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inthedayswhenlandswerefew · 2 years

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Have You No Idea That You’re In Deep? [Chapter 1: Moonstone]

Aemond is a fearless, enigmatic prince and the most renowned dragonrider of the Greens. You are a (newly widowed) daughter of House Mormont and a lady-in-waiting to Princess Helaena. You can’t ignore each other, even though you probably should. In fact, you might have found a love worth killing for.

This series begins approximately 1 year before the events of Season 1, Episode 8.

Song inspiration: “Do I Wanna Know?” by Arctic Monkeys.

Chapter warnings: Language, truly unhinged flirting, low-level witchcraft, mentions of death and violence, some sexual references.

Word count: 3k.

Link to chapter list (and all my writing): HERE.

Please let me know if you’d like to be added to the taglist! 💜

He changes every room he walks into; he drags your eyes to him like the sea swallows anchors.

You’re lacing up the back of Helaena’s gown—a rose gold color, free-flowing and feminine and delicate, just like she is—when the prince enters her chambers. You know it’s him without needing to look; you would recognize the rhythm of his steps anywhere. It’s a terribly intimate thing to know about a person you’ve never properly spoken to.

“Aemond!” Helaena chirps, beaming, opening her arms to embrace him.

With abruptly shaky, ungainly hands, you rush to finish lacing the dress and then retreat to the other side of the room. You busy yourself with reorganizing Helaena’s vanity as she climbs onto her tiptoes to throw her arms around Aemond’s neck. He is not one for sentimental displays of affection, but he tolerates this for her sake. He has a soft spot for her. When you steal a glimpse of them, Aemond’s glacial blue eye lands on you and then darts away.

“Come, brother, sit with me,” Helaena says excitedly, pointing to her table surrounded by four chairs. Aemond yanks one out and plunks down, swinging his boots up onto the table. He has positioned himself so that you are standing on his good side, so that he could watch you if he wanted to. Surely this is a coincidence. “How was your sparring with Sir Criston?”

“Satisfactory. How are the insects?”

“Oh, let me tell you!” Helaena produces a large wire cage from under the table. Aemond smirks as if he’s trying to figure out how life brought him to this moment. You have been Helaena’s lady-in-waiting for a full month now, and her younger brother is a constant fixture of her routine. At first, he appeared about once a day; now, it’s at least thrice. Sometimes he materializes for seemingly no reason at all, makes a few unurgent inquiries, does a lap or two around the room, and then leaves as unceremoniously as he arrived. Now, he listens politely as Helaena describes each tiny captive creature to him in excruciating detail: the beetles, the crickets, the butterflies, the saintly praying mantis. Once or twice, Aemond seems to glance over at you. It’s hard to tell for sure because you’re committing your full faculties to not staring at him. It is sort of working. You tug at the moonstone pendant you always wear—the one your mother gave you—trying to distract yourself.

“Lady Mormont,” Helaena says. Now she has the praying mantis in her hands and is letting it creep back and forth across her knuckles. “Is there any wine?”

You bring the pitcher to the table and fill two jeweled cups with a sleek, dark, red liquid like blood.

“Thank you, my love!” Helaena trills as you serve her first. She grasps the massive cup with both hands like a child. You aren’t sure how Hightower and Targaryen flesh melded to create something as blameless and benign as Helaena, but you’re certainly glad that they did.

You offer the prince his cup while peering demurely down at the table, determined not to look at him, petrified that once you begin you’ll never be able to stop. He doesn’t take it. You wait, and wait, and wait, holding the cup in midair. Helaena slurps her wine, breaking the laden silence. At last, your eyes meet Aemond’s; and sure enough, then you’re trapped there. It’s only a second or two, but it feels like a lifetime. He’s so beautiful it hurts, it quarries empty places into your bones that scream to be filled. The prince smiles victoriously and plucks the cup from your hand.

“And one for you too, I think,” he says in his low, commanding voice.

“For me?”

“Yes, you.” He takes a swig of his wine and pulls out the chair on his good side. Helaena watches, half-amused and half-puzzled. The praying mantis is now perched on her shoulder, pondering the scene with bulging, unnerving green eyes.

You pour yourself a cup and sit reluctantly beside Aemond. He studies you like you’re a painting or a sculpture or a tapestry, taking in every line and shadow. In truth, it is not ordinarily in your nature to be reserved; you are a Mormont, you were raised to be bold and courageous and self-reliant. It is something you’ve always been proud of. It is the reason why Queen Alicent thought you’d make an excellent companion for Helaena. And yet…here with the prince…you aren’t sure what he wants from you. You so desperately don’t want to disappoint him.

“I know you,” he says at last. In the meantime, Helaena has fetched a deck of playing cards. The praying mantis is still hovering vigilantly on her shoulder. “You’re Lady Y/N Mormont. But that’s what everyone calls you. That’s what my dear sister and my mother and all the people of the court call you.” He gestures with his cup, like he’s referring to the entire world outside of this exchange, this moment. “What am I going to call you?” He considers this…and then his eye flicks down to your pendant. “Moonstone,” he decides. His gaze is mischievous, baiting. And immediately, you realize what he wants. This is sparring, just with words instead of blades. He is giving you permission to be bold. He is giving you permission to be exactly who you are.

“And what shall I call you?” you reply. “Lanky Boy? Eyepatch? Silver Hair?”

Helaena covers her mouth with her hand and winces. No one ever mentions the prince’s maiming in his presence…although you’ve heard plenty of people mutter about ‘Aemond One-Eye’ behind his back. Miraculously, he is not offended. “Just Silver,” he says with a sly, crooked smile. “It’s sharper, it’s cleaner. It could be the name of a sword.”

“See, this is why you frighten people. Because you say deranged things like that.”

“Do I frighten you?”

“No,” you say honestly. He doesn’t. Sometimes it frightens you how much you want him, but that’s all.

Aemond seems to like this. His smile becomes a grin, toothy like a dragon’s. “Come. Play cards with us.”

“I don’t want to intrude.”

“Oh, please, won’t you play?” Helaena pleads. “It’s so much better with three. Three is a number of power.”

“There, it’s decided, you cannot refuse your lady,” the prince says. He deals out the cards with precise, powerful hands. “Tell me, Moonstone, how did you come to King’s Landing? You were married to some Hightower, were you not? Some distant relation. Very distant. Practically a nobody.”

You nod as you collect your cards and plot your next move. “I married Axel Hightower almost exactly one year ago. My father arranged it, he and Axel’s father had met while fighting in the Stepstones as young men and kept up correspondence.”

“Yet this was an ill-fated union, I gather. How did your husband die?”

“He was leading a trade mission and his ship sank in the Sunset Sea, gods rest his soul.”

“My condolences. How tragic. And not even a body to lay to rest?”

“The currents are terribly rough there. They found a few pieces of the wreckage and that’s all.”

“Do you still mourn him?” Aemond asks, and observes you with particular interest.

You debate this for a while before you answer. “I…regret that he lost his life and that his family is deprived of his company. But I wouldn’t say that ours was any great love story.”

“But you did fuck him,” Aemond says. Helaena blanches and gapes at him, scandalized. He shows the palm of his right hand in contrition. “Forgive me.”

You are delighted to prove that you aren’t rattled by his question. “Of course, as was required.”

“And did you find pleasure in it? He wasn’t a brute to you, was he?”

“Not a brute,” you say. “There was some pleasure in it.” You smile roguishly at the prince. For once, he seems caught off-guard; he doesn’t know where you’re going with this. “Not as much pleasure as I might have found with a different sort of man, perhaps.”

“Hm.” The prince shifts in his chair and clears his throat. “No children?”

“None,” you agree softly. This is a bit of a sore subject; to be married for nearly a year without conceiving does not bode well for your ability to bear children, a prerequisite for most advantageous marriages.

The prince pivots. “So he bored you, this Axel Hightower. He couldn’t keep up with you.”

“He was pleasant enough. We spoke about the weather and the price of wheat, things like that. Though I did quite enjoy cheering for him during tourneys.”

“Tourneys!” Aemond groans.

Helaena giggles. “He hates tourneys. Though he’d have wicked luck if he ever tried them.”

“They’re frivolous. They’re for cowards who can’t prove themselves in a real battle.” The prince lays down his cards on the table. You and Helaena follow suit. When he sees yours, his mouth falls open. “What…?”

“Not used to losing, Silver?” you tease.

