafe next to a gym?

"Yeah uh. They have goals! For sure!" You shout, way too excitedly to be talking about a crime organization. The smile you forced onto your mouth hurts.

You wonder what hers would feel like.

It's nearly inaudible, her sigh.

Did you do something wrong?

"If I called you later, would you answer the phone?" She asks without shame, standing up.

Guess not.

"Oh! I thought you hated me...?" You don't hide your laugh as you struggle to grab your things.

Elaine laughs with you. You stand with Elaine.

And hallelujah, she can smile. You drink up her expression, and it's better than your tea was.

"I apologize if I came off that way. I am very interested in you." She saunters over to the exit, with you close behind. Looking like an obedient dog.

"Oh!" You truly look like an idiot with your mouth agape in shock. It snaps shut with a click, taking way longer than it should.

"Of course I would! I'd have to be out of mind not to!"

Elaine's expression softens, marginally.

Elaine finds your expressions cute.

She would never say that out loud though.

The faint blush rising on her cheeks might give you a little hint.

Crazy how fast you went from debating running out of the shop to asking her to stay longer.

Once you get yourself together, she wraps her arm around yours and steps outside with you. You lean in close to her.

You get a glimpse of her teeth this time, her grin feels comfortable on her face. Real. "Want to show me around?"

She read your mind.

You've never been so centered on someone before.

a/n: HOWD I WRITE SEVEN HUFNRE WORDS IN ONE SITTING uhh im so sorry if this isnt what you wanted anon im a little dumb but uhhhhh i hope you enjoyed! thanks for reading! <3333

#i love you anon #dislyte #dislyte fic #dislyte fanfiction #dislyte fanfic #dislyte fanfics #dislyte x reader #elaine x reader #dislyte elaine x reader #elaine #dislyte elaine #transmasc reader #adhd reader #whyd i kinda cook #i gotta start adding gifs/pics now omg lets go #i had to google what swiping right meant #koexfic

[mousemousemoose]

I wanna start writing about the games I play so here's a little review on Clock Tower. "Review" in the sense of looking back on it, not in the sense of like. IGN 8.9/10.

I first played Clock Tower on an SNES emulator in middle school with friends. One of them said it was the scariest game he'd ever seen (watching it on YouTube instead of playing it himself). We'd hunch around a computer and sort of try to figure out how to play it. Now that I've played it myself in twenty twenty four, I can see why it was such an uphill battle.

I played the game (again with friends) at first blind, and after about an hour of trying and failing to grasp it I looked up a guide. Turns out, there are a bunch of intricate (and semi-random) systems in place that more-or-less obscure the path towards completing the game. Rooms that shift locations, items that might not be in the same place between playthroughs -- it's an interesting method to increasing playtime, but not something I think makes the game more engaging. I think the designers wanted the search for the true ending to require trial and error. But (in my mind) trial and error really only work if the results are deterministic, and the fact that they aren't makes playing the game multiple times confusing.

Despite the clunkiness of the gameplay (and not to mention the kind-of-thin story), Clock Tower nails presentation. The house is gorgeous and the sound design is probably my favorite from any game of its generation. The footstep echo and the scissor noises stand out especially. And the music! The music rules! I'm not knowledgeable enough with music stuff to know if it's technically impressive on the hardware, but I haven't played anything from this era that sounds anything like it. The only problem with the music is that it makes it too obvious when you're safe -- it only plays once scissorman isn't pursuing you, and so it's all too clear when you're safe.

Speaking of scissorman: he's the most engaging part of the game by far. His appearances are effectively shocking and his pursuit of Jennifer feels dangerous. At least, it feels dangerous until you realize you just need to mash the "panic" button on him and you can win pretty consistently. But some of his scares are brilliant. When he topples the doll in that weird mannequin room, or when he crashes through the ceiling in the garage -- it was cool and felt true to the horror movies that clearly inspired the game. One friend I was playing with agreed with me that it felt a lot like Suspiria, which is a cool movie and it's cool to play a game in the same vein (lo and behold, the game's director has said that Clock Tower was made in homage to Suspiria's director! Wow! Intertextuality!).