He laughs, incredulous, immeasurably pleased, his eye glinting. He seizes all the cards and reshuffles them. “So you weren’t in a hurry to return to Bear Island after your husband’s untimely death? Well, who could blame you.”

“My father didn’t want me back.”

The prince’s brow furrows as he deals out the cards. “That seems unlikely.”

“He has eight other children and a brand new wife who’s my age to keep him occupied. He’s barely aware of my existence these days, I assure you.”

“I’m sorry,” Aemond says gently.

“Don’t be. It’s not him I miss, nor Bear Island. There’s nothing for me there anymore. My mother…” Fleetingly, instinctively, you clasp your pendant and then drop it. “She died six months ago. In childbirth. They lost the baby too.” You feel your throat tightening, burning…and then you compose yourself. The prince is watching you intently. “After Axel died, his father wrote to his cousin the queen and asked if she had any use for me, and she thought I’d make a fine lady-in-waiting because…well, you know…” You nod subtly to Helaena.

“Because you’re a Mormont,” the prince says, strangely proud. “Because you’re steady and tough and pragmatic and worldly.” Everything my sister is not, he means.

“Exactly.” Wine is sipped. Cards slip from one hand to another. Helaena’s praying mantis is now on top of her head, stepping carefully over her snow-white hair. The servants come in to light the fireplace for the evening and then vanish again, but not before casting wide-eyed, wary stares at the prince. He mystifies them. He terrifies them.

“And so you find yourself here, in our service,” Aemond muses, passing you a card. “Can I ask you just one more impolite question?”

“You can ask her anything,” Helaena murmurs dreamily, and you both turn to her. The praying mantis bobs idiotically on her head. You hate her insects, though you try not to show it.

“Yes,” you tell the prince when you recover.

“What do you think of my loathsome half-sister Rhaenyra Targaryen, plotting her life away up in Dragonstone?”

You ponder your cards. “I feel sorry for her. That she is so maligned, that King Viserys’ affection for her has brought her so much hardship and acrimony and judgement. But she is the king’s choice. There is no denying it.”

Aemond is disappointed in you. “Her heirs are bastards.”

“Of course they are. Everyone knows they are.”

“And yet you don’t find that to be disqualifying?”

“I don’t think it really matters,” you confess. “The king chose Alicent Hightowner as his mate and companion—despite her distinct lack of silver hair or affinity for dragons—and yet their children are no less Targaryens. If Rhaenyra chose Harwin Strong, what is the difference? Her children are equals to you. They are half-Targaryen and half-not. And as far as I can understand it, their right to the Iron Throne passes uninterrupted through their mother.”

“So you support the Blacks and believe Rhaenyra should sit the Iron Throne.”

“No,” you reply simply, and that’s the truth.

“Why?” the prince asks, searching your face. “Because you still feel some helpless, blind allegiance to my mother’s house? Is it really as banal as that?” Are YOU as banal as that, he means.

You shake your head. “I don’t think the nobility would ever accept Rhaenyra. I don’t think the common people would either. Thus she can be no true queen.”

Now the edges of his lips curl into a ghostly, luring smile. “To challenge her claim would mean war.”

“War resulting from this particular dilemma, I fear, is inevitable.”

“And this doesn’t horrify you? Doesn’t make your blood run cold?”

“No,” you answer. “Battle purifies us, it renews us, just like fire. The worthy will survive.”

He looks at you for a long time before he speaks, the only sound the crackling of the fireplace. “This is dangerous, Moonstone. You are beginning to intrigue me.”

“Just beginning?”

The chamber door flings open and Aegon staggers inside. He has dark racoonish rings around his eyes and his hair is in disarray and he is obviously, pathetically drunk. “There you are!” he cries when he sees his brother. He leans against a marble column so he doesn’t fall over. “Mother is looking for you. She says you are supposed to dine together tonight. She wants to discuss a Baratheon marriage…or was it a Lannister marriage? Some sort of marriage, that’s for sure. To a woman. A human woman. A very wealthy and well-connected human woman.”

Aemond sighs as he places his cards on the table face-down. “Yes, it’s always about a Baratheon or Lannister marriage. Or an Arryn marriage. Or a Stark marriage.”

“Well, hello there, Lady Mormont!” Aegon says, noticing you for the first time. He waves from where he is propped against the column. You bow your head civilly in reply. You’ve heard plenty of gossip about Aegon since arriving in King’s Landing, although he’s never done more to you than make a few unsavory jests. You rebuffed them as rudely as you dared to.

Aemond’s eye scans the two of you and then narrows. “Does he bother you?”

“Hardly,” Aegon objects. “When I bite, she bites back.” He snaps at the air like a rabid dog.

Aemond chuckles. “As she should.” He stands. “Don’t clear the table,” he orders you with mock sternness. “I’ll return after dinner. We have our own little tourney to finish here. I’m coming back.”

“As you wish,” you say, realizing that you miss him already.

When he passes the column where his brother stands, Aemond halts. “You will not harass her,” he says darkly. His hand rests on the hilt of his sword. He towers above Aegon, dwarfing him.

“I certainly won’t,” Aemon hastily agrees. He appraises you, gives you a nod of approval—of acceptance—and spins around to follow Aemond out of the room, lurching and grabbing for walls to steady himself against.

“Now, back in the cage, my love,” Helaena informs her praying mantis as if it were an unruly child. She unlatches the miniature metal door and places the creature inside with the other six-legged captives. Then she asks you: “Is it too warm in here? I know we Targaryens like it hot. But you’re from the North. Perhaps you are sweltering. Perhaps I am torturing you.”

“No, I like the heat as well.” In truth, you’ve been too preoccupied to notice it.

“Good, that’s good. Because there is a great deal of fire in your future.”

You startle. Her words hit you like a fist, like lightning. A cold sweat breaks out on your skin; a shudder claws its way up the rungs of your spine.

But when you ask Helaena what she means, she doesn’t remember saying it at all.

~~~~~~~~~~

Long after nightfall—after Aemond wins two card games and you both conspire to let Helaena win the last, after the prince retires to his own chambers, after you fetch the princess’s nightgown and brush her long white hair and accompanied her to say goodnight to her children, after the Red Keep has fallen quiet under the rising full moon—you sneak unnoticed out of the castle and into the godswood. You take only a small bundle of items with you: a candle, a piece of flint, a dagger with a hilt shaped like the roaring bear of House Mormont, other secrets as well. You walk until you find the heart tree, where the Old Gods can hear you even here, so far from the wild North.

You don’t know if you truly believe in magic, but it makes you feel close to your mother. She gave you these spells, and she gave you knowledge of the Old Gods, in the same way that she gave you the moonstone pendant strung around your neck.

You place the candle—vivid red, the color of passion and willfulness and fire and blood—on an exposed, ancient root of the heart tree and light it by striking flint against the dagger blade. Then you wait until melted wax drips down the candle and seals it to the root. With the small dancing flame, you burn three things to ash: the feather of a dove, the petal of a red rose, and a tiny piece of parchment with two words written on it in red ink: Moonstone, Silver.

“I don’t ask for him to want me,” you murmur to the nameless Old Gods. “I don’t ask to change his heart. His heart is his own. But if…if he does want me…in the same way that I want him…” You close your eyes and clasp your hands together in prayer. The night wind tears through your hair. In the starlit quiet, you can hear the distant rumbles and screams of dragons. “Let us find a way.”

#aemond targaryen x reader #aemond x reader #hotd imagine #hotd #hotd fanfic #aemond targaryen #aemond imagine

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naoko-world · 2 years

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Thanks for the tag @waitingonavision! It's the occasion to highlight what I'm currently writing!

RULES: Write the latest line from your wip and tag as many people as there are words in the line. Make a new post, don’t reblog.

So...I'm writing 3 things to finish for October, and 2 unurgents projects.

I'll be starting with my Bruno analysis for October 17th, then the 3rd Chapter of The Marvelous Mayhem of the Madrigals Minds, then one fic for Halloween, then the other projects:

1/ Mirabel is in danger he doesn’t hesitate to hurry save her from his mother.

2/ We lost you once, we never want to lose you ever again.” added Julieta, watching him with soft eyes.

3/ space. Pointing to it, Oscar rudely asked Bruno "This is where you produce your visions?"

4/ He raised an eyebrow. "Why were they after you?" 5/ "Abuela..." spoke Dolores with eyes full of despair.

Tagging (as many words in the lines??? OMG...I'll just tag as much as possible):

@neon-green-eyes @omgcheez @unskilled-dabbler @empty-cryptid @thisismisogynoir @encantoisawesome @encantolover @immabethehero @emberkyrlee @cheetour @breannasfluff @madrigaljail @sharknadoslutt @overly-dramatic-artist @shuinami @panicand @tiredlvna @lunamadrigal @thecrazyashley-blog @cavatappi @glitternightingale @metaphoricaltigers @stack-of-all-trades @jennjiart @clownmoontoon @mmollymercury @hectic-hector @issychatter @egofan4evr @acewithapaintbrush @rosellacwrites @aeoneri @sleeplessdreamer14 @emeraldprophecies @indgocl0uds @panbelle @adi-writes @princesa-pens-and-pizza @redcookies-bestcookies @hourglass-dreams @kogito-mojito @kelsoluv @trinalli @sketchnwhatevrmain @peachywander @justanotherblondie @justheweirdo @moon-calvary @lennys-inferno @sufuturoespera

And anyone who wanna do it! Especially since Tumblr refused me to tag more.

#tag game #current wip #writing wip #wip excerpt #work in progress #the marvelous mayhem of the madrigals minds #halloween #fic for halloween #bruno analysis

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fritzyfarm · 1 year

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Now, now the mirth comes With the cake full of plums, Where bean’s the king of the sport here; Beside, we must know The pea also Must revel as queen in the court here.

Begin then to choose, This night, as ye use, Who shall for the present delight here; Be a king by the lot, And who shall not Be Twelve-day queen for the night here!

Which known, let us make Joy-sops with the cake; And let not a man then be seen here, Who unurged will not drink, To the base from the brink, A health to the king and the queen here!

Next crown the bowl full With gentle lamb’s wool, And sugar, nutmeg, and ginger, With store of ale, too; And this ye must do To make the wassail a swinger.

Give then to the king And queen, wassailing, And though with ale ye be wet here, Yet part ye from hence As free from offence As when ye innocent met here

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utahbastards · 18 days

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❛ 𝒍𝒊𝒗𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒇𝒐𝒓 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒕𝒉𝒓𝒊𝒍𝒍 𝒐𝒇 𝒉𝒊𝒕𝒕𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒘𝒉𝒆𝒓𝒆 𝒊𝒕 𝒉𝒖𝒓𝒕𝒔. 𝒈𝒊𝒗𝒆 𝒎𝒆 𝒃𝒂𝒄𝒌 𝒎𝒚 𝒈𝒊𝒓𝒍𝒉𝒐𝒐𝒅, 𝒊𝒕 𝒘𝒂𝒔 𝒎𝒊𝒏𝒆 𝒇𝒊𝒓𝒔𝒕. ❜

► basics;

Full Name: Maya (means; mother) Cardoso (means; full of thistle).

Pronounced: My-ah Car-dos-oh

Nicknames: My

Age: 23

Birthday: March 30th

Sexual Orientation: Heterosexual

Relationship Status: It's Complicated

Religion: Athiest

Occupation: Student

Nationality: American

Ethnicity: Brazillian/White

► background;

Place of Birth: Logan, Utah

Hometown: Provo, Utah

Education: High School Graduate, Associates @ Salt Lake Community College

► physical;

Faceclaim: Alanis Guillen

Eye Color: Green Hazel

Hair Type/Color: 3A Curly Chestnut Brown

Height: 158cm/5′3ft

Weight: 68kg/150lbs

Tattoos, Birthmarks, Scars, etc:

Maya has somewhat significant scarring along the backs of her upper thighs, on her butt, and lower back caused by the belt. They were fading well before the outbreak with consistent use of scar gel and vitamin E cream. She has a small round scar on the apple of her cheek from her incident with her stepfather before leaving home.

► relatives;

Mother’s Full Name: Lorraine Sampson nee Cardoso nee Williams

Mother’s Status: Unknown - 41

Father’s Full Name: Edward Cardoso

Father’s Status: Unknown - Age 43

Siblings: Elijah Sampson - Age 12, Clara Sampson - Age 10, Ivy Sampson - Age 9, Thomas - Age 5, Abel - Age 3, Mary - Age 3

Sibling Status: Unknown

► relationships;

Baby Daddy:

Liam:

Ruben:

► personality;

Positive Traits: strong-willed, loyal, courageous, resilient,

Negative Traits: vicious, dogmatic, ill-tempered, dishonest, naive,

introvert / extrovert / AMBIVERT RISK- TAKER / cautious organized / DISORGANISED CLOSE-MINDED / open-minded calm / ANXIOUS / restless DISAGREEABLE / agreeable / in-between patient / IMPATIENT OUTSPOKEN / reserved leader / follower / FLEXIBLE EMPATHETIC / un-empathetic optimistic / PESSIMISTIC / realistic traditional / MODERN / in-between HARD-WORKING / lazy

Moral alignment (chaotic good, lawful neutral, etc): Chaotic Neutral

Mental Health & Mood Disorders : BPD, Avoidant Attachment

Triggers: Gets reactive to sudden moves, particularly in the vicinity of her face. Reactive to yelling and confrontation.

► misc;

First Book They Read: Goldilocks & The Three Bears

Favorite Book: The Hunger Games

Playlist: xx

Favorite Film: Scooby Doo, but her step-dad said it was sinful.

Dietary Requirements: Maya is a vegetarian. She hasn't eaten meat, aside from the occasional fish relapse on and off, predominantly triggered by drunk Mcdonalds orders of fillet o fish at 3am. Maya became vegetarian after finally leaving home, though she ate a largely reduced meat diet from the age of 15 after the incident with the calves.

► back story;

𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐋𝐘 𝐋𝐈𝐅𝐄:

Maya's parents had fought most of her life, or at least it definitely felt that way. She had once been four years old with her ear to the door and a wobbling bottom lip as she heard the awful things that they screamed at one another. Her father, muffles and shuffles, another woman ... Something about her mom's brother and all the money he'd lost. Gambled? It was hard to hear but she listened like she'd finally decipher the clue they would miss, that she could give them, to make the screaming stop. Her dad left twice that year, the second time it had taken him over a month to come home. When she was seven, it was her mom that left. She'd eaten nothing but pizza for that week until that had run out too and by the time her mom returned, she'd been eating tinned tomato and old croutons.

By eight, she had grown so used to it she didn't budge when the screaming started, no longer listening, or reaching for headphones, just continuing to order her sims around with an unurgent indifference. It was never anything revelatory. He was a bastard, she was a controlling bitch, he sucked all the joy she had ever had, he loves her so much, he hates her so much. Maya's tension had dissolved to indifference, never startled by their antics, not unless she heard furniture moving at least. She paid no mind to his screaming of divorcing, the packing of bags or the slamming of doors. It was nothing she hadn't seen before. But this time, the papers came. If Maya thought they argued a lot before, it was nothing compared to the dog fight their lawyers charged on, throwing them back in the ring at one another for every dollar. But never for Maya.

Had someone asked her, she didn't know which parent she would have chosen. Her mother was pedantic, unyielding, smothering, and vicious. But she made sure the house was clean and her daughter was fed. Edward knew how to play hide and seek and go to the park, but he'd never done his daughter's laundry or taken her to a doctor's appointment. She was a fun little roommate he bumped into or a pet. He could hardly take care of himself and he made sure to make that abundantly clear to the court when custody was finally brought forth. That he was suitable for weekends- actually make that every other weekend. When he made it clear that he wasn't engaging in tug of war with her, Lorraine dropped the rope too, almost irritated by her near full custody without conflict. Now she had a little Edward with her, no matter how far she moved from him.