The game has some other 1990s game weirdness going on. Needing to stand still for health regeneration, bizarre actions you need to take to solve puzzles with seemingly obvious answers, but honestly (and I say this as someone who played with a guide) I found a lot of that stuff to be kind of charming in the way that a lot of old games are charming. I especially loved the character portraits and sprite CGs (made by digitizing photos of real people! that's so cool!). There's a sequence where Mrs. Barrows (one of the antagonists) lifts her face up to catch more shadows and look more menacing. It's only a three frame animation but it absolutely rocks. I feel a little bad for having played this game with a guide since, incidentally, playing with one meant I missed some content. However, I'm fairly certain I wouldn't have finished it without one thanks to my thin patience for unneeded slowness, something this game has in abundance. It was definitely worth the revisit, and I'll happily espouse the impact this game had on me as a kid. I'm excited to see what the upcoming remake ends up looking like, and if they'll change anything about the original.

If you made it to the end of this, thank you for reading! I'll probably do more of these going forward since I had fun with this one and it made me think more seriously about the game and how I felt about it.

edit: typo lol

#clock tower

[placegrenette]

Source.

I think about this graph sometimes. Or, rather, I attempt to think about it, and find I can't wrap my head around it. What was it like to live in a world where parents routinely outlived their children? In the world. Until about a hundred years ago, the world where parents routinely outlived their children was the only world that had ever existed.

From Antonia Fraser's The Weaker Vessel, about life for women in 17th-century England:

William Brownlow kept a meticulous recording of [his wife's] child-bearing from 27 June 1626 when their first child Richard was born, who died in October of that year, down to the birth of their nineteenth child twenty-two years later... At one point, between 1638 and 1646, seven children, born at almost exactly yearly intervals, died in a row: Thomas, Francis, Benjamin, George, James, Maria, and Anne. William Brownlow's exclamations of grief as each new tragedy struck show some attempt at reconciliation to the workings of providence -- "Though my children die, the Lord liveth and they exchange but a temporal life for an eternal one" -- but absolutely no diminuition in grief. Little George, his fifteenth child, managed to live from October 1641 to 29 July of the following year; when he died, his father wrote, "I was at ease but Thou O God hast broken me asunder and shaken me to pieces."

Or take the case of Peter the Great, quite possibly the most powerful man on earth for much of his reign: of his fifteen legitimate children, eleven died before their fifth birthday and a twelfth only made it to age six and a half. The chart above has a more expansive definition of "child" (to age 15) and even by its count, Peter the Great and the Brownlows were particularly unlucky. But still.

The other day, at a book sale, I picked up the diaries of Martha Farnsworth, who grew up in Kansas in the 1870s; her only child was born in January 1892 and lived five months. You can read the entries yourselves: January 24th, "The dearest, sweetest little treasure ever a mother had"; April 15th, "I can't thank God enough, for sending this baby into my life"; May 23rd, "My little treasure, don't get sick, for it makes mother's heart ache and ache"; May 31st, "My heart aches with fear"; June 27th, "God sent the angels for her and her terrible suffering ended and mine commenced."

And then I put the book back and went to pick up my kids from school.

And I think now: Martha Farnsworth would trade places with me in a heartbeat. Two children, both of them well past the age of five. One of them missed school today with a cold. I'm not worried. If you zoom out far enough I am in a cohort of the luckiest parents who ever lived.

So why don't I feel my good fortune more?

Part of it, granted, is that constant grateful joy is not necessarily the most useful tool in the parent's toolbox. Sometimes you have to stop thanking God that your children are alive and start pointing out to them that if they're going to borrow your phone then they need to tell you when someone's trying to reach you (for example). But in theory one can correct them, or have activities separate from them, and still think, "Wow, I'm a lucky dog," all the time, because if your kid is alive and healthy and growing then you are a lucky dog all that time.