Moves that he didn't protest as over the next few years, weekends turned to months, turned to holidays, turned to phone calls. By the time her mom married Amos, he was too far to help her, too removed to care. She'd been nine, moving into his house and forced to call him "Father" before she'd hit ten. The first few years hadn't been horrendous, incredibly awkward, but not unbearable. Amos was Mormon, truthfully she hadn't really known what that meant beyond her secondhand exposure to classmates. He believed strange things and did strange things. Every Sunday they sat in church for hours and hours, only three if she was lucky. Her mom dressed differently and told her all the time how happy it made her. He talked about God(s) a lot, and Maya tried to politely smile through it. Church felt like a game of pretend, like they were all doing a bit that just never ended. She couldn't comprehend that level of belief, which sparked conflict with her curious badgering. Especially when she asked why they always had to give so much money, unmoved by the explanation it would ascend her soul. If people thought her relatively pretty mother had married Amos for his money, they were wrong. He owned a little homestead, a couple acres with a shitty house bang smack in the middle, with a few flocks here and there that he'd been gifted by his brother. Most people saw it as a dump, but truthfully his house was the only thing Maya ever liked about the man. Each morning she wandered off, feeding the sheep and the goats before rifling for eggs from the chickens. Even now, she wishes she could go back and lay in the yard again, listening to the sheep and watching up through the branches. But she would never go home.

When she was eleven, her mom had a boy. Something that made Amos incredibly happy. In fact, Maya was certain she hadn't even really seen him smile until then. Elijah was a little thing, that squawked and giggled when she smiled down at him. She liked to play with his tiny fingers and toes. She didn't mind when her mom asked her to feed him, or change his diaper. Sometimes she liked to pretend he was her little baby to care for, cradling in her small arms as she rocked him. She never got the chance to know if she'd feel the same for the others, when her step father shattered any desire she had to know them.

[TW ABUSE, BELTING]

She thought Amos had been kidding when he told her to bend over the couch. She'd been spanked all her life, but only ever by her mother. When they'd gotten home, his knuckles were still white on the wheel, furious that "his daughter" had been caught saying shut up, in church no less. She'd laughed and shaken her head, brows furrowed with worried doubt however as he advanced, throwing her down, belt in hand as he brought it down on the backs of her thighs, three sharp blows that made her bawl so hard she thought she'd be sick. The dynamic shift was immediate. Amos went from a odd, uncomfortable housemate to the Boogey Man. She winced anytime he came near, lit up with angry eyes whenever he spoke to her. Her mother slunk around their animosity and pretended she didn't feel it. Amos was not her family, Lorraine the coward was not her family, so when they welcomed Clara and not even a year later, Ivy, what business of it was hers that two people she hated had a baby just because they shared a roof. There was no smiles, no cuddles, no favours unless forced.

𝐓𝐄𝐄𝐍 𝐘𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐒:

Amos had traded one 5-minute burst of fearful correction, for ever knowing peace again. There was only so many times you could hit someone before being hit just wasn't that frightening anymore. Once Maya realised, there was only so far he could go, there was no power left. So he'd hit her? How was that any different if she got caught drinking green tea versus a cigarette? A few extra lashings, a few more hours she had to pray? There was nothing left to move her. She was no longer content playing with his imaginary friends and became contemptuous every time they had to go to church, making them late and earning welts with their church logo from his belt buckle more than once. When she started laughing between the tears because he was sweating and out of breath, so red-faced and ugly, she really thought he was going to cry.

Maya started stealing at thirteen, but she'd gotten real good by fourteen. If Amos was going to keep pissing their money away into church, while popping another mouth to feed hospital bills to into her mother every couple of years, why should she go without? She stole without hesitation, from people at church-hell from the church, stores, friends, it really didn't matter. It didn't even matter if she wanted it, but she liked the sensation of getting away with it, that was for sure. She loved stealing from her mom, always smiling to herself when the woman drove herself insane looking for something she'd stashed away. That was until she learned how fun it was to slip an item with a sensor into her mom's purse before walking out of target, and just how funny it would be to hear all the whispers through church about the whole "kerfuffle". That month she'd gone without protest, smiling with amusement through every rumour.

[TW ABUSE/ KILLING AN ANIMAL]

At sixteen, money was so tight that the sheep and goats on the farm were now needed for dinner, rather than wool or milk. It had been a talking point for months but no one had pulled the metaphorical or literal trigger. Not until Maya had been outed for being felt up and making out with a boy from church. Amos had yanked her up from the couch, her legs trembling so hard from the belting he had to pull her to her feet over and over. Even her mother had the decency to look down, covering Elijah's ears while he screamed and cried. He'd ordered her outside and before Maya had taken a step she knew why, causing her to break down into pleading sobs. For months, Maya had pleaded the case for the sheep. Amos grabbed his pistol from his truck and began dragging outside again, Maya bawled the whole way. He yelled at her to watch whenever she attempted to look away. He shot the sheep accidentally through the spine rather than the heart, expecting a moment of silent impact but instead, the animal screamed. And kept screaming as Amos began to panic himself sick at the sound, dropping the gun to cover his ears, hoping that it would die any moment. Momentarily, so did Maya, shutting her eyes as her hands did little to muffle the noise. She couldn't take it, grabbing the gun from the ground and shooting again, clearing right through the skull as the animal dropped.

Amos had his new punishment until Maya had robbed him of the satisfaction of that too. By the time he'd needed one of the goats on the table, she did was she was told with unlit eyes and a steady hand and returned inside to her room, quiet and unmoved. She knew that he hated it. Every part. That she could do what he had failed, that he no longer had an escalation to hold over her, that she ate the dinner without tears no matter how many times he baaaaah-ed at her. That any step further he took, Maya would meet him with more resistance. No matter the misery of the act, there was always satisfaction to be found in his frustration.

After the disappointment of the boy from church, Maya used her hidden phone to distract herself. She made fake profile after fake profile, catfishing boys until she worked up the nerve to make a very private but real one for herself. It was there that she met Jack. Jack was twenty and back then, that didn't seem so strange to her. Especially not when he had a car. Truthfully, he had little else going for him. But to Maya? A pizza boy's salary and a car he owned seemed like a fever dream. He drove her around when she snuck out, took her to parties sometimes and best of all; he never mentioned god. She loved him and told herself that often. Loving him was loving everything he did for her, loving him was being as batshit devoted as the world told her to be. Going through his phone, screaming at other girls he talked to, and listening to him tell her how embarrassing and immature it was just for her to scream that if she was so immature maybe he should fuck someone older. They fought often, and they made up often. But she loved him because he'd never raised his hand. She learned to tolerate life for a little while. Even tried not to aggravate her stepfather at every opportunity. In turn, they moved their eyes from her slightly, allowing more time with Jack. And more time with Jack, meant more time in the real world where people had fun.

He broke the peace treaty, was all she could think. She'd thought nothing Amos could do could earn a real response from her anymore, until he'd taken the belt to a six-year-old Elijah. It had only been one strike, dashed out for sneaking candy after he'd been told no three times, but it had been enough to light a fire under her. The moment she heard it crack on the skin, she lunged like a feral animal, trying to pull the belt from his hands so she could wrap it around his neck, as her mother pulled her by her hair, sobbing as she went, in an attempt to get her off. Amos was hitting her but she didn't notice, nor did she notice Elijah running for the kitchen. In that moment she was nails and teeth and everything she'd ever wanted to see happen to her exploded out in an instant, a feral cat mauling him as she wrenched harder and harder for the belt. He brought it down on her face, until she fell to the floor. Her mother fell with her, arms suddenly around Maya, almost like an embrace, almost like a restraint. She didn't remember everything, only that once she'd gone to her room, you could hear a pin drop. All night she'd paced, thinking about how she could walk in when he fell asleep and finish the job until Elijah had tiptoed into her room, asking to sleep in her bed. When morning came, she hadn't been allowed to attend school with her face all bloodied and bruised. She knew what she should've known years ago. How this would end and what choices she had. She should kill him. But Elijah had whispered that he was sorry for his dad, and told her all the nice things he did sometimes in a childish attempt to prove to her that he could be good sometimes. He loved his dad, for better or worse.

𝐀𝐃𝐔𝐋𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐎𝐃:

She had packed her bags that morning after Amos had gone to work. She'd already called Jack to come get her, for once allowed to just pull up outside her house rather than a block and a half away. Her mother had been throwing up in the powder room, racked with the worst morning sickness she'd had from any of her priors. Maya went to leave without a word before hesitating outside of the door. "Don't send him looking for me. I'm taking his shotgun. If he shows up somewhere he shouldn't, I'll use it." She'd warned her quietly, the door had almost come off the hinges with how hard the woman thew it open, it was like her voice split; allowing her to scream about three things at once. She grabbed at Maya's clothes until the girl reached for the shot gun placed by the door frame, sending her reeling back wide eyed. She threatened to call the police and Maya smiled and nodded, saying that she'd call them herself.

Reality was, the few attempts to retrieve her over the months that followed, were pitiful at best. Now seventeen and a half, living with Jack in his parents garage as she finished her final year of high school, she realised just how much freedom people actually possessed. She'd almost spilled the glass, with how much her hands trembled the first time she got water in his kitchen without first being offered. She could study with little interruption, she watched real tv on a real tv instead of what she could download and cram onto her burner phone to watch after lights out, she drank coffee in the mornings and liquor whenever she liked. And she liked often. She stopped eating meat, feeling a thousand pounts lighter when she ate her meals now without hearing lamb screeching and guilt pangs in her gut.

She finished school with some difficulty, finally confronting for the first time what she may want to do with her life. Truthfully, she didn't like the idea of working. She felt like a woman fresh out of prison, the thought of being locked in 9-5 for the next fifty years wasn't the exciting one everyone thought it should be when the gushed over her future. But when the guidance councellor asked her if she'd ever considered working in national parks, something clicked ever so slightly into place. She did enjoy the outdoors, hating the sensation of being couped up for too long, she was good at remembering the trails, good at her animal tracks- it was plausible. It was a start.

She and Jack moved to Saltlake City when she started her associates. He was twenty-two now, and unmotivated himself, but as he reminded her with a smile he could deliver pizzas anywhere in the world. She supposed it was endearing and he did do his best to provide. It was his uncles basement that they crashed in both those years after all. Maya thought that she had began to mellow with age, that the thought of him texting other girls used to send her into a manic rage now barely stirred her because she was maturing but truthfully, Jack's entire presence began to chafe. He was all over her, all the time. Never doing anything except bothering her, honestly the thought of him texting someone else sounded kind of nice. If he was honest, his appeal had been freedom, freedom that she now possessed in her own right. So why did she need him? Even still, she never thought about breaking up with him, not even when she made the baffling decision to insist he stay behind when she transferred for her bachelor, insisting that an hour or so drive wasn't even really long distance. Her scholarship covered accomodation- it was a no brainer right? Practically making money. She loved him, of course. But the thought of being on campus without his arm slung around her and his lips glued to her neck... Absence makes the heart grow fonder, it could only be good for them to have a little space.

He texted her three times an hour, at minimum.

going into meeting baby daddy bc she's finally partying without jack and it sparks joy.

maya steals from frat guys and male teachers bc she hates men high key and thinks it's funny. jack is the exception but he should not be bc jacks a loser.

not hooking up for while bc I have a boyfriend soz :(- oops they hooked up. what a time to choose to not use a condom for the first time rip.

lies to her boyfriend about it. he says he's gonna come visit soon and she's like great!! excellent actually

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐎𝐔𝐓𝐁𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐊:

struggling bc she's a pregnant vegetarian and meat makes her feel sick. she's not morally opposed bc u gotta do what you gotta do but physically she is struggle city.

tries a couple home abortion methods with rubens help to make sure she doesn't mcfucking kill herself in the process, thinks it works but surprise it did not u just made urself bleed that's about it

gotta tell her baby daddy what's been going on

struggles to connect with people due to inherent distrust she has for most people, like she can get along and be like a human, but like once you disagree??? bets are off. likes women more than men, but also kind of hates women bc her mom. only the NB's are safe. but ur on thin ice.

overall, touch starved, angry, wants to drink and smoke but stupid baby inside so she can't. wasn't really interesting in surviving the apocalypse but now has to.

#maya cardoso #bio #maya bio

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1zumbacom · 3 months

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libidomechanica · 5 months

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For long musings were

And still, she walke; how clothes, and what thou didst my heart. With angel pierce: ’ my sight of my draught is still-kept course, but exquisitely nurtured in Royal Robes, and much taller—tree of thine! Lent it at another’s way, this occupied; you were St. Murmur of night I not speak? What they shrinking the ring, and strangers unurged; feed the dying moon. And sighing, I address die.

#poetry #automatically generated text #Patrick Mooney #Markov chains #Markov chain length: 6 #178 texts #rispetto

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reckonslepoisson · 1 year

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Mercy, John Cale (2023)

In 2023, John Cale’s view of the world has deteriorated quite dramatically. Mercy is rather determined in its misanthropy and apocalypticism, not just in regards to the world as it is but of Cale reflecting upon his own life. Despite being saturated with misery and pessimism, the overall work is mixed: eclectically informed by downtempo, hip-hop, electronica, ambient music and a slew of guests that Cale is never outshined by, Mercy is also overlong, unurgent and, in parts, rather dull.

Pick: ‘Story of Blood (feat. Weyes Blood)’

#john cale #mercy #pop #electronic #art pop #ambient pop #psychedelia #neo-psychedelia #darkwave #2023 #music #review #music review

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solarisposting · 5 years

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I got a tattoo on the back of my neck, a deeply vulnerable line of prose, hidden by my hair that is always kept long - yet somehow that invited a type of touch and tenderness I'd never known before. I've gathered my hair atop my head to show my nape like a predator baring its belly or a person being knighted; two men, months apart, whose hands I craved pulled my collar aside and brushed past my hair and wrenched open a closely guarded desire for nearness that never left me, although they both left me.

I am, I am, I am. Declarative of self and personhood and survival. Reminder of the delicacy in being allowed to brush the skin and the ink.

#thinking about tenderness (as always) and this specific gesture #thinking about the shock of b1 reaching out to me and introducing me to the ordeal of wanting more #in full view of god and the world and our early morning class and how it shook my entire soul #and how i had to school my expression and body language as if a new world hadn't been opened beneath my unsteady feet #thinking about how b2 saw it by chance because it was old news but new for him and we were new #and he was teasingly curious as always and i was flustered beyond belief at being touched so casually #right there in the library cafe in the early evening or perhaps after dusk #once more pretending that my world hadn't stuttered on its axis #thinking about the choice of showing others who wouldn't dare reach out and touch but still want to reap the thrill of seeing #and my own personal thrill at sharing of my own volition #thinking about how dearest darling sweet joshua has always preferred the open book and unknowability #of the tattoo on my left wrist sitting for the world to see #how he brushes a thumb or a fingertip across it and comments unurged #ann with an ie

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levihanweek · 6 years

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Exchange gifts for the Levihan Eggschange! (closing in 4 days)

juST A FRIENDLY REMINDER THAT YOU CAN STILL SIGN UP FOR LEVIHAN THE EGGSCHANGE HERE (See the full post for more info)

also kinda unrelated but this blog now has an online visits counter and it’ll tell you how many levihan ham ravioli shippers are on the bloggo 👀

#snk #levihan #levihaneggschange #levihan psa #snk fandom events #we have a good start!#but it would be rad if you did the equivalent exchange thing™ and joined the levihan eggschange :)#nike voice: JUST DO IT #(srsly tho)#you make a thing and you get a thing in return #!!!!!#mod s #(thank u to ale for letting me put the counter)#(it's mostly to feed my curiosity but i also love to occupy my time with unimportant and unurgent things)

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stardustedknuckles · 2 years

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“Look at me. You’re safe, and I’m never going to let you feel alone again.” Beauyasha, trans Yasha? SFW or Spicy, your call. I know you have a fic where they are both trans but...just Yasha for this one?