I want to make a larger sociological statement, about how "X doesn't make us happier," for whatever feature of the modern world X, maybe should have very little value as a criticism. The tenfold decline in child mortality has to be one of the most profound shifts in human history; if we can take that for granted, then there may be no limit to our ability to make lemons out of lemonade. But I can't criticize other people for failing to do what I seem very bad at doing myself.

#not sure how to tag this #on parenting #and modernity #and the elusiveness of contentment

[waitingforwinterwinds]

A Clash of Kings - 17 TYRION IV (pages 238-253)

Tyrion lays some bait for the members of the small council as he tries to plan for the future of King's Landing and his family. Meanwhile, Alisser Thorne finally arrives, but his warning about the up coming Zombie Apocalypse is unfortunately delayed.

-

"There are a hundred whorehouses in this city where a clipped copper will buy me all the cunt I want," Bronn answered, "but one day my life may hang on how close I've watched your louts." He stood.

"cunt" = 🥛

The sellsword grew more serious. "There's a moneylender from Braavos, holding fancy papers and the like, requests to see the ling about payment on some loan." "As if Joff could count past twenty. Send the man to Littlefinger, he'll find a way to put him off. Next?"

... Does Tyrion know how in debt the crown is? He should by this point shouldn't he? I can't decide if I should be reading this as "Tyrion knows how bad the debt is and that they can't pay it so they need to stall for time until they can" or "Tyrion doesn't know how bad the debt is but money and stuff is Not His Department and thus not his problem."

"Ser Alliser Thorne?" Of all the brothers he'd met on the Wall, Tyrion had liked Ser Alliser Thorne the least. A bitter, mean-spirited man with too great a sense of his own worth. "Come to think on it, I don't believe I care to see Ser Alliser just now. Find him a snug cell where no one has changed the rushes in a year, and let his hand rot a little more."

*slow clap* Excellent. And thus, because he did not like the messenger, he did not hear the message until there was no evidence left to prove it true.

That's part of the allegory though, isn't it. People don't want to hear the message, they want to hear it even less from people they don't like, as if the truth is depended on whether or not we like it.

Also, I keep going to type 'Allister' every time I have to spell Alliser's name.

"That's a handsome knife as well." "Is it?" There was mischief in Littlefinger's eyes. He drew the knife and glanced at it casually, as if he had never seen it before. "Valyrian steel and a dragonbone hilt. A trifle plain, though. It's yours, if you would like it." "Mine?" Tyrion gave him a long look. "No. I think not. Never mine." He knows, the insolent wretch. He knows and he knows that I know, and her thinks that I cannot touch him.

Valyrian steel + Dragonbone = 🥛🥛 (the weather's still atrociously hot, so it still counts for two. Stay hydrated all!)

Oh wow, Littlefinger really does own the entire economy from the top down. No wonder he's been getting away with embezzlement and tax fraud.

"- I've heard you grew close to the Tullys." "You might say so. The girls especially." "How close?" "I had their maidenheads. Is that close enough?"

-and then suddenly the floor and wall collapsed, dropping Petyr into the yard where the hares decided they'd had enough and staged an uprising, killing Joffrey and Petyr first with all the vengeance they could muster, calling on their ancestor: The Killer Rabbit of Caerbannog!

"She believes she has good reason. When I was her guest in the Eyrie, she insisted that I'd murdered her husband, and was not inclined to listen to denials." He leaned forward. "If I gave her Jon Arryn's true killer, she might think more kindly of me."

*looks directly at the camera like we're on The Office* just a sliiiight flaw in that plan, Tyrion. Very mall, true, but unfortunately, structural. Load bearing, even.

... You know, I do kind of like Varys in spite of myself. I wouldn't trust him as far as I could throw him, but he grows on me. Like a cute, giggly fungus.

#a clash of kings #a song of ice and fire #a chapter a day reading #acok #asoiaf #tyrion lannister