Mix of SFW and spicy, nothing explicitly enacted. SFW trans fics are a fun challenge because I never like to write in a way that would imply anything's really out of the ordinary insofar as being trans. People are exactly who they say they are in the CR world and in my writings/AUs, so it becomes a game to find a reason to bring it up at all. I'd give this a strong T. Guessing around 800 words, soft post-canon feels.

It was rare that Yasha woke before Beau and unthinkable that Beau would remain asleep once she did. Barring too much to drink or physical exhaustion, Beau was up with the sun and twice as bright. So when Yasha woke to late-morning light and Beau curled up facing the wall beside her, it took very little to surmise that something was amiss.

"Baby?" Yasha blinked the fuzz of sleep away quickly and lifted a hand to brush at Beau's shoulder, curiosity sharpening to concern when Beau flinched and pulled her knees in more tightly. In almost the same motion she was already moving, squirming wordlessly backwards against Yasha's side in apology. "Beau, what's wrong?"

"Nothing." Her voice was rough - another oddity in a growing list.

Nothing only ever meant "wait" coming from Beau these days, so Yasha rolled over carefully and draped her arm over her girlfriend's warm waist, drawing her in and curling protectively close.

"It's dumb," Beau said finally. "It was so fucking good to see everyone for a whole week. I should be waking up refreshed and whatever, making dumb jokes about you being happy to see me." She ground down a little on Yasha's unurgent hardness and seemed to relax at the soft huff and the kiss on the ear she got in return.

"I am always happy to see you, it's true," Yasha murmured. "But you're not happy and I want to help if I can. Is it…?" she drifted her hand just beneath Beau's navel in demonstration. Her periods were normally fairly predictable, but they were close enough that pain wasn't out of the question.

"It's not that." Yasha watched Beau's throat flex as she swallowed. "I mean it's probably not helping, but I'm not hurting."

Yasha curled her fingers gently over Beau's hipbone, thinking back to the moment she'd caught last night. Beau had been smiling incredulously at one of Fjord's tales, but it hadn't seemed quite real. Sincere, but also a little sad. Yasha thought of the way Beau saw endings before they happened and stroked her stomach softly. "Aren't you?"

Beau sniffed abruptly and curled in on herself again, swiping a hand over her eye frustratedly and worming closer to Yasha when she held her instinctively closer. "S'bullshit."

"You weren't ready to say goodbye," Yasha murmured.

"I was fine. It's just weird today."

"I wasn't talking about last night."

Beau turned her head and looked up at Yasha for a long moment, and then she bit her lip when it trembled. "Guess not," she managed, and she was already turning to burrow into Yasha's chest when she leaned back to coax her in.

"It's okay," Yasha soothed. "I've got you."

Beau gave a wet sniff and clung on to Yasha's shoulder. "That's part of why it's dumb. We're all still friends. You're here. Nothing's changed from a week ago when it was just us and Caleb." She took a shuddering breath and blew it out slowly. "I never got this upset when people left for real, Yash, and they're not even leaving. They're just living somewhere else."

The quiver in her voice broke Yasha's heart; the fact hat Beau was doing precious little to hide it from her filled the cracks with light. "Somewhere we aren't," she acknowledged. Beau nodded. "What are you afraid of, baby? How can I help?"

Beau's voice was very small, breath hot on Yasha's neck. "I don't want to be alone. Which is dumb, because it's not like -"

"Beau." Yasha ran her hand gently down the slope of Beau's back, following the bend of her to hook a soft hand behind her knee and draw it to tangle with hers. "Will you look at me?"

Beau unfolded herself slowly, reluctant to show herself if not to be seen by Yasha, and when Yasha reached to swipe a thumb under her damp cheek she chased the touch for just a moment.

"I've got you," Yasha told her again. "You're safe, and I'm never going to let you feel alone again."

The smile Beau tried to give her was cracked down the middle. "That's my line," she joked.

Yasha nosed her hair gently and smiled. "I miss them too, baby."

"You do?"

"Of course."

Beau took a sharp, aggrieved breath. "Then if I miss them and you miss them, they probably miss us and what the fuck are we all doing?"

"I don't know," Yasha said truthfully. "I think…maybe Jester and fjord are trying some doors that weren't open before, and Caduceus and Veth really missed their families. Kingsley has a whole new life, and Caleb…"

Beau snorted. "Is our feral cat, kinda."

"Yes." Yasha stroked Beau's hair, then pressed a kiss to it. "He makes a very good cat."

The huff Beau gave wasn't quite a laugh, but it had a kind of acquiescence to it. She saw it for the attempt to soothe that it was and let it lie. "I just don't want to be selfish," she said quietly. "I have you, and that's the most incredible thing, you know? Like I said -"

"If your next sentence is going to start with 'it's dumb,'" Yasha broke in smoothly, "I think I will have no choice but tickle you until you stop being sad."

A pause. "You wouldn't."

Yasha pulled back to look at her. "I am a very bad liar. Am I lying?"

The corner of Beau's mouth curled, seemingly against her own will. "Fine, I believe you. I just don't want to make you feel like you're not good enough. Because you one hundred percent are and then some."

"I am very good," Yasha acknowledged, "but I'm not everyone. What do you want, baby? Right now. Not the big kind of 'what do you want from life,' just. You've told me some things you don't want, but me not giving them to you isn't…it's not the same as helping."

Comfortable silence fell between them as Beau considered, broken only by the rustle of the morning wind over the grass outside and the faint call of birds. It was nearly idyllic, a warm summer day coming to make sweat monsters out of the both of them before long, but they had time.

"I want to kiss you," Beau said finally.

"Well," said Yasha, "I think that's only natural for both of us. But what else?"

Beau answered readily, shifting her knee slightly between Yasha's. "I want a round for distraction and then a round for some proper relaxing, and then I want to go somewhere and have a picnic."

"Totally with you on all of that."

The smirk Beau gave was small, but it was something. "You're a step ahead of me, feels like." She looked down. "Maybe just a half step."

"There we go." Beau snickered as Yasha rubbed their cheeks together and kissed her jaw. "Dick jokes from you usually mean the world is back in balance. What do you think?"

Beau shrugged, but she was smiling. "I dunno. Roll over and I'll be happy to test my balance -" She cut off with a yelp of laughter as Yasha lurched in the opposite of the indicated direction and pinned Beau flat on her back to nip mercilessly at her neck.

"You," she growled, "are a menace."

Beau squirmed helplessly under her, her giggles trailing off into a lovely sigh when Yasha sealed her lips over hers to swallow the sound. "But seriously," Yasha asked between kisses. "Did you want to be up top, because I can - oh. Okay." She dropped her head with an exhale to meet her girlfriend's eyes, what little breath she had left halting in her throat at the affection and mischief sparkling from them now behind the tears that would stay unshed for a while longer. "Good the way we are," Yasha managed. "Got it."

"Good," Beau agreed, tangling the hand not nestled between them into the back of Yasha's hair and pulling her closer. "Let's go for great, and later we can figure out how to get our friends to admit their lives suck without us. See if there's anything we can do about it."

Yasha was briefly torn between pleasure and conversation, but concern for Beau won out as it always did. "Will you be okay if there's not?"

Beau's eyes softened, the hand in Yasha's hair fisting slowly. "I'm always okay. And I have you, which means I'm way better than okay. I just don't want all of us to be assuming the same shit from each other without at least asking, you know?"

She scrunched her nose when Yasha dipped her head to kiss it but didn't move away. "You're amazing," Yasha told her.

The morning light was crawling up their pile of furs; when Beau tossed her head with a "baww, just wait," her left eye flashed brilliant as the shine on her lips, and then she pulled Yasha down and neatly cut off any further thought.

#flash fic #prompt fill #i can't remember if I tag my trans fics with the ship tag #I feel like given recent events i'll hold off a little longer #prompt game

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mass-effect-anonymous · 3 years

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CONFESSION:

"In the OG trilogy, I made a MaleShep in ME3 and ME3 only. I made him for the sole purpose of romancing Cortez. I blazed through that playthrough so fast that the only thing I remember from it was Mark Meer’s reflective delivery for the “[It was] The best” line from the Citadel DLC. It made me tear up in a different way from Jennifer Hale’s somber delivery.

With the Legendary Edition, I decided to bite the bullet and make a MaleShep from ME1 and get him through all 3 games. I knew ME3 was Mark Meer’s best performance as Shepard, and I know there’s a lot of debate on “who is the better Shepard”, and I hate to add to that convo but I gotta hand it to Jennifer Hale. I give no fault to Meer, I’m sure he was just following the direction he was given, and he HAS the range (look at ALL the vorcha he voiced, and the hanar, and the biotic god, and--) so it’s just a shame the range wasn’t allowed as Shepard.

I’ve seen a lot of people say they couldn’t handle Hale’s “overacting”, and, sure, I can understand that, but, at the same time, Meer feels so flat and wooden and it’s so disappointing. There’ve been points in ME3 where he’s been so quiet when I’m expecting something LOUD (”There’s a REAPER in my way, Wrex!!” was one line that had me sad in that regard. I didn’t even hear him over the fighting noises! I’ve heard FemShep every time!), and other times he’s so monotone and flat when I expect something softspoken. The “Move!” and “Go, go, GO!”s never feel urgent to me, and it takes me away from the moment.

I’ve seen people say Meer delivered the one-liners better and snappier, and, I can see that, but also, it’s jarring. Hale was usually, mostly, consistent in her delivery. If she’s loud, she stayed loud. If she’s somber, she stayed somber. MaleShep doesn’t really stay consistent in delivery. I romanced Tali this playthrough, and at the Reaper fight on Rannoch, Tali’s verbally worried and scared for Shep.

Shep says, in a flat and monotone voice, “You worry too much.”

Tali replies softly, “I love you.”

Shep is now slightly softer with his delivery of, “Keelah se’lai.”

And that happens a lot, too in reverse, where he IS soft-spoken and then immediately he’s back to flat and monotone. It’s so jarring and pulls me away from the moment, like the unurgency where there should be urgency.

It’s just such a shame! I still commend Mark Meer; I can’t imagine anyone else being, or loving, Commander Shepard as much as him, I just wish... it was better. I hate to feel this way about his performance, too, cuz he has the range, like I said, AND I’ve met him at a con and he is just the sweetest, chillest dude, so I just feel like a dingus for feeling this way about his performance of a role he clearly loves."

Credit: Confession created by confessor

#Mass Effect Anonymous #Mass Effect Confession #Long Post #Shepard Voice Actors

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phoenixblack89 · 3 years

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Secret Crushes

My second one shot is pure filth. Gotta warn ya. Might make a sequel... Dunno... But the lovely Travis is getting one next.... Then that amazing bad boy Mac.

@lilythemadqueen @fandomsaremykryponite enjoy sweeties!

Warning: Pure smut. Feels. Arsehole sibling. Underage drinking.

Fuck knows how many words this is cos ain't got a clue.

Edit: I've fixed the fucking errors I saw and added some to it. And got the read more to work! Yus! Enjoy sweetums

PART 2 Part 3

The party was in full swing and you hated it. Why your older sister had insisted on throwing a wild party while your parents were away was beyond your understanding. Must be a cool girl thing you thought as you wandered down the stairs to grab a bottle of water from the fridge. The house was packed to bursting with her friends and their friends. Hell, you're sure some of the teenagers weren't even from your town, not recognising the vast majority. Word of mouth had turned it from a small party for her classmates into a full on rave.

Sighing you pushed your way through to the kitchen your mother would no doubt be dismayed at seeing at the moment. Your mother was somewhat house proud and the kitchen was her pride and joy. Never ever letting dishes pile up in the sink, the shiny chrome polished within an inch of its life. You secretly couldn't wait for the fallout in the morning when they got back and saw the spilled alcohol, cigarette butt's and various other less savoury things spread from the party. Your sister was in soooo much trouble.

"Watch it fat bitch!"

You grit your teeth at the oh so creative insult as you shoved the jerk away from you. He glared down at you from his 6 foot height.

"What's an ugly fuck like ye even doing here?"

"I live here arsehole." You spat back, shouldering your way past and out the back door. Taking a deep breath you wandered the gravel path down to your secret escape at the bottom of the garden, hoping no one had tried to get in. Smiling as the old barn came into sight you felt the tension ease. As you neared you slowed, hearing two distinct and familiar voices. Your mouth suddenly felt drier as your heart pounded.

"Oh Connor!" Your sister moaned and you froze.

She wouldn't... Would she?

She knew you had a somewhat strong crush on the elder MacManus brother. His blue eyes and kind smile making butterflies in your stomach every time you saw him. Tears sprang to your eyes at her betrayal and you hurried your steps past the barn, hearing her shriek in shock. Connor and her eyes following you as you stormed past.

"Sis!"

"Fuck off Sara! Get back to the party!" You called after her, as you broke the treeline at the edge of the property. Tears fell slowly and silently as you pulled out a crumpled and almost empty packet of cigarettes. You slipped suddenly and fell head first down the bank to the stream running at the bottom of the hill. A shriek escaped as you braced for the very cold and surely sudden dip. You stopped quickly and waited for the impact against the icy water but it didn't come. Opening one eye you realised you were being held up by a pair of strong arms. A deep breath of relief came from you as the arms set you down on the ground gently.

"Ye alright?"

Your head turned and you gave a weak smile. Murphy's eyes were lined in pink hues, almost as if he, himself, had been crying like you.

"Could ask you the same."

"Aye... Just... Connor ye know."

"Yea... Sara."

He bit his lip and offered you a cigarette. You took it and shuffled to sit beside him. You both smoked and cried silently together. Both content to not mention the fact you were crying to the other, taking the comfort from each others pain and not judging.

"Older siblings, am I right?" You tried to joke, wiping at your eyes. "They sure know how to hit a sore spot."

"Connor's younger than me." Murphy laughed, wiping at his own cheeks. You smiled weakly and shrugged.

"Here's me thinking ya were twins."

"Aye... But I'm older. Fuckin' bastard knew I liked her as well." He sighed and ran his hand through his shaggy dark hair. You nodded and flicked your cigarette into the water, watching silently as it floated away.

"Yea... My sister she... Erm... She knew I liked Connor. Well... Was..... Damn... That I had a bit of a crush on him... Sorry."

"Yea? Bitch. Ain't a good sister doing that when she knew ye liked him" Murphy said, wrapping his arm around your bare shoulders at the shiver that ran you with the cold. He smiled as you wrapped yours around his lower back. "What a pair we make, eh? Our siblings are over there fuckin' like rabbits and here we are wishing it was us instead"

"Nah. We know better... Sara is just a bitch and Connor... He'll soon learn she's one too."

"Yea? What about you? Don't think I caught ya name lass?"

"Y/N. Everyone called me other things though." You gulped, biting your lip and giving a shaky sigh.

"Oh aye? What's that then?" He smirked at you, thinking it was some cute nickname.

"Mostly fatty, bitch, ugly... I'm not pretty or slim like Sara and I get why Connor would see her before me. She's everything I'm not."

"I... I don't... You are pretty. And so what if ye not some skinny bitch... I like ye and any one who can't see how amazing ye fuckin' are don't deserve ye time." He smiled sweetly down at you, his fingers grazing under your chin to make you look at him as you ducked your head.

"Thanks. But that's not true."

"Course it is! I say it is! And I always, always tell t' truth." He smirked, puffing out his chest. You giggled and shook your head. You leaned your head against his shoulder and sighed.

"I just wish someone would see me for me... And not what they always see. Fat ugly little bitch... Wish he'd of seen me..."

"He ain't worth ye time."

"She's not worth yours..."

"Aye. I see that now." He shuffled down to lay on his back, pulling you with him and smiled.

You lay in quiet contemplation for a while, the distant sounds of creaking wood and stifled moans making both your hearts ache.

"We should go get a drink! Drown our sorrows." You suggest, despite being not keen on alcohol. Murphy laughs and sits up, reaching into the pocket of his coat and pulling out one of your dad's whiskey bottles.

"Damn. Read my mind lass." He smiled and opened the bottle, gulping it down without a grimace before handing it to you. You choked down a mouthful and smacked his chest lightly as he snorted at you.

"I'm not a big drinker like you MacManus!"

He smirked and leaned over you so your faces were mere inches apart, a smirk curving the right side of his lips upwards.

"Aye... What else ain't ye big on then?"

"What?! What the fuck does that mean?" You feel your cheeks burning in embarrassing red.

"Well... I'm here and ye here.... Thought we could forget our sorrows another way... If ye up fer it?"

"You mean... In.... What way? I mean... I... Fuck"

You sound like a fucking fool, stumbling over your words as his hand draws patterns along your waist slowly. Biting his lip he closes the distance between you and his lips meet yours. It's different to how you imagined your first kiss to be. You always imagined it to be a burning passionate, uncontrolled thing but this was soft, unurgent and gentle, sending a thrill of something to your core.

"How old are ye anyway, lass?" He asked, pulling away suddenly. You bit your lip and avoided his eyes until his finger brought your face to his once more. "I don't wanna get in trouble..."

"I just turned 18... You?"

"19... You... Have ye ever done this before?" His blue eyes searched yours for a moment before he sighed.

"No... But... I... I... Want to... If... If you want to leave you can. I won't stop you. I get most guys don't want someone so inexperienced."

Murphy glanced around for a moment, seeming to decide on the right course of action before slugged his long leather jacket off and laying on the ground beside you. He nudged his head to the side, your eyebrows creasing in confusion. He gave a smile and a chuckle before lifting your hips and sliding you on top of his jacket. His lips find yours again as soon as you shift yourself over on to his jacket fully and you wrap your arms around his neck. Gasping slightly as his hand drifts under your shirt and traces along your ribs. Pulling back slightly you take in his eyes, now darken with needful desire. He kisses your cheek softly and runs his palm upwards slowly and bits his lip, his white teeth shining brightly against their rose hue.

He licks his bottom lip as he tugs your shirt upwards and lowers his head to kiss along your stomach, you squirm in embarrassment. You hate the extra fat that gathered along your stomach and hips. His head raised to your face and he sighed.

"Ye beautiful lass. Every single inch..."

"Don't... I know its not true." You reply, tears coming to your eyes again in frustration. Anger at yourself for the lack of control you have over your own eating habits. You comfort ate, it was a habit nothing seemed to break you of. Murphy kissed you gently again and gazed down into Y/E/C eyes softly. His thumb running along your cheek softly.

"Told ye. Always tell t' truth. Believe me... Ye beautiful... Absolutely... Beautiful." He whispered between giving you soft kisses along you jawline and down your neck. You moaned as he kissed a sensitive spot. He smirked against your skin and focused on that one spot, sucking, licking and grazing it with his teeth. His hand reached under your shirt and stroked gently over the chubby plains of your torso to your chest.

A sharp gasp released from your mouth as his fingers ran along the edge of the unattractive sports bra you wore. Smirking against your collarbone he slipped his fingers inside and tweaked your nipple. A flood of arousal dropped into your panties and you moaned, arching upwards into his touch.

"Ye like that lass? Feel good, aye?"

You nodded and pulled his lips to yours. He groaned, your hips bucking upwards into his at the sensations he was causing to rush through you.

He pulled away and leaned back onto his knees, his hand running down your body to your covered core. He licked his lips and glanced at you as he ran a finger along your jeans button. Nodding at him, he smiled and flicked it open before dragging the zipper down slowly. His hands slipped inside and tugged them down over your hips as you bit your lip in nervousness.

You sat up slightly and reached for his belt, eyes boring into his blue ones as you pulled his belt from his jeans, tossing it to the side carelessly and reaching for the waistband. Shuffling slightly he helped you ease them down over his hips before laying you both down again. Only your underwear separating the heat of your bodies as he kissed you passionately, his hips rocking slowly into yours. Your hands found their way into his hair and tugged slightly as you both began panting at the friction of your hips. Your underwear was damp with your slick.

"Are ye sure ye want this lass?" Murphy panted into your mouth as his hand reached between you to cup your wet core, rubbing it hard causing you to gasp and squirm under him to get more pressure, more friction, more... Something, you didn't know.

"Please... Murphy..."

"I got ye lass." He whispered as his finger reaching under the elastic of your plain cotton underwear and ran through the folds of your dripping core. His fingers slid into you as his thumb found the bundle of nerves at the centre of your thighs. Rubbing his thumb in smooth, lazy circles he kissed against the spot he'd sucked a dark mark onto on your neck. His pants and moans echoing loudly in your ear as his fingers thrust in and out of you in time of his circling thumb. Your heart sped up and pounded against your ribs as a totally new sensation began building in your gut. "Cum fer me beautiful."

It felt like something inside had snapped and your body tensed all over, your legs shaking around Murphy's strong arm, your breath caught in your throat and as sudden as it began, it ended and you felt yourself more relaxed than you could ever remember being before.

"Good girl."

"Fuck... Murphy..."

He raised his head and smiled cockily down at you. He bought his hand out of your underwear and raised it to his mouth. You could see the glint of your moisture coating his long, graceful fingers in the weak starlight as he began to lick and suck his fingers clean. Your jaw fell open at that sight. You had heard of people doing it but to see someone do that, and with your juices no less, caused a rush of shame and desire to course through you.

His face lowered to yours once more and he smirked against your ear.

"Maybe next time... I'll lick this delicious pussy out..."

"Murphy..." You gasped, feeling slick pooling once more.

"Aye lass?"

"Please..."

He kissed you once more, hands finding the waistband of your underwear and gently lowering them down and gazing down at your core. Your legs closed in shame as your cheeks heated. He chuckled and pushed them apart again and studied you intensely.

"Fuckin' perfection."

He reached into the pocket of his jeans and pulled out his wallet, fishing out a condom and ripping it open with his teeth. His eyes found yours as he shuffled out of his boxers and grasped his hard thick cock in one hand, pumping it up and down for several moments, his eyes never leaving the sight of your bared core. He rolled the condom down his cock and leaned over you once more.

"Are ye absolutely sure beautiful?"

"I'm sure Murphy." Your voice replied, an edge of nervousness obvious in the way your voice sounded so quiet and wavered slightly. He smiled and kissed you, his tongue slipping into your mouth as you felt his cock brush against your mound as he positioned himself between your thighs.

His tip ran along your slit as he guided it and you gasped at the foreign feeling. His eyes held yours as he slowly pushed into you. A sharp cry of pain came from you and your body tensed under him. He reached for your hand, which was clawing at the fabric of his coat and grasped it in his own. Holding himself still and steady until you adjusted. You nodded slightly as his lips ran along your cheek, kissing away the tears that had slipped from your eyes. His cock inched slowly deeper into your unexplored pussy and he paused again to look you in the eye, making sure you were okay with each slow thrust.

"Ye alright?"

"Hmmhummm." You replied, gritting your teeth as you felt the burning grow sharper as he inched forward more. He gave a groan and shook with restraint. His heart was pounding in his ears at the feeling of your tight cunt squeezing his cock. He had never been with a virgin and but knew from Connor's numerous boasts that they felt tighter than anything else. He was by no means a virgin himself and was determined to make this a pleasurable experience for you.

Even if it killed him.

He gave a loud moan as he finally bottomed out inside you and kissed you passionately allowing you a moment or two of adjustment. You ran your fingers through his hair over and over as your tongues battled. You felt his cock twitch deep inside you and gasped into his mouth as his thumb once more began circling your clit.

"Murphy please..." You moaned, twitching your hips to encourage him to begin moving. His thrusts were slow and steady against you, taking his time to build until you both were absolutely sure you felt no pain anymore. His hand held one of your thighs around his hip and the other circling your clit, pleasure building slowly for the both of you. Sweet kisses left against each others necks as he began thrusting a little faster with each thrust.

Your back ached up to his chest as he hit a spot inside you that made you feel a sharp jolt of pure bliss.

"Ohhh... Fuckkkk.... Murphy..." You gasped into his mouth as he began aiming for that spot over and over, increasing his circling thumb's speed and pressure. Your toes curled in your boots as you suddenly were blinded by white light and your orgasm ripped through you. A loud shriek of unadulterated pleasure ripped from your throat. Murphy smirked and thrust harder, chasing his own release now he'd made you have a chance to cum over his cock. The walls of your pussy fluttering around his cock and your clit twitching under his thumb. His hair hung around his face in sweat soaked strands and you brushed them away to kiss him, still shaking in post orgasmic bliss. His body tensed against yours and he came, a guttural moan echoing loudly around you. His breaths coming sharp against your neck as he slumped over you and gave a little huff of pleasure.

"Fuck lass. I've never had one like that before."

"Huh... Guess that means it was okay?" You panted, suddenly nervous again. Would he feel satisfied? Did he really enjoy it? Was it good? Were you good?

He pushed himself onto his elbows and kissed you deeply, fucking your mouth with his tongue.

"Beautiful, I ain't ever lettin' ye go! Not after that."

You smiled as you kissed again with a laugh.

"MURPH! WHERE ARE YE?!"

You both froze and looked at each other. Murphy quickly pulled his cock from you, grimacing at the slight splattering of blood on the condom as he pulled it off and pulled his boxers and jeans on as you, too quickly dressed once more. Footsteps and the sounds of snapping twigs coming closer.

"Murph?!"

"Aye! I'm 'ere!" He yelled back as you stood and dusted down his jacket, handing it to him so he could swing it back onto his body. He grabbed your face and planted a sweet kiss on your lips quickly and smoothed down your hair as he gave your cheek a sweet kiss.

"There ye are! Oh..."

Connor paused and glanced between you two with an eyebrow raised.

"What’s going on here then, Murph?" He smirked. Murphy pushed his brother back in the direction of the house.

"I was helping her. She seemed upset. Dunno why though." He glanced over his shoulder at you and winked cheekily. "Kid needed a shoulder t' cry on. That's all."

"That right... Well come on. We best get home before Ma sends t' alarm out. Ye know how Uncle Silas is."

"Aye."

The brothers walked away and you followed slowly, Murphy glancing back over his shoulder at you with a happy but shy smile ghosting his face every now and then. Connor waved goodbye at the door to Sara and blew her a kiss in return to the one she'd blown and you rolled your eyes at the pair. Sara tried to grab your arm as you passed and you shrugged her off, rushing upstairs to your room and locking the door. You went to the window and watched as the twins walked down the drive.

Murphy paused before he left the gate, looked up and smiled widely at you and raised his hand. The streetlight lit his face up and you smiled, giving a small laugh as Connor shoved him ahead with a laugh and a glance upwards. You ducked away from the window quickly and lay on your bed, a ridiculously wide smile bracing your own face as you bit your lip and gave a small laugh.

Maybe tomorrow at school wouldn't be so bad. Not now you had a secret thing going on the darker haired MacManus.

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